Florence Nightingale Comedy Mysteries Box Set

by Barbara Silkstone

  “There is no doubt in my mind. I was very aware of it and must have touched it dozens of times before I was stricken by the illness.”

  Florence nodded. “Are you ready, Poppy?”

  I nodded, wetting the tip of my graphite stick in my mouth, causing Florence to groan. “You don’t know where that has been. It’s full of germs.” She shook her head. “Sit at the writing desk, take up Lord M’s pen and inkwell. When will you learn to stop putting things in your mouth?”

  Florence could be a bit of a nag with her rules and guideposts. I folded my journal and went to the desk, doing as she asked but a tad bit humiliated at her reprimand.

  “List the names in a column so we may make comments alongside the names,” she instructed. “There was Lord Melbourne, you, and me. And of course, Mr. Averoff, Dr. Carbuncle, Mrs. Carbuncle, Roger Broadribbs, and that annoying reporter, Mr. Olsen, oh yes…and your Granny. Did I forget anyone?”

  Both Lord M and I shook our heads. That seemed to account for all those who dined. “Is it not strange that our host did not have guests from his world attend his dinner?” It was just a thought and once on my mind, it came out my mouth.

  “He seems to be a modest man, perhaps he wished not to make an event of the gifting,” Lord Melbourne remarked. “But if he were truly humble why would he have presented the gift in front of our entire assemblage?”

  A little snort escaped my nose. “He was anxious to see Florence’s reaction. Do you see how eager he is to please her? The man was completely smitten with her before we arrived in Athens.”

  “I won’t honor that with a comment. He is a good man whom fortune has smiled upon; he wishes to give back to humanity, not bed me,” Florence said.

  Lord Melbourne blushed. He was still not accustomed to Florence’s straightforward, often brash way of addressing what she saw as the facts. He quickly directed the questioning in a more appropriate vein. “So that is the list for the dinner. Are there any faces you have seen recently that look suspicious or perhaps familiar? We may have been followed from London.”

  I thought of the footman, Moon, but decided not to call attention to him. He was my secret pleasure. To speak of him in front of Lord Melbourne would be embarrassing, besides he was one of the Queen’s men. I was finding that as I grew into a mature mind I often found myself confused about likes, flirtations, and irritations. “Suspicious—no,” I answered. “Familiar in that they are just the staff from the Palace, the lady’s maids, the footmen, and the Dragoons, surely they are all trustworthy.”

  Eager to get on with our search, and put aside my thoughts of the handsome footman, I tapped the page with the pen, making a dandy splotch on it. I blew at it sending the ink into the fold of the book.

  I held the book upright so it would not be visible to Lord Melbourne. It was important to me that he see me as he saw Florence, a young lady in full control of her faculties and not a bumbling woman-child. “Shall we now consider who was in the room with you, Your Lordship?” she continued.

  Athena had fallen asleep standing with her talons wrapped on the corded belt of Florence’s dress. The owl looked like a sweet toy; I so longed to pet her but instead of inciting her to draw blood, I concentrated on comprising the list.

  It was a bit of a struggle for Lord Melbourne to recall the people who filled his room as he had been focused on being sick. “There was my valet who did leave to fetch Dr. Carbuncle, and of course, the doctor. I believe the guard stepped into the room but I was so ill at the time that I can’t be sure. Why can I not collect my thoughts?”

  He ran a hand through his hair as if to comb his memory of the evening. “Miss Nightingale, I recall you joining Dr. Carbuncle at my bed,” Lord Melbourne studied our faces as if we held the key to his recollections. “Later Mr. Averoff was in the room. And Poppy you stood in the shadows, as did that reporter fellow—goodness I hope he does not make me look the fool in his newspaper! Lord Cumberland would take pleasure in seeing me debased.”

  “Did your valet approach the bed when you first called for help?” Florence asked.

  “No. He kept his distance and literally ran from the room to get the doctor. I am certain at that point the bag was still around my neck as I remember pushing it aside.”

  Florence drew herself up, slowly moving her hand under Athena and slipping the owl in her pocket. “Then I believe the thief is either Dr. Carbuncle or myself. I am quite certain I did not take the emerald as I have no motive; but the doctor may.

  Lord Melbourne, let us ask the guard to accompany us to Dr. Carbuncle’s quarters. The gentleman may be in mourning—or not—but we must question him and search all his belongings for he was the only person near enough to have taken the emerald.”

  Cutting her eyes to me, Florence then looked back at Lord Melbourne. “If the theft was the doctor’s plan, he could have sent the laudanum laced tea to our rooms in order to gain access to you and render us unaware. It would make perfect sense that if you were in distress you would send for him. We will search the doctor and all his possessions. If it is not him, then we shall launch a search for the girl with the white hair.”

  Gathering her skirts and straightening her collar, Florence stepped smartly to the door using stride number 18-B. Over the years I had developed a system for cataloguing her mannerisms; it was another form of short hand for the biography of my mentor.

  Florence Nightingale was nothing if not predictable. Her responses to situations were fixed but always reassuring. I counted quietly to myself…one, two, three. I was certain she would turn before she reached the door in order to remind me about my journal.

  “Poppy, secure your journal. That list of names must be held in the strictest confidence.”

  I nodded obediently.

  Lord Melbourne sent the guard to request that Mr. Averoff join us in Dr. Carbuncle’s chambers. We set off down the hall to question the misogynous doctor whom we expected to find sitting by his dead wife’s bedside.

  Chapter 30

  Dr. Carbuncle looked every bit the man who had just lost the love of his life. I refused to be duped by his performance and judging by Florence’s expression she was having none of it. The doctor held his wife’s lifeless hand, well not really held it, but his fat fingers lay over hers. “My wife is dead,” he mumbled as if we did not know.

  He stared at his spouse conveying such woe that a gullible person just might believe him. I tried stepping beyond my dislike for the man and convincing myself that it could be an honest reaction, for human nature can be like a snake slithering in the grass. One minute a husband may wish a wife out of his life, and the next he begins to eat his tail, wondering how he will ever do without her.

  “You have our deepest condolences,” Florence said. I nodded in solemn agreement.

  “Unfortunately we must speak with you. Time is of the essence. The emerald that was in the sack around Lord Melbourne’s neck is missing. It is not misplaced but stolen! You understand the implications?”

  The doctor seemed to be lost in his own world as he gazed at his wife’s bluish face.

  “I have sent word to the Queen,” Lord Melbourne cast a sympathetic glance at the doctor who did not bother to look up. “We should have her response within a few days; I know we cannot leave Athens without the emerald. And of course, we must make final arrangements for your dear wife.” He looked at Florence and then at me as if seeking advice before asking this bereaved man further questions. “May I ask if you have a diagnosis for Mrs. Carbuncle’s demise?”

  The doctor shook himself slowly coming out of his daze. He reminded me of a huge walrus I had seen at the London Zoo, a gray blubbery mass. Bringing his flippers—hands—to his face, he stroked his whiskers. “It wasn’t the cough suppressant that did her in as the bottle was at the same level as when I left it with her. Her lungs just seemed to grow weaker from the time we boarded the ship.” He bit a knuckle on his right hand. “Edith’s constant hacking was a torment to me,” he sighed. “But what I wouldn’t g
ive to hear her cough just one more time.”

  I wondered if Mrs. Carbuncle’s death was purely coincidental or whether it was somehow tied to the missing emerald; as Florence would say the doctor may have had a motive for he certainly had the opportunity. Ever so subtly I let my gaze slip around the room. Where would I hide something small but valuable—if I were the thief? Casually I peered at the few medicine bottles that stood on the dresser near the bed but the openings were too narrow to slip the stone inside. If the doctor was the crook he might still have the gem in one of his pockets, but we should also examine his medical bag.

  Lord Melbourne would have to be the one to insist Dr. Carbuncle turn out his pockets, as he would surely take high offense if Florence asked him to comply. I hoped Lord M was wise enough to wait until the guard returned with Mr. Averoff, in case the doctor resisted. It was not the best time to accuse him of the theft and yet he was the most likely suspect.

  Florence motioned me to sit as she took a chair near him, it would not do to stand over him like two dominant nannies—not with his attitude towards women. In a humble tone I had never heard before she asked, “Were you awake when Lord Melbourne’s valet summoned you? Do not take offense, we are merely attempting to put together the sequence of events.”

  There was a long silence while he seemed to decide if her question was worth his time. “I was asleep,” he grumbled. “I had placed Mrs. Carbuncle in a trance, thus allowing me my much needed rest when Lord Melbourne’s man came banging on my door.”

  “And Mrs. Carbuncle was sleeping when you left the room?” Florence continued.

  “She was.”

  At that moment there was a soft rap at the door. I eased from my chair and went to answer expecting Mr. Averoff and the guard. Instead Roger Broadribbs stood there looking like he had lost his way on the Oxford campus; all he needed was an emblem on his coat. He pushed his way into the room clutching me in a possessive manner that set me fuming. I freed my arms and stepped back.

  “Poppy, are you alright?”

  “Just dandy! Why are you here?” I snarled. It was the only sound that fit his behavior.

  “Don’t be mad at me. I didn’t drink the tea!” he said, as if that was the reason for my anger.

  I would have taken the time to explain to him about the poison but George Averoff walked into the room accompanied by the reporter and the guard. I only just now noticed Mr. Averoff had an odd waddling gait that lent him the demeanor of a penguin. We now had a penguin and a walrus in the room with the corpse of Mrs. Carbuncle. I must make note of the strange collection if for no other reason than to add some texture to my writings.

  “Mr. Averoff,” Florence addressed her benefactor, “We have determined a list of potential thieves, including the unaccounted for white-haired maid. I am sympathetic to Dr. Carbuncle’s grief, but we must search him, his medical bag, and his room,” she was in full organizational mode. “I suggest that you, Lord Melbourne, and this guard take the good doctor to a secure chamber—perhaps your study—where his person should be inspected for the missing stone.”

  I will never forget the mischief on Florence’s face for she knew the effect her words had on the belligerent doctor. “In the meantime, Miss Throckmorten and I will search his room and his medical bag.”

  Dr. Carbuncle was having none of it as his eyes lit with fury. “I object! This is an outrage!” He turned the color of a boiled lobster as spittle flew from his lips. “No one is allowed to touch my physician’s bag for it contains medicines that must never be confused—to do so would cause death.”

  In an effort to distract him I said, “Surely we must do something about this?” Pointing to Mrs. Carbuncle’s body, I reached for the quilt and pulled it up over her head, noting her horrible blue-gray pallor.

  “You are exceeding the bounds of propriety. My wife’s death has nothing to do with your emerald! She would want me to remain here with her.” He turned on Mr. Averoff. “I shall be certain the Queen learns of how you have treated me during this tragedy!”

  Lord Melbourne nodded at the guard to take the doctor’s arm. “I have written to the Queen and made her aware of all the circumstances. We shall await her instructions. In the meantime, let us begin the search for the sooner we are done, the sooner we can attend to Mrs. Carbuncle.”

  The doctor pulled out of the guard’s grip with a jerk striking Lord Melbourne in the chest. This was going well, I thought.

  Chapter 31

  Mr. Averoff suggested the men adjourn to his study for the privacy needed to search Dr. Carbuncle. Our poor host seemed more humiliated than the blustering doctor. “Why are you looking for the emerald?” Carbuncle ranted. “You were in such a state that you could not have found an elephant in your bed! And I brought you around! This is the thanks I get? You wish to examine my person? How dare you!” He tugged out of the guard’s guiding grip. But despite his protests he was duck-marched out of the room, presumably on his way to Mr. Averoff’s study.

  “Let me help you search in here,” Roger said, looking askance at the covered body of Mrs. Carbuncle, concern for my wellbeing evident by the devoted look in his eyes. If I had given it further thought I would have been nicer to him; but I was too caught up in the tension of the theft.

  “Too many hands in the pot will only cause confusion,” Florence said. She turned to the reporter who stood quietly in the corner taking in all that was happening. I imagined the story would become a series in The Times.

  “Mr. Olsen will you join Roger in searching the halls paying particular attention to the area between Lord Melbourne’s chambers and this room?” She looked at both men with that commanding look of hers, one eyebrow cocked. There was no way they could refuse her.

  “What are we looking for?” Olsen asked.

  “Anything that looks out of place. If the miscreant, whoever he was, was moving quickly he may have dropped something—a clue. No matter how small an item you find, bring it to me to be examined.” It became a bit of a contest between Roger and Olsen as to who the leader of their search team was as they elbowed one another to be the first out the door.

  “One more thing!” Florence called. They turned to face her. “Have either of you seen a young maid with hair so light it might be considered white?”

  They spoke almost in unison, both denying knowledge of such a girl, and then they dashed out the door, their denials echoing after them.

  Once they were gone, Florence and I began to search the Carbuncles’ room. It was creepy to be snooping in the dead woman’s drawers, sorting through her luggage, and imagining that not long ago she had been packing for this adventure. I sighed deeply as I thought that we never know what is lurking around the corner—good or bad; only one thing is certain, it waits for us. I felt for my India rubber ball and took comfort in touching the rock-hard weapon.

  “What do you think killed her?” I asked, keeping my voice low so as not to scare the corpse.

  Florence was inspecting the half dozen bottles that sat on the tabletop. “She could have taken too much of her cough suppressant as it is a narcotic. If she also took the laudanum in more than a safe amount, the combination might have caused her death. Or perhaps her lungs could have just given out; her cough was horrible. She should have been in a sanitarium and not traveling the continent.” Cocking an eye at me, she said, “I know what you are thinking but do not worry. If I had the slightest suspicion it was consumption I would never have allowed her to travel with us.”

  She turned around, placing a consoling hand on her pocket. “What do you think, Athena? Shall we examine the doctor’s medical bag?”

  The little owl chirped in response.

  Florence lifted the doctor’s satchel onto a chair and working together we carefully inventoried each item. “If Dr. Carbuncle is the thief then the emerald would most likely be in here. Write down the name of each item as I take it from the bag. We must keep a record of what we find in here.”

  I took my journal and penlet from my ret
icule, turned to a clean page, and prepared to write. I loved working side by side with Florence; I continued to be fascinated by the way she switched from likeable to short-tempered. One minute she might be explaining some new medical treatment and the next she had shut out the world as she dug into whatever challenged her brilliant mind. For a young lady of less than twenty years of age she conducted herself as if she were responsible for all of mankind’s problems. There were times when her devotion to her calling caused me to worry on her behalf.

  “Bayer Heroin Cough Suppressant.” Florence placed the brown bottle on the table. “There are two more. I wonder what the doctor planned on doing if we remained away from England after the three bottles ran out?”

  She plucked two large bottles of laudanum from the bag. “These plus the one already out makes three. Hmm…”

  “Ah ha!” Pulling out a dark green bottle, she read the label aloud, “Opium Vapor Oil.” She reached in again and extracted a handful of small clear bottles. “These are cocaine toothache drops.” Either the doctor comes well prepared or he may have a problem.

  I doubted she meant he had a bad tooth.

  Chapter 32

  The satchel was now empty, the contents lined up on the table. “The only thing we haven’t found in Carbuncle’s bag of tricks is arsenic.” Florence had just finished speaking when the corpse clearly and distinctly moaned. The effect of the sound was immediate—I jumped three feet in the air.

  As I readied to run out the door Florence tugged me towards her. “Not to worry,” she shook her head, and then sighed most pitifully. “The dead frequently make odd resonances as the muscles in the body relax. In a few hours rigor mortis will begin to set in and her body will go through further changes starting with her face and working downward.”

  Placing her hands on her hips, Florence approached the deathbed. “The sound she just made is as if the dear lady is reminding us that we are neglecting her. Perhaps she is telling us that we should search her.”