and the outside world. One faced the garden, while another was situated toward the forest where the fireflies pulsed.
Hulzen lit a match. He touched it to the triple candlewicks of a lantern that sat upon a table below the garden-facing window. The flames strengthened, illuminating in gold what appeared to be the parlor of any well- kept house in New York. But more than well-kept, Matthew decided as he gazed around. Richly maintained would be more accurate, for on the floor was a beautiful rug of small purple, gray, and blue squares, and upon the pale blue-painted walls were paintings within gleaming gilt frames. Hulzen went about lighting a second three-candle lantern that stood on a pedestal across the room, now revealing a white-canopied bed with ornate scrollwork, a pair of high-backed chairs with gray upholstery, and a round oak table that bore at its center a wooden bowl holding a few ripe apples and pears. Near the bed was a large wardrobe of some dark and luxurious wood so sinuously jointed that Matthew thought it must have been crafted by a true master’s hand and cost a small fortune. Little red flowers and green leaves had been meticulously painted around the edges of the wardrobe’s doors, which were opened by a latch that appeared to be if not pure gold then very near it.
Hulzen lit a third lamp. Its glow spread upon the opposite side of the room from which Matthew and Greathouse stood. Illuminated was a small fireplace, cold now in the midst of summer. What was remarkable there was the fireplace screen, an intricate golden metalwork of tree branches upon which perched painted birds-cardinal, robin, bluebird, and white dove-in richly daubed original colors. Above the mantel was a framed painting that Matthew stepped closer to see; it depicted a scene of the waterways of Venice at what seemed to be blue sunset much like the current horizon.
He swept his gaze across other objects, his mind taking in a treasure of details: small bottles with blown- glass flower caps sitting atop a dresser, a silver hairbrush and handmirror beside them; a set of six little horses that looked to be carved from ivory; thimbles arranged in perfect order beside a pair of spectacles; on another small table a Bible, a stack of slim pamphlets, and…yes, there was the latest Earwig too.
“May I introduce you?” asked Dr. Ramsendell.
Matthew looked up from his discoveries. Ramsendell was standing next to the window that afforded a view toward the forest. Beside him was the high back of a dark purple chair, and now both Matthew and Greathouse could see that someone with white hair was sitting there.
Ramsendell was speaking to the woman in the chair. “Madam,” he said in a quiet voice, “I’d like you to meet Mr. Hudson Greathouse and Mr. Matthew Corbett. They’ve ridden from New York to see you. Would you come forward, gentlemen?”
“After you,” Greathouse said under his breath.
Matthew approached Ramsendell, as Dr. Hulzen stepped back and watched.
“This is our Queen, sirs. We call her ‘Madam,’ for the sake of propriety.”
Matthew stopped. He was looking down at a small-boned, frail woman who paid him not the least notice, but who continued staring out the window at the display of sparkling lights in the trees. He thought she must be well over sixty. Sixty-five, possibly. Closer to seventy? It was hard to tell. She was almost swallowed up by her silken homegown, which was the pink hue of the palest rose. On her feet were slippers of the same material and color but adorned with small bows. The woman had a cloud of thick, neatly brushed white hair, and her face, which Matthew saw in profile, was heavily lined yet innocent and almost childlike in its repose. She stared straight ahead, her soft brown eyes glittering with lamplight. She was focused entirely upon the dance of the fireflies. Below an uptilted, elegant nose her mouth moved occasionally as Matthew watched, as if she were posing questions to herself, or making some observation that was silent to her audience. Her hands, which clasped the armrests, bore no rings and neither did she wear any necklaces or other personal statements of fashion. Or statements of identity, Matthew thought.
“Does she have a wedding ring?” he asked, thinking aloud.
“She arrived with no jewelry,” Ramsendell said, “but all the furnishings here came with her. We have taken the liberty of searching for letters or any other identifying papers. Nothing gives us any clue as to who she might be, though it’s obvious she is-was-a woman of means.”
“No name or initials in the Bible?”
“A new volume, it appears. Not even a fingermark on it.”
“Maker’s marks on the furniture?”
“Someone thought of that,” Hulzen said. “The marks have either been rubbed away or, where they were burned into the wood, cut out with a small chisel.”
Greathouse came forward and stood beside Matthew. “Can she hear us?” It had been spoken in what for him was nearly a whisper.
“She can hear perfectly well. But rarely does she respond to anything, and then it’s either a quick ‘yes’ or ‘no’ or-at best-some cryptic statement neither Curtis nor I can fathom.”
Matthew saw the woman cock her head slightly to the left, as if listening a little more intently, but her placid gaze did not change and she made no further motion. Since it appeared that Hudson Greathouse was paralyzed in the presence of the mentally infirm, Matthew decided it was up to him to steer the course. “I think we ought to be told the whole story.”
Ramsendell nodded. He regarded the woman with a tender expression as he spoke. “She came to us in April of 1698-”
“Came to you?” Matthew interrupted; he was in his element now, and he could almost feel the blood flowing in his brain. “Exactly how?”
“Was brought to us,” Ramsendell corrected. He answered the next question before Matthew could ask it. “By a lawyer in Philadelphia. Icabod Primm, of Market Street. He had written us previously, and visited us, to make certain his client would be satisfied.”
“Hold on.” Greathouse was totally bumfuddled. “His client? I thought you said you didn’t know who she was. Is, I mean.”
“We don’t.” By Hulzen’s sour expression, he was beginning to think Greathouse was something of a lout. “We’re trying to tell you.”
“More directly then, please,” said Matthew crisply. “How is it this woman arrived here nameless yet represented by a Philadelphia lawyer?”
“Mr. Primm,” came the reply from Ramsendell, “never spoke to her by any other term but either ‘Madam’ or ‘Lady.’ If he spoke to her at all, which as I remember was not very often and anyway she was in the exact same state you see her in now. His letters mentioned a ‘client’ but no name whatsoever. We are paid a yearly fee-quite a large fee, by the way-to keep Madam in her present accommodations, apart from the other patients and living amid familiar objects from her…shall I say…previous life. She has never had a visitor, but every April sixteenth the money has come by messenger from Mr. Primm, who told us that very first April, four years ago, that any effort on our part to discover Madam’s identity and history will result in his immediately removing her from this hospital. He has stated that his client has given him full power of representation, and so we signed the letter of admittance according to the terms.”
“His client.” Greathouse spoke it with some distaste. “Some young cur who married a wealthy older woman and then stashed her here when her mind went? So he takes the fortune and even strips her wedding ring off?”
“We considered that and rejected it.” Hulzen had fired up his pipe again and was standing beside the window with the garden view. “What you must understand, Mr. Greathouse, is that we are involved in an experimental treatment here. We have the belief that persons with mental disorders might be helped, and someday possibly returned to society. That’s why we built these four rooms in this house, so we might pursue that treatment with patients who would benefit from being in more familiar surroundings rather than the austerity of the asylum. At least we hoped that, when we began.”
“A room in this part of our hospital is, as I said, very expensive,” Ramsendell continued. “We doubt that someone would-as you put it-‘stash’ a relative here, or care to provide all these beautiful furnishings. No, we feel certain that Mr. Primm’s client cares very deeply for Madam’s welfare. Obviously Primm must have looked into the Quaker institution for similar living accommodations and was told about our hospital by them.”
“Is this lady the only current occupant here?” Matthew asked.
“No, there’s another elderly woman in the first room. Unfortunately she’s bedridden. But we do know her name and her circumstances, and her son and two daughters make frequent visits. We are gratified to say that
