Florence Nightingale Comedy Mysteries Box Set

by Barbara Silkstone

  I ran out the front arch and peered down the winding road to Athens. I could see the figure of Mr. Averoff mounted on a donkey making his way home. He could not have been aware of the kerfuffle that had just occurred.

  With the guard and Moon standing over her, the girl seemed to melt into contrition.

  She looked at me now clearly recognizing that I was the one who received her toxic tea. When I thought how close she came to poisoning Granny, it was all I could do not to pop her in the nose.

  “I am so sorry,” the girl began to sob. She huddled into the pew trying to make herself as small as possible.

  Florence took the kindly approach, not the route I would have chosen. “What is your name?” she asked as she dropped down into the seat.

  “Aimee. I am Aimee.” Her voice quavered as she spoke with an unrecognizable accent.

  “What is your second name?”

  “I am just Aimee.” Her lips and chin trembled. She looked all around her.

  “Mr. Averoff is gone,” I said, catching a questioning look from Florence since she had not seen our host. “How do you come to know him?” I pursued.

  She lowered her voice to a whisper, closing her eyes, her white lashes unable to hold back tears that ran down her cheeks. “I am Mr. Averoff’s ward. He wishes me to remain here as he tells me I am safer here for there are those who do not understand my—” she ran her hand over her face.

  Florence quirked one eyebrow at me. “Why did he have you bring us the tea? Did you put the poison in it?”

  The guard coughed and Aimee flinched, and then looked behind her, again. “That was not poison in it. It was just to make you sleep. It wasn’t bad.”

  “Who told you it wasn’t bad? Someone must have instructed you.” Florence persisted.

  “I cannot say. I have given my word!” Aimee licked her lips.

  “Excuse me ma ‘am.” The caravan driver stood in the doorway, hat in hand. “I am ready to go back down the hill. I can take you all now.”

  Florence nodded to the man, holding a finger in the air. She returned to the toxic tea girl. “Aimee, you are coming with us. We will talk again.” She motioned to the guard; who took the girl’s slender arm in his meaty fist. “Gently!” Florence warned him.

  Standing outside, I took one long lingering look at the views of Athens and promised myself I would comeback someday.

  Chapter 37

  The caravan driver acknowledged Aimee but did not seem to think it odd that we were taking the sobbing girl with us. Perhaps this was something that occurred regularly. Florence placed Aimee between us and though the ride was not that long, it was long enough to coerce her into sharing some of her background.

  “Mr. Averoff saved me from an awful place in the bad part of Cairo. I was born this way and there were those who would have used me badly. He is good man. Like a father to me.” She sighed a deep sigh for such a slender girl.

  “Why did you bring us the tea?” Florence asked.

  “I did it for love.” Aimee refused to say anything more.

  Once we reached the bottom of the hill, the girl was taken to the Dragoons’ lodgings for safe keeping while Florence and I sought out Lord Melbourne. “I will get to the bottom of this. We shall find Aimee’s accomplice and if for some strange reason it is Mr. Averoff —perhaps the man enjoys playing games—then we will be gone before he can invent a plausible excuse.”

  In keeping with our tradition, I would first have to fend off Roger who came at me like a hunting dog kept indoors too long. “Where have you been? I have been frantic with worry. I imagined all sorts of awful things!” It was then that he caught sight of Moon.

  Roger’s jaw jutted out so far, it exceeded the length of his nose. He balled his fists and made ready to accuse the footman of all the improprieties which I am certain ran through his mind.

  “Step away, Mr. Broadribbs. We are in search of Lord Melbourne. Moon is assisting us.” Perhaps I had snapped at him, but his almost constant presence was like having sticky honey on my hands; I could never seem to free myself from him.

  As Florence and I stood in the courtyard about to confront Mr. Averoff, his countenance gave no indication of either guilt or that we had been missed during the afternoon. I was certain he had no idea we had witnessed his clandestine meeting with the white-haired girl he denied was a maid in his household. He had not lied; he had just avoided volunteering the truth for Aimee was not a servant, but rather his ward. She did not live in his house but by her admission dwelt on the grounds of the Chapel of St. George, acting as a helper and thus avoiding public scrutiny.

  We made no mention of Aimee to him for the time was not quite right. Try as I might, I could not understand why Mr. Averoff would wish to poison Lord Melbourne. Discounting the laudanum which would induce sleep, the arsenic in the sugar was calculated to cause pain and perhaps death.

  “You are welcome to join me,” Mr. Averoff said. “I am to meet Lord Melbourne at the icehouse. A fresh delivery has arrived. Poor Mrs. Carbuncle’s condition has deteriorated as the ice has melted.”

  “Come along,” Florence whispered, beckoning me to follow. “Let us alert Lord Melbourne to prepare the guards, for it appears the thief has been at work and may be about to abscond with the emerald.”

  “Do you know who the thief is?”

  She looked at me as a teacher would a slow student. “Look close to home for the answers. The thief was so comfortably situated in every setting, that we failed to notice him—but now the pieces begin to fit together.”

  Lord Melbourne had been standing some distance from the icehouse in the company of Mr. Olsen, two Dragoons, and the biggest goon, Dr. Carbuncle.

  Florence motioned to Lord Melbourne to follow while she removed the scarf from her neck and tucked it into her pocket to protect Athena from the cold. We entered the icehouse and found Mrs. Carbuncle in disarray with her head and neck exposed. Her mouth gaped and her hair looked as if someone had stirred it with a cooking fork.

  “Someone has been toying with the corpse!” Florence whispered in Lord Melbourne’s ear. He appeared stunned. “No one has been in the icehouse except for Dr. Carbuncle—to my knowledge. I was not here the entire time. Mr. Averoff unlocked the room so fresh ice could be delivered.”

  By the look on Florence’s face, Lord Melbourne had just fallen out of her favor. It was easy to do. I looked away rather than watch one of my favorite men cringe under my mentor’s piercing stare.

  The doctor seemed to have recovered from his broken heart and was directing the movement of his wife’s remains as huge blocks of ice were wheeled into the room. Did he do something to his wife’s body?

  The unfortunate Dragoons were instructed to remove Mrs. Carbuncle. Unable to disguise their distaste, they lifted the woman’s quilt-wrapped body and gingerly carried her outside the room to make way for the fresh ice.

  As they brought the corpse out into the sunlight, it uttered a noise that sounded like a giggle. The look exchanged between the guards would have been priceless if I had not been wearing the very same expression. When the corpse giggled a second time and then a third, they carefully but quickly laid the woman on the ground and stepped away. I noticed they were both sweating profusely.

  Hoping Florence had an explanation for the giggling, I cut her a questioning look but she was engaged in studying the assemblage. The corpse lay on the ground still wrapped in the quilt, but giggling. It was the most preposterous sight I had ever beheld.

  “Quickly! Place Mrs. Carbuncle back on the ice, out of the sun!” Florence snapped.

  Yes. Yes. I comforted myself. That would surely stop the giggling. Florence and Lord Melbourne walked inside to receive the body since the guards could not step away fast enough. The Dragoons gathered their nerve, lifted the corpse, and placed Mrs. Carbuncle on ice, and then dashed out the door resuming their military stance some distance away.

  Roger was at my side, but this time he kept his hands to himself. Moon was somewhere in the gath
ering as was Mr. Averoff who rocked slightly, his hands trembling. I hadn’t noticed Granny slip to my side, her eyes agog. “Well I never imagined the afterlife could be that much fun! Wonder what is going on in heaven that is making her chortle?”

  Mr. Olsen sat on a large stone near the entrance; his notebook lay open; he seemed to be sketching something. Could he be working on an illustration for The Times? I was just able to see a detailed drawing of the corpse in the icehouse surrounded by a puddle of water, when he sensed me looking on and slammed the book shut. From what I had seen it was a good likeness, if such gore could be described as good. I had the distinct feeling he was also trying to eavesdrop.

  Lord Melbourne’s face knotted in concentration, as he stood in the icehouse listening to Florence. I could only assume she was recounting our experience at the chapel and telling him about the capture of Aimee. He nodded a few times; his face remaining so dark and solemn I found it hard to remember if I had ever seen him smile.

  Dr. Carbuncle elbowed me out of the way and leaned into the doorway peering at the corpse of his wife who continued to giggle. He turned away in disgust and in a growly voice said, “Just like Edith. She never did know when to shut up. I’m certain this is her way of getting even with me.” He stormed off.

  Florence stepped from the cold followed by Lord Melbourne who remained at the entrance as he addressed the gathering of morbid onlookers. “Mr. Averoff’s household staff is to gather in the courtyard. You will be under guard until such time as we call for you. No one is to leave the area until you receive word from me.”

  Florence whispered in Lord Melbourne’s ear; he listened intently, and then nodded. He turned and addressed the group. “The following people are to assemble in the parlor for the reading of Miss Nightingale’s notes which are critical to our investigation—Mr. Averoff, Dr. Carbuncle, Mr. Olsen, Miss and Mrs. Throckmorten, and Mr. Broadribbs. Let us have two of guards attend the parlor meeting.”

  He did not ask our host’s permission which was very telling.

  As we left the scene of the icehouse, the corpse could still be heard giggling. “I cannot leave that poor woman like that.” Florence scooted me along while she returned to solve Mrs. Carbuncle’s unearthly problem.

  Temporarily without my mentor, I reached in my pocket for comfort, confirming my India rubber ball and journal were in place. The book contained the list of possible thieves and assassins compiled by Lord Melbourne and Florence. Even if you added Florence and me it was not a very long list but it might be useful.

  With Roger tailing me, and with Moon standing in the shadows his face a mask of longing, I walked to the parlor.

  Chapter 38

  The evening air flowed through the open windows of the parlor making the room a tad bit more comfortable. Mr. Averoff, Granny, Florence, Roger, and I stood near the arches taking in the breeze. It had taken thirty minutes to assemble everyone while Florence left me, dashing to our room to commit her conclusions to paper and returning to the parlor as quickly as her feet would fly.

  Dr. Carbuncle sat in an armchair near the door. He looked more than ever like a walrus ready to flipper off, but surely he couldn’t be thinking of making a run for it? I could not imagine him moving quickly under any circumstances, and with the guards outside the door, he wouldn’t get far. If Mrs. Carbuncle had not died so mysteriously, perhaps he would not be a suspect, but she did and he was.

  Lord Melbourne arrived in Mr. Averoff’s parlor just as the sun was sinking over the white block houses that lay below us, scattered over the hills of Athens like a child’s toys. His Lordship had visited the unofficial garrison and was now in the company of Captain Wainright’s second in command, Lieutenant Lane. By the sound of heavy boots outside the door, a number of Dragoons stood at the ready in the hall.

  In doing as Florence requested; Lord Melbourne had baited the trap by announcing that Florence had discovered the truth behind the theft of the emerald. This was a good reason to draw everyone together including and most importantly, the thief who would be tempted to know Florence’s discovery and plans for any blockades that might be implemented to prevent the emerald from leaving the city.

  James Olsen, ace reporter for The Times, walked across the room and seated himself on the windowsill. He opened his notebook, no doubt ready to capture these final moments for his readers. The great reveal. Part of me resented his encroaching on my story of Florence’s first big adventure, but I consoled myself with the thought that he would only be whetting readers’ appetites for my book, which would be years in the writing as I traveled the globe with my mentor.

  Olsen’s limp had become more pronounced. He seemed to be struggling to walk properly. Could he have fallen? The thought occurred to me that he might have been up to mischief in the icehouse and perhaps twisted his ankle on the wet floor; but I would be the first to admit that my imagination was dashing along creating villains where there were none. I squinted as I watched Florence study Olsen and wished I could get into her mind, but it was an elaborate maze of logic to which only she held the key.

  Roger stood nearby still determined to save me from something—I doubted he knew what, but bless his heart, he would try. He cast an angry eye across the room. I followed his glare.

  My un-intended’s glower was aimed at Moon who stood next to the other footman, with Lord Melbourne’s valet on his right side. Moon appeared nervous. A little prayer fell from my lips, Please don’t let him be involved in the theft. Someday, someway I wanted to get to know this man better but not through dungeon bars.

  Forced to cast a net over the culprit before he or she ran off, Florence waved the sheet of scribbled paper in her hand as if it were a royal missive while Lord Melbourne addressed the group. “Miss Nightingale will read her revelations.”

  Florence leaned over and whispered to me, “There is still one person missing.” She glanced at the clock unable to proceed until her witness was in attendance. Sticking her index finger in her pocket in what had become a comforting habit she stroked Athena’s little feathered head.

  I watched the clock, the ticking seeming to grow louder as time marched on. The door opened a crack, and in popped the Dragoon who had accompanied us to the Chapel. He exchanged a look with Florence, nodded and then closed the door. We were ready to begin.

  Four armed Dragoons held the household staff in the courtyard. I noticed them earlier, the servants stood in silence dazed by the chaos. “I will be leaving my people with new employers,” Mr. Averoff had informed me when we first met up in the parlor. “I will return to Cairo where my business interests lie. I shall not be coming back to Greece—at least not in the foreseeable future.”

  A lesser investigator might think him guilty of changing his mind about the endowment and would reason that he decided to take back the emerald. I was not that lesser person and believed his wish to return to Egypt was motivated by his financial interests. Once I trusted someone it is very hard for me to change my feelings…and yet? No. The idea was preposterous.

  Florence stood in the center of the room. “Let us begin.” She approached Dr. Carbuncle, brandishing the paper as if it were a weapon. “We are dealing with two crimes, not just one. Mrs. Carbuncle was the victim of foul play—of that I am now certain for someone disturbed the corpse in such a way as to cause her vocal cords to vibrate. This I discovered when I aided the poor woman in her post mortem state of giggling. Someone in this room is responsible for her death.”

  Chapter 39

  She cut the doctor a look that should have made his blood run as cold as his wife’s now did—not that it was running anywhere. “I fear that as a physician you have failed your oath, and as a husband you are a deliberate ignominy.” She pronounced, looking down at him.

  The walrus began to stand in protest, but Florence placed her hand on his shoulder and forced him down. “You continued to treat your wife with laudanum and opium, keeping her in a state of confusion and constant coughing, ultimately causing her to choke!”
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  “I did not kill my wife. The laudanum was to quiet her agitation, the opium cough suppressant was just that—meant to quiet her constant hacking. She did cough herself to death! I rest my reputation on it.”

  Florence sniffed, “You are quite free with your reputation!” She shook her head in disgust. “You are selfish and stupid, but you are not a murderer. You haven’t the instincts to kill—merely the stupidity. You may have even saved Lord Melbourne’s life; but of that I am not completely certain.”

  She moved to Lord Melbourne, her motions and words just for show. “The theft of the emerald could be an effort to disgrace the Queen, something orchestrated by her enemies at court. But I am certain you are devoted to Her Royal Highness and would never act against her. I imagine you would lay down your life for her.”

  Taking a few steps towards Roger, she let go with a faux chuckle. “You? Impossible.”

  “And yet someone would have to know from the beginning of our sojourn the form of the endowment for plans had to be made to smuggle it out of the country.” She spun on her heels dramatically. “Could it have been Mrs. Carbuncle? Was she behind the theft? Hardly. For the lady was in a stupor more often than not. It may have been her husband for Dr. Carbuncle has much to gain if our school fails—his reputation as a naysayer of women in medicine would be enhanced if the Nightingale School of Lady Nurses failed to be established.” She looked at Dr. Carbuncle with disgust and then turned her back on him.

  “The Queen handpicked the maids and footmen who accompanied us from her personal staff. But, one of the footmen bribed another guard in order to join us. Any sudden change in personnel causes me to look askance at the perpetrator.” She glared at Moon holding his eyes for long minutes, and then stepped away to circle the room again. It was as if she was picking her prey, slowly and deliberately.