Dody McCleland 02 - Antidote to Murder

by Felicity Young

  But perhaps she was jumping ahead of herself on this issue. There was still a lot more territory to explore before taking Pike home to meet her parents.

  They dined on soup, saddle of lamb, and trifle. Fletcher wore his chauffeur’s uniform while he helped Annie wait at table. They had no need for a butler or a footman in their small, unconventional household.

  Pike entertained them with stories of the regimental reviews he’d had the dubious honour of accompanying with piano at various postings in India, the Sudan, and South Africa.

  She would have liked to hear about his war experiences, how he had injured his knee, but dared not ask. She suspected that that part of his life was closed to her and anyone else who had not been there.

  “Buttercup had only been on stage for about five minutes,” Pike went on, “when he shifted his position and ended up falling through the rotting timbers of the bolted trapdoor. The crowd loved it, of course.”

  “I imagine they did,” Dody said, laughing.

  Soon after dessert, Florence surprised them both by jumping to her feet. “It’s been a delightful evening, but I’m afraid I have to go out now.”

  Pike stood.

  “Where on earth are you going at this hour?” Dody asked.

  Florence glanced at Pike then back to Dody. “Oh, you know . . .”

  “Not more plotting, surely?” Dody asked.

  Pike put his hands over his ears. “I hear nothing.”

  “I’m just visiting Daphne; we have a few things to sort out,” Florence said. “It’s all right, Pike; we are not planning anything illegal. But I will be home late and will use my key to get in. Dody, tell the servants not to wait up.”

  And with a slide of burgundy silk, she was gone.

  Pike sat down again. Dody found herself staring at him through the candlelight. The more she got to know Pike, she realised, the more attractive he became.

  “Well?” he asked softly.

  “Well?” Dody repeated. “Shall we take our coffee in the morning room?”

  * * *

  The servants had been sent to bed. Dody and Pike stood in the morning room by the light of the standard lamp. Side by side, arms brushing, they examined with feigned interest the photograph of an elderly relative on the mantelpiece.

  Pike took the photograph from Dody’s hand and put it back on the mantel. He put his arms around her and drew her close. She did not resist.

  He kissed her gently at first and she did not hesitate to return the kiss, pressing her body against his in a response that felt like hunger. He pulled her down onto the chaise and she felt the beat of his heart—a beating heart—through the silk of her dress and the stiff barrier of his shirt.

  She longed to feel the smooth warmth of his skin, imagined herself undoing his tie, the studs of his shirt, and waistcoat buttons—so many buttons—and slipping her palm into the gap.

  She could not go to her grave untouched by a man. She wanted, she needed, to give herself to Pike. Below his starched bib she found a button. She hooked her finger beneath it and felt a small patch of skin.

  He covered her hand with his and gently held it back from further exploration. With a groan, he buried his face in her neck. “We can’t go any further with this, not here, not now,” he murmured.

  What did he mean?

  “Because of our work? We could be discreet. No one need know,” she said as she rubbed her hand against the taut muscles of his neck, spreading her fingers into the soft damp of his hair.

  He took a deep breath and straightened beside her on the chaise, winged collar askew, pulse beating wildly at the base of his throat. “No, not that.”

  What then? She lowered her head. With a burning feeling of shame, she busied herself with adjusting the crooked bodice of her dress. What had happened? What had gone wrong? What kind of fool had she made of herself?

  “I understand,” she whispered. “I have gone too far and you no longer desire me.”

  “Good God, woman, of course I desire you,” he all but choked. He leaned towards her and cupped her face in his hands. “I love and desire you more than any woman in the world. But I also respect you and I will not take advantage of you. You are a rebel, yes, but not in matters like this. If we were to do as we want now, you might hate me for it later and I could not stand that. There will be plenty of time to fulfil our desires, if”—he hesitated, as if unsure whether to go on—“if we are married.”

  Her own heart seemed to stop beating. “Married?” she whispered. This was a proposal? Marriage to Pike was something that had not crossed her mind. Lovers, yes, she had fantasised that. But marriage?

  She got up from the chaise, moved to the newly repaired window, pulled back the curtain, and strained to see past the shadows of Cartwright Gardens.

  He approached her from behind and encircled her with his arms. She watched his reflection in the window through eyes blurry with tears.

  “I don’t know, Matthew,” she said truthfully.

  “We wouldn’t want a stiff Victorian marriage. Ours would be a union of equals—I love and respect you too much for it to be anything else. You could continue your work at the Clinic if you wished. I would never stand in your way.”

  “And the Home Office?”

  He paused. His silence told her this was another story. She wondered if he had given any thought at all to having a wife who, for the better part of the week, reeked of death.

  “I do not have much to offer you, and we could not live as you are accustomed on a policeman’s wage. But you would never be short of love. Please tell me that you love me and that what I desire is what you desire, too.”

  She turned in his arms to face him. “I don’t know what to say.”

  He brushed his finger across her lips. “Just tell me that you love me.”

  “I do love you, Matthew,” she said with all her heart, gazing into his face with one hand on his chest. “But this marriage proposal is unexpected. Please give me time to think.”

  His hold loosened. “You didn’t seem to have any hesitation in considering me as a lover.” His words were spoken levelly, but the look on his face made her think of a calm lake ruffled by a cool breeze.

  “That is not quite the same as marriage.” She moved over to the electric switch and flooded the room with unforgiving light.

  Pike left the window and slumped onto the chaise. “Are you really prepared to swap roles completely with men? Advocate that women behave as they do—take lovers instead of husbands? Is marriage to me such a degrading thing?”

  “No, no, I did not mean it to sound like that.” She rushed to sit at his side and took his hand. “I just need more time—surely you can understand? I am still establishing my career as one of a small handful of female specialists. Marriage now will put an end to that, to my independence. I would always wonder what might have been . . .”

  Pike swallowed. “So your answer is no?”

  “Please, Matthew,” she said desperately, “can we not just forget marriage and live for the here and now?”

  He squeezed her hand back, his body sagging. “Of course I understand. But as for the here and now, that is not how I live, Dody—can you understand that?” He ran his hand over his mouth as if wanting to take his words back. “I have made a fool of myself. Forgive me.”

  “No, no, you are never a fool, Matthew; it is me. You surprised me and I’ve been clumsy and hurtful. I beg you to forgive me.”

  Even through her pain, Dody knew she must be grateful to Pike. In the heat of the moment, it would have been too easy to continue what they were doing without a thought for contraception, to become a doctor who did not practise what she preached.

  He kissed her hand. “There is nothing to forgive. Why don’t we just blame Florence for leaving us unchaperoned and then forget this ever happened?”

  She smiled through her tears. “Yes, let’s do that.”

  But how could they?

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  MONDAY 28 AUGUS
T

  For two nights Dody had grappled with various scenarios, none of them comforting. Marrying Pike to the displeasure of her parents and the end of her career. Or the alternative: rising to the top of her profession, making a difference, proving that a woman was as capable as a man.

  Being lonely, missing Pike.

  Of course, he might come to share or at least accept her terms, but then, if he did, how could they function professionally together?

  Perhaps she would find someone who, unlike Pike, had nothing to do with her work and would be happy to love her without the restrictions marriage would automatically impose. Modern, unmarried women of her age and class did take lovers. Her parents—often operating just barely on the fringes of polite society themselves—would not be concerned for long, provided she remained discreet. But that scenario required that she could bear the thought of giving herself to any man other than Pike. That she could even dally with the thought of being with another man shamed and repulsed her.

  What kind of a world do I live in? she’d thought as she’d buried her face in her pillow, finally allowing the bitter tears to flow. Why couldn’t she have the man she loved and continue with her career? What price must one pay for love?

  * * *

  Monday morning she did her best to put Saturday’s disastrous night behind her. She had told Pike that she would meet him in the mortuary yard and she intended on being punctual.

  Pike seemed surprised to see her. He shook her hand with a formal greeting and a stiff bow. “Dr. McCleland.”

  Dody hated hearing him address her so formally. The touch of his hand brought with it sudden, unbidden sensations.

  “Fisher and his men are interviewing the staff now,” he said, “and I do not wish to interfere with his procedure—this is his case after all. He has orders to report to me here when he’s finished.”

  She now wished she had not been so punctual. She had no desire to show her face while the interviews were being conducted, and the mortuary premises were still out of bounds to her. Waiting there with Pike was more painful than she could have imagined. They stood in uncomfortable silence, listening to the sound of the Benz fading down the street.

  It was another close morning, and the rising heat had done nothing to dissipate the sulphurous fog that wound its way around the yard. As they waited for Fisher, Dody kept her eyes on what was going on outside the mortuary gates; at that moment men in rubber boots were hosing away the horse manure from the road.

  She glanced at Pike, noting the dark circles under his eyes and the way he leaned heavily on his cane. He looked as tired as she felt and there was a vague odour of whisky about him. Had he barely slept for the last two nights also?

  Under different circumstances she would have been proud to show Pike around her place of work. It was a relief to find the yard much tidier than when she had last stood under the eaves, smoking her pipe. The strikes were mostly over, there were no overflowing dustbins, and the stench was easier on the nose. The stray dog seemed to have vanished. Perhaps Alfred’s wife had finally allowed him to take the pathetic creature home.

  To break the silence, she told him about the dog. Pike nodded. He didn’t seem able to bring himself to say anything, and she gave up trying for conversation.

  Finally, Inspector Fisher and another plainclothes detective slammed through the back door and clumped across the paving to meet them. Dody looked from Fisher to Pike as they coolly shook hands. There was some kind of unpleasant history between the men, she knew that much, and it dated back to their time together at the Yard. Well, she would probably never know what now. There was a lot about Pike that she would never know now, and he about her. Her hopes of sharing their past and present, their dreams and aspirations, had been stronger even than her desire for physical intimacy with him. Now it seemed as if they might not even remain friends.

  Oh, God, what had she done?

  “Any results, Fisher?” Pike asked.

  “Yes, sir. We talked to most of the staff. The head clerk told me Everard borrowed the typewriting machine on several occasions before the inquest. Dr. Everard was also seen by one of the staff in a local public house giving Daniel Dunn an envelope. The staff member recognised Dunn as the man who had earlier stolen Everard’s medical bag and had assumed Everard was paying to get it back. I checked with the Bishopsgate coroner, sir, and on that same day Dunn handed a similar-looking envelope to the clerk there. Everard might well have written the letters, sir. It is common knowledge in this place that he bears Dr. McCleland some resentment.”

  “He has admitted to writing the letters?” Pike asked.

  “Not as yet, sir, but his association with Dunn casts doubt upon his character. In fact, I feel that perhaps the two of them were in collusion over the stolen medical bag.”

  “Does this mean the charges against me will be dropped?” Dody asked, her spirits finally beginning to buoy.

  Fisher glanced at Pike and then smiled at her hesitantly. “I will speak to the magistrate myself and file a motion to dismiss.”

  Was Fisher trying to make things up to her or was he settling some kind of debt with Pike? Whatever his motives, she was grateful.

  Pike’s eyes shone. He lifted his hand to hers—how she longed for his touch—and then let it fall. “Congratulations,” he said.

  Her heart felt squeezed; one side pressed with sweet relief; the other with loneliness and regret. “Thank you, Inspector,” she said to Fisher.

  “Good job.” Pike patted the inspector on the arm. “Though it seems to me you still don’t have enough to charge Everard with.”

  “No sir, but enough to justify bringing him in for some lively questioning. “

  “Where is he now?” Pike asked.

  “With a constable in the police van.”

  “Go with him to the station and wait for me there. I’ll inform Spilsbury about this personally.”

  “May I talk to Dr. Spilsbury first?” Dody asked. “I would like to tell him my good news.”

  * * *

  Spilsbury was in his office. Dody knocked and entered. The pathologist stood up quickly from his desk. “Dr. McCleland,” he said, blinking. “What are you doing here? These premises are out of bounds to you. If you wanted to discuss your case, you should have written or telephoned.”

  “I wanted to tell you personally, Doctor.” She smiled. “There will be no trial—the charges against me are to be dropped.” It took a moment for her words to register. Spilsbury did not smile back, but she could tell by his loosening posture that he was relieved. “The coronial suspicion of me rested largely on the typed letters of accusation, and it has come to light that someone in this mortuary wrote the letters accusing me of conducting criminal abortions, and that someone here has criminal connections.”

  “Not Everard, surely? I was told that they’ve taken him away—can you believe it? Have you any idea why? Surely he has nothing to do with any of this?”

  “I expect Chief Inspector Pike will tell you what’s going on. In the meantime, sir,” she added quickly, “may I return to work?”

  “Yes, yes, of course. The charges against you were preposterous, appalling. And now Everard? Is there no end to the shame? It’s almost as if someone has a vendetta against this place. Forensic pathology is coming ahead in leaps and bounds; we have too many places and not enough men to fill them. Everard has a wonderful career ahead of him.” Spilsbury rubbed his chin and spoke as if to himself. “I can only hope he has not thrown it away over petty jealousies.”

  Dody did not hide her surprise. “You were aware of Everard’s feelings towards me?”

  “Of course. I had to pull him into line on occasion. In fact, I had him in this office not long ago and told him to pull his socks up. Told him to pay more attention to his learning and stop trying to constantly get the better of you.”

  “Thank you, sir, I appreciate that. I never knew—” Dody might well have not spoken.

  “I mean it is obvious that one day he will
be promoted above you. He is a man, with a wife and family to support. That is the way of the world. I told him you would probably leave to marry sooner or later, and if not, the pressure of the work would finally get to you—understandably, of course. Ours is not a job for the fainthearted.”

  Dody could take no more of this; the emotions she’d spent days trying to control at last burst their banks. She filled her lungs with air, hardly recognising the shrieking voice that followed as her own. “And what of my career—my career was almost ruined! Have I not proved to you that I am more than adequate at doing my job?” Damn the consequences, she should have yelled like this months ago.

  “Of course you have proved it, I have no complaints other than—”

  “Other than what, sir?” she snapped.

  “That you can be too emotional. Which you are proving at this very moment.” He bent his head and shuffled some papers. “We have a case that might interest you,” he said, handing her some notes as if the last minute had not happened. “Read the preliminaries. A body was sent to us from St. Thomas’s yesterday afternoon with suspected cyanide poisoning. You may assist me with it if you wish. Meet me in the autopsy room in about ten minutes.”

  Of course she wanted to assist him. The body was undoubtedly Daniel Dunn’s and she was desperate to have her cause of death confirmed.

  “Yes, Dr. Spilsbury.” What else could she say?

  She excused herself and hurried from the office then went and stood in the middle of the autopsy room. It was hard to believe that she had shouted at her mentor. She wasn’t sure if she should be feeling relieved to have got away with it, or angrier still at her obvious impotence. For the amount of good it had done, she might just as well have stood there like a frightened little mouse and said nothing at all.

  Dody shook her head and looked around at the neatly parked trolleys, the instrument cabinets, the sink, the marble slab, and the shelves of specimen jars and microscopes. This place, once a second home to her, now felt like an alien and hostile world. Florence had always said one had to suffer to be a true feminist and she was right. But how much easier it would be to be more like Florence—vent her frustrations by hurling bricks through windows, vandalising golf courses, and throwing eggs at politicians. Unlike her sister, though, she had never believed that violence was the path to female empowerment—nor yelling, as she had just proved. There had to be a more effective way.