Florence Nightingale Comedy Mysteries Box Set

by Barbara Silkstone

  “We have with us a reporter from The Times who was assigned by their editor to follow our adventure. There are things I called to the attention of our group when we first met Mr. James Olsen on the train from Calais. In responding to his challenge I found faults with parts of his story.”

  Olsen ceased taking notes and with a bemused expression on his face, met her glare. “You are quite suntanned for a man who has spent time in England. You have admitted you did conduct an adventure in the Sahara before obtaining your position with the newspaper, but your tan should have faded by now.” She looked from Olsen to Mr. Averoff and then back. “I find it more than coincidental that you spent time in Egypt. But moving along…”

  Florence turned to Lord Melbourne’s valet. “You sir have been strangely quiet and yet you were present in his Lordship’s chambers when the emerald disappeared. You had access to it during his sickness and left his room at his request to alert us to his plight and warn us not to drink the tea. But you have been with his Lordship for many years; let us place you above reproach.”

  Reaching in her pocket she stroked Athena’s little head. “This brings us to the tea and the mysterious maidservant with the white hair.” She turned on Olsen. “I did ask you if you had any knowledge of this young lady, and you denied it.”

  The reporter’s smirk was more than Florence could tolerate. “Turn out your pockets Mr. Olsen. Please.”

  He continued to act as if this were all part of a game, sneering as he stood from his perch on the window ledge. He reached in his pockets and took out some folded bills, a small silver compact, a penknife, and a pipe. Florence approached him in two long strides. She took the folded blade in one hand and the pipe in the other.

  Olsen began to look concerned as she sniffed the pipe. She turned to Lord Melbourne. “Cherry pipe tobacco! Was that not the scent you recalled hovering over you when Dr. Carbuncle stepped away from your bed?”

  “And this knife could easily have cut the cord that held the emerald bag around your neck.” She held the knife up so that we could all see it. Roger appeared astonished, Moon had turned dark, Mr. Averoff was about to come at Olsen, when Florence raised her hand.

  “Please see to your ward, sir,” she said, indicating the closed door to the hall.

  Averoff looked stunned for he had no knowledge of Aimee being present at his home. He had left her at the Chapel on the high hill. He penguin stepped to the door and escorted the girl into the room. “What are you doing here?” His tone was more concerned than angry.

  The girl held her head down, humiliated to be standing out in a crowd. She had spent her life hiding from the world. Aimee broke from Mr. Averoff’s grip and dashed to Olsen, clinging to him. He did not return her embrace; it was clear he was rejecting her. She released her hold on him, stepped back and looked up at his face. “Have I displeased you, my love?” she asked, tears pooling in her gray eyes.

  I moved next to Florence should she need an extra pair of hands. She did and handed me the items taken from Olsen’s pocket. She then reached over and yanked his mustache; at first I thought she might be losing her temper but with the second tug and a scream on his part, she had the mustache in her hands. She then grabbed his spectacles from his face.

  Peering at the reporter as if seeing him for the first time, Mr. Averoff turned to his ward. “Aimee, what is he doing here?” He looked at Florence. “This man is known to me as David Plotter, a man who attempted to—how you say—seduce my ward. He has known of the emerald since I first found it but he was forbidden to come near Aimee. I am grieved that I paid little attention to him upon his arrival with your party for it is a habit of mine to avoid the people from the tabloids.” He smacked his palm to his head. “I should have scrutinized him carefully.”

  “From our first encounter I had a bad feeling about you Mr. Olsen or is it Plotter? You confirmed my suspicions when you reacted in such an excitable manner as I attempted to release the air from Mrs. Carbuncle’s body.”

  He snorted. “Who wouldn’t be agitated? I enter a room to find a lanky lady dressed like a nun, sitting astride a dead woman? Pshaw!”

  “I was not wearing nun’s clothing!” Florence took offense. “How did you come to learn of the emerald?”

  “I have nothing to lose by answering your questions for you have caught me fair and square.” He was too quick to respond, which gave me a sense he was planning an escape. He continued to fill in the blanks of his tale. “I was Aimee’s lover while in Egypt, as the girl had no one else who could tolerate her appearance. She was so grateful for the slightest attention, she eagerly kept me appraised of Averoff’s finances—what she knew of them.”

  Aimee held her hands against her mouth, biting down on her pale fists. He was humiliating her, killing her with his words. I was ready to have at him but I knew there was more Florence must learn.

  “You were one of the last in the icehouse with the body, aside from the doctor. The corpse is now giggling, her vocal cords vibrating. This tells me that you have released whatever blockage was in place. Was it the emerald?” Florence demanded.

  “It was in Mrs. Carbuncle!” he boasted, almost sashaying about in front of the window. I took note of his occasional glances at the opening, certain he was gauging an escape.

  “When did you insert it in her and where?” Florence’s eyes had turned cold, hard, and flinty. Her nostrils flared. I would not wish to be Mr. Olsen—Plotter for all the jewels in the world.

  Olsen rolled his eyes and waved his hand dismissively. “I am an observant person. I noticed the trigger for Mrs. Carbuncle’s hypnotic state was not the words the doctor used, but his touch on her shoulder.”

  He spit out an ugly laugh. “While you were all fussing over Lord Melbourne and his touch of arsenic, I was in the Carbuncles’ room. It took a single touch to her shoulder, just as I had seen the doctor perform, to put the old girl under a spell.”

  “She was alive when you inserted the emerald in her?” Florence demanded.

  I took a quick gander around the room counted half a dozen mouths hanging open.

  “She sure was. I figured it was a perfect way to smuggle the jewel out of Greece. Once hypnotized it was easy enough to tell the old girl she was eating a singin’ hinny and must swallow it in one bite to taste the honey. Sad to say she couldn’t quite swallow it and she choked,” he said, smacking his thigh with his hand. “That’s why I was so upset when you went and jumped on her, pushing and pumping. She just might have spit it out. You are an awful busybody.”

  “Murderer!” Dr. Carbuncle vaulted from his seat throwing his full weight into the dive but missing Olsen by a few feet and landing face first on the floor. It took him a bit to gather himself up from the carpet.

  “It wasn’t my intention to kill the old lady. It was the emerald’s fault!” Olsen stated emphatically, still arrogant which told me that he was most assuredly working towards an escape. Call it my writer’s instinct but he was headed out that window.

  “Bye-the-bye, Aimee was innocent. She knew about the laudanum but not the arsenic. I am never without the stuff. Weren’t enough to kill you, Lord Melbourne, just enough to make you need this useless quack.”

  Florence moved in closer, attempting to distract him with conversation. “Malaria?”

  Olsen sneered. “Good guess. Had it bad a few years ago. I always carry some arsenic in that little compact you have in your hands. Just in case. One never knows when one may encounter a relapse or have to bring down a Prime Minister.”

  From the corner of my eye I saw Lieutenant Lane moving in on Olsen, but unfortunately Roger was headed in the same direction. This did not have success written all over it, as they were bound to bang heads.

  The window was the logical choice for Olsen’s escape. The fall to the ground was not that far. Despite his gimpy leg he might be able to outrun the guards, or perhaps he had a horse at the ready.

  Reaching in my pocket I took out the India rubber ball just as he turned preparing to j
ump. Aiming to his left side as he faced the window, I put a curve on the hard bead so that it hit the wall and ricocheted like a musket ball hitting him in his twiddle diddles. He fell to the ground groaning. There is nothing more satisfying than bringing down a swaggering murderer.

  Suddenly a little gray arrow flew at him. It took a moment for me to realize it was Athena. The owlet landed on the toe of Olsen’s right shoe and pecked at his ankle as if trying to tell us something. Florence reached out and the bird jumped onto her finger.

  It took two guards, one to hold Olsen and the other to pull off his shoe. Inside lay the emerald! Appearing to bow to the onlookers, Athena fluttered back to Florence and climbed into her pocket, a dandy job well done.

  Lord Melbourne took charge of the jewel, while Lieutenant Lane made certain James Olsen’s career as an ace reporter for The Times was over as he clamped heavy metal manacles around his wrists, pulled him to his feet, and had a guard lead him off to the Dragoons’ quarters.

  Mr. Averoff held his weeping ward in a fatherly embrace. Florence and I shared a look of relief. The emerald had been recovered, and a murderer would face his punishment.

  Two days later we set out for London as it was no longer necessary to wait on a response from Queen Victoria. We assembled our group, including a funeral carriage provided by Mr. Averoff. The coffin was packed with ice which we hoped would last until we arrived at the seaport. From there the poor lady would be placed in the hold of the steamship with other perishable goods. It was a blessing she was unable to see the indignity of being packed with sardines bound for England.

  The Nightingale School for Lady Nurses was one step nearer to becoming a reality.

  Epilogue

  I won’t say the journey from Athens to London was pleasant. Let us just skip over the details of the arduous land and sea travel, other than to say that Mrs. Carbuncle’s icebox was not up to the task of keeping her daisy-fresh.

  The Queen did not insist on an autopsy conducted by the royal coroner once we explained that James Olsen’s evil trick had caused Mrs. Carbuncle to choke. Would Her Highness have the thief turned reporter turned thief again, hung for murder? He hadn’t intended to kill the doctor’s wife, but then we all must pay the price for the results of our actions, planned or not.

  Lord Melbourne personally secured the jewel in the Black Tower and set his financial envoy to find a purchaser, for not every diamond merchant in London had ready cash for such a stone.

  Queen Victoria, delighted to have us back in England, safe and sound, sought to have Florence and me stay on at the Palace. But my mentor was eager to return to Derbyshire and confront her parents for she wished to attend nursing school in Germany. The Nightingales had refused her request once, before our epic adventure, but how could they deny her wish now that Queen Victoria was championing her cause?

  After extending our sincere thanks to the Queen and Lord Melbourne, we set off for home. With Moon in mind, I was hoping the Queen would order us to stay but she saw the wisdom in allowing Florence to pursue her calling in her own way.

  Reluctantly I bid farewell to the handsome footman. “This is just a temporary goodbye for we shall meet again and perhaps by then I will be worthy of you, Miss Throckmorten.” Allowing his eyes to dart around the room, he quickly kissed my hand, and we parted. A little piece of my heart remained with him. If we were meant to be together then he would be waiting when I had finished my adventures; not that I would consider the baby-making business, but the kissing part would be just dandy.

  As Florence, Granny, Roger, and I rode home in one of the Queen’s finest carriages, my mind flitted from the emerald to Moon, and then to Mr. Averoff. Would he take Aimee back with him to Cairo or would the girl spend the rest of her life tending an isolated chapel at the top of a hill? It would be a lonely life if he left her in Greece for the girl needed someone to care for her safety.

  Anger stirred within me at every person who had ever acted in a mean way toward Aimee. Lord Melbourne, Florence, Granny, and I agreed to forgive her for serving us the laudanum-laced tea although she did know it was wrong. It was easy to understand how she could be placed under the spell of the first man who had ever shown an interest in her. She was so sweet and so vulnerable.

  Since we set out on our adventure I had not had one sleepwalking incident. I wondered if my nightly meanderings had something to do with my need to escape my parents’ domination? I would soon be home and that would surely be the test.

  Determined to be as stubborn as possible I concocted a scheme. I would hold power over my mother by sharing little dribs and drabs of our adventure, dolling them out like chocolate bonbons, but only if she did not attempt to control me. My silly little plan seemed to work for my mother’s one weakness was gossip, and the thought that I might engage in a royal chinwag proved irresistible to her. Oh, how she ached for tattletales from the Palace.

  Once we had returned to Milton-on-the-Marsh, Roger resumed his pursuit of me. I took to visiting the Nightingale estate in order to avoid him. It was there I met Florence’s equivalent of Roger.

  Richard Monckton Milnes, an eligible gentleman, renewed his pursuit of Florence.

  My friend had returned to Lea Hurst to resume butting heads with her mother and dodging offers of marriage. We had much in common, you see.

  Just when Mr. Nightingale appeared to weaken in his resistance to Florence’s continued requests to attend nursing school in Germany, a letter arrived on Her Majesty’s royal letterhead. We were urgently needed at Buckingham Palace!

  But that is another story for another time.

  Historical Notes

  The following characters are real life although the events that inspired this tale may not be. I confess to having played with history to create this first adventure in the Florence Nightingale Comedy Mystery series.

  Florence Nightingale

  Born in Florence, Italy on May 12, 1820, she was a member of a wealthy Derbyshire family. The younger of two daughters, strong–willed she defied her parents who forbade her to pursue proper training in order to care for the sick and injured. During the Victorian era, when English women had almost no property rights, young ladies of Florence Nightingale’s social status were expected to marry a man of means—not take up an occupation that was viewed as lowly manual labor.

  In 1856, upon returning from the Crimean War, having saved many lives by bringing her common-sense approach toward nursing to the battlefield, she was surprised to be met in London with a hero’s welcome. Humble by nature, any accolades awarded to her made her very uncomfortable.

  The year before her return, Queen Victoria had rewarded Florence’s work with an engraved brooch that became known as the Nightingale Jewel. At that time there were no official medals of honor for women. The Queen also granted her a prize of $250,000, which Florence used to fund the Nightingale Training School for Nurses. Thanks to Florence Nightingale, nursing was no longer looked down on by the upper classes; it had come to be viewed as an honorable vocation. She never married and lived to be ninety years old.

  Athena the Owlet

  True!

  Queen Victoria

  “Plump as a partridge…more of a pocket Hercules than a pocket Venus” is how the Duke of Kent described his feisty newborn daughter Princess Victoria on the day she was born at Kensington Palace, one year before Florence Nightingale. Queen Victoria went on to become one of Britain’s most outstanding monarchs. Taking the throne at the age of eighteen, she ruled for more than 60 years. Please note the Queen made frequent use of the royal we: A plural pronoun referring to a single person holding high office such as a monarch. I have done so throughout this tale.

  Lord Melbourne

  The first Prime Minister of Victoria’s reign was Lord Melbourne, a member of the Whig party. He had an important relationship with the young queen, which was judged by the opposing Tory party to be to their detriment. Early in life he fell in with some Romantic poets including Lord Byron and Percy Shelley. His belo
ved wife, Lady Caroline had an affair with the poet, Lord Byron. Her scandalous behavior led to his public humiliation and a broken heart. Although the couple remained friends they eventually separated. He would hold a melancholy attachment to his wife for the rest of his days, long after her death.

  Lord Cumberland

  Prince Ernest, Duke of Cumberland and King of Hanover was the fifth son of George III and Queen Charlotte and a younger brother of Queen Victoria’s father, Prince Edward, the Duke of Kent. He fought the French in Flanders and was injured at the Battle of Tournai; his face had been permanently scarred and he lost the sight in one eye. He was inclined to maliciousness and his life was beset with scandal. Queen Victoria and those closest to her viewed her uncle with suspicion. Without Victoria, the Duke and his son would have been Britain’s future monarchs and the course of history would have changed in immeasurable ways. He remained a threat to her during the early years of her reign.

  George Averoff

  Averoff was a Greek businessman and philanthropist. He is considered one of the great national benefactors of Greece. Born in Epirus, Greece, at an early age Averoff moved to Cairo to join his brother in business. Through his clever business tactics, he soon became the biggest merchant in Egypt. He was involved in banking, real estate, and shipping. He donated his vast wealth to charity and common good purposes. Averoff founded numerous schools in both Egypt and Greece. Among other benevolent works, he sponsored the restoration of the Panathenaic Stadium where the first modern Olympic games were held.

  Averoff died in Alexandria in 1899. In gratitude for his generosity, the Greek state declared him a Major National Benefactor and commissioned a marble statue of him that was placed in front of the Panathenaic Stadium.