An Improper Death (Dr. Alexandra Gladstone Mysteries Book 2)

by Paula Paul

  “Mrs. Orkwright is in shock, of course, but I have reason to believe she will adjust. For now, though, I’m most concerned about your own pain.” Alexandra suspected pain was something Mary Prodder knew too much of. An examination after her recent accident had revealed suspicious scars on her back and legs, most like left by a rod long ago when she was a child. Mary, however, had insisted they were the result of a fall from a horse.

  “My own pain is nothing,” Mary said, “and I knows ye’ll heal me.”

  “Pain?” Edith said. “She knows not what pain is until she’s had to lift all the laundry I have to do, what with an extra person in the house. And the heavy cooking pots I must use with an extra mouth to feed. ’Tis my back what knows pain!”

  Again Alexandra did her best to ignore the daughter-in-law. “Make sure you turn Mary several times a day, Edith, lest she develop bedsores.”

  Edith stiffened. “I does the best I can, but she’s a demanding woman, she is, and there’s no time for it all. I cannot take the responsibility for everything.”

  “Nor am I asking you to,” Alexandra said. “I ask only for a little kindness and mercy for Mary. She is suffering greatly.”

  Edith took on a defensive look. “Kindness and mercy? I should be so fortunate as to get half the kindness and mercy I shows her. Just ask my husband. Fin will tell you I’m kind to his mother, ’e will.”

  Alexandra closed her medical bag and stood to take her leave. “Please see that the constant pressure on her backside is relieved by turning her frequently.” She handed her a vial of laudanum. “If the pain is too great, see that she gets two drops of this no more than twice a day. If she requires more send for me.”

  Edith took the bottle absently. “’Ave ye seen the admiral for yerself?”

  “No,” she said, hoping to end the conversation with that small lie. Edith, however, was so enthralled she refused to hear.

  “Was he swimming half naked, as Nell said? What was he doing out in such dreadful weather, I’d like to know. And his wife, what did she have to say for herself, being married to a perverted man what dresses in women’s drawers? Nell said you and the constable seen her and talked to her. All high-hatty, she is, livin’ up there on top ’o the world and lookin’ down on everybody. I guess this will show ’er she’s no better than the rest of us.”

  Mary spoke up in a trembling voice from her bed. “Poor woman. That’s all I can say.”

  Edith glanced at her mother-in-law and scowled. “Doesn’t know what she’s saying half the time. Such a burden, she is! You can see that, can’t you?”

  Once more Alexandra ignored her complaints and pointed to the vial. “Remember, two drops no more than twice a day.”

  With that last instruction, she left the house. Zack, who was waiting outdoors in the sun, got up and followed her, watching over her carefully while she mounted Lucy, boosting herself up from a stump in front of the house.

  She made her way to the Blackstone cottage a short distance from the village in the countryside. The cottage would have, under normal circumstances, been her last stop, since it was outside of town, but Edith’s gossip and attitude toward Mary had so distressed her, she felt she needed the ride to clear her mind.

  Once there, she found little Saul, the Blackstone baby, was much improved. His stepmother, Helen, took as good care of him as she did her own infant, who was only a few weeks older. Helen had been hired as a wet nurse when Saul’s mother and twin brother died at his birth. The arrangement as wet nurse had eventually resulted in a permanent position as Seth Blackstone’s wife and mother to little Saul and two-year-old Phillip, something patently beneficial to each of them.

  Feeling refreshed after the ride and after seeing the family thriving, she rode back to the village to look in on Hannibal Talbot. She found him in a restless, laudanum-induced sleep. His face was flushed and his body hot to the touch, suggesting that an infection of the bladder had set in. His wife was beside herself with worry.

  When Hannibal first became ill, Alexandra had examined his urine under a microscope and diagnosed cystine deposits in the bladder. She had prescribed a preparation of iron, iodine, iodide of iron, and nitro-muriatic acid, along with podophyllin for the liver along with copious amounts of water. When he didn’t respond to the medicine, she had recommended surgical removal of the stones, but he had, so far, steadfastly refused the operation, claiming a female could not possibly know a man’s body well enough to accomplish such a procedure. He preferred, it appeared, to live in pain and beg for laudanum for occasional relief.

  “Can’t you do the surgery now, while he sleeps?” Mildryd Talbot’s voice trembled and tears glistened in her eyes.

  Alexandra shook her head. “I’m afraid not. See how fitfully he sleeps? He would feel the knife, and anyway it would be dangerous as long as the infection is present, not to mention unethical if he doesn’t give me permission.”

  “Please,” Mildryd said. “Can’t you do something? I just wish your father was still around. He would have known what to do.”

  Alexandra had grown accustomed to a certain few of her patients continually comparing her to her father. Still, she bristled. “My father would have recommended surgery earlier, just as I did. It was your husband’s decision not to trust me.” While she spoke, she occupied herself by applying a glass suction cup over the area of his bladder in order to force more blood flow into the spot. The touch of the glass cup awakened him slightly. He thrust his arms about and swore, then groaned loudly as he felt the vacuum pressure of the cup.

  “Is he still drinking the diuretic?” Alexandra spoke quietly to Mildryd as she worked.

  “The what?”

  “The infusion of wild carrot and hair moss I mixed for him. See that he drinks it six times a day. If we can get him to pass enough water to clear the infection out, perhaps he’ll decide to trust me to operate.”

  Mildryd nodded in a distracted way, her eyes still on her husband. She remained distraught and preoccupied throughout the treatment and forgot to see Alexandra to the door.

  When Alexandra was outside on the narrow street, she once again mounted her mare, while Zack took his time rousing himself from his nap in the warm sun to follow. Once her morning rounds were completed, she would have, under ordinary circumstances, ridden home to a quick lunch before she opened her surgery to see patients. Today, however, she would not go home immediately, even if it meant opening her surgery late. Today she would stop by the offices of Constable Snow.

  Robert Snow had been a schoolmaster before he took the job as constable in Newton-Upon-Sea. Since young females were not allowed to attend the village school, the late Dr. Huntington Gladstone had hired Snow as a private tutor for his daughter. He had allowed Nancy, the daughter of his maid-of-all-work to sit in on the tutoring sessions as well.

  Alexandra secured Lucy’s reins outside the constable’s office and prepared to confront her former school master. Zack, having given up on finding another sunny spot, settled himself by the door as Alexandra stepped inside the office.

  Seated at his desk, Snow glanced up when he heard the door open and rose from his seat. He spoke to her in his quiet, cultured, emotionless voice. “Good morning, Dr. Gladstone.” The use of her formal title was the only hint she ever had that he respected her accomplishment and position. He had never expressed any pride that his former student had acquired the knowledge necessary to be named and licensed a medical doctor. Nor had he ever acknowledged that, because she was female and could not attend some of the necessary medical classes, her task had been doubly difficult. However, to his credit, he did not seem to resent the fact that she was a woman in what was considered to be a man’s profession, nor did he even once compare her unfavorably to her late father.

  Her reply to him as she removed her gloves and slipped the hood of her cloak from her head was equally formal and respectful. “Good morning, Constable Snow.”

  He motioned for her to be seated, and when she had been, seated himself.
He wove his long, supple fingers together, then tested the warp and weave of it with the sharp point of his chin. He left his chin there, resting, while he looked at her. He didn’t speak, but the electrical alertness of his being invited her to.

  “I want to speak with you about Admiral Orkwright.”

  There was a slight tilt of his head while two forefingers unwound themselves to form an inverted V at the end of his chin.

  Alexandra tried to force away the old sensations of student and intimidating master. Yet she was tense, and she found she was holding her breath for a moment before she managed to speak. “It is my opinion that an autopsy is necessary, and I’m afraid I don’t understand your insistence that I not perform one.”

  Snow’s hands floated apart, and he rested one forearm on his desk as he leaned toward her. “You told me, did you not, that it is your opinion Admiral Orkwright died of drowning?”

  “I did say that I believe it is possible, however—”

  “Then I’m afraid I don’t see the need for an autopsy if the cause of death is known.”

  Alexandra moved to the edge of her chair, her body even more tense. “The cause of death is not known, in the most technical sense. It is only assumed, since there is no other apparent cause at the moment.”

  “I believe you have just made my point, Dr. Gladstone.” Snow spoke without the slightest hint of smugness.

  “No, sir. The point is that while there is no other apparent cause, I have not ruled out all possible causes of death, and I shall not be able to without an autopsy.”

  Snow fixed his eyes on hers in exactly the same manner he had used as a schoolmaster when asking for the step by step explanation of an algebra problem. “What, exactly, would you be looking for?”

  Alexandra met his gaze. “I don’t know, sir. But that is precisely the point. I don’t know.”

  Snow settled back in his chair. “Your scientific curiosity is admirable, Dr. Gladstone. However, under the circumstances, there is no need for an autopsy. As I have explained to you already, we have no reason to suspect foul play, and, since drowning seems highly probable, and, since Mrs. Orkwright does not want the body of her beloved husband subjected to the indignity of autopsy, there will be no autopsy.”

  “How do you know that, sir? That Mrs. Orkwright doesn’t want an autopsy, I mean.” Alexandra spoke as Snow rifled through some of the papers on his desk—a gesture that suggested he’d already dismissed her.

  The look on his face when he glanced up at her was one of surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

  “How do you know Mrs. Orkwright does not wish an autopsy?”

  “Because she told me, of course,” Snow said.

  “She told you? When? Have you seen her again?”

  Snow’s icy glance said it all. She knew she had gone beyond propriety, yet she couldn’t stop herself.

  “Have you told her what he was wearing? That, alone, makes the case extraordinary, as I’m sure you agree. In fact, it makes it suspicious.”

  Snow stood and braced himself with the fingertips of his long hands pressed to the desk. “Dr. Gladstone, I can assure you I am aware of what makes a case suspicious. I am also well aware of my duties as a peace officer to inform the murder victim’s family of anything unusual. Please rest assured that I have attended to all necessary details and Mrs. Orkwright does not wish to have an autopsy.”

  Alexandra was momentarily stunned by his stern, schoolmaster scolding, but she recovered quickly. “Perhaps you should tell her that I have some suspicion as to—”

  “Suspicion, Dr. Gladstone?” Snow’s jaw tensed, and his lips whitened.

  She knew he was angry, but she tried to ignore it. “Yes. Your explanation for his wearing a woman’s undergarments was nothing more than conjecture and rather lame at that. I believe you should—”

  “It is not necessary, Dr. Gladstone, for you to tell me how I should go about doing my job. I would not presume to tell you how to do yours. Perhaps you can afford me the same courtesy. If you will pardon me, Doctor, I have my duties to attend.”

  Alexandra started to explain, or perhaps to defend her position further, or perhaps to vent her frustration, but she said nothing. Instead she stood, secured her cloak tighter, and left the office. Outside on the street, she took several deep breaths trying to calm herself. Why was the constable so dead set against an autopsy? Had he really spoken to Mrs. Orkwright about it, or had he contrived that story for his own purposes? And if so, why? What was he hiding?

  Alexandra rode down Griffon Street away from the constable’s office and the jail, away from the local pub known as the Blue Ram, beyond the butcher shop, the cobbler, the blacksmith, and all the other shops until she reached the intersection of Straytham Lane. She should have turned there until the lane ran into Water Street, which would take her home. She didn’t turn, however, but kept riding through a tangle of streets until she found herself riding up the hill that led to Gull House.

  The housemaid she’d seen earlier opened the door to her knock. She appeared surprised. “Dr. Gladstone?”

  “Is Mrs. Orkwright in? I would like to see her, please.” Alexandra glanced over the maid’s shoulder, trying to peer into the house.

  “She is not well, as I’m sure you know.”

  “Of course, I thought I might be of some—”

  The maid stiffened, her large frame filling almost all of the doorway. “I’m afraid she’s not receiving visitors.”

  “I’m not simply a visitor. I am a doctor, and I would like—”

  Before Alexandra could finish building her case, Jane Orkwright appeared in the hall. “Who is it, Annie?” she called.

  “Dr. Gladstone, Madam.” The maid spoke without emotion.

  “Please ask her to come in.”

  The maid moved aside begrudgingly and allowed Alexandra to enter.

  “How kind of you to call again,” Jane Orkwright said as she led Alexandra into the parlor. She sat across from her on one of the two burgundy-colored sofas in the room. She had already donned widow’s weeds. They made her pale skin appear even whiter and accentuated the dark hollows around her remarkably beautiful eyes. The dark shawl she’d worn the day before was once again draped over her shoulders and only accentuated the heavy somberness of her attire. Her voice was flat, and there was a sluggishness to her movements.

  “I don’t wish to trouble you, Mrs. Orkwright, but there is something I feel compelled to discuss with…” Alexandra’s voice trailed off when she saw young William standing in the doorway. She gave him a smile, but he dropped his eyes and wouldn’t look at her. She wasn’t surprised. She had only recently set a dislocated shoulder for him after he’d sustained a particularly nasty fall. No doubt he remembered the pain of that procedure. Very young children such as William often associated her with just such unpleasant memories.

  “William,” Mrs. Orkwright said when she saw her son. “Please come in and tell Dr. Gladstone hello, then you may go with Annie to your room.”

  Young William’s face clouded, and he seemed near tears. “But, Mama, I want you to—”

  “Please, William, do as I ask. I’ll be along in a moment.” Mrs. Orkwright spoke softly, and some of the flat, lifeless quality was gone from her voice. Her son was obviously a source of happiness for her.

  William walked to her side and, with his mother’s coaching, gave Alexandra a timid, formal greeting, then left the room reluctantly, glancing over his shoulder as if to make sure his mother was still there.

  Mrs. Orkwright smiled at her son, and her face softened as she watched him leave. “Please forgive Will’s lack of manners, Dr. Gladstone. I’m afraid he’s not quite himself.”

  “Of course,” Alexandra said. “I’m sure he feels keenly the loss of his father.”

  For a moment Mrs. Orkwright’s eyes glazed over again. “It…is difficult,” she finally managed to say.

  “Of course,” Alexandra said again. She felt awkward, and now she wasn’t at all certain she could broach th
e subject of the autopsy or the admiral’s unusual attire.

  Finally, it was Mrs. Orkwright who spoke. “You have something you wish to say to me, no doubt, regarding the admiral’s death.”

  “Yes. I’m sorry, but you see…” Alexandra looked down at her hands. Her agony was compounded by Mrs. Orkwright’s silence. “I know Constable Snow has discussed this with you, and you have voiced your opinion, but I felt I should try to persuade you to change your mind.”

  There was another uncomfortable silence before Mrs. Orkwright spoke again. She wore a bewildered expression. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. I’ve had no discussions with Constable Snow.”

  “Regarding an autopsy,” Alexandra managed to say, feeling more and more uncomfortable.

  “Autopsy?” Mrs. Orkwright shook her head. Her face appeared even paler and her eyes even darker and sunken. “I…I’m afraid not. Why would he want to discuss that with me? Is it really necessary?”

  Alexandra tried to choose her words carefully. “I thought perhaps, given the circumstances, you would—”

  “Circumstances?”

  The woman’s troubled expression gave Alexandra pause. It was clear Constable Snow had not discussed the autopsy with her. Why had he lied? Once again she couldn’t help wondering what he had to hide.

  Chapter Three

  Alexandra didn’t know, at first, what she should say or how far she should push the issue with Jane Orkwright. However, the gossip about the admiral had spread all over town, and there was no way, ultimately, to protect either Mrs. Orkwright or her young son from it. It was better, she decided, to give her the truth, no matter how unpleasant the details, than to let her hear the distorted rumors.