by Paula Paul
“Nancy!” she called. “Nancy, come here please. Immediately!”
Within a few seconds, Nancy stuck her head in the doorway. “Yes, Miss?”
“Who brought this note?”
“I don’t know, Miss Alex.” Her eyes widened as she noticed Alexandra’s face. “Is something wrong?”
“You don’t know? Someone must have handed it to you.”
Nancy shook her head. “Oh no, I’m afraid not. ’Twas slipped under the door. I found it when I came to sweep the hall. There it was on the floor. I thought ’twas somebody paying his bill, or more likely giving you an excuse why he could not. ’Tis done that way at times, Miss, as you know.”
Nancy was right. Patients did occasionally slip money or their excuses for late payment under the door.
“Is something wrong?” Nancy asked again.
“No. Of course not. I was just…curious.” Alexandra folded the note and placed it in her medical bag. No point in alarming Nancy. She was as protective as a mother hen, as it were. “Has Mr. Forsythe been here this morning?”
“He has. Came by to escort you on your rounds, he did. But I told him you needed your rest, to which he quite agreed, I might add.”
“You should have awakened me long ago, Nancy.”
Nancy stiffened. “You needed to—”
“Never mind,” Alexandra said. “It’s always impossible to argue with you, and I don’t have time anyway, but if Mr. Forsythe should stop by again, ask him to stay until I return. I need to speak with him.” She kept her voice as calm and even as possible.
“Yes, Miss.” Alexandra saw an unspoken question flickering in her eyes, but not the slightest hint of regret for her impudence.
She closed her medical bag and headed for the door. Nancy hurried ahead to hand her a shawl and parasol. “Should I mention the note to Mr. Forsythe, Miss? If he stops by again, that is.” Nancy was too clever. She obviously had guessed there was something in the note Alexandra wanted to share with Nicholas.
“No, of course not,” Alexandra said, hoping to put an end to it. But, knowing Nancy, who was smarter than most people she knew, there would be no end to it until her curiosity was satisfied. No doubt she would have Nicholas equally as curious within a few minutes of his arrival.
She left to see her patients, determining to stop by Montmarsh later, in case Nicholas was still there. She had planned to stop by anyway, to check on Mrs. Pickwick.
Alexandra’s patients talked less about Elsie’s arrest this time. It was as if they all simply accepted her imprisonment with a degree of complacency, whether they considered her guilty or not. Now the talk was of the wound at her neck, which she continued to try to explain away as a nasty fall, and of the earl’s funeral, which was to be held at St. Paul’s in London with the archbishop himself presiding. It would be grand, they said, attended by all the important members of the peerage and of the House of Commons as well as the queen, herself. His funeral cortege would be spectacular, and his casket would be on a gilded carriage pulled by eight matching steeds. All of this had come to be known by the residents of Newton through servants at Montmarsh who had traveled to London with the body.
The funeral being planned at Seth Blackburn’s home was considerably less grand. Alexandra stopped by to give her condolences and found Seth sitting alone in his dark little cottage. The wet nurse she had hired had taken the children to her own home for a few days until Seth could get his wits about him. In truth, he had hardly thought at all about the funeral and seemed at a loss as to what to do. His grief had rendered him almost completely dysfunctional.
Alexandra spent some time talking to him. He was reluctant to talk himself, however, a characteristic of English society Alexandra considered unhealthy, although she was well aware she possessed that very characteristic herself. When he did finally appear to want to talk, all he could do was cry, and he was so consumed with his grief, he forgot to be embarrassed.
When she left, feeling drained, she took the time to stop by the wet nurse’s home to tell her she thought Seth would be ready to see his children by morning. She also made the financial arrangements for her to work as a full-time nurse for the children for at least a few months.
By the time she finished, there was barely time to ride to Montmarsh, but she felt an overwhelming need to talk to Nicholas about the cryptic note she’d received. She urged Lucy to a faster trot and rode to the estate. When she arrived, the house and grounds looked deceptively tranquil, as if nothing but the most pleasant of lawn parties or the gayest of balls could have ever taken place there. Certainly not murder.
She knocked at the door, hoping to leave a quick message with the butler to have Nicholas join her for tea, have a look at her patient, and then she could be on her way and arrive at her surgery on time.
“I’m afraid Mr. Forsythe is no longer here,” the butler said in his most formal voice.
“I see.”
“Mr. Forsythe has returned to London,” the butler added. “I don’t believe he’ll be back to Montmarsh.”
Alexandra found herself speechless for a moment, but she collected herself quickly. “Very well. Then I shall just check on Mrs. Pickwick.”
The butler moved aside to let her enter, and then escorted her to the kitchen where the cook was up and about. She refused to talk anymore about the ghost she had claimed to have seen and dismissed Alexandra as soon as possible.
When she arrived home, she could smell the lamb stew Nancy was preparing for luncheon, and by the time she had hung up her hat and shawl, Nancy was moving toward her, drying her hands on her apron and announcing that lunch was ready in the kitchen. Alexandra always had her lunch in the kitchen and insisted that Nancy keep it as simple as possible so they could both be in the surgery by the time patients arrived.
“Any more messages for me, Nancy?” Alexandra kept her voice casual.
“No messages. Were you expecting one?” Nancy with her probing mind.
“Not especially.” Alexandra spread her napkin on her lap. “Did Mr. Forsythe by any chance drop by?” Again, working at sounding casual.
Nancy set a plate of the stew and another plate of brown bread on the table. “Mr. Forsythe? Why no, Miss, I’m afraid not.” Nancy’s curiosity was palpable, but Alexandra didn’t know how she would explain anything to Nancy when she was completely puzzled herself.
Alexandra sat in silence, too preoccupied to enjoy the stew.
Why would Nicholas leave for London so suddenly without telling her? He had been keen on the idea of helping her unravel the events surrounding the murder at Montmarsh. If he decided suddenly to return to London, then it must be very urgent business. But he seemed to be the responsible sort who would have left a message for her with Nancy, to explain what had taken him away.
“Do you suppose something has happened to Mr. Forsythe?” Nancy’s question brought her out of her contemplation.
“Why would you ask that?”
Nancy gave her a shrewd look. “I really did think he’d come back to take you on your rounds, and when he never showed up, well… What with all that’s been going on around here—people being murdered, attacked in their own stable yards—why, one becomes a bit edgy, don’t you think?”
“I see your point, Nancy, but I’m sure Mr. Forsythe is all right. I suspect he’s returned to London.” Alexandra took another taste of the stew.
“Returned to London? Now why would he do that?” Nancy was clearly as puzzled as she.
“He’s a busy barrister, Nancy. I’m sure he has more important matters to attend to than our provincial problems.” Alexandra was not sure how convincing she sounded. As Nancy turned away from the stove and put her hands on her hips, she realized she’d not been at all convincing.
“I would say the murder of the earl of Dunsford is a bit more than a provincial problem.” She sounded more than a little irritated at Alexandra’s apparent obtuseness.
She was right, of course, but Alexandra was at a loss as to how to
respond.
“Do you think it has something to do with the message you got this morning?” Nancy sat down across from her at the table and leaned forward eagerly, her chin on her hand. It was not the sort of liberty a servant would ordinarily take, but the relationship between the two of them was too long-standing and too grounded in childhood intimacies to succumb to convention.
Nevertheless, Alexandra was a bit surprised at the question. “What makes you ask?”
Nancy cocked her head and looked at her accusingly. “Why, Miss Alex, you know you can’t fool me. I saw how upset you were. That message had something to do with the murder, did it not? And you’re wanting to talk to Mr. Forsythe about it. Or else you’re afraid he’s in danger.”
Alexandra forced what she hoped was a casual laugh. “Your imagination is running away with you, Nancy.” She ignored Nancy’s continued accusing look. The truth was, she would have liked to share the contents of the note with her, along with the rest of the story, including Nicholas’s sudden flight to London, but she knew how protective Nancy could be. She’d be on the verge of apoplexy if she knew Alexandra was thinking of going to the pier to find Quince.
Nancy was obviously about to probe her again when they both heard the bell on the surgery entrance ring, announcing that someone had entered, and Nancy was obliged to hurry away to greet them. Alexandra finished her lunch quickly and was on her way to the surgery herself when she met Nancy in the hallway.
“’Tis the Higgins boy with his mum. He looks as if he might have gotten a bit of poison ivy. I’ll prepare the borax solution.”
Nancy disappeared into the kitchen again, and Alexandra went to see her patient. She was busy the rest of the day with her routine duties, but when there was a lull, her mind kept coming back to the strange note and to Nicholas’s leaving without a word. She read the note over and over again, trying to understand why she had received it and who would have known about what Elsie had told her.
No answers came to her, however, and by the time she had finished the light supper Nancy prepared for her, she had resolved that there was nothing to do but to go to the pier at the appointed time of ten o’clock to see what she could learn. It was out of the question to mention her plan to Nancy, however, since she would, without a doubt, protest. It was not unfeasible that Nancy would even keep an all night vigil to see that she did not leave the house.
She could not ask young Freddie, who had actually shown up, to saddle Lucy without raising suspicion. Furthermore, if she attempted to saddle her herself after Nancy had gone to bed, Nancy would surely hear her, since her room was on the stable side of the house. It was a walk of approximately a mile to the pier, and she did not relish the idea of making the walk alone in the dark. She would take Zack with her.
Nancy didn’t make it easy for her, however. It had long been Alexandra’s habit to invite Nancy into the parlor with her after supper for a chat, or at times to read to one another, either from the classics, which her father had taught Alexandra to love and Nancy to appreciate, or from Alexandra’s favorite modern authors, Henry James or the Russian, Dostoevsky, and even occasionally from one of Nancy’s lurid romances. Recently, they had been reading an English translation of Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov and on this particular evening, Nancy had become so engrossed in the complicated interlocking love triangles of the characters, she read until it was quite late, and then she had to argue that Dostoevsky’s story was every bit as lurid as any of the romance novels she’d chosen. After that she insisted that there was work she’d left undone in the kitchen which couldn’t possibly wait for morning. It was almost ten by the time she finally went to bed, and Alexandra still had the difficult task of getting a hundred-fifty pound dog out of the house without making a noise.
Zack, with his habit of wanting to talk to her with his soft growls and almost human sounds, seemed to be asking, “Where are we going and what are you getting me into?”
It was enough to make Nancy poke her head out of her room and ask, “Is everything all right down there?”
“Of course. I’m just putting Zack out one last time.” Alexandra hoped Nancy wouldn’t notice that her voice was a bit unsteady. She hadn’t sneaked out of the house since she was twelve. As it happened, Nancy was with her that time, and they’d both been nervous, and they’d both gotten caught.
When Nancy hadn’t bothered to show any more concern after several minutes, Alexandra and Zack stepped out of the house into a moonless, star-stenciled night. The ground was familiar at first, lit here and there by a lamp shining through a cottage window, but as they neared the piers, the darkness became thick and oppressive as a heavy purple robe of fog billowed from the sea toward the land.
They both slowed their pace, and Alexandra instinctively caught Zack’s leash up closer, wanting to feel the protection of his hulking body. She could hear the sea to her right, lashing at the shore and the wood pilings of the piers. Something, a large undeniable heaviness, loomed there as well, and Alexandra supposed it to be a fishing vessel.
She and Zack walked slowly, choosing their steps with care. The note had said to come to the old pier. Alexandra was not intimately familiar with the docks, but she supposed the old pier to be the one that had fallen into disrepair. She had never clearly understood why it was in disuse and deteriorating, except that it had something to do with a superstition that had grown up in the area that ill fortune befell those who used the pier. A fitting place, she mused, to meet the ghosts of George Stirling and Lord Dunsford.
It seemed as if the whole parish was hallucinating, seeing ghosts and spirits at every turn. A ridiculous notion. Except now in this eerie darkness punctuated with the mournful sound of the sea, it seemed possible.
She felt Zack’s body tense. He stopped, then moved slightly in front of her as if to protect her. She heard a low growl, deep in his throat. Her grip tightened on the leash, and she strained to hear or see whatever it was that had alerted Zack.
Zack growled again, low and menacing, and she felt him backing against her, pushing her back. Then suddenly she felt the leash ripped from her hand and sensed Zack bounding away from her, snarling and barking into the darkness. She started to call to him, but something stopped her—a presence, a heaviness surrounding her. Zack continued his wolfish bark, and then suddenly he screamed.
Chapter Ten
Darkness stalked Nicholas’s coach as he and his driver made their way to London. The road from Newton to London was long, and even in the best of circumstances it was tedious. Travelers very quickly lost sight of the sea, and the scenery became pastoral, pleasant but unremarkable. As the darkness moved in, however, the route became menacing.
It would certainly be possible, and maybe even likely, that a coach driver could lose his way trying to follow a road that was not always clearly delineated even in daylight. And wasn’t the Times always full of stories of members of the upper class being accosted by highwaymen along dark roads in the countryside?
It was foolish to travel at night, but Nicholas had gotten a late start, and he’d paid the driver double to drive all night so he could be in London by morning.
He’d also paid Freddie, Alexandra’s stable boy—whom he’d met in the village—sixpense to deliver a note to Alexandra, explaining what he’d done and instructing her not to go out alone until he returned, at which time he would remove to the quarters above the stable. Now, in retrospect, he wondered if he’d done the right thing by giving the note to the stable boy. He seemed a bit shiftless and unreliable, but Nicholas had thought at the time it was better to give it to a stable boy who was illiterate, than to one of the other servants and risk having them read it.
He had reasoned that if no one, save Alexandra, knew what he was doing in London, then there could be no messages forewarning certain parties of his arrival there. One could never be sure about such things, but it was best to be cautious, especially where murder was involved.
Under normal circumstances he would have been inclin
ed to let the police handle the whole sordid affair. The fact that he had become so deeply involved in solving the murder might have, at first, been an excuse to see more of Alexandra. But the more he became involved, the more he began to share Alexandra’s passion for uncovering the truth, and the more he became convinced that she was right about the kitchen wench. Elsie O’Riley was not Eddie’s murderer. After Nancy had told him this morning that Alexandra was still asleep when he called on her, he’d gone to the village where the talk everywhere was of the upcoming trial of Elsie O’Riley. There was also a great deal of praise for Squire Thomas Trowbridge, the justice of the peace who had convened his magistrate court so quickly and just as quickly had the prisoner bound over for trial. Although Justice Trowbridge had no legal training, Nicholas thought he seemed astute when he’d been compelled to give his testimony before him.
The assizes, made up of judges from the Queen’s Bench in London, traveled to principal towns in each region to hold trials. They met in each county only once or twice a year. Nicholas hoped that would provide enough time to find a way to prove Elsie’s innocence. His hopes were dashed when Snow told him the assizes would convene in a fortnight. That had been the reason for the haste in holding the hearings before the justice. There might not be enough time. He would have to travel to London immediately to dig out the information he hoped to find.
How he wished he could represent Elsie properly in court. But, as Snow had pointed out, he could not act as her barrister since he was to be a witness. Her hearing before the magistrate was her only opportunity to speak, and then she could only cross examine witnesses, which she had not done, since she had no idea how to go about it.
She was not allowed to speak in her own defense at either the hearing or the trial. There were some rumblings that Parliament might change that law eventually, but unless it happened within a fortnight, which was impossible, it would do Elsie no good. There was a strong chance she would hang for the murder of Edward Boswick, Fifth Earl of Dunsford.
