She headed out of the family home through the front entrance and true to her prediction, the streets were empty.
Chapter Two
Dr Worthington’s surgery had a small painted sign out the front, so she was certain that she had the right place. She tried the door but it was locked and while she had the tools to pick it, it was time consuming so she went around to the back, where fortune favoured her with an ajar casement window. She unhooked the stay, pulled it wide and climbed through.
The second door that she tried proved to be the one she wanted and she was almost overcome when she saw the bones on the table, the pale moonlight reflecting off the remains.
She closed her eyes, strengthened her resolve and entered the room, closing the door behind her.
As expected, there were oil lamps in here so she took a taper, ignited it from the dying fire and used it to light one of the lamps. Then she turned the handle which pulled the wick up, creating a larger and brighter flame.
The bones appeared to have been boiled in baking soda already, which had removed all the flesh, but they had not yet been bleached.
She headed for the desk and began to rifle through the papers she found there. One pile seemed to be devoted to living patients, while the other, much smaller pile, documented the doctor’s findings on the bones and what procedures he had performed on them.
194 bones had been discovered, meaning that twelve were missing and the good doctor had listed them. Damaris felt that they were inconsequential bones, such as the phalanx bones of the hands and feet, and two carpal bones from the left wrist, which were small and unlikely to hold any clues or evidence related to the death. The doctor posited that they had been washed away by the recent flooding which had revealed the bones, and Damaris had to agree that it was a very real possibility.
The skeleton was male and the estimated height of the victim was 5’6” to 5’11”, aged approximately 40-60. The notes said that those details would be refined once the bones were cleaned.
The next entry detailed the skull fracture; to the temporal bone, just above the superior temporal line, had been broken with a long, straight instrument, approximately two inches in diameter.
Worthington then went on to detail how he had removed the remaining flesh (with baking soda) and his intention to bleach the bones further.
Despite her unease, Damaris picked up a magnifying glass and approached the table, where the remains lay. They were roughly laid in their correct anatomical positions and bringing the lamp close, she could see more detail. She could clearly see where the skull had been fractured and she was almost overcome with grief again.
Still, the details that she had weren’t enough to prove that it was him, so she moved onto the rest of the bones, painstakingly looking at each one. She noticed that the hyoid bone had been snapped in two and wondered how that was related to the head injury.
As far as she could remember (and that was usually very well) the hyoid was a hard bone to break, due to its position in the neck. Just about the only thing that could break it was strangulation from the front, where the attacker’s thumbs would press on the bone, snapping it.
Was he bludgeoned and strangled? Why use two different methods to subdue him?
She set those thoughts aside for now, knowing that she had to make haste. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was looking for but when she examined the right leg, she knew that she had found her proof. She continued to examine the remaining bones, making her way up the left side of the body, just in case she found something else pertinent but before she had made it past the left knee, a scrape outside the door alerted her to the fact that someone was coming.
The lamp must have given her away, she realised, either to someone on the street, or the good doctor, who might have seen the light emanating from under the door.
She blew out the oil lamp and placed it on a table as she ran to the windows, but she hadn’t placed it well enough and the lamp fell, the fount and glass chimney shattering as they hit the tiled floor.
She didn’t dare turn to look and as she climbed up onto the bench table by the window and undid the latch, the door burst open, clattering against the wall.
“You there, halt!”
She didn’t, instead she flung the window wide and scrambled through. For one heart stopping moment, she thought that she had been grabbed, but she jumped anyway and the tension gave way as her coat tore, having only been caught on the latch stay. She landed awkwardly on her left side, her shoulder jarring painfully. Her hat came loose but she crammed it back on even as she got up to run.
She ran to the end of the street, then slowed to a walk so as not to appear suspicious. She kept her head down as she walked and with each step, she expected to hear the sound of a whistle but to her eternal gratitude, none came. She made it back to the house, entering through the servants’ entrance at the rear. She didn’t need to worry too much about waking the staff; the driver was sleeping over the stable, the caretaker and his wife were elderly and sound sleepers, and Lilly already knew that her mistress was up to no good.
The caretaker and housekeeper were the only full time employees at this house, since no one lived here anymore. Maintaining and cleaning the house were their only duties usually, but the housekeeper could stretch to cooking simple meals for visitors.
The townhouse was a decent size for a professional family but not massive, as some were. As such, and with dust sheets protecting the surfaces and furniture in most rooms, it didn’t need an awful lot of day to day upkeep.
Damaris made her way to the main staircase, since it was carpeted and would be quieter, and she wasn’t at all surprised to realise that Lilly was sitting by her fireplace, dressed in her nightgown and clearly agitated. She jumped as her mistress entered.
“Oh, thank the Lord, you’re all right.” She let out a long breath.
“I’m fine,” Damaris assured the other woman. She didn’t mention the pain in her shoulder from falling from the window. “Now go to bed; it’s gone two in the morning and we have had a long journey.”
Lilly nodded and got to her feet. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
“I think so,” she said, her voice filling with emotion. “It’s him.”
“Oh, my dear.” She took her employer in her arms and held her as Damaris finally began to cry. “There there,” she crooned. “It will be all right.”
“No, it won’t.”
“But it’s better to have an answer, isn’t it?”
“I suppose it is.” Damaris pulled away and wiped at her eyes. “I thought that knowing would be a relief but…”
“Hush, this is only natural, child. These things take time, as well you know.”
Damaris nodded and did her best to reign in her emotions. “Thank you, now go to bed.”
Lilly gave her a gentle smile. “I will, if you will also.”
“I will, Lilly, I’ll change now.”
“Very well. Good night.”
Damaris went into her dressing room, where Lilly had laid out her things, and changed into her nightshirt. She sat at her dressing table to brush out her hair and Lilly came in, as suspected, to check that she was preparing for bed.
“Good night again, love. Come and wake me if you need to.”
Damaris smiled, as memories of Lilly saying this very thing to her when she was a child surfaced. “Thank you, Lilly.”
She left but Damaris continued brushing her hair, giving it 100 strokes, to be sure that the other woman wouldn’t return. When she didn’t, Damaris made her way downstairs and into her father’s study, where she began composing a letter, which she would ask to be delivered to Dr Worthington first thing in the morning.
***
“Nathaniel, come in, come in,” the Doctor said, and stepped back from the door to allow the other man to enter.
“Have you discovered anything else about the body?” Nathaniel asked eagerly.
“No, I intend to take a closer look later today.�
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“Then what is so urgent that you asked me to attend first thing?” Now he was slightly irritable.
“I was burglarised last night.”
“Are you all right?” His annoyance fled.
“Yes, yes I'm fine, and I don’t believe that anything was taken.”
“Nothing?”
“Not that I can see.” The doctor led Nathaniel to his workshop.
Nothing had been moved since the night before, save for the remains of the broken oil lamp, which had been cleared up.
“The papers on my desk were disturbed and the lamp broken, but that is all.”
“And you’re sure nothing was taken?”
“I am.”
“Why would someone break in and not take anything?”
“I disturbed them, perhaps they didn’t have time. I came in just as the blighter was jumping out of that window.”
It was logical but Nathaniel didn’t quite believe it. He went over to the window and peering out, found a scrap of cloth caught on the frame, clearly having been torn off.
“Did you get a look at him?”
“Not much,” Worthington admitted. “He was dressed all in black but slight, short, like a youth.”
“I doubt a youth would be our killer, so what did he want here? I suppose he could be working for someone else, doing their dirty work and trying to discover how much we know.”
The front door bell interrupted them and they both made their way there.
“It’s a little early for patients,” Worthington noted, checking his pocket watch. “Mrs Hyde isn’t even here yet.”
Nevertheless, he opened the door.
“Good day.” The elderly gentleman there said. The quality of his clothes indicated that he was in service but he kept them in pristine condition. “Is one of you Doctor Worthington?”
“I am.”
“I have a message for you.” He handed the letter to the doctor.
Worthington reached into his pocket for a tip but the man held his hands up. “I'm not a messenger, Sir, simply doing an errand on behalf of my employer. No payment is necessary.”
The accent was refined, Nathaniel noticed. If he had to bet money, he would say that this man was a butler, only he was too old and hunched in the back to be a butler any longer.
“Good day, Sirs.” He tipped his hat and turned to leave.
Worthington closed the door and broke the seal on the letter, frowning as he began to read.
“What has you so interested?”
Worthington glanced at the second page, then handed the letter over.
Dear Doctor Worthington,
I apologise for writing to you in this fashion but the local constable refuses to believe that this man could be my father. In fact, he doesn’t even believe that my father is missing.
However, I know that he would never willingly leave his family and I strongly believe that it is his body that was discovered.
My father’s name was Charles Howard, he was a respected lawyer who worked for the War Office, and he disappeared in April 1814. He was 5’10” inches tall, of stout but not overly large build, and had grey and white hair.
I realise that neither this description, nor the sketch of him that I have enclosed, will help you discover if the remains that you have, belonged to my father, but it might help you to know that my father had a few distinguishing marks.
A scar over his left temple that went into the hairline.
He was burned on the back of his right hand as a child and as well as scarring, the surrounding tissue is puckered.
There is a brown mole on his neck, under his left ear, perhaps a quarter of an inch in diameter.
Finally, he suffered a bad fall from horseback when I was a child. He fractured his right leg and although the limb was saved and splinted, it never healed properly and he suffered pain for the rest of his life.
I do hope that this information helps you identify the remains you have.
Fondest regards,
Damaris Wellesley,
Dowager Countess of Bellchester
Nathaniel wondered who this Damaris character was. He remembered Charles Howard who, although not titled, was from an aristocratic family. As the fifth son, there wasn’t much wealth for him to inherit, especially as the eldest son would inherit the title and lands. As such, he had trained as a lawyer and worked for much of the year in London. He didn’t earn a fortune but he earned enough to keep his family in good circumstances, and his aristocratic ancestry ensured that he was still accepted in society.
It was unfair that the first son inherited everything, while younger sons were left to felt mostly for themselves. As such, High Society was always ready and willing to help such a man, especially one who did his best to help himself.
Nathaniel had met Mr Howard a few times, but he could not recall meeting his daughter.
“Shall we have a look?” he asked Worthington.
“I thought you’d never ask,” the Doctor smiled.
The skin blemishes the letter writer had pointed out were useless, as so little skin had been left but the right leg did indeed show signs of a healed break. The bone was slightly thicker where it had mended and no longer straight, but very slightly angled outwards below the break.
“Looks to me like he used his leg before it healed,” Worthington explained. “The pain would have caused him to walk with an uneven gait, perhaps like this.” He demonstrated, walking a few paces while holding his right leg to the side. “Under the constant pressure of walking, even with a splint, the healing bone was pushed outwards and finally healed that way. No wonder he suffered pain.”
“So you believe this is Charles Howard then?”
“I would like another piece of evidence before declaring that but yes, I think it’s highly likely that this is he.”
Nathaniel picked up the wedding band. “Smyth is collecting all the marriage records from 1794 and if Mr Howard is among them, I think that we can safely say that we have identified him.”
Worthington nodded. “Now I need to bleach the bones in order to properly examine them under a magnifying glass.”
“How long will that take?”
“Oh, a few hours, I’ll leave them to soak while I see my patients. If you come around this afternoon, I should know more.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
***
Nathaniel unlocked Smyth’s office at the town hall, and quickly found the missing person reports. The women who had been reported missing had already been removed from the pile and Charles Howard wasn’t among the remaining five men.
Instead Nathaniel went to the filing cabinets, hoping to find a file on Charles Howard. The records weren’t kept alphabetically however, but according to the date that a crime was reported.
Nathaniel pulled the letter from his pocket and as he thought, the writer had given the date of her father’s disappearance; April 1814.
He quickly discovered the drawer for 1814 and after a little hunting, found a file marked ‘C Howard’. He pulled it out and sat at Smyth’s desk to peruse its contents.
There was hardly anything in the file. The first page was the report, made by the wife and daughter. It contained few details but it did say that the last time the family had seen Mr Howard, was when he ventured to London on horseback for business. When he did not return at the end of the week, they became worried.
The next page revealed that Smyth had searched Howard’s study, and found a ticket receipt for a journey booked on a cargo ship to the Americas; the receipt was included in the file. The next item was a letter from the ship’s owner, dated thirteen months after Mr Howard had gone missing.
The owner seemed to be replying to Smyth and informed him that after speaking with the captain, he could confirm that a gentleman by the name of Charles Howard had indeed sailed on their cargo ship.
Given that he was fairly sure that the body they had found was Mr Howard, he would be willing to bet that whoever sailed to the Ame
ricas gave a false name. Smyth should have looked deeper; at least got a description of the person who sailed, if nothing else.
Nathaniel closed the file and paced the length of the office as he waited for Smyth to return with the marriage records, pondering the case.
If Charles was last seen journeying to London, then how did he end up buried in Lanford? Either he never made it to London, or was waylaid on his journey back. Nathaniel would contact his employers in London to discover which was the case, and it irked him that Smyth hadn’t already done so.
London was only twenty or so miles south, a two hour ride on one of his faster horses, so he could probably be back by nightfall.
Then again, Smyth could be hours checking the records and he needed to confirm that this was Charles Howard before he went dashing off to London. Turning back to the file, he noted Mr Howard’s address and made his way there.
***
Mr Howard had a large townhouse near the centre of Lanford but it was far from the largest. Obviously he was well to do but not rich. He knocked on the front door and it was opened by the elderly gentleman who had delivered the letter that morning.
“Can I help you, Sir?”
“I’m Lord Copley, and I’m looking for Mrs Howard or Lady Wellesley.”
“Mrs Howard now resides with her eldest son in France, Sir, but Lady Wellesley is in residence.”
“Might I see her?”
The butler opened the door further and Nathaniel stepped inside.
“Wait here, Sir.”
He shuffled off up the stairs and Nathaniel took the chance to look around.
The house was well cared for but it appeared that it was not very well lived in. No coats hung on the rack, no calling cards lay on the tray, no flowers graced any surface and the sounds of life that one would expect in a house of this size, were absent.
The man appeared at the top if the stairs but out of respect for his age, Nathaniel held his hand up to stop him. “I’ll come to you,” he said, making his way up the stairs.
The butler nodded and once he had reached the landing, led Nathaniel into a parlour.
Her Saving Grace Page 2
