Innocent Bystander

by C. A. Asbrey

  He stood and examined the plug. It was rubber, with a tiny metal screw head set into a dimple on the top, and a chain which dangled from inside the plug into the drain. It was a most unusual arrangement. Most plumbed in baths he’d seen had the chain attached to the bath on top of the plug. Everything he’d researched on electricity told him the water could use the inset screw to complete a circuit to the ground but a flailing body would probably never be able to actually touch it and get a telltale burn. It was either fiendishly clever, or an innocent style choice—and Nat silently resolved to ask Abigail about the European styles of plugs in these china baths Bartholemew seemed to love so much.

  The jar was exactly the same as the other one, except it was intact. Nat took out his metal lock pick and held it near the knob of the jar as a safety check. There were no sparks, which meant there was no static stored in the jar—not surprising, considering Bartholemew was cooling his heels in jail, so Nat carefully removed the ceramic lid.

  The gold knob also had a wand with a chain attached dangling down inside. It was basically exactly the same as its companion except that it contained what the same kind of crystals they had taken to the pharmacist. Very clever. Use it to contain the Epsom Salts to be thrown into the bath water as an innocent looking way to soak away aches and pains. Any remaining in the jar would also make a solution of magnesium sulfate when a little water was added—perfect for conductive fluid in a Leyden jar and as well as increasing the conductivity of the bath water. No wonder Nat had noted that expression of malevolence when Bartholemew had bought his Epsom Salts. It was part of the murder weapon, after all.

  All in something the victim saw every day—something so familiar it would be completely overlooked, if it was noticed at all. The jar could be charged quickly, according to the research Nat had done. It would discharge even faster.

  He sighed and allowed his mind to wander to Abigail, wondering how she had got on with her research on a body in such a bath when electricity was introduced. She must have gotten something, because she’d been away all damned day. It was beginning to look like the mystery behind the demise of Bartholemew’s many wives was coming to a close.

  The rattle of the key in the lock shook Nat out of his contemplation. The door opened, and the swish of clothing preceded the clatter of the door closing once more. He ghosted out of the bathroom and peered around the landing wall. Madeleine removed her outer clothes and hung them on the pegs just behind the door. The object she held rustled. She thrust her hand inside and pulled out a large sandwich before wandering into the nearby parlor.

  Nat grinned. It figured that a woman with a kitchen like that and no servants had to bring in food. So that’s where she’d gone. Very few women would eat alone in a restaurant in the evening. It might be seen as inviting male company. A purchased sandwich consumed in private was the answer—if she lacked the skills to so much as make one.

  He was no more than a shadow slinking down the stairs when his heart leaped into his mouth in shock. It was the rattle of keys outside the front door. It took a split second to assess which way to go. He was closer to the bottom than the top, so he darted downstairs and sprinted for the laboratory just off the hallway.

  He only just made it and stood panting just inside as the front door swung open. Footsteps sounded on the tiled hall and a male voice called out as the keys clattered on the table. “Who is it? Who’s here?”

  Nat knew that voice. It was Bartholemew. How had he got out of jail? His hand crept down to his gun but he paused at the female reply ringing out from Madeleine.

  “David? What on earth is going on? Where have you been?”

  “Me! Where the hell have you been, woman? You disappeared on me. I thought you’d deserted me and gone home to your mother.”

  “Gone home? I’ve had the most terrible experience of my life. First of all, I was kidnapped by the most horrible men. I was terrified. When I eventually got to the police station, they locked me up.” Her voice rose an octave. “Me!” It escalated even higher. “Me? Locked up in jail with common thieves and fallen women. I was the victim.” It didn’t seem possible, but the screech hiked even further. “Me—can you believe they did that to me?” Her voice was almost falsetto by now. “Madeleine MacKay Bartholemew in jail. It was horrible.”

  “Jail? I was in jail, too,” answered Bartholemew.

  “And you deserve to be,” Madeleine sobbed. “I got the police to come around here to confirm my address and you denied all knowledge of me. They told me.”

  There was a dull thud which Nat was pretty sure meant Bartholemew was being thumped with something.

  “How could you?” she wailed. “You left me in there to rot.”

  “I didn’t tell anyone anything of the sort,” Bartholemew snapped. “What the hell did you hit me with? What was in that sandwich? It stinks and it’s all over my jacket.”

  “Sardine paste, and it serves you right. You don’t even care I was kidnapped.”

  “What do you mean you were kidnapped? Women don’t just get kidnapped,” Bartholemew growled as he strode across the hall, leaving his wife in his wake. Nat heard him come closer and he had no option but to dart under the table. There was a good chance he wouldn’t be noticed in the poor light. Bartholemew shouted over his shoulder as he walked into the room. “You ran away. Tell the truth.”

  “They said they were going to demand money from you. Didn’t anyone contact you?”

  “No, of course not. Who were you with? Who is he? Did he dump you and leave you to come scuttling home in disgrace?”

  Madeleine stamped her foot. “Two men grabbed me and carried me off into the wilds. I was traumatized. One of them looked like a swamp monster. It was the most distressing thing that ever happened to me in my life—until I was rescued. That’s a whole other story.”

  “Who is he and why have you come running back with your tail between your legs? I don’t want his sloppy seconds.”

  “The only person being dumped around here is you. I’m leaving you, Robert.”

  Nat froze under the long table as Bartholemew’s feet padded about in front of him as he picked up something from the table. Nat heaved a sigh of relief at the sight of the legs receding back out into the hallway.

  Bartholemew’s tone softened, but the change was too fast for Nat to buy it. “Kidnapped? Huh, I really thought you’d run away. I expected you to be on a train back to your mother. You’ve got to admit our marriage didn’t exactly get off on the right foot.”

  “The right foot? You think I care about any of that now? I was petrified, and I thought I’d never get out of jail. It’s all been too much for me. I’m leaving you, David. I’ve already bought my ticket back home. This has been a disaster from start to finish. It’s over.”

  There was a pause, during which Nat took the opportunity to scuttle along under the long table toward the three-panel screen in front of the window. He halted at the abrupt change of tone of the conversation. Bartholemew had turned on the charm.

  “Oh, my love. It’s been a terrible time for you. I thought you’d left me, and I honestly was thrown in jail. They thought I was Nat Quinn. Can you believe that? I only got out when some Pinkerton turned up from Denver to identify him. I’ve been inside for days.”

  “Nat Quinn?” Madeleine positively snorted. “You? But he’s supposed to be really handso—” She clammed up.

  “Yes.” The indignation dripped from Bartholemew’s voice. “Why not me?”

  Her tone was suddenly more measured. “Well, you’re not—” she groped for the right words, “—the same coloring. Yes. That’s it. He’s got darker hair.”

  There was a disconcerting silence before Bartholemew spoke once more with a cold charm. Nat noted that if Madeleine left, her trust fund went with her. “My darling. I love you with all my heart, and I’ll die if you leave me. Give me one more chance.” His voice caught with a poignancy Nat wasn’t buying. It was very hard to deceive someone who had spent a lifetime lying and cheatin
g until it was honed to a fine art.

  “Maddie, you are the most beautiful woman who ever walked God’s good earth. Let me drink deep one last time. Give me a memory to hold me for a lifetime devoid of the only thing my heart beats for.”

  Nat felt a lump of bile rise and fought off the involuntary sneer curling his lip. Surely, she could hear the ring of falsehood in that self-serving lie?

  “Please, Maddie. You’re all I thought of. Every waking moment I worried about you. You’re my sun, moon and stars. I’ve just got out of jail and I was in a bad mood. I’m sorry. Can we start over? Now that I’m here and close to you, I can hardly keep my hands off you.” The voice lowered as the seduction continued. “Please, don’t let us part like this. Give me one more night to treat you like the goddess you are. Let me worship at your feet, and I’ll give you a divorce with no scandal and no publicity. As far as anyone need ever know, you never married. I’ll let you get on with your life and I’ll do what I can to mend my broken heart.” His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “I’m just out of jail, Maddie. I’m a desperate man.”

  Nat couldn’t help but wonder whether Abi would shoot him in the foot or kick him in the groin for such poorly delivered bullshit, but a cold fear gripped him and pushed casual musings aside. Was Bartholemew trying to get her upstairs? Was he trying to get her in the bath? What if he was just going to blast her and pretend she simply played with his equipment and had an accident? Nat couldn’t let that any of that happen.

  The long period of silence ate at him and his heart chilled. What the hell was going on, and what had Bartholemew taken from the table? Was Nat hiding like a coward while a murder took place a few yards away?

  He turned and crawled back toward the door so he could see what was going on. It didn’t take long before he wished he hadn’t.

  They were clenched in a long, passionate kiss, lit only from the glow of the lamps from the nearby parlor. His hands slipped down her back, settling around her tiny waist for a moment before descending to her bustle. Madeleine had clearly fallen hook, line, and sinker for the naked manipulation—but then, it did appeal to her vanity.

  “Take that off,” Bartholemew purred. “Show me the beauty of your body. Those magnificent breasts. I must see them one more time. It’s only right. I am your husband.”

  Fine, maybe Nat should hang around for a few minutes—just to be sure.

  Madeleine giggled as he nuzzled into her neck. “Oh, you! You know I can’t resist it when you do that.”

  “Good. I’ll do it some more.” Bartholemew lifted her with ease and carried her into the parlor. They sank down in the sofa, beyond Nat’s field of vision.

  A high pitched shriek cut through the air. “Ooh, ooh, no. Don’t do that!”

  Nat’s eyes widened in alarm. Surely, he wasn’t going to kill her here and now? He swung out from under the table and darted over to the door of the parlor, gun drawn. A discarded petticoat hit him full in the face and he stepped back into the shadows.

  Those noises were not distress.

  The light from the grate illuminated the undressing, writhing bodies entwined on the rug. Nat arched his brows and slipped quietly back into the laboratory. Bartholemew was clearly too busy to think of killing her right now. Best to lay low again. He slunk back to the three-paneled screen in front of the window and resolved to sit out the lascivious grunts and groans emanating from the parlor. It was none of his business if they decided to have a farewell interlude. They were married, after all.

  He stood in the gathering darkness listening to the heaving breaths and gasps coming from the next room. They were so loud some of them sounded like they were right beside him. He froze. The sounds continued. He stiffened. That breathing was right beside him.

  Chapter 18

  Nat’s hand slid down to his gun, still sure that he could feel someone breathing on the back of his neck. He moved slowly, the movement almost imperceptible in the gathering darkness behind the screen. A delicate hand reached out and grabbed him as the figure moved out of the deep shadow and into the moonlight streaming through the window.

  “Put that thing away, Mr. Quinn. It’s me,” hissed a female in a Scottish accent.

  “Abi?” Nat whispered.

  “Who were you expecting? Of course it’s me. I saw Bartholemew coming in, so I sneaked in the back way in case he tried to kill Maddie. What are you doing here?”

  “I saw Maddie go out so I thought I’d get another look at the jars and the bath. Then they came in, one after the other.” Nat holstered his weapon. “I checked, and she’s fine for now. They’re kinda—well, busy.”

  He heard her chuckle in amusement. “I know what they’re doing, Mr. Quinn. I’m not an idiot.”

  The syncopated groans from the couple in the parlor just seemed to get noisier, so Nat took the opportunity to explain what had gone on before she arrived. “He took something from the table in here. It has to be some kind of scientific equipment. I’m going to sneak out there again to see what it is.”

  “Be careful.”

  “Nah,” he muttered, “I’m gonna stamp around and light all the lamps. Of course I’ll be careful, woman.”

  “Don’t call me ‘woman’.”

  “What do you want me to call you? You’re a woman, aren’t you?”

  “A leth-amadan.” Abigail rolled her eyes. “Fine go on.” The sound of a spiraling arousal echoing around the house grew more urgent. The humor fell from Abigail’s face and her voice tightened with embarrassment. “I’ll stay here.”

  A surreptitious dimple formed under Nat’s beard. He might still be disguised as an old man, but he moved like a panther as he crept out into the hallway once more. He pressed into the shadows of the ornate curved staircase and glanced around. There was nothing on the table in the center, and just some keys and gloves on the side table by the front door. His gaze swept further, and his heart lurched at the sight of the tray of interconnected glass bottles on one of the stairs. He now knew exactly what they were from the books he’d been reading. There was a block of Grove Cells—batteries—and wiring them together meant their power was increased. There were twenty-five of them, and he now knew that meant they had a combined kick of over forty-seven volts. Leaving them on the stairs could only mean he intended to take them upstairs to charge something. Nat was pretty sure he knew what that something was.

  The thought of hiding it crossed his mind, but he realized that there were other ways to charge a Leyden jar, so a spot of sabotage might buy more time. He reached through the banisters and grabbed at random wires, tugging them out, breaking the circuit and robbing the unit of its power. A bubble of expanding light caught the corner of his eye and jolted him back to the realization that the grunts and gasps had stopped. A pair of naked shoulders sat together on a couch, their backs to the hallway, facing a roaring fire. Their moment of afterglow was a good enough opportunity to make a break for cover once more. Nat dropped to the floor and headed back to the laboratory on his hands and knees, into the shelter of the screen by the window.

  He squeezed in, trying to take his place beside Abigail once more, but he felt the unmistakable hard angular body of a male instead.

  “Quit shovin’, Nat. You’ll have this thing over.”

  “Jake? What are you doing here?”

  “What do you think I’m doing here? I saw Bartholemew come in, followed by Abi. I thought you needed some back up. Abi pulled me in here when I came out of the kitchen.”

  “Shh. They’ll hear us,” hissed Abigail.

  “No wonder.” Nat sighed. “This is ridiculous. Weren’t there any kids in the street you could have brought in, too? Maybe a stray dog or a damned horse to clatter around the kitchen?”

  “Shh!”

  “So what’s the plan?” asked Jake in low tones.

  “We stop him from murdering Maddie,” Abigail whispered.

  “Sure, but we want to get him, too? Otherwise, he’ll just do it again,” Nat murmured. “Do we try to catch him
in the act?”

  “Shh—”

  Both men turned and glowered through the moonlight at Abigail, the persistent husher, but fell into mute silence to listen to the couple in the parlor. The heat of their reunion was clearly cooling when conversation was all they had.

  “Oooh, David. It feels so good to be safe again. It’s been terrible. I was so afraid.”

  “So who kidnapped you for heaven’s sake?”

  “Terrible men, for the first four days. They tied me up and everything.” Madeleine paused. “Then I was rescued by a man called Jake.” Her voice became wistful. “He was like nobody else I’ve ever met in my life.”

  Bartholemew’s voice took on a sharp edge. “This Jake? Did he take you to the police station?”

  “No. It’s complicated.”

  “Complicated. My wife disappears and tells me that she’s been with a man like no other? It sounds pretty simple to me.”

  “David. I was kidnapped. Two men took me by force. What was I supposed to do?”

  “I don’t know, Maddie. Tell me. What did you do?” Bartholemew growled.

  “I behaved like any lady would.” She sniffed. “I was overwhelmed with fear until I met Jake. I cried and fought, but it was useless. Then Jake shot my abductors and helped me.”

  “Jake who?” Bartholemew’s voice sharpened to a quick slash of invective, but Madeleine didn’t seem to notice as she returned to her favorite subject—herself and anything she wanted.

  “Just Jake. That’s all I know. He was wonderful. Brave, handsome, and strong, but so stubborn. I knew he found me very attractive, but I kept him at arm’s length. I made him listen and learn how real gentlemen behave. He was so wild and raw—like a stallion. He insisted on doing what he wanted to do. Quite impossible, but very masterful.” The lightness and wonder dropped from her voice as she returned to her husband and spoke in blank tones. “You’re so much easier to get along with.”