by Greg Hoover
“You have medical training now?” asked Anne.
“No,” Susanna smiled. “But I’ve learned the art of acting from the best. I created a character, and I researched my role. I learned a lot about the plague. Fascinating. They think it is spread by miasma.”
“What’s miasma?” I asked.
“Miasma is foul air,” said Susanna. “It’s from the Greek, meaning ‘pollution.’”
“Oh yes,” said Anne. “Judith told me about that. She called it ‘night air.’”
“Oh, how is Judith?” said Susanna.
“She has had quite a few adventures since you last saw her,” said Anne. “In fact, we all have.”
“So, you convinced them you were a plague doctor,” I said, beaming with pride at the creativity of my daughter.
“Yes,” said Susanna. “But it was the costume that really sold them.”
“Yes,” I said. “It is impressive.”
“I wanted to fill them with awe,” said Susanna. “And I also wanted to protect myself from the plague.”
She stood and walked over to where her costume was hanging.
“The gloves would keep me from touching a sick person,” said Susanna. “And I could use the cane for the same purpose. The glass eye openings would keep out the miasma, the bad air. And the curved, bird-like beak is a kind of filter to keep me from breathing the foul and filthy air. I filled it with dried roses and carnations, along with eucalyptus, peppermint, and a thick vinegar sponge.”
“Brilliant,” I said.
“Thank you, father,” said Susanna. “I made two of the costumes, so I can clean one after inspecting someone for the plague. I keep the other one clean and ready, just in case.”
“Susanna,” I said. “Can I ask you a favor?”
“Of course.”
“Could your mother stay here with you tonight?”
“I would love that,” she said. “But why?”
“It’s a long story, but she will be safer here,” I said. “I’m going back into the palace, and your mother will fill you in on all that has happened.”
“Good idea,” said Anne. She stood and kissed me on my cheek. “Please be careful, Will.”
“Don’t worry, my dear,” I said. “This will all be over soon.”
Susanna gave me a hug and squeezed my hand.
“Don’t worry, father,” she said. “I will take good care of her here.”
I started to step out into the snowy night air, and then I turned back.
“One more thing,” I said, my breath flowing out in a white cloud. “Can I borrow one of your plague doctor costumes?”
***
It was late, and the palace was nearly empty as I made my way back to my room. Susanna’s plague doctor outfit was packed inside a bag, slung over my shoulder. I opened the door to my room and built a fire to ward off the cold. I was so tired and had to sleep. I ate a hard piece of bread and started to go to bed. But then I noticed a bottle of wine sitting on a small table next to my chair. I sat down facing the fire and picked up the bottle. There was a note tied to it. It said, “Thank you for your excellent work today.”
Well, I thought, at least someone appreciates what I’m trying to do.
There was a corkscrew next to the bottle, along with a quality crystal goblet. I pulled the cork on the bottle and poured a glass of wine. Normally I didn’t drink, but the wine’s bright red color called to me. It looked like a fine old bottle from King Henry VIII’s famous wine cellar. Taking a sip, I relaxed in my chair as I sat before the fireplace. And then I remembered the note that Violet stuffed in my hand when I was carrying Anne from the burning room. I patted my pocket, found the note, and took it out.
It read:
My dearest darling,
I am so sorry it had to end this way. In the morning, I will be hanged and then burned, along with our son, Thomas. Please take our daughters and leave Scotland. Go to England and change your last name, but please keep my namesake. I love you and our children. I look forward to seeing you all again one day in the next life.
Your loving wife,
Janet Wishart
I took a drink of wine. It was too sweet for my taste. I took another sip and looked at the glass in my hand, the fire burning behind it. And then two glasses of red wine were shining in the firelight. Two glasses of sweet red wine. Too sweet. A strange sweetness. I pulled the glass to my nose and sniffed. The sickly sweet scent of the vial I had found in the sacristy rose to meet my nostrils. I lost control of my hand, and it dropped, spilling the red wine. Time slowed and the fire flickered. My stomach cramped and my vision blurred. I realized then that I had made a fatal mistake. Someone had poisoned the wine. My body was shutting down.
I was dying.
My muscles tightened, and I couldn’t move. So, I thought. This is how it will end. I tried to call out, but could not. My vision dimmed. It would only be a matter of minutes before I would shuffle off this mortal coil. What would the next world be like? I didn’t know. But I wondered, in that sleep of death, what dreams may come?
I knew I would only have a few more moments until I would pass into the undiscovered country. I wanted to solve the mystery before I died.
I thought of the murder in the chapel. Whoever did it was trying to kill the king. It wasn’t Malachi, my prime suspect. His brutal murder put an end to that theory. Could it have been one of the other Puritans? Or one of the bishops? It seemed unlikely. They all hoped for their side to win out. And they all stood showing their support for the king, despite the threatening ghost of the witch. But if not one of them, who? And why?
I thought of the note Violet gave me. It was a condemned wife’s last letter to her husband. What could it mean? Poor Violet. I wondered if she survived the fire. Her last words to me were, Tell them I’m sorry. Sorry for what? The letter was signed Janet Wishart, the witch of Aberdeen. But why would Violet have it? The note had advised Janet’s husband and their children to go to England and change their last names, but to be sure to keep her namesake.
And then I remembered something. Violet’s sister’s name was Janet. Janet. Janet Lewis. Janet Wishart. I thought back to my conversation with Violet’s two sisters in the bakery. Janet joked with her sister Elspet about wanting to be the queen of England one day. And I remembered the words of the ghost of Janet Wishart, If anyone is crowned Queen of England, it should be me, not her. I recalled that the ghost had the same sickly sweet smell of the vial from the sacristy. And of the hallway before the murder. And of the physician’s room, where they took the murdered priest’s body. And of the—pain shot through my stomach—and of the glass of wine I just drank.
So, Janet Lewis must have pretended to be the ghost of her mother to get revenge on Malachi. Her sister Violet must have told her about the plan for her to play the ghost. Janet did what Violet didn’t have the constitution to do. They must have drugged Anne to have full control of the situation. And then Violet came and sat with me to give herself an alibi.
My vision became a tunnel. The roaring fire looked like a tiny speck on the distant horizon. My head throbbed, and I felt waves of hot and cold sweep over me. What was I just thinking about? Oh yes, the murderer.
Violet Lewis is an herbalist. She knows about medicines—and poisons. She told Richard and me about belladonna and henbane. Sleeping potions if used in small amounts, but deadly if used in larger quantities. And the white powder that Richard found in Gallery Hall, after the ghost sighting in the hallway. It was flour. Ordinary flour.
That’s it. Janet and Elspet were bakers. They must have staged the ghost sighting in Gallery Hall as a diversion. The hallway is outside the royal chapel. T
he “ghost” appeared right before the deadly Communion service. It would have given the killer a chance to poison the chalice. The same sickly sweet scent was in the hallway, and in the vial I found in the sacristy. Whoever poisoned the chalice must have had access to the sacristy.
Oh no, I thought. Could it be Alban? He was the sexton; he would have access to the chalice. But he didn’t have a motive or the inclination. It seemed unlikely. My intuition said no.
Who else would have had access to the chalice? Jeremiah Talbot. But he pledged his support to the king in front of everyone, even while under duress. And he believes strongly in the divine right of kings. So, if it wasn’t the assisting priest or the sexton, it must have been a servant. And not just any servant, but one with a certain amount of freedom. But they would also need access to the poison, knowledge of its use, and a motive.
I was out of time. My eyes closed as the last drop of life slipped out of me.
“That’s it,” I thought as I breathed my last breath.
“The killer is Myles Lewis.”
Chapter Twenty-One
My eyes fluttered and then opened. A brilliant light was shining behind the head of an angelic being. I couldn’t make out her face, but I thought it might be Mary, the Mother of Jesus. I had died and had gone to heaven. I breathed a sigh of relief. My lungs hurt. Why is there pain in heaven? My vision was blurry, but slowly began to focus.
“Doctor Butler,” came a familiar voice. “Father’s awake.”
“Thank you, Judith,” said Doctor Butler.
Doctor Butler’s here, I thought. This can’t be heaven. I tried to sit up. My head was pounding; I laid back down again.
“Easy does it,” said Doctor Butler. “Lucky for you, Judith found you last night. She ran to my door and pounded on it until I woke up. We ran back here to your room, and you weren’t breathing. We had to put a wooden tube in your throat so you could breathe through the swelling.”
“What happened?” I asked, my speech slurring.
“Father,” said Judith. “Doctor Butler said you were poisoned.”
“And it was a botched job,” said the doctor. “Whoever did it used the wrong amount. It still was strong enough to kill you, but not strong enough to do it fast. It bought us a little time. We induced vomiting and gave you medicine. It was a long night. We almost lost you.”
Judith brought me water to drink. Slowly this time, I sat up and drank the water.
“How do you feel?” asked Judith.
“Not bad for a man who was poisoned,” I said, rubbing my throat. “Did you get the medicine from Violet?” I asked the physician.
“William,” he said. “Violet is dead. I’m sorry, I know you were fond of her.”
“She died in the fire,” said Judith. “Her adventure in this life is over, but her adventures in eternal life are just beginning.”
We were silent for a moment. I remembered my deductions from last night. I was sure my theory was correct. Myles Lewis murdered the priest and his daughter Janet murdered Malachi. They wanted revenge on King James and Malachi for what happened to Janet Wishart. Violet provided the poison, or at least that was where they got it. Now I needed hard evidence.
“Thank you, doctor,” I said, standing up. “I’m feeling much better.”
“Then I’ll be going,” said Butler. “Be sure to stay in, rest, and send for me if you need me.”
“Don’t worry, doctor,” said Judith. “I’ll take care of him.”
Judith walked Doctor Butler to the door. They exchanged a few stories of the hard night and said goodbye. My stomach was sore and my head throbbed, but there was no time to waste.
“Judith,” I said. “I know who the murderers are. Now we need to prove it.”
I told Judith everything. We needed evidence, and we needed it fast before they killed anyone else.
“We have a problem. The palace is on edge,” said Judith. “You don’t have the same authority as you did before the ghost exposed mother as a fake. People are angry and won’t cooperate with you. Also, the Lewis family must suspect that you are onto them.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, first, they are aware both that you are investigating and that they are guilty,” said Judith. “They must suspect you are onto them. And second, you said Violet told you she was sorry, and she gave you the note as a way of atoning for her part in the murders. But why would she do that if she didn’t think you were close to finding out? She may even have stayed in the fire so she wouldn’t be caught and tortured like her mother. After what happened to Janet Wishart, I don’t think any of them will allow you to take them alive.”
“All true,” I said. I thought for a moment, and I had an idea.
The bag with the plague doctor’s costume in it was lying by the bed. I pulled the costume out, showed it to Judith, and told her of my plan. Dressed as the plague doctor, I would demand to inspect their room. Under the pretense of checking for signs of the plague, I would search for evidence. I dressed for my role and started to leave for their room. But then I remembered Edward’s pistol. Edward, I thought. How does he fit into this? With no time to lose, I hid his wheel-lock pistol in my black cloak and left the room.
Crowds of people moved aside as I strode down the hallway. They had never seen anything like my costume before. I came to Myles Lewis’ door and rapped it hard with my cane.
“Open up!”
“Who’s there?” Myles’s voice came from inside.
“The Plague Doctor, here to inspect for signs of the plague.”
The door opened and Myles’s eyes became wide as he gazed at my costume. “The Plague Doctor?” he asked.
“That’s right,” I said. “On orders of the king. Now move aside!”
I pushed passed him and searched their small room. After several minutes, I still had found nothing incriminating.
“Do you live here alone?”
“No sir,” said Myles. “My daughters live in the connecting room.”
There was an inside door near the dresser. “Open it,” I ordered.
“They’re not in there,” said Myles.
“I need to inspect for the plague,” I said. “It will only take a moment. Or if you prefer, I could call the palace guards here so I can complete my inspection.”
“No need for that,” said Myles, as he opened the door.
Three neatly made beds were in the room, along with a small table, two chairs, and a closet. There was a curtain over the closet door which I pushed back with my cane. Something rectangular was on the floor, covered by a blanket. I removed the blanket; there was a wooden chest under it. I opened the wooden chest and smelled the sickly sweet scent of poison. My stomach turned. There was a handkerchief with the name Janet Lewis embroidered on it, along with various other personal items. Several glass vials contained liquid, and underneath them was a white garment and veil. It was a white-lace dress, with dried bloodstains. The ghost’s dress. My heart pounded. I stood and turned to leave the closet. The last thing I saw was Myles Lewis swinging a wooden club at my face.
And then there was only darkness.
***
When I awoke, there was the sound of chanting.
Astarte, Isis, Diana,
Demeter, Hecate, Kali, Inanna.
Astarte, Isis, Diana,
Demeter, Hecate, Kali, Inanna.
When I opened my eyes, the room was spinning. I tried to sit up, but they had bound me to a cold stone table. Lying flat on my back, I pulled against the restraints. My hands and feet were tied down. Someone had removed my plague doctor’s costume, and I was now wearing o
nly my trousers. Flickering candlelight filled the room. There were six human shapes dressed in dark woolen robes with hoods hiding their faces. They walked around me in a circle, moving slowly step by step as they chanted.
Astarte, Isis, Diana,
Demeter, Hecate, Kali, Inanna.
Astarte, Isis, Diana,
Demeter, Hecate, Kali, Inanna.
“Halt!” I heard a male voice shout.
A figure walked out of the shadows. He was a man from the waist up, but he had the legs of a goat. On his head were two horns. The figure seemed to melt at first. His features ran together and then flowed back into place. I closed my eyes tight, took a deep breath, and then reopened them. His face looked familiar. He stared at me, a wicked grin on his face. It was Myles Lewis. Again, his face seemed to melt.
“The Witchfinder General is awake,” said Myles. “Our ceremony can now proceed.”
“Myles, please,” I said. “This won’t bring back your wife.”
“Oh, but it will,” said Myles. “A witch is never truly gone. When the conditions are right, we can bring her back.”
My head was a little clearer. It was apparent now that Myles was wearing a costume. His goat legs were made of animal skins attached with string, and his horns were part of an elaborate hat. Alban had told me that some magic was a form of theater. As above, so below.
“All that it requires is to exchange a life for a life,” said Myles. “And the proper rite.”
“But you already killed the priest,” I said. “You murdered Martin Page.”
“That was an accident,” said Myles. “I was trying to kill the king.”
Myles walked over to a witch.
“But we are not heartless,” said Myles. “We acted fast. We retrieved his body from Doctor Butler’s examination room. That drunken physician was a bit too hasty in his pronouncement of death.” An evil smile spread across Myles’ face. “We made amends.”
