Ivy frowned. “I’m sorry.”
Margaret took a step back, and placed her hand over her mouth. She could feel her chin trembling as a chill ran the length of her body. “You shouldn’t say such things,” Margaret said, willing herself not to cry. She began to pace the room, a hand at her stomach, which was ready to lurch.
“You are right, Miss Margaret,” Ivy said rather compliantly. Margaret saw Ivy close her eyes and mutter something to herself that Margaret could not hear. Her anger grew steadily, a sudden flood over an unsuspecting landscape. Within two paces Margaret crossed the distance between them and grabbed Ivy by the shoulders. “Look at me!”
Ivy complied but a fear overshadowed her face.
“Why are you saying such things?”
“I don’t know.” Ivy’s response was so quick, so rehearsed, Margaret knew she must have said it many times before. “I’m sorry.”
Again, Ivy’s gaze darted for the window, searching the yard for a way out of her predicament. Margaret watched as panic overtook the girl. Suddenly, Margaret felt ashamed of her outburst, the distrust she had displayed for the sincerity of her friend. It was clear others had doubted Ivy as well.
“No, I’m sorry,” Margaret said, softening her tone considerably. With a hand at her forehead, Margaret steadied her breathing with a few regulated breaths. The last thing Ivy needed was another person who distrusted her and made her feel ashamed.
Margaret placed a gentle hand on Ivy’s. “You have to admit, what you said was quite shocking. What were you trying to say?”
During Margaret’s entire apology Ivy did not meet her eyes and then when she did she feigned ignorance. “I’m not entirely sure,” she said with a slight laugh. “Mustn’t have been important.”
“No, no it was,” Margaret said, bringing Ivy’s hand closer. “Please, I won’t get mad. Tell me what my mother said and I shall try my best to hear it.”
Ivy let out a huff then, smiled, and shook her head. “How should I know? I never met the countess.”
Margaret grew stern but recognized her own part to play. Her eyes threatened tears and her gaze fell to the ground. She sniffled as she brushed the hair from her face. She wanted to leave, to hide in her room, but she hesitated. She felt the tears coming, but her feet seemed rooted in place. She did not want to turn her back on Ivy and yet how could she believe what Ivy herself struggled to acknowledge?
Chapter 25
Locked up in your hearts cell.
Once the sun went down Ainsley and Jonas were forced to work by lantern light. Diane, the head nurse, had shown them to an office with a desk and chair in the middle. She brought them an extra chair and the hospital records for the previous week and then left them alone, saying if they needed her she’d be in the office next door.
The hospital drew quiet as the sun went down, with only intermittent fits of coughing reminding them where they were. Every so often the sounds of a nurse’s boots walking the length of the hall could be heard outside the door, the speed indicating their degree of urgency. Together, Ainsley and Jonas sat at the table, opposite each other, scanning the record book and reading the accompanying reports in search of any ailment that could be attributed to an altercation of some sort.
“Perhaps we should ask for a record of Dr. Hollingsworth’s house calls, as well,” Jonas said, flipping the page of the report he was reading.
“This is going to be more difficult than I had originally thought.” Ainsley was reading his fifth report, another burn victim suffering from the effects of the smoke and a burn on his left leg where a smouldering wood plank had fallen on him. The man indicated he was from two farms away and ran toward the blaze when he saw the smoke, just as Ainsley had.
“Hollingsworth lists abrasions on this man’s arms and face.” Ainsley flipped the page to show Jonas a rudimentary sketch indicating the locations of the man’s bruises. “How is that any different from any of us present that night?”
“If Dr. Hollingsworth was processing a number of new patients specifically from the fire he’d be flustered, acting hastily, perhaps not even noticing minor wounds. Certain injuries may have gone unnoticed,” Jonas offered.
Ainsley was forced to nod. “I doubt he would have noticed anything amiss. If he had, I doubt he would have had the wherewithal to write it down in the report.”
Ainsley slapped the file closed and leaned back in his chair, running his hands through his hair. “We know Mr. Owen was in the barn prior to the fire,” Ainsley began, indicating with his index finger his first fact. “We know he was dragged from the blaze.”
“We know he wasn’t breathing at that time, though we don’t know if he was dead.”
Ainsley nodded. “I highly suspect it was an overturned lantern that caused the fire,” Ainsley said, “And I further suspect it was overturned during the altercation between Mr. Owen and our killer.”
“So what makes you believe our killer elected to stay to assist the bucket brigade?” Jonas asked.
Ainsley shrugged, “I don’t, but I can guess that by the time Mr. Owen was dragged from the barn the fire would have caught that straw. People would have already been running toward the scene. How likely would it be that everyone running to help put out the blaze wouldn’t see that single person running in the opposite direction?”
“He stayed to help.”
Ainsley smiled. “Precisely. No one questions why he’s there and everyone is too busy nursing their injuries to see him leave.”
A murmur of voices grew outside in the hall. There was a hint of hostility that drew Ainsley’s attention.
“It could be anyone,” Jonas said, tossing a report in his hand down on the desk. “We’re looking for a needle in a haystack.”
Ainsley raised a finger to his mouth, indicating for Jonas to be quiet. He pointed toward the door with his chin and then noticed the voices had stopped abruptly. Ainsley made a circular motion with his hands and looked to Jonas. “You were saying, Dr. Davies.”
“I was saying…” Jonas fumbled his sentence and looked to Ainsley imploringly.
“You are discouraged,” Ainsley prodded. “I am as well.” Again, Ainsley made a circular motion with his hands, encouraging Jonas to continue while he stood up slowly from his chair.
The voices began again, and as Ainsley inched toward the door he realized it was two women engaged in a hushed yet heated exchange. One of them was Helen, the attending nurse, and the other was Diane, the head nurse. He heard Jonas shuffling papers behind him as he made his way, gingerly, toward the door.
“You have to tell him,” Helen said in a near panic.
“Certainly not,” Diane answered. “He isn’t the physician here!”
Ainsley pressed his ear up to the door, concentrating hard so he could make out the nurses’s words.
“What are you doing?” Jonas asked from the desk.
Ainsley gave his friend a wide-eyed look and told him to hush. A bout of coughing erupted, muffling the women’s next words, but Ainsley could hear enough to know they were arguing about his and Jonas’s presence.
“They are looking into the fire,” Helen said, “and they deserve to know!” Her voice grew markedly loud then and was followed by quickening footsteps along the corridor.
The footsteps stopped abruptly and then there was a tiny yelp.
Ainsley was out the door and halfway down the hall before he could piece together what he had heard. The head nurse held the younger nurse to the wall, her hand pressed into her shoulder.
“What is the meaning of this?” Ainsley asked as he watched the head nurse take a step back.
“Nothing, sir,” she said. “Miss Fitch here was being reprimanded. Nothing you need to be concerned about.”
Jonas appeared at Ainsley’s side then.
“What do we deserve to know?” Ainsley asked, looking to the younger nurse, who adjusted her uniform and bit her lower lip. After a moment’s hesitation, she spoke. “A patient died this morning,” she said, giving a sideways glan
ce to the head nurse. “He was injured in the fire. Dr. Hollingsworth hasn’t had the time to write a report yet.”
Ainsley nodded slowly and looked to Diane. “Is that so?”
“You didn’t need to know, sir,” she explained.
He raised a single eyebrow. “I know now, so you might as well take me to the body.”
Begrudgingly, Diane led them down the back stairs of the building to the basement and, after opening the lock, showed them into a dark room.
“I don’t see how Mr. Fitzpatrick’s death is any of your concern,” she said, leading them to the table where a body lay beneath a white sheet. “This is a matter for Dr. Hollingsworth.”
“We are investigating the death of a local man, anything that can be linked back to that case is a concern of ours,” Ainsley explained unapologetically. He no longer had patience for people who stood in his way. After his encounter with the local constabulary he knew he was the only one asking questions and attempting to fit the pieces together.
Jonas pulled back the sheet while the nurse lit an overhead lamp. Ainsley noticed straightaway that the man was older, older still than Mr. Owen himself. At first glance, his injuries appeared minor. The skin on his arms was pink, indicating damage to the dermis, but it did not penetrate the deeper layers of skin. Ainsley leaned close to the man’s face and studied his lips before prying the mouth open.
“Dr. Davies, the lamp, if you don’t mind.”
Jonas pulled the lamp from the hook above them and brought it closer.
“Would you say this man’s esophagus is severely damaged?” Ainsley asked. He looked to the nurse, who did not flinch.
“Smoke inhalation,” she said.
“You suspect that is what killed him?” Jonas asked.
“Yes,” Diane answered. “We have no way to treat it once it gets to the lungs.”
“What did Dr. Hollingsworth order for his treatment?”
“Laudanum.” She shifted where she stood, as if caught by the headmistress at school. “We were just trying to make him comfortable.”
Ainsley nodded. He knew nothing else could have been done to prevent the outcome. A slight injury to the lungs, indicative by coughing and painful breathing, could heal in time, but any greater degree of damage could not be healed. Experimental procedures did exist but were only available in London and Edinburgh, not the Kent countryside.
They looked over the man’s body for half an hour, searching for anything out of the ordinary. The search was fruitless, leading them down no new avenues of investigation. He could have been one of the first on the scene or one of the last. The only thing they could decipher was that he had been there and was close enough to inhale a fair amount of hot smoke.
“There are no signs of struggle either,” Jonas said, paying special attention to the man’s hands, which bore no signs of injury or assault. “It is very likely he had nothing to do with Mr. Owen’s death.”
“Do we have an address for this man?” Ainsley asked, turning to Diane. She hesitated before giving a slight nod. She left a moment later. Her steps could be heard climbing the stairs to the main floor.
“Plan to interrogate his bereaved loved ones?” Jonas asked without jest.
“I want to know why he was there,” Ainsley explained, giving one last look over the body before covering it up with the sheet once again. “You know how country people talk. Someone is bound to know who had a grudge against Mr. Owen.”
The next day Ainsley skipped breakfast and spent his early morning hours in the library before readying himself for Mr. Owen’s funeral. Margaret had made it known that everyone in the household was expected to attend. “For Ivy,” she said when she appeared at Ainsley’s door the evening before. He had no intentions of protesting, though her continued care of Ivy left him dumbfounded. More than one person had placed a doubt in him regarding her sanity and his own experience with her did nothing to help alleviate those impressions.
Their finest open-air carriage was waiting at the base of the front steps when Ainsley stepped out. Jonas and Nathaniel had already gathered at the front of the house and looked as if they had been waiting for some time.
“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,” Jonas said. “Did you sleep well?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I heard footsteps in your room,” Jonas said, “thought you were having—”
“Gentlemen, please, help an old woman.” Aunt Louisa stood at the top of the steps calling to them with an outstretched hand. “These steps do not agree with this footwear.”
Jonas overtook Ainsley and hurried up the steps to offer assistance. Moments later, Margaret and Ivy appeared at the door. Ivy had borrowed one of Margaret’s mourning gowns and looked entirely uncomfortable in the finery as she clung to Margaret’s side.
Ainsley offered a hand to both as they approached the carriage and assisted Ivy with the many layers of her skirt that prevented her from stepping up easily.
“I’m impressed,” Margaret said behind him. “You and Aunt Louisa managed to hide your contempt for a few minutes at least.”
“Margaret—” She did not let him finish. She raised her hand to Jonas beside her, indicating that he should help her into the carriage and was nestled in her spot beside Ivy before Ainsley could say another word.
Once everyone was seated, the carriage jerked into motion, taking them in the direction of town. They sat quietly for some time with only the odd remark from Aunt Louisa breaking their reverie.
“I do hope it’s a short service,” she said, pulling on her tight-fitting gloves, “Goodness knows how the country parsons love to prattle on so.” She chuckled slightly to herself and looked about as if expecting everyone else to appreciate her jest. No one was in the mood. Margaret managed a tight-lipped smile but quickly turned away.
Ainsley wasn’t sure if Jonas had told her about his plans of enquiry but she left little doubt that she was angered with him for questioning the Thornton brothers. Exhaling, he leaned back in his seat and gazed out the window. His efforts to escape the vile nature of the city had backfired. Not only did he find himself in the middle of a quagmire of murder and enquiry but one of the dearest people in his life reviled him for his suspicions.
A number of people were already gathered at the grave site by the time they arrived, but the most surprising guests of all were Blair and Brandon Thornton. Ainsley exited the carriage first and remained at the carriage doors to help the women step down. He wanted to pull Margaret aside to speak before the service. But by the time he assisted Ivy he turned to find Margaret had already been cornered by Brandon and Blair.
“Good day, Miss Marshall, Miss Owen,” Blair said. “It appears we could not have asked for a better day to honour your father.”
“Thank you, sir,” Ivy said, somewhat awkwardly.
Garret approached them. After acknowledging Ainsley and Jonas, he turned to his sister and motioned for her to join the family. “Come Ivy, everyone is waiting.”
Margaret turned back to the Thornton brothers. “It was good of you to come,” she said in a whisper. “I’m sure the Owens appreciate your presence…as do I.” She spoke as if offering an apology for their last meeting, but as always with the upper classes no one spoke of such unpleasantness unless absolutely warranted. Brandon looked disinterested next to his brother, who kept his gaze on Margaret.
“Think nothing of it,” Blair said. His gaze lifted to Ainsley, full of contempt and loathing, before returning his focus to Margaret. He offered his arm to Margaret and the two of them headed to the graveside.
“Who is he?” Jonas asked, appearing alongside Ainsley.
“Blair Thornton,” Ainsley answered discreetly.
“Is he a good man?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
To Aunt Louisa’s delight, the service was short and before long they were offering their final condolences. It was planned that Ivy would return home with her family that day following the service. Ainsley
watched as Margaret hugged her for a long time, longer than what was viewed as appropriate. “Feel free to visit any time,” she said as she pulled away.
Ivy nodded quickly. Ainsley thought he saw her eyes well up as Margaret spoke.
“Come, Margaret,” Aunt Louisa said quietly beside her. “We must leave them to their grief.”
Glad that their liaison had finally come to an end, Ainsley offered a hand to Samuel and then Garret. “Gentlemen,” Ainsley said, “send word to The Briar once you decide to erect a new barn. I’m sure we can spare a few bodies to assist.”
“Thank you, sir,” Samuel said. “You have been most helpful.”
Before the brothers turned away Ainsley saw a smile curl the edges of Samuel’s mouth as he bowed his head. There was a mischievousness to it that drew all Ainsley’s blood to his feet.
“Peter.” Aunt Louisa beckoned him from behind, already settled in the seat of the carriage. “Peter!”
Ainsley ignored her and watched as Samuel finally released Ivy’s arm so she could climb into the carriage. Contrasted by the girl’s usually pale tone, her skin burned red where he brother had grabbed her so forcefully.
Chapter 26
Mine still at home doth dwell
In its first liberty.
Mr. Fitzpatrick’s house was near the centre of the village. His door was one of seven that adorned the same low-rise, orange brick building, with a single window between the doors for each separate dwelling. A solitary step led to each tenement from the cobblestone street. Ainsley knocked with purpose and looked farther down the lane while he waited. At the crossroads, carts wheeled by and pedestrians hurriedly crossed the street. But where Ainsley stood the birds sang a calming tune while the wind rustled the leaves in the trees at the back of the property.
The door groaned as it opened and a slight, older woman appeared. “Yes?”
“Ma’am, my name is Peter Marshall, my friend and I are looking into the circumstances of the barn fire at Summer Hill. I was wondering if I may speak with Mrs. Fitzpatrick?”
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