Florence Nightingale Comedy Mysteries Box Set

by Barbara Silkstone

  Turning to meet her I addressed the most important thing on my mind. “Where’s my Granny?”

  “She should be with the Queen. They are well guarded. I am glad you are safe. Roger appears to have walked into a brick wall.” She bobbed her head in his direction. “Step aside so we may speak in private.”

  Once we were sequestered in an alcove, I explained what Bailey had accomplished and his warning regarding Mr. Harley and his gang. Then I addressed Roger’s condition.

  “Harley and his gang are no more Chartists than we are. He is taking advantage of the movement to brew trouble for the monarchy,” she said. “I would wager he has nothing to lose but much to gain if there is a revolution. He is a snake.”

  “Why are so many people gathering here? Some are obvious for I conceive that Lady Beryl will be arrested but why is Lady Marianne in attendance, and the Duke and Duchess of Cumberland? And Mrs. Ponsonby?” It was an odd mix of people for what should be an intimate reveal and arrest. And then I noticed that old fool of a physician, Doctor Carbuncle mingling in the crowd. “I thought Carbuncle wasn’t practicing medicine anymore?” I asked, bewildered at his presence.

  Florence was distracted as she watched the people shuffle in. As much as the Dragoons were on alert, she was more so. Poison is so easily administered. Lord Melbourne stood within inches of the Queen, his hand near the bulge in his coat.

  I looked around the room as more people entered. “Who is that withered old man?” I pointed to a leathery fellow who looked as if he had celebrated his centennial birthday years earlier.

  “That is the alchemist, Mr. Morely. He discovered a second poison in Mrs. Dupree’s corpse. Do not be surprised by anything you see or hear. Remain on your toes for things are about to become exciting.” She looked towards the door as a footman rang a silver bell. The assemblage became silent as Queen Victoria entered the room—her posture perfect, her face serene.

  Inadvertently my eyes moved to Lord Cumberland. If I did not know it was impossible I would have sworn the scar that slashed his cheek and eye began to cast an eerie glow. England was fortunate that Victoria stood between him and the throne for the man was a tyrant; the future of our beloved country would be disasterous if he had become King.

  A sigh escaped my lips. Queen Victoria must produce heirs to protect her lineage and keep the Crown from Cumberland. Her meeting this evening with Prince Albert of Coburg was to explore the possibility of marriage. I hoped he was a gentleman worthy of our brave little Queen.

  Straight as one of her guards, Queen Victoria walked in regal form to the throne. She was wearing her new peach-colored gown, the one for which the killer corset had been designed. Her dark hair was swept up in a cluster of curls with thick tendrils framing her face. Not for all the world would I wish to be her as she dealt with an assassination plot only hours before she was to meet her future husband.

  As she walked past I remembered to curtsy. She did not favor anyone with her attentions but walked to the throne and ever so gracefully seated herself. I looked at the door through which she had come. Baroness Lehzen entered, followed by two more guards…but no Granny.

  My heart began to race. I held my own hands to comfort myself. “Granny is not here yet,” I said to Florence. “Perhaps I should look for her.”

  “Give her another minute. She may have had something to attend to on the Queen’s behalf. Right now I need you here at my side to be my second pair of eyes.”

  I tried to be those eyes for Florence and focus on the Queen and the various people paying court to her but as the minutes ticked by, I grew more certain Granny needed me. We had a special bond that transcended the normal familial ties; there were times when I could read her mind. She was in trouble. I slipped away leaving Florence to conduct the exposure of the crimes on her own.

  Chapter 35

  Tapping one of the guards to accompany me, I scurried down the long corridors surprising myself in having learned the maze of halls so well or perhaps it was a granddaughter’s homing instinct at work. A Dragoon stood outside the Queen’s chambers. “Have you seen Mrs. Throckmorten?” I asked, trying to keep the franticness from my voice.

  He was a new face, one unfamiliar to me. The Dragoon looked down with piercing dark eyes giving me the impression he could squash me like a bug. “You don’t know me, but…” I began.

  “There has been a changing of the guard since the Queen required escorts to her assembly.” His tone was not friendly.

  I stared up at the guard who had accompanied me. “Please tell him to admit me. I fear something has happened to Mrs. Throckmorten.” It was as if I was standing between two pillars decorated in red and trimmed in gold. I thought perhaps I should raise my voice so they could hear me from their lofty heights and pay attention to my plea.

  “This is Miss Throckmorten. She is on the approved list of visitors,” my guard said.

  The Dragoon at the door shook his head once slowly and deliberately. I judged him to be one of those people who never, but never bent the rules. “The list only applies when the Queen is in her chambers. She is not there now, so this lady cannot be admitted.”

  While they were debating whether to let me in or not, my grandmother could be dying or worse. Quick as a little lizard, I slipped passed them, yanked open the heavy door and evaded his ham-like hand.

  The Queen’s parlor was dimly lit. “Granny?” There was no answer. I felt a guard’s hand on me and wrangled to get free. He held on and so I did the only thing I could think of—I bit him just above the edge of his glove. It actually felt good, in a primal way, to sink my teeth into him. It released so much of the tension I had kept bottled up since Lady Julia’s murder.

  The bully guard yelped and let go of me.

  My guard—I had quickly come to adopt one and alienate the other—blocked the bitten guard from pursuing me. I dashed around the sitting area and headed towards the dressing room. There in the shadows lay a body. A cry caught in my throat and tears filled my eyes for by the tiny frail shape I was certain it was Granny.

  I knelt next to her and touched her face. Her eyes were closed and she felt cold. As I lifted her head it lolled from one side to the other. I stroked her cheek and ran my hand over her lips. I could feel faint puffs of air. The neckline of her gown was not cutting off her breathing but her corset might. Quickly I contemplated two choices, send one of the guards back for that useless quack Dr. Carbuncle or direct the Dragoons to help me remove Granny’s corset.

  Praise all the angels in heaven I did not have to make either choice as Granny’s eyes fluttered open. She mumbled groggily at first and then her words became clearer, “I kept my hand on the left wall and walked through the darkness and here I am!”

  “What darkness, Granny?”

  “The darkness that came over me. I felt sick and then I was lost in a maze, it wasn’t exactly the shrubbery kind…”

  It was only as I calmed that I smelled that musty odor, the one from the dress shop cellar. Sitting flat on the floor, I took hold of Granny’s gloved hand to comfort her. It was damp. I lifted her hand to my nose.

  “Granny, your glove is wet and it stinks.”

  “That’s an insult,” she mumbled, trying to sit up. “Must have gotten wet from keeping it on the left wall.” She looked around, “Where am I? Where is the maze?”

  “Give me your gloves I snapped at my guard. Please!”

  He stripped his white gloves and tossed them to me. I pulled them on, which was no effort as my entire hand fit in the palm of his glove. They would protect me from any remaining poisons for I was certain the gloves had been tainted.

  Carefully I worked Granny’s gloves off her tiny hands making certain I had no contact with them. I laid them on the floor beside me. “No one touch those gloves or your white ones. I believe there is poison in my grandmother’s gloves. The poison was intended for the Queen.”

  My guard carried Granny to the settee. She clung to him with a blissful expression on her face. The only advic
e I could conjure up was to tell her to take deep breaths, assuming that would clear the poison from her body. Gradually she came around. “Who wet my gloves?” she demanded. I knew if concern for her precious hand apparel was on her mind, she would be right as rain shortly.

  “The Queen remarked on your glove box earlier today. Did anyone besides Her Majesty and Baroness Lehzen look at them?”

  She thought for a long second and then sat up with a jolt. “As a matter of fact…”

  Chapter 36

  “Kneepsy!” Granny tends to use made up words too. “I would not have missed this for the world. Look at this gathering! There’s people here I have yet to meet. Are they Privy Council?” The dear thing had recovered fairly quickly.

  I had wrapped Granny’s toxic gloves inside the Dragoon’s big white gloves. It was my intention to request that the alchemist analyze the toxin they contained. The poor dear had quickly washed her hands in a glass basin. When she was finished I cracked it on the floor so that it couldn’t be used again. This was all accomplished at such a pace that I trembled inside, whereas my grandmother other than being a bit dizzy, seemed to have recovered from the effects of whatever the gloves were soaked in.

  We stood in the doorway taking in the assembly that had divided into columns of two on either side of the throne, creating a formal approach to the Queen. Lord Melbourne stood at her side on the dais; I noticed him making frequent eye contact with Captain Wainright. They had the room secured.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Moon approach Florence. He handed her a plain brown box as they exchanged brief whispers. Oh bother! What was that all about?

  We had just taken our positions when Roger slid to my side. “Have they caught that gang of thugs?” he asked, still nursing his lip. I looked into his one good eye, the blackened one too horrible to dwell on. I made a promise to myself to be nicer to the pest, but old habits are hard to break. “Hush!” I snapped. “Florence is about to speak. Perhaps she will tell us.”

  Lord Melbourne spoke from the dais, his voice strong as I imagined he might sound when addressing Parliament. “Miss Florence Nightingale has been directing the investigation into the murder of Lady Julia. With the able assistance of Miss Poppy Throckmorten she has come to her conclusions.” He looked at the two Dragoons nearest the doors. “As a precaution, let the guards secure the doors.”

  Florence walked to the center of the aisle and began to describe the murder of Lady Julia. “It was evident from the start that Lady Beryl did stab the young Miss Julia in cold blood.” She listed her findings including the blood on the handkerchief. “But what motive did the senior lady-in-waiting have to commit such a senseless act?”

  Beryl lowered her head and began to sob. She was not immediately put under arrest, which told me there was more to her involvement.

  Wearing her dark blue dress with the simple white collar, Florence reached into her pocket for her owlet. Employing the distraction that worked so well for her, she perched Athena on her finger and slowly stroked the bird. Although most of the assembly watched the mesmerizing trick, there were a few who kept their eyes fixed on my mentor. I guessed them to be harboring some guilt, waiting for their names to fall from her lips.

  She stopped, standing over Lady Marianne. “The weapon used to murder Lady Julia was a not a knife but a letter opener that bore a distinctive pattern. The fact that such a makeshift weapon was used tells us that this was not a premeditated act. My assistant Miss Throckmorten searched Lady Beryl’s desk unsuccessfully for a matching handheld blotter. I now have reason to believe the blade did not belong to Lady Beryl but was given to her by someone in the Palace.”

  Florence placed Athena on her shoulder. “Lady Marianne confessed to having seen an unknown party pass the letter opener to Lady Beryl minutes before Lady Julia was stabbed. Is that not so Lady Marianne?”

  Florence caused a second lady-in-waiting to weep. At the rate that Florence was driving the women to tears, the room would soon be flooded.

  Facing the Queen, Florence reviewed all that had happened at the dress shop ending with the discovery of Mrs. Dupree’s body. She then called upon the alchemist to come forward.

  The leathery old man stepped into the aisle with Florence. He bowed to the Queen and then made ready to discuss his findings. This was a man who knew the secret of how to kill and disappear into the shadows. Florence began to question him. “Mr. Morley, is it not true that the poisons found in the second victim’s body were two distinct toxins?”

  He nodded. “Dr. Fowler, the royal coroner, discovered two toxins in Mrs. Dupree’s body. The main poison was curare which had been administered by small puncture marks on the victim’s torso caused by the pointed whalebone stays which had been filed to sharp points.”

  “And would this have been sufficient to kill Mrs. Dupree?” Florence asked.

  “It would but during the time required for the curare to cause her respiratory system to fail, she could have been saved by means of artificial ventilation—if someone had come to her aid. Someone who knew how to administer the technique that would have helped her breathe until the poison had relaxed its hold on her chest.”

  All eyes were fixed on Florence as she asked her next question. “According to the coroner, there was a second poison administered to Mrs. Dupree?”

  Not being used to public speaking, the alchemist became agitated. “Mandrake root,” he said, his voice quivering.

  “And the purpose of the mandrake root would be?” Florence allowed her eyes to skip from his to the Queen.

  “It would place the victim in a temporary stupor from which she would be unable to cry out for help,” he said.

  “You have examined the corset left her for Her Majesty. Did it contain both poisons?” Florence asked.

  “It did not. It contained only the curare,” he said, matter-of-factly.

  “So if the Queen had worn that corset could she have recovered from the poison?”

  “Possibly. If she called for help.”

  Florence turned to the Queen. “Your Majesty, your dresser, Lady Beryl would have been with you if you had donned the corset. You would have called to her for help. I have questioned each of your ladies-in-waiting. They have all been instructed in how to perform artificial ventilation.”

  Turning on Lady Beryl, Florence said, “You held the Queen’s life in your hands. You also held the blade that ended the life of Lady Julia. Who gave you that blade and why?” Florence pressed her.

  Beryl turned to the Queen, “Your Majesty how could you believe such a thing of me?”

  There was no response and so Florence went on. She locked eyes with me and I knew my turn was next.

  “Miss Throckmorten, please step forward. I worked my way into the aisle and faced my mentor. “You were with me when we discovered the body of Mrs. Dupree,” Florence said. “Without dwelling on the gruesome details, what one thing stands out that you would share with Her Majesty?”

  “There was a smell, a horrible smell. It is the very same smell someone just used to saturate my grandmother’s gloves.”

  This was news to Florence and my turn to surprise her. She looked at Granny. “Have you suffered any ill effects from the smell?”

  “Definitely dear. Whoever ruined my gloves with that smelly poison sent me into la-la land. Had it not been for Poppy I doubt I would be here!” She nudged me forward. “Show Her Majesty!”

  “The poisoned gloves are in this white glove I borrowed from one of the guards.” I held the package away from me, while Florence motioned the alchemist to smell it.

  As an alchemist he would have a tolerance to noxious fumes. He took a deep waft of the glove. “This is mandrake root! It is the same as that which was in Mrs. Dupree’s body. Sufficient to put a person in dreamland long enough to succumb to the effects of the curare.” He shook his head. “A person couldn’t call for help if she were knocked on her bottom.”

  Chapter 37

  I knew time was running out. We had to have t
he assassins in irons in less than an hour. Not to take away from Florence’s impressive performance but we needed to hurry along. “Miss Marianne,” I said, walking quickly toward her. “Would you kindly take a gentle sniff of that bagged glove Mr. Morely is holding? Can you tell us if you have ever smelled that stink before?”

  Hesitantly Marianne sniffed the glove. “Yes. It is the same nasty smell I smelt when I witnessed Lady Beryl accept the blade that killed Lady Julia.” She shivered.

  Florence stepped out of the aisle and motioned to Captain Wainright. I did not know what to expect. Two guards left the room and were absent for a bit. There was the sound of an argument in the corridor. The Dragoons returned gripping Mrs. Medici, who struggled furiously with ropes that bound her wrists. There were some groans and even a swoon or two as she was paraded past the onlookers, for the odor emanating from her was ten times as horrid as the scent on the gloves.

  Captain Wainright presented the woman, keeping her at a good distance from the Queen. “This is the corset maker. She was discovered in a hollowed-out room in the cellar of the dress shop—it is where she mixes her potions in secret. I apologize for bringing the stench into your presence Your Majesty.”

  Florence confronted the woman, whose dark hair lay in a tangled halo around her boney face, her dress and apron were spotted with dirt. “Mrs. Medici, did you brew the curare used to kill Mrs. Dupree?”

  “I have nothing to hide for you will not keep me,” she said defiantly. “Yes, I brewed it. It was a good batch.”

  Florence snuck a glance at me. I saw power in her eyes. She knew the answers before she asked the questions, which was the first rule of a good interrogation.

  “If the curare was good why did you prepare the mandrake root?”

  The woman snorted. “The test batch of the curare allowed for wiggle-room. Mrs. Dupree had time to call out. Another sedative was needed. I had a mandrake root in the cellar. It was a noisy thing and I thought to silence it.”