by Paula Paul
“’Twasn’t just that, of course. There were other things, before that, and the apron just put the cap on it, as they say.”
“What other things?”
Nancy shrugged. “It was strange things she did. I saw her tearing the pages from my novels of romance and love after you left. You know, the ones you dislike so much? I never confronted her, but I found it odd that she would tear out all references to any intimacy a man might have with a woman. I didn’t say anything, of course, because I thought, since she is a Nonconformist, it might be some kind of religious fanaticism. And that same day I found a scalpel in her room. Found it when I went to fetch the linens, as I believe I mentioned I do on the second Monday.”
“Yes, yes. You did.
“When I came into her room, there ’twas—a scalpel. At first I thought ’twas one of yours. Thought she’d stolen it, maybe. But when I looked closer, I knew ’twasn’t yours. It made me wonder, and I started thinking about all the medical knowledge she has. She just might have surgical skills, I thought. But ’twasn’t ’til that apron that I put it all together and began to think it could be a woman who killed those men. It could be Polly. I wasn’t really certain, though, until she confronted me. Said I’d have to die. Now that gave me a fright if I ever had one. She made me leave at knife point, but when I left, I didn’t lock the house, and I left Zack here, thinking the boys would think something was wrong and come looking for me.” She gave a little derisive laugh.
“They did look for you,” Alexandra said. “They just couldn’t find you. And we’re all lucky she didn’t kill you.”
“I don’t think she wanted to. Not really,” Nancy said. “That’s another thing strange about her. I couldn’t help getting the feeling she didn’t have the courage to kill me. Yet she seemed to have no trouble at all killing the others.”
“They were all men, Nancy. And you’re a woman. That’s why she couldn’t kill you.”
“That’s true,” Nancy said. “But why did she choose only men?”
“When I saw Dr. Mortimer in London—”
“What happened to you in London?”
Alexandra ignored her. “Dr. Mortimer said—”
A knock on the surgery door interrupted her before she could begin to explain the alienist’s theories to Nancy. It was Evelyn Murray, who had walked from the village to ask the doctor to come have a look at her eight-year-old son, who had a terrible cough. Alexandra left immediately to care for the boy who, she soon learned, had whooping cough, evidence that the disease had not yet run its course in Newton-Upon-Sea. She used the rest of the morning to complete her usual rounds to visit patients at home, making Tom and Kate Hastings’s home her last stop.
When she arrived home around noon, she was surprised to see Nicholas Forsythe in the parlor, engaged in a casual conversation with Nancy. The thought that Nancy might have been prodding him to learn whether anything had happened between to two of them filled her with dread. They both greeted her with guilty smiles which made her even more suspicious.
Nicholas rose to his feet. “Good afternoon, Dr. Gladstone.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Forsythe,” she said and glanced at Nancy, who was also now standing, pretending to be busy.
“I must say, I’m rather surprised to see you here,” Alexandra said, turning back to Nicholas. “I should have thought the Montmarsh case would have taken you back to London immediately.”
“It seems I’ve been given something of a reprieve from that case.”
“Really?” Alexandra said, removing her gloves and placing them on top of the medical bag she’d set on the hall table. “Let’s have a look at those wounds,”
“What? Oh no, they’re quite all right,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Nancy’s given them all the attention they need.”
Alexandra nodded. “So the Montmarsh case has been settled? There’s a new heir?”
“I just received a telegram a few hours ago informing me of that.”
“A telegram? Of course. How did we ever live without them?” There was a weary sound to her voice. She continued to eye Nancy suspiciously.
Nancy responded by making herself busy gathering up the tea dishes she’d used to serve Nicholas. “And how are our patients?” she asked just as Alexandra was about to ask Nicholas who had inherited Montmarsh and been named the sixth earl of Dunsford.
“Most are doing quite well,” she said in answer to Nancy’s question. “The Murray boy has whooping cough, but I expect him to recover nicely.”
“Very good. And the Hastings baby?” Nancy was working hard at playing innocent.
“Alice’s cough has improved, and her breathing’s less labored. As you said, her cough will linger for weeks, perhaps even months.”
Nancy turned to her, a worried look on her face.
“It’s too early to know if the disease has damaged her brain,” Alexandra said, reading the question in Nancy’s eyes.
Nancy shook her head. “It so often does in infants.”
“A disease of the brain?” Nicholas asked.
“The disease is whooping cough,” Alexandra said. “The hard cough can cause damage to a young child’s brain. We can only pray Alice will be spared that fate along with superstition and ridicule and misunderstanding that accompanies it.”
“A brain injury?” Nicholas said, musing. “Is it possible all insanity is nothing more than a physical disorder as the old-fashioned phrenologists claim?”
“The debate rages still,” Alexandra said. “Are insanity and monomania and hysteria and imbecility and idiocy mechanical failures? Or is there some other reason, as Dr. Mortimer’s radical views suggest? Would you care to join us for lunch, Mr. Forsythe? I must eat hurriedly in order to open my surgery on time.”
“Your invitation is very kind, but I… Of course,” he said seeming to reconsider on the spur of the moment. “I’d be happy to stay. So kind of you to ask.”
“Our luncheon is customarily informal, Mr. Forsythe. In the kitchen.”
“I should be delighted to—”
“’Tis no longer Mr. Forsythe, miss, ’tis Lord Dunsford,” Nancy said, interrupting.
Alexandra found she couldn’t speak. She could only stare in shock, first at Nancy and then at Nicholas.
Nicholas gave her a shy smile. “I hope you will never burden me by addressing me with that title.”
“You…”
“I’m as surprised as you are,” Nicholas said. “It’s a complicated story, of course, but you knew, didn’t you, that I was related to the late Lord Dunsford on my mother’s side? My older brother, of course, had claim to the title by right of progeny, but he refused it. I know, it’s hard to believe, unless you know my brother. But he has already inherited a title from my mother’s side of the family, along with a considerable amount of land, and he will, of course, inherit from our father, so it was his wish that I—”
“Lord Dunsford?” Alexandra said, interrupting him. She was still in shock. “Forgive me for suggesting that we eat in the—”
“Must I remind you that I’ve dined in your kitchen in the past and found it quite enjoyable?”
Alexandra was still stunned. “Of course,” she said when she could regain her voice. She gave him a cordial smile and led the way. Nicholas sat in a chair across from her, the wide and badly scarred surface separating them while they waited for Nancy to set their meal in front of them.
“You may be interested to know, I had a chat with the veterinarian from Colchester who came here to examine Blackburn’s swine,” Nicholas said. He seemed eager to get away from the subject of his newly acquired title.
“Indeed?” Alexandra, nevertheless, still felt a bit uncomfortable with the idea of his being elevated to the peerage.
“Yes, he confirmed anthrax, but he seems to think it will not be too difficult to control. It seems swine are more resistant to the germ than other animals.”
“How fortunate,” Alexandra said. “Polly has certainly wrought enough trou
ble for Newton as it is.”
“Yes, but I still find it frustrating that we shall never know for certain whether her insanity was caused by a mechanical failure in her brain or by something else,” Nicholas said.
“It is frustrating, yes,” Alexandra said, doing her best to regain her mental equilibrium. “We can only know that she is insane, whatever the cause.”
“She won’t hang, will she? Poor girl,” Nancy said.
Nicholas didn’t notice the inappropriateness of her inserting herself in the conversation. He’d obviously gotten to know Nancy well enough during his previous visits to be neither surprised nor shocked at her behavior. “Polly won’t hang,” he said. “The law will protect her because she’s insane. She’ll live the rest of her life in an asylum.”
“Will she?” Alexandra asked. She felt a chill as she remembered Polly’s last words to Constable Snow before she was taken away.
I’ll be back. Mind you stay out of my way.
