Sweet Asylum

by Tracy L. Ward

  She lowered her face into his chest and wrapped her arms around him. She didn’t care if anyone saw them, and cared even less for any repercussions their discovery might bring. Secretly, she hoped Aunt Louisa would spy them. Perhaps her aunt would tell her father, which would effectively force their hand and end this tiresome game of love without a future.

  She heard and felt the beating of Jonas’s heart through his chest and smiled because she understood now that it beat for her.

  “There’s something I must tell you,” Jonas said, his tone serious.

  Reluctantly, Margaret pulled away and looked up at him.

  “It’s the reason I came here actually. I couldn’t bring myself to tell you before,” he said. He exhaled deeply before continuing. “I’ve been offered a position at Edinburgh. I’m to work under Dr. Tilford. He has undertaken some ambitious projects…” He cut short his enthusiasm when Margaret began to walk away. “This changes nothing about how I feel for you.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh at the sentiment. Edinburgh may as well been as far away as India for all the freedom her family afforded her. There was no hope of her ever being able to visit and she highly doubted a doctor’s salary, even one employed by the university, could afford regular visits back to London.

  “I thought…” Jonas stumbled, stepping closer to her and looking around to ensure they were not being watched. “I thought maybe you’d like to come with me.”

  “With you?” She placed a hand on her stomach in an effort to steady her breathing.

  “As my wife, naturally.” He stammered and looked to the ground. “I’d never dream of implying anything else.” He took a breath and closed his eyes for a moment. “It’s just that it appears I may be gone for quite some time, years even. I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t at least make it known that that is what I desired.”

  “You desire me as your wife.” Margaret could barely get the words out, given the thundering of her heart.

  “It’s ridiculous, that is, to think that you would ever consider me, not that you marrying me would be ridiculous.” He pressed his lips together as if chiding himself for fumbling so with his words. “I love you, Margaret. I have for many months. You are the last thing I think of when I go to bed and the first thing I think of when I awake. If you turned me away now, I will respect that and will nevermore speak of it but…”

  Margaret fought hard not to smile. Never had she seen him so unsure. Like her brother in many respects he was intelligent and contemplative but also a bit of an arrogant fool when he wanted to be. He was a man without tethers, answering to no one, not even family, because he had none. When she first met him he was kind but distant, a mystery in his own right. Secretive. Which intrigued her all the more. But this proposal, these confessions, made him into an open book, a condition he readily presented for her.

  “I think you love me too,” he said, taking another step closer.

  She closed her eyes and licked her lips, which had become exceedingly dry. “I do love you.”

  His smile was short-lived. “Then tell me what it is you wish me to do. I will beg your father if I have to, plea for acceptance into the family.”

  Margaret could not stop a laugh that escaped. Her father had already expressed concern for their budding friendship. She had no doubt what his answer to Jonas’s suit would be. His profession as a doctor, though a noble pursuit, was not suitable for the daughter of a peer. “He won’t allow it,” she said earnestly. “If he caught wind of our attachment he’d lock me in my room and marry me off to the first nobleman’s son he could find, as long as the benefits to him were satisfactory.”

  “Then let us go without permission,” Jonas said, his voice giving way to desperation. “It is Scotland, after all.” Jonas offered a light smile and shrug.

  Margaret closed her eyes. It seemed impossible that such an answer was required from her so suddenly, giving her so little time. She had spent the better part of three weeks cursing him and his wayward attentions. Marrying him, without anything more than a single stolen kiss to mark a courtship, was lunacy. Defying her father so completely for such a fragile, unsubstantiated love was nothing short of foolhardy.

  “Jonas!”

  They both turned to the house to see Ainsley stepping out of the kitchen door. He waved his arm for Jonas to come. “Jonas, the inspector is here for the body!”

  Margaret met his gaze. Her answer would have to wait. “Go on,” she said sternly, “mustn’t keep the inspector waiting.”

  Jonas hesitated. “I’d be obliged for one minute, Peter,” he said without taking his eyes from Margaret.

  “Come man!” Ainsley pressed.

  Jonas stepped toward her. “Margaret, I—”

  “Jonas, we need you now.”

  “Go,” she said, nearly pushing him toward her brother. Jonas took a half step toward the house and watched her as he did so. To help his departure, Margaret turned away and began walking through the covered garden gate. She listened to his feet on the gravel as he walked to the house but she dared not turn to see. After the sound of the kitchen door closing reached her ears, Margaret collapsed against the stone wall and did not move for some time. The feeling of elation she felt for having found her match was tempered by the knowledge of what marrying him would ultimately do to her family.

  Chapter 18

  I'll scoff at your disdain.

  The Briar staff looked on in stunned silence as Ainsley led Garret, Inspector Marley, and Jonas through the kitchen to the cellar door. Pushing themselves into the far reaches of the room, each kitchen girl, cook, and underservant who happened to be in the kitchen at the time looked on, a morbid curiosity shadowing their features as the parade of men swept through the room.

  At the door to the cellar, Ainsley pulled the key from his pocket.

  “And no one minds the presence of a dead body below the kitchen?” Inspector Marley asked with a smirk and a cock of his eyebrow.

  Ainsley answered the man’s jocular tone with a hardened expression as he pulled the door open with a determined tug. He could hear the staff whispering amongst themselves as the party descended the stairs.

  At the end of the dissection Ainsley and Jonas had returned the lanterns to the table at the bottom of the stairs and that is where they remained until Ainsley lit them again. Inspector Marley bristled against the marked decline in temperature and Garret marvelled at the puffs of vapour created by their breath.

  “This way, gentleman,” Ainsley said, indicating that they should follow him.

  Through the depths Ainsley led them, ignoring all rooms that had fallen into disuse. Once he reached the room he gave a quick survey to make sure nothing unseemly remained from the dissection earlier. He wouldn’t want to create discomfort for Garret should he see an organ or a generous collection of blood.

  Once they were all in the room and gathered around the body, which was concealed beneath the original cloth, Ainsley turned to Garret. “You may prefer to wait in the kitchen,” he offered.

  “No sir,” Garret said with a marked determination.

  “Very well.”

  Ainsley nodded, and Jonas pulled back the sheet to review the corpse from waist up. Despite the distinctive chill in the air the body had started its decomposition, forcing Marley and Garret to cover their noses with their hands as they fanned out around the body. Gas generating in the torso of the corpse pressed outward beneath the skin, making Mr. Owen appear bloated and many pounds heavier than he was in life.

  “Let’s make this quick, doctor,” Marley said, pulling out a white handkerchief and holding it over his nose.

  Jonas nodded and went straight to work. “The subject suffered multiple burns on the arms, left side of the torso and the left side of his face.” He raised the lantern and used the light to indicate which areas he spoke of. “Just by observing the outer crust, I would say he had been exposed to the hottest heat for less a minute, maybe two.” He looked to Ainsley. “The barn was completely
engulfed when we arrived, so it is safe to say he was dragged from the fire well before the bulk of the structure caught fire. Drag marks at the scene indicate he was pulled like this—” Jonas laid the lantern aside before positioning himself at the corpse’s head and motioning with his arms that Mr. Owen was dragged from under his arms.

  “That is an interesting theory,” Marley said, lowering his handkerchief slightly.

  Jonas stood to his full height and crossed his arms over his chest. As if sensing a challenge, Marley quickly defended his words. “You can’t say for sure, can you?” Marley asked.

  Ainsley tensed at the inspector’s words. Things had been so much easier working with Inspector Simms from the Yard. Ainsley found himself missing the natural way with which they worked. The man himself was unmatched.

  “I am sure of the evidence and to the most likely explanation as to what generated it,” Jonas said.

  “You rely on conjecture.”

  “We rely on science, Inspector Marley,” Ainsley broke in, leaning into the table to catch the inspector’s eye. “Science is the next wave of policing.”

  “Of course.” Marley chuckled to himself. “By all means, Dr. Davies, continue.”

  Ainsley saw Jonas take in a breath as he gathered his thoughts and began again. “In my professional opinion, Mr. Owen was in the barn at the time the fire broke out or shortly after and was removed before the bulk of the heat was able to singe his skin.” Jonas grabbed the lantern’s handle and waved it over Mr. Owen’s face. “I noticed some contusions, some bruising on the face and temple indicating he was hit or—”

  “That was me,” Garret said, suddenly. “I hit him the day before.”

  The other three men in the room turned toward Garret.

  “He had imbibed a fair amount the day before and was caught beating a horse…” Garret said as his eyes shifted slightly, “and I lost my temper.”

  “Was anyone witness to this?” Ainsley asked.

  “I regret to say Miss Marshall was present,” Garret answered, unable to meet Ainsley’s gaze. Jonas gave a sideways glance to Ainsley but neither one said anything.

  A sigh escaped Inspector Marley. “You see, gentlemen, there isn’t anything here. This man died from the heat of the fire—”

  “Pulled from a fire a man can live for days with burns such as these. He will be in abject agony but he will live. In a fire it is the smoke that kills, not the burns.” Ainsley realized he was flexing his fist at his side as he spoke.

  “So he died from the smoke,” Marley offered, his voice rising.

  Jonas moved the lantern again and used both his hands to open the mouth of the corpse. “Smoke inhalation causes swelling, and leads to airway collapse in the chest. This man’s airways were constricted at the throat.”

  “These contusions are far too deep to be the result of a single tussle,” Ainsley explained, looking to Garret. “I believe there was another altercation, one that led someone to hold your father by the throat, here.” Ainsley positioned his hands over bruises at Mr. Owen’s throat.

  “Away with the theories!” Inspector Marley waved his hand dismissively.

  Ainsley could not say why it mattered so much to solve this man’s murder. Everything Margaret had said about him led Ainsley to believe he was a bully, leading his family with a fist of iron, governing with fear and loathing. During his life, Mr. Owen garnered no empathy. In death, he didn’t deserve an ounce of mourning, but for Ainsley, he could not turn his back to injustice.

  “This man was dead before the fire started,” Ainsley said, pounding his fist on the board holding Mr. Owen’s body. “Someone killed him!”

  “Mr. Marshall, you are not a doctor!”

  Ainsley stood to his full height, staring down the inspector who dismissed his learned observations. It seemed foolish to have dedicated so much of his life to medicine, yet not be able to utilize its worth to the full benefit. If Ainsley was to be a doctor, a surgeon entrusted with cases such as these, what good would it do to hide in the shadows, dodging would-be blackmailers and avoiding scandal? If he wanted to practice medicine, Ainsley would have to come clean, work openly, and endure any disgrace that came his way for doing so. But not yet.

  “I am Peter Marshall, second son and heir to Lord Abraham Marshall of Montcliff.” Ainsley ignored the confused look on the inspector’s face and angrily replaced the sheet over the body. “If you lack the competence to find this man’s killer then don’t stop an attempt from me!”

  Ainsley left, finding his way out of the cellar without the aid of a light, and stormed through the kitchen, ignoring the gasps from the unsuspecting staff. He stood his ground, made his decision to leave the shadows but all he could think of in that moment was how much he needed a drink.

  Walking past the parlour, Ainsley noticed a dark figure standing by the window. It was Ivy, looking out over the yard, her cream-coloured dress made black by the sun’s rays on the other side of her. He heard faint muttering, the pieces of a conversation, and soon realized Ivy’s lips were moving.

  “Ivy?” Ainsley drew near, eyeing her. There was no one else in the room. “Is everything all right?” he asked.

  Her murmuring stopped. Another moment passed before she turned from the window to look at him. “Grandfather says I should not speak with you.”

  Ainsley stopped himself from laughing. “Yet here you are.” He was in no mood to pander to such a family, not when he had already overstepped his own imposed limitations. By all accounts, he should wash his hands of them, have them sort out their own affairs. But that chivalrous side of him, that side that his mother saw in him at an early age, bid him to carry on. In the end, the opinion of Ivy’s grandfather mattered little to him.

  Drawn to a small cabinet at the side of the room, Ainsley poured himself a glass of scotch and then began to fill his flask for later. “Care to tell me why your grandfather thinks so little of me?” Ainsley asked, returning to stand before her with his glass in his hands.

  “Because you lie,” she said without inflection.

  A smug smile tugged at the corner of Ainsley’s lips.

  One of the servants appeared at the door. “Your room is ready, Miss Ivy. I’ll show you the way.”

  Before Ivy could sidestep Ainsley, her head low and gaze avoiding him, he stepped into her path. “What exactly does your grandfather say I have lied about?”

  Ivy raised her chin and looked him squarely in the eye. “That night in London.”

  There was something about her eyes, the deep recesses behind their glossy sheen that held more than the typical soul. She read him, knew him, even though her answer was exceptionally vague. She challenged him and hid behind her grandfather to do it.

  Ainsley turned in place as Ivy skirted him and watched through the open doorway as the servant led the way up the stairs. Ivy gave one final glance to him as she ascended the stairs, but this time her gaze was different, her demeanor more like the Ivy Margaret described. He pulled at the stubble on his chin and downed the final gulp of his scotch before returning to the cabinet to pour himself another.

  Chapter 19

  Cold though the winter blow,

  When Ainsley entered The Briar’s stables he found Garret saddling his horse, readying him for the ride back to Summer Hill. As Ainsley neared, he held out a hand and rubbed the gelding’s nose, cradling it as came closer with his arm. The horse nudged him and huffed as it savoured the attention. “You and your brother breed gorgeous animals, Garret Owen,” Ainsley said as he peered around the animal.

  Garret lowered the stirrup on one side, buckling the leather strap before walking to the other side. “He’s fast on his hooves, let me tell you,” he said with a laugh.

  Ainsley watched as Garret adjusted the strap on the underside of his horse and then tested the stability of the saddle by pulling down on the seat. “Inspector Marley has gone then,” Ainsley said.

  An amused look spread over Garret’s face. “Aye, none too pleased neither.” Th
ey both chuckled. “Do you always stand up to others like that?” Garret asked, feeding the loop of the reins over the horse’s head as Ainsley stepped aside.

  “When I have to,” Ainsley answered honestly. “I haven’t any patience for incompetence.”

  Garret nodded thoughtfully. “My brother and I appreciate your efforts,” he said. Leading the horse out the stable doors, Garret and Ainsley walked side by side into the evening sun. Ainsley saw Garret give a glance back to the house. “With everything,” he said when he turned his attention back to Ainsley. “I don’t know what my brother and I would do with her if your friend hadn’t agreed to help.”

  Ainsley nodded, though he wasn’t entirely sure what to say.

  “I must confess, now with our father gone, how we will manage her. We haven’t the authority over her as our father did and I fear she may be”—his voice trailed off for a second—“losing touch.”

  “In what way?” Ainsley asked.

  “My sister is a willful girl.”

  Ainsley scoffed at the word. Agreeing completely.

  “But there is more to it,” Garret continued. “She speaks to herself. Mutterings that neither myself nor my brother understand. She conducts entire conversations on her own, without any help from Samuel or I.” Garret rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “And there are frequent outbursts, screaming and lashing out.” He exhaled nervously. “Are you familiar with any doctors at St. Andrew’s House?”

  Ainsley feared this was coming. Putting his own experiences with Ivy aside, he had heard a number of questionable tales regarding the girl’s conduct. Perhaps there was more as well, things even Margaret dared not reveal. Even so, the asylum for the insane was not an institution to be considered without care.

  “I can’t say that I am,” Ainsley confessed. “Alienism is an entirely different science.”