An Improper Death (Dr. Alexandra Gladstone Mysteries Book 2) (12 page)

Alexandra shook her head. “It’s becoming even more tangled.”

Nancy stood and began clearing the table. “All right, so maybe ’tis only gossip, but remember you said yourself it often holds a key to the truth.”

Alexandra stood as well, knowing it was time to open the surgery. Patients would be arriving soon. “But where is that key, Nancy? What are we overlooking?”

The technological revolution that was spreading across the United States and seeping into Britain was a curiosity to Nicholas. Anyone with even a modicum of intellect, he assumed, would be curious and excited about the idea of having a conversation with another person twenty miles or more away. A device was held to the ear and another device to the mouth. It was necessary for both parties to have such an instrument, and it was all done with magnetism and electrical currents and some rather curious vibrations and waves of sound. An American named Bell had, three years ago, patented the instrument. Although Nicholas had seen the device only a few times, there was some talk that they would soon be commonplace in London.

Another American, Thomas something-or-other, had, only last year, produced an electrical lamp that needed no oil, yet burned for hours.

Nicholas would have dismissed both the speaking device and the lamp as unlikely to become commonplace had it not been for the fact that modern telegraphy, perfected by another American by the name of Morse, had spread so quickly to England from America.

Such amazing technological advances were a worry to Nicholas as well as a curiosity. A worry because it was happening so fast, and he did not completely understand how electricity carried sound, or even codes of dots and dashes nor how or why filament and electricity worked together to produce constant light. He worried that the modern world was leaving him behind, and that a man such as he, with no strong technical bent and who preferred reading the law and the classics, would soon be archaic.

In spite of that fear, he had to live in the current world, so he made occasional use of the bewildering telegraph, and, he supposed, in time, he would use lamps and conversational devices he did not understand.

There was a small telegraph office in Newton-Upon-Sea, and it was there that Nicholas went early in the morning to send one of the coded messages called telegrams to his colleague, Lesley Coldwell, in London. The cost of the procedure did not allow one the luxury of refined literacy. Instead, the language had to be curt and primitive.

              Find available information on J.Killborn and family Stop Need immediately Stop

Killborn’s actions, along with the mysterious death of his stepfather and the gossip of the townspeople, had aroused Nicholas’ curiosity. Perhaps there was some connection to young Killborn’s escape and his stepfather’s death.

Lesley, a fellow barrister with whom he’d worked on a number of particularly knotty cases, would be delighted to receive the electrically-transmitted message. He was something of an aficionado of all things scientific and a dedicated reader of the French author Jules Verne. In fact, Lesley himself was forever scribbling stories about an imagined future in which science and technology had completely changed the world and its people in rather odd ways. He would try the stories out on Nicholas from time to time when Nicholas couldn’t avoid it. For that, Nicholas calculated that Lesley owed him a favor. He could do his research for him.

Nicholas had returned to his rented room after sending the message on its miraculous journey, prepared to wait several days for a reply. He realized that the search for the information he needed was something that, by rights, he should have done himself when he accepted the case. It was always important to learn as much as possible about one’s clients, and a good place to start was certain public records. Lesley would know the procedure. He would know exactly the records to search.

That Nicholas himself had not done the search was owed to the fact that he had not been retained as
Killborn’s barrister until late in the game. As he remembered, that was one of the pitfalls Lesley and his other colleagues had warned him about. It had made them wonder why he’d been so eager to accept the case.

After he sent the message and returned to his room above the Blue Ram, he’d spent virtually all of his time working at a makeshift desk. In spite of the fact that his official reason for being in Newton-Upon-Sea had gone by the wayside, there was still work to do—an endless number of documents to prepare for the trial, should
Killborn be recaptured, as well as research for his defense. Waiting for the answer to his telegram gave him a perfect excuse for staying in town rather than returning to London.

He had in mind to invite Alexandra to dine with him tonight, but he would have to wait until her surgery hours were over before he asked. Eventually, he abandoned his work and turned to fretting about the fact that the tavern was the only place in town to dine, and it was not the sort of place to which one took a lady. He could, of course, have the meal sent up to his room, but it was out of the question to ask her to join him there. Could he take her to the neighboring town of
Bradfordshire? Probably not, since it would make their return to Newton far too late to be respectable.

He was still fretting when he heard a knock at his door. Expecting it to be Morton, who was housed in the room next door, coming to inquire about his needs, he called out for him to enter while still seated at his desk. He was surprised to have the door opened by a young man he didn’t recognize. The young man was holding something in his hand. When he spoke, his voice had the squeak of an adolescent.

“Telegram for Mr. Nicholas Forsythe, Esquire.”

“I am he,” Nicholas said, standing and taking the paper from the boy’s hand. He was surprised by the quick response from Lesley and once again in awe of the marvels of the modern age in which messages could travel so quickly. He paid the boy and opened the paper, knowing that, since the reply had come so soon, Lesley would likely be telling him he could not spare the time to do his research for him.

He was wrong. Lesley’s reply read:

Mother married seven years ago to George E. Orkwright Stop Petitioned Divorce Court for divorce last year Stop Petition withdrawn Stop

The message left Nicholas with troubling questions. It was a drastic, even scandalous step for a woman of Mrs. Orkwright’s class to petition for divorce. Why would she risk the scandal? What would cause a woman, who seemed to love her husband as Mrs. Orkwright did, to think of divorcing him?

Chapter Eleven

Alexandra could hear Hannibal Talbot screaming well before she reached his front door. His wife, Mildryd, was crying and shivering with cold as she, along with Alexandra, Nancy, and Zack hurried toward the house. She had come to fetch Alexandra in the dark of the winter night wearing only a shawl over her nightgown, and now a fierce and biting wind had swept in from the north, spitting sleet.

“Oh Lord, he’s dying, he is!”
Mildryd stumbled as she cried out, and Nancy had to grab her arm to keep her from falling.

“Now, now, my dear.
Wait until Dr. Gladstone has a look before you pronounce him dead.” Nancy spoke in a soothing tone, but it did little to stop Mildryd’s tears. Alexandra had brought Nancy along knowing she would need her services. Zack was with them because he saw it as his duty to accompany them when either of the two women went out in the dark of night.

Alexandra opened the unlocked door to the Talbot cottage and allowed Zack to enter ahead of her. Although he had been trained to wait outside when Alexandra entered a patient’s home, she would not consider leaving him out in the raw, snarling wind of this night.

“Is it you, woman?” Hannibal called. “Took yer leisure gettin’ here, damn you! Did ye bring the doc…?” His voice trailed off into an agonizing groan. As Alexandra entered the room she saw that his face was pale and damp with sweat. As she watched, his eyes rolled back so that only the whites shown. He seemed about to lose consciousness, which, Alexandra observed, might be of some advantage.

That was not to be, however. Hannibal focused his eyes, and when he saw her, let out a long string of profanities. It was impossible to tell whether they were directed at her or at the pain he was experiencing.

“I drunk the damned water until I near drowned, and I drunk all the bloody tonics you sent. Now I’m worse. Yer damned medicine is going to kill me.” His voice was weak, and his lips bloodless.

Alexandra turned to his wife. “Is it true? He’s had plenty of water and the infusion of carrot and hare moss?”

Mildryd, who by now was as pale as her husband, nodded. “Made him piss at first, it did, but now he cannot piss more than a drop.”

Alexandra nodded and placed her hand on Hannibal’s forehead, checking for fever. His head was cold and damp to the touch. At that same moment, he screamed again and clutched his crotch.

“’Tis me pecker! It hurts like the fires of hell! Aaaarg!”

Each time he groaned or cried out, Zack growled low in this throat.

Alexandra turned to Mildryd. “Clear your table please. Take everything off.” Mildryd seemed glad to have something to do, and she set about removing various bowls and platters from the table surface. As soon as she was finished, Nancy spread a large rubber sheet across the table, covering it entirely. Then she and Alexandra moved in practiced unison toward Hannibal, each taking an arm.

“There you go, Mr. T.” Nancy spoke in a cheerful voice. “Let us give you a hand to the table.”

Hannibal seemed confused. “The table?”

“I must operate, sir,” Alexandra said.

“Operate? You? On my private parts?” He seemed about to protest, but he was wracked with pain again and crumbled under the grasps of the two women, almost falling to the floor. They led him, with some difficulty, toward the table. As soon as he was seated on the edge, Nancy pulled a wire apparatus shaped like half a birdcage from the large valise she had brought with her. Several layers of cloth had been packed into the curve of the wire. She quickly doused them with ether and clamped the device over his nose and mouth. Although the use of chloroform had become quite popular with surgeons, especially after the queen had used it for the birth of her last child, Alexandra preferred ether, which she considered less damaging to the body.

“
Lie back, Mr. T.” Nancy gave him a firm push as she spoke. As soon as he was on his back, she dripped more of the strong smelling liquid into the mask. “Rest now,” she crooned. “This will be over soon.”

As she washed her hands, Alexandra spoke over her shoulder to a frightened
Mildryd. “Perhaps you would like to wait in the other room.” Mildryd nodded, but she seemed unable to move. “It’s good that you saw to it that your husband drank the water and the tonic. It has helped flush the inflammation from his body. But if the flow of urine has stopped, inflammation will surely worsen.”

Mildryd
looked at her uncomprehending. Alexandra glanced at Zack. “Out!” she said, her voice soft. Still looking at Zack, she nodded toward Mildryd. Zack went to the frightened woman immediately and nudged her with his nose, pushing her toward the door. She didn’t resist, and when she and Zack were finally clear of the door, Nancy closed it and returned to her duty with the mask.

“Is the inflammation still present?” she said, dripping a bit more ether into the apparatus.

“I can’t be sure, of course, but we have no choice except to operate,” Alexandra said. She finished washing her hands and lifted Hannibal Talbot’s night shirt, pushing it above his waist. When she had scrubbed the perineum with carbolic acid, she used a scalpel to make a perpendicular incision between the root of Hannibal’s penis and rectum. With her finger she dilated the urethra and the neck of the bladder until she was certain she could insert the forceps and remove the stone, which appeared to be quite large. Once it was out, she dropped it into a basin and repeated the procedure to remove two more smaller stones. Nancy, in the meantime, continued to hold the mask firmly to Hannibal’s face and to drip the liquid ether onto the cloth.

Alexandra’s stitches to close the wound went quickly. She used cat gut, which the body would absorb, for the deep area and a row of linen stitches, which would have to be removed, for the outside.

The operation was completed in less than an hour, and the kitchen as well as the rest of the house was infused with the odor of ether. With the help of Mildryd, Nancy and Alexandra managed to transport a still unconscious Hannibal to his bed. While they waited for him to awaken, Alexandra and Nancy returned the kitchen table to its former state and cleaned their instruments.

By the time they were
finished, Hannibal was awake and was vomiting with a violence. Mildryd was alarmed, but Alexandra assured her that vomiting was to be expected after the administration of the anesthesia. She and Nancy waited a little longer until she was certain the paregoric she gave him for pain and nausea had taken effect. Then, with instructions that Hannibal was to be kept quiet until Alexandra came to see him in the morning, they left for home.

Zack led the way through the darkness and the gnawing wind and sleet, and Alexandra, shivering in spite of her heavy cloak, vowed she would not go another winter without purchasing a carriage. For now, she was looking forward to a cup of warm milk and the comfort of her feather bed. Before they reached the front door, however, and even before Zack’s sharp bark, Alexandra knew that something was wrong.

She could make out three figures standing a few feet away from the house, one of them holding a lantern. Two of them were Rob and Artie. But who was the other person? And why were they standing out in the cold wind and sleet?

“Another patient with an emergency?”
Nancy asked.

“I don’t know,” Alexandra said, in spite of the strong feeling she had that this was not a patient. It was more than sixth sense that told her, however. She had, as was her custom, told Rob and Artie where she had gone, and they had been trained to fetch her if a patient came seeking her.

If she had not been convinced before, she was doubly convinced that the person standing with the boys was no patient when Zack barked again. This time Rob, Artie, and the stranger all three turned toward the sound. The lantern was quickly doused, and the three figures disappeared.

Nancy stopped and took Alexandra’s arm in a protective gesture, as if to hold her back. “And what was the meaning of that?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Odd wasn’t it?” Alexandra moved toward the house with caution. Zack, however, was less careful. He raced ahead, barking.

“They’re up to no good,” Nancy said, walking next to Alexandra. The wind whipped their skirts against their legs. “Didn’t I tell you there would be trouble if you hired those two? The likes of them can never give up their criminal ways.”

“If I remember correctly, my dear Nancy, it was you who hired them.” Alexandra had, by now, picked up her pace as much as possible in the wind. “I believe you said they were good boys at heart, and all they needed was a chance for a better life and they would prove to be model citizens.”

Nancy’s only reply to Alexandra’s irrefutable claim was an indignant sniff as she, too, quickened her steps.

By the time they reached the grounds, Zack was in front of the stable barking frantically. There was neither sound nor light coming from the apartment above the stable where the boys lived. Alexandra moved toward the outer stairs that led to the apartment, but Nancy once again caught her arm.

“It could be dangerous!” she whispered.

“Nonsense,” Alexandra said, although she felt a moment’s hesitancy. She advanced a few steps up the stairway, then called out, “Rob? Artie? Are you all right?”

There was no answer. She called out again, and this time, after a long pause Rob replied. “
We’s all right, Dr. Gladstone. Just sleeping is all.” His voice didn’t sound in the least sleepy.

“Who is up there with you?” Alexandra’s lips were so numb with cold she could hardly form the words.

There was another pause and a muffled sound of movement and then Rob’s voice again. “Nobody, Doc. Just me and Artie.”

Zack barked twice, loud and sharp, voicing his disagreement with Rob’s claim.

There was another sound of movement and an urgent, incomprehensible murmur from what seemed to be young Artie. Alexandra pulled her skirt up above her shoe tops and hurried up the steps. Behind her Nancy cried out in a frightened voice warning her not to go any further. Alexandra ignored her and tried to ignore the fear pounding in her chest. If the boys were in trouble, if someone was up there who could harm them, she had to stop whomever it was. By the time she reached the apartment at the top of the stairs, Nancy was beside her, pounding on the door along with her. Zack was behind them barking his opinion in loud monosyllables.

Finally, the door opened slightly, just wide enough for Rob to wedge his face in the space between the door and the jam.
“What is it? We was sleepin’, we was.”

“I only wanted to be certain you’re both all right.” Alexandra spoke in an unnaturally loud voice,
then she leaned close to Rob’s face and whispered, “I know there’s someone in there. I saw him with you in the lantern light.”

Rob gave no reply, and it was impossible to see clearly enough in the darkness to judge the expression on his face. Alexandra interpreted his hesitancy as fear. “I’ll send Nancy for the constable and I’ll stay here nearby. Just try to stay calm.”

“No need for the constable!” Rob took a quick, nervous glance over his shoulder. “Nothin’s wrong. ’Tis best ye go to the ’ouse, Miss. Get out of the cold, what?”

“Rob, I know there’s someone in there. Who is it?” Impatience mixed with fear in Alexandra’s voice.

Rob seemed about to protest again, but the sound of footsteps behind him distracted him as well as Alexandra.

“It’s the lady doctor, isn’t it?” The voice was that of a male, older than Artie, and Alexandra could make out the form of a young man standing behind Rob, his white shirt reflecting lamplight, giving him an eerie aura. “I want to talk to her.” He placed a hand on Rob’s shoulder and pulled him out of the way. “Dr. Gladstone?” he said, looking at her.

“Yes, I’m Dr. Gladstone, but who are—?”

He glanced at Nancy. “Who is she?”

“This is Nancy,” Alexandra said, uneasy.

“Go back to the house, Nancy. Dr. Gladstone will be all right. I promise you. And take the dog with you.”

Nancy didn’t move. “Do as he says,” Alexandra told her.

“But…”

“Go, Nancy. Please.”

Nancy turned around reluctantly and started down the stairs, the wind making her cloak billow behind her like a sail. Zack was equally reluctant, and Nancy had to pull hard on the scruff of his neck to get him to move. Alexandra was unable to tell whether or not she was successful as the young man took her arm and pulled her into the room, which was warmed by a wood stove designed for cooking.

“I’m John Killborn,” the young man said before she could ask again. “Mrs. Jane Orkwright is my mother, and you are her friend, I believe.”

“John!” This time it was Alexandra who gave an uneasy glance around. “What are you…?”

“I must talk to you,” he said again, more forcefully this time.

“Perhaps you would like to come into the house. I could have Nancy prepare a hot cup of tea.” Alexandra’s voice was unsteady. She knew she could be charged with harboring a fugitive if she wasn’t careful.

“No, we’ll talk here.” There was a harsh, commanding edge to his tone.

Alexandra neither moved nor spoke for a moment as she considered the situation. She took a step further into the apartment. In the opposite end of the room little Artie was trying to light another lamp.