She made her way back towards the staircase, doing the same with the rooms on the opposite side of the corridor. These rooms appeared to face east and the light coming through the windows was stronger, although most had curtains or a sheet up at the windows, presumably to save the room occupants from bright sunlight in the mornings, as that didn’t mix very well with hangovers.
The second door she opened had someone in the bed but they didn’t react when she knocked or entered. She slowly stepped closer to the bed and once at the foot, she kicked the frame. Still the bed’s occupant didn’t react.
This room had a sheet over the window and she cautiously moved across the room to remove it, lest the man was only playing dead and planned to leap upon her when she didn’t expect it. When she turned back to the bed, the gruesome truth was unavoidable.
Judging from the amount of blood on the mattress and the pale white skin, the occupant was clearly dead.
Chapter Twelve
Nathaniel was between rooms when he heard the scream and took off running, wondering why he hadn’t insisted that they search the rooms together. The corridor wasn’t long and he thought that they would be faster if they searched separately and besides, if O’Grady was like everyone else in here, he would be in no state to hurt anyone.
Now he couldn’t believe that he had been so stupid.
A second, then a third scream joined the first and by the time he got to the room where the scream came from, there was a small crowd around the door, which included the screaming women. The men looked ill.
“Honestly, is that sort of racket necessary?” he heard Damaris ask, and he instantly relaxed. “He’s dead, I don’t think he could possibly pose any danger to you.”
The womens’ screams died away and Nathaniel pushed his way through the crowd and into the room, grabbing a rather hung-over looking man and dragging him inside also.
The dead man lay on his front, his head turned towards the door, his grotesque visage visible thanks to a strip of sunlight from the window, which fell over his face and shoulders.
“Is that O’Grady?” Nathaniel asked the man.
The man vomited, so Nathanial finally took a good look at the body. His face was covered in blood, which seemed to have come from his eyes, nose, ears and mouth. It was like nothing Nathaniel had ever seen before.
“Is it him?” Nathaniel asked the man again, a little more gently this time.
“Yeah, it’s him.”
“Thank you.” He let go of the man’s arm and he staggered back to the doorway, pushing his way out.
Damaris was leaning over the body, seemingly trying to look between the body and bed. Nathaniel stepped towards her with the intention of turning the body over, hoping to find what could have caused such devastation, although how a knife, which was his immediate suspicion given the copious amounts of blood, could have caused this, he didn’t yet know.
Damaris suddenly cried “NO!” putting herself between Nate and the body, her arms wrapped around his waist, pinning his arms to his side.
He was confused as he gazed down at her but he obeyed and made no further move towards the body. Besides, he rather liked the feeling of her pressed up against him.
“Stay back,” she said. “This could be a disease.”
That sobered him up and he nodded his understanding. Luckily no one else had entered the room, they were all just crowded around the door. He stepped back and headed to the doorway. The crowd outside the door was getting larger now, as more and more of the brothel’s inhabitants came to see what the fuss was about. He withdrew his purse and handed a few coins to one of the women who had screamed.
“Get dressed and fetch Dr Worthington,” he told her. “As quickly as you can.”
She pushed her way through the crowd and hurried to do his bidding. While Nathan closed the door on the onlookers, Damaris bent over the body, although she didn’t touch it.
“So what do you think this is?” Nathaniel asked.
“He bled from his mouth, eyes, nose and ears. I dare say if we pull the blanket down, he has bled down there also.”
Nathaniel’s eyes followed hers as they went to the blood that had dripped onto the floor from further down the bed.
“And what causes that?” he asked.
“The only thing I know of is haemorrhagic fever. It’s a tropical disease that causes the organs to break down, so sufferers bleed from every orifice. By all accounts, it’s an exceptionally nasty condition.”
“But you said it was a tropical disease?”
“Yes. The only articles I’ve read come from people who have visited places such as Africa; missionaries and the like.”
“Then are you sure this is the same thing?”
“No.” She stood up. “I’ve never seen it myself and I’m not a physician, but I can’t think of anything else with these symptoms, however…”
“However?” he asked when she hadn’t continued for a few moments.
“Well this man is dressed and the sheets are dry, and I don’t see the women of this establishment changing him and his sheets. Plus, haemorrhagic fever doesn’t come on and kill in the space of a few hours; he would have been bedridden and feverish for at least a few days. By the time the disease is this far along, his sheets would be soaked with sweat, he’d be delirious, and probably unable to stand, not serving behind the bar last night, as that woman told us.”
Damaris took out her handkerchief and used it to open his eyelids. They remained open and Nathaniel could see that the white of his eyes were now red.
“She could have been lying,” Nate suggested. “Or mistaken. In an establishment like this, I think the ladies imbibe as much alcohol as the gentlemen, I’m sure that one night could easily run into another.”
Damaris didn’t answer.
“Assuming that this disease has somehow made its way to this country, there would be more than one case, wouldn’t there?”
“Probably. If we knew how disease was transmitted, that would help.”
“But it is transmittable, correct? That’s why we quarantine people.”
“True.”
Nathan opened the door. While the people weren’t crowded around it any longer, most still seemed to be in the corridor, waiting for gossip.
“Anyone here who has slept with, shared the same glass or plate, or touched O’Grady, even just a handshake, in the past week, please hold your hand up.”
They were slow to comply but after a few moments, all the women and two men raised their hands.
“Lady Wellesley?” he called and she joined him from the bedside. “These people have all had contact with the deceased.”
She nodded her understanding.
“Do any of you feel unwell?” she asked.
They all looked nervous but no one answered.
“All right, follow me.” She led them to a window at the end of the corridor. “I want each of you to pull your lower eyelid down.” She demonstrated for them and one by one, they stood next to her at the window and did as she asked, then she felt their foreheads for a fever.
“None of you seem affected but if you feel feverish, call a doctor at once,” she ordered, then walked away, back to where Nathanial was waiting, just outside of O’Grady’s room.
“Your bedside manner could use some work,” he teased, “but I can’t deny your efficiency.”
She looked confused. “They aren’t sick, why do they need my sympathy?”
“Because they’re scared. In case you hadn’t noticed, O’Grady died a pretty horrible death, something that they don’t want for themselves.”
“But they’re not sick,” she repeated.
He shook his head and decided to drop it for now. “Moving on; if this isn’t tropical fever, why don’t you put that encyclopaedic mind to use and see what else it could be.”
“Oh, um, well…”
Her gaze was drawn through the open door to the body and as she thought, she chewed her lower lip. He had a sudden desire
to bite on that same lip himself and turned away, before his thoughts could veer too far down an inappropriate track.
“There are a number of substances that could do this but most would have to be consumed in very high quantities.”
“Such as?”
“Ingesting large quantities of Willow bark or Spiraea. A very bad, bleeding ulcer could too, although that wouldn’t cause bleeding from the eyes and ears.”
“How large a dose?”
“Well that depends on the plant and the purity of the sample; many apothecaries adulterate their wares to make a larger profit. If we take powdered willow bark, which is common, and assume it hasn’t been adulterated with something like talc, chalk or arsenic powder then… I don’t know, seven tablespoons perhaps.”
“That is a lot.”
“I’m not a physician or an apothecary, Nate, that’s just a guess.”
“Then perhaps I can help,” Dr Worthington said as he climbed the stairs and stepped onto the landing. “One physician at your service. I’m afraid that the young lady you sent wasn’t very coherent, so you’ll have to explain the situation.”
“We have another death,” Nathaniel said. “As yet unexplained and rather… unusual.”
He ushered the doctor into the room and while Nathaniel and the doctor went to the body, Damaris instead chose to look around the room.
Nathaniel explained their thoughts to date and the doctor, using the sheet so he didn’t touch the body or blood, turned the body over.
“He’s begun the process of rigor mortis but it isn’t complete, I’d estimate he’s been dead for between four and ten hours.”
“You can’t be more specific?” Nate asked.
“Sadly, no. Perhaps the customers and, uh, employees might help you narrow things down.”
Nate nodded.
Out of nowhere, Damaris triumphantly cried, “Mentha pulegium!”
“God bless you,” Nathaniel teased as both gentlemen turned to where she stood, by a table. She was sniffing a pint glass.
“Pardon?” Dr Worthington asked.
“Smell this,” she held the quarter full glass out to him. “Smells a little minty, correct? I know it’s a faint smell next to the stout but it’s there and if it is pennyroyal oil, that could definitely cause excessive bleeding. And it looks as if there’s an oily residue on the inside of the glass.”
The doctor hummed and appeared to think it over, while Nate stepped closer to Damaris.
“Oil and water don’t mix,” Nathaniel reminded her.
“Firstly, it’s stout, not water, secondly, you can mix oil and water for a time, although they will separate eventually, and finally, there is a layer of oil on top, but the foam head makes it harder to see. In candlelight, it would be easy not to notice it at all, especially if you were already drunk.”
“So pennyroyal, menthol pull-something, is what exactly?”
“Mentha pulegium is a plant and pennyroyal is the oil made from it. It’s mostly used as an insect repellent but in medicine it’s used to regulate menstrual cycles, although only in exceptionally small doses. In larger doses, it’s sometimes used as an abortifacient.”
The doctor appeared to choke on his own saliva and began coughing.
“An abortifacient?” Nate asked. He wanted to smile at the doctor’s reaction, since few if any women would be so candid, but he liked it that she didn’t hide behind euphemisms.
Once his coughing fit passed, the doctor turned his attention to the body again.
“Yes, it’s something that induces miscarriage,” Damaris explained. “The problem is, pennyroyal oil is extremely dangerous and is liable to kill both the mother and child. I didn’t think of it to begin with because it’s something that women take, not men.”
“And it smells of mint?”
“Yes, peppermint.”
“So who would give Mick O’Grady an abortifacient?” Nate asked.
“If I were a betting woman, my money would be on an abortionist who had the oil to hand, and let’s face it, given his business, I’m sure he and his women have had more than a few occasions to use an abortionist in the past.”
Nate could well believe that, but he turned to look at the body as he considered her argument. Something about it just didn’t feel right to him, but he wasn’t sure what. Surely if the killer used a poison that was on hand, this was a crime of passion as well as of opportunity. This murder, the gruesomeness of the death, the planning that must have gone into poisoning his drink, just seemed too premeditated.
“Nate!”
He turned to Damaris. “I’m sorry?”
The doctor raised an eyebrow at her use of his Christian name, but he didn’t comment.
“I asked, three times, if you had another idea?’”
“Oh, um, I’m not sure.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“I was just thinking; what if they used pennyroyal oil to frighten people.”
“There’s hardly anything frightening about a dead body, unless you believe in ghosts.”
“Perhaps, but not everyone has your bravery, my dear.” He smiled.
“I doubt any woman who has experienced child birth would find that frightening.” She gestured to the body.
“I can’t speak to that but I do know that the sight of the body had three women screaming, and the man I brought into the room vomited. This is a nasty death, frightening even, to many people.”
She couldn’t deny that the women had kicked up an awful fuss when they saw him, and the men had looked rather green around the gills.
“So who was the killer trying to frighten?” she asked.
“Either us, or the co-conspirators,” Nathaniel reasoned.
“Co-conspirators? You think this has to do with my father’s death?”
“He was the Constable’s friend and charges stopped being brought against O’Grady at about the same time as Smyth took office. It doesn’t seem like a huge leap to assume that they might both have been involved with this conspiracy.”
“So they were both killed to silence them?” Damaris asked.
“Possibly and if so, a gruesome death like this would strike fear into the other conspirators and help to ensure their silence.”
“But why kill some and just frighten others?” she asked.
“Hierarchy perhaps?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Your father thought that someone was selling information and what better time to get secrets, than when a man is drunk and in the arms of a beautiful woman. What to do with those secrets however; well that would take contacts, connections above even a criminal like O’Grady. Smyth and O’Grady most likely took their orders from someone respectable and to him, these two were expendable. ”
“But the deaths are so different?”
“True. Smyth’s death was unsophisticated and if I had to guess, I would say that O’Grady killed him. Someone higher up in the conspiracy then killed O’Grady, choosing a sophisticated method to do so.”
“That doesn’t make much sense, O’Grady is Smyth’s friend,” she countered.
“Money has a way of ruining even the best friendships.”
“All right, so why kill Smyth at all?”
“He could have been scared and they were worried he’d tell. Or he could have asked for more money to ensure his silence, and they thought it would be both easier and cheaper to kill him. It could have been an accident; perhaps O’Grady didn’t have permission to kill Smyth so when his bosses found out, they ordered his death. Or, since he isn’t investigating your father’s death any more, he simply outlived his usefulness to them.”
“O’Grady dies less than twelve hours after Smyth; that had to be planned, don’t you think?”
“I do, which rules out an accident. Smyth was either panicking, asking for more money, or he became expendable.”
“But if incompetence wasn’t the reason for O’Grady’s murder, why kill him?”
“Similar reasons. I
doubt that O’Grady is a trustworthy ally. He seems like the sort who would sell his own mother for a farthing and if he was caught, he would probably turn on the others in return for clemency.”
Dr Worthington coughed to get their attention and they turned to him. He had covered the body with the edges of the bed sheet.
“As much fun as it is to listen to you two theorise, I should get this body back to my surgery. While Lady Wellesley is correct about the odd smell of the stout, I do have to rule out other possibilities.”
“Of course,” Nathaniel nodded. “Do you know when you might have a chance to do an autopsy?”
“I have a full surgery of patients this morning, which I’m late for I might add, and Smyth to autopsy.”
“I think we know how Smyth died,” Nathaniel reasoned, “so I suggest you look at O’Grady first.”
“Very well. Barring emergencies, I should be able to open him up this afternoon.”
“Then we’ll stop by early evening, if we may?”
“Of course. I’ve sent for a wagon, so I’ll remove the body as soon as it arrives.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
“Have you given any thought to hiring a new constable?”
“Not really, I haven’t had the chance but in the interim, I was wondering if Lady Wellesley would be prepared to take on the role, as Acting Constable.”
She turned to him, surprised by his words.
“Is that allowable?” Dr Worthington asked.
“I don’t see why not, there are no rules prohibiting women from being constables, and it would just be until we found her father’s killer.”
Damaris still didn’t say anything and he wondered if he had upset her.
“Thank you for coming so quickly, Doctor. We had better start questioning the other guests, if you don’t mind?”
“No, no not at all. I’ll come down with you and wait for the wagon.”
Damaris remained quiet and followed behind him as he ushered everyone downstairs. He had just finished seating them at different tables and booths, when she touched his arm.
“Might I have a word?” she asked.
“Of course.”
They headed through the closest door, into what appeared to be the kitchen.
Her Saving Grace Page 13
