by Paula Paul
“I’m afraid she’s in shock.” Father Kingsborough spoke in a hushed voice. “I was certain she was going to faint when I first told her. It’s a difficult thing to tell a wife of her husband’s death.”
Constable Snow ignored the vicar and approached Mrs. Orkwright. He spoke her name softly, and she glanced up at him.
Her eyes were still blank at first, but they slowly focused. “Are you quite sure it is the admiral?” Her voice was soft but clear.
“Yes, I am sure.” Snow also spoke softly as he stood in front of her with his head down, his cap in his hands.
Mrs. Orkwright gave a little gasp and looked away.
“I’m sorry, Madam.” Snow kept his respectful and professional demeanor.
Mrs. Orkwright turned her gaze back to him without acknowledging his apology. “What time did you find him? And where?” Her hands trembled, and she clasped them in her lap, long alabaster fingers intertwining.
“It was Nell Stillwell, the butcher’s wife, who found him on the beach while it was still dark, and she notified Dr. Gladstone.”
Mrs. Orkwright turned her beautifully tragic face toward Alexandra, as if waiting for her to speak.
“I believe he had been dead several hours when I examined him,” Alexandra said. “It is difficult to know precisely how long.”
“And the cause of death?” Her once dull eyes had now begun to burn brightly.
“It appears to be drowning, but I cannot be certain until I examine him further, and perhaps not even then.”
Mrs. Orkwright dropped her eyes again. She seemed to be holding her breath, perhaps to keep from weeping, and her hands trembled again. When she looked up at her guests, she had regained her composure. “Please forgive me. I haven’t invited you to sit. Perhaps you would like tea?”
“Tea won’t be necessary, Madam.” Snow spoke as he settled himself on the edge of a sofa opposite Mrs. Orkwright. “But if you will forgive me, I must ask you some questions.”
“Of course,” she said and motioned for Alexandra to sit in a chair next to the sofa, also facing her. The vicar remained standing, but he moved protectively behind Mrs. Orkwright’s chair.
“When did you last see your husband?” Snow was seated in a stiff pose, his long back straight but not leaning against the sofa, his knees rising at a sharp angle in front of him. His hands, as long and fine as Mrs. Orkwright’s, moved and twitched self-consciously, like uninvited guests.
“I said good night to him at approximately nine-thirty, I think, when I retired to my room. He said he would have a bath and retire early as well. I assumed that was what he did.” Mrs. Orkwright’s voice trembled as she spoke, and her eyes remained overly bright. It was clear she was working hard at maintaining her composure.
Snow shifted uneasily on the sofa. “What was he wearing when you last saw him?”
“Wearing?” Mrs. Orkwright seemed puzzled by the question. “Why his tweeds, I believe. He didn’t dress for dinner, since he said he wasn’t hungry. William and I had dinner alone.”
“William. Your son, of course,” Snow said. “If I recall, a boy of about six years.”
Mrs. Orkwright spoke softly. “Yes.”
“And where is young William now?” Snow asked.
Mrs. Orkwright stiffened. “He’s still sleeping. I asked that he not be disturbed. I want to…to tell him myself that…”
“Yes, of course,” Snow said. His long hands grasped both of his knees as if he thought they might jump away.
There was a brief, awkward pause before the constable stood and spoke again. “Thank you very much for your cooperation, Mrs. Orkwright. I won’t trouble you again, and please, accept my condolences.”
“You are very kind.” Mrs. Orkwright’s voice was weak, and she had grown so pale, Alexandra thought she might faint.
“Excuse me.” Alexandra’s voice seemed to startle everyone. “I was wondering, Mrs. Orkwright, did your husband enjoy swimming?”
“Swimming?” Mrs. Orkwright seemed puzzled again as she glanced up at Alexandra.
The vicar spoke up for the first time. “Please, I’m afraid Mrs. Orkwright has had quite enough for this morning. I beg of you, let her rest.”
Mrs. Orkwright ignored the vicar and looked Alexandra straight in the eye. “He detested that particular form of recreation. He always said the sea was meant for fish and naval vessels, that human beings were poorly suited to direct congress with the sea, and that they should do their bathing in private.”
Alexandra nodded slightly. “Yes, I do believe I’ve heard him use words to that effect myself on occasion, and that is precisely why I find it odd that he should drown in the sea.”
“Dr. Gladstone, please, I believe we’ve taken quite enough of Mrs. Orkwright’s time for now. I suggest—”
“No, please, Constable Snow.” Mrs. Orkwright held up her hand as if to stop any further protest he might have. “I, too, find it odd that my husband should drown. He was a capable swimmer in spite of his dislike for it. I’m afraid I don’t know what to make of it, except…”
“Except what?” Alexandra said.
There was another pause before Mrs. Orkwright said, “Except that he had been drinking rather heavily last night.” Once again her hands trembled, and once again she clasped them in her lap. The vicar placed a steadying hand on her shoulder.
“Then the drowning was most likely an accident,” Snow said. “A gentleman in his cups who ventured too close to the water.” He took a small step toward Mrs. Orkwright, who appeared to be on the verge of tears. At the same time he gave Alexandra a quick glance as if to warn her not to say anything more. “You said you retired at around nine-thirty last night, Mrs. Orkwright, and you’re not certain when the admiral went to bed?”
“No, I’m not certain.” Mrs. Orkwright’s voice was little more than a whisper.
“The storm didn’t begin until almost midnight,” Snow continued. “So is it possible, maybe even likely, that the admiral went out for a walk along the shore, and, once the storm blew in since he was inebriated, fell into the sea?”
“I don’t know,” Mrs. Orkwright said. “I suppose it’s possible.” There was a moment of silence before she added, “And yes, perhaps even likely.”
“You must understand,” Snow said, “that in spite of the obvious it is necessary to investigate these matters to make certain nothing untoward happened.” He gave Alexandra another quick glance of warning.
Mrs. Orkwright’s hands flew up to cover her face and a sob wracked her body. When she dropped her hands several seconds later, there were tears in her eyes and on her cheeks. “I understand, of course.” Her voice trembled as she spoke. “You must do your duty.”
“Thank you again for your help,” Snow said. “We shan’t trouble you longer.” And then, as if to make sure they didn’t, he took Alexandra’s arm in a firm grip and led her toward the door.
Behind them, the vicar asked if Mrs. Orkwright would like his wife to come stay the day with her. Mrs. Orkwright refused graciously, saying she preferred to be alone.
Alexandra and Constable Snow walked together in the fog-weakened morning light, neither of them speaking until they reached the bottom of the hill. And then Alexandra could stand it no longer. “Excuse me, Constable, but why were you so intent upon my not asking questions that needed to be asked, and why did you not mention the admiral’s unorthodox attire?”
“Well, I should think it would be quite obvious, Dr. Gladstone.” There was hint of exaggerated patience in Snow’s voice. “Mrs. Orkwright was understandably distressed, and there is nothing to be served by upsetting her more, especially when it’s obvious what happened.”
“Obvious?” Alexandra stopped to look at him. “I’m afraid I saw nothing obvious.”
“Did you not say that the admiral appears to have drowned?” Snow did not stop, but walked on ahead of her.
Alexandra hurried to catch up. “I did say he appears to have drowned, but I also said I cannot be certain unti
l—”
“He was drunk, Dr. Gladstone. Obviously quite drunk. So drunk that he didn’t know what he was doing, and in his stupor, unknowingly put on an article of his wife’s clothing after his bath, ventured out into the night, fell in the sea, and drowned. I saw no need to embarrass his widow by discussing those details. It will be enough that the butcher’s wife tells everyone who comes into their shop about the spectacle of finding the admiral in such a state. Mrs. Orkwright will have to live with the embarrassment of everyone knowing, and I don’t see the necessity of compounding that embarrassment.”
Alexandra was silent. The constable’s explanation had tied everything nicely into a neat, if unlikely, bundle. It was not at all satisfying to her. Finally she spoke. “I should like to perform an autopsy, Constable.”
This time it was the constable who stopped walking and stared at Alexandra. “An autopsy?” He spoke the word as if he had never heard of it. “Absolutely not, Dr. Gladstone. There will be no autopsy in this case.”
Chapter Two
“Said there was to be no autopsy, did he?” Nancy questioned Alexandra as she helped her spread a fresh linen over the examination table. The one she had removed was soaked with a compound tincture of camphor, which Alexandra had used to bathe the neck of the miller’s twelve-year-old daughter. She was suffering from an inflammation of the larynx and had lost her voice. Her father had brought her in early, before Alexandra left the house for her morning rounds.
“Yes, and he seemed rather adamant.” Alexandra smoothed the linen with her hands. “And I believe the reason he had the body taken to the undertaker’s home was to make certain I had no access to it.”
“Odd indeed.” Nancy gave the cloth one final swipe and placed her hands on her hips. “And he has the events leading to the admiral’s death all sorted out, does he? Says the admiral was drunk. So drunk, in fact he mistakenly put on his wife’s drawers and went for a swim in the cold sea?” She laughed. “A man would have to be pretty drunk for that, I would say.”
Alexandra glanced at Nancy. “Indeed.”
“Or it could be wearing a woman’s drawers is nothing unusual to the constable. Perhaps he has a pair just like them himself.” Nancy giggled and turned away, pretending to be busy straightening a row of medicine bottles.
Alexandra scowled. “Nancy! For heaven’s sake, such a bawdy statement is unbecoming to…” She sputtered and turned away, unable to get the image of the skinny former schoolmaster in lacy drawers out of her mind. She had to give in, finally, to laughter that brought tears to her eyes.
Nancy laughed as well, and the raucous sound the two of them made brought Zack hurrying in from the parlor to see what was going on. He gave one sharp bark, a reprimand, perhaps, that he had not been let in on the fun.
The bark served to sober Alexandra, who wiped her eyes and managed to speak without choking. “Nancy, this is no laughing matter. A man is dead. His wife and son are grieving. And it all seems rather mysterious to me.”
“Of course,” Nancy said, “you are right. And you don’t believe, any more than I do, that Constable Snow has everything resolved. The question is how did he come up with such a story?”
Alexandra was trying to concentrate on stocking her medical bag with supplies she might need on her rounds. “First,” she said, “consider that Admiral Orkwright was an upstanding and much-admired man and, I should think, a friend of the constable’s. Obviously the admiral’s drunkenness came as no surprise to the constable, although it seemed to embarrass Mrs. Orkwright to admit it. It is possible he’s trying to protect Mrs. Orkwright from further embarrassment and to protect his friend’s good name from any kind of scandal.”
“And you think…” Nancy prodded.
Alexandra sighed and shook her head. “I don’t know what to think. And my guess is, in truth, neither does the constable.” She handed Nancy an empty vial to wash and be refilled.
“If that’s true, then why does he object to an autopsy?” Nancy inspected the vial as if she half expected to find the answer inside.
Alexandra snapped the bag shut. “My father and I have influenced you beyond our culture, Nancy. Not everyone accepts autopsy so easily. Most people see it as a defilement of the body. Again, the constable is protecting the admiral’s family from ridicule and scandal.”
“But you expect to learn something, perhaps, that will clear the matter,” Nancy said.
“I don’t know what to expect. It is simply that I find it curious that the admiral would have been out bathing in the sea when a storm was due, even if he was drunk. Particularly since he was known not to be fond of recreational bathing. Yet, I did notice there were scrape marks on the body, perhaps from the rocks, and, as I said, his mouth was full of seaweed.”
Nancy’s eyes widened. “Are you saying he was dead before he went into the sea? That someone killed him first?”
Alexandra shook her head. “I’m saying I don’t know. I’m saying it’s a possibility. And I’m saying there’s no way to know without an autopsy, if then.”
“And the drawers…” There was no hint of laughter in Nancy’s expression.
“Yes,” Alexandra said, “the drawers remain a question.”
Nancy shook her head, trying to remain serious. “Very strange,” she said, then turned away quickly and left the room. Alexandra heard her giggling, the sound muffled by her hand over her mouth, as she hurried away to the kitchen.
Alexandra picked up her medical bag and took her cloak from the hook in the front hall, calling over her shoulder to Nancy that she was leaving for her rounds. There was no response from Nancy, but Zack bounded to her side. He always acted as if the morning rounds to visit homebound patients were as much his responsibility as Alexandra’s.
The two stable boys Nancy had recently hired had Lucy, her mare, saddled and waiting for her. Rob, the older of the two, stood ready to help her into the sidesaddle while Artie, the younger, held Lucy’s reigns.
“Is it true about the admiral?” Rob asked as she walked to his side.
“You’ve already heard?” She gathered her skirt and stepped onto the mounting stool. She wasn’t surprised, really. Artie and Rob, whom she had rescued from a band of young thieves several months ago, still had an uncanny way of knowing everything of a darker nature that went on in Newton-Upon-Sea.
“Heard ’e was dead, if that’s what ye mean,” Rob said.
Artie, who could not have been more than nine years old, nodded his head. “Drownded, ’e was.” He glanced at Rob.
“Bit odd for a old sea dog, what?” Rob took the reins from Artie and handed them to Alexandra, who was now mounted on Lucy’s back. Her knee was securely hooked over the horn and her skirts discreetly covering every inch of leg.
Alexandra looked down at both of the boys. “And what else have you heard?”
They both sputtered with laughter, and Artie spoke first. “Wearin’ ’is wife’s knickers, was ’e?”
“Knickers? Where did you learn that word?” Alexandra did her best to keep her voice stern.
Artie gave her a frightened look, obviously afraid he’d spoken inappropriately. “I—well, I just…”
“Never mind. Just be sure you don’t repeat gossip.” She gave Lucy a nudge and turned her toward the gate. Obviously the constable’s attempt at containing the gossip hadn’t worked. She had to admit she wasn’t surprised that the word had spread. Tom and Nell Stillwell’s butcher shop carried more news than the Times, without the added burden of accuracy. What continued to puzzle her, however, was how the boys could have possibly heard it so early when, to the best of her knowledge, until a few hours ago, they’d been sleeping peacefully in their living quarters above the stables and had no contact with anyone other than herself.
She could not let their mysterious lines of communication concern her now, however. She had patients to see. Mary Prodder, an aging seamstress, forced to live with her cantankerous daughter-in-law, had fallen and broken a hip the day before. The Blackstone ba
by had croup, and Hannibal Talbot, an oyster man, was enduring a great amount of pain from bladder stones.
The Prodder household had already heard the news of the admiral’s death when Alexandra arrived. Mary’s daughter-in-law, Edith, had gone early to the Stillwell’s shop to purchase a shank of beef to boil.
Edith, almost giddy with excitement over the delicious news, leaned toward Alexandra and whispered. “Nell’s the one what found ’im. Near naked ’e was, with all ’is private’s showin’. And Nell seen ’em all. The full cluster!” She straightened and spoke in a louder voice. “’Twas only a pair of a ladies’ drawers ’e was wearin’. Some men is pure perverted, I say.”
Alexandra adjusted the splint in which she had placed the elder Mrs. Prodder and didn’t respond. She’d fallen late at night, taking a shortcut home after staying late with one of her customers. Constable Snow had found her and brought her home, then sent for Alexandra. It had caused the elderly woman a great deal of pain when Alexandra set the bone in her hip. She’d then applied a long splint. It extended from under her arm to her foot, and her legs were tied together in the hope of keeping the injured leg from shortening too much. Alexandra knew from experience that the bones would not be likely to unite properly, and her leg on the injured side would, in spite of her efforts, be shorter than the other. Broken bones that healed poorly were the curse of elderly women, and it seemed to worsen after the menses had ceased. The exact cause, however, remained a mystery.
“Is Mrs. Orkwright faring well enough? I’m concerned for her. She was always kind to me. Not like some people what treats their dressmakers like dogs.” Mary seemed particularly agitated and her face was pale and beaded with sweat, obviously from the pain in her hip. Current medical knowledge demanded that she be confined to her bed for two months. Of late, Alexandra had begun to wonder if it might not benefit the patient to shorten the time in bed, but she dared not harm her patient by experimenting.
