An Improper Death (Dr. Alexandra Gladstone Mysteries Book 2) (7 page)

“Admiral? Did you say admiral? Not, by any chance Admiral George Orkwright?” He spoke through the fingers of his hand he still held over his nose and mouth.

Nancy clapped a hand over her masked mouth and slid a guilty glance toward Dr. Gladstone, who for the flicker of an instant appeared even more troubled.

“You were acquainted with the admiral?” Dr. Gladstone spoke with an amazing nonchalance, which made Nicholas admire her composure and self-control.

“No, only with his stepson, John
Killborn.”

“I see.” Dr. Gladstone had gone back to her work and was now slicing into the heart. It was then that he noticed the other organs on a nearby table. They appeared to be lungs, esophagus and trachea. Beside her on a tray were samples of each organ, which appeared to have been carefully labeled. In time, Dr. Gladstone placed a sample of the heart on the tray, and Nancy labeled it in her fine script. When Dr. Gladstone had aspirated fluid from the lungs and placed the vial containing the fluid on the tray, she looked at the lungs, carefully examining the external surface before she sliced them and finally took a sample for the tray.

By now Nicholas was completely absorbed with the work Dr. Gladstone was doing. He forgot his nausea until she lifted a stomach, pancreas, and intestines from the open cavity. It was then he had to turn away and eventually step outside to rid himself of the contents of his stomach and to gulp in lungfuls of cold, moist air. He stayed a long time, crouching on his haunches in the darkness until the muscles in his upper legs ached and he had to slouch into a sitting position with his back against the cold wooden slab of the building. He didn’t know how long he stayed that way and didn’t care. It was only when his face, his hands, his entire body grew numb from the cold, and he realized he was shivering violently that he stood. Making a fruitless attempt to brush the damp earth from the seat of his trousers, he reentered the building.

The admiral’s face was covered with an odd looking cloth and there now seemed to be organs everywhere on the table next to the body. Nancy was busy stuffing them back into the cavity. The expression in her eyes was as bland as it might have been had she been stuffing a Christmas goose.

Dr. Gladstone, in the meantime, was slicing off yet another sample from something. As he moved closer, he realized that what he thought was a cloth covering the admiral’s face was actually his scalp. It had been pulled down over the front of his face and part of the skull had been cut away. It was only then that Nicholas realized Dr. Gladstone was slicing at the admiral’s brain. He felt himself becoming sick again and hurried outside. He gulped the cold air again until he felt better, then walked into the dim light of the window to check his timepiece and noted that it was half past three. The doctor and her assistant were undoubtedly tired. He had seen it in the dull glint of their eyes, in the heavy movements of their limbs.

Nicholas stepped back inside, wanting to watch more of the procedure, but he knew that if he did he would surely embarrass himself. There was naught to do but slump into a chair, as far away from the table as possible. And wait.

He had no idea he had slept until something startled him awake. Nancy was standing over him. It had to have been her steady gaze that had awakened him. He sat up straighter and moved his head in quick, nervous jerks, trying to get his bearings. He noticed the corpse, now covered with a sheet and, he assumed, stuffed and sewn together. Presumably he was dressed as well, since he could see a bit of a boot showing at the bottom of the sheet.

Dr. Gladstone stood apart from the table with its sheet-covered mound. She was holding something, a piece of white linen it seemed, and she was studying it intently. In the meantime, he became vaguely aware that Nancy was speaking to him.

“I say, sir, are you all right?”

“Yes, of course.” He wished they would stop asking him that question so he could stop lying to them.

“It’s been a long night,” Dr. Gladstone said, walking toward him. She no longer held the white linen. It had been carefully folded and placed on a shelf. “I think it best we all go home.”

Nicholas, now wide awake, stood. “I’ll see you to your house.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Dr. Gladstone said, but there was an uneasiness in her eyes that belied her words.

“We’ll be quite all right,” Nancy said. She had already gathered all of the supplies and now she handed Dr. Gladstone her cloak.
“’Tis only a short distance.” With a protective arm around Dr. Gladstone’s shoulders, she urged her toward the door.

They were almost outside when Dr. Gladstone turned around to face him. “On second thought, perhaps it would be a good idea for you to come along. There’s something I must discuss with you.”

He didn’t miss the disapproving scowl Nancy gave her mistress.

He gave Dr. Gladstone his arm for the long walk through the darkness to her house. Nancy stayed close by on her other side the entire distance. Once they were in the house and coals were added to the fire and the enormous dog had completed his unnerving examination of Nicholas and settled himself by the hearth fire, Dr. Gladstone sent Nancy to the kitchen for tea. Nancy was more than a little reluctant to leave, and it was clear she was nervous about leaving the doctor alone with him. What was it she was afraid her mistress would reveal?

Dr. Gladstone spoke as soon as Nancy was out of sight. “Mr. Forsythe, there is something you must know about what I was doing tonight.” Her voice was breathless, and her tone urgent.

“Of course,” Nicholas said, trying not to appear too eager.

There was a long pause until, finally, Dr. Gladstone said, “You must not speak of what you saw tonight. Not to anyone.”

She had his full attention now. “Indeed?”

“Yes. Please promise me you won’t say anything.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment, but Nicholas watched Dr. Gladstone’s face carefully. There was more than weariness there now. She was clearly uneasy about something.

“Or perhaps I do understand,” he said, finally. “You were doing something illegal.”

The startled widening of her eyes told him he had hit upon the truth. Still, she denied it.

“Illegal?” She laughed a nervous, insincere laugh. “I should say that’s a bit overstated.”

Nicholas said nothing, a ploy he had learned from his father as a child, and one he had perfected as a barrister. When one is confronted with silence, one feels a need to fill that silence. Especially when one is guilty.

It didn’t work. Dr. Gladstone shifted her gaze from his face toward the door to the kitchen. “What’s taking Nancy so long with that tea?”

Nicholas put a hand on her arm. “Dr. Gladstone, you said there is something I should know, and it seems to be troubling you. What is it?”

There was that hint of fear in her face again. “I…I merely wanted to request that you not speak of this. A graphic description would be upsetting to the admiral’s wife, and—”

“Dr. Gladstone! For God’s sake, you must stop this equivocating and tell me what is wrong! Are you in some sort of trouble?” The hour was late, he was tired, and he had lost patience.

He had gotten her attention, and she leveled her gaze on him. “Yes,” she said softly. “I’m afraid there is that possibility.”

“What have you done?”

“I have performed an autopsy without permission. I did not have legal access to the body.” Her voice was remarkably even, with no hint of fear this time.

For the first time he felt a measure of alarm. “You’ve become a body snatcher?”

“The very words Nancy used.”

“Good Lord! I’m afraid you are in rather a lot of trouble. Why on earth—?”

“I believe there is something suspicious about the admiral’s death.”

“Other than what he was wearing when he died?”

Dr. Gladstone raised an eyebrow. “You know about that?”

“There’s gossip at the pub.”

Dr. Gladstone dropped her head into her hands. “Oh Lord, just as I feared.”

“What’s going on, Dr. Gladstone? Start from the beginning.” Nicholas spoke in his best barrister’s voice, a combination of persuasiveness and command.

Dr. Gladstone told him the entire story, up to the point where he had startled her by coming into the building. “You see, don’t you? Why I felt I had to try to find out how he died?”

“Of course you would want to know,” Nicholas said. “But why was an autopsy so important when you freely admit it is impossible to tell when a person drowns because fluid in the lungs could be caused by…what was it?”

“Congestive heart failure.
Dropsy, as it’s sometimes called. It occurs when the heart is not strong enough to pump natural body fluids from the lungs.”

“Was there fluid in the lungs?”

Dr. Gladstone shook her head. “Not an unusual amount. And there was no water in the stomach.”

“Then he didn’t drown,” Nicholas said.

There was a troubled look on Dr. Gladstone’s face. “I can’t be sure of that. He could have died as a result of spasms of the larynx caused by water in the throat. That’s a form of drowning. But there would be nothing physiological to show that in any autopsy.”

“And for some reason you don’t believe he drowned.”

“I didn’t say that.” Dr. Gladstone’s tone was more thoughtful than defensive.

“But you don’t agree with Snow’s theory about being so drunk he donned his wife’s drawers and fell into the sea.”

“It’s ludicrous. Of course I don’t believe it.”

Nancy brought in the tea and poured a cup for each of them, but she didn’t leave. Instead, she lingered by the doorway, eavesdropping, which didn’t seem to bother Dr. Gladstone at all. Nicholas, however, was decidedly uncomfortable. The beast, lying in front of the fireplace, did nothing to calm him. He hadn’t taken his suspicious eyes off of Nicholas since he arrived.

Nicholas shifted in his chair, then spoke in a voice that was so quiet it was almost a whisper. “It makes Snow look rather suspicious, I dare say. Furthermore, it appears he deliberately kept information from me related to this matter.”

Dr. Gladstone’s eyes widened. Nancy took a few steps closer to him. The beast rose from his reclining position and growled low in his throat, still not taking his eyes off Nicholas.

Nicholas rearranged himself in the chair again, nervously. “I’m defending the admiral’s stepson in a criminal matter. The stepson escaped from Newgate, and it appears he may have come here. There’ve been reports of several citizens seeing him, yet the constable didn’t mention that to me. Neither did he mention that the stepson apparently hated his stepfather. Possibly enough to kill him.”

“John
Killborn, you say? Here?” It was the maid who asked the question. Once again Dr. Gladstone didn’t seem to notice her impertinence. The two of them exchanged a look that led Nicholas to believe they were keeping something from him.

Chapter Six

“You heard what he said! He said you’re in rather a lot of trouble.” Nancy was emphatic as she gathered up the tea dishes. She had just seen Nicholas to the door.

Alexandra sighed and placed her own cup and saucer on the tray. “Yes, I heard, but I didn’t think you did. Just how long were you eavesdropping?” Alexandra was surprised at how happy she had been to see Nicholas and how pleasant it was, in spite of the circumstances, to have him, at least for a few minutes, entirely to herself.

Nancy ignored the question. “I’m in this with you, you know. If you’re in trouble, then I am as well. But I want you to understand, Miss, that I’ll stand beside you. All the way to the scaffold, if it comes to that.”

“The scaffold?
Good Lord, Nancy.”

“Surely you’ve thought of that. You knew you were breaking the law.”

Alexandra suddenly felt overwhelmed. “I’ve obviously done a foolish thing, and I’m sorry I got you into this.”

Nancy set the tray down, and her hands went to her hips in a decisive manner. “Now don’t be saying that. You needed me in this matter, foolish or not. And, by the way, it isn’t foolish to do one’s duty, now is it? And isn’t it your duty to examine a body, especially when the widow requests it? And especially when things look suspicious.”

“I don’t know, Nancy. I just don’t know. This is all so irregular. Everything from the way Constable Snow is acting to…”

“What do you make of that?” Nancy said. “Constable Snow not doing his duties properly, I mean?”

Alexandra picked up the tray for Nancy. “I don’t suppose he actually has any obligation to tell Mr. Forsythe about the relationship between the late admiral and his stepson. Especially since Mr. Forsythe will be barrister for the defense of the stepson, yet…”

“Yet it doesn’t seem right, does it?” Nancy reached for the tray and took it from Alexandra.

“Perhaps he’s as distressed about the whole business as the rest of us.” Alexandra’s remark was without conviction. Forbidding her to examine the body was shocking.

“Distressed you say?” Nancy gave her an indignant “
hmpff”, before she turned away to take the tray to the kitchen. She stopped and looked over her shoulder when she saw Alexandra leaving the parlor as well. “You’re not off to the surgery at this hour, are you?” Her tone was slightly scolding.

“I must look at those samples as soon as possible,” Alexandra said.

Nancy gave her a displeased look, then turned off to the kitchen grumbling. Alexandra was not surprised, however, when, within a short time, she joined her in the surgery. She knew Nancy’s curiosity would not allow her to stay away.

There was very little in what Alexandra found that would satisfy curiosity, however. She had been looking for some sign of poisoning or trauma, or perhaps disease. All of the samples she examined under her microscope appeared to be normal.

“Perhaps you can have another look after you’ve slept,” Nancy said. “’Tis several hours past midnight, and we miss things when we’re tired, you know.” She was carefully placing each sample into jars of formaldehyde.

“Perhaps,” Alexandra said, again without conviction. She was too stimulated to feel tired, and she was certain she would see nothing different at a later examination. “It’s all so puzzling.” She picked up the piece of stained linen she’d torn from the undergarment the admiral had been wearing. “Wait!” she said when she saw that Nancy was about to cover the microscope with the cloth she kept over it to protect it from dust. “I want to examine this bit of cloth before I retire.”

Nancy stepped back, and Alexandra slid the cloth into position, then looked into the eyepiece. “It’s not blood, that’s certainly clear.” She spoke without looking up.

“Not blood? Of course ’tis not blood. I could have told you that.
’Tis pitch.”

This time Alexandra glanced up at her. “It’s what?”

“Pitch. You know, the rather gooey substance that comes from trees”

“Of course.”
Alexandra realized Nancy was right, but she felt even more puzzled.

“It doesn’t wash out of clothing well, I’ll tell you that. My own mum, may she rest in peace, used to complain all the time when the two of us would come home with it on our frocks, and it was left to her to try to wash it out.”

“Yes, I remember.” Alexandra stood, paced a few steps. “There were no trees along the coast where the body was found.”

Nancy brightened. “So does that mean he was killed somewhere else and dumped there?”

“Either that, or he encountered trees somewhere before he got there,” Alexandra said.

“Perhaps,” Nancy agreed, “There is a little wooded area near Gull House.”

“Or the pitch could have already been there on the garment when he put it on,” Alexandra said.

Nancy frowned and shook her head. “And how could that be? That pitch was rather fresh, I’ll tell you that, so the only way it could have already been there is if Mrs.
Orkwright had been…” Nancy suddenly clamped her hand over her mouth.

Alexandra gave her a hard look. “Go on.”

Nancy shook her head. “That couldn’t be. Mrs. Orkwright? Frolicking in the woods in her knickers?”

“Then she discarded them, and her husband found them,” Alexandra said, finishing the forbidden thought for her.

Nancy was still aghast. “Are you saying he could have learned she had a lover, then he did something foolish, such as put on the knickers to humiliate her, and she killed him? To keep from having him publicly embarrass her?”

“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.”