Anonymous
Date unknown- -- ------- walked into my cell today and even though what -- brought with --- was unpleasant, -- was not deceitful. There were several medical apparatus that -- wheeled in on a tray and settled next to my bed. -- ------- knelt beside me and looked at me earnestly. My heart fluttered, and I felt uneasy even though --- demeanor was calm and reassuring.
“I need your permission,” -- started.
“For what? What is all of this?”
-- led me up off the floor and we sat on the bed as -- patted my hand. “I wish to perform a procedure on you.”
“What sort of procedure? Is this to cure my blackouts?”
“No, this is for something else.” --- eyes widened. “This treatment will make you healthier and stronger than anyone else alive!”
I looked over to the tray and saw forceps with gauze, small miniature tubing, several vials, and one very large needle. “I don’t understand.”
“Your blackouts are a temporary condition at best,” -- said excitedly. “I am here to offer you a cure.”
“For my condition,” I responded feebly.
“The human condition. This elixir is the cure for every disease, every illness, every disability, every defect of the human body.” I was surprised because I had never seen -- ------- in an agitated state. -- wasn’t unnerved or angry, but brimming with passion.
I asked the typical question, “Why me?”
“Because you’re special, --------.”
This seemed like an insane fantasy. Such medicine did not exist on this Earth, and was an impossibility. If all rationality and good sense evaporated into thin air, and there was a miraculous scientific discovery, and the panacea was housed in one of those vials, how did -- ------ come to possess this wonder? There was nothing constructive for me to say, so I blurted out, “If I trusted you, I’d be mad to refuse.”
“Do you trust me?”
“No.”
-- hung his head but still locked in on my eyes. “Then you reject this gift.”
“Even though you may be smarter and of healthier mind, don’t assume that you know all the answers. I will willingly comply.”
-- clapped his hands, “Excellent! Shall we get started?”
Even though I acquiesced on my own volition, part of me knew there were a few goons waiting outside my cell, armed with a gurney and restraints and listening for any signs of defiance.
-- ------- pulled my cot to the center of the room and had me sit on the edge of the mattress. -- stood behind me with only the cot between us and apologized, “I will try to protect your privacy and conduct myself with extreme modesty, but I must remove part of your gown.” The tie of the gown was around the nape of my neck. As -- undid the laces, -- removed the upper part of the gown and exposed my whole backside. “This will feel cold.” -- rubbed a good portion of my mid-back ranging just outside the shoulder blades with the medicated gauze. I expected a shocking chill, but the gauze wasn’t too uncomfortable. “I must apologize. This facility is ill equipped. I don’t have any anesthetic. The elixir has to be injected into the spinal fluid, which limits the promptness in which I can perform this procedure. It is essential to your health that I take my time and you remain completely still. Under the gale of honesty, I must warn that this will hurt. Under my experience administering the elixir, the word to describe this procedure most commonly is ‘blinding’. Do you need something to bite? You can use my leather belt if you wish.”
I shook my head. My instinct was to make a mad dash for the exit, but I knew it would be a futile effort and would result only in this procedure being performed on me against my will. I bit my lip and clenched the mattress with my hands. Even though the coldness of the gauze was inaccurately described, the excruciating pain from the injection was spot on.
“Stay still,” -- warned. “If I sever a nerve, it could have disastrous effects.”
The pain was sharp. I bit down hard, being careful not to puncture my lip or tongue. My toes were balled in my slippers. I made a conscious effort not to squirm as the sharp metal stick pierced through my skin and entered through my spinal column. My eyes welled as – - - slowly delivered the elixir.
It sounded like --- voice was coming from afar. “I’m removing the needle now. Hold still. I’m almost done. You may pass out. It won’t be from your condition. It is an effect of the treatment.”
That is all I can remember.
From the Diary of Scarlett Hanlon
May 29th- I abruptly opened my door with an inappropriate force that only panic could bring. The knock on the door interrupted my brief hysteria brought on by the assumption that my Uncle and Mr. Doyle may have been in danger. As the door swung open with a whirl, my visitors shot me an alarmed look as the sound and commotion of my awkwardness surprised and may have even frightened them. My heart leapt to my throat as I realized who these two intruders were. My first instinct was to throw my arms around my Uncle, as I was deeply relieved he was safe. This foolish action would have given away my brief, yet secret correspondence with Mr. Doyle. I wanted to keep this hidden from my Uncle for the moment because I knew this knowledge would deeply upset and hurt him. It would also damage or even end his friendship with Mr. Doyle.
Uncle Thomas looked at me with concern and asked, “Is everything alright, Scarlett?”
I recovered quickly, “Yes, I am delighted to see you! My surprise was that you brought a guest. Whenever you visit me, it has always been in solitude.”
“Yes, I must apologize, but what we have to ask you is of the utmost importance.” I then realized the condition of my Uncle. He held his hat with both hands in front of him as if the favor he was about to ask would embarrass or shame him. His trousers were wrinkled and his left collar was raised. His eyes were bloodshot, and the pallor of his skin was uncharacteristically pale. With any normal person, such an appearance would be easily explained by a restless night gone awry, but I have never seen my Uncle look this way. It would be unfair to call him unkempt, but Uncle Thomas wouldn’t be seen in public unless every hair on his head was in its place. Mr. Doyle looked like his typical self, slightly disheveled, but appropriate enough.
It was Mr. Doyle who asked, “May we come in?”
“Oh yes, of course. Where are my manners?”
We sat around my small kitchen table, which was the only in my apartment. I offered them some refreshments. My Uncle shook his head, but then with a second thought said, “Well, maybe a cup of coffee. If it isn’t much hassle.”
“None at all.” Then I asked, “Mr. Doyle?” He politely declined.
When we were settled, it was Uncle Thomas who curtly got down to business. “The reason for our abrupt visit is that we have a question for you. Mr. Doyle and I are deep in the throes of a case, and we are in great need of your assistance.”
It took much effort not to break in a grimace or shout out with glee, but it was even more difficult to keep my gaze centered on my Uncle and not to nod over to Mr. Doyle. My eyes darted over to him nonetheless, and I noticed that his head was down, careful not to entice any attention.
Trying to stifle my elation, I asked, “Are you serious?”
“We are. I am.”
“Of course. I will help you any way I can.”
Uncle Thomas smiled, but the sentiment only lasted for but a moment. A concerned scowl replaced his proud grin. “I know that you have been trying to place yourself in our affairs for quite some time. This is not a laughing matter or some trivial incident to spark your curiosity. This is not the time to ignore the potential consequences and act on your whim. Your safety is my primary concern, and you must understand the impending danger,” Uncle Thomas lectured.
I inadvertently slid to the edge of my seat with a delighted gasp.
He looked at me with worried anger. “Right there, Scarlett! This is what worries me.”
“What?”
“I will not sit idly by and watch you curiously place your hand over the flame. And after the sizzle and burn, you will not even bat an eye or nurse the wound. It will be us left to worry.”
Speaking earnestly, I said, “I will pay great attention to detail, and will not act unless instructed by you.”
Uncle Thomas nodded over to Mr. Doyle. “This isn’t going to work.”
How Mr. Doyle responded surprised me. “It’s your call, Thomas. I will not be held responsible for your niece.”
Uncle Thomas thought out loud, “Her contribution to our problem may prove indispensable, but her ambition is both a gift and a hindrance.”
I did not argue or plead. It was best to let Uncle Thomas come to his own conclusion. Otherwise I truly wouldn’t be let in the fold, I wouldn’t be truly trusted.
He sighed. “Her intelligence is overwhelming. It isn’t hard to see how gifted she is. One would have to be blind. I can only shield her for so long.”
It was the answer he had possessed from the beginning, otherwise he wouldn’t have been here.
Until then, I didn’t notice the bundle that Mr. Doyle carried with him. He placed a stack of letters and papers on the table.
“First, read these, and then I’ll explain.”
From the Diary of John Doyle
May 29th- As Scarlett read all the documents, I couldn’t help but to feel extremely uncomfortable. If there is one thing I am not, it’s an actor. I have always believed Scarlett was special and was confident she would make a valuable asset to our team, as I often sought her council. Now, I have to pretend to be her skeptic on the pretense it is Thomas’ want to involve her in our affairs, specifically this case. I couldn’t even fathom what ran through Scarlett’s mind at that moment. She had to feign as if she had no knowledge of Dr. Charles Thorton or this sordid affair. Scarlett had to redundantly reread Ms. Hilbury’s letters. It was astonishing that Scarlett didn’t stutter or stumble when this wrench unsuspectingly was thrown at her when she answered the front door. Scarlett expertly acted humble and grateful when asked to join our efforts.
As Scarlett read the letters, her creased brow testified as though it was for the first time. I must admit, I was eager to hear Scarlett’s opinion when she laid eyes on Mrs. Bethel’s diary entries. These flash glimpses of Mrs. Bethel’s innermost thoughts were so enlightening, yet there was still much hiding in the dark. After his two cups of coffee, Thomas puttered about tidying up Scarlett’s apartment, and I patiently waited at the comically small table as she finished her reading. I grew increasingly annoyed at the fabricated tension Thomas needlessly created.
Scarlett finished and not too soon! She quietly stood as she moved that hideous table out of the way. She called over to Thomas, “Uncle, if you’d care to join us, we have much to discuss.”
Scarlett left the room momentarily and returned with pencils and a handful of blank paper. She politely asked me, “Mr. Doyle, please excuse my apartment. It makes for a poor base of operations, but I want to discuss this matter now, as it is fresh in my mind. I think it is best if we spread everything out.”
“By all means,” I smiled.
Scarlett stared at me blankly. There was a slight pause, and then my slow mind caught up. “Ah, yes, the chair. The floor it is!”
“Again, I’m so embarrassed.”
I waved her off. “No reason. I often lounge on my floor, but an empty bottle of whiskey usually precipitates that action.”
There was not a chuckle. Bad joke.
Thomas joined us. I could tell that he wasn’t too pleased about the accommodations, and if it were anyone else other than Scarlett, he might have refused to participate. Scarlett spread out all the letters and diary entries across the floor, and it looked as though they were in proper order. We huddled around the material as if it were a warming fire. I could tell that Scarlett was trying to be polite. It was obvious she was itching to take the lead in the discussion, but she waited for my direction.
“Scarlett, your Uncle and I have our process, but please don’t be bashful. You will not interrupt our mode of thought. We asked you to join us because your insight will be beneficial, and besides, we have already discussed many of these events on the train ride over. Please begin.”
I was impressed that her face did not turn pale after reading through all the material. Instead of being disgusted or mortified, her infatuation and thirst for learning and uncovering the unknown encompassed her thoughts.
She started, “I think it would be beneficial to distinguish the facts from a possible lie or unconfirmed information. The material that I would consider honest are your experiences from the time at Ashford. I think it was brave of you both to share your own diary entries with me.”
We both nodded shyly.
“I think it is also safe to say that Mrs. Bethel’s journal entry is truthful. There would be no reason for her to lie in her own diary, especially since she tried to burn it once Cordelia had perished.”
“I agree,” said Thomas.
“Let us get started then,” I added.
Scarlett started a list. “First, let’s begin with Cordelia. In Mrs. Bethel’s diary, she describes Cordelia as being frail, wasted, with alopecia. Her skin is described as almost opaque with pulsating veins and yellow bloodshot eyes. Would you consider this accurate?”
Thomas answered, “I cannot comment on her skin, her eyes, or, her veins, but her thinness was sickening. With her balding scalp, she looked like a living skeleton.”
I added, “I agree with Thomas, but as she was choking the life out of me, I stared at her flush in her emotionless face. It was much like Mrs. Bethel depicted.”
Scarlett nodded and then added a notation to her list. “In Mrs. Bethel’s diary she writes that Cordelia cycles through periods of muscle contortions, which resembles catatonia, and then is followed by extreme violence which may be related to her feeding.”
“I have witnessed both. When we first entered her bedroom, Cordelia was locked in an awkward position, she then ‘awoke,’ and that’s when she attacked us.”
Thomas sat upright and looked down as he spoke. “Her assault on us had a purpose. I don’t think she struck us down because she was scared or we were deemed a threat. She meant to eat us.”
“I don’t mean to offend, but how can you be sure?”
“What do you ask, dear niece?” Thomas said in a hissing tone, as he seemed angered despite of Scarlett’s intent.
“You were thrust into a horrific scene, witnessed as what could be described as a very troubled and unsightly young woman, only to be attacked without warning. I could see how you could easily misinterpret the cause of her actions.”
Thomas answered, but he was no less calm. “I felt her gnashing teeth at my throat. Her lips may have been dry, but I swear I felt her salivating as she tasted her spoils. Besides, her carnivorous appetites are also documented in Mrs. Bethel’s diary, if corroboration is what you need.”
Scarlett was satisfied by his explanation. “It is safe to note that Cordelia was extremely powerful, almost inhumanly so.”
We both acquiesced.
“In Mrs. Bethel’s letter to Dr. Thorton, she notes that Cordelia had moments of extreme lethargy followed by periods of great hunger. In the letter, Cordelia’s appetite is not cannibalistic, but follows a normal human diet, albeit a large one. Can we attribute this account as true?”
“I don’t think we can list this as a fact. Thomas and I had not observed this symptom, and it also isn’t noted in the diary.”
“Agreed,” said Thomas.
“Can we call this a lie?”
Thomas adeptly responded, “Not necessarily. I think it’s plausible. Her symptoms could have gradually worsened. It’s more than probable that this was a beginning sign of her transformation.”
I countered, “This could be a useful lie. Mrs. Bethel was trying to lure Charlie. If she informed him of her true ailments, he might not have believed her. I know that Charlie studied on the fringes of medicine, but I wouldn’t just describe Cordelia as abnormal. She was abhorrent, a condition singular to her. Besides, at the time when Mrs. Bethel wrote her letter to Charlie, Cordelia must have progressed to her final state. At the very least, Mrs. Bethel omitted many details from Cordelia’s current condition.”
Scarlett started a new column on her sheet and jotted down a line. She then asked, “There aren’t many other shared details from Mrs. Bethel’s entries compared to your own. Do either of you want to flesh out any particulars from your experiences?”
“I was shocked by the lack of blood from her head wound,” I said.
“Yes, it was troubling,” Thomas added. “I would expect a gunshot to the rear of the head to produce a horrid mess of pooling blood. The result appeared as if she suffered a small cut rather than a mortal wound. I would call it an anatomical phenomenon, or even an impossibility.”
Scarlett said, “I have not seen her with my own eyes, but the description of Cordelia seems out of sort with the natural order of things.”
Thomas shook off his ill mood and commented, “If I was a hysteric, I would say Cordelia was more ghost than human, but I know better. I saw her breathing, and even though the sample that was produced was sparse, she bled. She was most certainly alive, but in a different way.”
“Wisely stated,” said Scarlett. It was a peace offering, perhaps. She continued, “Let’s mark this occurrence as a fact, but medically unexplained. It might be wise to consult a cardiovascular expert.”
I added, “Possibly in the future. It might be hard to locate such an expert who would be willing to talk to us, and besides, this singularity probably has no medical basis or explanation. Not that it would matter to my ego, but we would be laughed out of the building. I want to make precious use of our time.” Looking Scarlett in the eyes, it was obvious my comment stung her, but she did her best to hide her wound.
I changed the subject. “What I found interesting, even though Cordelia acted bestial and animalistic, I could sense intelligence.”
“How so?”
“When she first knocked me down, Thomas reached for his pistol. Cordelia turned, located the danger, and then tried to eliminate the threat.”
“That only alludes to her having a survival instinct, but it doesn’t suggest an aptitude for thought,” Scarlett argued.
I pulled at my beard and countered, “On a safari, if the lion notices the hunter’s rifle, it does not run in terror or attack its tormenter at the sight of the gun. The lion doesn’t possess the knowledge that the weapon is a threat.”
“I still would call this conjecture, but not a fact.” Scarlett wrote it down on the second column.
“Scarlett is right,” Thomas chimed in.
“Bound by blood,” I laughed, “or do you have a soft spot for our new disciple?”
“You surprise me, John. You’re usually not indignant about your errors in judgment!”
“Joking, dear Thomas, I was only joking.”
“Now boys, let’s keep this civilized,” Scarlett interceded. We all gave a small dissipating chuckle.
I now ask myself, was I joking?
Thomas had a brief moment of insight. “There’s one thing you missed, Scarlett. There is another corroboration between our account and Mrs. Bethel’s diary.”
“And what’s that?”
“The bedposts.”
“Yes,” I agreed, “when taken out of context, it looked like Cordelia was taken prisoner by her mother and left in the bedroom to starve. It’s obvious that the ropes were a necessity to protect Mrs. Bethel, and they were only loosened preceding a feeding.”
“Before we address the details about Cordelia that was noted in Mrs. Bethel’s diary but not substantiated by any other means, can you both give me some insight about Mrs. Bethel?” Scarlett asked.
“I think she looked unspun. Under normal circumstances, I could picture Mrs. Bethel being dressed in the finest clothes, heavily perfumed, with her hair and makeup in perfect order. Even if she wasn’t a conveyer of such villainy and she was just a devoted mother to an ailing child, I would expect the same appearance,” Thomas offered.
“I concur,” I said. “As appearance goes, I would also add that she looked haggard, in a way that only exhaustion would produce. She carried a grace and elegance that was still hidden beneath the dust.”
After a moment of reflection, Thomas added, “What surprised me at first was Mrs. Bethel’s openness. We were two unknown and unexpected guests, and she was more than willing to talk. I don’t remember asking to enter her house so that we could have a more intimate conversation. It was Mrs. Bethel’s bidding. I was shocked even further after reading Mrs. Bethel’s diary. It was clear that Mrs. Bethel was embarrassed by Cordelia’s condition and went to some length to keep her situation private. Her actions with John and I were quite the opposite.”
“And what would be your explanation for her contradictory behavior?”
I fielded this question. “We will go over it in more detail, but I think it’s obvious Mrs. Bethel was feeling the heat for her transgressions. We were two outsiders asking questions about one of Cordelia’s victims. Instead of being unwilling or uncooperative, which may lead to more suspicion, she invited us in and threw us onto Cordelia’s web, hoping we would be devoured. This would solve two problems. First, the nuisance we were causing would quickly be fixed. Also, in Mrs. Bethel’s diary, she alluded to moving, and that Cordelia needed to be fed before such an occasion. We would have provided ample nourishment for a lengthy endeavor.”
Scarlett said, “The police had already loosely investigated a missing person. Mrs. Bethel mentioned a police officer paying an obligatory visit. We know for certain that Wilhelm was a victim, but it’s not evident he was the person the officer was probing. Even though Wilhelm was not an upstanding member, he was part of the community. I would assume that there is at least one other member of the town that became Cordelia’s meal, if not more. Mrs. Bethel’s social class would only protect her for so long.”
Thomas added, “I would submit Mrs. Bethel’s escape plan as a point of fact. John and I noticed the obvious removal of furnishings. Mrs. Bethel admitted that she was moving, even though it was under the ruse of poverty. She made the same claim to Officer Williams, who was the police officer assigned to investigate the aforementioned missing person. What is most telling was her journal entry, which mentioned a safe place in New Hampshire.”
“Yes,” Scarlett said with excitement. “I made a note of it here. An interesting question to ponder is if Mrs. Bethel had any correspondence with help? Did she find such a location by herself or another third party?” She flipped through her notes. “We have no mention of any help.”
“That’s not true,” Thomas disagreed. “In her diary she states, ‘I am so grateful to her. Without her help, I would be lost.’”
“Wonderful!” Scarlett gratefully exclaimed.
“Yes, well done, Thomas. This statement can prove to be a trivial thought or turn into a critical detail. This ‘she’ could have been a kind nurse or a do-gooder, or an intimate schemer that possesses essential information about Cordelia’s plight.”
“If we only could discover more information. It is vital that we conduct interviews with the townspeople, especially Mrs. Bethel.”
I cautioned, “That could be tricky, considering our standing with the community.”
“Yes, I wish we could find an accommodating solution.” Scarlett stuck her toe in the proverbial water.
Thomas and I were silent and had not yet informed her that the water was comfortable and warm. Scarlett broke the silence with an irritating statement. “I find Mrs. Bethel rather despicable.”
“How so?”
“She is an elitist, and her only notoriety was one she was born into and not earned. She used her class as an excuse to influence her wants on Cordelia and then as a shield to protect her from her murderous actions.”
“You can’t just judge … ” I stopped. I then changed my train of thought. “What do you think of me, Scarlett?”
Her blushing cheeks betrayed the seriousness of her eyes. “What do you mean, Mr. Doyle?”
“What is my reputation, specifically regarding women?”
She looked down at her kneading hands. “I wouldn’t know.”
In dramatic fashion, I rose abruptly. “You were right Thomas? If she cannot answer uncomfortable questions, how could we take her into our confidence?”
With anger and ire, but with the full bluntness of truth, Scarlett blurted, “A user of women, bordering on misogyny. You have respect for women only for their physical attributes rather than what they can contribute with their minds. It is said that you use your charms to manipulate your targets into your bed. Rumor states that attrition is valued more the quality.”
Satisfied, I sat back down. “There, was that so hard?” I then asked without looking over, “Thomas?”
“I believe that accurately represents the public view.”
“Would you agree with that view?”
Thomas paused with true thought, then said, “I honestly don’t know.”
“Have you ever seen me with a woman in any social or casual setting?”
“Come to think of it, no.”
I furthered my interrogation. “In all your time with me, have you ever seen me flirt with a woman?”
“No!” Thomas answered as if his answer surprised himself.
Turning back to Scarlett, I said, “You’re a beautiful young lady. Judging by your brief experiences with me and not by reputation or rumor, how would you describe me?”
I saw her briefly shrivel, but careful not to make the same mistake twice, Scarlett answered resoundingly, “Aloof and awkward are the two words that come to mind.”
“Did I look confident in my abilities to court or seduce you?”
Her answer was not one of embarrassment or shock, but one of understanding. “Goodness, no.”
“Was I inappropriate in any way?”
“No, you were quite shy.”
“My point is that rumor and reputation can cast someone in a false light, even in the eyes of their dearest friends. Such is the case with me in regard to my relationship with women. So it is wise to be careful in throwing judgment around without firsthand knowledge or experience.”
The lesson may have been harsh, but necessary. I was anxious to peer over at Thomas. His facial expression would inform me of his agreement or disapproval of my tactic. I overcame my trepidation. Thomas wore a slight smirk. Good show, dear Thomas.
“Then how did you earn this reputation?” Scarlett asked with curiosity.
“This is a mystery that I cannot solve. I had never given it much thought. As your Uncle surely knows, unless I am involved with a case, it is rare that I venture out from my apartment, so my relationship with the public is somewhat limited. I wouldn’t go as far to say that I’m famous or infamous, but my name is fairly well known. My occupation itself may cause people to believe I’m scandalous, so the blame solely rests with me that my reclusiveness enhances the public’s ignorance. People know the name and not the man, so this adds a sense of mystery. When I eventually peek my head out in public when I am on a case, I exude confidence, dare I say arrogance. This is a quality that is generally admired, especially by the opposite sex. But all of this could be rubbish. Maybe I developed an enemy who is spreading false rumors? Truth be told, unless I am on the job, I am tormented by self-doubt and insecurity. I would be terrified asking any stranger, let alone a woman, to join me for a drink. The idea that I trivialize women and use them for carnal means disgusts me. I truly believe the minds of women are discarded and are a source of untapped talent that could only benefit our society. The powers that be clutch their authority close to the bosom, and any difference whether it be race, or religion, or gender are used as a tool of degradation.” I paused and looked up to blank faces. “Here I go rambling. We’re way off the subject now. My apologies. Where were we?”
Scarlett looked up in a professional and unshaken manner. “We were wrapping up the details that we can distinguish as fact, before we discuss our hypothesis encouraged by Mrs. Bethel’s diary and Dr. Thorton’s notes and letters.”
“Shall we proceed?”
“Even though we won’t be able to discern the truth with this point of contention, I would like to examine this matter because you two can offer input on the subject. Is Mrs. Bethel insane?”
“Absolutely, yes!” blurted Thomas.
I groaned.
“Mr. Doyle?” Scarlett inferred for my input.
“I don’t think this question as an absolute answer. There are some instances when her behavior constituted a sane mind. She tried to hide evidence when she burned her diary. There is no denying it. This intentional act suggests that she knew right from wrong. Even in her diary, she wished there was no God so that her sins would not have a consequence in the afterlife.”
Thomas did not sway. “Your argument is convincing, but in Mrs. Bethel’s own words she states that there isn’t a more pitiful creature than a mother of an ailing child. If this catastrophic event did not happen in Mrs. Bethel’s life, I don’t think we would be having this conversation. I never thought Mrs. Bethel was preconditioned to lunacy, and I don’t propose that insanity drove her to murder, but she was forced into an impossible moral dilemma. She was compelled to either lure people into their gruesome demise or to watch her daughter gradually starve to death. In my opinion, she emerged out of the wrong end of the moral compass, but maybe that grisly path to ethical corruption pushed her over the edge.”
I was impressed with Thomas’ eloquent argument, but I countered, “Mrs. Bethel laid much blame on Charlie. It is all but a certainty that his departure drove Cordelia to a depression. It’s obvious to the casual observer that Cordelia shared Charlie’s feelings of deep love, but her mother’s staunch objections to the union may have stifled her opinion. Charlie was assertive in many ways, but when his feelings were at stake, he chose the safe option and was unable to risk his emotional devastation. This proves that Charlie was downright cowardly. He decided to flee, and so he took himself out of the equation. Cordelia willed him to take a risk, and Charlie’s conservative and cautious choice shattered Cordelia. Whether this depression had any effect on Cordelia transforming into the abomination that we witnessed, I fear we will never determine. Mrs. Bethel certainly thought Charlie was the cause. When Mrs. Bethel lured Charlie into Cordelia’s bedroom, she didn’t remove herself out of range of sight and sound as she has done in previous occasions. She savored her revenge.”
Thomas laughed. “I hardly think that a lunatic is incapable of displaying a devious plot and relishing in the outcome. There have been many cases—”
Scarlett interrupted, “The causation, the when, and the how are interesting to argue, but impossible to conclude. My question to you both: is Mrs. Bethel presently sane and rational?”
“When she was led away by the police, she was babbling incoherently,” Thomas said, sticking to his opinion.
“That could have been a dramatic display,” I quipped.
“This does not answer my question,” Scarlett said with a hint of sternness.
“Most definitely, yes!”
I conceded, “It’s possible.”
Scarlett pressed, “Possible or probable?”
I sighed. “Probable.”
Thomas grinned in triumph.
“Saved by his 18-year-old niece.” I couldn’t help but to stab with a scouring blow.
Thomas scowled.
Scarlett rolled her eyes at our constant bickering, but she continued, “Mr. Doyle, you raised an interesting point. It is impossible to determine, but it may be helpful to hypothesize. When do you think Cordelia started to display signs of her condition?”
“Just as Charlie’s departure was a catalyst to thrust Cordelia in the throes of depression, this depression may have been the facilitator for her transformation,” Thomas offered.
I disagreed, “I don’t see how that could be the cause. There are millions of cases of severe depression, and not one has led to this result. Even when Cordelia had her psychiatric break and eloped, I don’t think she was yet affected. Her physical symptoms did not seem to emerge until after she was returned from her second disappearance.” I paused and then concluded, “I cannot even to begin to deduce the causation of her condition.”
Thomas and I halted our debate as we both looked over to Scarlett. She placed down her pencil and with annoyance and lectured, “I am not your arbitrator!” Scarlett took a strained deep breath and composed herself once again. She continued, “The one question that came to my mind was if there is a gap in journal entries between the time Cordelia returned from her second disappearance and the emergence of her physical symptoms? This would be crucial in helping us determine a clearer picture.”
“There’s no doubt there are many missing pieces. Mrs. Bethel had destroyed a numerous amount of pages before I wrestled the papers from her grasp.”
Scarlett said, “Either Mrs. Bethel did not divulge much information on this subject or some of these entries were amongst the destroyed. I find it unlikely that Mrs. Bethel wouldn’t document such a pivotal and emotional point in Cordelia’s life. She poured her thoughts into those pages, and it is inconceivable to leave out the moment when her daughter’s health began to drastically spiral downwards.”
I added to Scarlett’s thought. “In Mrs. Bethel’s letter to Dr. Thorton, she mentions Cordelia’s lengthy stays at Ashford Hospital and the Haverford Clinic, but it is absent from her diary. It is probable that these were some of the pages that Mrs. Bethel was able to destroy.”
“Or maybe it was a lie?”
“What do you mean, Uncle Thomas?”
“Maybe Cordelia was never at the Hospital. Maybe she never stayed at the Clinic? It could have been a ruse to embellish Cordelia’s woeful tale.”
I was impressed with Thomas’ intuition. I added, “Dr. Moore is mentioned in both the letter and the journal.”
“Yes, I agree, John. Even though Mrs. Bethel may have lied about some of Cordelia’s medical treatment, Dr. Moore is most definitely real. It would be foolish to lie about him. It sounded as though Charlie knew him. Dr. Moore was the town practitioner and is probably widely known. It would be wise for us to interview him, but that may prove to be an improbable option.”
“How so?” I asked.
“Mrs. Bethel had a strange but brief journal entry about him. It seemed like he suffered harm at the hands of Cordelia, and may have been one of her first victims.”
Scarlett’s pencil snapped. “Oh, dear. Uncle Thomas, would you please go into the top drawer in my desk in my bedroom and fetch me another pencil?”
He sighed and begrudgingly obliged.
In a panic, Scarlett rushed to her side cabinet, rustled through papers and then threw some scraps over to me and then pointed forcefully to a particular line. It took me a moment to read the words and then to realize the context. I quickly gobbled up the papers like a starved, stranded man that was presented with a succulent meal. I was careful not to crumple the papers as I tucked them in my waist. It was essential to keep Thomas in the dark about this information, as it would give away Scarlett’s previous correspondence with me.
I was astonished by this young girl who had procured such a rich piece of evidence without having much information or resources. The urge to read every last word on the scraps of paper was overwhelming, but I only had time to absorb what Scarlett urgently wanted me to see. Dr. Moore was a real man, as we had assuredly deduced, but now we confirmed that he was missing, and in my mind, his bones would be found mixed amongst others in the Bethel’s basement. I looked at Scarlett and expected to see a prideful and satisfied grimace, but I once again underestimated her wisdom and expertise as she gave me a warning glare. Thomas returned and her nod gave me enough time to erase the befuddled and amazed look from my face.
Thomas threw down the pencil and lectured rudely, “You should be more humble, my dear niece. John and I work long and hard without any assistants or secretaries. It would do you well to vanquish any sense of privilege from your ego. We are all servants to knowledge.”
Scarlett blushed with embarrassment. I couldn’t tell if her reaction was true or embellished. “Excuse my poor manners, Uncle Thomas. I was so enthralled by our discussion that I relish every moment and I didn’t want to miss a single word.”
Thomas’ tone lightened. “All is forgiven. We’ll just chalk it up to your inexperience.”
It took a strong person to gulp down the bitter medicine, being there was no ailment to cure. At that moment, I was proud to have Scarlett join our team.
Thomas then stated, “There’s no question we have to seek Dr. Moore and obtain his view of Cordelia’s condition, and also Mrs. Bethel’s.” I looked over to Scarlett and was relieved that she never flinched. She kept her head lowered and took down her notes with her pad and freshly new pencil. Thomas continued his thought, “In addition, we should also locate Dr. Kyle Monroe at the Haverford clinic.”
Scarlett ruffled through her pages. “It says here in Mrs. Bethel’s diary that she believed he left the practice, but I agree, it would be wise to request his council and obtain his opinion.”
Being careful to not seem too quiet, I offered, “Let me add to the list of potential witnesses. Even though there isn’t any mention specifically of physician’s names, we should also explore Ashford Hospital. At the very least we may be able to retrieve her medical records if we are clever enough.”
“It’s a long shot, but one worth taking,” Thomas said, nodding.
“If we could find Dr. Monroe, I would like to ask him about his initial, yet reserved diagnosis of ischemic stroke,” Scarlett added, still taking notes.
“I’d like to refute his diagnosis!”
I chuckled. “I second that!”
“There are additional questions to explore. Mrs. Bethel’s husband Winston is said to have died eight years ago. I don’t believe he died of any false pretenses, but it would be wise to see if we could acquire the official record of the cause and time of death.”
“Why so?” Thomas asked.
“It could give us a corroboration of Mrs. Bethel’s history of villainy. I don’t think Mrs. Bethel had any part in his death, but it would be worth our while to check. Uncle Thomas, you believe, and I agree, that the horrible dilemma caused Mrs. Bethel to fall over the other side of the moral fence. This information could give us a wider view of Mrs. Bethel if his death was questionable.”
I added, “It would offer insight if we found that he died of natural causes. We could then see if Mrs. Bethel possibly had a history with murder, or if Cordelia’s plight drove her to her madness.”
“I don’t believe we’ll find anything there, but we should be thorough,” Thomas said pessimistically.
I looked at my own notations. “It is also important to track down the staff of the Bethel house. Especially Tad, Wilhelm’s father.”
“Yes,” Scarlett said excitedly. “Wilhelm was the disapproved ‘friend’ of Cordelia. He is presumably deceased. Mrs. Bethel mentioned in her journal that he was the first person she intentionally lured to Cordelia’s room so she could be fed.”
I pondered, “This would be difficult to establish, but I wonder about the true nature of the relationship between Cordelia and Wilhelm. Was he a companion to help soften the blow of Charlie’s departure, or was he picked by Cordelia knowing his presence would make Mrs. Bethel irate?”
“Mrs. Bethel seemed to be obsessed with class. She was reticent to involve the police when Cordelia first went missing because she didn’t want her problems to be public. Given the history with Charlie, I wouldn’t be surprised if this idiosyncrasy helped to tarnish or even ruin the relationship with Cordelia and her mother,” Thomas wisely opined.
We could’ve pondered and questioned for a couple of more hours, but we had gone through a lot of information, and sometimes a break from the tumult of thoughts and ideas are needed for clarity to ensue.
“I for one have nothing much to add and I must admit, I’m quite tired. Shall we reconvene in a day?”
“A good plan,” Thomas agreed. He slapped his thighs and rose with a sigh.
Scarlett looked up disappointed and gave her Uncle a “leaving already?” look. She asked poignantly, “What is our next plan of action?”
“We’ll discuss the details, but Thomas and I will start at Haverford clinic and try to find this Dr. Kyle Monroe.”
She rose excitedly. “Yes, but it is most important to interview Mrs. Bethel and find out her fate! We have to seek Dr. Moore! There are many duties to accomplish in Ashford, and naturally it is unsafe for both of you.”
“What are you suggesting?” I asked, full of knowing the answer.
“No!” Thomas objected. “I will not have you go off traveling by yourself to a strange town. It is unsafe and unseemly for a young girl to lodge by herself in a seedy inn. You don’t know a soul there. You’ll be alone and unprotected! I won’t have it.”
Scarlett groaned.
“What?”
“I happen to know someone who lives close by, and I am sure I will be allowed to stay at his parent’s house. I will be safe. He will dutifully shield me from any harm. I have to build up the nerve and shake the sick feeling. I must overcome my disgust and write him a letter.”