Thursday's Child (Out of Time #5)

by Monique Martin

  “James will not be pleased if he finds me speaking with you,” Rose said.

  “I know,” Elizabeth admitted. “And, yet you're here anyway.”

  Rose shifted uncomfortably.

  “You're curious,” Elizabeth guessed.

  “No,” Rose lied. She was a terrible liar. “I thought you were going to apologize for your husband's behavior. I thought it polite to give you the opportunity.”

  “I am sorry,” Elizabeth said. And she was, but there was something far greater at stake here. “For the pain it's caused you. If we could have done this without that, we would have.”

  Rose's eyes flared with irritation. “And just what are you doing?”

  “Finding the truth.”

  Elizabeth could see the anger and injury in her eyes, but there was something else there as well. Doubt. “I cannot imagine why you would want to hurt my family,” Rose said as she started to turn away.

  “Don’t you want to know the truth?” Elizabeth asked. A silence hung in the air and Rose took another step away. Elizabeth nearly started after her, but held back. “About the girl in the garden.”

  Rose stopped.

  “I know you saw her,” Elizabeth said. “I've seen her too. A lost spirit.”

  Rose kept her back turned. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Aren't there enough lies already?” When Rose still wouldn't turn, Elizabeth took a step closer. “Her name is Mary. And she needs your help.”

  Rose turned and Elizabeth could see her eyes glistening in the moonlight. She felt it. She felt something.

  “Mary,” Elizabeth said then stopped to swallow down the lump that was forming in her throat. “Mary belongs at River Run.”

  Rose shook her head, but it was a weak attempt to deny something she seemed to have sensed herself.

  “Elijah told me what your husband said. That was cruel and unjust. James is a good man.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “I believe you,” Elizabeth said. “I believe he is. That you are both good people. The kind who would never knowingly hurt a child.”

  “Of course not!”

  “Or deny aid to one in need. I don't know who fathered Mary,” Elizabeth continued. Rose's eyes flashed with anger and warning, but Elizabeth pushed on. “But I do know that she is lost and afraid, and we're running out of time to help her.”

  Rose closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them, and shook her head in defeat. “What can we possibly do to help a dead child? She is beyond our comfort now.”

  “Do you believe in an afterlife?” Elizabeth asked, already knowing the answer. “Would you deny that to Mary? She's caught in between our world and the next and if she cannot find peace here, she will not find it anywhere. Ever.”

  Rose let out a shuddering breath and then squared her shoulders. “My husband did not have an affair.”

  “Maybe she's Eli's?”

  Rose sighed and shook her head. “Elijah had an accident when he was younger. He cannot father children.”

  Elizabeth's heart sank. Elizabeth suddenly realized why Rose's father had insisted she marry James and not Eli — heirs. If Eli couldn't be the father, that left only James. “I'm sorry.”

  Rose shook her head again. “No, there is some mistake. I am sorry for the child. Truly I am, but there is nothing I can do.”

  Elizabeth felt hope slipping further away. “Rose, please? I know it's hard to accept—”

  Rose clasped her hands in front of her. “You are mistaken.” Her newfound resolve shook for a moment before she regained it. “And I would appreciate it if you would leave my family alone.”

  Elizabeth was desperate for something, anything to change her mind, but Rose couldn't or wouldn't see the truth. “What if she's your child? Your flesh and blood?”

  “I have one child—”

  “And what if it's Mary?” Elizabeth said, pressing on, “and not Louisa—”

  “You think I don't know my own child?” Rose said, growing angry now.

  “Please,” Elizabeth said. “If you'll just hear me out.”

  “I think I've heard quite enough. Good night, Mrs. Cross.” And with that Rose walked back to the town hall, leaving Elizabeth alone in the garden.

  ~~~

  Elizabeth stood at the open window of their upstairs bedroom hoping it might offer a cooling breeze. Hours ago, she'd traded her nightgown for the thin cotton of her chemise. If modesty hadn't forced her to wear something, she would have happily stood outside under the moon, naked, arms out, waiting for a wind to come up off the river. As it was, she stood by their window, looking out at the garden below. Through the darkness all she could see were vague shapes, blankets of flowers devoid of color and trees with long thin arms reaching out for things she could not see.

  Sleep had been impossible. She'd tried for a few hours, before giving up and coming to stare at the night. In each shadow she tried to see Mary, hoped for one more glimpse. But all she saw was the dark. It might be too late, she thought. They might be too late. It was a sickening feeling, to know they might have failed her, that a poor innocent child would be condemned because they hadn't acted soon enough, because they hadn't done…something.

  She let out a sigh and looked up at the man in the moon. He was as inscrutable as ever, keeping counsel to himself.

  The bed creaked and she heard Simon's footsteps as he came up behind her. His fingers swept her hair away from her shoulder and he bent down and dropped a kiss on her bare skin. She could feel the heat coming off his body. He always ran hot.

  Despite the heat of the night, she gently leaned back into his bare chest. He'd long given up on his nightshirt and settled for sleeping in a pair of drawers and she could feel the warmth of his skin.

  He put his left arm around her waist and pulled her back against his body. As they'd undressed that night after the ball, she'd seen just how badly he'd been injured in the fight the night before. Dark purple bruises bloomed on his chest and arms. She changed the dressing on his forearm, trying not to let her pain at the sight of the wound show.

  He'd done all of this for her, for Mary, and what did they have to show for it? Dr. Walker was as cocky and free to threaten them as ever. The Harpers wouldn't speak to them. And Mary was nowhere to be seen.

  It all felt on the verge of hopeless.

  Elizabeth laid her head back against Simon's chest. He kissed the top of her head and tightened his grip around her waist. She closed her eyes and listened to the sound of his heart beating. Strong. Steady. Sure.

  But tonight there were no promises spoken. No assurances given. No faith reaffirmed. Tonight, there was only the quiet and the darkness and the knowledge that she was not alone.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The following day was an exercise in patience, which Elizabeth failed. Repeatedly. Like a hummingbird trapped in a cage, she fussed around Cypress Hill until even the servants asked her to stop.

  Even Simon had sought refuge from her restlessness. In the afternoon, he'd taken a short walk to the rear of the property to the bluffs above the river. The view of the mighty river, powerful and relentless was both beautiful and humbling.

  In his mind, he went over everything again. Everything they'd done so far, everything they'd seen, looking for an answer. Something they'd forgotten, some stone unturned. But there was nothing. They were at the mercy of others. That would have been maddening enough, if he hadn't also been haunted by Old Nan's vision of their future.

  If he could not save this child, would he be able to save his own?

  Just as he started to fall into that particular well of despair, he heard Elizabeth call out for him.

  “Simon!” She hurried toward him waving a piece of paper in the air.

  He ran toward her. “What is it? What's wrong?”

  “A note from Catherine at the orphanage. One of the children wants to speak with me.”

  “Whatever about?” Simon asked as they started back toward the house.

  “I'm not sur
e,” Elizabeth said. “But I have a feeling it has to do with Mary.”

  ~~~

  The girl's dormitory was nearly empty when they arrived. Most of the children were outside playing, enjoying the last remnants of a beautiful Spring day. Only two girls remained inside. One lay curled up in a bed at the far end of the room and the other sat nearby watching her.

  “Alison?” Elizabeth said.

  The girl turned toward her. With one last look at Mellie in the nearby bed, she came down the long aisle to meet them. Alison's small face was creased with worry. Poor little thing, Elizabeth thought. She'd taken so much onto her shoulders.

  Alison looked anxiously at Catherine and then to Elizabeth.

  “Hello,” Elizabeth said.

  The girl chewed her lower lip and looked nervously up at Simon.

  “This is my husband,” Elizabeth said. “You can trust him.”

  Alison looked up at him and then nodded. Her forehead wrinkled in concern. “I don't want to get anyone in trouble.”

  “It'll be all right,” Elizabeth said. “Tells us what's wrong.”

  Alison looked over at the little girl in bed. “I know she didn't mean to steal it,” she said and then turned back and quickly added, “she a good girl.”

  Elizabeth knelt down and took her by the shoulders. “I'm sure she is. No one will be punished. I promise you.”

  Alison looked to Catherine for confirmation. “It's all right.”

  Alison nodded again and then took Elizabeth's hand and led them over to the sick little girl's bed. Behind them Elizabeth heard Simon ask, “Melanie?”

  “Getting worse by the day, I'm afraid,” Catherine said quietly.

  Elizabeth's heart sank. Hadn't there been enough death here already?

  Alison took them to Melanie's bedside and then carefully pulled down the covers, just enough to reveal a doll clutched in Melanie's arms. Elizabeth gasped softly. It was Jammy. Or a doll that looked exactly like Louisa's Jamaican doll, the one James had brought back just for her.

  “I wanted to tell you before,” Alison said, “but I didn't want Mellie to get into trouble.”

  The pieces started to fit together. James hadn't just brought back a doll for Louisa, but one for Mary as well.

  “That was Mary's doll,” Elizabeth said.

  Alison nodded and worried her bottom lip. “I knew it was wrong, but Mellie loved it so much.”

  Simon knelt down next to Melanie's bed and gently brushed her hair away from the child's face. She had sores around her mouth and judging from the sheen of sweat a high fever as well.

  “What's wrong with her?” Simon asked.

  “Doctor says it's Malaria,” Catherine said.

  Simon frowned and turned back to the child. He gently lifted her hand from its hold on the doll and briefly examined her hands. She whimpered and he caressed her cheek to sooth her. After a moment, she rolled over, away from the doll. Simon picked it up and stood.

  Elizabeth pulled the covers back up over Melanie and touched her hair. Poor little thing.

  Simon examined the doll and Elizabeth could feel something shift inside him. His body tensed almost imperceptibly, but she knew him too well to miss it. His jaw muscle clenched and unclenched as he then looked down at Alison. He nodded for them all to step away from Melanie's bed so they could speak without waking her.

  Once they were far enough away, Simon knelt down in front of Alison. “You told Elizabeth that you helped Dr. Walker give Mary her medicine?”

  Alison looked nervously to Elizabeth. “It's all right,” she reassured the girl. “Tell him the truth.”

  Alison nodded.

  “You said that you used to give one spoonful of medicine to Mary and another to the doll?”

  Alison nodded again.

  “Do you have any of the medicine left?”

  Alison went over to a small set of drawers to retrieve it. As she did, Elizabeth leaned closer to Simon. “What's going on?”

  Simon's eyes slid toward Alison and he shook his head in a not in front of the child expression.

  Elizabeth looked at the doll's face trying to see what Simon had seen. The cloth around the mouth had been stained, probably from the medicine the girl's had given it. But what had upset him so much?

  Alison returned with a large green bottle and handed it to Simon. It was labeled “Quinine”, which would make sense for Malaria. Simon held out the doll for Elizabeth to take as he examined the bottle.

  “And Doctor Walker told you to make sure this was given with hot tea? Always something hot?”

  “Yes,” Alison said.

  “You haven't been giving this to Melanie, have you?”

  “No,” she said quickly. “Dr. Parish doesn't let me help. Did I do something wrong?”

  “No,” Simon said with a smile. “You did very well, Alison. We're very grateful to you. Catherine, perhaps you can take Alison out with the other children?”

  Catherine frowned, but put her hand on Alison's shoulder.

  Elizabeth knelt down in front her before they left. “Thank you.” She kissed the little's girl cheek and then watched as Catherine began to lead her from the room.

  “And would you send for Dr. Parish?” Simon asked Catherine. “Quickly.”

  Catherine glanced at Melanie and then nodded her understanding.

  Elizabeth waited until the door had shut behind them. Simon took out the bottle's stopper and peered inside. A sinking and sickening feeling welled inside her stomach. “You don't think that's Quinine, do you?”

  “No,” Simon said. “Judging from Melanie's condition, the mouth sores and what look to be the beginning of Mee's lines on her fingernails, I'd say it's arsenic.”

  “Arsenic?” Dear God. Had Dr. Walker poisoned Mary?

  “Dr. Parish will have to perform tests, but,” he said with a glower toward Melanie's bed. “The symptoms of malaria and arsenic poisoning are remarkably similar - vomiting, diarrhea, chills, fever. But those lesions are not.”

  Elizabeth had thought the doctor was evil, but this was a whole new level. Murdering a child. It was so horrible, she couldn't quite process it.

  “Are you sure?”

  Simon nodded. “Fairly certain, yes. I remember reading several books about it — the Medicis, the Borjas and others. There were even rumors Napoleon was poisoned with arsenic.”

  Simon touched the inside of the open bottle and then brought his finger to his mouth.

  Elizabeth gasped and nearly reached out to stop him. “Simon!”

  He pulled out his handkerchief and spit into it. “Definitely not quinine. That has a strong bitter taste.”

  “So you taste the poison?” And she was the reckless one.

  “That much won't harm me.”

  Elizabeth stuffed her heart back into her chest and realized he was right.

  “This is probably cut with chalk,” Simon said, “to make sure the poisoning didn't act too quickly, draw attention. It needed to mimic malaria.”

  “And Melanie,” Elizabeth reasoned aloud. “She's not taking the same medicine, but she didn't need to, did she?”

  Simon pointed to the doll's stained face. “Every time they gave that doll a dose of the medicine, the arsenic soaked into the fabric.”

  Elizabeth nodded.

  “And you don't have to ingest it to suffer the effects,” Simon continued. “It can be inhaled or absorbed through the skin.”

  Elizabeth looked down at the doll in her hand. “So the doll was slowly poisoning her.”

  “Yes. Hopefully, we're not too late to help her.”

  “Why would the doctor poison Mary?”

  Simon took the doll from her. “I don't know. But we're damn well going to find out.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Dr. Parish arrived just a few minutes later. He'd been skeptical of their premise at first, but had to admit that the medicine in the bottle marked quinine was not quinine. Thankfully, he was familiar with the Marsh test to identify arsenic and prom
ised to run it after he'd seen to Melanie. They could only hope they hadn't made their discovery too late.

  Elizabeth gripped the doll in her hands as they made the long drive to River Run. She ran over everything in her head asking again and again; what could the doctor possibly have gained from killing Mary? And was she the only one?

  It was dark by the time they arrived. Rose and James' carriage had pulled up to the front of house before them. James was just helping Rose step out of it when Simon pulled their buggy up along side. He quickly got out and helped Elizabeth jump down.

  James waved his groom to remove the carriage and glared at Simon. Rose looked at Elizabeth briefly, then ducked her head.

  “You're not welcome here,” James said as he took Rose's arm and they started up the front steps. “The Crosses will not be staying,” he informed the servant who opened the front door for them.

  “We will be staying,” Simon said as he took the doll from Elizabeth's hand and stood at the bottom of the steps. “Until you tell us the truth about Mary.”

  James blanched. “Where did you get that?”

  Rose looked confused and Elizabeth felt a pang of pity for her. No matter what happened that night, her life would change.

  “Louisa has one just like this, doesn't she?” Simon asked Rose as he took one step and then another.

  “James?” Rose said nervously.

  James glared down at Simon, who met his anger with fury of his own. “This is none of your affair,” James said and started to lead Rose inside the open front door.

  “She was murdered,” Elizabeth said. Rose and James froze mid-step. James turned back, his expression a mixture of confusion and wariness. Elizabeth walked up the stairs to stand next to Simon.

  “What are they talking about, James?” Rose asked.

  James looked down at the doll. “Murdered? That's not possible.”

  His eyes were filled with denial, but Elizabeth could sense a sliver of something more. “Perhaps we should continue this inside?”