Symptoms of Death (Dr. Alexandra Gladstone Book 1)

by Paula Paul

  “And how was the Blackburn baby?” Nancy asked as she took the first stitch. It was a device Alexandra had used herself to distract patients. If she could keep them thinking of something other than the needle, the pain was not so noticeable. By the time Nancy had finished, Alexandra had told her the whole story of the birth of twins, the one who did not survive, and the condition of the mother. The distraction worked, at least to the extent that she didn’t embarrass herself again by fainting. Zack watched it all, wearing a concerned look and giving Nancy an occasional scolding growl. Within an hour, Nancy had finished her task and had helped Alexandra out of her bloody dress and into bed.

  She was awakened the next morning by Zack’s bark signaling that someone had approached the house. She was only half awake, however, until she heard the sound of voices downstairs—Nancy’s voice, of course, but to whom did the other belong?

  Alexandra glanced, bleary eyed, at her clock on the bureau, and then her eyes sprung open wide when she realized it was after eight. She should have been up long ago to see after Priscilla Blackburn and her other patients.

  The room spun crazily when she stood up, and she had to find the edge of the bed with her hands and sit down again. She must have lost more blood than she’d realized, and then there was the matter of healing. She’d often told her patients not to try to resume normal work after an injury, since, as her father had taught her, the body must use a great deal of its energy to heal. She’d also chided her patients when they told her they had no time to wait. Now it was she who could not wait. There was work to do.

  The voices downstairs were louder now, and it sounded as if an argument was in full play. Nancy’s voice rushed up to her on agitated waves.

  “No, you cannot see her. Dr. Gladstone is not well this morning.”

  The words of the other voice, a male voice, were less distinguishable to her. She eased herself out of bed and went to her door and called out. “Tell the patient I’ll be down in a moment.”

  She stepped back into her room, quickly changed her bloodied bandage and dressed herself hurriedly. She’d chosen a simple dress, free of ruching and lace and extra petticoats. She tried to dress her hair, but was having trouble keeping the pins in, so she pulled them all out and let her hair flow freely about her shoulders. Perhaps it was not in the best of taste, but when a patient was waiting, one could not worry about meaningless rules of propriety.

  Alexandra hurried out the door and to the stairway. Nancy was at the bottom, just starting up. “Why didn’t you wake me, Nancy? I should never sleep so late. You know I don’t like to keep patients waiting.”

  “Don’t worry, Miss. ’Tisn’t a patient. ’Tis only—”

  “Nicholas!”

  He grinned at her, and she noticed he was wearing tweeds, not the more formal attire a gentleman would be expected to wear on a return trip to London. “The second time you’ve mistaken me for a…Good Lord. You’ve been wounded.”

  “No need to worry. It’s not life threatening.” She sounded more cavalier than she felt. In truth she had awakened several times during the night remembering with horror her encounter with the knife-wielding stranger and grateful for Zack snoring on the floor next to her bed. Even now, in the peaceful, rose-colored light of the summer morning, she still felt cold fear when she remembered. Nevertheless, she tried to sound unruffled. “I’m surprised to see you here, Nicholas. I thought you were to leave for London early.”

  “Never mind my leaving for London,” Nicholas said, taking both of her hands and leading her to the parlor. “Tell me what happened. Have you hurt yourself?”

  “Hurt herself? I think not.” Nancy sat a tray of tea and scones on the table in front of the sofa just as Nicholas, still holding Alexandra’s hands, sat with her. “A murderer, it was. Met her in the stable yard.” Nancy, her eyes wide, nodded emphatically at Nicholas.

  “A murderer?” Nicholas’s eyes were as wide as Nancy’s as he glanced from one to the other.

  “I’m afraid Nancy’s exaggerating a bit,” Alexandra said. “In truth, I have no way of knowing—”

  “Exaggerating am I?” Nancy put her hands on her hips. “Ask her to tell you the whole story, and we’ll see if I’m exaggerating.” With that she turned and left the room.

  “Tea?” Alexandra asked, reaching for the pot.

  Nicholas put a hand on hers to stop her from pouring. “Not until you tell me the whole story.”

  She sighed. “If I tell you the story, you’ll be late leaving for London.”

  “I’m not going to London.”

  She gave him a surprised look. “Not going to London? But, why?”

  “Never mind why. I want to hear about your encounter and what made your Nancy mention a murderer.”

  “Oh all right.” She sounded impatient as she poured the tea, in spite of his protest. “But I can’t bear to relive it without a bit of tea.” She took her time stirring in the milk and sugar then took her first swallow while Nicholas glared at her. She was stalling for time, trying to remember whether she’d seen anything at all, whether she’d sensed anything.

  Finally she told him, giving all the facts she remembered, finishing with, “and then Nancy helped me dress the wound, and I went to bed.”

  “And you have no idea who it was?”

  “It was too dark. I couldn’t see.”

  “Not even when your dog chased him away.”

  “Nothing except a shadowy form.”

  Nicholas was silent, a troubled frown making a deep furrow on his brow.

  Alexandra picked up her cup carefully. “May I be so impertinent as to ask what you are thinking, sir?”

  He glanced at her. “The same thing you’re thinking.”

  She held his gaze for a moment, then shook her head slowly. “Oh no. I’m not thinking that at all.”

  “Of course you are.”

  “But what possible motive would Lord Dunsford’s killer have to kill me?”

  “I think you know the answer to that as well.”

  Again their gazes held while Alexandra’s thoughts spun logic. She sighed again and slumped back against the sofa. “I’ve been a bit too mouthy and free with my opinions, haven’t I?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Nicholas said, helping himself to a scone. “Someone at Montmarsh yesterday heard you say someone other than Elsie killed Eddie, and that person became frightened that you knew too much and tried to do you in. I would wager it was a man, since it would obviously take some strength to hold you still with a knife at your throat.”

  “Perhaps it was a woman who hired a man to kill me.”

  “Perhaps.” Nicholas brushed crumbs from his mouth with a napkin. “But you are in danger, nevertheless. I think it wise that you not take any chances by being out late at night alone, and you shouldn’t go unescorted during the day, for a while at least.”

  Alexandra put her tea cup down with a bit too much force. “That’s impossible. I have my patients to see, and I have no way of knowing what time of day or night—”

  “I’ll be your escort.”

  “I have Zack.”

  He glared at her. “Why wasn’t he with you last night?”

  “He was with me. At the crucial moment at least.” She was beginning to feel as if she was in the witness box defending herself.

  He stood, towering over her. “I’m afraid that’s not good enough. You must understand, Dr. Gladstone, that your life is in danger. I will be your escort.”

  Alexandra stood as well and faced him with simmering anger. “I won’t deny that I was frightened, Mr. Forsythe, and of course I understand the necessity for caution, but I don’t need—”

  “Ah, you’re such a gentleman, Mr. Forsythe.” Nancy had suddenly reappeared with another plate of scones. “These are troubled times, and a lady can’t be too careful, so of course the good doctor will appreciate your assistance. Will that be all, Miss?”

  “That will be quite enough,” Alexandra said.

  Nancy made another
little curtsey and left.

  Nicholas turned to her. “So it’s settled, then. What time will we leave for your rounds?”

  “Of course it’s not settled. Nancy doesn’t make decisions for…” Alexandra saw the determined expression on Nicholas’s face. “Oh, very well, then. As soon as I’ve put up my hair.” She turned quickly and walked toward the staircase.

  “Your hair is lovely when it’s loose,” Nicholas said to her back.

  She hesitated only slightly, glad that her back was turned, so that he could not see her face, and hurried up the stairs.

  Nicholas drove her on her rounds in another one of the carriages he had purloined from Montmarsh. At each stop, he waited in the carriage like a hired man because Alexandra had insisted that she see her patients in privacy. The talk at each stop was of Elsie’s arrest. As before, her patients, like the entire parish, were divided as to whether or not the girl’s incarceration was warranted.

  When they arrived at the Blackburns’ at the edge of the parish, and their last stop, Seth Blackburn was outdoors chopping wood while his older son played with the dog a few feet away.

  Seth removed his hat and wiped his brow with his arm when he saw the carriage. Alexandra saw immediately the pallor of his skin and the dark circles under his eyes and knew that he had not slept.

  “Dr. Gladstone.” Seth’s voice sounded weary, and he gave Nicholas a quick, curious glance.

  “Good morning, Seth. This is Nicholas Forsythe, a friend who is accompanying me on my rounds today.”

  Seth ignored the introduction and looked straight at Alexandra. “She doesn’t fare well, my Priscilla. I fear for her, Miss. You must help her.” Then he added as an afterthought, “You’ve met with an accident, Miss.”

  “A clumsy fall,” Alexandra said, reaching for her bag. That was the story she’d given all of her curious patients. “Does Priscilla eat?” she added, eager to change the subject.

  Seth shook his head sadly. “A scarce mite, and she’s weakening. She needs care, I know, but I ought to be in the fields. ’Tis my labor that keeps us alive, Miss. I know not what to do. Her mother and her sisters are fifty leagues away.”

  “Then we must find someone to care for her,” Alexandra said as she moved quickly toward the house.

  “I cannot pay, Miss, I don’t—”

  “Payment will not be necessary.” She spoke in curt tones, throwing the words over her shoulder.

  Priscilla lay in bed, pale and drawn, holding the screaming baby to her breast. She spoke in a weak, lifeless voice. “He’ll not suckle.”

  Alexandra took the baby from her arms and tried to quiet him. She suspected that the reason the baby would not suckle was because there was no milk. Priscilla was too weak. She would have to find a wet nurse for the baby, but there was little she could do for Priscilla. Her body would need time to rebuild itself, if she was not already too far gone.

  After examining Priscilla and the baby, she left Seth with the instructions to continue the iron, quinia, and beef broth, then asked Nicholas to stop at a house in the village where Dairus Simmons lived. Alexandra gave her two pounds to nurse the Blackburn baby and care for the mother.

  “I saw you pay that woman,” Nicholas said after they had delivered Darius to the Blackburn’s home. “Do you always spend more to care for a patient than you are paid?”

  “Of course not. Otherwise, how would I live in such luxury?”

  Nicholas glanced at her, and a faint, knowing smile brushed his lips as he flicked the reins to urge the horse to move faster.

  “Where are we going?” Alexandra asked when she saw they had passed the road to her house.

  “We’re going to the gaol.”

  She glanced at him. “To see Elsie.” A statement, not a question.

  “To report the attack last night to the constable,” he said without looking at her.

  “Are you sure it’s necessary? I really don’t think—”

  “Of course it’s necessary. You don’t want whomever it was attacking other women, do you?”

  Alexandra hesitated. “Since you put it that way… But still, I’m not sure—”

  “And you’re right.” Nicholas seemed determined not to give her an opportunity to object. “I want to see Elsie, but if the constable is astute enough, neither of us will be allowed to see her, since we are both witnesses. Still, I’d like to know whether she knows anything about that attempt on your life.” He frowned as he spoke, concentrating on driving the carriage.

  “What makes you think she would?”

  He shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t have a logical reason. It’s just a feeling I have that Elsie isn’t telling us everything she knows.”

  Chapter Eight

  Constable Snow was the only police officer in the village of Newton-Upon-Sea. His office was located on the ground floor of the local gaol in a narrow wooden building, two stories high, which, over the past century had developed a decided tilt inward toward the street. Across the street was the Blue Ram, housed on the ground floor of the village inn that had been in the same location for three centuries.

  The inn also tilted toward the street, forming a broken arch with the gaol, and giving the impression of two decrepit and impoverished courtiers bowing to each other.

  Robert Snow was sitting at his desk, pouring over a mound of reports he was obliged to write when Nicholas opened the door for Alexandra to enter.

  Alexandra read his face which was punctuated with surprise. He stood awkwardly, knocking over a dry inkwell but quickly regained his composure. “Dr. Gladstone!” He gave her a slight bow while his long hand deftly set the inkwell upright. “Mr. Forsythe,” he said, turning to Nicholas. “A pleasant surprise.” In contrast to his awkwardness a few seconds before, he moved with an odd grace around his desk to pull a chair forward for Alexandra. “Please be seated, Doctor. And may I offer you tea?”

  “Thank you, but no,” Alexandra said. “We’ve come to see Elsie.”

  Nicholas spoke at the same time. “We’ve come to report an incident.”

  “I see.” Snow sat down at his desk, decidedly more at ease now, and picked up a pen. He glanced up at them. “What sort of an incident?” Obviously he had chosen to ignore Alexandra’s request, for the moment, at least.

  “An attempt on Dr. Gladstone’s life,” Nicholas said.

  There was the slightest change in Snow’s eyes. Was it surprise or alarm? “That explains the bandage at your throat, then.” His tone was matter-of-fact.

  Alexandra’s right hand went inadvertently to her throat. She thought she had done a sufficient job of covering the bandage with the light shawl she’d wrapped around her neck.

  “Explain please,” Snow said in his schoolmaster voice. He was looking directly at Alexandra.

  “Someone attacked me in my stables as I was returning from delivering Priscilla Blackburn’s baby last night. I’m afraid it was rather late.”

  Snow wrote something on a notepad. “Did you recognize your attacker?”

  “Of course not.”

  “You saw his face?”

  “I’m afraid I didn’t. It was quite dark, as you might imagine.”

  “You were not seriously injured, I trust.”

  “No.” Alexandra saw Nicholas start to protest, but she gave him a warning look, and he said nothing.

  “A thief perhaps.” Snow put down his pen and leaned back in his chair. “We’ve had a spate of burglaries recently. I suspect a gang of young toughs who seem to have come here from Chemlsford.”

  “You’ve actually seen these young toughs? Or are you only speculating?” Nicholas moved toward him with an air of confidence as he spoke, looking and sounding very much like a barrister.

  Snow’s answer was a short and curt, “Yes,” leaving Alexandra and Nicholas to wonder which question he’d answered. He turned back to Alexandra. “I assume you were able to frighten the attacker away, Dr. Gladstone?”

  “Zack, my dog, frightened him.”

&
nbsp; “Ah yes, the Newfoundland. I suggest you take him with you from now on when you find it necessary to be out late.” He stood up and walked around his desk. “I shall do my best to apprehend the attacker, Dr. Gladstone, but you must understand that it will be difficult without a description of the suspect.”

  “Perhaps you could question the young toughs from Chemlsford.” Nicholas’s suggestion might have been innocuous except for the hard edge of sarcasm to his voice.

  Snow’s face reddened as he turned toward Nicholas, and Alexandra spoke quickly in an attempt to diffuse the situation. “We’ve another mission here, Constable. We’ve come to see Elsie.”

  Snow turned to her. “Ah yes.” His head bobbed slightly while he clasped his hands behind his back, and fixed his eyes on a spot just below the ceiling. He rocked slightly, back and forth, on his heels. It was a stance Alexandra had seen many times before when, in those days when he was still a schoolmaster, he was either pondering a question his student had asked, or was waiting for the correct answer to a question he had asked. She had been his student because her father had hired him to come to the house regularly to tutor her. Females were not allowed to attend the local school. After Nancy came to live with them, she sat in on the lessons as well. Her father hired Snow because he recognized him as an intelligent man and a gifted teacher. And Snow had come daily, after working until mid-afternoon at the school, without ever once complaining of being tired.

  He had taken the job as constable only a few years ago, presumably for higher wages. He had no family of his own, but, according to the gossips, he sent money regularly to a woman in London.

  Snow dropped his gaze to Alexandra and then Nicholas. “It would certainly be out of order for me to allow either of you to see her, since you are to be witnesses at her trial.”

  Nicholas approached him, slightly aggressive in his movements. “I understand that, of course, but since Dr. Gladstone is—”

  Snow turned to Alexandra and spoke to her, interrupting Nicholas in mid-sentence. “She is—not well.”

  “Not well?” Alexandra was alarmed.