The Dr Benjamin Bones Omnibus

by Emma Jameson

  “Not as far as poor Ethan went to ensnare you,” Margaret snapped. “But when it comes to sex, it’s easier for a man to stall a woman than the other way round. So I turned to ranunculus oil. It creates a very convenient escape from obligations, and Freddy always said he understood.”

  “You know, when Freddy was drunk, he told me he had a theory about women.” Ben Bones appeared in the study’s open doorway. His black doctor’s bag was in his left hand, his cane was in his right, and Bertha the maid stood beside him, cringing.

  “You did say you wanted a doctor, Mrs. Freeman,” the girl quavered.

  What happened next went so fast, Juliet failed to act, though perhaps she might have. Gerald gasped, flinching from obvious chest pain, and Margaret snatched the gun from his hand. In the blink of an eye, she was beside Juliet, pointing that black revolver at her face. From this close, Juliet could see it was cocked and ready to fire.

  “Gerald, get hold of yourself! I have this under control!” Margaret barked, a steeliness in her voice Juliet had never heard before. “Ju, I don’t want to kill you. I’d rather take you to Spain. A hostage is better than a corpse. And who knows, if you behave yourself, we might even drop you off at an embassy after things settle down. But if you test me, if you put one toe out of line, I’ll pull the trigger, I swear it.” Without taking her eyes off Juliet, Margaret added, “Gerald, Dr. Bones is a cripple. See to him.”

  There came a thump, a clatter, and a man cried out. Juliet saw everything that transpired, but Margaret, still staring fixedly at her, did not. Only when she took a step backward did she dare look across the study.

  Bertha was running away, rapid footsteps echoing down the corridor. Ben, who’d dropped his bag and cane, held a shiny hypodermic needle. Gerald, one hand clapped to his neck, wore a look of astonished horror as he sank to his knees.

  “What have you done to my husband?” Margaret demanded.

  “Give the drug a minute to circulate through his bloodstream and you’ll see,” Ben said calmly. “And keep in mind, you’d better not shoot me if you want an antidote.” He cast a significant glance toward his black bag before fixing his gaze on Margaret. “Put the gun down.”

  “I’ll shoot Juliet!” Margaret sounded uncertain. “I’ll shoot you, too!”

  “Then your husband will die. How are you feeling, Gerald?”

  “My heart,” he gasped, pressing both hands to his chest. “Beating fast… so fast….” His face was turning red, beads of sweat rolling off his forehead. “Was it cyanide?”

  “Hardly. Adrenaline chloride. Very bad for a man with a delicate system. But I have just the thing to reverse it, if you let Lady Juliet go.”

  “Margaret, make him help me,” Gerald pleaded. “Use the gun….”

  The moment Margaret swiveled the revolver toward Ben, Juliet sprang at her. Seizing the smaller woman’s wrist, she jerked away the gun, which went off with a deafening bang. Plaster dust drifted from the ceiling, an acrid smell hung between them, and Juliet was so shocked and infuriated, she let her fists do the talking, felling Margaret with a right cross.

  “Now,” Juliet declared, placing the revolver on the desk and looming menacingly over her erstwhile friend. Margaret lay on the floor, hat off, nose pouring blood, and it took all of Juliet’s self-control not to kick her for good measure. “Let’s hear it! All of it.”

  “Help me….” Gerald moaned.

  “If you want help, do as the lady asks,” Ben said. “As I mentioned, when Freddy was drunk, he had a theory about women. He said the best ones die, leave, or get sick. His mum died, and his best girl left. If Edith hadn’t interrupted, he would have named you, Mrs. Freeman, as the woman who kept getting sick. And that’s why he had to die, wasn’t it? Because he couldn’t keep a secret?”

  “Yes.” Margaret‘s voice sounded odd now, as if coming through a broken nose.

  “Did he have a particular grudge against Penny?” Ben looked Gerald up and down. “I don’t like your husband’s color, Mrs. Freeman. Tell me precisely how you did it and leave nothing out.”

  “Penny was nothing to Freddy.” Margaret made no effort to sit up, though she kept her eyes on her husband, speaking rapidly for his sake. “He didn’t want to shoot her, and strangling was out. But running her down on Stafford Road, where everyone knows she killed that deliveryman years ago, that suited him fine. By then, Penny wanted another thousand, and I knew she’d arrive in Birdswing the evening of September first. Around four o’clock, I climbed the fire escape to the Sheared Sheep’s roof and waited. We thought it would happen in daylight, and Freddy would have to blame glare from the sun or falling asleep behind the wheel, but instead you arrived at twilight. That was a gift.

  “I climbed down and told Freddy. He roared out of the alley the moment you rejoined Penny on the street, Dr. Bones. Hit you both, then backed up and ran Penny down a second time, just to be sure.”

  “How did he get away?”

  “It was easy in the blackout. Down Stafford Road he stashed the lorry in some trees. Walked back to Birdswing with no one the wiser. But the memory of crushing Penny’s skull seemed to haunt him. Running you down bothered him, too. When he told me you’d accused him of leaving that ridiculous note, I realized he had to go.”

  “Margaret, hurry.” Gerald had begun to hyperventilate.

  “Freddy’s vital organs were analyzed yesterday by the chief pathologist at St. Barnabas,” Ben said. “In life, he never would have spoken against you. In death, he told the truth. Poisoning by digitalis. A drug derived from a very pretty flower called a foxglove.”

  “I accompanied him up to his room. Put it in his whiskey,” Margaret said. “I thought a belt around his neck, not to mention the written confession, would be enough. Now please, doctor, help my husband! Your part in all this was mere coincidence, and you were injured, I’ll admit that. You’re right to expect compensation. Money, favors… surely we can come to some agreement. But first give Gerald the antidote!”

  “You’re in no position to give money or favors,” Ben said, still in that unruffled tone Juliet found remarkable, considering the bullet hole in the ceiling and the sweating, writhing man at his feet. “I spent the better part of this morning trying to convince Plymouth CID of everything you just admitted to. I’m sorry to say they didn’t take me very seriously. All I had were theories and bits of circumstantial evidence, and they wanted something concrete. That’s why you took matters into your own hands, isn’t it, Lady Juliet?”

  “I’m so very sorry,” Juliet said.

  “Quite all right.” Ben smiled at her. “By the end of the interview, I was grasping at straws. Describing the guests at the Freemans’ luncheon, hoping one might be important. I mentioned the fellow with the red nose, the one suffering from that peculiar sneeze.” Slowly, he knelt beside his doctor’s bag, opening it wide. “He said the name of the ship was Chain Home. That he had the information from Lady Diana. Mr. Freeman, would that be Lady Diana Mosley?”

  Gerald, still looking to the black leather bag for his deliverance, nodded desperately.

  “The funny thing is, no one will tell me what Chain Home is. If it’s a British ship or a German U-boat, or code for something else altogether. But I know the Plymouth chief of police rang up Scotland Yard. And when they come for you today, they won’t only charge Mrs. Freeman for murder. They’ll arrest you, Mr. Freeman, for espionage.”

  “Yes, yes, it’s all true. It doesn’t matter now,” Gerald cried. “Give me the antidote!”

  Ben made a show of looking in the bag. “Well … I did imply I carried it with me, but that’s not strictly true. However, it’s easily obtained. Something I prescribe to many patients, especially those with nervous conditions. Tincture of time.”

  “W-what?” Gerald gaped at him.

  “Tincture of time,” Ben repeated. “I carry adrenalin chloride in case of acute allergic reactions. It’s a chemical your body produces naturally—fight or flight. For certain patients, it’s therapeutic
. For someone like you, who’s prone to exaggerated complaints, it produces a racing heartbeat, flushed skin, and copious perspiration. But it does no harm and should wear off entirely before long.”

  Gerald looked appalled. “But this is real! You’ve poisoned me. I’m dying!”

  “Suit yourself,” Ben said, rising. “You don’t have to believe me. Just wait. You should be feeling better right about the time the police turn up. And I should thank Mrs. Freeman for tipping me off about your hypochondria,” he added. “I’ve no doubt your wife loves you dearly and would have killed Lady Juliet and me to keep you safe. But if she’d been able to resist teasing you in public, I never would have known.”

  * * *

  “I do hope they let me attend the hanging,” Lady Juliet said. Plymouth CID had ordered them to wait in the Freeman’s living room until officers could interview them. A long night stretched ahead, and now that the crisis was past, she felt as shaky as Gerald in the throes of his panic.

  “Fairly certain executions are no longer a spectator sport,” Ben said.

  “I know that. We receive news of the outside world in Birdswing, thank you very much.” She rubbed her knuckles, which were sore. “By the way. Thank you very much.”

  “You’ve said that,” Ben said lightly. But he, too, sat very straight, hands clasped rigidly, and she suspected he felt just as inwardly disturbed.

  “How did you know where I’d gone?”

  “I didn’t. When the chief excused himself to ring Scotland Yard, I begged leave to call Lady Victoria. I was worried you might not have listened to me—imagine that—so I wanted to find out when Old Robbie was dispatched to collect you. Your mother said she hadn’t heard from you yet. Then I rang up the Freemans, and Bertha answered. I identified myself as Dr. Bones, and before I could ask if you were there, she said, ‘Are you the doctor who’s coming for Lady Juliet? She had a nervous breakdown.’”

  Juliet laughed to conceal her mortification. “Not my finest hour.”

  “No, indeed. It wasn’t till I turned up at the door that she told me you’d been locked in the study all morning. I did a bit of thinking on my feet, drew up a syringe of adrenaline chloride, put it in my vest pocket, and told Bertha to lead me to the patient.”

  “That settles it. I’m offering Bertha a position at Belsham Manor,” Lady Juliet declared. “And if she prefers to remain in Plymouth, I’ll find some other way to reward her. If she weren’t so gullible, I might be on my way to Spain right now. By the way, I rather enjoyed the trick you played on Gerald. Though I wonder if it pained your conscience, given that oath doctors swear.”

  “Strictly speaking, I didn’t break it,” Ben said. “I promised to do no harm, not to refrain from giving the impression I’d done harm. But whether or not a jury of my peers would exonerate me for frightening a man suffering from angina pectoris….” He shrugged. “He was threatening your life. Still, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t disseminate that part of today’s events to the rest of Birdswing.”

  “And have your patients worry you’d sworn a Hypocritical Oath? Never.” Juliet smiled. “Do you suppose we’ll ever discover what Chain Home is?”

  “I don’t know. After the war, perhaps. As long as the Germans don’t find out, that’s good enough for me.”

  There was a moment’s silence. Then Juliet forced herself to say, “I do feel I ought to explain why I went snooping. If only Margaret hadn’t given up on that charity of hers, or at least told me it was dead. Because except for her being at home when I thought she was away, and except for Gerald not actually keeping incriminating papers in his desk, it was really terribly clever of me….”

  He made that sound again, the pained one she found so annoying. But Juliet, overcome with gratitude for the man beside her, pretended not to hear.

  Epilogue

  22 November, 1939

  Ben was exiting St. Mark’s church by the vestry door when a familiar voice called, “Doctor! You’ve gone off and forgotten your cane again.”

  He waited until Lady Juliet crossed the high street. She’d been preparing more of Belsham Manor’s garden for winter from the look of it, and had raided Old Robbie’s wardrobe in the process. He checked her hair for stick-insects and was rather disappointed to find none.

  “I didn’t forget my cane. Just left it at the office.” Lifting his black doctor’s bag, Ben added, “Baby Mark has a cold. I came to check him again before he spends the weekend in Plymouth.”

  “And he received your blessing?”

  “Wholeheartedly.”

  “That’s a relief. I do hope Eunice’s trial run convinces her husband. They desperately need this child in their lives.”

  “How’s Dinah holding up?” Ben asked, easily matching Lady Juliet’s pace. These days his limp was hardly noticeable, except when it rained. “No more crying jags?”

  “None. She knows this is for the best. And I’m really quite proud of her. Dinah’s still half a child herself. It isn’t easy for her to know right from wrong. She’s never had what you’d call a role model.”

  “She does now.” Ben let his fondness for Lady Juliet creep into his voice, but instead of seeming pleased, she looked away.

  “Any disturbances in Fenton House? Things going bump in the night?”

  “No. Mind you, no one’s died in Birdswing, either, so perhaps Lucy can rest comfortably for a time. Why, are you ready to try that talking board?”

  “Not until we must. Oh! There’s Rose Jenkins. I can practically smell my own damask roses from two hundred yards away.” Lady Juliet waved at the petite redhead, who waved back. “Will you be taking her to the church hall dance, Sunday next?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I took her out last week. And I’m in no hurry for matters to progress any quicker than that. My first experience with matrimony had a rather chilling effect.”

  “As did mine, Dr. Bones,” Lady Juliet said solemnly, but she was smiling, smiling as if they were discussing the happiest topic in the world. “So I won’t see you at the dance?”

  “Of course you will. Just not with Rose. Care for some lunch?”

  “Yes, indeed. I’m famished.”

  “Good. I’ve decided to try Laviolette’s. Enough of these rumors. I prefer to experience things for myself.” As Ben hoped, this declaration proved too much for Lady Juliet. He loved the look of horror in her eyes when she didn’t quite realize she was being teased.

  “Dr. Bones, I forbid it! I have it on good authority Mr. Laviolette purchases third rate flour and unsound beef. Once he served horse meat from a knackery!”

  Ben laughed. “I thought you said you never spoke ill of your fellow villagers to an outsider.”

  Slipping her arm through his, Lady Juliet steered him toward Morton’s café. “Ah, but you’re not an outsider any more, Dr. Bones. You’re one of us, and Birdswing is your home.”

  THE END

  From the Author

  I hope you’ve enjoyed book one of this series, the Dr. Benjamin Bones Mysteries. In case you’re wondering, “Chain Home” was the code name of Britain’s first coastal radar system, a major breakthrough in defending the country against enemy aircraft. Thanks to Chain Home, it was no longer a sad truth that “the bomber always gets through.”

  For those who’ve enjoyed my Lord & Lady Hetheridge mystery series, I want to assure you it will absolutely continue. I have no desire to end it! I simply wanted to start a new series set during World War II. During the “War at Home,” the heroism and daily sacrifices of ordinary British citizens was quite extraordinary, and I decided to celebrate it in this small way. The most recent Blue book, Blue Blooded, is on sale now.

  So thank you for reading, and if you enjoyed it, please consider leaving a brief review. Reviews are the lifeblood of my mysteries, and make all the difference in a book that’s noticed and a book that goes unread.

  Cheers!

  Emma Jameson

  2018


  Divorce Can Be Deadly (Bones #2)

  Dr. Bones and the Christmas Wish (Magic of Cornwall #1)

  Dr. Bones and the Lost Love Letter (Magic of Cornwall #2)

  Copyright © 2018 by Emma Jameson

  First Publication, 2017

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Dedication

  To everyone who read Marriage Can Be Murder and waited, patiently or impatiently, for the next installment: Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

  Haunted Cornwall

  27 November 1939

  Two ghosts troubled Dr. Benjamin Bones. One he feared would never release him. Another he worried might slip away, however much he tightened his grip.

  He’d arrived in the tiny village of Birdswing by government order. A native Londoner, he’d been fresh out of medical school when England declared war on Germany. It was hardly shocking, given Herr Hitler’s pattern of aggression, but that made the grim news no easier to bear. The specter of the Great War still haunted England. Gallipoli and the Somme had claimed too many young men, killing them, maiming them, or driving them mad. By war’s end their nation, once the world’s wealthiest power, had collapsed into its biggest debtor. At the start of the Great War, many Britons had declared confidently “this will all be over by Christmas.” Now they faced a second world war, and no one was whistling past the graveyard.

  But that didn’t mean the national mood was fatalistic or fearful. There was still pride, there was still hope, there was still willingness to do right, no matter the personal cost, and Ben believed such virtue would sustain them to victory. Nothing less than resounding victory would do, because the Fuhrer’s vision for the world was terrifying. And so in the winter of 1939, Ben found himself serving his country not as an Army doctor, but a country doctor, in a part of England like none other: Cornwall.