Florence Nightingale Comedy Mysteries Box Set

by Barbara Silkstone

  “I couldn’t get the lady into her bed,” the maid whimpered. Florence touched the woman’s wrist. “Mrs. Carbuncle has no pulse but she is still warm, it may be that she is not able to breathe. Change her position…now! Move her to the floor and place her head lower than her feet.” She looked at the servant girl for assistance but she had backed away in terror.

  Olsen and I stepped forward to help. Lord Melbourne leaned against the wall attempting to gather his strength.

  “That is a useless procedure!” Dr. Carbuncle barked. “Edith is gone. Leave her in peace. Help me lay her upon the bed.” He tugged at her head, struggling to pull his wife’s limp body onto the bed. In a rage Florence tugged on the woman’s feet.

  “There may still be life in her! Release Mrs. Carbuncle this instant!” Florence spoke in such a tone that the angels must have shivered, because I surely did.

  Olsen helped Florence move the lady into position with her legs higher than her head; I assisted by taking a pillow from the bed and placing it under her feet. Taking care not to squash the little owl that huddled in her pocket, Florence began to apply pressure with her hands on Mrs. Carbuncle’s abdomen. She placed her lips over the lady’s nose and mouth and began to blow into her. When that did not work she called for a feather from one of the pillows. I managed to pluck a large one and hand it to her.

  Reaching deep into Mrs. Carbuncle’s throat Florence tickled the area but there was no response. Again Florence felt for a pulse, but then she slowly shook her head, announcing, “Mrs. Carbuncle is seriously dead.”

  Dr. Carbuncle’s gaze clouded and he seemed to be looking at something in the distance. He scratched his temple as he repeated, “Mrs. Carbuncle is dead. I told you she is dead.” The thought occurred to me that he had hypnotized himself. “She is finally silent,” he said.

  “This cannot be!” Mr. Averoff slumped against the doorframe. “This was to be a happy time. Why has everything suddenly gone so horribly wrong? I cannot bear this to happen in my home. Stealing! Dying! Could it be that such a beautiful emerald carries a curse?”

  Florence turned on him. “I am not superstitious and I trust you do not appreciate such fancies, sir. We have all been witness to Mrs. Carbuncle’s chronic coughing. It may have been too much for her body and she finally gave way.”

  Granny settled into a chair, looking so pale that I feared for her heart. “I should have been watching Edith,” she whimpered.

  I stepped to my grandmother’s side and rubbed her shoulder. “It is not your fault. You could not watch her during the night. She had her husband to attend her.”

  I felt a hand on my shoulder and it made me cringe. It was more an irritation than a comfort. “Roger, please don’t touch me.” My mind was racing in zigzags like a crazed lizard. It was time to focus on the solvable—the theft of the emerald—for the death of Edith Carbuncle was from natural causes and nothing could be done about that.

  Olsen helped Florence lift the body of Mrs. Carbuncle onto the bed. “Leave me with her, for I will make her comfortable,” she said. I had heard my friend speak this way of the dead before, it was as if she felt them watching over her as they drifted heavenward.

  Lord Melbourne had been very quiet throughout the attempts to save the victim. Now he spoke to Florence. “When you have finished tending to poor Mrs. Carbuncle, please join me in my room. In the meantime, I will have Captain Wainright seal all the exits and begin a thorough search of everything and everyone in the house as well as the carriages. That is with your permission, Mr. Averoff.”

  When Lord M turned to face me, my heart fell. He looked so awful I wanted to hug him in a daughterly way. “Poppy…Miss Throckmorten, please accompany Miss Nightingale to my chambers after you have settled your grandmother safely in bed.”

  He extended his hand to Mr. Averoff but was instead greeted with an embrace from our emotional host who struggled with his words, “My entire household is awake and searching for the servant who brought the tea. We shall find the woman and with her will be the emerald. Are you certain she had white hair?”

  Mr. Averoff glanced at the corpse that had once been the worrisome Mrs. Carbuncle. “This is such a sad occurrence. I will speak with the doctor and see to making final arrangements for his wife, in the meantime we shall let the lady rest in this room.”

  Chapter 28

  Florence and I tucked Granny in for the night and then we, well Florence, began to feed Athena. Baby owls require a lot of food and the little darling had been more than patient. “I wish we could have sourced out a bit of raw chicken for her. You didn’t happen to see a mouse running about?” Florence asked. Her query was made to lighten our mood more than to actually catch a live mouse.

  “You asked me earlier, but I have not seen any rodents except for Roger and James Olsen either would give poor Athena indigestion.”

  “I wouldn’t want to make my little girl ill,” Florence said.

  We lowered our voices to a whisper as we discussed the possible identity of the thief. I had a few names to suggest as possible robbers but Florence had only one evildoer in mind. “The same person is at the top of my list,” I said.

  I could not help but smile as I watched Athena delicately pick a piece of a worm from Florence’s fingers. The little creature was so ladylike, pecking and gulping down the squiggly bits. She could also be terribly feisty as I found out when I attempted to touch her. She nipped me, this time harder than before. Although I longed to pet her, I had learned to respect her wishes. All living creatures have their boundaries.

  Thinking of foibles, I allowed that George Averoff’s conduct was childlike in the enthusiastic way in which he conducted himself. It was surprising that he had been so successful in his business career when he was such a trusting man. It was my understanding that being naïve was not a good trait in the world of commerce. Perhaps he had just been lucky.

  I wondered whether Moon the footman had been conscripted to search and if so where he was assigned. It would be comforting to respond to a knock on the door and to see his bright blue English eyes; perhaps he might be bearing a piece of cake. A little snort escaped my nose as I laughed at my silliness—but the thought did give me some consolation.

  It was upsetting to know there was a thief among us, and that he had most likely joined us at dinner earlier that evening. Was it only just hours ago? It seemed like ages when Mrs. Carbuncle had been belittling her husband. If only she had known death waited in the shadows, she might have taken an extra dose of Bayer’s Heroin Cough Suppressant and gone to bed early. But would that have made a difference?

  Both of Queen Victoria’s maids arrived almost to the minute after Florence had finished feeding Athena. She quickly lined her pocket with a handkerchief and then slipped the owl in while I admitted the servants.

  My friend stood to greet them. “You are to stay with Mrs. Throckmorten until we return. Do not let her out of the room, and let no one in.” They nodded accepting Florence’s instructions. “We will be right across the hall in Lord Melbourne’s chambers should an emergency arise.”

  We quietly slipped out the door. I was not surprised to see the hulking guard from earlier had been replaced by another Dragoon. The new sentry gave Florence and me a polite nod and allowed us to enter the room.

  “Miss Nightingale, Miss Throckmorten, we have a task before us.” Lord Melbourne looked slightly better as he rose to greet us. He did not appear as well-turned out as usual, but he was sufficiently collected to impress us. Obviously washed and refreshed from the dosing of the emetic, he had changed out of his sleeping clothes and was dressed for action. “Please sit. I have not nor will I order tea.” He dismissed his valet, telling him to join the guard in the hall.

  “Lord M, please do call me Poppy.” I settled my bottom in the chair he offered. “I am more a Poppy than a Throckmorten.”

  He smiled at my quip. “How is the little owl?”

  “Ready to begin the hunt; birds are excellent at retrieving shiny object
s,” Florence’s humor fell flat. Wittiness was not her strong suite and was best left to me.

  Lord Melbourne rubbed his hands together while speaking through a clenched jaw. “It will be a waste of precious time to look all over this house for the emerald as it could be in anyone of a thousand places. That is not to say we won’t look for it, but let us concentrate on the perpetrator,” he said. “I am certain we all have the same culprit in mind, for there is only one person who had the opportunity; however he must have had an accomplice deliver the tea. Drugging us required some advance planning.”

  “If the thief only learned of the emerald at dinner, then how did he or she have time to dupe a servant?” Florence inquired. “The obvious solution can often be wrong. I have some ideas.” She clicked her fingernails against the table.

  “We are in agreement as to the thief? Or do you hesitate?” Lord Melbourne spoke to Florence. “We are dealing with a man who would risk a reputation it has taken him a lifetime to establish. He would gamble on stealing something of such notable size that it would be impossible to discreetly liquidate it. This is a man who is motivated by something other than merely acquiring the emerald.”

  The look on my mentor’s face suggested she did not entirely agree with his Lordship.

  “What motivates a thief?” Lord Melbourne directed his question to Florence.

  Taking up my penlet I took notes as Florence recited a list of possible incentives that might prompt someone to such self-destructive actions. “Greed would be the first choice but we have touched on the difficulty of converting the jewel to cash. Hate or lust, neither of which would apply to the person you have in mind—at least I hesitate to pin those emotions on your suspect. That leaves envy and power.”

  A heavy sigh escaped my lips. “His envy of you, Florence, could not be more clearly visible if it was written on his forehead.”

  “There is of course power,” said Lord Melbourne. “I can think of a way this villain might acquire power.”

  I took out my journal and graphite stick and began to write in my code, taking notes I could refer to later. For motives and access are the two keys to solving most crimes.

  “Take care with your book, Miss Poppy,” Lord Melbourne said. “Write down nothing that would be injurious to our evidence should someone lay hands on your journal.”

  “Before we proceed, let me read to you what I have drafted for Her Majesty’s eyes only. My duty is to inform Her Royal Highness immediately and then take action according to any instructions she sends. If you feel I have left out any pertinent information please hold your thoughts until I have finished reading.”

  I leaned forward clutching my penlet, prepared to jot down any suggestions. A thrill ran along my right arm and tingled in my fingers as the thought that I, Poppy Throckmorten was critiquing the Prime Minister’s urgent message to Queen Victoria. It is amazing what life can lay at your doorstep.

  Florence appeared to be chewing on the inside of her cheek, which was a habit she had vowed to break. “A good way to expose one to all sorts of germs,” she frequently lectured herself.

  Lord Melbourne cleared his throat and began to read from a sheet of linen stationery.

  “Your Royal Highness,

  Would that I could be sending you good news, but alas the opposite is true. At this moment I sit in my chambers with Miss Nightingale and Miss Throckmorten who bear witness to all that has occurred. Please excuse the brevity of this letter but you will understand the need to act quickly when you read what has transpired.

  “First, I shall address the endowment given by Mr. George Averoff, who has proven to be an honorable man of his word. The form of his gift was unusual but fully the amount promised, if not more. It is an emerald the size of half of a playing card. By the color and brilliance I have no doubt the appraisal he quotes is accurate in that it is valued at more than $300,000.

  “Now I must confess my abject misery at having failed your majesty for Mr. Averoff entrusted the emerald to my care, even as he presented the jewel to us on your behalf. After expressing gratitude on behalf of the Crown, I placed the emerald in a small bag secured by a cord which I wore around my neck. It was the same method used by Mr. Averoff to protect the jewel until our arrival.

  “Later this evening I failed to remain alert and while I slept parties unknown took the emerald. To further the sorry situation, simultaneous to the theft, Dr. Carbuncle’s wife was taken ill and within minutes she expired from what we believe to be natural causes, but we are not certain.

  “We must now undertake a search for the emerald; to that end the Dragoons are probing the building we are housed in and all persons known to be inside. Because the stone is large, but small in the vast area we must investigate, I am seriously concerned. I hope to convey news of the recovery of the stone and the capture of the thief in my next letter.

  “It would be appropriate for someone from the Palace to contact Mrs. Carbuncle’s family as to the care of her remains. We have reason to question Dr. Carbuncle’s state of mind at the loss of his beloved wife and do not feel he can make a proper decision as to her final resting place. Mr. Averoff is, needless to say, distraught at this turn of events.

  “We will begin to search for the missing jewel as soon as this message is dispatched. I respectfully await your instructions.

  Your loyal servant,

  William Lamb, Viscount Melbourne

  Prime Minister”

  He handed the paper to Florence. “Please add your thoughts, Miss Nightingale. A postscript at the bottom would be most appropriate.”

  Florence shook her head, frustrated with the contents of Lord Melbourne’s letter. She carried the paper to the writing desk, uncapped the bottle of ink, dipped the pen, and began to add her comments to his lordships self-flagellation.

  Chapter 29

  Florence began to write at such a rapid pace I feared her words would not be legible. She was possessed of the most atrocious handwriting and her current state of anger would make her script appear as if it were a foreign language. The Queen would never be able to read it.

  Ever so quietly, I slipped into place peeking over her shoulder. She was so engrossed she did not notice me as I read her words thinking to correct any indecipherable script.

  Your Majesty,

  I must provide you with all the details of what has occurred this evening for I will then have a question for you—the answer to the question will be most important.

  Lord Melbourne has taken full responsibility for the theft of the emerald but he is being gallant and gallantry will not solve this mystery. For your complete understanding as to what has occurred—with the gifted emerald chained securely around his neck, he locked himself in his chambers with only his valet in attendance and a sentry from Her Majesty’s Dragoons standing guard at the door. All precautions were taken.

  As Lord Melbourne was retiring for the evening a maid, ostensibly employed by Mr. Averoff brought a tray with tea and sugar to his room. I have since determined that the tea was laced with laudanum and the sugar contained a slight mix of arsenic. The first drug was to make him sleepy and the second to cause him severe distress. Your noble Prime Minister would never consider calling for the doctor unless his pain was extreme, and the arsenic would insure that he did in fact call for help. I noted there was no cream on the tray, which told me that the tea service was prepared in a rush.

  Lord Melbourne was in severe distress when Miss Throckmorten and myself arrived to find Dr. Carbuncle in the room. His lordship fought the symptoms and soon was well enough to speak, though he remained in great pain. It was then that a servant arrived bearing news that Mrs. Carbuncle was extremely ill. The doctor left to tend his wife. Shortly thereafter His Lordship noticed the cord and bag containing the emerald were missing from around his neck. We searched his room but did not find the jewel.

  Within a short time we were notified that Mrs. Carbuncle had ceased to breathe while in her husband’s care. I rushed to the doctor’s room, an
d attempted to revive the lady, but she had passed. In all things I do I avoid the obvious, but please advise as to who recommended Dr. Carbuncle join us on our trip to Greece? His heart has never been in the venture and it would greatly help in solving the mystery of the stolen emerald and the death of Mrs. Carbuncle, if Your Majesty would inform us of his sponsor.

  Your humble servant,

  F.N.

  Her handwriting could be deciphered. Good. She had control over the pen and her temper. Lord Melbourne nodded his acceptance of her comments. He folded and sealed the letter. Then he summoned Captain Wainright.

  “I am entrusting this letter to you and only you,” he told the captain of the Dragoons. “Where available take the fastest boats, otherwise ride like the wind. Have one of your most trusted men accompany you. Take this purse of gold to pay for fresh horses and bribes. This must reach Her Majesty as soon as is humanly possible. We will await her instructions.”

  Wainright saluted, spun on his heels and left.

  The tension was like a coat made of wire that had been thrown over his lordship. He stared at Florence as if using her to gather his thoughts.

  “It will be easier to find the thief than the emerald. Once we have the culprit he will lead us to the jewel.” Florence rationalized. “Let us retrace exactly what happened from the moment you returned here from our meeting in Mr. Averoff’s study. We are in unspoken agreement as to who the thief must be but let us approach this systematically.”

  She scooped Athena from her pocket and sat in one of the armchairs, stroking the owl’s head as she lapsed into deep concentration. “Poppy take these names and let us compare them with the people who had access to Lord Melbourne while he was in distress.”

  “Lord M, you are certain the emerald was in the bag and the bag was in place around your neck?” Florence asked.