by Paula Paul
“Oh, yes, yes. One or two have just begun to appear.” Lady Forsythe was becoming excited.
“Have any begun to form pustules?”
“I’m not sure. I can’t see all the way around to the…” She stopped speaking and kept her eyes on Alexandra.
Alexandra glanced briefly at Nicholas, who caught her message immediately. “Excuse me,” he said. “I was just leaving.” The lady’s maid stepped aside for him to exit the room while she stood silently near the wall.
As soon as he was gone, Lady Forsythe threw back the satin coverlet. Alexandra came closer to the bedside, and with great care and discretion lifted Lady Forsythe’s nightgown to reveal the reddened area. “Ah, yes,” she said.
“What?” Lady Forsythe asked in an anxious voice.
“The pustules have not yet formed, but they most likely will. The pain may be intense for a while, but a compound of yellow dock will be soothing. You might want to use it. Until Dr. Smythson arrives, that is.” Alexandra opened her bag and removed the vial of ointment she’d put inside before she left her surgery. “If I may?” she said, holding the vial up for Lady Forsythe to see.
“Oh, yes. Yes, please,” she said.
“It will be best if you also apply a compound ointment of oxide of zinc. I can bring it later. With your permission, of course.”
“Well…”
“You can decide tomorrow,” Alexandra said, not wanting to push her too hard. “I’ll come have a look if you like.”
“I can’t see that any harm would come of…What exactly do I have?” the lady asked, her voice once again marked with anxiety.
“It appears to be herpes zoster.”
“Oh, dear!” She sounded frightened.
“Also known as shingles.”
Lady Forsythe visibly relaxed at the sound of the more familiar name.
“It often occurs when a person has been distressed.”
Lady Forsythe nodded, looking morose, as if she was remembering the stress.
“I suggest you rest.”
“But I can’t!” she cried. “I have a guest who…and don’t suggest my son help. It wouldn’t do.”
“Perhaps I could give you something to help you relax.”
“Well…”
“I assure you it would not be anything Dr. Smythson would disapprove of. It is a simple compound anyone can buy at the apothecary.”
“Well, if you think it will help.”
“It will most certainly help,” Alexandra said. “Dr. Smythson can reevaluate when he arrives.”
“Very well,” the lady said with a little nod toward her maid. “Hannah can administer any medicine you prescribe.”
“I’ll leave it with her, along with instructions on how to administer it,” Alexandra said as she pulled a small bottle of laudanum from her bag. “I’ll leave the ointment as well.”
“Oh, yes, please do. The pain has subsided just a little. I’ll most certainly use it. Until Dr. Smythson arrives, at least.”
“Of course,” Alexandra said, taking both the laudanum and the ointment to the lady’s maid, to give her the instructions.
“I bid you good night, Lady Forsythe, and I shall see you tomorrow,” she said after she’d spoken to Hannah.
Lady Forsythe responded with only a nod.
Nicholas was waiting for her in the hall as she left the bedroom. “Is she going to be all right?” he asked.
“Yes, of course. Although she may experience pain for several days. And to put your mind at ease, she has no disease of the heart. She has shingles.”
“Shingles?”
“A particularly painful rash sometimes brought on by experiencing adversity in one’s life.”
“Brought on by adversity? That sounds highly unlikely. That adversity can cause physical symptoms, I mean. Perhaps you can explain that to me on the ride back to your house,” he said.
“I’ll do my best.”
“You always do,” he said, and offered her his arm.
She was glad to see that he had given up on being petulant. She took his arm and allowed him to escort her downstairs. “Before we go, I’d like to look in on Mrs. Pickwick, if she’s still awake. She came to the surgery with a complaint recently. I’d just like to see how she’s faring.”
“Of course. I’ll take you to her quarters and wait for you outside the door,” Nicholas said.
Alexandra allowed him to escort her while she looked around surreptitiously, hoping to catch sight of the guest who was so troublesome as to cause Mrs. Pickwick’s headaches and Lady Forsythe’s shingles. When they reached the cook’s room in the servants’ quarters downstairs, the door was closed, with no light seeping from underneath.
“It’s quite obvious she’s already gone to bed.” Alexandra kept her voice to a whisper. “I won’t disturb her until I return tomorrow.”
“You’re returning tomorrow?” Nicholas said with a measure of excitement in his voice. “When shall I be there with the carriage?”
“That won’t be necessary,” she said. “I can manage by riding Lucy, as I always do.”
Nicholas said something. Probably an assurance that he’d come with the carriage, but Alexandra couldn’t be at all sure of what he’d said. She was distracted by an ornate and obviously expensive carriage that rolled past a lamp just outside a low window. Only the bottom half of the carriage was visible from the lower floor, but Alexandra was quite certain she’d seen the royal coat of arms adorning the door, only partially visible because of an ill-placed drape.
“Come,” Nicholas said, offering her his arm. “You can wait in the front hall while I fetch the carriage.”
Alexandra walked with him to the grand hall, but as soon as he was out the door, she hurried back to the kitchen, hoping that his fetching the carriage would give her time to have a look around the back.
A door led to stairs from the basement area. She climbed up and opened another door, stepping outside. She searched around in the rapidly fading light. The carriage was nowhere in sight.
She was about to turn around and return to the kitchen when something caught her eye. It was a man, dressed in livery, walking toward the house from what must have been the carriage house. He carried something in his hand. A knife!
Alexandra continued to watch as the carriage driver pulled a large handkerchief from one of his pockets and rubbed hard at a dark blotch on the blade of the knife. His efforts were in vain, however, since the blotch remained on the blade. It looked to Alexandra suspiciously like blood. Dried blood, as if it had been on the long knife for at least a day.
The man sensed her gaze and glanced up at her. Her first instinct was to turn around and escape back into the kitchen, but she forced herself to hold her ground and kept looking at the man.
“What is it you want?” He took a step toward her and then another and another. By now he was keeping the knife behind his back.
“I thought I heard something. A disturbance, perhaps.” Alexandra was fighting to keep her voice calm.
“Disturbance?” The man was close enough now that she could see his eyes, water-blue, with enlarged pupils. “They’s no disturbance.” He sounded nervous. “Go on back to the kitchen.” He scrutinized her from head to toe. “You’re no kitchen maid. I can surely see that now.” He backed away a step. “Who are you?”
“I’m a doctor. I came to see about Her Ladyship.”
“Doctor?” The man sputtered a laugh. “Doctor, my eye. You’re a woman.”
“Careful you don’t cut yourself with that knife.” Alexandra saw a look of cold anger blotch the man’s face as she spoke and knew she’d been too bold.
“Knife?” he said. Spittle formed at the corners of his mouth, making it appear that his anger was foaming. He slowly brought forward the hand he’d been holding behind his back.
Alexandra felt the blood drain from her head, and she recognized the need to run, but fear had turned her feet to lead. She was fighting to regain her composure when she noticed the man
’s hands. Both of them were empty and hung loosely at his sides. There was no knife.
“Excuse me, miss, but ye best get back inside. The night air does not seem to agree with you.” With that, he turned away, the tails of his livery flapping in the cold night breeze. There was no sign of the knife stuck in a back pocket.
Alexandra hurried inside and upstairs to the great hall, where she found Nicholas waiting.
“Are you all right?” he asked. “I was beginning to worry.”
“Quite all right,” she said. “Sorry to have kept you waiting. I suddenly remembered that I had to leave something for Pickwick.”
The lie was instinctive, but she could say nothing else, since she wasn’t certain how she could explain what she’d seen. Or thought she’d seen.
Chapter 3
Nicholas glanced at Alexandra as he drove the carriage back to her home, noting her pretty face, her slender form, yet he was keenly aware of the change in her. There was a tension that had nothing to do with their earlier exchange. He suspected her standoffishness had something to do with the difference in their stations. Her current demeanor was unrelated to that, he was sure.
“Are you all right, Dr. Gladstone?” He’d decided on the spur of the moment not to use her first name, thinking the formality would be less off-putting, and he wanted nothing to interfere with her confiding in him.
There was a telling pause before she responded. “Hmm? Oh, yes, of course. Quite all right.”
Her distraction was troubling, but he still couldn’t come up with a reason. Obviously, something disconcerting had occurred while they were at Montmarsh. Something he hadn’t witnessed. He hoped his mother hadn’t been unduly harsh, as he knew all too well she could be at times. An uncomfortable silence followed, except for the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves.
“Nicholas,” she said finally. “Why didn’t you tell me the queen is visiting in Montmarsh?”
He almost dropped the reins. The horse paused, then started again, making the carriage lurch. Nicholas reached a hand toward Alexandra to steady her. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I believe I misunderstood you.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Did you ask if the queen is visiting Montmarsh?”
“No, I asked why you didn’t tell me she’s there.”
Nicholas tried to answer with a little chuckle, but it came out sounding strained and insincere. “I’m sure you must be mistaken. Of course the queen is not—”
“Don’t lie to me, please.”
Another long silence. “How did you know?” he asked.
“I saw the royal carriage.”
“Well,” Nicholas said, trying to brush it off with a little huff. “Just because you saw the carriage doesn’t mean—”
“Nicholas.”
“Oh, all right.” He was growing tired of the cat-and-mouse game. “The queen is at Montmarsh, but she doesn’t want the word to get out. She’s here because it’s such an out-of-the-way place. She doesn’t want to be seen. I know I can trust you not to spread the word that—”
“I believe she’s already been seen,” Alexandra said.
“But my dear, you only saw the carriage, not the queen.”
“I’m not referring to myself. Two other people have seen her.”
“But that’s impossible,” Nicholas said. “She hasn’t left the estate. She hasn’t even left the house.”
“She was seen in the graveyard.”
Nicholas pulled the reins to stop the carriage and turned to face Alexandra. “She actually went to the graveyard?”
“I assume you find that strange,” Alexandra said.
Nicholas took a deep breath and waited a moment before he spoke. “Do you by any chance have a bit of brandy? I think I could use a glass. A rather generous glass.”
He saw her smile in the murky light of the half-moon.
—
The Gladstone house was dark except for a small lamp burning in the parlor, left there, no doubt, by Nancy. Inside, the fire was banked but ready to burn again, also her work, Nicholas assumed. He’d met Alexandra’s maid on several occasions. A slight, blond woman, not unpleasant to look at, but a bit of a busybody. Still, likable enough and possessed of a sharp wit. He wasn’t surprised when she came padding down the stairs and into the parlor in her bare feet, accompanied by that enormous beast of a dog.
“Oh!” Nancy said, obviously surprised to see Nicholas in the parlor. “Forgive me, My Lord, I wasn’t expecting—”
“Would you be so kind as to bring a snifter of brandy for Lord Dunsford?” Alexandra said.
“Of course,” Nancy said with a little bow. Nicholas had not taken his eyes off the dog. His name was Zack, as Nicholas remembered. Zack was eyeing him as well. Eyeing him with suspicion, Nicholas thought. Eyeing him with the idea that any minute he would pounce.
A low growl escaped from Zack’s throat and Alexandra scolded him, calling him to her side. “Please have a seat,” she said to Nicholas, indicating one of the horsehair sofas near the fire, which she was busy trying to coax into flame.
“Here, let me do that,” Nicholas said, taking the poker from her and hoping it was safe to turn his back on Zack.
“I really must apologize for Zack,” Alexandra said, yielding the poker to him. “He’s actually quite friendly. I can’t imagine why he’s so suspicious of you.”
“Perhaps he senses that I want to take you away from him,” Nicholas said.
Before Alexandra could respond, Nancy reappeared with the brandy. She was still in her bare feet, and a plain dressing gown covered her nightdress, but she conducted herself as if she were dressed in the livery of a noble lady’s maid. When she had placed the tray with two snifters holding modest amounts of brandy on a table, she stepped back demurely.
“Thank you, Nancy,” Alexandra said. “That will be all. You may go back to bed.”
Nicholas smiled when he saw the disappointed look on the maid’s face. He knew her well enough by now to know that she was happiest when she was in the midst and in the know of everything.
“Yes, miss. Should you need anything else, I shall—”
“Thank you, Nancy.”
The maid obviously didn’t fail to notice the stern tone in Alexandra’s voice. She gave a little nod and disappeared up the stairs. The dog remained next to Alexandra, standing at his full substantial height, his body tense, and his eyes trained on Nicholas.
Doing his best to ignore the beast, Nicholas swirled his brandy, pretending to take a deep interest in the rich amber color.
“Now,” Alexandra said. “About the queen…”
Nicholas took a sip of the brandy and swallowed too quickly and coughed. There would be no point in trying to delay the inevitable, however. “Yes,” he said, sounding a little choked. “About the queen.” He coughed again. “She came here, hoping no one would know. It’s such an out-of-the-way place, you see.”
“You said that earlier.”
“Quite so.” He gave the brandy in his glass a longing look before he raised his eyes to Alexandra again. “Her Majesty came here to…ahem…to have a séance conducted for her.”
He saw the frown crease the doctor’s pretty brow. “A séance?” she asked.
He nodded. “She still mourns the death of Prince Albert. People remark all the time how she’s never stopped wearing black.”
“Of course. But surely she doesn’t think she can contact—”
“Oh, but she does think she can contact her dead husband. This won’t be the first time, actually. The first time she has tried, that is.”
“I see.”
Once again Nicholas was unnerved by the silence that followed. He placed his glass on the table next to the sofa. Alexandra, he noted, had never picked up her own glass. “She doesn’t want that bit of information to get out, of course, and only a few select people know about it—those very close to her, such as my mother.”
“And you.”
“Oh, but I’m not supposed to kno
w, actually.” The conversation was making him increasingly uncomfortable.
“And now you’ve told me.”
He was beginning to sweat. “But surely I can trust you to be discreet.”
Alexandra made no reply. For the first time, she reached for her glass, rolled the liquid around gently and gave it a delicate sniff, before she brought the rim to her lips and took a small sip. Nicholas had to look away. It was more than that sensuous mouth making him uneasy. He took another swallow of brandy. This time it slipped smoothly down his throat, but he found no pleasure in the taste.
“I’m afraid it is I who have been indiscreet,” he said. “I should never have mentioned the séance. I should never have betrayed a confidence, especially when it involves our sovereign.”
“Oh, Nicholas, do stop fussing. Of course I’ll be discreet. And don’t feel so guilty. I forced you to tell me.” He saw a little suggestive smile curving her lips. Had she been toying with him all along?
“I never had any doubt that you would show the utmost discretion.”
She laughed. He had rarely heard her laugh. The rich sound of it made him think, for some reason, of chocolate confections. “Of course you doubted,” she said. “But never mind that. You still haven’t told me why Her Majesty would be seen in the graveyard of our little community.”
She’d made him relax enough at least to smile. “That one is beyond me, I’m afraid. My only explanation is that whoever thought he saw her was mistaken.”
She told him Young Beaty’s story. “Young Beaty isn’t the sort of person to imagine he saw something, and he’s certainly not the type to lie,” she said.
“A dead body?” Nicholas said. “You say this person you call Young Beaty went there to retrieve a body some boy had found?”
Alexandra nodded, but he hardly noticed. He was far too absorbed with the idea of the queen being anywhere near a body that Alexandra was certain had been murdered.
“That very possibly implicates Her Majesty in the murder,” Nicholas said. The thought of it made him feel a little sick. “But that’s ridiculous, of course. There’s no doubt this Beaty you mentioned was mistaken. He was frightened, naturally. Enough to make his mind play tricks, I imagine.”
