by Paula Paul
An Improper Death
Paula Paul
Dedication
For Irene Kraas, the real Alexandra and in memory of the real Zack.
Chapter One
The sea, dark as the mouth of death, vomited up the body of retired Admiral George Edward Orkwright, dressed in nothing save his wife’s underwear, and left him lying on the rocky shore near the town of Newton-Upon-Sea.
By morning a yellow fog had moved in from the water, encasing the village like impenetrable, tarnished armor. Nell Stillwell, the one-eyed wife of the butcher, was the only soul to venture out early in that oppressive mist, hoping foolishly that, in spite of the night’s storm and the morning’s fog, the fishing boats would still have come in from Great Yarmouth with their loads of cod and mackerel. She and her husband sorely needed the fish for their shop, since Lent was soon to be upon them. It was unusual, of course, for a butcher to sell fish in the modern world of 1881, but the town’s fishmonger had recently died of a bilious fever, leaving a void into which the enterprising Mrs. Stillwell quickly moved.
The heavy mist kept Nell from seeing the body until she stumbled upon it, kicking it with the toe of her sturdy black boot. By the feel of it, she thought at first it might be the carcass of a large fish beached by the storm, but when she stooped to look more closely, she saw the unmistakable shape of a human. A female, she thought at first, when she saw the white, lace-trimmed drawers, and a scandalous one at that, since that seemed to be the only thing the poor unfortunate was wearing. When she moved closer and squinted her one eye for a better look at the seaweed-matted face and torso, she recognized the admiral and knew she had stumbled upon something even more deliciously scandalous than a scantily clad woman.
Dr. Alexandra Gladstone was out of bed and throwing on a dressing gown the moment she was awakened by the pounding on her surgery door. By the time she reached the landing at the top of the stairs, she was joined by Nancy, her maid-of-all-work, still fastening her own dressing gown. Zachariah, Alexandra’s Newfoundland who always slept at the foot of her bed, was close behind.
The two women glanced at each other only briefly before they hurried down the stairs, side by side, the soles of their soft slippers playing a muted syncopated staccato rhythm on the steps. Behind them, the large dog galumphed down the stairs in an off-beat counterpoint.
The two women, as well as the dog, were quite accustomed to late night or early morning visits from patients with a medical emergency. Nancy, who, besides her household duties, also served as nurse, did not go to the door. Instead, she followed her usual routine of checking to see that the mistress’s medical bag was ready, should she need to go to the patient, before she started for the kitchen to set the water to boil should it be that the patient had come to her.
Alexandra opened the door and recognized the butcher’s wife with the black patch on her left eye. “What is it Nell?”
In the same instant, Nell spoke. “’Tis the admiral, Miss Alexandra, drowned, no doubt, and dressed in ladies’ drawers.” Her voice was not the high-pitched screech most people used when they came to the doctor’s door seeking help. Instead it low and hushed.
Alexandra was stunned for a moment. “Admiral? Do you mean Admiral Orkwright?” Of course that’s who she meant. There was no other admiral living in Newton-Upon-Sea. But what was that about ladies’ drawers? Staid and dignified Admiral Orkwright was a respected member of the community, proud of his long heroic career in the Queen’s Navy. He carried the honorary title of churchwarden in Newton-Upon-Sea, granted to him solely because of his distinguished station, although he only occasionally attended services. He was married to a beautiful and respectable woman somewhat younger than he, and he was the father of two boys, one of whom showed promise. Sadly, the older of the two, who was the admiral’s son only by virtue of his having married the boy’s widowed mother, was a ne’er-do-well. He had drifted away, which grieved the admiral’s wife deeply, and, it was assumed, the admiral as well, although, in the time-honored British fashion, he never spoke of it. Refined and taciturn, the admiral was not the kind of man to wear ladies’ drawers. It must be, Alexandra thought, that Nell Stillwell was mistaken.
“Come in, Nell, please.” She ushered the damp, shivering woman inside and called out to Nancy to bring tea. “I think the coals may still be hot in the parlor. Come along and let’s get you warm and dry.”
“’Tis not a fire we’re needing now, but a priest.” In spite of her protest, Nell followed eagerly and just as eagerly accepted the afghan Alexandra draped over her shoulders.
“All right, tell me where you found him. I’ll go immediately. You stay here by the fire. The tea will be out shortly.” There was an urgency to Alexandra’s voice.
“’Tis best there be two of us to face that scandalous evil.” Nell’s one good eye had grown bright, and she clutched the afghan tightly. “You mustn’t go alone.”
“You’ve gotten a chill, Nell. Just stay by the fire.” Alexandra spoke as she tried to make her exit from the room to change her clothes and retrieve her medical bag.
“I’m going with you!” Nell’s voice was firm as she strode across the room to join Alexandra.
“’Tis the Prussian Evil that’s brought this on. Have I not warned ye of its iniquity before? Ye mustn’t subject yourself to it carelessly,” Nell said.
Alexandra had indeed been warned. Nell always called the fog the Prussian Evil since, according to her, the thick damp cloud swept across the North Sea to England from the dark environs of Germany and, so she said, brought the evil of those foreign lands with it.
Nell saw evil in most things foreign, but especially in anything Irish, German, or American. Alexandra, as always, tried to ignore her on that count.
She dressed quickly, and as she reached the bottom of the stairs called out to Nell. “Tell me where you found him.”
“In the rocks along the shore.” Nell had already reached the door. She opened it and stepped out into the heavy cloud of night, still wearing the afghan over her shoulders. She turned around briefly, as if to make sure Alexandra was following.
“Never mind the tea,” she called over her shoulder to Nancy as she fastened her coat. Nancy appeared in the front hall fully dressed including her own cloak. She was carrying an oil lamp.
“Where are we going?” Nancy was forced to pause on her way to the door because Zack, making his own way to the exit, had stepped in front of her.
“No need for you to come along, Nancy. Just go back to bed, and see that Zack does as well,” Alexandra said.
Nancy handed her the medical bag. “Don’t forget your scarf.” She pulled the scarf from a peg by the door, set the lamp down long enough to wrap it around her mistresses’ neck, then followed the other two women out the door as if she hadn’t heard Alexandra’s order to stay. After Zack lumbered out to join them, she closed the door and locked it.
Alexandra thought of protesting again, but it would do no good, she knew. Instead, she gave a resigned sigh and spoke to Nell. “Lead the way, please. Give her the lamp, Nancy. We’ll follow along behind.”
“You’ve no business being out on a dark morning like this without the likes of Zack and me for protection.” Nancy sounded defensive, as if she was expecting a scolding for ignoring Alexandra’s command.
“And who will protect you and Zack?” Alexandra’s voice had a cool edge.
“Why, we’ll protect each other, of course,” Nancy said with a distinct note of finality. It was difficult to argue with Nancy, and doubly difficult for Alexandra. The two of them had been playmates since they were small when Nancy
’s mother was the maid-of-all-work for Alexandra’s father, the late Dr. Huntington Gladstone. Their relationship had been forged as friends long before they became mistress and servant, and neither of them fit into their respective roles very well as a result.
When Alexandra didn’t respond to her last statement, Nancy apparently felt compelled to fill the silence.
“I say you’re right, Nell Stillwell. ’Tis an evil wind that blows when something like this occurs. What do you suppose happened to the poor man?”
“I knows not what happened, lass,” Nell called over her shoulder as she made her way through the waning darkness of early morning. “But by the looks of the gentleman, I’d say it could be the work of the devil, it could.”
“How much further, Nell?” Alexandra asked, picking her way along the rocky shore-line.
“’Tis a ways yet.” Nell plodded along in the sturdy boots she wore to protect her feet and legs from the blood of slaughter. Her stride was long and measured, making it difficult for Alexandra and Nancy to keep up with her. “I found him there, beyond the last pier,” she said, pointing to an area where the land rose to a high cliff overlooking the sea. The admiral had built his house on top of the cliff to capture the view of the ocean.
“Just below his house?” Alexandra asked.
“Aye,” Nell said. “At the bottom of the cliff. I walked out there to see if I could spy the fishing boats coming in from Great Yarmouth. But there was nary a fishing boat. There was nothing save the ungodly sight of a dead man.”
It was several minutes more before Nell stopped and pointed at something ahead of her. “’Tis there.”
Alexandra could see nothing in spite of the fact that the sun had risen a few inches on the horizon. The fog was still heavy, and the weak first light of the sun did nothing more than darken the color of the unvented cloud. Zack, however, sounded an excited bark.
And then Alexandra heard Nancy’s sharp intake of breath. Nancy had managed to wind her way in front of Alexandra during the treacherous walk on the beach. She was now bending over what was clearly a human body, eerily illuminated by the light from the lamp Nell held.
“Heaven help us. It is the admiral.” She took another audible breath and put her hand to her mouth. “And he’s wearing…” She glanced at Alexandra, wide eyed. “He’s wearing a pair of ladies’ drawers.”
Nancy had been in the kitchen when Nell described the dead man’s unorthodox attire, so she was doubly shocked. Alexandra ignored her, however and bent down to examine the body.
She knew, even before she touched his wrist that he had no pulse, but a formal statement would require confirmation. She lifted the eyelids and motioned for Nell to hold the lamp closer. When she did, Alexandra saw that the cornea was clouded. Rigor mortis had set in, but was not fully resolved. Both characteristics could either mean that his death had occurred in the last few hours, or that the cold sea water had retarded the process of decay.
There was not yet any swelling of the body, and his skin and nails were still intact, which would indicate a relatively recent death, but, again, the cold sea could have slowed decomposition. There appeared to be no marks or wounds on the body, but she could not be certain until she had a chance to examine it properly. First indications, however, were that he had drowned at sea, and the seaweed wrapped around the body seemed to corroborate that assumption, as did a tangle of seaweed and other debris in his mouth.
If that was true, then it only raised more questions. Why would George Orkwright, a man who knew the foibles and treacherousness of the sea, venture out into a storm? Was it on purpose? If so, why would a man who seemed to have everything kill himself? And, of course, the most puzzling mystery of all, why would he wear ladies’ undergarments either in life or death?
Alexandra stood and spoke to the two other women. “The two of you must fetch Constable Snow.”
“The two of us?” Nancy’s voice was high-pitched with alarm. “And leave you here? I think not, Miss Alex, not when something like this has happened.” She glanced down at the body.
“The lass is right,” Nell said. “’Tis no place for a decent woman.”
“If that’s the case, then perhaps I am the logical one to stay. You can leave Zack here with me if you think I need protection.” Alexandra knew that Nell, like many others, not only in the lower classes, but across all strata of society, considered it indecent that she, a woman, had followed in her father’s footsteps and become a licensed doctor of medicine. She had not been allowed the full formal education afforded men, but she had attended what lectures she could at university, and her father had taught her the rest, then arranged a hospital apprenticeship for her. It had been little more than four years ago that women were given the right to apply for a license to practice medicine. General acceptance, she knew, would be a long time coming, and in the meantime, because of her profession, she remained something less than a decent woman in the eyes of many.
Nancy, sharp-witted as ever, did not miss Alexandra’s nuance, and she showed it with a small grimace that pretended to be disapproving and that almost succeeded in hiding a mischievous grin.
Nell, however, remained oblivious. “’Tis a sad day, ’tis, when a lady cannot walk along the sea without stumblin’ on the likes o’ this.”
Nancy spoke at almost the same time. “All right then, we’ll go if you keep Zack by your side. Mind you let no one approach you.” It was difficult to tell whether the admonition was directed toward Alexandra or Zack.
Zack, who had spent the entire time alternating between pacing nervously and sniffing at the corpse, let out a sharp, agitated yelp when Nancy started to walk away, then glanced up uncertainly at Alexandra.
“It’s all right, Zack,” she said and tried to soothe him by rubbing his neck. She was finally able to get him to sit while she examined the body further. The admiral had been lying on his side when they approached the body, but the purplish color of his face indicated that the blood had pooled there, probably as he lay face-down in the water before he was washed to shore. There was no sign of a vessel, such as a punt or skiff he might have been in, however.
She scanned the area for anything unusual, but she could see very little in the dense fog. The heavy curtain of mist now hid even the cliff just ahead of her where the admiral’s new house sat. The only significance she could see in the proximity of the cliff and the house, however, was that he did not stray far from home to die.
By the time Nell and Nancy returned with Constable Snow, Alexandra still had made no sense of the admiral’s death. The constable was accompanied by Nell’s husband, Tom, and Samuel, his apprentice. The men walked ahead of the two women, the constable leading the way and carrying his own lantern. Zack barked frantically at their approach. He seemed to want to tell the constable what they had discovered, and it took both Alexandra and Nancy to quiet him.
Constable Snow wasted no time in taking charge of the moment. “Stand back, please,” he said to Nancy, Nell, and the two men. He glanced toward Alexandra, gave her a nod, and spoke his greeting. “Dr. Gladstone.”
“Constable,” she said in reply.
“You have examined the body?” His voice was tense, and it occurred to Alexandra that he was embarrassed that he had to be in the presence of women with the admiral dressed (or undressed) as he was.
“I have made only a cursory examination.”
“And you have concluded…?”
“I have not made a firm conclusion.”
“Are there marks—wounds of any kind—on the body?” His expression grew sterner as he waited for her answer.
“I have not seen any, but I would prefer to examine the body further in better light.” Alexandra felt as if she were a student trying to give the correct answer in an oral exam.
He continued to press the matter. “Have you found anything at all unusual?”
Alexandra hesitated only a moment. “There is seaweed in the mouth.”
“That would suggest drowning.”
His insistence puzzled her, but she stood her ground. “Perhaps, but I cannot eliminate other possibilities. Not until I have examined the victim further.”
Snow was silent for a moment, and when he spoke, it was not to reply to Alexandra’s request. Instead he turned to Nell and Nancy. “Thank you, ladies, for your bravery on this unpleasant morning. I suggest you both return to the comfort of your homes now. Tom and Samuel will transport the body to the undertaker’s home, and Dr. Gladstone will accompany me to notify the admiral’s wife.” He turned to Alexandra. “We’ve already notified the vicar. He’ll meet us there.”
“May I ask, sir, why you are sending the body to the undertaker’s home?” Alexandra was puzzled. The constable’s order was unheard of. A body was always taken to the family home to be prepared for burial.
“I understand that the request is unusual,” Snow said. “But in this case it is best. I’m afraid that having the body in the house will cause the widow undue stress.”
The explanation was unsatisfactory, but Alexandra had no choice but to relinquish a reluctant Zack to Nancy and to accompany the constable to Gull House. It was a long trek up the hill to the admiral’s home. By the time they reached the house, the sun had risen well above the horizon, but the light was still diffused by the shroud of fog. The house, constructed of heavy dark stone, lurked in the yellow vapor like a predatory beast. The admiral had named it Gull House, presumably because seagulls flew around it as if it were a ship. It was not an enormous house, yet it was grandiose in appearance with gables and turrets and pointed spires, rather overly elaborate and American-looking, Alexandra thought. In fact, the admiral’s decision to build a house was an American affectation, since most of the middle class in England resorted to long-term leases of fine homes in town.
They were greeted at the door by a tall, big-boned maid with a grim face who told them in a hushed voice that Mrs. Orkwright would see them in the drawing room, where she was with the vicar. She led them through the dark front hall to a room brightly lit with flickering oil lamps. The vicar, Father Kingsborough, rose from his chair and moved rather hurriedly across the room to greet the two of them. Mrs. Orkwright sat poised and erect in a chair, a black shawl of a fine Persian weave over her shoulders. One of her arms rested gracefully on a table next to her chair. Her heavy ginger-colored hair was swept back from her face, and that, along with high cheekbones and fine, wide eyes gave her a regal look. She stared straight ahead with an expression that was almost blank.
