Medium Dead: An Alexandra Gladstone Mystery

by Paula Paul

  Wilma nodded her head a little drunkenly. “You would, indeed. Stonemason, my foot. The man’s in London’s gaol for stealin’ sheep.”

  “Stonemason?” Alexandra felt as if she’d come in in the middle of a stage play with no idea of the plot. “You mean that handsome man who came through here a few years ago and—”

  “That’s the one,” Nancy said, and pretended to be busy wiping crumbs from the table.

  “I knew he liked you, of course, and you liked him, but I had no idea you fancied him in…that way,” Alexandra said.

  Wilma glanced at Nancy as she spoke. “More than fancied ’im, I’d say. Oh, yes, went a bit furver than that, I’d say.”

  “You never told me you consulted a fortune-teller,” Alexandra added. “You must have been seriously considering more than just companionship. Why didn’t you tell me, Nancy?” Alexandra couldn’t deny that she was both surprised and a little hurt that Nancy, who was more than a servant to her, she was a lifelong friend, had kept something so important from her.

  Nancy ducked her head, looking a little ashamed. “Didn’t want to trouble you with it ’till I knew ’twould amount to something, Miss Alex. That was back when your father was dying. Remember? And as you are witness now, it never amounted to anything.”

  “But…”

  “ ’Twas that woman over to Harwich you went to see, wasn’t it?” Wilma said. “God rest her soul. She was a goodun, she was. ’Tis a pity she passed on. Never was any good at a séance, though. Not like I heard tell Alvina was.”

  “So they say,” Nancy said.

  Alexandra turned her head back and forth from one to the other. The two women she’d known all her life were speaking about things of which she had no inkling, and she had thought Nancy was as innocent of such matters as she was herself.

  “We needs Alvina here now, we does.” The laudanum was making Wilma slur her words. “We needs her so she could call up her own spirit and tell us who done her in.” She giggled at the irony of what she’d said and half closed her eyes.

  After a long pause, Nancy spoke. “Perhaps we don’t need anyone else to call up spirits.”

  “Excuse me. I’m not sure I understand.” Alexandra was uncomfortably suspicious.

  Nancy shrugged and tried to look innocent. “I’m just saying that if spirits of the dead really can be made to answer a summons, then it shouldn’t take anyone special to do it, should it, now? If a spirit is of a mind to answer a call, then wouldn’t it answer the call from anyone?”

  “For heaven’s sake, Nancy, just listen to yourself,” Alexandra said. “You know that’s nothing more than ridiculous superstition.”

  “Is it now?” Nancy asked. She got up and began to put away the teapot and gather the cups.

  Alexandra laughed. “You can’t mean it! You would actually try your hand at a séance?”

  Nancy hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps.”

  “A séance?” Wilma asked. “Who’s going to have a séance?”

  “No one,” Alexandra said.

  “We are,” Nancy said in almost the same instant.

  The two women stared at each other for several seconds. “You wouldn’t forbid me, would you, Miss Alex?” Nancy said finally.

  “I very well may,” Alexandra said in response to what, to her, sounded like a dare.

  Nancy’s retort came quick. “ ’Twould do no harm. A bit of innocent fun, I’d say.”

  Alexandra took a breath, ready to protest with more force, but before the words were out of her mouth, she felt her resolve weakening. “If word got out that I allowed such a thing in my house…I’m a woman of science. I can’t afford—”

  “Word would not get out, and if it does, you can blame it on your maid, who doesn’t have the burden of a scientific reputation,” Nancy said.

  Alexandra laughed. “You are clever and conniving, Nancy. I’ve heard you tout your scientific reputation when it serves you to do so.”

  Nancy was determined. “I promise you won’t regret it. And you’ll be happy when Alvina returns and helps us solve the murder.”

  “Solve the murder? Ridiculous.”

  “But not impossible.”

  Alexandra shook her head. “Of course it’s impossible.”

  “Certainly, Miss Alex,” Nancy said. She made an effort to look properly obliging. She turned to their guest. “What do you think, Wilma? Impossible or no?”

  Wilma didn’t answer. She was asleep in her chair.

  —

  The lull in the number of patients coming to the surgery proved to be short-lived. Two mothers with a total of five children in tow showed up before the end of the day, along with two adult men. All were in various stages of the grippe, with stuffed noses, coughs, and sneezes, along with body aches and fever in some cases. None of it was surprising, it being November, Nancy reminded Alexandra. They both knew the numbers would increase because the complaint made an annual appearance in Newton-upon-Sea and spread quickly from person to person. It often started among the men who gathered at the Blue Ram, the local tavern, and then would present itself to wives and children, leading Alexandra to believe it was a contagion spread by some as yet unidentified germ. She was in the minority among her colleagues in her beliefs, however. Most, including her late father, believed that a cold was caused by exposure to changes in temperature or exposure to extreme dampness. The only connection Alexandra could imagine was that changing temperature might lower a body’s resistance to the unidentified germ. The first Dr. Gladstone always advised his patients to bathe their feet in a warm, alkaline solution every night. Alexandra had discovered that symptoms disappeared at the same rate with or without the footbath. There was, as yet, no cure for a cold. However, the rapid advancement of science led Alexandra to believe that a cure would be discovered no later than the dawn of the twentieth century.

  The increase in the number of patients continued the following day, leaving Alexandra without enough time to visit all of her homebound patients, including Lady Forsythe. In choosing whom not to see on her busiest days, she had to prioritize according to the severity of the ailment. In the case of Her Ladyship, she rationalized that if the queen’s own personal physician was present, any emergency would be handled. She would not allow herself to consider the degree of expertise of the pompous Sir Jenner, or Dr. Fowler, as he had named himself. If he’d gone back to London and Lady Forsythe needed attention, either Nicholas or a servant would fetch her.

  She felt out of touch with whatever might be going on in the village, except that Artie and Rob, whom she’d sent to escort Wilma home after her hysterical visit to the surgery, reported that Young Beaty arrived home from the constable’s office while they were helping Wilma into the house.

  “He was nervous as a whore in the front pew at church,” Artie said, only to have Rob swat him on the top of his head and warn him to watch his language. “Well, he was,” Artie insisted. “Don’t like being called in by a copper, I’d say. Even if he didn’t end up in chokey.”

  “Sure he was nervous,” Nancy said. She was busy ladling their supper into plates so the two boys could eat next to the kitchen fire, as they often did on blustery nights. “The whole village is nervous, if you ask me.”

  “Don’t know what Young Beaty has to be nervous about,” Artie said. “Talk is, ’twas the queen what done it. The queen, they say! Hard to believe, eh?”

  “Sure it’s hard to believe, you dolt.” There was a note of sarcasm in Rob’s voice. “Nobody wants to believe the queen would do such a thing. That’s why they’s tryin’ to blame Young Beaty.”

  Artie’s eyes widened. “You thinks old Snow would do such a thing? Blame the wrong person, just so’s he could protect Her Majesty?”

  Rob’s response was a cynical “Ha!”

  “ ’Twould be a bit difficult to blame the queen, seeing that she lives in London,” Nancy said, obviously trying to keep up the ruse that Her Majesty was nowhere near Newton-upon-Sea.r />
  “ ’Nother reason to blame somebody like Young Beaty,” Rob said.

  “This conversation has gone far enough,” Alexandra said. “It’s not fitting for children. We’ll talk of other things.”

  Rob, who at fifteen didn’t consider himself a child, gave a disdainful snort, and Artie ducked his head to stare at his plate.

  “Dr. Gladstone is right,” Nancy said. “However, I’m sure she and I both would like a report on Mrs. Beaty. How was she doing when you got her home? I hope she went straight to bed.”

  “She was fine,” Rob said. “Didn’t go to bed, just restin’ in a chair.”

  “Still drunk as a goose,” Artie added.

  “Artie!” Alexandra said at the precise moment that Nancy dropped a soup ladle and Rob snickered.

  “Well, she was,” Artie insisted. “You must of give her a draught of whiskey.”

  “Not whiskey. ’Twas laudanum.” Nancy sounded defensive.

  “It is none of your business what she was given,” Alexandra said. “You won’t speak of this again, Artie. Eat your supper, then off to bed.”

  “Yes, Dr. Gladstone. I’m truly sorry, Dr. Gladstone,” Artie said, ducking his head again.

  Alexandra turned to Rob. “And not another snicker from you,” she warned.

  By the time the boys left for their sleeping quarters above the stable, Alexandra felt exhausted. She decided to forgo her reading time in front of the fire with Nancy and retire to her bed. As she undressed, she half expected Nicholas to arrive with a request that she return to Montmarsh to see to Lady Forsythe again. When he hadn’t shown up by the time she blew out the lamp next to her bed, she consoled herself by thinking the lady didn’t need her and that the lady’s needs would be met by the queen’s physician after all, just as she’d hoped.

  She awoke the next morning feeling refreshed, but the shock of the cold air on her skin when she got out of bed made her want to climb back into the folds of warm goose down. The fire in her room had gone out during the night, so she wrapped herself in a dressing gown and tried to coax it back to life. Before she’d accomplished her task, she heard the ring of the bell on the surgery door. No doubt it was Nicholas, come to remind her that, no matter how many doctors were present at Montmarsh, he would hold her to her promise to look in on his mother.

  Nancy had heard the surgery bell also. She emerged from her room at the same time Alexandra came out of hers and wordlessly followed her down the stairs, tying her own dressing gown together as she descended.

  Alexandra unlocked and opened the door to the surgery to find not Nicholas standing outside in the gray fog, but Wilma Beaty again. She was pale as the frost that clung to the grass, and black circles ringed her eyes.

  “You was wrong about everything,” she said, her voice quivering. “He took me husband.” She looked as if she might faint.

  “Who took him?” Alexandra asked, pulling her inside.

  “Constable Snow. Took him to gaol this time. For murderin’ that woman. Beaty didn’t put up no fight. Told the constable ’e done it. He’s goin’ to hang. The constable said…”

  Before she could finish the sentence, she collapsed in a faint. Nancy caught her in her arms and staggered to keep both of them from falling to the floor.

  Chapter 8

  When Wilma was finally brought back to consciousness, she insisted that Alexandra go with her to the gaol to see Young Beaty. “You must go with me, Dr. Gladstone. What is it I know of gaols and the law and such?” She was no longer crying as hard as she had been when she came to the surgery, but her voice shook, and her face was as pale as the starched apron she wore over her gray muslin dress.

  “Of course I’ll go with you, Wilma, but I think you need a barrister to advise you. Your husband didn’t kill that woman. I know that as well as you.”

  “A barrister, you say? How could I be affording to pay a barrister? If God hisself don’t protect him, then ’e’ll hang.” Her voice had risen higher, and she twisted the front of her apron into an ungainly knot. “And who can say what God will do? There’s no rhyme or reason to his ways when it comes to the likes of us common folk.”

  “Lord Dunsford is a barrister. Perhaps he would take an interest in Young Beaty’s case,” Nancy said.

  Wilma’s eyes widened. “Lord Dunsford? He’d help the likes of us Beatys?”

  “I could inquire,” Alexandra said, not wanting to speak for Nicholas, yet she felt certain he’d be willing to help.

  “They’s them that says ’e’s got ’is eye on you, Dr. Gladstone. Say ’e’s had the eye for you since the days ’e was still known as Nicholas Forsythe. If ’tis true, then there may be hope you could persuade ’im.”

  Alexandra was about to refute the gossip about Nicholas having an “eye” for her, but she hesitated. Wilma was in no frame of mind for such trivia. She was still quite visibly upset. Nancy did her best to calm Wilma by offering her tea and breakfast, but Wilma refused both. She wanted nothing except for Alexandra to work a miracle that would free her husband.

  “I’ll accompany you to the gaol, but my best advice is that I go first to Montmarsh and ask Lord Dunsford to come with us,” Alexandra said.

  “Yes. Oh, yes,” Wilma answered, giving her apron another twist.

  “You come along with me.” Nancy took Wilma’s arm to lead her toward the kitchen. “We’ll have some breakfast, we will, and I’ll not take no for an answer. Dr. Gladstone will be back in no time. Now come along. Come along.”

  Nancy, persuasive as ever in spite of still being in her nightgown covered with a dressing gown, had full command of Wilma, allowing Alexandra time to go upstairs and dress. Rob and Artie were already up from their beds above the stable and busy with their morning chores. They had Lucy saddled and waiting for Alexandra by the time she emerged from the house. The two boys had learned long ago to saddle Lucy first thing, in case Alexandra had an early-morning call.

  The November air bit at her face and clawed through her heavy cloak as she rode through the cold of early morning toward Montmarsh. Not a soul was about as she approached the house. She dismounted Lucy, tied her to a rail, and made her way to the elaborate front door of the mansion. She stood for several minutes, shivering in the bleak morning light, waiting for an answer to her knock.

  Lancaster, Lady Forsythe’s butler, showed obvious surprise when he opened the door. “I wasn’t aware that Her Ladyship had sent for you,” he said. There was a curl to his lip as he spoke that seemed to hint that he didn’t approve of her being there.

  “I haven’t come to see Her Ladyship.” Alexandra was trying not to shiver. “I’ve come for Lord Dunsford.”

  Lancaster raised his chin slightly. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Lord Dunsford is not on the premises.”

  Alexandra was stunned. “I don’t understand.”

  “Perhaps I should put it in simpler terms. Lord Dunsford is not here. Therefore, you will not be able to see him.” Lancaster was about to close the door, but Alexandra managed to wedge herself quickly in the doorway.

  “He’s gone back to London, then,” she said.

  Lancaster’s response was to try once again to close the door.

  “Excuse me, Lancaster.” Alexandra recognized the voice as that of Crawford, the footman. He was hurrying toward the two of them. “Forgive me,” he said again. “I was given instructions just before Lord Dunsford left on the night train that I was to tell Dr. Gladstone he was unexpectedly called away because of a pressing matter regarding a client. He said I am to tell her the matter is of great importance.” He glanced at Alexandra. “He said you would know of what he spoke.” He looked at Lancaster again with an apologetic expression. “I planned to go to Dr. Gladstone’s surgery later today to inform her.”

  “Indeed,” Lancaster said, obviously displeased with Crawford, and perhaps with the entire situation.

  “I beg your pardon, Mr. Lancaster,” Crawford said. “I’m certain Lord Dunsford would have informed you first, excep
t that, as you know, he left in rather a hurry. I believe he felt he had not the time.”

  “Indeed,” Lancaster said again, sounding even more displeased.

  “Thank you, Crawford. Good day, Mr. Lancaster,” Alexandra said. She turned away without waiting for a reply and untied and mounted Lucy to ride home as quickly as possible. She had no idea what Nicolas meant by saying she would know about the important matter that called him away. She also felt more than a little let down as she rode toward her house. She had been counting heavily on Nicholas’s help. Now she would have to deal with Constable Snow on her own, a task she didn’t relish.

  —

  Wilma, who was full of tea and breakfast when Alexandra returned, was in at least a slightly calmer mood until she heard that Nicholas would not be accompanying them.

  “He ain’t here, you say? Gone back to London, has ’e?” Her voice was high-pitched with agitation.

  “I’m afraid so,” Alexandra said. “Some sort of business with a client.”

  “What will we do? They’ll hang my man for sure!” She was twisting her apron again.

  “Now, don’t you worry,” Nancy said. “Dr. Gladstone can handle old Snow as well as any barrister.”

  Wilma gave her an uncertain look, then turned her gaze to Alexandra. “You’ll still go with me? To the gaol, I mean. To see about Beaty?”

  “Of course,” Alexandra said, feeling considerably less confident than Nancy had sounded.

  “But if the earl ain’t with us…” Wilma began.

  “I told you not to worry,” Nancy said. “Dr. Gladstone will take care of everything.”

  Since Alexandra didn’t own a carriage, she offered Lucy for Wilma to ride the relatively short distance to Constable Snow’s office, but Wilma insisted on walking, saying she had no idea how to ride a horse. Alexandra walked with her while Zack lumbered alongside them.

  Constable Snow, seated at his desk in his office, looked up from a paper he was writing on when the two women entered the door, leaving Zack behind to sleep on the doorstep. Snow showed no surprise at their arrival. He stood as they entered and remained standing until the two women were seated, but he didn’t speak. He wore the taciturn expression he always wore, the same expression Alexandra and undoubtedly all his students had grown accustomed to when he was a schoolmaster.