An Improper Death (Dr. Alexandra Gladstone Mysteries Book 2) (16 page)

“What is it you’re wanting?” Annie’s voice was no more pleasant than her expression, and the sound of it set Zack to barking again. “Get that beast off of this property. Have you no sense but to bring him here to disturb the mistress?”

Alexandra might have given Annie an equally sharp retort had she not seen young Will peering from behind her and clinging to her skirt. His eyes were wide and fixed on Zack. It was difficult to tell whether the child’s expression was one of fear or fascination.

Alexandra didn’t take time to ponder it, however. She turned around and rebuked Zack sharply. He walked away reluctantly, but turned around before he reached Lucy and stood, his entire body alert, the low growl still rattling nervously in his throat. When she turned back to the door, she ignored Annie and greeted the child, who stood behind her.

“Good afternoon, young Will.”

“He’s quite large, isn’t he?” Will’s eyes were still on Zack. “Does he eat people?”

Alexandra chuckled and was about to respond when Annie interrupted. “Hush, child. Go see to your mother. She needs you.”

“Yes, Annie,” Will said, lowering his eyes. He turned away and disappeared through a door leading off the hall.

“I’ve come to call on Mrs. Orkwright.” Alexandra’s voice was firm. She knew Annie would do her best to turn her away. She had to force herself not to ask the angry woman whether she had indeed taken a shot at John.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible, Mrs.
Orkwright is not feeling well.”

“All the more reason why I should see her.”
Alexandra maneuvered herself around Annie’s large frame.

She found Jane seated in the parlor with her young son standing in front of her. There was a rare smile on her face as the boy described something to her, using broad gestures. She sensed Alexandra’s presence and glanced toward her.

“Alexandra! How pleasant to see you again. Please, do come in. Will was just telling me about your dog. It seems he’s quite taken with the animal. Perhaps even a bit afraid of him.” She gave Will a loving look.

“I’m not afraid, Mama,” the boy insisted. “I’m very brave, just as Papa said I should be.”

“Perhaps you are only awed by the dog’s size,” Alexandra said as she advanced into the room. She had removed her cloak, which Annie had not taken.

“I’m very brave,” Will said again.

“Of course you are, darling.” Jane caressed his face. “So brave, in fact, that I think you deserve a reward.” She glanced toward Annie, who stood grim-faced in the doorway. “See that Master Will has a biscuit. He can take it in the kitchen with you, if he likes.”

Annie kept her scowling expression until she shifted her gaze to Will and extended her hand to him. There was
a softness in her eyes then, and she smiled at him as she led him away.

“Please, sit here across from me.” Jane indicated a chair separated from her own by a small tea table.

“Your housekeeper tells me you’re not feeling well,” Alexandra said as she took her seat.

“I’m afraid Annie is a bit overly protective,” Jane said. In spite of the mild protest, Alexandra noted the dark circles under her eyes and the drawn, tired look of her face. There was something in her eyes as well, a haunting. The ravages of grief did not destroy her beauty, but altered it.

“I’m afraid I’ve a bit of bad news for you, Jane.” Alexandra spoke softly, but when she saw the way Jane’s face grew deathly pale, she regretted having spoken at all.

“Then tell me.” Jane’s voice was expressionless and almost inaudible.

It took Alexandra a moment to summon the courage to speak again. “I’m afraid your son has been wounded,” she said at length.

“John?” She looked as if she might swoon. “Is he…?”

“He will live, but he will lose at least part of the use of an arm.”

Jane kept her head down. “How was he wounded?”

“He was shot.”

She raised her eyes which were now full of alarm.
“Shot? Who…?”

“We can’t be certain, but your housekeeper was seen running away from the scene last night, and—”

“Annie? No! You’re mistaken. Who told you this?”

“My stable boys chased her through the woods after—”

“Stable boys? You accept the word of stable boys?”

Alexandra was silent for several seconds, seeing the anger and hurt in Jane’s eyes, not certain how to continue. Finally she spoke. “I must tell you John is with a barrister, who will return him to the authorities and intercede for him as much as is possible.”

Jane refused to look at her, and there was another long, awkward silence between them. Finally Alexandra said, “Your son did not get on well with the admiral, did he?”

Jane glanced at her quickly, anger still seething in her eyes. “No.” The word sounded defiant.

“I’m sorry, Jane. Perhaps this is a gross impropriety, but there is something I must discuss with you.” When Jane gave her a questioning look, she continued uneasily. “We have both agreed, have we not, that your husband’s death seemed a bit…unusual. That perhaps he could have been…” Alexandra couldn’t finish her sentence because of the sudden horrified look she saw on Jane’s face.

“Are you suggesting now that John could have murdered my husband? Was it not enough that you accused Annie of harming John?”

“I don’t mean to suggest that at all,” Alexandra said, feeling both inadequate and embarrassed.

“Then what?”
Jane’s voice was hard and angry.

Alexandra stood. “I’m sorry, Jane. I am out of bounds. I should never have come here to—”

“Sit down, Alexandra, and tell me what you have been trying to say since you arrived.”

Alexandra shook her head. “No, I—”

Jane stood, suddenly confrontational, and Alexandra could see the anger increasing in her eyes. “Tell me, Dr. Gladstone.”

“It is none of my business.”

“Indeed it is not. But now that you have gone to the trouble of coming here, I insist you tell me what is on your mind. If it is on your mind, it is no doubt on the minds of others. I believe I have a right to know.”

“Yes,” Alexandra said, feeling very small. “Forgive me for being both prying and cowardly.” She kept her eyes level with Jane’s. “I had hoped you could tell me about your…your petition for divorce and whether or not it could have any bearing on the admiral’s death.”

There was a slight change in Jane’s breathing, but she recovered quickly. She spoke one word. “No.”

Alexandra hesitated. “I am not certain whether to take your answer as a refusal to speak of the matter or—”

“I did not choose to kill my husband as a substitute for divorce.” Jane’s words embarrassed Alexandra even more.

“Certainly I didn’t mean to imply—”

“Of course you did, Dr. Gladstone. Pray tell me why you would be asking about it for any other reason?”

Alexandra hadn’t failed to notice that Jane had dropped the intimate usage of her Christian name for the more coldly formal Dr. Gladstone. “Forgive me, Jane. You are too fine and intelligent a woman for me to attempt so inexpert a deceit.” She looked away for a moment and then forced herself to face Jane again. “I know it sounds lame, but my motive was truly to protect you.”

“Protect me?” There was bitter cynicism in Jane’s words.

“Yes, to protect you.” Alexandra’s voice had regained its forcefulness. “Don’t you know that your son fears you will be blamed for the admiral’s death? Do you not know that even if no one seeks to blame you now, if knowledge of the divorce petition becomes common you will—?”

“Of course I know what it will mean,” Jane said. “There is nothing I can do about what others think.” She paused a moment, her expression troubled. “You must understand that my divorce petition was very foolish, and I have come to regret it. I shall be eternally grateful to my wise and wonderful late husband for not holding it against me.”

Alexandra was growing more and more uncomfortable with each word Jane uttered. “You need go no further, Jane. It is quite clear that this is a domestic matter in which I should have no interest.” She slipped her cloak over her shoulders and started to turn away, but Jane stopped her with sharp words.

“Oh, you have an interest, Dr. Gladstone. You would not be here if you didn’t.” She waited until she had captured Alexandra’s eyes with her own glare that was at once hot with anger and cold with disdain. “I want the gossip to stop, so you must tell everyone who knows of this that my quarrel with my husband was a foolish disagreement over money. I was selfishly demanding more from him. And over certain decisions he had made regarding the management of property which I had before I came into the marriage. I have since come to realize what I was too foolish to know then, that Parliament was wise to leave such matters in the hands of the husband. I, like most women, am ill equipped for such weighty decisions.”

Alexandra was well aware of the laws regarding a woman’s property, which was one of several reasons she had chosen not to marry. She found it on the tip of her tongue to argue that Jane
Orkwright, as well as herself, was equally well-equipped as any man to manage property, but she stopped herself. She had already stepped well beyond the bounds of propriety.

“Forgive me, Jane,” she said with genuine contriteness. “I shall do my best to see that the gossip goes no further.” She saw what she thought was a softening in Jane’s expression, and for a moment she thought she was about to speak, but she bit her lip and turned away.

Alexandra took her leave without a word, knowing that anything she said would be unheard. Knowing, too, that she could not have been more foolish than to have come in the first place.

Chapter Fourteen

Zack didn’t greet Alexandra with his usual enthusiasm when she returned to him and Lucy. He was, she supposed, pouting because she’d scolded him and hadn’t allowed him to follow her all the way to the house. She gave him an affection pat on the head, nevertheless and immediately felt something sticky on her hand.

When she looked down at Zack’s magnificent back from the saddle, she saw that the black and white hair of his coat was matted and stuck together in
spots, and bits of black grass and dry leaves clung to him.

“Zack, what have you gotten into?” she asked, both puzzled and amused. At the sound of his name, he glanced up at her and wagged his tail. Obviously he was ready to forgive and forget since the sound of her voice was pleasing rather than scolding. Alexandra laughed. “You’re a naughty boy. You had to get into something messy to get even with me for not allowing you to come along didn’t you?”

His answer was a throaty bark and another wag of his tail. He remained happy all the way home, in spite of the biting wind that had come up as the sun sank lower on the horizon.

With her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face, Nancy demanded to know why Zack was so dirty as soon as they entered the house.

“Something he found in the woods, I think.” Alexandra sounded distracted as she started up the stairs.

“You’re a dirty boy, I’d say,” Nancy said to Zack, and then, when she saw the direction Alexandra was headed, spoke to her. “If ’tis John
Killborn you’re looking for, you won’t find him. Mr. Forsythe took him to the constable, just as he said he would.”

Alexandra stopped, realizing that she was immensely saddened to know that John was back in custody, in spite of the fact that she’d both encouraged and expected it. Perhaps, she thought, it was Jane’s reaction to the news that her son had been wounded that made her feel the way she did.

“Of course,” she said absently and turned toward the parlor.

“I’m going to give this animal a bath before I get back to the kitchen.” Nancy spoke as she pulled Zack along by the skin on the top of his neck. “You’re a messy thing, you are,” she said, speaking to Zack and wrinkling her nose.

Zack responded with some of his vowel-like growling that sounded for all the world like a protest.

“Don’t bother with the kitchen. I’ve not much of an appetite for supper. I’ll just fix myself a cup of tea,” Alexandra said. But Nancy couldn’t have heard her as Zack’s growling protests grew louder.

Alexandra sat down in the parlor, determined to relax and forget about the death of Admiral Orkwright. She picked up the book she’d been reading aloud to Nancy each evening. The novel was a new one,
Portrait of a Lady,
by the American writer, Henry James. She was captivated by the American woman in the novel, Isabel Archer, and by seeing Europe and Europeans through her eyes. When she tried to read it now, however, Isabel seemed more tiresome than captivating, and she found herself unable to concentrate. She set the book aside, feeling restless. It was not as easy as she had hoped to put aside thoughts of the admiral and the mystery surrounding his death. Why was John so worried that people would blame his mother for the admiral’s death? Why would Annie, or anyone else, try to kill John? Would Constable Snow try to arrest Annie after he’d heard the story from Nicholas and John? He would surely bring Rob in for questioning. It would seem that if Nicholas had, indeed, told him of their suspicion of Annie, that would certainly have given the constable plenty of time to get to Gull House to question the housekeeper by now.

It occurred to her then that she had never had the opportunity to speak with the constable as she planned. She’d been interrupted and intercepted by Nicholas, who had insisted on driving her home so that he could see John.

Perhaps now would be a good time to speak with Snow. If she hurried, she might be able to reach his office before he left for the day. She took some matches from the mantle and her cloak from the hook in the hall and called out to Nancy that she was leaving for a walk.

There was no response from Nancy, who probably had not heard her over the growls and tremendous splashing noises Zack was wont to make at his bath. That was her own good fortune, Alexandra thought. If Nancy had heard her, she would insist she not go out again, at least not without her.

Alexandra wouldn’t take time to have the boys saddle Lucy again, since the hardworking little mare was probably enjoying her oats and settling in for the night. She would walk into the village and have her talk with the constable. If it was terribly late when she finished, she would ask him to escort her home.

The wind was damp and biting as she made her way to the post near the stable where she kept a lantern, but at least there was no sleet this time. It was not quite dark enough to warrant a lantern, but the February light would slip away quickly enough.

She had progressed only a short distance into the edge of the village when she saw the constable astride his gelding. He was several yards away, and apparently headed out of the village, yet far enough to her right that their paths would not cross.

She called to him twice, until he heard his name and turned his head toward her. “Constable Snow, I should like a word with you,” she called. Snow stopped his horse and turned to face her, but he made no attempt to advance toward her. It was left to her to walk to him.

“Are you all right, Dr. Gladstone?” he asked when she was closer.

“Quite.” She set her lantern on the ground and rubbed her gloved hands together to try to warm them. “I wanted to inquire about young
Killborn. Is he—?”

“It was not a mortal wound, as you of course know. He will recover.” Snow’s interruption left her with the feeling that he wanted to be rid of her. “I’ve notified
Newgate, and he will be transported there within a few days.”

“Yes, of course.” Alexandra hesitated a moment. “I assume Nicholas instructed you as to the circumstances of his being wounded.”

Snow’s answer was a curt nod of his head.

“And he told you that my stable boy pursued the one who wounded John and may have, in fact, identified the same.” She could see the breath that carried her words evaporate into nothing.

“Dr. Gladstone, please rest assured that I have the matter well in hand.”

It was a dismissal, of course, but her curiosity would not allow her to be dismissed so easily. “The boys were quite certain it was Jane
Orkwright’s housekeeper, Annie, they saw fleeing through the woods. I must say I was surprised.”

There was no response from Snow, which left Alexandra feeling nonplused. She was about to pick up her lantern and resign herself to not learning anything of the progress of his investigation when he surprised her by speaking.

“Thank you, Doctor, for your ministration to the prisoner’s wounds and for seeing that he was properly brought back to the gaol.”

“No need to thank me, Constable. I was simply doing my duty.” Alexandra kept her voice as cool and formal as his.

“The young man, I’m afraid, is in a state of mind to trust no one.” Snow’s remark sounded as if he were thawing, which surprised Alexandra.

“Quite so.”
She was cautious, not sure where he was leading her.

Snow seemed nervous and pulled back on the reins unintentionally, making his gelding stomp his feet, reluctant to step back. “I don’t suppose he told you anything that would be…” He stopped speaking, appearing uncharacteristically unsure of himself.

Alexandra waited a moment before she spoke. “You were perhaps going to ask if he said anything that would be revealing or pertinent to the death of his stepfather?”

Snow cleared his throat quietly and hesitated briefly before he spoke.
“Precisely.”

Alexandra was silent again, knowing she appeared to be contemplating it, when in fact she was contemplating Snow. What had John said to him that bothered him so? Was he afraid John had told her something he didn’t want her to know? Snow had always been an immensely private man, even in the days when she was a child and he’d been her tutor and the village school master. But she had never thought of him as the type to have dark secrets as some had suggested. There were rumors that he regularly visited some unknown woman in London. Then there was Edith
Podder’s speculation that he was in love with Jane Orkwright. Whether or not any of that was true, there was undoubtedly something bothering him now about what John might or might not have said.

Finally she spoke. “He seemed to be inordinately afraid that his mother would be blamed for the admiral’s death. He said that you would eventually blame her as well. He seemed to think it was his duty to protect her.” She watched Snow’s face in the lantern light, but he showed no emotion. There was only a slight tightening of a muscle in his jaw. “What did he mean by that?” she asked.

Snow’s glance moved to an undetermined point in the distance. “I have no way of knowing,” he said, as if he were speaking not to Alexandra, but to himself.

“Surely you don’t still believe there is nothing suspicious about the admiral’s death.”

Snow brought his cool gaze back to Alexandra, still looking down at her from his horse, as if he were a king looking down on a subject. “My profession demands that I work with concrete facts, and I have had none to make me suspicious.”

“Not even the fact that Jane
Orkwright believes her husband could have been murdered?” Alexandra was well aware that her question sounded bold and disrespectful.

Snow’s eyes narrowed with what she took for anger, suggesting he had taken the question the same way. “Mrs.
Orkwright has not told me about any such suspicions,” he said. “Perhaps you misunderstood.”

“I did not misunderstand, sir. And, to belie your insistence upon concrete facts, you just admitted to me that you thought John might have revealed something to me pertinent to the admiral’s death.”

“You are a very intelligent woman, Dr. Gladstone. And I very much admire your skill as a physician, but I suggest you leave the dubious practice of mind reading to the charlatans and the intricacies of law enforcement to me.” With that he laid the reins against the gelding’s neck to turn him away. Before the horse could be completely turned, however, Alexandra spoke again, challenging Snow.

“Do you also choose to ignore what Mr. Forsythe told you? That John said he came here to settle a score?”

Snow stopped the turn and looked down on her again. “Are you suggesting that John Killborn murdered his stepfather?”

“No, I am suggesting that there is more to this than you
seem willing to admit. Why would John say that? And why would Annie try to kill him? Doesn’t it strike you as odd that there is so much dangerous behavior among the family and household of Admiral Orkwright?”

“You are overwrought, Dr. Gladstone. Perhaps it’s understandable when one sees so much death and illness and when one’s profession keeps one continuously subjected to households where gossip and speculation are rife. I suggest you ask Nancy to prepare one of your formulas for you.
Something to soothe you. Perhaps the concoction you gave Miss Hargrove.” With that, he turned and rode away from her, headed in the direction of his own cottage.

Alexandra watched him ride away, seething. After complimenting her on her intelligence, he had soundly insulted her by suggesting she was hysterical. It was well known that Lucinda Hargrove, a spinster, was given to hysteria. Alexandra had treated her with a mixture of lobelia, capsicum, and compound spirits of lavender, and the young woman’s much talked about hysterical fits had subsided. It was Alexandra’s belief as well as the belief of certain others, that her
cure
could well have been because of something other than the formula, however. Approximately the same time she had prescribed the medicine, Lucinda’s controlling and tyrannical father died. Lucinda had then taken to receiving a gentleman in her home from time to time, even, it was rumored, into the late hours of the night, and her erratic and histrionic behavior had become an effusive and giggling agreeableness.

It was more than insulting that Constable Snow had suggested that Alexandra, who, at thirty, was also a spinster, might have a similar diagnosis.

Alexandra’s anger continued to burn all during the short walk home. She was still angry when she opened the door and was greeted by a damp, but eager and exuberant Zack. His bath, in spite of his protestations, had apparently lifted his spirits, even if it hadn’t entirely cleansed his coat of the sticky matter. The bath had done nothing to improve Nancy’s mood, however. She stood behind Zack in her soaked apron and with her honey-colored hair pulled loose from its pins so that it hung in damp strands over her unsmiling face where a bit of suds still clung to her chin.

“Never again!” she said to Alexandra by way of a greeting.

“I beg your pardon,” Alexandra said.

Nancy shook her head. “Never again will I attempt to bathe the beast. Not even if he falls into a coal bin. Not even if he falls into a dung heap. Not even if he—”

“No further elaboration is necessary, Nancy. I take your point. You’ve made it clear before when you’ve had to bathe him.”

“But I mean it this time. Why, you’ve no idea,” Nancy said, shaking her head. “It is easier to bathe an elephant! He argues with me, he does!
About getting into the tub. And then there’s the tremendous splash when he finally makes up his mind to get in. But that’s not the end of it, oh no! He thinks ’tis great sport to splash more with those enormous paws of his. Big as meat platters, they are. And then there’s the shaking, near drowns a body when he sends that water out from all that hair. There’s a foot of water on my kitchen floor, and…”