“I told them all to stay inside,” Lewis said. “That… Quentin Forster brought May into the parlor and left again, but the girl had hardly been here a minute when that pernicious female, DuBois—she whispered to May and led her out the back door.” He wiped at his soiled trousers and stared at the earth stains on his hands as if he would weep. “I tried to stop them. I followed them, and then someone struck me—”
“We’ll find them, Lewis.”
“But the wolf-beast—the mob—”
“They’re gone. But I must find May.” She took a clean handkerchief from her pocket and pressed it over Lewis’s wound. “Hold this firmly in place. Harper will take you in, and I’ll see to your injury as soon as I can.”
She nodded to Harper, who supported Lewis to his feet. For once, Lewis did not reject the touch.
Someone had struck Lewis with the obvious intent of rendering him unconscious, or at least incapable of action. Irene had lured May outside, in spite of being told to remain in the parlor, after Quentin had delivered the girl safely home and gone out to confront the mob.
The confusion of the past few minutes would be an ideal diversion for one who wished to approach the Haven from the opposite direction unobserved. One who wished to remove a certain patient without interference.
Bolkonsky.
Dummkopf, Johanna swore at herself. “May! May, do you hear me?” She ran through the garden and turned toward the wood. She almost missed the book that lay facedown on the path to the orchard.
May’s book, Elizabeth Stuart Phelps’ The Story of Avis. She bent to pick it up and saw the footprints beside it, lightly engraved in the shade-moistened earth. Two sets of footprints, a girl’s and a woman’s.
Johanna followed their course like a hound dog with its nose to the trail. Just within the orchard itself a third set of prints, unmistakably male, joined the first two. They traveled together for a few yards more, and then the girl’s disappeared.
That was where she found Irene.
The woman stood in the shade of an apple tree, holding a battered carpetbag against her chest. Her attention was entirely focused on the lane just beyond the orchard fence. May was not with her.
“Irene,” Johanna said.
Irene’s head snapped around. Her eyes widened in an expression of naked fear.
“Where is May?” Johanna demanded. “Where is she, Irene?”
“She’s not here!” Irene stepped away from the tree, holding the carpetbag in front of her. “Go away. Leave me alone!”
“I know you took her out of the parlor,” Johanna said, making no effort to quell her anger. “Was it you who hit Andersen?” She grabbed Irene’s arm. “Where is May?”
“Gone!” Irene stretched her lips in a grotesque smile. “Gone to be with her father, and you’re too late!”
“Was it Bolkonsky? You know him, don’t you? He told you to bring May to him while the mob from town came after Quentin, didn’t he?” She gave Irene a shake. “Tell me the truth!”
“Yes, I know Feodor!” She laughed. “You always thought I stayed locked up here like the others, because you never paid attention to me. You’ve always thought I was stupid, didn’t you? But I knew everything that went on in town. I went at night. I watched, and I listened, and those country bumpkins never knew that the great Irene DuBois was among them.”
Johanna let Irene go, stunned at her own blindness. The clues had all been there, had she chosen to see them—Lewis’s complaint about Irene’s visits to town, her new gown, her more frequent references to leaving the Haven, her unusual confidence. Johanna had never guessed that Irene was so superb an actress. All the woman’s dramatic posturing had merely seemed evidence of her unyielding delusions…
“I knew when the handsome Doctor Bolkonsky came to town,” Irene said. “I had my eye on him from the beginning. He was different, the kind of man I’ve been waiting for. I knew when you went to see him, and that he’d never be interested in you.”
“Oh, Irene,” Johanna whispered.
“He’s been in love with me ever since he saw me on Broadway. He told me all about poor little May and what you were doing to keep her away from her father—the same way you tried to keep me from my true destiny. He needed someone to tell him what was going on here, and report to him. I agreed to help him get May away from you, and he promised to take me to San Francisco and set me up on the stage, where I belong.” She tossed her head. “We just had to wait for the right time. You made it so easy—you, and Quentin!”