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

by Paula Paul

  “I’m afraid I—”

  “Let me have a look at those wounds,” she said, not giving him a chance to answer. Nancy, in the meantime, had hurried away to the surgery to prepare the materials that Alexandra would need to stitch the cuts.

  He tried to protest. “I’m sure it’s nothing serious. You see, I—”

  “Is there still hot water on the stove?” Alexandra asked just as she stepped into the surgery with her patient in tow.

  “Of course. I’m on my way to get it now.” Nancy spoke as she passed her on the way to the kitchen. Zack whined pitifully as Alexandra disappeared into the surgery. He knew it was forbidden territory for him, and he had to be content with waiting outside the door.

  “I’m afraid I shall have to ask you to remove your shirt,” Alexandra said over her shoulder as she washed her hands at the basin in her surgery, using water poured from a pitcher.

  “My shirt?”

  “That will be sufficient for the moment. Zack, for heaven’s sake, be quiet!” Alexandra said, still with her back to Nicholas.

  “For the moment?”

  “I may have to examine your body for more wounds. Please don’t allow that to concern you. I am a doctor. You must think of me that way. Don’t think of me as a woman.” She was quite accustomed to her male patients feeling uncomfortable when certain types of examination became necessary. She dried her hands and picked up a needle and needle holder Nancy had prepared for her, wanting to make sure it was the one she would most likely need.

  “I’m afraid I would find that impossible. Not to think of you as a woman, I mean.”

  Alexandra turned around to face him. His eyes went immediately to the needle she held in her hand. His eyes widened, and his smile disappeared as the blood drained from his face. “You’re going to…to use that? On my face?”

  Alexandra put the needle back on the table, satisfied that it was the correct size, should she need it. “I’m not certain yet. I want to clean the cuts and examine them first.”

  Nancy entered the room with a basin of warm water and soap, and Alexandra went to work immediately, cleaning the wounds and examining his face and torso carefully. He was rather badly bruised, but the cuts, with the exception of one on his chin, would not need sutures after all. The chin cut, she thought, would probably need only three or four stitches.

  “Just how did this happen?” She spoke as she dabbed at a cut on his jaw. “You look as if you’ve been in an accident.”

  “In a manner of speaking.” He winced as she continued to clean the wound.

  “What do you mean?” She was now examining his hands. The knuckles were covered with scrapes and blood.

  “I’ve engaged in fisticuffs, as I’m certain you have surmised.”

  His answer surprised her. She dropped his hand and looked at him. “Fisticuffs? With whom?”

  “John Killborn.”

  Alexandra heard Nancy’s sudden intake of breath behind her, and she struggled to keep her own composure.

  “Indeed?” Alexandra said.

  “Yes. At his mother’s house.”

  “You’ve been to see Jane?”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “You keep using that expression. Just what do you mean?” Alexandra was not able to keep the frustration out of her voice.

  “I’ve been trying to explain that ever since I got here, but you… Ouch! You won’t give me the… Ouch! Can’t you be a little gentler?”

  “I must get the dirt out of these cuts. Nancy, some alcohol please.”

  “Alcohol? Isn’t that going to burn?”

  “Perhaps a little. Now, go on with your story.”

  Nicholas eyed the bottle of alcohol suspiciously as he talked. “I thought young John might show up at his mother’s house, so I waited for him, hiding in the gorse. When he arrived, we got into a bit of an altercation because, of course, he didn’t want to surrender to me and have me take him to the gaol.”

  “Of course.” Alexandra took the bottle of alcohol along with a bit of lamb’s wool from Nancy. “Yes, you do have bruises and cuts that would suggest blows. Rather uncivilized of you, I should say. But this wound on your chin is quite full of dirt and small pebbles. How did you—?”

  “I performed what is called a tackle and plowed my chin into the ground in the process.”

  “A tackle you say?”

  “Yes. Rather like rugby players do. I played a bit at school, you see. Rather rough game, you know.”

  “Oh yes, of course.”

  “OUCH! Good god, woman, that burns like h… Rather badly, I mean.” His voice had become weak, and his sudden loud cry had brought forth a single alarmed bark from Zack, who still waited outside the door.

  “And did you have a chance to talk to young John? After the tackle and the fisticuffs, that is.” Alexandra handed the alcohol and lamb’s wool to Nancy, who took it and, in almost the same movement, handed Alexandra the needle threaded with cat gut.

  “We did talk a little, and he said something interesting about… What’s that for? I thought you said you weren’t going to sew anything.”

  “I said I didn’t know. This won’t take long, Mr. Forsythe. And I’m quite certain you’ll live through it. Perhaps you’ve even encountered worse pain on the rugby field.”

  Nicholas didn’t reply. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the needle, even as it got closer and closer to his face.

  “Go on, please. You were saying young John said something interesting.” Nicholas was leaning back, trying to distance himself from her. “Nancy,” she said over her shoulder. She needn’t have bothered. Nancy was already at his side, one hand placed firmly on his back, pushing him forward. With her other hand, she picked up one of his to hold.

  “Squeeze my hand if it starts to hurt.” Nancy often invited patients to squeeze her hand if they felt pain. She claimed it would take their mind off of it.

  “Perhaps a bit of brandy,” Alexandra said, remembering, with some embarrassment, that she had once fainted when Nancy had to stitch a bad cut on her neck. The experience had at least made her more sympathetic with her patients.

  “That won’t be necessary.” Nicholas spoke with a bravado that was perhaps a bit too exaggerated.

  “Very well.” Alexandra took her first stitch.

  Nicholas’ face went white again and grew whiter with each stitch until she was certain he would faint. He was still conscious when she finished, but when he spoke to her, his voice was no more than a croak.

  “I’ll take that brandy now.”

  Nancy gave Alexandra a knowing look as she wordlessly left the room to fetch the brandy.

  Within a few minutes Nicholas was seated in an overstuffed chair with his feet on an ottoman and a snifter of brandy in his hand. Zack was curled in front of the fire, eyeing him with great suspicion while Alexandra seated herself on the sofa. She had declined Nicholas’ suggestion that she join him in a brandy, knowing that in her weary state it would have an immediate effect like that of sleeping droughts.

  Nancy had left the room, but Alexandra was certain she hadn’t gone so far away that she couldn’t hear everything that was said. She was, no doubt, dallying in the hall, just outside the parlor.

  “Now, Mr. Forsythe.” Alexandra leaned forward, ready to listen. “What were you saying about young John telling you something interesting?” She was not so weary that she would give up the hope that she might learn something to help clear up the baffling mystery of the admiral’s death.

  “My concern is that he may have implicated himself in something more serious than burglary or even prison escape. As his lawyer I want to make certain whether or not that’s the case.” Nicholas stared into the fire and seemed to be talking more to himself than to Alexandra.

  “What did he say?”

  He turned his gaze to her. “He could have meant anything by the remark, of course, but, given the circumstances, this is not something I would like to come out in court. Of course the judge could use his p
rerogative to question him, but if the matter hasn’t been introduced then, by the law of the court—”

  “For heaven’s sake, Mr. Forsythe, stop musing over all that legal gibberish and tell me what the boy said!” Alexandra’s lack of proper sleep had left her short tempered. Tomorrow, perhaps, she would regret her outburst.

  For the briefest of moments, surprise shown on Nicholas’ face. He collected himself quickly, however. “He seemed rather protective of his mother. Said I was to leave her out of things when I mentioned how upset she was sure to be at the news of his escape.”

  “Mr. Forsythe…”

  “One shouldn’t be surprised at a boy being protective of his mother, but—”

  “Mr. Forsythe…”

  “…but, it struck me that he was truly a good boy, who under normal circumstances would never turn to lawlessness, but who somehow—”

  “Stop evading the issue!” Impatience and weariness once again got the best of her. “Your clever barrister’s tricks of evasion won’t work with me! What—did—the—boy—say?” The last said in measured tones, as if she was speaking to a dullard.

  Nicholas paused, cleared his throat, looked down at his hands, and then raised his eyes again to Alexandra. “I’m afraid I may have spoken out of turn. I’m afraid I would be betraying my client’s confidence to relay what he said. It’s just that, after the altercation and then his second escape, I felt rather unnerved and—”

  “His second escape?”

  “I’m afraid so.” Nicholas gave her the entire story of the boy’s surrender and escape.

  “Constable Snow must have been chagrined.”

  Nicholas looked at her with a wry expression. “One never knows with that fellow, does one? Rather taciturn and odd, what?”

  “More brandy, sir?” Nancy had somehow materialized and already had more brandy poured in the bottom of Nicholas’ snifter before he had a chance to answer.

  Nicholas, who had looked as if he wanted to protest, stared at the second helping of brandy with a resigned expression, swirled it a few times, and took a sip. “One could almost say Snow looks like a suspect, given the odd way he’s been acting.”

  “Not the only one acting oddly, I’d say.” It was Nancy, being impertinent and forgetting her place again, or ignoring it. Nicholas was too intrigued to let it show whether he noticed or not.

  “Oh? Who else?” he looked up at Nancy.

  “That housekeeper of Mrs. Orkwright. An odd bird if I ever saw one.” Nancy stole a quick glance at Alexandra as she spoke. “Seems she might have even had a reason to do the old sea dog in.”

  “What?” Nicholas glanced at Alexandra. Nancy took the opportunity of his distraction to splash more brandy in his snifter.

  Alexandra, who had been glaring at Nancy as a signal to say no more, now saw the futility in resisting. “Perhaps that’s a bit of an exaggeration,” she said, “but it does appear the admiral may have shown some cruelty toward the housekeeper.”

  “Indeed?” Nicholas was now thoroughly captivated. He took another sip of his brandy and held up his hand as a signal to Nancy that he wanted no more. Nancy, however, ignored the signal.

  Alexandra told him the story of young Will’s odd behavior and what he had said about his father being cruel to Annie. “Nancy has pointed out that since both boys seemed to dislike the admiral, it’s possible he had a cruel streak that showed itself against John and the housekeeper.”

  “Umhum,” Nicholas said, “perhapsh she’s right.” He held his hand up again to stop Nancy from adding more brandy to his glass.

  “And it could be,” Nancy added, pouring the brandy nevertheless, “that either the housekeeper or the stepson felt they had a score to settle with the admiral and did him in. Or they could have even done it together.”

  Nicholas glanced up at Nancy, who still stood by his chair. He had to grasp the arms of the chair for support. “A score to shettle? That’s ’zacly what John said. I have a shore to scettle. Dangerous thing to say if there’s been a murder, what?” He chuckled softly at his own witticism. “But!” He held up one cautionary finger and tried to focus his eyes on Alexandra. “You don’t know for sure the bastard was murdered. Could have jusht drowned, you know.” He hiccupped. “’Cept for those drawers. Now there’s a mystery for you. And how did John know the bashtard, ’scuse me, the admiral was dead?”

  Nancy and Alexandra exchanged a quick glance. “Indeed?” Alexandra said.

  Nicholas shook his head. “No, I can’t talk ’bout that. Young fool knew he was dead before I tol’ him, but you know I can’t talk ’bout that, so don’t ask me to tell you he said that.”

  “Of course not,” Alexandra said.

  “Shall I prepare the bed in the guest room, Miss Alex?” Nancy asked.

  Alexandra nodded. “I think that would be wise.”

  “No need! I have rooms at the inn.” Nicholas was having a difficult time standing up from the chair.

  Nancy gave him a gentle lift. “Come this way. Careful now.” She led him to the stairs. “Now, one foot after the other. That’s it. One foot up. Next foot up.” She gave Alexandra a reassuring look.

  “So kind of you,” Nicholas mumbled as they disappeared up the stairs.

  Robert Snow could admit to himself that the remorse he felt about John Killborn literally slipping through his fingers was born more of embarrassment than concern over the need for justice. But it wasn’t embarrassment that had pushed him into his current state of depression. It was distress that the entire Orkwright affair had gotten so out of hand. There was so much a man in his position should have foreseen, yet he had not.

  One thing he could never have foreseen, however, was the undertaker rushing into his office and telling him someone had desecrated the admiral’s body. It had taken him a good half hour to calm the man.

  “I’d say it was the work of the devil if I was a religious man! Or witches!” There’d been more anger than fear in the poor man’s voice. “Came in the middle of the night to work their evil. While the wife and I supped with our son, it was. I tell you, nothing is safe in this world anymore, not even a dead man. ‘Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.’ And if I could ever get my hands on the one who—”

  “Calm yourself, Gibbs, and start from the beginning,” Snow had said.

  “The beginning? In the beginning was the word, and the word was made flesh and dwelt among us, and if that is so, then the word is evil. All is evil, I tell you—”

  “Gibbs!” It was often necessary to keep the man on track, since he was a man of confusion—a self-confessed atheist whose profession kept him forever in the presence of depressing circumstances. Namely preachers and dead men.

  “Defiled my work, they did, and I would never have discovered it had I not noticed the dead man’s shirt was a bit soiled. Had to change it, didn’t I? Is not the body more than raiment? they say, but verily I say unto you, there’s not a one of ’em but would have my hide if the raiment be not perfect. So I changed the shirt, I did, and that’s when I saw it!”

  “Saw what?” Snow asked.

  “Why the scar. Y-shaped, it was. Like is done when a dead man’s guts is looked at by a doctor. But there was no doctor there, I tell you. ’Twas done in the middle of the night, and no self-respecting doctor, not even Gladstone herself, would perform such a sacrilege in the middle of the night.”

  “You’re sure of that?” Snow asked.

  “You told her yourself she was not to do it. Ah yes, I know what you will say. She is a strange one, and not a Christian either. For no Christian woman would make herself acquainted with the ways of the world and the bodies of men as she does. With that I will agree. But still, she knows the book of Ecclesiastes where it says that the giving heed unto law is the assurance of incorruption.”

  “Perhaps she does not fear corruption,” Snow offered.

  Gibbs gave him a surprised look. “All women fear corruption. They have not the boldness and stamina of men. Not even Gladstone. She i
s bold and vulgar, but she is not a man. And wise enough not to stray into dangerous territory.”

  “Wise as the serpent, perhaps,” Snow said.

  Gibbs fell silent for a long moment, thinking on Snow’s words. Finally, he spoke, low and self-accusing, quoting Lord Byron. “Believe a woman or an epitaph, or any other thing that’s false.”

  “You quote Byron as well as the Bible,” Snow said.

  “I am a fool!”

  “Don’t concern yourself. I’ll investigate the matter,” Snow had assured him. “Perhaps the good doctor simply misunderstood my instructions.”

  “Ha! She is descended from the cunning creature who would damn the world for an apple, is she not? Be wary of her, my good man!”

  Snow had finally gotten him out of his office. He had not gone to confront Dr. Gladstone, however. Instead, he had spent the day dreading it. She had blatantly disobeyed his orders, because she knew he was wrong to forbid the autopsy. He should have expected it. Being Alexandra Gladstone’s teacher had been an enlightening experience for him. He’d never taught a female until then, and he found both Miss Alexandra and her young maid to be bright. Nancy had a quick, eager mind and an earthy common sense about her. Miss Alexandra, as he knew her then, was precocious and impatient to learn, ever questioning and challenging, and in some ways defiant. At once a source of delight and a thorn in his side.

  Even he had been surprised when she carried her defiance so far as to follow in her father’s footsteps and become a doctor of medicine. He thought old Huntington, who was his friend, had been a bit shocked and puzzled by it as well. By that time, however, the old doctor had long since stopped trying to get his daughter to conform to the rules of society and resigned to teach her the skills of his profession himself, since she was allowed to attend only part of the lectures in medical school. Those that were deemed improper for a woman were not open to her. Of course, the late Dr. Huntington Gladstone would never admit he had started the whole thing himself by allowing her to get an education as a young girl.

  Now she had created a dangerous sea of trouble by what she had done. Now he had no other choice but to confront her, in spite of the fact that he dreaded her revealing what she might have learned.