Medium Dead: An Alexandra Gladstone Mystery (8 page)

Nancy shrugged. “Perhaps, and forgive me for saying this, miss, but you are conservative and analytical to a fault.”

“My father always said that’s exactly what a doctor should be,” Alexandra said.

“Indeed he did. I heard those very words from him myself.” Nancy gave Alexandra a knowing look. “But I must say, he was no more aware of the parish gossip than you are.”

“And that’s to be considered a fault?” Alexandra asked with a little chuckle.

“Could be,” Nancy said. “Especially when it’s about that carriage driver.”

“Lady Forsythe’s driver, you mean. The one who started the brawl?”
The one who can make knives disappear into thin air,
she thought, but she didn’t say it aloud.

Nancy answered with a slight nod.

Alexandra breathed an exasperated sigh. “Please tell me what the brawl has to do with either Alvina or Her Ladyship.”

“What do you suppose the brawl was about, miss?”

“You said it was politics.”

Nancy shook her head. “Not politics at all. Nothing less than Alvina.”

Alexandra was both alarmed and interested, and Nancy obviously saw as much in Alexandra’s expression.

“Oh, ’twas about Alvina, all right. Way I heard it, that London carriage driver said she deserved to die. Said she was a fraud and he could prove it. Said no one but the locals here in Newton-upon-Sea believed in her anyway, and that was only because we’re all only a hair above the line of being idiots. Or so he said. Now, no self-respecting Newton man is going to stand for that, is he?”

“He does indeed sound like a troublemaker,” Alexandra said.

“What do you think he meant by ‘she deserved to die’?”

“What do you think, Nancy?”

Before Nancy had time to reply, the bell on the surgery door signaled that someone had entered. It was Wilma Beaty, and she was crying hysterically.

“The constable. He’s taken me husband! Arrested ’im for the murder of that woman in the graveyard. But Young Beaty didn’t do it. He’s not the one what killed that poor woman! Somebody else done it. Someone the constable can’t afford to blame, so ’e nabbed me husband.”

Alexandra and Nancy spent several minutes trying to calm Wilma, but she wouldn’t be calmed.

“I’m sure you must be wrong,” Alexandra said. “I’d venture Young Beaty hasn’t been arrested; he’s just been called in for questioning. I myself was taken to the constable’s office for the same reason. Lord Dunsford was taken as well.”

Wilma seemed not to hear her, nor did she hear Nancy’s pleas to sit down and have a cup of tea.

“ ’Twill relax you,” Nancy said. “Then we can talk about it. We can decide what to do.”

Wilma responded by crying even harder. By now she was tearing at her hair, moving into classic hysteria. Nancy was busy filling three cups from the teapot, acting unusually calm. Taking a small vial from one of the shelves in the surgery, she glanced at Alexandra, and once she got an approving nod, she shook a few drops from the vial into Wilma’s cup. Laudanum—the same medication Alexandra had given to Lady Forsythe.

Nancy picked up the cup and saucer, and thrust them toward Wilma “Drink!” she commanded.

Wilma shook her head and wailed.

“I said drink!” Nancy’s voice was stern and very loud, a tactic Alexandra never used.

It got Wilma’s attention. She stopped wailing for a moment, her eyes wide. Nancy took the cup from the saucer and moved it to Wilma’s lips. “Drink!” she said again.

Wilma drank. “Odd taste,” she said, wrinkling her nose after the first swallow.

“It does not taste odd,” Nancy said. “It’s very good tea. Drink it all.”

“But…”

“I said drink it all. Then you can sit down, and we’ll all have a civilized cup.”

Wilma seemed afraid not to do as Nancy bade her. Alexandra watched, amazed, as Wilma drank the entire cup of tea and allowed Nancy to lead her to the table, where she sat down at Nancy’s command. While Nancy poured a cup of tea for each of them, she signaled Alexandra with her eyes that she, too, should come to the table. Alexandra obeyed as readily as Wilma had done.

“Now listen to what Dr. Gladstone has to say,” Nancy said, and then asked Alexandra to repeat her story about being called in for questioning. Alexandra was continually amazed at how her maid could take complete control of a situation.

“Just questions and that’s all?” Wilma asked after finally taking in Alexandra’s words. The laudanum was having its effect on her. There were no more tears, no more ranting.

“Just questions,” Alexandra assured her. “Constable Snow is only trying to get to the bottom of who killed Miss Elwold. He’s questioning anyone who might be able to give him more information.”

“Well, I don’t like it,” Wilma said. “My Beaty had nothing to do with it, and the constable should know that. He’s known Beaty as long as I have. Shouldn’t even have to bring ’im into this awful business. Why, I don’t think ’e ever even met that woman. What would he have to do with the likes of her? Unless she put a spell on him, like I said.”

“There was no spell put on anyone,” Nancy said, “and I’m sure the constable knows all that you just told us.” She offered Wilma a scone spread with jam.

Wilma accepted the treat eagerly, though shaking hands confirmed she wasn’t yet completely calm. “Doesn’t believe in the kind of thing Alvina did. Not my Beaty. Doesn’t believe in such things.” Wilma spoke around a mouthful of scone.

“Fortune-telling and contacting the dead, the likes of that, you mean,” Nancy said.

“Says ’tis all foolishness, ’e does. And ’tis best ’e thinks that way after what happened, though I’ve known some of her divinings to be fairly accurate meself.” Her eyes widened and she glanced at Alexandra. “Now, don’t go telling that to the constable.”

“Of course not,” Alexandra said. She was enjoying the relative calm and once again feeling thankful for Nancy.

“I’ve known a few as well that could do a fine job of divining the future,” Nancy said.

“You?” Alexandra said. “You’ve consulted fortune-tellers?”

Nancy shrugged. “Maybe. Once or twice.”

“Why on earth would you—”

“I had my reasons. And ’tis a good thing I bothered to find out what the future held. Otherwise, I’d be in a world of trouble, I would.”

Wilma nodded her head a little drunkenly. “You would, indeed. Stonemason, my foot. The man’s in London’s gaol for stealin’ sheep.”

“Stonemason?” Alexandra felt as if she’d come in in the middle of a stage play with no idea of the plot. “You mean that handsome man who came through here a few years ago and—”

“That’s the one,” Nancy said, and pretended to be busy wiping crumbs from the table.

“I knew he liked you, of course, and you liked him, but I had no idea you fancied him in…that way,” Alexandra said.

Wilma glanced at Nancy as she spoke. “More than fancied ’im, I’d say. Oh, yes, went a bit furver than that, I’d say.”

“You never told me you consulted a fortune-teller,” Alexandra added. “You must have been seriously considering more than just companionship. Why didn’t you tell me, Nancy?” Alexandra couldn’t deny that she was both surprised and a little hurt that Nancy, who was more than a servant to her, she was a lifelong friend, had kept something so important from her.

Nancy ducked her head, looking a little ashamed. “Didn’t want to trouble you with it ’till I knew ’twould amount to something, Miss Alex. That was back when your father was dying. Remember? And as you are witness now, it never amounted to anything.”

“But…”

“ ’Twas that woman over to Harwich you went to see, wasn’t it?” Wilma said. “God rest her soul. She was a goodun, she was. ’Tis a pity she passed on. Never was any good at a séance, though. Not like I heard tell Alvina was.”

“So they say,” Nancy said.

Alexandra turned her head back and forth from one to the other. The two women she’d known all her life were speaking about things of which she had no inkling, and she had thought Nancy was as innocent of such matters as she was herself.

“We needs Alvina here now, we does.” The laudanum was making Wilma slur her words. “We needs her so she could call up her own spirit and tell us who done her in.” She giggled at the irony of what she’d said and half closed her eyes.

After a long pause, Nancy spoke. “Perhaps we don’t need anyone else to call up spirits.”

“Excuse me. I’m not sure I understand.” Alexandra was uncomfortably suspicious.

Nancy shrugged and tried to look innocent. “I’m just saying that if spirits of the dead really can be made to answer a summons, then it shouldn’t take anyone special to do it, should it, now? If a spirit is of a mind to answer a call, then wouldn’t it answer the call from anyone?”

“For heaven’s sake, Nancy, just listen to yourself,” Alexandra said. “You know that’s nothing more than ridiculous superstition.”

“Is it now?” Nancy asked. She got up and began to put away the teapot and gather the cups.

Alexandra laughed. “You can’t mean it! You would actually try your hand at a séance?”

Nancy hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps.”

“A séance?” Wilma asked. “Who’s going to have a séance?”

“No one,” Alexandra said.

“We are,” Nancy said in almost the same instant.

The two women stared at each other for several seconds. “You wouldn’t forbid me, would you, Miss Alex?” Nancy said finally.

“I very well may,” Alexandra said in response to what, to her, sounded like a dare.

Nancy’s retort came quick. “ ’Twould do no harm. A bit of innocent fun, I’d say.”

Alexandra took a breath, ready to protest with more force, but before the words were out of her mouth, she felt her resolve weakening. “If word got out that I allowed such a thing in my house…I’m a woman of science. I can’t afford—”

“Word would not get out, and if it does, you can blame it on your maid, who doesn’t have the burden of a scientific reputation,” Nancy said.

Alexandra laughed. “You are clever and conniving, Nancy. I’ve heard you tout your scientific reputation when it serves you to do so.”

Nancy was determined. “I promise you won’t regret it. And you’ll be happy when Alvina returns and helps us solve the murder.”

“Solve the murder? Ridiculous.”

“But not impossible.”

Alexandra shook her head. “Of course it’s impossible.”

“Certainly, Miss Alex,” Nancy said. She made an effort to look properly obliging. She turned to their guest. “What do you think, Wilma? Impossible or no?”

Wilma didn’t answer. She was asleep in her chair.

The lull in the number of patients coming to the surgery proved to be short-lived. Two mothers with a total of five children in tow showed up before the end of the day, along with two adult men. All were in various stages of the grippe, with stuffed noses, coughs, and sneezes, along with body aches and fever in some cases. None of it was surprising, it being November, Nancy reminded Alexandra. They both knew the numbers would increase because the complaint made an annual appearance in Newton-upon-Sea and spread quickly from person to person. It often started among the men who gathered at the Blue Ram, the local tavern, and then would present itself to wives and children, leading Alexandra to believe it was a contagion spread by some as yet unidentified germ. She was in the minority among her colleagues in her beliefs, however. Most, including her late father, believed that a cold was caused by exposure to changes in temperature or exposure to extreme dampness. The only connection Alexandra could imagine was that changing temperature might lower a body’s resistance to the unidentified germ. The first Dr. Gladstone always advised his patients to bathe their feet in a warm, alkaline solution every night. Alexandra had discovered that symptoms disappeared at the same rate with or without the footbath. There was, as yet, no cure for a cold. However, the rapid advancement of science led Alexandra to believe that a cure would be discovered no later than the dawn of the twentieth century.

The increase in the number of patients continued the following day, leaving Alexandra without enough time to visit all of her homebound patients, including Lady Forsythe. In choosing whom not to see on her busiest days, she had to prioritize according to the severity of the ailment. In the case of Her Ladyship, she rationalized that if the queen’s own personal physician was present, any emergency would be handled. She would not allow herself to consider the degree of expertise of the pompous Sir Jenner, or Dr. Fowler, as he had named himself. If he’d gone back to London and Lady Forsythe needed attention, either Nicholas or a servant would fetch her.

She felt out of touch with whatever might be going on in the village, except that Artie and Rob, whom she’d sent to escort Wilma home after her hysterical visit to the surgery, reported that Young Beaty arrived home from the constable’s office while they were helping Wilma into the house.

“He was nervous as a whore in the front pew at church,” Artie said, only to have Rob swat him on the top of his head and warn him to watch his language. “Well, he was,” Artie insisted. “Don’t like being called in by a copper, I’d say. Even if he didn’t end up in chokey.”

“Sure he was nervous,” Nancy said. She was busy ladling their supper into plates so the two boys could eat next to the kitchen fire, as they often did on blustery nights. “The whole village is nervous, if you ask me.”

“Don’t know what Young Beaty has to be nervous about,” Artie said. “Talk is, ’twas the queen what done it. The queen, they say! Hard to believe, eh?”

“Sure it’s hard to believe, you dolt.” There was a note of sarcasm in Rob’s voice. “Nobody wants to believe the queen would do such a thing. That’s why they’s tryin’ to blame Young Beaty.”

Artie’s eyes widened. “You thinks old Snow would do such a thing? Blame the wrong person, just so’s he could protect Her Majesty?”

Rob’s response was a cynical “Ha!”

“ ’Twould be a bit difficult to blame the queen, seeing that she lives in London,” Nancy said, obviously trying to keep up the ruse that Her Majesty was nowhere near Newton-upon-Sea.

“ ’Nother reason to blame somebody like Young Beaty,” Rob said.

“This conversation has gone far enough,” Alexandra said. “It’s not fitting for children. We’ll talk of other things.”

Rob, who at fifteen didn’t consider himself a child, gave a disdainful snort, and Artie ducked his head to stare at his plate.

“Dr. Gladstone is right,” Nancy said. “However, I’m sure she and I both would like a report on Mrs. Beaty. How was she doing when you got her home? I hope she went straight to bed.”

“She was fine,” Rob said. “Didn’t go to bed, just restin’ in a chair.”

“Still drunk as a goose,” Artie added.

“Artie!” Alexandra said at the precise moment that Nancy dropped a soup ladle and Rob snickered.

“Well, she was,” Artie insisted. “You must of give her a draught of whiskey.”

“Not whiskey. ’Twas laudanum.” Nancy sounded defensive.

“It is none of your business what she was given,” Alexandra said. “You won’t speak of this again, Artie. Eat your supper, then off to bed.”

“Yes, Dr. Gladstone. I’m truly sorry, Dr. Gladstone,” Artie said, ducking his head again.

Alexandra turned to Rob. “And not another snicker from you,” she warned.

By the time the boys left for their sleeping quarters above the stable, Alexandra felt exhausted. She decided to forgo her reading time in front of the fire with Nancy and retire to her bed. As she undressed, she half expected Nicholas to arrive with a request that she return to Montmarsh to see to Lady Forsythe again. When he hadn’t shown up by the time she blew out the lamp next to her bed, she consoled herself by thinking the lady didn’t need her and that the lady’s needs would be met by the queen’s physician after all, just as she’d hoped.

She awoke the next morning feeling refreshed, but the shock of the cold air on her skin when she got out of bed made her want to climb back into the folds of warm goose down. The fire in her room had gone out during the night, so she wrapped herself in a dressing gown and tried to coax it back to life. Before she’d accomplished her task, she heard the ring of the bell on the surgery door. No doubt it was Nicholas, come to remind her that, no matter how many doctors were present at Montmarsh, he would hold her to her promise to look in on his mother.