Symptoms of Death (Dr. Alexandra Gladstone Book 1) (5 page)

Zack loved almost everyone, and the only thing intimidating about him was his size and his low growl, which was more like a soft grumbling and was meant to be friendly.

She spoke the dog’s name again, sharper this time, and the animal turned around and settled himself at her feet, still grumbling. She glanced at Nicholas, who kept his wary eyes on the enormous black and white dog. “I was just about to ask Nancy to bring tea to the parlor,” she said. “Perhaps you’d like to join me.”

“What? Oh, yes, of course.” Nicholas never took his eyes off of Zack as he spoke, and he made sure Alexandra and Zack left the room ahead of him.

Nancy, in fact, was waiting just inside the parlor, as if she expected Alexandra to bring her guest there. “Shall I prepare tea, Miss Alex?” Nancy asked before Alexandra could speak.

“Yes
, please.” Alexandra tried to ignore Nancy’s little smile and raised eyebrows as, behind Nicholas’s back, she glanced first at Nicholas and then to Alexandra, as if to say I told you so.

Only when Zack was comfortably settled once again at Alexandra
’s feet and Nicholas had seated himself a safe distance away did he relax a little. “I say, interesting animal.” He nodded stiffly at Zack. “Rather like a bear, wouldn’t you say?”

“He
’s large, certainly, but it’s only his appearance that is intimidating.” Alexandra stroked the dog’s head. “Actually, he’s as friendly as a puppy.”

“Indeed.”

“He seems to like you. You noticed how he licked your face.”

“Indeed,” he
repeated stiffly.

“You were about to tell me, Mr
—Nicholas, about your conversations with the other guests.”

“Oh yes, of course.” Nicholas took his eyes off of Zack at last. “Odd thing is, I
’m not certain that everyone is sincerely mourning poor Eddie’s passing.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, it seems the chap had his own way of intimidating people.” Nicholas leaned forward eagerly. “Several people, in fact.”

Alexandra
’s interest was piqued. “What do you mean, exactly?”

“Eddie was something of a bully when we were in school, but I assumed he
’d outgrown that.” Nicholas settled back into his chair. “Of course I don’t see him as often as I once did, in spite of the fact that we are distant cousins. I was busy reading law for several years, you see, and then as a barrister I find myself quite busy.”

“Of course.” There was an expectancy to her tone that was an invitation for him to go on speaking.

“Perhaps bully is not quite the right word.” He frowned, thinking about it. “Eddie was always more of a manipulator. He used people, you might say. And that, apparently, made a few people rather cross with him.”

“And some of the guests were among those who were cross?”

“Yes, Isabel Atewater for one. According to some of the other ladies, whom I just happened to hear gossiping while I lurked outside the east wing parlor, Isabel and Eddie had been having an affair.”

Nicholas paused as if to ga
uge whether or not the subject was too indelicate, but Alexandra kept her countenance and did not comment. She waited for Nicholas to continue.

“And it seems that Eddie had broken it off.” Nicholas appeared decidedly uncomfortable.

“I can understand that she might have been chagrined, but that hardly seems a reason to kill him. One would think it would be enough just to make him…” Alexandra suddenly understood the reason for Nicholas’s discomfort, and it had nothing to do with the indelicacy of the subject. Isabel had obviously been using Nicholas to get back at Lord Dunsford, which was, no doubt, a blow to his ego.

“To make him jealous?” Nicholas sighed as he finished her thought for her. “One would hope that would be enough, but Isabel was seen going into Eddie
’s room the night he died.”

“Really? By whom?”

“Lady Winningham. It seems she couldn’t sleep, and she had just stepped in the hallway on her way down to the library to fetch something to read when she saw Isabel going into Eddie’s room. She claims she was so shocked she simply ducked back into her room and never made it down to find a book.”

“You overheard all of this while you were lurking, as you say, outside the east wing parlor?”

Nicholas nodded.

She paused a moment, collecting her thoughts. “Did Lady Winningham see Isabel leave Eddie
’s room?”

“Apparently not.”

“And did she say whether or not she carried anything? A long scarf, for example, or a knife?”

“She didn
’t mention it.”

“So Isabel could have been going to his room for a lover
’s tryst.”

Nicholas shrugged. “I suppose that
’s possible.”

“And Isabel,” Alexandra said. “Has she said anything?”

Nicholas was about to answer when Nancy entered, carrying a tray of sandwiches, tea, and chocolate biscuits. She placed the items on the table and took a long time arranging them, then stepped back a few steps, waiting.

“That will be all, Nancy. Thank you.” Alexandra watched as
Nancy bowed slightly and walked away, but she sensed an unmistakable reluctance on Nancy’s part. Nancy loved a good story, and the recent goings on at Montmarsh would likely be the best one she’d hear in some time.

Nicholas waited until
Nancy was gone, and then said in a low voice, “Isabel took to her bed immediately after Constable Snow questioned her, and since no one will be allowed to leave for a while, she has sent for her London physician to be fetched to Montmarsh.”

Alexandra nodded, remembering Isabel
’s remarks about her lack of trust in any physician other than her own personal one. “And no one has spoken to her since?”

“I tried, but…” Nicholas cleared his throat nervously.

“But what?”

“Well, you see, I thought I would steal away to her room and interview her since she and I are… Or rather, that is, we have been…” Nicholas stretched his neck as if his collar was too tight, and Alexandra noticed a film of perspiration on his upper lip. “What I
’m trying to say is that we have been…”

“I know what you
’re trying to say, Nicholas. That you and Mrs. Atewater have been considerably more than friends. That you have been lovers, perhaps.” Alexandra watched as his face went from white to crimson.

“My dear Dr. Gladstone, I assure you that nothing could be further—”

“No need to assure me of anything, Nicholas. I have no interest in your personal affairs. Why weren’t you able to interview Mrs. Atewater as you had planned?”

In spite of Alexandra
’s well practiced detached tone, Nicholas still appeared immensely uncomfortable. “Well, it was rather awkward you see, since Jeremy never left her side.”

“Jeremy? Mr. Atewater, you mean?”

“Precisely.”

“Do you have any reason to believe that Mr. Atewater had knowledge of his wife
’s affair with Lord Dunsford?”

Nicholas took out his handkerchief and mopped his brow. “I think that
’s possible. Apparently everyone else knew.”

“Except you, of course.”

Nicholas sighed again, then after a pause said, “I see what you’re getting at. If Jeremy did know, then he had a motive to kill Eddie. The jealous husband, as you postulated earlier. And I have to admit Jeremy has been rather gloomy lately. Even before Eddie’s death, I mean.”

“And how is he now?”

“Gloomier than ever. As we all are.” There was a pause as Nicholas seemed deep in thought. “Well, almost all of us.”

“Almost?” Alexandra felt as if she was trying to diagnose the illness of a particularly reticent patient.

“Winningham,” Nicholas said. “For some reason I got the feeling he could hardly contain his joy. Oh, of course he tried to put on a sad face, but there was a certain—well, gleefulness he couldn’t seem to hide.”

“Interesting.”

Another silence while Nicholas considered it.

“Any particular reason that you know of why he would be happy that Lord Dunsford is dead?
” Alexandra asked.

“Of course not,” Nicholas said, but he didn
’t sound convincing.

Alexandra tried to prompt him. “He didn
’t owe Lord Dunsford money, for example?”

Nicholas shook his head, still wearing a thoughtful expression. “Not likely. Win
ningham is quite wealthy in his own right.”

“Something else then. Blackmail, perhaps.”

Nicholas frowned with surprise. “Good lord, no. Winnie is the epitome of propriety.”

“I see.”

Nicholas turned his distracted gaze suddenly to focus on her. “I know what you’re thinking. The epitome of propriety is precisely the type to worry about his reputation and be vulnerable to blackmail.”

Alexandra thought it best not to acknowledge that
had been exactly what she was thinking. She simply sat and waited for him to continue his musing, which she hoped would reveal more.

“As I said
, Eddie could certainly be manipulative.” He seemed to be speaking to no one in particular, or perhaps to himself. “And those things I overheard…”

“In the east parlor, you mean.” Alexandra said when the pause had stretched long enough that she feared he might lose his train of thought.

“Oh no. I also lurked where the gentlemen were congregated.”

“Of course.”

“It seems there have been rumors that Eddie—well, that Eddie wasn’t above blackmail.”

“Interesting.”

“I never paid attention to rumors in the past, of course. But now I must admit…” There was another long pause, the kind a person might make when he or she is making a particularly difficult confession to a priest. “One might say that…” Nicholas cleared his throat. “Well, that I myself was a near victim of blackmail at his hands.”

“A near victim? I don
’t understand.”

Nicholas gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Oh it happened a long time ago. We were both quite young.”

There was another long pause during which Zack, who still slept at Alexandra’s feet, began to snore loudly. She feared the noise might distract Nicholas, so she nudged the dog with her toe, which only served to make him snore even louder. Nicholas, however, seemed not to notice. He merely cleared his throat again, uneasily.

“I was much younger, you see. Fresh out of Eton, and I had just begun to read law at
Oxford, but I took a holiday and traveled to London. I happened to see Eddie, who, by then, had inherited the earldom, and had just returned from surveying his estates.”

Alexandra nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“I suppose we were both somewhat exhausted by our new duties, and we meant only to have a relaxing evening.”

“Of course.”

“It was perhaps a bit too relaxing.”

“How so?”

“Well…” Nicholas cleared his throat again. “I don’t know quite how to put this…”

“You spent a night in debauchery, perhaps?” Alexandra
’s voice was quiet and unemotional.

Nicholas
’s expression was a mixture of discomfort and denial. “I wouldn’t go so far as to call it…” He breathed another uneasy sigh. “Well, perhaps you’ve chosen the right word after all.”

She tried prompting him once again. “And for this, Lord Dunsford threatened to blackmail you?”

“He threatened to report my activity to my father unless I paid a tidy sum. I couldn’t have my father know, of course. He was not a well man. I’m sure you can see my position.”

“Indeed.”

Nicholas mopped his brow again. “Nothing came of it, of course, because Eddie realized he couldn’t implicate me without implicating himself. As I said, it was a long time ago, and I assumed Eddie would outgrow such tricks. But I dare say, at the time it showed a ruthless side of the old boy that surprised me.”

Alexandra took her last sip of tea and set her cup down carefully. “And if he hadn
’t outgrown it…”

“Then I suppose it
’s possible, according to what the other gentlemen were implying, that at one time or another, practically all of us could have a motive to do the old boy in.”

Chapter Five

The knock at the door came early while Alexandra was still having her breakfast.
Nancy went to see who it was, then left the visitor in the front hall while she stepped into the dining room to tell Alexandra what was needed.

“
’Tis Jamie, one of the stable boys from Montmarsh, Miss Alex. He says Cook has need of you. ’Tis her nerves, the boy says.”

Alexandra made a quick gesture of touching her napkin to her mouth and stood. “Tell him I
’ll leave as soon as I can get Lucy saddled. I’ll just get my bag and—”

“Oh no, they sent a carriage for you, Miss. He says you
’re to come right away.” Nancy’s eyes were large and round with excitement.

Alexandra hesitated only a moment, wondering who would have the authority to send a carriage now that Lord Dunsford was dead. The steward, no doubt. After all, the estate always had run quite efficiently during Lord Dunsford
’s long absences in the past.

She hurried to the surgery and picked up her bag, checking to make sure she had a supply of laudanum to provide for the cook. It was only natural that the woman would be distraught and complaining of a case of nerves, considering all that had happened at Montmarsh—a kitchen maid gone berserk,
the earl murdered in his bed, and a house full of unhappy guests who were being forced to stay during what could be a protracted investigation.

Zack gave her a sharp bark and an eager anticipatory look as she walked toward the door. Alexandra rubbed his head. “Not this time, Zack.”

He walked away in a sulking pout, and Alexandra stepped outside, allowing Jamie to help her into the carriage. The boy seemed nervous. His hands shook, and he appeared to be on the edge of tears. The events at Montmarsh had taken their toll on everyone.

When they reached
the estate, Alexandra entered through the servants’ entrance, which would give her quicker access to her patient. Jamie led her downstairs to the cook’s room, then backed away shyly.

The scent of cooking spices, nutmeg, ginger, and cinnamon, mixed with smells of rancid fat and boiled meat greeted her when she opened the door. It was as if the smells of the kitchen had attached themselves permanently to the cook.

Hester Pickwick, known to the household as Cook, lay on her narrow bed with a damp, folded cloth across her forehead while she cried. Occasional twitches, which looked a bit like convulsions, made the bed shake. They were not convulsions though, of that Alexandra was sure. It was only the tension in her body, which the laudanum, and perhaps a soothing, caring voice, would soon alleviate.

Since the cook didn
’t seem to realize Alexandra had entered, she knelt at her bedside and spoke quietly. “Mrs. Pickwick, Dr. Gladstone here.”

Cook opened her eyes, let out a long sigh, and then sobbed harder.

“Mrs. Pickwick, please. I know you’re distraught, as well you might be. Perhaps you could talk to me about it.” Alexandra’s father had taught her long ago that a case of so-called
nerves
could sometimes be cured by simply allowing the patient to verbalize his or her fears. He had cautioned, however, that the talks could be as addictive as laudanum.

“Talk? What is there to say except the devil will have his way with us, he will
. Lord Dunsford murdered in his bed. And me the one to blame.” Mrs. Pickwick sputtered her words amid choking sobs.

“I don
’t understand. How are you to blame?” Alexandra kept her voice low and soothing.

“Didn
’t I tell the housekeeper to hire the girl? The poor Irish lass what killed him?” Mrs. Pickwick covered her face with her hands and shook her head.

“That doesn
’t place the blame on your shoulders.” Alexandra’s voice was more forceful this time.

Mrs. Pickwick sniffled and spread her fingers to peer at Alexandra. “You think not?”

“Certainly not.” Alexandra picked up one of her plump hands and held it. They felt like warm, moist dough. “In the first place, there is no proof that Elsie killed Lord Dunsford, and secondly, even if she did, how could you possibly have known that she would?”

Mrs. Pickwick pulled her hand away and straightened herself into a sitting position. “Well, I couldn
’t have, could I? She seemed such a sweet thing. Even Mrs. Chapman, the housekeeper, will say that she was. It was that scofflaw George Stirling what led her astray, as I told you the night of Lord Dunsford’s party. Fancied herself in love with him, she did. Well, she’s better off that he’s dead, I say. She could easily find herself a nicer young man.” Mrs. Pickwick shook her head. “She was a sweet girl, all right. A bit high-strung, I’ll grant you that, but wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Am I to take that to mean you don
’t believe she actually did it,” Alexandra said. “Killed Lord Dunsford, I mean.”

At that, Mrs. Pickwick broke into sobs again. “Well, they
’re saying she did, are they not? And her swinging that knife around. Saw her yourself, you did. So what am I to think? Oh that poor, poor girl.” She sobbed harder still, and amidst her sobs muttered, “I’m hoping she’ll get away, I am.” She stopped crying suddenly. Her face was as colorless as flour. “I didn’t mean that, Dr. Gladstone. You believe that, don’t you? I’m out of my head with grief. Over Lord Dunsford, you see. I didn’t mean a word of it.”

Alexandra reached a hand to pat her on the shoulder. “Of course
you didn’t, Mrs. Pickwick,” she said even though she knew Mrs. Pickwick meant every word. Hester Pickwick did not think Elsie was guilty any more than she, herself, did, and her grief was not for Lord Dunsford, but for Elsie.

“There
’s something else I’ve got to tell you,” Mrs. Pickwick said, grappling at the bed covers.

Alexandra put a soothing hand on her shoulder. “Try to calm yourself, Mrs. Pickwick. You
’re not to blame for anything that has happened.”

“It
’s not the blame I’m thinking of, Dr. Gladstone.” She wadded the edge of the sheet in her fists. “It’s the master. Lord Dunsford…”

“Lord Dunsford?”

Mrs. Pickwick spoke to her in a hoarse whisper. “Yes, the earl hisself. Had I not seen his body carried out by the constable and the undertaker with my own eyes, I would not believe he was dead.”

“I don
’t understand…”

“He
’s here, he is.” Her whispering voice was salted with terror. “Walking the halls of Montmarsh, he is. I heard him. More than once. And that cough of his that he gets when he stays too long in that foul London air, I heard that, too.” Mrs. Pickwick’s ample bosom heaved, and a black fear engulfed her like a thick soup.

“Now, now, dear. You mustn
’t fret.” Alexandra spoke once again in her soothing voice. “Sometimes when a person is under a great deal of strain—”

“You think I
’ve grown daft, but I know what I hear, and I know what I see.” Mrs. Pickwick’s eyes were large and frightened. “And see him I did. Wearing his tweeds. And that brown jacket he always wears in the country. Saw him this morning, I did, when I went up to fire the ovens.”

There
’s more than one corpse that walks among the living
. Alexandra shivered as she remembered Old Beaty’s words.

“I have gone
’round the bend, haven’t I? I’ll end my days in the asylum.” She was wailing again.

Alexandra once again forced herself to speak with calm. “You haven
’t gone around the bend; you’ve simply been under a great deal of strain.”

Mrs. Pickwick only shook her head and cried harder.

“Please, Mrs. Pickwick, calm yourself. Hallucinations under these circumstances are not uncommon. People often think they see the deceased, or hear them speak.”

Mrs. Pickwick stopped crying long enough to look at her. “They do?”

“Of course. You mustn’t let it frighten you. It will pass.” She took the vial of laudanum out of her bag. “I’m going to leave this with you. Take a few drops in water now, and another few drops this evening before you go to bed. It will help you rest, but you must be careful. My late father had begun to believe the opium in it is addictive. There’s no proof, mind you, but it’s best not to take chances.”

“I
’m not one to take chances, Dr. Gladstone, I’ll tell you that.” Mrs. Pickwick’s voice was strained, but she was trying to calm herself.

Alexandra gave her a smile and a pat on the arm. “Send for me if you need anything more.
” She started to take her leave, feeling uneasy. What she had told her patient wasn’t entirely the truth. While it was somewhat common for a person to believe he or she had seen the deceased, it was almost always a loved one they saw. A symptom of grief. And Mrs. Pickwick’s grief was clearly for Elsie, not Lord Dunsford.

Just as she reached the door, Mrs. Pickwick called out to her. “Dr. Gladstone, there is one thing you must do for me.” Alexandra turned around to face her. “You
’ve got to find Elsie before it’s too late.”

“Mrs. Pickwick—”

“No! Hear me out.” There was desperation in her voice. “You’ve got to find her before they hang her for something I know in my heart she could never do. You must help her, Dr. Gladstone. Please! Please!” She was on the verge of hysterics. “You must help the poor lass. It’s what your father would have done.”

“Please try to rest.” Alexandra spoke quietly, then left the room and climbed the stairs, feeling drained of all her energy. She did not know Hester Pickwick terribly well, but she had treated her once or twice for small things—a superficial burn she
’d gotten during the course of her cooking or, occasionally a case of grippe. It was enough for Alexandra to form an opinion that she was a woman possessed of a great deal of common sense and practical knowledge, not one given to hallucinations or hysteria. Yet, her fervor about wanting Alexandra to find Elsie had certainly bordered on the hysterical, which possibly, but not likely, could give rise to the hallucinations. Whatever was going on, the woman was truly worried about Elsie and was convinced she had not killed Lord Dunsford.

On the other hand, Nell Stillwell and much of the rest of the town, as well as the guests at Montmarsh, seemed convinced that Elsie was guilty.

When Alexandra reached the top of the stairs, she took a deep breath, deciding she needed a few minutes alone to clear her head and collect her thoughts before she began her rounds and opened the surgery. She stepped outside, using the servants’ entrance and was about to ask for the carriage to take her home again. She stopped, however, long before she reached the stables.

Constable Snow was standing just outside the paddock gate speaking with Jamie. She turned away, not wanting to talk to the constable, or to anyone else, at the moment. But neither did she want to re-enter Montmarch Hall. It seemed to want to suffocate her with its atmosphere of gloom and fear.

Perhaps a short walk in the fresh air would do her good. She’d spied a copse of trees and brush just outside the formal gardens, well away from the stable. The constable’s back was turned to her as she walked, and, with enough good fortune, she would be well into the thicket before he turned around.

The day had begun to warm already, in spite of the fact that it was not yet noon, so she slipped her shawl from her shoulders and loosened the top button of her frock. By the time she reached the stand of trees, she had begun to relax a little, and her head seemed to clear.

As she drew closer and allowed herself to be swallowed by the thicket, she became entranced by the landscape. So much of the timber had been cut away from the English countryside that she had come not to expect much more than a smattering of trees. She had never been this deep into the grounds of Montmarsh, however, and had never realized the wooded area was there, redolent with the scent of moss, damp earth, and the scaly-fingered leaves of trees.

She began to enjoy the novelty of it and to drink in the scent of the oak and beech and to listen to the pipits singing to each other as they flitted from tree to tree. The copse, however, did prove to be quite narrow after all, and in a short time she could see the edge of the thicket. Near the edge, but still hidden in the trees, were the ruins of a stone cottage. Dry branches lay across the top, a dead sacrifice to the long-gone thatched roof. A malignancy of lichen spread over the walls. Yet they still stood in a slowly dissolving rectangle. It had most likely been a workers cottage several hundred years ago, perhaps the lodging of Montmarsh
’s woodcutter or swineherd or some other laborer.

While Alexandra watched, a dark form passed one of the open square slots that had once been a window. She was startled at first, because the form looked human. But she told herself she must have been mistaken. The light was not good because of the tree shadows, and it would be far more likely to be an animal of some sort that she had seen—a good-sized animal to be sure, perhaps a sheep or a calf, or even a deer.

She walked closer to the building to have a look, and that’s when she saw the very human eyes staring back at her. The eyes were at once frightened and menacing, and the mouth gaped open with teeth bared as if emitting a silent scream.

Alexandra wanted to flee back into the woods, or at the very least to turn her eyes away from the creature in the dirty, blood-soaked dress. She did neither. Instead, heart pounding, she took a cautious step forward and managed to speak in a quiet, but trembling voice.