Symptoms of Death (Dr. Alexandra Gladstone Book 1) (10 page)

“Would you like me to ask the parish priest to talk to you? Perhaps he could give you some comfort.”

Elsie gave her a derisive laugh. “
’Tis not a bloody priest I’m needin’. What can ’e do for me? No more than Quince, I say.”

“Quince?”

“Aye. Quince. `Quince can ’elp you,’ Georgie says. `Ye must tell ’im I sent ye’, ’e says. ‘And ’ow do ye think I can talk to Quince,’ says I. `What with me in chokey.’” She glanced at Alexandra. “Sometimes Georgie can be a bit daft.”

“Is this Quince someone you know?” Alexandra asked.

Elsie nodded. “Georgie’s friend. One o’ them no-counts what hangs around the pier. I never liked ’im meself.”

“Then why do you think George would want you to talk to him?” Alexandra asked.

Elsie turned to face her, and some of her premature hardness had been replaced by a look of naiveté. “Why because they swore a blood oath for one to watch out for the other. Like brothers, Georgie said.” Some of the hardness came back into her eyes. “But I say Georgie was a fool to trust ’im. Never trusted ’im meself.”

Alexandra nodded as if she understood. “But if you could talk to Quince, what do you think he would say to you?”

Elsie wrinkled her nose again. “And ’ow would I be knowin’ that?” She fell silent again, then spoke quietly. “But if ye wants to know what I think Georgie would think, it would be that if anybody can get me out of ’ere, ’tis Quince.”

Alexandra kept prodding. “And why do you think that?”

“Because Quince knows things,” Elsie said, still edgy. “’E’s the one what told me that it was the bloody earl what killed Georgie, and ’e knows who killed the earl too.”

Alexandra felt a jolt of surprise mixed with alarm. “Elsie, if you know anything about either of those two deaths, then you must tell Constable Snow.”

“Knows anything?” Elsie looked suddenly alarmed. She backed away from Alexandra. “So that’s what yer doing coming ’ere in yer fine clothes and yer soft voice. Trying to get me to say I done it, are ye? Get away from me.” she screamed.

“That
’s not what I meant at all. Please, Elsie.”

“Get out
.” Elsie’s scream had reached a loud, high timbre. “Get out, I say. Ye ain’t gettin’ me to say I done something I never done.”

“Is everything all right?” It was Snow
’s voice calling from outside the door, and at the same time, Alexandra heard the key rattling in the lock. Then the door burst open and Snow stepped inside. He quickly grabbed Elsie, pinning her arms to her side with his long, sinewy hands, while he looked into her face. “Enough!” It sounded like a bark, and Elsie’s screaming dissolved to a whimper, and then to a wide-eyed, white-faced stare. “I think you best leave, Doctor,” Snow said over his shoulder to Alexandra.

Alexandra started to protest. If she could have just a little more time with Elsie, perhaps she could correct what she had said that got them off on the wrong footing. But she said nothing. Constable Snow was probably right. She should go. Still, it was with a large measure of reluctance that she picked up her bag, carrying it, along with her hat, in her hands.

Nick was waiting for her in the constable’s office. He stood up as soon as he saw her. “What happened? You and the constable were gone for such a long time, I’d begun to think he’d locked you up.”

“What? Oh, no. Of course not.”

Nick gave her an odd look. “You sound distracted.”

“Well…”

“Good lord. She told you something.” Nick looked around as if he was expecting Snow to return at any moment. “Let’s get out of here, and you can tell me what she said.”

“It was just a lot of gibberish, really,” Alexandra said as Nicholas took her arm and led her out of the building. She stopped and turned to look at him. “And why were you so belligerent back there with Constable Snow? Didn
’t I tell you there was undoubtedly nothing he could do about the attack on me?”

Nicholas took her arm and started her walking again. “That excuse about the young toughs from
Chemlsflord was just too convenient. I can’t help wondering if there’s not another reason why he’s not more aggressive about investigating the attack. And stop trying to change the subject. What did Elsie say?”

“Just as the constable said, she claims George Stirling speaks to her.”

“About the murder?”

“She claims he told her to talk to someone named Quince, who apparently is one of those young men Constable Snow suspects may be thieves. I think she believes he can help her. She claims Quince knows who murdered Lord Dunsford and George Stirling both. In fact, she says Quince once told her it was Dunsford who murdered George.”

Nicholas stopped and looked at her. “Good Lord.” By this time they were standing beside the carriage. Nicholas helped her to her seat, then sat beside her. “So she’s gone ga-ga, then?” Nicholas said as he took the reins.

“I
’m not so sure.”

Nicholas jerked his head around to look at her. “You think she
’s actually speaking to the dead?”

“Nooo.” Alexandra pondered it. “I think there
’s a possibility she’s hallucinating, but I think the whole story about this Quince is her way of saying she thinks Quince knows some answers. But she can’t quite make herself believe he can help her.”

Nicholas frowned. “Why not?”

“Because he is male, and the only male she ever felt she could trust is George Stirling.”

“Rather odd, I should say.”

Alexandra didn’t respond to his remark. There was no easy way she could tell Nicholas why it wasn’t at all odd that Elsie wouldn’t trust men. “The trouble is, I botched the whole conversation with Elsie. I think she would have told me more if I hadn’t been such a fool.”

“You? A fool? Come now, Alexandra, what could you have possibly said to her that was foolish?”

“I should have continued to go along with her story that George had told her to contact that Quince fellow. Instead, when she made the claim that he knew the identity of both Lord Dunsford’s and George’s killers, I made the mistake of telling her that she should tell the constable if she knew who had done it. She immediately interpreted that to mean that I thought she was the killer and went into hysterics.”

“And what do you think about it?” Nicholas asked.

“I think that I should like to talk to Quince.”

“And how will you find him?” Nicholas had that barrister sound to his voice again.

“Why, I shall go down to the pier and ask about until I find him.”

“I think not. It could be quite dangerous, you know.”

“Mmmm,” Alexandra said.

Chapter
Nine

Alexandra was alarmed the following morning when she realized she had once again overslept by two hours. The wound at her throat had obviously taken more of a toll than she realized.

She dressed hurriedly and ran downstairs to demand of Nancy why she had allowed her to sleep to such a late hour. She found Nancy dusting the parlor, but before she could confront her, Nancy handed her a cheap and somewhat greasy envelope.

“Two messages for you, Miss,” she said.

“Two? But there’s only one—”

“The other is from Seth Blackburn. He came himself, earlier.”

Alexandra saw the look on Nancy’s face and felt a void in her chest. “Priscilla?” Her voice was little more than a whisper.

Nancy
nodded and looked down at her hands. “She’s gone, Miss. Passed away in the wee hours of the morning, her husband said.”

“You should have…” Alexandra didn
’t finish her sentence. It would do no good to scold Nancy for not waking her. Not now, anyway. She felt stunned as she walked past Nancy into her surgery. She closed the door and sat in one of the chairs, staring out the window at nothing. She always felt a keen sense of futility when she lost a patient, but never more so than now. She had done literally all she could for Priscilla, knowing all along that it was not enough. She was too weak, had lost too much blood, probably had become severely anemic during the pregnancy as well. Perhaps if she had come to her earlier, the iron and quinia would have helped. But perhaps not. Perhaps there was, in the final analysis, nothing that could be done.

What Priscilla Blackburn had needed was, quite simply, more blood in her body. Given time, iron might help build it back in some patients, but not in patients such as Priscilla. She needed blood immediately, and there was simply no way to infuse blood into a human being. Doctors, including her own father, had tried, but the patient almost always died. Even sheep blood had been tried in at least one experiment. Obviously there was something about the properties of blood that no one understood. The practice of medicine was a humbling experience. It served to illustrate with resounding authority the frailties and weaknesses of both the patient and the physician.

Alexandra sat alone, staring out the window for several minutes more until Nancy knocked softly on the door and stuck her head in. “Will you be wanting anything more before you start your rounds, Miss?” It was Nancy’s way of seeing if she was all right and of making sure she got started on her work. It was almost noon, and she was two hours late starting on her rounds.

“What? Oh no, I
’ll just get my bag and…” As she stood, the crude envelope Nancy had handed her fell from her lap to the floor. “Have Freddie saddle Lucy for me, please,” she said as she stooped to pick up the envelope.

“She
’s already saddled, Miss Alex. I did it myself. Freddie didn’t show up this morning.”

“Thank you,
Nancy. I’m on my way.” Alexandra tore at the envelope hurriedly, fully back to herself and eager to catch up on her work.

“Yes, Miss.”
Nancy murmured and disappeared. Alexandra pulled a sheet of coarse paper from the envelope and held it up to the light of the window to read, grasping it in one hand while she reached for her bag with the other. She had only read a few words before she forgot about the bag and gripped the paper with both hands, startled as she read the brief message, scrawled in crude, childish penmanship.

Docter Glad Ston, The gerl is rite. Quince nos who kilt the erl. Meet him at 10 tonite at the old peer. He will help you.

The note was not signed, and Alexandra felt a cold shiver creep down her spine. She had told no one except Nicholas about Elsie’s mention of Quince, and no one else except Constable Snow knew of her visit to see Elsie. Neither Nicholas nor the constable would have written this crude note, of course.

“
Nancy!” she called. “Nancy, come here please. Immediately!”

Within a few seconds,
Nancy stuck her head in the doorway. “Yes, Miss?”

“Who brought this note?”

“I don’t know, Miss Alex.” Her eyes widened as she noticed Alexandra’s face. “Is something wrong?”

“You don
’t know? Someone must have handed it to you.”

Nancy
shook her head. “Oh no, I’m afraid not. ’Twas slipped under the door. I found it when I came to sweep the hall. There it was on the floor. I thought ’twas somebody paying his bill, or more likely giving you an excuse why he could not. ’Tis done that way at times, Miss, as you know.”

Nancy
was right. Patients did occasionally slip money or their excuses for late payment under the door.

“Is something wrong?”
Nancy asked again.

“No. Of course not. I was just…curious.” Alexandra folded the note and placed it in her medical bag. No point in alarming
Nancy. She was as protective as a mother hen, as it were. “Has Mr. Forsythe been here this morning?”

“He has. Came by to escort you on your rounds, he did. But I told him you needed your rest, to which he quite agreed, I might add.”

“You should have awakened me long ago, Nancy.”

Nancy
stiffened. “You needed to—”

“Never mind,” Alexandra said. “It
’s always impossible to argue with you, and I don’t have time anyway, but if Mr. Forsythe should stop by again, ask him to stay until I return. I need to speak with him.” She kept her voice as calm and even as possible.

“Yes, Miss.” Alexandra saw an unspoken question flickering in her eyes, but not the slightest hint of regret for her impudence.

She closed her medical bag and headed for the door. Nancy hurried ahead to hand her a shawl and parasol. “Should I mention the note to Mr. Forsythe, Miss? If he stops by again, that is.” Nancy was too clever. She obviously had guessed there was something in the note Alexandra wanted to share with Nicholas.

“No, of course not,” Alexandra said, hoping to put an end to it. But, knowing Nancy, who was smarter than most people she knew, there would be no end to it until her curiosity was satisfied. No doubt she would have Nicholas equally as curious within a few minutes
of his arrival.

She left to see her patients, determining to stop by Montmarsh later, in case Nicholas was still there. She had planned to stop by anyway, to check on Mrs. Pickwick.

Alexandra’s patients talked less about Elsie’s arrest this time. It was as if they all simply accepted her imprisonment with a degree of complacency, whether they considered her guilty or not. Now the talk was of the wound at her neck, which she continued to try to explain away as a nasty fall, and of the earl’s funeral, which was to be held at St. Paul’s in London with the archbishop himself presiding. It would be grand, they said, attended by all the important members of the peerage and of the House of Commons as well as the queen, herself. His funeral cortege would be spectacular, and his casket would be on a gilded carriage pulled by eight matching steeds. All of this had come to be known by the residents of Newton through servants at Montmarsh who had traveled to London with the body.

The funeral being planned at Seth Blackburn
’s home was considerably less grand. Alexandra stopped by to give her condolences and found Seth sitting alone in his dark little cottage. The wet nurse she had hired had taken the children to her own home for a few days until Seth could get his wits about him. In truth, he had hardly thought at all about the funeral and seemed at a loss as to what to do. His grief had rendered him almost completely dysfunctional.

Alexandra spent some time talking to him. He was reluctant to talk himself, however, a characteristic of English society Alexandra considered unhealthy, although she was well aware she possessed that very characteristic herself. When he did finally appear to want to talk, all he could do was cry, and he was so consumed with his grief, he forgot to be embarrassed.

When she left, feeling drained, she took the time to stop by the wet nurse’s home to tell her she thought Seth would be ready to see his children by morning. She also made the financial arrangements for her to work as a full-time nurse for the children for at least a few months.

By the time she finished, there was barely time to ride to Montmarsh, but she felt an overwhelming need to talk to Nicholas about the cryptic note she
’d received. She urged Lucy to a faster trot and rode to the estate. When she arrived, the house and grounds looked deceptively tranquil, as if nothing but the most pleasant of lawn parties or the gayest of balls could have ever taken place there. Certainly not murder.

She knocked at the door, hoping to leave a quick message with the butler to have Nicholas join her for tea, have a look at her patient, and then she could be on her way and arrive at her surgery on time.

“I’m afraid Mr. Forsythe is no longer here,” the butler said in his most formal voice.

“I see.”

“Mr. Forsythe has returned to London,” the butler added. “I don’t believe he’ll be back to Montmarsh.”

Alexandra found herself speechless for a moment, but she collected herself quickly. “Very well. Then I shall just check on Mrs. Pickwick.”

The butler moved aside to let her enter, and then escorted her to the kitchen where the cook was up and about. She refused to talk anymore about the ghost she had claimed to have seen and dismissed Alexandra as soon as possible.

When she arrived home, she could smell the lamb stew
Nancy was preparing for luncheon, and by the time she had hung up her hat and shawl, Nancy was moving toward her, drying her hands on her apron and announcing that lunch was ready in the kitchen. Alexandra always had her lunch in the kitchen and insisted that Nancy keep it as simple as possible so they could both be in the surgery by the time patients arrived.

“Any more messages for me, Nancy?” Alexandra kept her voice casual.

“No messages. Were you expecting one?” Nancy with her probing mind.

“Not especially.” Alexandra spread her napkin on her lap. “Did Mr. Forsythe by any chance drop by?” Again, working at sounding casual.

Nancy set a plate of the stew and another plate of brown bread on the table. “Mr. Forsythe? Why no, Miss, I’m afraid not.” Nancy’s curiosity was palpable, but Alexandra didn’t know how she would explain anything to Nancy when she was completely puzzled herself.

A
lexandra sat in silence, too preoccupied to enjoy the stew.

Why would Nicholas leave for
London so suddenly without telling her? He had been keen on the idea of helping her unravel the events surrounding the murder at Montmarsh. If he decided suddenly to return to London, then it must be very urgent business. But he seemed to be the responsible sort who would have left a message for her with Nancy, to explain what had taken him away.

“Do you suppose something has happened to Mr. Forsythe?”
Nancy’s question brought her out of her contemplation.

“Why would you ask that?”

Nancy gave her a shrewd look. “I really did think he’d come back to take you on your rounds, and when he never showed up, well… What with all that’s been going on around here—people being murdered, attacked in their own stable yards—why, one becomes a bit edgy, don’t you think?”

“I see your point,
Nancy, but I’m sure Mr. Forsythe is all right. I suspect he’s returned to London.” Alexandra took another taste of the stew.

“Returned to
London? Now why would he do that?” Nancy was clearly as puzzled as she.

“He
’s a busy barrister, Nancy. I’m sure he has more important matters to attend to than our provincial problems.” Alexandra was not sure how convincing she sounded. As Nancy turned away from the stove and put her hands on her hips, she realized she’d not been at all convincing.

“I would say the murder of
the earl of Dunsford is a bit more than a provincial problem.” She sounded more than a little irritated at Alexandra’s apparent obtuseness.

She was right, of course, but Alexandra was at a loss as to how to respond.

“Do you think it has something to do with the message you got this morning?” Nancy sat down across from her at the table and leaned forward eagerly, her chin on her hand. It was not the sort of liberty a servant would ordinarily take, but the relationship between the two of them was too long-standing and too grounded in childhood intimacies to succumb to convention.

Nevertheless, Alexandra was a bit surprised at the question. “What makes you ask?”

Nancy cocked her head and looked at her accusingly. “Why, Miss Alex, you know you can’t fool me. I saw how upset you were. That message had something to do with the murder, did it not? And you’re wanting to talk to Mr. Forsythe about it. Or else you’re afraid he’s in danger.”

Alexandra forced what she hoped was a casual laugh. “Your imagination is running away with you, Nancy.” She ignored
Nancy’s continued accusing look. The truth was, she would have liked to share the contents of the note with her, along with the rest of the story, including Nicholas’s sudden flight to London, but she knew how protective Nancy could be. She’d be on the verge of apoplexy if she knew Alexandra was thinking of going to the pier to find Quince.