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

“Will, I’m not sure I should—”

“It’s an easy question. You need 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 eyes 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.”

“Of course you didn’t.” Alexandra started to pull him to her, but she felt his resistance and dropped her hand from his shoulder. “When someone close to us dies, it’s quite natural to feel angry and confused.”

“Really?” His eyes widened again. “Then perhaps I won’t burn in hell for saying I’m glad he…he is…”

“I’m quite sure you won’t.” Alexandra gave him a smile and once again restrained herself from exploiting him by questioning him further.

“I think Annie is glad, too.” Will’s words startled her, as did the fear that had returned to his eyes. “I think she would have run away long ago, except she had to take care of Mama and me.”

“Run away?”

“Yes, but we mustn’t talk about it.”

“Really?
Why not?” Alexandra was straining at her self-imposed rules of propriety now.

“Because Annie said—”

“Master Will! You mustn’t bother Dr. Gladstone now.” Annie’s harsh voice startled both Will and Alexandra as she emerged from Jane’s room, her large frame dominating the room. Alexandra stood suddenly and turned to face Annie. Will backed away as well, placing himself on the edge of the landing. Annie reached for him and pulled him roughly toward her. “Go to your room. Go on now!” She gave him a gentle shove when she saw his reluctance. “I’ll be up with milk and biscuits later.” She turned to Alexandra when she was certain Will was on his way. “Mrs. Orkwright is resting now. She’ll be fine.” Her voice was no less harsh, and there was an odd tautness to her speech that suggested fear and, without a doubt, dismissal.

“I’m going to leave a medicine for her.” Alexandra saw
Will pause in front of the door to his room, trying to hear all that was said. “I’m quite certain you’re correct. She will be all right.” Alexandra spoke the words for the benefit of the young eavesdropper. “The medicine will aid her recovery.” She moved toward the stairs urging Annie to walk down them ahead of her. “Let’s go to the kitchen. I’ll give you instructions on how to administer it.”

Annie hesitated a moment, then reluctantly started down with one furtive look over her shoulder, as if she was uncertain her mistress and young Will would be all right without her.

In the kitchen, Alexandra took a vial of compound spirits of lavender from her bag, along with another vial of aqua ammonia. She mixed a teaspoon of the first with ten drops of the latter in a cup, half filled with water. She then added a bit of sugar, which she’d asked Annie to find for her. When it was mixed, she handed the cup to Annie. “See that she drinks all of this right away. If she continues to improve, she need only rest in bed until I return tomorrow. But if she shows more signs of faintness, send for me immediately.”

Annie gave her a solemn nod and turned away toward the hall that led to the stairs, taking great care to hold the cup with both hands. Alexandra was left to see herself out, which she did with reluctance, her mind buzzing with unanswered questions.

Nicholas saw her leave from his position behind an outcropping of gorse in an open field next to the house. He had stationed himself there in the hope of finding John
Killborn. He had reasoned that the young man would eventually show up at his mother’s house if he was, in fact, in Newton-Upon-Sea.

His first instinct was to follow Dr. Gladstone and try to catch up with her. He would like to invite her for a carriage ride, perhaps.
Or anything that would give him the opportunity to be alone with her. His reasons were not entirely dishonorable. Among other things, he’d like to know why she’d spent so much time in Gull House and what, if anything, she’d learned. But he wouldn’t attempt to catch up with her just yet. There would be time for that later. For now, his mission was to catch up with young John Killborn and convince him to turn himself in to the authorities. That would improve, at least to a small extent, his client’s worsening chances at trial.

It was only a matter of minutes before he saw a figure topping the steep hill that led up to Gull House. The quick, fluid movement of the body told Nicholas it was a young man, and although he had seen John
Killborn only once when he was first assigned to defend him, he was certain it was Killborn.

Nicholas moved as quickly as he could through the gorse, his back hunched, trying to avoid being out in the open where
Killborn could see him and be frightened away. Nicholas had to be quick enough to intercept him before he reached the house, however. Once inside, it could be difficult to flush him out. In spite of the fact that Dr. Gladstone had said Mrs. Orkwright was a reasonable woman, Nicholas would not discount a mother’s instinct to protect her offspring. John was, after all, no more than sixteen.

By the time Nicholas reached the edge of the gardens of Gull House, one of his hands, as well as the side of his face, was bleeding from various encounters with the thorns on the gorse. The thorns had also badly snagged the trousers and coat sleeves of his fine hand-tailored suit. There was no time to worry about that, however. He sprinted across the lawn calling out John
Killborn’s name.

The young man paused for the briefest of moments then ran down the hill again. Nicholas sprinted after him, shedding his coat as he ran. Ahead of him, the young man moved like a machine of expertly synchronized parts, churning at rapid speed down the hill. Nicholas was equally agile and
close behind, and when he was near enough, jumped, turning his body parallel with the ground as he dove toward Killborn, and, upon landing, encircling the young man’s legs with his arms while at the same time plowing several inches of gravelly soil with his own chin.

Killborn
landed with a thud on the rocky road, burying his face in the dirt, too. He tried to struggle to his feet and out of Nicholas’ grasp, but Nicholas held on to him. Killborn continued to struggle, but he was winded and losing vigor. Nicholas stood, pulling the gasping Killborn up with him. The boy’s face was caked with blood and dirt.

“It’s you!” It was impossible to tell whether that exclamation from
Killborn was fear or relief, or perhaps only disgust.

“It is I, yes, and you bloody well better be glad it is,” Nicholas said.

“How did you know…?”

“How did I know you would come here?” Nicholas gave him a rough shove up the road toward the gardens where there was at least some cover so they could talk without being seen. “I’m a lawyer. It’s my business to stay one step ahead of the lawless, as well as the law. Now you tell me what in bloody hell happened to your brain that made you decide to escape from prison.” He gave him a shake. “Your crime was burglary of a few trinkets. I could have gotten you off perhaps with a few months. Now you’ve an escape charge to face, and you’ll be damned lucky to get thirty bloody years. That is if you don’t hang.”

“It’s none of your business what I do.” He tried to wrench himself free of Nicholas’ grasp.

“You idiot.
It bloody well is my business. I’m your barrister, remember? I’m the only person who can save you.” He gave Killborn another shove. Then, when they had reached a thin grove of trees, he spun him around to face him. “Now talk, damn you.”

“I have nothing to say.” His words were a defiant snarl.

Nicholas let the words hang in the air for a moment before he spoke. “Very well.” He loosened his grip on Killborn and brushed a bit of dirt from his damaged clothing, a futile gesture. “In that case, I apologize for the interruption, and I shall see you again when the police find you.” He had taken only a few steps when he realized his ploy had worked.

“I…I had a score to settle.” The defiance was gone from
Killborn’s voice, replaced with choking fear.

Nicholas turned around to face him. “Indeed.”

“It’s got nothing to do with that burglary. It’s…a personal matter.” His face, clouded with terror, now looked even younger than his sixteen years.

“A personal matter, is it? I dare say it would have been much wiser for you to have the prison authorities contact me to take care of it for you.”

Young Killborn shook his head and some of the defiance returned to his eyes. “No. It was something I had to do. No one else.”

“Something regarding your stepfather perhaps?”
Nicholas watched Killborn’s face for some sign of fear or guilt or even anger. He saw all of it.

“I didn’t kill the bastard.”

“How did you know he was dead?”

Killborn’s
face went white, and his jaw tightened. Nicholas thought he might run again, and he grasped his arm to prevent it. “I didn’t kill him!” he said again.

“Come with me, John. You’re in quite enough trouble as it is. Don’t make it worse,” Nicholas said.

Killborn jerked free of Nicholas’ grasp, but he didn’t run. “I don’t care how much worse it gets, I have to…”

“Have to what?”

Killborn looked down at the ground.

“John, listen to me. You may not care how much worse it gets for you, but what about your mother? Can’t you imagine how she—”

Killborn raised his head suddenly to look at Nicholas. His eyes were hot with anger. “Keep my mother out of this, you bastard.”

“Listen to me, John.” Nicholas tried to grasp his arm again, but he jerked it away. When he tried a second time to restrain him,
Killborn swung at Nicholas’ jaw, hitting it squarely with his fist. Nicholas staggered backward and felt blood trickle down his chin, but he quickly regained his balance and blocked another blow with his forearm before grabbing one of Killborn’s arms and twisting it behind him. “Don’t be a fool. Can’t you see you’re getting yourself deeper and deeper into trouble?”

Killborn
made one more attempt to wrench himself free, but it was a half-hearted attempt. Nicholas felt him relax slightly, and he pressed his advantage. “Come with me to the local gaol. We’ll get word to Newgate as quickly as possible that you’ve surrendered yourself. I’ll make a plea for you that you’d heard of your stepfather’s death and were upset. That may help you, especially since you’re hardly more than a boy.”