An Improper Death (Dr. Alexandra Gladstone Mysteries Book 2) Page 8

  “You’ve got quite an imagination, Nancy.” Alexandra sank into her chair.

  “Only it doesn’t make sense, does it? ’Tis all terribly out of character for Mrs. Orkwright. She doesn’t strike me as the type who would want to risk her young son learning she was having an affair, even if she would do it in the first place. Which she would not.”

  “We can’t be sure of that, Nancy. Unlikely as it seems, we simply can’t be sure.”

  “But if that’s true, how did she do it? Kill him, I mean?” Nancy’s tone was almost pleading.

  Alexandra shook her head. “I don’t know. I just can’t be certain how he died.”

  “Are you forgetting that it could be that no-count son of hers? John Killborn, I mean? The one who escaped from Newgate as Mr. Forsythe said?”

  “No, I’m not forgetting.” Alexandra rubbed her temples as if she could somehow massage an answer to the surface. “It’s just that I don’t know how the admiral died. We’ve assumed he drowned simply because we’ve eliminated virtually every other cause. We’ve come up with some wild speculation about a motive for Mrs. Orkwright, but there’s nothing to substantiate it. Neither is there anything to suggest that John Killborn could have murdered him.”

  “Except that they didn’t get on well.”

  Alexandra waved her hand in dismissal.

  “Then perhaps no one killed him.” Nancy’s voice sounded very tired. “Perhaps he simply fell into the sea and drowned, as the constable said.”

  “Perhaps.” Alexandra sounded tired. “If that’s true, then I have broken the law and put us both in danger of arrest for nothing.”

  “Except…?”

  Alexandra raised her head to look at Nancy. “Except I still don’t believe he drowned himself. And there is the oddity of the ladies’ drawers.”

  “There is that,” Nancy said. “So…”

  “So I think I shall have to speak with Jane Orkwright again.”

  The sky was very bright when Alexandra awakened the next morning. She might not have awakened even then, had it not been for Zack nudging her and licking her face. She opened her eyes to see his black nose and equally black eyes very close to her. The sound he made was a squeaky growl, full of vowel sounds, as if he were trying to tell her in human words that he was hungry.

  She glanced at the clock she kept on the mantel in her bedroom and saw that it was almost noon. Flinging the covers back, she sat up quickly. The house was unusually cold. Nancy must not have the fires going yet. She stood, reached for her robe, and hurried down the hall to Nancy’s room. She knocked softly, but there was no answer, and when she carefully pushed the door open, she saw that Nancy was still sleeping soundly, lying on her back and snoring softly.

  She waited there a moment, not wanting to wake her, yet needing to. Once again she had done a poor job of managing her time, so that now there was not enough time to make the usual morning rounds to see house-bound patients before walk-in patients began arriving at the surgery door. There was barely enough time for breakfast and to get dressed.

  Zack saved her the trouble of making a decision about waking Nancy with one loud, sharp bark. He was never one to equivocate. Nancy awoke with a startled look on her face, then sprang up to a sitting position like a stiff-bodied puppet pulled by ropes.

  “Good Lord!” she said. “What time is it?”

  “Half past eleven.”

  There was a flurry of covers and Nancy moving about, her honey-colored hair flying about like wild grass in a storm. She brushed a strand away from her face and reached for her robe. “Why didn’t you wake me?” Her voice was hoarse from sleep.

  “I just awoke myself. If Zack hadn’t—”

  “I’ll get the kettle on for porridge and tea.” Nancy waved a hand at Alexandra. “Hurry! Get dressed, Miss.”

  Alexandra was used to obeying Nancy, who, since their childhood, had been more companion than servant. She rushed back to her room and hurried through her morning toilet, then went down to breakfast. She was only half finished with her bowl of porridge and Nancy was still scurrying about in her unbuttoned robe and ungoverned hair when the first patient arrived.

  Alexandra touched a napkin to her mouth and hurried away to receive him, a task which Nancy usually considered her own. Zack, sensing the urgency, hurried along with her to offer what help he could.

  The patient was a child with a quinsied throat. She gave him the same treatment she had given the miller’s daughter by bathing the throat externally with compound tincture of camphor. Then she prescribed a mixture of hops, wormwood, and mullein leaves to be boiled in a teapot with water and vinegar so the boy could inhale the vapors.

  Alexandra was thankful that patients were few that day, but when a young mother came in and exhibited another case of quinsy, she began to fear an epidemic.

  When it was four o’clock, and it had been an hour since she had seen the last patient, Alexandra decided to leave her surgery and to further delay her daily rounds for another errand. She left a few minutes after four, giving Nancy instructions to fetch her at Gull House, should she be needed.

  The housekeeper at Gull House opened the door for Alexandra, her face even tighter and grimer than usual, as if her features had bunched up, bivouacking against something dreadful.

  “Oh it’s you,” she said and glanced over her shoulder, as if expecting her mistress to once again overrule her instinct to deny Alexandra’s entrance.

  “Please tell Mrs. Orkwright Dr. Gladstone is calling,” Alexandra said in her firmest voice.

  There was a moment of silence in which the housekeeper’s features huddled even closer. “Wait here,” she said, motioning for Alexandra to step inside. She disappeared briefly. When she returned she informed Alexandra in a funereal voice that Mrs. Orkwright would receive her in the parlor.

  When the housekeeper had shown her to the parlor and had even designated the chair in which she was to be seated, she left, leaving a measure of her gloom in her wake. Alexandra rose from her chair and went to the window, trying to allay the dismal mood as she watched the mottled sea stretching its stubby white fingers to eternity. Even that left her clammy with a sense of despair. She didn’t turn away, though, until a small “hello” startled her.

  She turned around quickly to see young Will standing behind her. “Hello, Will.” She smiled at him, struck by his resemblance to his father. He had the same fair hair and stocky build of the admiral. His wide lapis lazuli eyes were his mother’s, though.

  “Are you here to see Mama, Dr. Gladstone? Is she ill?” His voice was young and frightened.

  “No, I don’t believe she’s ill.” Alexandra moved toward a chair and sat in it, bringing her eyes to a more even level with the boy’s. “I’ve come to have a chat with her, that’s all.”

  Will’s wide eyes had never left her. “Is it about Papa?” he asked.

  “Yes.” Alexandra spoke softly, wondering at the confusion and grief the child must be feeling.

  He sat on a chair next to her, his short legs stretched straight in front of him. “Annie says he’s gone on a very long journey and won’t be back until I’m all grown up.”

  “Annie? The houskeeper?”

  He nodded. “But that’s a fib, you know. My papa’s dead.”

  Alexandra felt a moment of uneasiness. “Who told you that?”

  Will gave her an incredulous look. “Why Mama, of course. Mama would never fib to me.”

  “Of course not.”

  Will had now turned his attention to the toes of his shiny black shoes, which he was rhythmically bumping together. Alexandra hoped that his little boy thoughts had moved on to something more mundane. He glanced up at her, his expression grave. He had stopped flopping his toes together. “I must ask you something,” he said, still looking at his shoes. Then, glancing up at her, said, “I’m afraid to ask Mama, and Annie wouldn’t tell me the truth.”

  “Will, I’m not sure I should—”

  “It’s an easy question. You nee
d only answer yes or no.” He leaned closer to her. “Will I be sent to burn in hell when I die because I’m glad Papa is dead?”

  A sudden flood of something—dread? surprise?—threatened Alexandra’s breathing. And she was just as quickly distracted by the soft voice of Jane Orkwright.

  “Will, I hope you’re not annoying Dr. Gladstone.” She walked toward them, bringing with her the scent and lightness of lavender.

  “No, Mama, I’m not.” Will scooted out of his chair, his pale face colored slightly with what Alexandra took to be a combination of embarrassment and guilt. He obviously did not want his mother to know about his confession, and Alexandra felt an almost ecclesiastical need not to divulge it. At the same time, she felt a burgeoning desire to explore what was behind the boy’s remark by discussing it with his mother.

  Jane held her arms out to her son and bent to embrace him and receive his kiss. “Let me have a little private chat with Dr. Gladstone, Willy, and afterwards we’ll have a game of draughts.”

  “Not draughts, Mama. Hide-and-seek.”

  “Very well.” She gave him a gentle, playful swat. “Run along now.”

  He scurried out of the room, running directly into the taciturn housekeeper, who swept him up in her arms and carried him away.

  As soon as he was out of sight, Jane sat down and spoke to Alexandra, a grave expression stealing the light from her eyes that Will had inspired. “Why wasn’t I told about Mary Prodder?”

  The remark caught Alexandra off guard. “I suppose I didn’t mention it because I thought you had quite enough on your platter.”

  “I counted Mary among my dearest friends. I should have been told.” Her voice was uncharacteristically angry, and there were tears in her eyes. Alexandra wasn’t sure how to respond. Jane turned her face away, then and whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’m not quite myself.”

  “Of course. Mary is in a great deal of pain, which is to be expected, but she is more concerned for you since the loss of your husband than for herself.”

  “So like Mary.” Jane dried her eyes with a delicate lace handkerchief that materialized from somewhere in her sleeve. “I want to see her as soon as possible.”

  “She will welcome your visit,” Alexandra said, thinking how Mary must need a reprieve from her daughter-in-law’s constant complaints.

  Jane looked away again. When she spoke, her expression was grave. “You have news regarding the autopsy.”

  “Only that it revealed nothing. Your husband was apparently in a normal state of health.”

  Jane frowned, puzzled. “Nothing?”

  “We come to the conclusion of drowning only by eliminating every other possible cause,” Alexandra said.

  “But how…?”

  “How did he drown? I can’t answer that, except to say that, given the circumstances, it appears he might have drowned at sea. Perhaps he was drunk, just as Constable Snow suspected.”

  Alexandra watched Jane’s face for some reaction, waiting for her to give her theory of what happened, but Jane didn’t speak. She stared straight ahead while tears glistened in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry.” Alexandra spoke in a hushed tone.

  Jane looked at her as if she had momentarily forgotten she was there. “I sometimes think I would like to move away. To London perhaps. Where there are no memories.”

  “I know it must be difficult for you,” Alexandra said.

  The brilliant blue of Jane’s eyes had darkened somewhat with her unshed tears, but there was an intensity in her gaze that startled Alexandra. “You are still suspicious that my husband’s death was the result of foul play?”

  “There are so many unusual circumstances.”

  “Yes.” The answer was quiet, almost disconnected.

  Alexandra was silent a moment, trying to frame the questions she had come to ask. “I must ask you some questions,” she said finally. There was another pause. “Was the…the garment the admiral was wearing when his body was discovered, was it—recognizable to you?”

  Jane stared at her blankly for a moment before she spoke. “I don’t know. I haven’t been allowed to see my husband’s body.”

  Alexandra tried to choke back her embarrassment. “What I’m really trying to ask is if the garment belonged to you?”

  The blank look returned to Jane’s face. “I…I’m not sure.” Her voice trembled, and she seemed to force herself to look at Alexandra.

  “Do you know of any reason why he might have been in the woods?”

  “The woods?”

  “Around trees perhaps. Or perhaps, if he was wearing your garment, you had been there. Under particular circumstances.” Alexandra knew she was handling the interview badly, but it was impossible for her to inquire about Jane having a romp in the woods, either with her husband or some other.

  “I don’t understand.” A perplexed frown creased Jane’s forehead.

  “Why would there be pitch or tree sap on the garment?” Alexandra forced herself to keep her voice steady, but she was perspiring, and something was pulling at her heart, making it leap and stutter.

  There was that disconnected look from Jane again, and the tension was so high the room around them seemed to be holding its breath.

  Jane tried to speak. “I…I don’t…” She was silent again for a moment, then she stood and went to the window, staring out at the sea. When she turned around, she had regained her composure somewhat. “What does this mean? What does it mean to have pitch on one’s clothes?”

  Alexandra suddenly felt utterly weary. “I don’t know,” she said. “I hoped you would have some insight.”

  “I am not capable of having insight now,” Jane said, sounding equally weary. “Besides the death of my husband, my son…”

  “Your son?” Alexandra waited breathlessly, silently willing her to go on, to give her some clue as to why young Will would be happy that his father was dead. But it was not Will who was troubling Jane now.

  “I have gotten word that my son has…” She stopped, took a breath, and continued. “Has escaped from Newgate. I am very much afraid he will come here.”

  “You fear for his life?”

  “He…he could be blamed, you know. For my husband’s death. They did not get on well together. But you must understand, John is not capable of killing anyone.”

  Alexandra said nothing, waiting for her to say more. Pain and grief were evident on Jane’s face as she continued. “Alexandra, I must tell you something. I… You must not…” She tried to take a step toward Alexandra, but she swayed unsteadily before she collapsed to the floor.

  Chapter Seven

  “What have you done to her?” The housekeeper’s cry shattered the fragile veneer of her self-imposed reserve and all her anger tumbled out in those few words. She hurried to her mistress’ side, literally pushing Alexandra away.

  Will, who had been with her, rushed toward his mother. “Mama?” he said in a small voice. His face had gone white with fear. He tried to reach for her, but the housekeeper kept him away, holding him gently yet firmly in her arms.

  “Fetch my bag, please.” Alexandra spoke in a firm voice, ignoring the housekeeper’s insinuation that what had happened was her fault. “You took it with my cloak. I need it immediately!”

  The housekeeper’s eyes flashed with anger. She turned away without a word, Will clinging tightly to her hand.

  Alexandra picked up Jane’s limp arm and checked her pulse. Her hand, she noticed, was clammy and cold. The pulse was weak and erratic, but she was breathing regularly. When the housekeeper unceremoniously dropped the bag on the floor next to Alexandra, she opened it and pulled out the spirits of ammonia bottle, which she opened and passed under Jane’s nose several times. She also sprinkled a few drops on her neck and at her temples.

  Jane moaned slightly, and the housekeeper, still holding Will’s hand, hurried away. She reappeared shortly, however, and wordlessly handed Alexandra a cool, damp cloth. Alexandra took it and bathed Jane’s face until her eye
s fluttered and then opened, wide and disoriented.

  “Mama!” Will cried again and tried to pull free of the housekeeper’s hand. Jane, in turn, tried to sit up and reach for her son.

  “Shhh,” the housekeeper said, holding on to Will.

  “Help me get her to bed,” Alexandra said.

  The housekeeper let go of Will’s hand with a whispered admonition to be quiet, then turned aside to help her mistress. Alexandra was prepared to work with her to get Jane to her bedroom, but the strapping housekeeper picked Jane up like a child and carried her to the bed. Alexandra gave her instructions to help Jane on with a nightgown.

  “I’ll go to the parlor for my medical bag,” Alexandra said, thinking it prudent to give Jane her privacy as she undressed. “Call me as soon as she’s in bed, and I’ll give you both further instructions.” She left the room, knowing that it would not be wise to question Jane further at the moment, a fact which she regretted. It would have been helpful to know more about the bad blood between the admiral and his stepson as well as his relationship with Will.

  For now, though, she had Jane’s welfare to concern her. She was going over in her mind the medicine she would prepare when she quite literally stumbled into little Will huddled at the top of the stairs. His wide, frightened eyes stared up at her.

  “Will! Forgive me. I’m afraid I wasn’t watching my step.” She placed a protective hand on his arm.

  “Is she all right?” His voice trembled.

  Alexandra knelt down to him. “Yes, she’s quite all right. She just needs to rest. It’s understandable that she’d be a bit overwrought as a result of…of what happened.”

  “To Papa you mean?”

  “Yes,” Alexandra said, unsure about how much she should encourage him to talk about it again.

  Something came up behind the boy’s eyes, something that made him appear far older and more knowing than he should have been, but the fear and hurt were still there as well. “He was mean to Annie. That’s why I said I’m glad he’s dead.” His eyes welled with tears, and he gave them a fierce wipe with the back of each hand. “But I didn’t mean it. I swear, I didn’t mean it.”