by Paula Paul
“Never mind,” Alexandra said. “This was a dreadful idea anyway, to sneak around like common criminals. We must all go home. I don’t know what possessed me to try this in the first place. Come along, all of you. We’ll all have a cup of tea to warm our bones back at the house.” She’d taken only a few steps before she realized that Zack was the only one who was following her. “Come along,” she said again.
No one moved, and there was a lengthy silence until Rob spoke. “Ye was havin’ trouble with the lock, was ye?”
“What?”
“’Twas dark, but we could tell ye was at the door tryin’ to get in, but ye don’t know how.”
“Oh my lord, Rob!” Alexandra was suddenly choked with guilt. “You mustn’t think that I…well, what I mean is, the example I’ve set is not—”
“We could show you how to get in,” Rob said, interrupting before she could sputter more.
“Absolutely not.”
“It ain’t no trouble, and ye don’t ’ave to worry, we won’t say a word.”
“No! I most certainly won’t—”
Before she could say more, she was interrupted by little Artie’s voice as he emerged from the back door carrying a candle. He held the door open as an invitation. “Ye can come in now. I jimmied the front lock fer ye. But ye best be quiet less ye wakes ’im.”
Nancy stepped forward and spoke with her scolding voice again. “You come out of there, Artie! Right away!”
“Shhh!” Artie cautioned. “Ye’ll wake up that man what’s sleepin’ in here. And they’s a awful stink.”
“The man’s not sleeping.” Nancy sounded annoyed. “He’s a corpse.”
“Ye mean ’e’s dead?” Artie glanced nervously over his shoulder.
“He’s dead all right,” Nancy said.
Artie let go of the door and scrambled out, hurrying to Rob’s side.
Nancy gave him a scoffing laugh. “Now why are you afraid of a dead man?”
“Why ain’t ye scared?” Artie asked. “Like I said, ye ain’t right in the ’ead.”
While Artie tried to deny his fear to Nancy, Alexandra took a cautious step into the building. “Where did you find the candle, Artie?” she called over her shoulder.
“I… I always ’ave it in me pocket, along with a match. Just like Rob taught me.” He still sounded frightened.
“Hand it to me.”
Artie complied, but reluctantly, as if it were his only defense against the evil around him. He backed away from Alexandra and the doorway as quickly as possible.
“Now go home, both of you, and take Zack with you.”
Neither of the boys hesitated to obey her. Only Zack had to be told twice, in Alexandra’s harshest voice, to follow them.
Alexandra held the light in front of her as she walked into the back room, aware that Nancy was following. What she was doing was illegal, criminal even, but her curiosity demanded that she at least have a look at the body. The room was a narrow space, a shallow dark cavern. There were a few shelves holding wrapping sheets and shrouds. In the center of the room was a crude wooden table, which held the body of Admiral George Orkwright. A sheet had been draped across his body in a careless manner, leaving most of the face uncovered. Had the face been completely covered, young Artie might not have mistaken him for a sleeping man.
Several oil lamps were set about the room. As soon as Alexandra had closed the shutters and drawn the curtain on the room’s one window, she used the candle to light each of the lamps. She handed one of them to Nancy. Neither of them spoke. When she lifted the sheet from the body, she saw that the face had deteriorated slightly, but somehow it now had a more peaceful appearance. The mouth was closed, and all traces of seaweed were gone. When she pried the mouth open, she saw that the seaweed had been removed from the inside as well.
She took a length of linen from her bag and wrapped it around her nose and mouth to alleviate some of the smell. Nancy did the same. Then Alexandra gave a signal to Nancy to hold the light closer while she examined the entire body, starting with the top of the head. There were no visible wounds, no sign of a blow to the skull or lacerations about the neck or the face. As she continued down to the shoulders, she noted an abrasion where the arm joined the torso, and when she lifted the heavy arm, she saw that the abrasion extended all the way under the armpit and around to the back. When she checked the other side, she saw the same abrasive pattern as if something, a rope perhaps, had been placed under each arm and pulled tight.
She glanced at Nancy, who met her gaze and frowned—a silent exchange that meant neither of them quite knew what to make of it.
Alexandra continued her perusal of the body all the way down to the feet, finding nothing unusual. When she turned the body, Nancy had to put the lamp aside to help her, and even then it was a near impossible task, requiring all of their combined strength.
A careful examination of the back of the body revealed nothing except for the abrasion where the arm joined the torso and the pooling of the blood because the body was lying on its back.
“A rope burn?” she whispered to Nancy.
“That’s my assumption,” Nancy whispered. She opened Alexandra’s medical bag and handed her a scalpel. “Are you going to need this?”
Alexandra didn’t answer immediately, but she was about to grasp the scalpel when she saw the white rag lying in a discarded heap on the floor.
“Just a moment, Nancy.” She spoke over her shoulder as she moved toward the rag. She picked it up and recognized it as the ladies’ drawers the admiral had worn when she discovered him. In the bright light of the lamps, she saw dark stains on the garment that she had not noticed before. Was it dried blood? Perhaps, but there was a stickiness to the stains that puzzled her. There were a few blotchy stains on each leg of the drawers. If it was blood, then it was odd that there were no corresponding wounds on the admiral’s body. She tore a strip of the fabric off and placed it in her bag to be examined later.
“Yes, Nancy,” she said. “I shall need the scalpel.” When Nancy handed it to her, she made a bloodless incision across the chest from shoulder to shoulder, crossing down to form a shallow V. Then, from the tip of the sternum she made another incision, which extended down the length of the abdomen to the pubis. There was virtually no blood since most of it had pooled in his back.
She had just cut through ribs and cartilage to expose the heart and lungs when a voice made her turn suddenly toward the door.
“Who’s there?” the voice said. “What are you doing in here?”
Chapter Five
Nicholas picked up his glass and moved to a table. He sat alone, trying to sort through what he had just learned. His client, John Killborn, who had escaped from prison, was here in Newton. Killborn’s stepfather, whom the boy hated, was dead, and the gossip was that Killborn could have killed him.
Disturbing as all of that was, the most distressing thing was that Constable Snow had been so evasive. He must have known that Killborn didn’t get on with his stepfather, yet he hadn’t mentioned it. And wouldn’t he have heard the gossip that Killborn killed the admiral?
“Come now, sir, it can’t be as bad as all that, can it?” Nicholas looked up to see that it was another barmaid who had interrupted his thoughts. She was younger and prettier than the bartender’s wife who’d served him before. Her hair, pale honey reflecting light, fell to her shoulders in a careless manner, and she was fetchingly plump with generous mounds of breasts stretching the thin fabric of her dress. A smile lit her eyes and illuminated the rosy hue of her cheeks.
“I beg your pardon?” The smile was contagious. He felt one twitching at his mouth in spite of himself.
“Can I pour you another glass of lager, sir? Perhaps ’twould wash away that worried frown.”
“Another glass? Yes, of course.” He shoved the empty glass toward her, and she refilled it with the pitcher she’d balanced on her shapely hip.
“I heard you talking of the admiral and his stepson to Sally. Is
that what’s got you worried?” She kept her eyes on the amber liquid rising in the glass like mercury in a thermometer.
“I say, rather impolite, isn’t it? Eavesdropping on conversations?” He was having trouble maintaining the scolding tone he knew he should with this cheeky lass. Not only had she been eavesdropping, but her manner was a bit too familiar with a person of his class.
She shrugged and giggled. “Couldn’t help it, I guess.” She balanced the pitcher on her hip again and looked at him.
Nicholas took a sip of the lager and set the glass on the table, looking up at her. “Did you know the admiral and his stepson?” he asked, deciding he may as well take advantage of her impertinence.
She shrugged. “Never knowed ’em well, if that’s what you mean.”
There was a loud guffaw from the table next to them. “Guess none of us knowed the old sea dog, did we? Considerin’ ’is choice o’ nappies.” The speaker was a young man with a sparse, unkempt beard. His two companions at the table with him laughed and winked at each other.
The barmaid giggled again and gave them a dismissive wave of her hand as she walked away.
Newton-Upon-Sea was apparently full of eavesdroppers, Nicholas thought. He watched the barmaid’s well-rounded bottom rippling under her skirt as she moved away from him. Before she disappeared completely, he called her back. “Leave the pitcher on the table, please.”
She turned around and set the pitcher in front of him, then walked away once more with a knowing glance at the three men.
Nicholas glanced at them as well. Their remark about the admiral had piqued his curiosity. “Join me?” he asked, gesturing toward the pitcher.
The three looked at each other. The one with the scraggly beard nodded. “Sure, why not?” He pushed his chair back and picked up his glass. The other two picked up their drinks and followed him to Nicholas’ table.
“My name is Forsythe. Nicholas Forsythe.” Nicholas offered his hand to each. The scraggly bearded one shook it first and gave his name as Billy Chapman. The other two were Kevin Wingate and Sean Faron.
“So you know the admiral, do you? Orkwright, isn’t it?” Nicholas filled their glasses.
“Admiral Orkwright? We seen ’im about is all. Down at the piers.” Billy was apparently the most talkative. The other two merely nodded their heads in agreement, took a swallow of lager, and wiped their mouths with the backs of their hands. “Used to hang about down there,” Billy continued. “Liked the ships, ’e did, but ’e was a snobbish bugger when it come to oyster rigs. We’s all oyster men.” Billy made a circular motion with his hand to include all three of them. “Called our rigs sea-goin’ trash, ’e did.”
“Looks like ’e wasn’t so high and mighty as ’e acted, though,” the one called Kevin said with a laugh. That caused Sean to spew his lager out his mouth along with his laughter.
Nicholas glanced from one to the other. “He amused you?”
“Old bugger wasn’t a bit amusin’ when he was alive. But ’e made a laughin’ stock o’ hisself when ’e died,” Billy said. He once again winked at the other two, which prompted even more laughter. Billy helped himself to more lager from the pitcher and glanced at Nicholas. “Old sea dog got hisself drowned wearin’ a pair o’ ladies’ knickers.”
Nicholas stopped his glass midway to his lips and set it down. “I beg your pardon.”
“Ladies’ drawers. ’E was wearin’ ’em when he died.” It was Kevin who answered this time.
Nicholas was thoroughly shocked. “My word. But why?”
“Ah even them like you what calls yerselves gentlemen knows the ways o’ some men, I wager,” Billy said. “They’s them that’s perverted toward wearin’ a woman’s duds and lettin’ other men bugger ’em. Ye ’eard o’ that, ain’t ye?”
“Yes, of course.” Nicholas sounded and felt shaken. “But…the admiral? Was he always…well, like that?”
Billy shrugged. “I ain’t fer knowin’ that, since I ain’t one o’ that sort meself. All I knows is that’s what they found ’im in, them ladies’ drawers.”
Nicholas was still trying to sort it out. “Who found him?”
Billy took a swallow and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “The butcher’s wife and Dr. Gladstone. She’s a woman, if ye can believe it.”
Nicholas almost strangled on his lager. “Good Lord.”
Billy shook his head. “I knows what yer sayin’. A woman doctor and a admiral in Her Majesty’s Navy wearin’ knickers! These is awful times!”
Nicholas managed to collect himself to ask one more question. “He has a stepson I understand. Do you know him?”
“Stepson?” Billy frowned. “Oh yes, I remembers. The little bastard was always gettin’ hisself in trouble. Finally runned off to London, didn’t he?” He looked to the other two for confirmation and got a nod from each.
Sean leaned back in his chair, taking on an air of importance. “I seen ’im ’tother day back here in Newton.”
“Naw!” Billy said.
Sean nodded. “I seen ’im, kinda sneakin’ around, ’e was. Like ’e was up to no good.”
“When?” Nicholas asked. “When did you see him?”
Sean frowned and seemed to think for a moment. “Come to think of it, ’twas just before the admiral died.”
Nicholas poured himself another glass of lager and tried to appear casual. “The barmaid mentioned that he didn’t get along with his stepfather.”
“Did she now?” Billy sounded sarcastic. “Maddie tell ye that? She’s a gossipin’ whore.”
They all laughed and turned the conversation to Maddie’s whoring. When Nicholas saw that he was not going to gain any more information about his client, he pushed away from the table and tossed a crown and a few shillings on it.
“Help yourselves to another pitcher,” he said as he walked away. He headed for the front door, thinking a walk in the cold air would help him make sense of things. He stepped out into an arabesque of shadows laying across the streets and stretching up the sides of buildings. The scene made him hesitate for the slightest part of a second. He was surprised to find himself reluctant to step into the web at first. But his other choice was to return to his small, badly furnished room upstairs in the inn.
With his cloak pulled tightly around him and his cane under his arm, he set out down Griffon Street, wondering where John Killborn was, wondering if he was lurking in the shadows or hiding behind the walls of one of the old buildings. He thought about Alexandra Gladstone. She would be home now, having finished her house calls as well as her surgery hours. Perhaps she was just sitting down to supper and cutting into a mutton chop. Or perhaps she had finished dinner and was now sitting beside the fire knitting. No, not knitting, reading. Some grizzly medical text, perhaps.
Thoughts of her gave him purpose, and he turned off Griffon Street toward the edge of town where her house and surgery stood. He hoped it wasn’t too late to call on her, and that she wouldn’t have forgotten who he was in these past several months.
He was only a few steps off Griffon when a movement in the alley caught his attention. There were three figures running from the back of a darkened building and disappearing into a web of shadows. One of them appeared to be an enormous beast, a cow, perhaps. Or a bear. At least he hoped it was one or the other and not some form of demon, which was his first inclination.
“Who goes there?” The hollow sound of his voice bounced against the darkness. After a moment, he stepped cautiously into the alley. A light flickered and went out in the back of the building the figures had fled. In another second he saw a dimmer light, as if a curtain had been pulled before the lamp was lit, and he heard a murmur of voices.
He moved toward the building, then hesitated. Did he dare go further? Did he dare try to enter the building? Curiosity made him bold, and he walked to the door and placed a cautious hand on the knob. The door was not locked. He opened it slowly, cautiously, then took a hesitant step inside. He could make out three figures. One lying pron
e on a table and two more—females, it appeared—who were obviously performing some unholy deed on the prone figure. There was the stench of death in the room.
“Who’s there?” he called. “What are you doing in here?”
There was a sudden intake of breath from both women, and a knife clattered to the floor.
Nicholas stopped his advance toward them when, in spite of the mask she wore on her face, he recognized the woman. “Dr. Gladstone?”
“Oh my God! It’s you!” a female voice said.
Nicholas wasn’t certain which of the two had spoken, but he resumed walking toward them again, his eyes on Alexandra.
“Mr. Forsythe?” Dr. Gladstone’s voice trembled slightly.
“Dr. Gladstone! I must say I’m surprised…” His voice trailed off when he saw that the exposed entrails of the man lying on the table at the same time the stench almost overcame him. “Good God! I…I’m afraid I’ve come at an awkward time.”
“Close the door, Nancy, and make sure it’s locked this time.” Dr. Gladstone’s voice was no longer trembling. She turned to Nicholas with fire in her eyes and ice in her voice. “What are you doing here?”
Nicholas, with his hand over his mouth and nose, was working hard at trying to avert his eyes from the grotesque sight on the table. “I saw something in the alley. Two figures running away from something, so I came to investigate.” The beast, he told himself with a measure of relief, must have been the doctor’s Newfoundland, whose acquaintance he had reluctantly made on his last visit.
“Artie and Rob,” Nancy said. “They ran out of here with Zack.”
Ah yes, Zack. That was the name of the beast. And Nancy was the doctor’s cheeky servant.
Dr. Gladstone spoke to him again, still with her hard, cold voice. “You’re right, Mr. Forsythe. You have come at an awkward time. I was just performing an autopsy.”
He was toying with the idea of asking her to call him Nicholas when she said the word autopsy, and he found that his breath had left him for a moment.
