She was surprised when she saw her mother's roll top tub near the window and her mother still in it. Margaret's face fell, unable to hide her annoyance. How could her mother justify having so long a bath, with Violetta no doubt running the stairs with fresh pails of hot water to keep out the winter chill?
Margaret abandoned her attempts to remain quiet. “Mother, it is well past—”
She stopped. There was something about the way her mother’s head slumped to the side, so close to the water.
“Mother?”
Suddenly Margaret found it hard to breath, a lump grew in her throat cutting off air and leaving her frozen. Her legs grew weak as she stepped further into the room, unable to take her eyes from the oddly positioned form in the bathtub.
Margaret gurgled slightly, choking on the tightness when she saw her mother, her face half submerged, her eyes fixated forward. Her eyes just above the waterline, Lady Charlotte Marshall stared blankly and Margaret knew nothing remained behind those eyes. The thin fabric of her mother’s shift floated, moving without a clear direction as the current of the water swirled, disturbed moments earlier.
A panicked scream escaped her lips and Margaret backed away colliding with the fireplace mantle behind her. In a panic she began pawing at the wall looking for her exit. A mirror slipped from its nails and crashed to the floor which sent another scream into the night. Tears came then streaming steadily as the cries escaped her lips. She needed to leave. She was desperate to get away and yet she stared unblinkingly at the body in the bath.
Her mother had drowned.
Chapter 19
While I speak to ye,
The jaw is falling,
Ainsley had fallen asleep on the top of his bed clothes, neither attempting to get under the covers or remove the myriad of medical texts that surrounded him. After he left Margaret he had gone to his room, and pulled all of the literature he had on addiction from his shelves. It was not long however before sleep overcame him and he drifted off.
It was Margaret's scream that startled him awake. He tore from his room and ran down the hall toward the sound of her voice, first the screams and then the sobs. He found her backing out of their mother's rooms and into the hallway, hand over her mouth. She only turned away when Ainsley touched her and it was then that she buried her face into his chest. He hugged her close, looking over her head to see into the room.
He inched forward but Margaret pulled him back.
“Don’t,” she said in a near whisper. “Don’t.”
Disobeying her, he pryed himself away and slipped into the room. Doubt plagued him with each step but he forged on, steeling himself for whatever awaited him in his mother’s room.
“Oh my god!”
Once at the threshold he ran for their mother, dead and nearly blue. The house was fully aroused with Daniel and Lord Marshall arriving at the door as Ainsley pulled his mother from the chilled water. Her body kept slipping from his hands as he tried to locate her pulse.
“Daniel, help me!” he yelled, unable to pull her body from the water.
Daniel ran in but hesitated, unsure how to assist him.
“Grab her arm!”
Daniel nodded and together they were able to pull her from the deep water. The shifting of her body and the movement of the Daniel and Peter sent waves of water over the edge of the tub and onto the rug and wooden floor.
“Someone call for a doctor!”
Ainsley looked up, startled at the sound of Julia’s voice and saw her at the door, her standard maid’s attire ghost white against the darkness of the sitting room. Lord Marshall nodded to Billis and the butler took off into the darkness with Julia close at his heels.
Lord Marshall clung to Margaret's shoulders as she leaned into him. Her cries had subsided while she looked on with only one emotion in her eyes. Hope.
With his mother propped up over the side of the tub, Ainsley pressed on her back. “Clear her airways,” he ordered.
Clumsily, Daniel pulled the soaked strands of hair from her face and bent over to look into her mouth.
“Is there air coming out?” Ainsley asked, trying desperately to remain calm.
When Daniel shook his head Ainsley pushed harder using the edge of the tub and the force of his pressure in the hopes that the water would come out.
“Peter, stop that!” Lord Marshall cried from the farthest corner of the room. His voice lacked the harsh dominance he so often displayed.
“Father, please!” Ainsley growled against the physicality of his work. “I know what I am doing.”
Lord Marshall pulled in air, no doubt trying to calm his own panic at the sight of his wife at death's door.
“Now?” Ainsley asked Daniel, who again looked for signs of life.
Again Daniel shook his head.
“Damn it!” Ainsley did not stop. He pressed and pressed remembering precisely how he had seen the act depicted in a medical journal. The pressure should force the water out but as each moment passed Ainsley's strength weakened. His mother was limp and cold to the touch, dead and most likely had been for some time. He grew weak with each series of thrusts but he continued, hopeful for a better outcome each time.
“Peter.” He felt a hand on his back and looked up to see his father crouching over him. “You have been doing this for thirty minutes.”
Had it been so long?
“Let her go,” his father said quietly.
Ainsley shook his head. “No,” he said, choking slightly, “no, I can't.”
Lord Marshall looked to his dead wife, swallowed hard before looking back to his son. “You have to.”
Ainsley fell back into the pool of cold water that surrounded them on the floor, exhaustion engulfing him. He ran his hand over his face and then put both hands up and began crying. There was no chance of saving her, and there never had been. If it weren't the alcohol it would have been the drugs or some disease given to her by her lover— Ainsley's face went pale at the thought if it. He pulled his hands away from his face and he looked to the body of his mother. Even in the dim light he could see red marks forming on her neck, those he recognized from Daniel's outburst, but there were also marks on her shoulders.
“What is it, Peter?” Margaret asked.
“Call Scotland Yard,” he said, a sneer forming on his lips.
“Whatever for?” Daniel asked.
“Do it!”
Ainsley began to shiver, the cold water that had seeped into his clothing began to take its toll and he was forced to leave the room. “No one touches her,” he ordered, pointing a finger at his brother and father before leaving. Margaret pulled herself from her father's arms and followed him down the hall.
“Peter, what could the Inspectors possibly do for her now?” Margaret asked as she practically chased him to his room.
Ainsley turned at his door, intending to bar her entry. He was in no mood to answer her unrelenting questions. Not only had he just found his mother dead but he was unable to save her. He pounded a fist into the door jam and turned. “Margaret!” He stopped, suddenly ashamed at his misplaced anger. She stood just a few paces away, a blanket tightly wrapped around her shoulders and she too seemed to shiver against the cold night air. Suddenly he remembered, she had just lost her mother as well.
He glanced down the hall and watched servants lighting the gas lamps in preparation for the soon arriving constables. Their father must still be in the room with Daniel because he saw neither of them.
Ainsley cocked his head back inviting Margaret in and closed the door behind them. Margaret headed for the hearth, gingerly placing a log into the dying embers to entice larger flames.
Ainsley began to undress, first releasing his collar and pulling his shirt tails from his trousers. “Don't turn around,” he commanded to Margaret, who kept her gaze on the fire.
Within minutes he was dressed in dry clothes and buttoning a new shirt, leaving the top two buttons undone.
“Something is not right, Margaret,” he
said at last.
Margaret turned and watched as Ainsley struggled to fasten his cufflinks. She walked toward him, reaching as if to help his shaking hands but he turned away. Dejected, she took a seat on the edge of his bed and watched him looking out his window.
“You are overwrought,” she said at last. “She must have fallen asleep and drowned.”
Ainsley shook his head. “No,” he said with vehemence. “Did you see the marks on her shoulders?”
“Peter, what are you talking about?”
“There are marks on her shoulders,” he said. “Someone held her under.”
Margaret started to laugh but stopped herself suddenly.
Ainsley sneered again, glaring at her with little patience. “Laugh all you want,” he said. “I know what I saw. Have you forgotten what I do for a living?”
“You made those marks yourself trying to pull her from the water. You and Daniel,” Margaret explained. She walked toward him cautiously. “Perhaps what you do for a living has changed your world into a very dark place.”
The chatter down the hall grew louder and Ainsley knew the detectives must have arrived. He went for the door, stopping before he reached it and looked to Margaret. “The world is a dark place Margaret, and no amount of money can cocoon you from it.”
Ainsley was pleased to see Inspector Simms but not so pleased to see Inspector Wright when he reentered his mother's room. His mother's body remained in the white tub, repositioned as they had found her. Her white night shift acted as a shroud, billowing beneath the water's hidden currents created by Ainsley’s attempts to save her. All the lamps in the room had been lit and Ainsley could see the marks on his mother's shoulders more clearly than he had before.
“Why was I taken from bed so suddenly?” Inspector Wright demanded as he stood over Lady Marshall's body. Hands in his pockets he surveyed her in a way that made Ainsley uncomfortable.
“Huh?” Wright looked directly at Ainsley. “Your idea was it?”
Ainsley shifted his gaze to his father who pursed his lips and shrugged. He turned away. “If you need me gentlemen, you will find me in my study,” he said in a steady voice. His brother Daniel followed their father out of the room, leaving Ainsley there to deal with the detectives. Perhaps it was only fair since he had been the one to demand they be summoned.
“Looks like she drowned,” Wright said, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb.
“I believe she had help,” Ainsley said, trying hard not to look to the body.
“To drown?” Wright chuckled. “What did you say she was involved in, Simms? Opium was it? Laudanum?” Wright shrugged. “Under the influence. Fell asleep. That's it.”
Ainsley was across the room in two steps, grabbing Wright's collar and steering him back toward the wall. The detective's back hit the door jam with a marked thud. Ainsley got in one square punch before he was prevented from delivering another when Simms pushed himself between them grabbing Ainsley’s shoulders to hold him at bay.
Wright doubled over, clutching his face. Ainsley saw the detective's hands ball into fists and struggled against Simms' tightening grasp. In the scuffle two other constables came into the room and waited to see if they needed to help restrain Wright. The wounded officer, in pride and person, looked to the two constables and Simms before letting his fists fall.
“Contain yourself, Mr. Marshall, or I shall have to find a way to contain you,” Wright said, laughing slightly. He pulled his hand away from his mouth and rubbed the smear of blood from his lip into his fingertips.
“It's not worth it,” Simms whispered to Ainsley.
Ainsley shrugged Simms' grasp from his shoulders and adjusted his collar without taking his gaze from Inspector Wright.
Simms gestured to the two uniformed constables. “Remove the body,” he said, gesturing to Ainsley's mother. “Respectfully.” They nodded and turned to retrieve a stretcher. “Wright, wait for me outside.”
Wright's mouth curled into a smile, the blood now drying at the corner. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and dipped the corner into the tub before placing it to his wound. Ainsley stepped forward as if to hit him again but Simms pulled him back.
With Wright gone, Simms turned to Ainsley. “You, my friend, have a temper.”
“You have no heart,” Ainsley answered. He slipped onto the edge of his mother's bed, using the post to prop himself up. He watched as the two constables returned and together with Simms they pulled Lady Marshall's body from the water and placed it on a wooden stretcher. They covered her with a sheet. With one man on each end, they carried her down to the waiting carriage.
“What did you see when you first entered the room?” Simms asked.
“She was submersed in the water. Her face completely under.”
“And?”
“I tried to revive her—”
“How?”
“A technique I learned in school. You apply quick pressure to the back to force air in and out of the lungs.”
“Like with a new born baby who doesn't breathe?”
“Yes,” Ainsley answered. “It didn't work.” The outcome was obvious and Ainsley felt awkward for having pointed it out. He found himself tapping his leg nervously with an open palm and forced himself to stop.
“When you first arrived, had anyone else been in this room?”
“Just Margaret. She found her.” Suddenly Ainsley felt ashamed of his earlier treatment of her. They had both lost a parent and Ainsley had treated her like a nuisance. He closed his eyes in an attempt to block out the memory.
“You will send her to my hospital,” Ainsley said. In no way was he asking.
“If you like.” Simms eyed Ainsley, as if questioning his reasons for such a request.
“Yes.”
“You can not be thinking of examining her yourself,” Simms said, lowering his notepad.
“Who better?” Ainsley asked. He ran his hand through his hair, and shrugged when Simms' penetrating gaze did not relent. “I could not trust her to another.”
“Last night was your brother's engagement ball, correct?”
Ainsley nodded.
“Was she behaving peculiarly last evening? Did she do anything out of the ordinary?”
Ainsley scrambled to find the words that could describe the events. Realizing there was no better way, Ainsley let out a deep exhale. “She was discovered trespassing in Evelyn's rooms,” he said with resignation. He began to relay the tale beginning with his mother's uncertainty with stairs and ending with her slight against the Weatherall Family. “We left shortly after that.”
“Did she steal anything?”
Ainsley found his jaw clenching as soon as the words were said. “What sort of question is that?”
“A natural one given her proclivity for certain substances,” Simms said without missing a beat. He had obviously dealt with many irate individuals and was used to asking questions most would never dare to ask.
“We are not your typical east end family, Inspector Simms. We do not pick pockets, provide favours for payment or filch from our friends. Whatever recreational activities my mother participated in I am sure she had enough funds to support it.” Ainsley began to pace the room, steering clear of the bath but hearing the water under his shoes as he walked over the rug. He shook his head in disbelief, not at Simms' line of questioning so much as the fact that Ainsley was required to answer them at all.
“I am not asking out of mere curiosity,” Simms said after a long pause, “you must believe that.”
Ainsley nodded begrudgingly. “You want to know if my father had reason to cut short her allowance?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
“I should hate to ask myself,” Simms explained. “A gentleman like your father might find such a question impertinent.”
Ainsley nodded, allowing his gaze to wander. He knew what Simms said was true. If they were going to find out the truth to any of this, it was Ainsley who needed to do the sleuthing.
; Chapter 20
The red cheek paling,
The strong limbs failing;
Ainsley chewed on his thumbnail with his other arm crossed over his chest. Leaning against the counter of autopsy tools he looked over the body of his mother which was covered in a sheet of pure white. His hands shook slightly and his mind fluttered from one subject to the next never really gaining a grasp on any one thought. He had been dreading this day from the moment he heard she was missing and this time he knew it was not a case of mistaken identity. She was there beneath a thin layer of linen laid out like all the criminals and cadavers he had examined before.
Ainsley let out a long breath, steeling himself against the task before him. With one motion he pulled back the sheet, intending to get right to work but he stopped. He found himself looking at her face, tracing her jaw line, counting each freckle before stroking the hair away from her face. Another breath and he forced himself to look away, to concentrate instead on the body and what it could reveal to him. He used the white cloth to hide her face and decided to look at her as just another cadaver. Nothing more.
Scalpel in hand he hovered over her torso, poised and ready, but his hand shook. The more he tried to steady it the more it jumped. Breathing forcibly, Ainsley pressed his lips together and lowered the blade to her pale skin but stopped short of cutting into it. After a moment, he turned, throwing the knife to the counter behind him. Pounding his fists on the table, Ainsley cried out in frustration. “God damn it!”
He trusted no other with the task and yet he was unable to perform the act himself. Desperation drove him to cover her up and charge out of the morgue and into the main part of the hospital. He found Jonas bent over a patient in one of the charity wards.
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