An Improper Death (Dr. Alexandra Gladstone Mysteries Book 2) (5 page)

Snow had been sitting with his head tilted back slightly so that he seemed to be pointing at Nicholas with the sharp tip of his chin. He dropped his chin and spoke.
“Of course. John Killborn. I know of him.”

“So I assumed.” Nicholas shifted his cane from his left to his right hand, still with his hat under his arm. “I regret to say he has escaped
Newgate, and I thought to inquire if you had news of his being in this area.”

“I’m afraid not.” Snow’s face was expressionless as he spoke.

“It was Killborn’s mother, Mrs. Orkwright, who hired me. You know his family, I assume.”

Snow hesitated only slightly before he answered.
“Of course.”

“I shall speak to the mother, certainly, but I wanted to advise you of the details first.”

Snow’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Mrs. Orkwright is not well, I’m afraid.”

Nicholas’ eyebrows rose in surprise. “Indeed! She seemed in fine health when she met with me last month.”

“A month can take a toll,” Snow said. “I think it best that I speak with her and determine what she knows of the incident and then relay the information to you. An escape from prison is, after all, law enforcement’s responsibility.”

Nicholas was momentarily stunned. Of course it was law enforcement’s responsibility, but Snow was making an effort to keep him away from the woman who had hired him on behalf of the client. Most unusual, he mused.
Most puzzling. His shock had caused him to delay too long. In the next moment, Snow was dismissing him.

“I appreciate the courtesy, Mr. Forsythe. I shall contact you in London as soon as possible.”

Nicholas was even more puzzled. He had to think quickly of a way to stall. “Perhaps Killborn has associates here to whom I could speak, other than his ailing mother, I mean. I was thinking of—”

“None that I know of,” Snow said, interrupting him.

“I was thinking of some of the local criminals, perhaps. Someone you may have imprisoned here.” Nicholas was grasping for ideas, anything that could keep him in Snow’s presence. He wanted to find out what Snow was trying to keep him from knowing.

Snow rose from his seat and took a ring of keys attached to a long metal rod from a hook on the wall and walked toward a door. “This way, please.”

He unlocked the door, and Nicholas, a bit stunned by the constable’s abruptness, followed him down a hall to a single room where a small opening with bars gave the prisoners a view of the hall. Compared to the gaols in the London area with which Nicholas was familiar, this one was small, less than half a dozen occupied the room. Two of the men stood at the windows, and one of them whooped when he saw Nicholas.

“We got us a dandy
comin’ this way, boys,” he said. That brought all of the prisoners crowding around the opening.

“You come to play, pretty boy?” the one who had called out said. “Or
does we have to satisfy ourselves while we just looks at ye?” The lewd comment brought a chorus of laughter and more raucous shouting. Nicholas had expected no more than a few drunks to be incarcerated in a town as small as Newton-Upon-Sea. Perhaps it was the busy piers that brought a more hardened element here. Nevertheless, he felt the cold grasp of fear at his throat, but he didn’t slow his pace, and when Snow unlocked the door, he was the first to enter.

“Quiet!” Snow’s snarling command was only half heeded. There was still laughter and lewd gesturing. When Snow stepped in front of him, Nicholas saw that his usually pallid face was flushed with anger. “John
Killborn!” he shouted. “Do any of you know John Killborn? If you do, step to the front!” The room grew unnaturally and unnervingly quiet. Snow shouted the name again, and once again there was no response.

He took a step toward the prisoners, and then another step, and another, until he was in their midst. He studied the face of each and occasionally even reached a hand to tilt a man’s head back so he could have a better look at his face. Finally he walked away from the group and turned back toward them with his arms akimbo, his face hardened with what seemed to Nicholas, dangerous anger.

“Who knows John Killborn?”

There was still the long, highly charged silence.

Snow waited, then suddenly struck the wall with the metal rod to which the keys were attached. “Who knows John Killborn?” he shouted.

Some of the men were startled by the noise made by the rod, and there was some uneasy movement and muttering for a few seconds, but there was no answer. Snow waited another long moment before he turned and walked toward the door, his demeanor unnaturally calm. He turned to face the prisoners before he unlocked the door.

“Rations will be restricted to water and a piece of bread for each prisoner per day. Perhaps next time you’ll show more respect to a visitor.” With that, he opened the door, gestured for Nicholas to leave first, then closed and locked the door behind him. He didn’t speak until they had reached his office. “As you can see, I’m afraid you cannot expect any cooperation,” he said as he replaced the keys and rod on the hook. He went to his desk and resumed reading the papers that lay there.

Nicholas could only stare at him, astonished for a few seconds before he turned away and left the building. He made his way across the street to the Blue Ram and found an empty slot at the bar where he ordered a glass of lager, wondering what to make of his conversation with Snow. He remembered him as a cold bastard from his last meeting several months ago. He seemed even more so now, along with being odd and uncooperative.

“Ye looks a bit grim and out of sorts, ye does. I hopes this’ll help.” The barmaid, a woman in her forties, set the glass in front of him and grinned at him, revealing several missing teeth.

“Thank you,” he said.

She squinted, scrutinizing him. “I seen ye before, ain’t I?”

“Not likely. I reside in London.”

“’Course ye does. A gentleman like you? Ye wouldn’t be comin’ from…” She stopped speaking and her eyes widened. “I seen ye before, I has. Ye was the barrister what helped that poor child accused o’ murdin’ Lord Dunsford. Right here in this tavern where the Queen’s court was held for the assizes!”

The woman was right. Although he had not been allowed to defend the accused girl when she was tried, he used as much of his legal skills as possible to help her. The trial was held at the biannual session of the assizes when judges from the Queen’s Bench in London traveled to towns such as Newton-Upon-Sea to hear cases. In Newton, as well as many other towns, court was held in a local tavern. He now recognized the woman as Sally Wheatstone, the wife of the tavern owner.

“Yes, of course,” Nicholas said and gave her a pleasant smile.

She leaned closer to him and spoke in a coarse whisper. “Are ye here this time on that
Orkwright business?”

Nicholas was startled. How could this woman know of Mrs.
Orkwright’s hiring him? “I beg your pardon?”

“Ye
knows of what I speak, does ye not? The admiral. Dead. And under disgraceful circumstances, as they says. Drownded, they says.” She leaned close once again and whispered. “Some says ’e was murdered. If ye ask me, I say ’twas that stepson o’ his what done it. The boy never liked the old admiral, don’t ye know.”

“Indeed?” Nicholas did his best to appear merely curious. “I understood the boy is in
Newgate. Couldn’t possibly do the deed from there, could he?”

“
Newgate?” Sally laughed. “’Tain’t likely. Seen ’im meself the day before the admiral died.”

Nicholas’s heart was pounding, but still he tried to appear disinterested. “Here in the tavern, I suppose.”

Sally gave him an incredulous look. “In the tavern? Why, no. Never showed up once, and now I knows why. Been in Newgate, ye say? Can’t say I’m surprised. I suppose ’e was shamed to show ’is face now.” She sighed and shook her head. “His poor mother, ain’t she had enough? No, ’e wasn’t in the tavern. ’E was down by the sea when I seen ’im, and now that I thinks of it, ’e was actin’ like ’e didn’t want nobody to see ’im.”

Chapter Four

Alexandra had to hurry home to see patients during her regular surgery hours, and by the time the last one left, it was too late to contact Constable Snow about the autopsy. She was up early the next morning, however, and was waiting in front of his office before he arrived.

Snow removed his hat when he saw her and gave her a formal nod. “Good morning, Dr. Gladstone, I hope this early visit doesn’t mean you’ve some trouble to report.” In spite of his cordial words, his greeting lacked warmth.

“Not at all.” She entered the door he held open for her. “I’ve come to you on behalf of Jane Orkwright.”

Snow, who by this time had also entered the office and stepped to his desk, spun around suddenly to face her. His lips, drawn tight across his teeth, seemed to have lost all their color. He spoke one word. “Regarding…”

“She has given me permission to perform a postmortem examination of her husband. If you will be so kind as to help me arrange it, I shall see to it immediately.” Alexandra had to struggle to keep her voice even. Snow’s icy expression was more than a little intimidating to her. His eyes, though, were smoldering liquid.

“I’m afraid that will be impossible,” he said.

“I beg your pardon.”

“The body is already being prepared.”

Alexandra would not let her gaze falter as she looked at him. “Preparation for burial does not preclude an autopsy.”

Snow fired his retort back at her quickly. “There is no need for a postmortem examination. I have already told you that.”

“But Mrs. Orkwright—”

“Dr. Gladstone!” The harsh sound of Snow’s voice left Alexandra momentarily unable to continue. “Mrs.
Orkwright is mourning her husband. She is in no condition to make decisions. Furthermore I find it shocking that you would stoop to persuade her to consent to the defilement of her husband’s body merely to satisfy your own morbid curiosity.”

Alexandra found, to her surprise, that she was trembling. “I can assure you I did nothing untoward.”

“See that you don’t in the future,” Snow said. He picked up a pen and began scribbling on a document, ignoring Alexandra completely. She left as quickly as possible.

Once she was on the street, she hurried as fast as her cumbersome skirts would allow, all the way to the home of Percy Gibbs, the undertaker, with Zack trotting along beside her. Since it was
only a few blocks away, walking would be faster, she reasoned, than taking the time and effort to hoist herself up into her sidesaddle without the benefit of a groom, and she was now more determined than ever to have another look at the body. If the constable was hiding something, she was determined to know what it was.

Her heart was pounding more from agitation than exertion by the time she reached the undertaker’s home. Zack lay down near the front door, as he had been trained to do. She pulled a handle and heard a bell ring inside, announcing her arrival. She waited for what seemed an eternity before Mrs. Gibbs, the undertaker’s wife, finally opened the door. When Alexandra asked to see Mr. Gibbs, the woman led her to a parlor and told her to wait.

The house was as gloomy as death itself. An old fashioned painted cloth depicting the resurrection of Lazarus surrounded by a host of angels covered one entire wall. It was a style of decoration still popular with some and less costly than tapestry. Beneath the enormous cloth, several chairs in dark maroon and green velvet lined the wall. Alexandra tried to sit in one of the chairs and tried not to look at the hideous wall hanging. She was not successful at either for very long. She was pacing restlessly when Percy Gibbs appeared from an adjoining room. He was wearing a stained apron, which he quickly removed when he saw Alexandra.

“Good morning, Dr. Gladstone.” He spoke in the hushed, grave tone peculiar to his profession.

“Mr. Gibbs, I’ve come about Admiral Orkwright.” Alexandra regretted the way her words came out rushed and agitated. Her demeanor had no apparent effect on Mr. Gibbs, however.

“I see,” he said in his dark, solemn voice, his hands folded piously across his sizable belly.

“Mrs. Orkwright, his widow, has given me permission to perform a postmortem examination.” Alexandra had managed to affect a measure of calm to her words.

“I see.” Gibbs changed neither his expression nor his stance.

“I should like to begin right away.”

Gibbs half closed his eyes making him look oddly half-dead. “She that is hasty of spirit
exalteth folly. I shall have to see the customary documents.”

Alexandra felt as if her heart had sunk to her stomach. Of course there were documents to be dealt with. She should have remembered, except that autopsies were rarely a necessity in Newton-Upon-Sea, so rare, in fact, she had momentarily forgotten that she would need signatures from both Jane and Constable Snow. Jane, of course, would provide her signature, and wouldn’t Snow surely be compelled to do the same after he was assured of Jane’s agreement.

“Very well,” she said with a strong measure of impatience. “I shall have them for you by tomorrow afternoon.”

“I’m afraid that will be too late. The funeral and burial will take place two days hence. That is the widow’s request. ‘A prudent wife is from the Lord.’”

“But, as I told you, she has given me verbal—”

“The documents are a requirement of the government. ‘Render unto Caesar’ as they say.” He shook his head. “There is nothing I can do without the documents, I’m afraid. Now if you will excuse me, I must get back to work for ‘the night cometh when no man can work.’” Gibbs gave her a stilted smile and turned back to the door, leaving Alexandra alone with Lazarus and the angels, while frustration almost suffocated her.

She turned toward the door. There was but one thing to do, and that was to have the formal document signed by both Jane and the constable immediately. It took some time to retrieve Lucy, get herself mounted in the sidesaddle, ride to her residence, and secure Nancy’s help to find a copy of the necessary document, then ride to Gull House.

When she reached the house, she hurried up the long walk and knocked at the door. After a considerable wait, there was no answer. She rapped repeatedly. Still there was no response. Behind her Zack paced nervously, growling low in his throat as if he were urging her to leave.

Alexandra ignored him and knocked again, louder, and called out Jane Orkwright’s name. She tried again and again, each time with no response until, finally, she sighed and turned to Zack. “All right,” she said, rubbing his head. “You’re right, there’s no need to stay.”

When she arrived home, Artie and Rob were both in the stable yard.

“Dr. Gladstone!” Artie said in his childish nine-year-old voice. “Ye’s home from yer rounds, I see.”

“No, I’m afraid I haven’t even started them yet,” Alexandra said, allowing them to help her dismount. “I had some other business to attend to. I shall have to do my rounds tonight after I close the surgery.”

“’Tis dangerous, ye bein’ out at night,” Rob said.

“I shall be perfectly safe. Zack will be with me.”

“Small comfort that is,” said Rob, who, at sixteen was too worldly wise for his age. “There’s plenty goes on a lady such as yerself never dreams of. Ye can take me word for that. Things yer better off not knowin’.”

“He’s right,” young Artie said. “Ye best be home before dark.”

Alexandra took their scolding with a smile and a promise that she would do her best not to be out too late, then she started for the house, preparing to face Nancy.

“Have you any idea how late it is?” Nancy’s face was grim and she all but snatched Alexandra’s cloak from her.

“Close to noon, I’d say.”

“Close to noon indeed.” She hung the cloak on a hook and gave it an angry swat. “
’Tis past one and time to open the surgery and you’ve yet to do your rounds. It couldn’t have taken this long to get those papers signed and in order.”

“I got nothing signed. No one was home at Gull House.”

“So you’ve wasted all that time, and you’ve had nothing to eat all day.”

She waved a hand at Nancy as if to brush away her concerns as she made her way to the surgery. “It doesn’t matter, I can eat later.”

“’Tis not clear to me why an autopsy is necessary anyway,” Nancy grumbled as she followed Alexandra to the surgery. “You told me yourself that ’tis impossible to confirm drowning that way.”

“That’s true,” Alexandra said, “but if I can eliminate anything such as poisoning or a blow to the head or some other mortal wound, then drowning will be assumed to be the cause of death by the process of elimination.”

“Who could have poisoned him or given him a mortal wound?”

“Anyone could have done it, Nancy.”

“Anyone?”

Alexandra nodded.
“Yes, but how could anyone have gotten him in the sea in a storm without drowning themselves, since there was sure to be a struggle.”

Nancy frowned, contemplating it. “Unless he was poisoned or mortally wounded first.”

“Precisely.”

“But the only way to prove or disprove that is by postmortem examination, but that’s not possible,” Nancy said.

Alexandra was silent for a few seconds before she said, “Perhaps it is possible.”

Nancy gave her a stern look. “You’re not going back to Gull House now and leave the surgery full!”

“No, I’ll take care of my patients first. Besides, there’s no one home at Gull House, so I can’t get Jane’s signature yet, and neither the constable nor Percy will cooperate until I do.”

“I suppose you have a solution,” Nancy said.

“There is no solution except to do it without permission, since the funeral is tomorrow.”

Nancy gasped and was unable to speak for a moment. “Oh lord,” she said finally, “we’re going to be body snatchers.”

It was late before Alexandra finished seeing patients in the surgery and made her rounds to visit homebound patients. She had not come up with a plan to gain access to the admiral’s body, with or without permission, and had decided the best approach was to confront the undertaker again.

Both she and Nancy bundled themselves in heavy cloaks with gloves and scarves to brave the cold February night, and Alexandra gathered the instruments she would need. Since she didn’t own a carriage, and since Lucy was too small to carry two riders, they decided to walk.

“We must leave Zack at home this time as well,” Alexandra said. “He’s sure to be in the way if we’re allowed access.”

“What if Mr. Gibbs still won’t allow you access? Will we become body snatchers after all?” Nancy, in spite of her eagerness to be in on the adventure, appeared uneasy.

Alexandra was not certain why she could not answer that question.

It was no easy task leaving the house without Zack. His protests were loud and dramatic. Alexandra could hear him even after she’d closed the heavy front door.

The dark cloister of Newton-Upon-Sea at night closed around them, and their hollow footsteps on the deserted streets echoed off the stillness. When they reached the Gibbs’ home there was no lamp light shining through the
windows. The house was dark as death, and no one responded to the bell they rang. Nancy even tried pushing the door open, but found it locked.

With her hand still on the door knob, she turned to Alexandra.
“’Tis no use. No one is here.”

“Perhaps we should try a window,” Alexandra whispered.

“Good lord, Miss! Are you suggesting we break into the house?

“No, no, of course not,” Alexandra said. But she knew there was no conviction in her statement. Examining the body again had become an obsession. If the answer to how the admiral died was available, she had to find it.

She left the front of the house and walked toward the back. Nancy followed her, demanding to know where she was going and why, but Alexandra didn’t answer. The only window she found was at the back of the building, and it, like the back door, was locked.

She sighed. “Nancy, I must be daft. How could I even think of—?” She stopped speaking when she heard a noise coming from the alley behind them. There was a shuffling and then a low murmur. The words were not quite audible, and the voice not quite human.

Nancy took in her breath and backed away while Alexandra’s hand went to her mouth as if to stifle a scream. They grabbed each other, and Alexandra managed to warn Nancy with a soft, “Shhh.”

They waited, clinging to each other and shivering in the darkness, both from fear and from the incipient damp cold. They waited for what seemed an eternity of silence so heavy they could feel it on their skin. Then the murmur again, this time more human, but no less terrifying, and it was followed by an inhuman modulated groan. But the last was a welcome sound, and they each let go of their hold on the other and leaned toward the sound, both of them calling out at once, “Zack?”

He bounded out of the shadows, and pounced, placing his forepaws on Alexandra’s shoulders. She would have fallen had Nancy not caught her. “Zack!” she said again, “what are you doing here?” She was barely able to speak the words for trying to dodge the dog’s tongue, licking her face with uncontained exuberance. “He was locked in the house, Nancy, how did he—?”