Medicine and Manners #2 (2 page)

“I should think an autopsy would be in order,” Alexandra said to Constable Robert Snow, when he asked her to provide a thorough examination of Mr. Fitzsimmons's body at the mortuary. She had arranged to have the body transferred to the funeral parlor and had sent Uriah to alert the constable.

They were standing in the large open area of the mortuary where bodies were taken for Percy Gibbs, the mortician, to prepare them for burial. Percy now waited near the table where Fitzsimmons's body lay. Alexandra always felt as if she were encased in a block of ice when she was in this room and silently chided herself for not having brought a heavier shawl. The scent of formaldehyde permeated the chamber. By now she had gone beyond smelling the embalming chemicals and thought she could taste them.

Pulling back the sheet that covered Fitzsimmons's body, Alexandra stared at the face of the man she'd spoken with in her parlor only hours earlier. It was now the color of bismuth, and his eyes, which had sparked with anger and frustration, were now hidden behind lids taking on the look of beryl. She knew his limbs would be purple and blotched where the blood had begun to pool. It was never easy to look directly at death.

“An autopsy? At this point I'm asking you to examine the body, not perform a postmortem,” Constable Snow said in his usual stern manner. He had been a schoolmaster before he became constable in Newton-upon-Sea, and he had never shed his austere demeanor. Alexandra, being female, had not been allowed to attend his school, but her father had hired him as a private tutor for her and, much to Snow's consternation, had insisted that Nancy be allowed to sit in on the lessons.

“You do at least consider it odd, do you not, that both bodies were found in the Freemasons' lodge?” she asked.

“The lodge is the body, the brotherhood. The temple is the building,” the constable said, “and yes, of course, I find it odd. Troubling, even. That's why I asked you to examine the body in this case.”

“And I did mention, did I not, that Mr. Fitzsimmons had come to my house and was quite agitated and predicting another death?”

“You did,” Snow said.

“I shall be able to perform the postmortem immediately if you give the word.”

“It's out of the question for you to conduct an autopsy, as I'm sure you know,” Snow said. “I shall send a telegram and ask Dr. Abercrombie to come down from Foulness on the next train,” he added, referring to a village a few miles up the coast between Newton-upon-Sea and Colchester.

Alexandra was not in the least surprised at the constable's response. He had steadfastly refused to allow her to perform autopsies since the day she took over her late father's medical practice. It mattered not at all to Constable Snow or to a number of others in the kingdom that she was well trained and fully capable of the task. Once again, the fact that she was female stood in her way. It would be considered most improper for her to have such intimate contact with a male body, for all of the victim's clothing would be removed.

“As you wish,” she said. There was nothing to be gained by admitting to the constable that she had managed to conduct at least one such examination without his knowledge. Nothing to be gained, that is, except a possibly stint in gaol.

Snow glanced at Fitzsimmons's corpse as it lay on a table in the local mortuary. “Your conclusion regarding the body?”

“The man is dead,” Alexandra said.

“Impertinence doesn't become you,” Snow scolded.

She heard a snort coming from Percy, who was still standing nearby. It could have meant he found her remark funny or that he agreed with the constable that she was being impertinent. Or perhaps he was suppressing a sneeze.

“Impertinent? Not at all,” she said. “I have told you that I agree with you that there are no visible marks on the body. Without removing the clothing, I can't be absolutely certain, of course, and without an autopsy, my knowledge is further limited. The only conclusion I can make with certainty is that Jeremy Fitzsimmons is dead.”

“Thank you, Dr. Gladstone. Nothing more is required of you.” Snow spoke in his stiffest and most formal voice.

Alexandra took a second or two to comprehend that she was being dismissed before she gave the constable a slight nod and turned to walk away. On her way out she noticed something crumpled on the floor. When she picked it up, she realized that it was a handkerchief with the letter
F
elaborately embroidered on the corner. It had to be Mr. Fitzsimmons's handkerchief, and it could have fallen from his pocket as his body was carried into the mortuary. She was about to turn around to take the handkerchief to Constable Snow to be placed with the dead man's other belongings when she noticed a sour odor coming from it. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she stuffed it in her medical bag and headed toward the door that led to the mortuary's outer room.

As she left the room, she heard Percy quoting scripture and sounding as if he, too, was scolding her. “The body is for the Lord and the Lord for the body.” In spite of declaring he was an atheist, he had an astounding repertoire of scripture that he could quote for virtually any occasion.

She walked past the garishly painted depiction of Lazarus being raised from the dead and out the front door to where Zack waited for her, lounging on the front step. The giant Newfoundland seemed to sense her dismay and stood to nuzzle against her.

When she arrived home, the surgery's waiting room was already full of impatient patients. She and Nancy hardly had time to speak as they attended to the needs of those wanting tonics for rheumatism or herbs for a cough, a farmer with a dislocated shoulder, as well as other villagers with various complaints. It was midafternoon before the tide of ailments subsided.

“We haven't even had time to eat,” Nancy said when the surgery was finally empty of patients. “No time to prepare a proper meal, either, but there's old mutton and potatoes. I'll set the table in the dining room.”

“Never mind that,” Alexandra said. “We'll eat in the kitchen. Call the boys in to eat with us as well,” she said. She meant Artie and Rob, the two youngsters who worked in the stable taking care of her mare, Lucy, that she rode to visit patients in their homes. They had a small kitchen of their own in their rooms above the stable, but Alexandra occasionally liked to have them eat in the house. The boys also had the responsibility of keeping the house and outbuildings in good repair and keeping them stocked with firewood. Before Nancy hired them, they'd both been homeless orphans who supported themselves by picking pockets and stealing from fishermen at the wharves.

The two entered, punching each other and giggling with each blow. Nancy quickly put a stop to it. “No way to conduct yourselves when you've been invited to dine with a lady,” she scolded.

Rob, the older of the two, who claimed to be sixteen years old, snatched a cap from his head. “Sorry, Nance. Meant no disrespect to the doc.” He stole a glance at Alexandra as he spoke. Artie, the eight-year-old, lowered his gaze and took a step backward.

With a hand on a shoulder of each of the boys, Alexandra urged them toward the rough-hewn kitchen table. “Nancy's correct,” she said. “The house is no place for playful scuffling, so let's put it aside for now and enjoy our meal.”

Nancy wasn't yet ready to give up on her scolding. “Sometimes I think the two of you don't have enough to keep you busy and out of mischief.” She set a platter of mutton and potatoes on the table and wiped her hands on a dish towel before she, too, sat down.

“Oh, no, Nance,” Rob protested. “We've plenty to do. A tussle now and then don't mean nuffin',” he added in his thick Essex accent.

Alexandra wanted to protest that they were just being boys, but dared not undermine Nancy's instructions in front of them.

Nancy still would not let it go. “I suppose you spent the day in town or dillydallying with your old chums at the wharves,” she said.

“We done no dillydallying,” Artie said, speaking up for the first time. “Don't never do that.”

Rob turned to him and snorted a laugh. “Don't even know what it means, does ye?”

Artie didn't answer. He was already chewing on a morsel of the mutton Nancy had just placed on his plate.

“Suppose you heard no talk of the murders, then,” Nancy said. Alexandra smiled to herself, knowing that Nancy was probing, trying to pick up the latest gossip, since she'd been too busy during the day to question any of the patients.

“Neither of the milk cows knows much about it,” Rob said. “Nanny goat knows less.”

Alexandra spoke up, hoping to head off another scolding of the boys from Nancy for talking fresh. “I didn't mention, did I, Nancy, that Constable Snow sent a telegram to Dr. Abercrombie in Foulness to perform the autopsy?”

Nancy responded with a “Hmpf!” and shook her head. “Can't say I'm surprised. I'm sure he lectured you again about how 'tis not fitting for a lady to perform an autopsy.”

“Did you say Abercrombie from Foulness?” Rob said, before Alexandra could respond.

“Yes,” Alexandra said. “Do you know him?”

“Heard of 'im,” Rob said.

“They say he's a duck,” Artie added.

“Don't speak with your mouthful,” Nancy said.

“He means quack,” Rob said. “Word is old Abercrombie is a quack of a doctor.”

“How so?” Nancy asked, suddenly losing interest in Artie's chewing.

“Word is 'e cut into a woman to cure her of a bellyache and took out the wrong thing,” Rob said.

“She pegged out,” Artie added.

Rob nodded. “That's right. Turned up her toes, they say.”

“Who said such a thing?” Alexandra asked.

Rob shrugged. “Them that knowed 'er, I reckon.”

“Took out the wrong thing?” Nancy asked. “What exactly did he take out?”

“How's the likes o' me to know a thing like that?” Rob said. “I ain't no doctor.”

Alexandra was about to admonish everyone at the table that the conversation was not the sort to be shared at a meal when Nancy spoke up for her. “There'll be no more of this talk for now,” she said. “Take smaller bites, Artie. Elbows off the table, Rob.”

It wasn't until later when the boys had retired to their quarters above the stable and Alexandra was relaxed with a book in the parlor that Nancy brought up the subject again.

“Never heard the awful tale about the doctor in Foulness,” Nancy said as she placed a cup of tea on the table next to Alexandra's chair. “Had you, miss?”

“No, certainly not,” Alexandra said, trying to concentrate on her book.

“ 'Twould be interesting, wouldn't it, to know exactly what mistake he made during surgery on that poor woman?”

“Oh, Nancy, it's probably all just idle gossip. Chances are he made no mistake at all. You know how people go on.”

“In my experience, where there's smoke, there's fire,” Nancy said as she sat in her customary chair opposite Alexandra. “Is it true the two men were murdered?” she asked, changing the subject as if she were fishing for something Alexandra was willing to discuss.

“That hasn't been determined yet,” Alexandra said, “but the suspicion is there, as I'm sure you know.”

“Of course. Everyone knows that. But why kill those two men?”

Alexandra shook her head. “At the present, I believe any motive is unknown.”

“Knowing you, Miss Alex, I'd wager you have a theory.” Nancy used the address for Alexandra she'd used since they were children.

“I wish I did, Nancy, but in this case, I don't.”

“And the cause of death?” Nancy probed.

Again, Alexandra shook her head. “I'm afraid I…” She stopped in midsentence, only then remembering the odorous handkerchief she'd retrieved from the ground in front of the mortuary.

Nancy's eyes widened. “You do know something! What is it?”

“I'm not sure,” Alexandra said, “but I'd like you to have a look at what I found.” She stood and walked toward the surgery, where she'd left her medical bag. Pulling the smelly handkerchief from where she'd stuffed it inside, she brought it back to Nancy.

Nancy took the cloth and examined it. “Nothing more than a hankie.”

“Have a sniff.”

Nancy complied, but removed it quickly from her nose. “
Whew!
I'd say the man who owns this used it to wipe vomit from his mouth. Wait a bit! That's a sweet smell, too. Would you say 'tis sugar?”

“I'm not sure.”

“Any idea who may have dropped it?”

“There's an
F
embroidered in the corner. See it there?”

“Fitzsimmons? Where did you find it?”

“On the floor in the mortuary after Mr. Fitzsimmons's body had been brought there from the constable's office. I suspect it fell from his pocket.”

“Some poisons have a sweet smell,” Nancy said.

“You've jumped to the most obvious conclusion, Nancy, and I confess that's the first thing I thought of, but of course that's no more than speculation.”

“Have you told Constable Snow yet?”

“No, but I shall. Tomorrow.”

“Of course.” Something in Nancy's tone made Alexandra think she doubted her intention.

Rob and Artie had Lucy saddled and ready to go by the time Alexandra had finished her breakfast the next morning. The boys helped her mount as she started out on her rounds. She'd seen two of her homebound patients and had one more to visit when she remembered that Nancy had reminded her to stop by the apothecary shop for oil of turpentine to be used in poultices on the chest. Spring was just around the corner, and young William Morgan's asthma always worsened in the spring.

Giles Higginbotham, the apothecary, greeted her as she entered. “Good morning, Dr. Gladstone.” Before she could even return his greeting, he continued with “Terrible news we've had here in Newton-upon-Sea recently. Two mysterious deaths. Murder, they say.”