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correct. She
is
a girl. How astonishing. No wonder you’re an
inspector.” Kramer dropped a lump of sugar into his tea with a
small
plik
. “Now, shall we get on with this, or do you wish to
chide me further on my choice of assistants or how I run my asy-
lum?”
“Very well.” Battle’s expression went stony. “Perhaps you
would care to explain what happened to your patient.”
Kramer took an experimental sip of his tea. “It was an abreac-
tion.”
“An abreaction.” If Battle knew he was being baited, it didn’t
show in his face or tone. “And that is? Pretend I am a student and
you, the master mesmerist.”
“Think of an abreaction as a catharsis,” Kramer said, the tail
of the word rattling in a snaky
ssss.
As he settled into his wing-
back, the chair let out an ominous creak, and Doyle saw that one
of the arms had split from its rails. “It’s the mind’s way of releas-
ing unwanted emotions.”
“But why attack you when you’re trying so very hard to be
helpful? Unless she sees you as the enemy. You did, after all, fail
her parents.”
A faint purple blotch stained the underside of Kramer’s jaw.
“An intractable patient is not a failure, Inspector. It is a tragedy.
The mother’s melancholia was unremitting, and she persisted
in the delusional belief that her daughter had died. The father
was driven to despair by his wife’s condition, and the lot of
them descended into this”—Kramer made a vague gesture—
“contagious insanity. Psychotics can be quite charismatic. You
saw the effect Elizabeth had on that young attendant, Bode? He
may mean well, but he’s suggestible.”
“Really,” Battle very nearly drawled. “And here I thought the
