by Paula Paul
“And you certainly should have told me to expect Miss Nightingale,” Alexandra added. “I’m afraid I made rather a fool of myself in the library. But of course it would be ridiculous for me to blame that on you,” she added with a charming laugh. “I seem to be able to manage that quite on my own.”
The two women were obviously enjoying themselves. He had to be careful not to spoil it. There would be time after lunch to speak to Alexandra, and it would be best if he didn’t betray his worry now.
“Nonsense!” Miss Nightingale said. “It is abundantly clear you’re no fool, my dear. Please, you must tell me a little about your practice.”
“There’s nothing extraordinary about my work, Miss Nightingale. I’m a country doctor with a practice among people I’ve known all my life. A practice, I might add, that I inherited from my father, who was quite instrumental in my training.”
“Dr. Gladstone is being far too modest.” Nicholas was making a special effort not to appear distracted. “She’s quite well respected in her community and displays a remarkable affinity for the practice of medicine. You would admire her efficiency.”
“You’re being too kind, Mr. Forsythe,” Alexandra said. “You know Nancy is largely responsible for my efficiency.”
“Nancy?” Miss Nightingale glanced first at Nicholas then at Alexandra.
“Dr. Gladstone’s nurse,” Nicholas said. “You will be pleased to know she’s quite well-trained.”
“Excellent!” Miss Nightingale said.
“And how is Nancy?” Nicholas spoke up quickly before Miss Nightingale could launch one of her discourses on the importance of trained nurses.
“Quite well, thank you. She would be pleased that you asked.” There was an oddly strained quality to Alexandra’s voice that hadn’t been there before. Perhaps, Nicholas thought, she was worried about having left Nancy alone in Newton. “I am rather concerned about having left her,” Alexandra said as if she’d read his mind. “We were on the threshold of a pertussis epidemic when I left.”
“Pertussis?” he asked, feeling disoriented again.
“Whooping cough,” Miss Nightingale said by way of explanation before Alexandra could respond. “Another infectious disease transmitted through the air, especially in over-crowded conditions. Perhaps one of those diseases Monsieur Pasteur would like to study with an eye toward inoculation.”
“Interesting thought,” Alexandra said. “Monsieur Pasteur has done some remarkable work with inoculations, but I suspect a whooping cough vaccine will be a long time coming. Pity you weren’t able to meet him when you were in France.”
“Indeed. I would have welcomed the opportunity. I find the theory behind inoculation interesting, but I would like to debate the value of it, compared to public education regarding sanitation with Monsieur Pasteur.”
“Will Nancy be able to handle it?” Nicholas asked, for no particular reason other than to appear interested. “The epidemic, I mean.” He had realized too late that his question seemed to be out of context. Both women were looking at him with slightly bewildered expressions.
“For a while I believe,” Alexandra said, finally. “I shan’t leave her for long, of course, and fortunately, she does have help.”
“You’ve hired another nurse?” Nicholas was still only pretending interest.
“A woman we’ve met who seems quite capable as a result of having cared for her younger siblings. You may know her, Mr. Forsythe,” Alexandra said. “She’s employed at the local pub and before that she worked at the apothecary. Her name is Polly Cobbe.”
“Cobbe? I’m afraid the name doesn’t sound familiar.” Nicholas was wishing profoundly that they could have dessert and the luncheon would end.
Miss Nightingale spoke again. “Polly Cobbe, you say? If it’s the Polly Cobbe I know, her capability stems from considerably more than having cared for siblings. Is she by chance a rather pleasant looking blonde woman, plump of figure?”
“Precisely.” Alexandra’s tone reflected heightened interest.
“An excellent cook, by chance?”
“Indeed, you do know her.”
“I met her when I was last in Paris.” Miss Nightingale waved away a servant’s offer of dessert as she spoke. “I met with a group of nurses while I was there, and she was among them.”
“A trained nurse?” Alexandra appeared surprised.
“Yes, she is from the working class, you know, and she’d been brought to France with a family who employed her as a servant. Then, when the family returned to England, she stayed in Paris and attended nursing school. Terribly bright girl. Became quite fluent in French. The language as well as the cuisine. I know, because she prepared a meal for a group of us.”
“I’m sure you’re relieved that Nancy has the competent help of an experienced nurse,” Nicholas said. He was trying desperately to think of a way to end the conversation, in the hopes that Miss Nightingale would leave and he could ask Alexandra about the Newton murders.
“Miss Cobbe was not actually employed as a nurse when I met her, so I can’t speak for her competence,” Miss Nightingale said.
Alexandra gave her a puzzled look. “But didn’t you just say she—”
Miss Nightingale raised a cautionary finger as she interrupted her. “I said she was with a group of nurses, and I said she was trained as a nurse. When I met her she was on holiday from her job and was visiting with some of her former schoolmates who were nurses. The same nurses I happened to meet with. Miss Cobbe, however, had taken another direction. She had become a laboratory assistant to Monsieur Pasteur.”
Alexandra set down a glass she was about to raise to her lips. “Really? Rather odd choice for her, I should think.”
“Yes, I suppose it is odd,” Miss Nightingale said, “but it shouldn’t be. Women of all classes are denied the right to satisfy passion or intellect or moral activity. Perhaps we are partly to blame ourselves for this. But,” she added with a wave of her hand, “to say more on this subject would be to enter into the whole history of society and the present state of civilization.”
Nicholas felt momentarily relieved that she didn’t seem inclined to begin that discussion at the moment. Yet, to his dismay, Alexandra seemed determined to carry on in a previous direction, as they all removed to the drawing room for coffee.
“I also find it odd that Polly never mentioned she was a laboratory assistant to Monsieur Pasteur,” Alexandra said.
“Perhaps it is odd,” Miss Nightingale agreed, “although I do seem to recall she wasn’t inclined to be enormously talkative. Not about herself, at least. A trait which I admire, I might add. But then, perhaps being an assistant involved nothing more than cleaning the laboratory. Perhaps there was nothing about her position to warrant mentioning.”
“Mmm,” said Alexandra, considering it. “She did work as an assistant at our local apothecary, but one would think—”
“Now that I think of it, we did have a bit of a discussion regarding Monsieur Pasteur’s work,” Miss Nightingale interrupted. “Miss Cobbe was quite interested in his research. Fascinated, perhaps would be a better word, although I can’t say she led me to believe she understood a great deal.”
“I wouldn’t expect she would,” Alexandra said.
“Of course not, and mind you neither do I have a deep understanding of the science and mechanics of disease. It is my contention that mankind should use statistical analysis to determine what sort of living conditions must be avoided in order to encourage a healthy society rather than concentrating on ridding the world of the organisms of disease. As I mentioned, that is what I should like to discuss with Pasteur.”
“I must say, I don’t agree with you entirely,” Alexandra said.
“Few people do,” Miss Nightingale said with a little laugh.
Nicholas was about to attempt to take advantage of the interlude created by that small laugh to say something which he hoped would bring the luncheon to a close, but he was preempted by Miss Nightingale.
&
nbsp; “Nicholas, dear, you’ve been uncharacteristically quiet. Perhaps I’ve dominated the conversation too long. But I do find Dr. Gladstone most interesting.” She extended a hand to him. “Please help an old woman to her feet, dear boy. I shall be going so as to allow Dr. Gladstone time to get to the lecture.”
“You mustn’t be in such a hurry. You know I’m always glad to have you dominate any conversation.” In the same moment that he lied so easily, Nicholas stood and gave her his hand to help her out of the chair.
Miss Nightingale laughed again. “You are really quite charming, Nicholas, even when you’re not being entirely truthful. Please do give your mother my love.” She turned to Alexandra. “It has indeed been a pleasure to converse with you. I am always happy to find one of my own kind who has been allowed to develop her mind.” She offered her hand to Alexandra.
As soon as Miss Nightingale was gone, Alexandra turned to him and spoke. “That was a delightful luncheon, Mr. Forsythe. Miss Nightingale is truly an interesting person, I must say. And with such an analytical mind.”
“She is indeed,” Nicholas said, “but let’s not talk about Miss Nightingale or her analytical mind now. There’s something I must discuss with you.”
“There’s nothing I’d like better than to talk with you, Mr. Forsythe, but you must forgive me. I haven’t much time before I must leave for the lecture, and I really must see if I’ve received a reply to a message I sent by one of your servants.” Alexandra seemed restless and kept glancing toward the back of the house where the servants would be.
“I hope you didn’t send young Dan,” Nicholas said with a chuckle.
“Why yes, Broomsfield suggested I use him. I hope there’s nothing amiss.”
“Oh no, nothing amiss,” Nicholas said. “It’s just that Danny has a tendency to dawdle. I hope you weren’t expecting a quick return. He’ll return eventually, but who knows when. He’s quite easily distracted and a bit slow, I’m afraid.”
A troubled frown creased her brow. “Certainly I’d hoped to hear before I left for the lecture this afternoon. I haven’t long to stay in London, and I was seeking an appointment with someone at the request of Constable Snow.”
“Ah yes, Constable Snow,” Nicholas said. He had met the constable on two other occasions when he’d visited in Newton-Upon-Sea. “Does his inquiry by chance have something to do with the rash of rather brutal murders that have recently taken place in your charming village?”
Alexandra appeared stunned for a moment. “I had no idea news from such an out of the way place as Newton-Upon-Sea would travel so quickly.”
“It is the age of electricity and machines, Dr. Gladstone. I learned the unfortunate facts in a telephone conversation with a colleague.”
“But we have no telephones in Newton.” Alexandra sounded a bit confused.
“No, but the telegraph wires reach that far. My colleague received a wire message from a rather distraught pig farmer wanting to know if he could bring suit against a witch for killing his pigs. He asked the farmer for more details, of course, and learned of the murders in the farmer’s reply. Seems the farmer thinks the murders are connected somehow to his dead pigs.”
Alexandra’s puzzled frown deepened.
“Oh, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking there was no good reason for my colleague to call me, but there is, of course. He knows I have a connection to Newton.”
“You have a connection to Newton?” Her voice was full of doubt.
“Well, yes, as a matter of fact I do. You see I’m involved in the legal aspects of determining who is the rightful heir to Montmarsh. It’s rather complicated, you know, since the late Lord Dunsford had neither progeny nor siblings, and there is more than one claim to his holdings.”
“I should think that would be a task for a solicitor.” Alexandra appeared to be distracted and losing interest, Nicholas thought, since she was once again glancing toward the servants’ quarters.
“Why did you not tell me about the murders?” he asked.
She suddenly turned her attention back to him. “I’ve hardly had time, Mr. Forsythe, and how could I have known you’d be interested in the first place?”
“I am more than interested, Dr. Gladstone. I am concerned for your wellbeing.”
“How…kind of you.”
He thought he saw her cheeks color slightly, and he expected her to look away, but she did not. He tried to hang onto the moment. “You are so…” Words failed him. Did he want to say she was beautiful? She was not conventionally so. Her mouth was too wide and she was too tall and perhaps a bit too thin. But her skin was the color of ivory, and he had seen that beautiful auburn hair once, quite by accident, when it was unbound and wild. She wet her lips and looked away, and it was in that moment that he decided her mouth was not at all too wide. It was at once sensuous and intelligent. He wanted to tell her so, but before he could form the words, she spoke to him.
“There is no need for you to be concerned about me since I am quite safe here in London. But, as you can imagine, I am concerned for Nancy and Polly as well as my stable boys, and while it may be irrational for me to think I could do anything to protect them, I am, nevertheless, quite anxious to return to them.”
There it was again—that mask of propriety she wore. It made him more determined than ever to learn why she felt the need to protect herself from him. If he could keep her in London and in his house long enough, he would find a way to get behind that mask. “Perhaps,” he said, deciding not to push the matter too hard, “you could give me the name of the person you wish to contact on the constable’s behalf, and I could hasten a response from him.”
“There is simply not time.” Her old edginess had returned. “I must leave within a few minutes for the lecture, and by the time I summon a hansom—”
“I shall use the telephone, but I must have the name of the party you wish to contact. I can even arrange a meeting. Oh, and no need to call a hansom. I’ve already arranged for my driver to take you in my carriage.”
She stared at him without speaking for the span of two heartbeats. “If it’s possible to contact the doctor, I would appreciate it. His name is Dr. Kingsley Mortimer, and while your second offer is generous, there is no need to have your driver—”
“I insist.”
Another pause, and then, “Very well.”
It took several minutes for central exchange to make the connection with Dr. Mortimer’s office, and during the wait a new worry began to nibble at him. Why was Alexandra seeing a doctor in London? Was she ill? Was her claim that Constable Snow had requested it just a way to cover up the fact that she was not well? Was it just another aspect of the mask she wore?
It was not until a clerk answered the telephone on Dr. Mortimer’s end with a stilted phrase— “Dr. Kingsly Mortimer, alienist and neurologist”—that Nicholas realized what Snow was thinking. The murders were the work of a madman. He turned the telephone over to her, and by the time she had arranged a meeting with Dr. Mortimer, he knew he had to find a way to accompany her.
Chapter Eleven
Dr. Joseph Lister’s lecture on infection and the germ theory of disease was delivered to an audience that practically overflowed the small lecture room at the university. No talk regarding the theory of germs as the cause of disease was possible without the mention of Louis Pasteur, however. It was that name that caused Alexandra’s thoughts to stray during the lecture, in spite of the fact that she was truly interested in Dr. Lister’s theories.
Miss Nightingale’s revelation that Polly Cobbe had once been an assistant in his laboratory still puzzled Alexandra. It wasn’t that Polly was not capable of serving as a laboratory assistant, and certainly her having trained as a nurse might, in some way, be an advantage. The puzzle was that Polly hadn’t mentioned either her training or her work for Monsieur Pasteur. The puzzle was compounded by the fact that she hadn’t taken advantage of her training to find a position better than that of charwoman. Perhaps she had something
to hide. Could Nancy somehow be in danger?
Alexandra chided herself for such negative thoughts and returned her attention Dr. Lister’s lecture. He was demonstrating how disease-causing microbes react to certain chemicals. She was able to focus her attention for several minutes before her thoughts drifted back to Nancy and Polly and the recent disturbing events at home. There seemed to be no sane or sensible reason for all that had happened. If it was the work of a madman, she could only hope that Dr. Mortimer could provide some insight, as the constable suggested.
Dr. Mortimer hadn’t seemed particularly eager to see Alexandra when she finally was able to speak to him on Nicholas’s telephone device. Or perhaps it was the device itself that made it seem that way. She had felt awkward speaking into the mouth of the dark metal object while she held its appendage to her ear for listening. Dr. Mortimer’s voice had a queer, distant, and somewhat tinny sound to it as it came to her ear from somewhere inside the appendage. To respond to him, she had felt the need to shout into the thing’s mouth since he was on the opposite side of London. Nicholas whispered to her that there was no need to shout, and she had lowered her voice to a normal range, causing Dr. Mortimer to complain in a very unpleasant manner that he was unable to hear her.
The entire experience left her feeling drained and a bit disconcerted. It did seem, however, that she had secured an appointment to see him in the evening. Dr. Mortimer’s entire demeanor had changed once she mentioned Constable Snow’s name. He assured her that he would most certainly make time for her, and that yes, the constable had sent him a wire that someone would be calling on his behalf, and he was terribly sorry that he hadn’t known she was the person who would call, but he would be very pleased to see her this very evening if she would come to his home near the asylum where he worked. He was quite eager to discuss what Constable Snow had revealed to him in the telegram, he said, and he even offered to send a carriage and driver for her.
Dr. Lister moved deeper into his discussion of the germ theory of disease and once again mentioned Monsieur Pasteur’s work, this time regarding how the theory led to the development of vaccines for both humans and livestock. His latest work, according to Dr. Lister, involved a vaccine for anthrax in sheep. Alexandra had no idea how he had made the transition from antiseptic surgery to anthrax in sheep, and she was once again having trouble maintaining a focus on the distinguished physician’s words until he brought his remarks back to diseases in human beings.
