Before the earl could reply, the door opened and a tall woman with fair hair entered. She wore spectacles, but appeared no older than thirty. Both men stood, politely.
“Good morning, Superintendent Sinclair,” she said, shaking the detective’s hand firmly. “I’m Dr. Kennedy. I understand that you wish to speak to me about one of my patients.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Kennedy. This is my cousin, Lord Aubrey. A fellow investigator, of sorts.”
“Ah, yes, I thought I recognised you both from the newspapers. You’re also titled, aren’t you, Superintendent? Marquess of...don’t tell me...Homesbury?”
“Haimsbury, actually, but it’s an archaic form of the same word.”
She sat behind her desk, and the men followed suit by regaining their chairs.
“Do you have sole care for Moira Murdoch?” Sinclair began.
“Now, that is a rather insulting question,” she complained.
“It isn’t meant to be. I merely wonder if you consult with another.”
Her blue eyes narrowed, and the physician began tapping the forefinger of her right hand against the desktop in obvious irritation. “I take it, you’re a misogynist, Detective Superintendent. You think a woman incapable of acting alone. Well, I’ll have you know that women are just as proficient at diagnosing and treating illness as any man!” she snapped angrily.
“I agree with you,” Charles assured her patiently. “However, I see that the date on your surgeon’s certificate is but three months ago. You sit behind a partner’s desk, and though the other desk seems unused, it bears the hallmarks of recent occupation upon its surface. There are uncleaned coffee ring stains, a dust-free area the size of an ink blotter, and even burn marks, perhaps from cigarettes. A man’s medical coat hangs upon the wall rack behind the door. There is also the distinct smell of pipe tobacco in this room, and there is a faded rectangle above the bookcase where a second certificate may have hung until recently. I do not speak from any prejudice regarding your fitness to practise medicine, Dr. Kennedy. However, as a police detective, I ask you again: are you Miss Murdoch’s sole physician?”
The woman stopped tapping. “I see. Yes, I am her sole consultant, at least for now. Dr. Neil Frobischer has visited with her only once, and I used to share this office with him. Neil was dismissed. Only two hours ago, in fact. Frobischer worked the night shift, and it was he who tended Murdoch upon her admission at two o’clock this morning.”
“Why was Dr. Frobischer dismissed?”
“Neil’s knowledge and capabilities as a diagnostician are unsurpassed, but so is his predilection for strong drink. He was, in fact, quite drunk when he examined Miss Murdoch. We do not brook such behaviour here, Superintendent. Strangely though, Dr. Frobischer will probably be tending to Moira again soon, as I’m transferring her to a neighbouring facility, once her wounds heal. It’s my understanding that Neil also works there, so assuming he’s not lost that position as well, he will likely be treating her. Murdoch’s main problem is not so much physical as mental, you see.”
“May I ask what you mean by that?”
The physician glanced at the arrangement of papers on her desk, fidgeting with two that Aubrey had touched, turning them so that each formed a perfect, parallel edge with its neighbour, spaced equidistantly. “Moira’s mind is unbalanced. Perhaps, since birth. We’ve discussed treatment options with her sister, and she has agreed to the transfer. Really, if you wish to ask Moira about the man that attacked her, I doubt you’ll find her answers any more helpful than those she gave to your colleagues from K-Division.”
“Superintendent Steed, or one of his officers?”
“Both. A junior inspector visited at seven this morning, but Superintendent Steed came at nine. Miss Murdoch was quite upset after that second call, so I hope you will not do likewise. She is delicately balanced.”
“And her physical state?” he asked.
“Her injuries were not life threatening, but they were serious enough to require hospitalisation. She lost quite a bit of blood, but is recovering, and as I say, her sister has signed approval for the transfer to Castor...”
“Castor?” Aubrey asked. “The mental asylum beyond the park?”
“Yes. As it is nearby, we often refer patients there. It is a worthy institution, and Murdoch will receive the best of care. We do treat mental patients here, of course, but our facility is not really adequate for her condition.”
“And why is that, Doctor?” Sinclair probed. “Because she is not French?”
“Because she is severely delusional and perhaps dangerous, Lord Haimsbury. Mental illness comes in all shapes and sizes, but the distress within Miss Murdoch’s mind is beyond our capacity to treat.”
“Yet, you treat a man who thinks himself a cat and snarls at complete strangers. A man who requires attendance by two, strong men,” Sinclair observed drily.
“Miss Murdoch’s delusion is far worse than Mr. Bertrand’s. I prefer that she receive maximum attention, and Castor has the expertise and staff to provide that. I assume that you would you like to see her?”
“Yes, please, but one more question, if I may?”
She stood, and both men rose as well. “And that is?”
“When Miss Murdoch arrived, who came with her?”
Kennedy’s head tilted to one side, and she unconsciously patted the right side of her thick, upswept hair, as if trying to restrain an errant lock. “Why do you ask?”
“As a policeman, the fact that I ask should be sufficient. Who brought her to you?”
“A tall man who did not leave his name, if you must know. Well spoken, smartly attired. Light eyes. Handsome with a moustache and goatee. Fortyish.”
Aubrey looked at his cousin and then at the doctor, eyes wide. “Did this tall man carry a carved walking stick with a wolf’s head handle, wrought in silver?”
She involuntarily gasped, but quickly recovered from her surprise. “Yes,” she answered meekly. “And he had a large ring upon his left hand. Figural, if you understand my meaning.”
“I understand all too well,” Aubrey replied, turning to his cousin. “Charles, this is bad. Very bad.”
Sinclair opened the door. “Where might I find Miss Murdoch?”
“Ward C. The porter will escort you. Superintendent, who is this man? From your reaction, I assume that you know him.”
“We do, Dr. Kennedy, and he is far more dangerous than any mental patient. If this man ever returns, you’re to send for me at once. Here is my card. Wire H-Division directly if I’m not at Whitehall. Do not contact K-Division. Do you understand me?”
She nodded, and the two cousins started to leave, but Sinclair paused inside the doorway. “One more thing, Doctor. Your degree is from London Medical School for Women, correct?
“Yes, what of it? It’s a fine school.”
“So I understand. I’ve an acquaintance who also studied at that school. I wonder if you might know her. Lorena MacKey.”
Her eyelids twitched, just for a second, as if she unconsciously tried to hide her shock. “Lorena? Uh, yes, I know her. She graduated two years before I did, but she was kind enough to help me with a few of the more difficult classes. Why?”
“Merely personal curiosity,” he replied. “I’ve not seen Lorena in a while, and I’d like to invite her to my wedding. Would you happen to know if she’s returned to London?”
“No, I wouldn’t, Superintendent. The last time I saw Lorena was six months ago. Is that all?”
“Yes, that’s all—for now. Thank you, Dr. Kennedy. You’ve been most helpful.”
As the door shut behind the men, Rachel Claire Kennedy returned to her desk and opened the centre drawer, where she placed Sinclair’s calling card next to a loaded revolver. Once done, she pressed a small electric buzzer near the bookcase. She’d need to send a telegram at once to Sir Willia
m Trent. She’d been warned that Sinclair and Aubrey might pay her a call, but Kennedy had never expected the earl and marquess to be so intelligent and inquisitive, nor had Trent warned her that she’d be questioned about MacKey. She dared not risk a telegram to Lorena. She’d have to call on her personally.
An older porter entered. “You buzzed, Doctor?”
“Yes, Mr. Barry. I’ll be sending a wire, but also I’ll require a hansom cab. Wait until Superintendent Sinclair has left and then call one. Has Dr. Frobischer been seen this morning?”
“No, ma’am. And from what I understand, we’ll probably not be seeing him again.”
She smiled. “Good. Very good indeed.”
Ward C lay on the east side of the large hospital and contained nine beds, three to a wall. The fourth wall, where the door entered, held a variety of tall cupboards stocked with blankets, linens, bandages, liniments, creams, and tinctures. A cast iron heating stove burnt brightly in the corner, flanked by two porcelain wash stands. A trio of uniformed women tended to patients as the efficient porter conducted the visitors into the warm space, and the eldest of the nurses left her station to greet the cousins.
“Good morning, sirs,” she said. “Or perhaps, it is more accurate to wish you a good day, as we’re nearing the noon hour. Are you here to see one of the patients?” she asked. The porter whispered to the nurse, who nodded her understanding. “Ah, yes. I see. Superintendent, I can allow you five minutes only. Dr. Kennedy is overly generous with her patients’ time, allowing visitors to remain an hour or more, but as Moira’s nurse, it is my job to act on her behalf. She has already suffered upset this morning, and I shan’t allow it again.”
“I promise to keep my visit short,” Sinclair replied.
The stern professional pursed her lips and huffed, clearly unhappy. “Very well. This way, sir.”
Charles followed the medical gatekeeper’s steps towards a frail young woman, lying in a narrow bed that sat beneath the northeast window. She was wrapped in bandages along her upper extremities and across the top of her head, and was modestly covered by a grey woolen blanket and yellow cotton coverlet.
“Miss Murdoch?” the detective asked kindly. “May I have a few moments?”
“This gentleman is a police detective, Moira,” the nurse explained. “His name is Superintendent Sinclair. Remember, sir, no more than five minutes, please.”
She left, and Charles sat into a green metal chair whilst Aubrey remained standing near the window. “I’m very sorry for what happened to you, Miss Murdoch. As CID superintendent for the northeast quarter, it is my responsibility to see that your attacker is found and prosecuted. I’ll need a description, if you’re up to it. May I ask, how old are you?”
“Fifteen, sir,” she replied softly. Her voice was high-pitched, nervous, and thin; coloured with a heavy Irish brogue.
“Do you live on your own? Are your parents in London?”
“No, sir. They’s both dead. I come here with me sister. She’s twenty-four.”
“Her name is Melinda? Is that right?”
“Yes, sir. I call her Melin most o’ the time. She’s real pretty. Not plain like me.”
“I think you’re a lovely young woman,” he said gently. “Tell me, Miss Murdoch, did you see the man who attacked you?”
“Aye, sir. I seen ‘im all right. I seen both o’ them men.”
“Both? There was more than one?”
“Aye, sir. The first come along an’ talked wif us fer a bit, an’ then that other one come. He were right scary, sir.”
“Tell me about this first man, and then we’ll move on. Is that all right?”
She nodded. “Whatever you say, sir.”
“Very good. Was this first man tall?”
“Real tall, sir. Well past six foot.”
“Average build?”
“No’ really, sir. More muscled. Like them fighters in the rings.”
“Broad shouldered, then, like a longshoreman?”
She nodded again. “Oh, yes, sir. And young. Not more’n five an’ twenty, I’d reckon.”
Despite her reported injuries, the woman’s mind seemed perfectly sound. “Had you ever seen this man before, Miss Murdoch?” he continued.
“No, sir. No’ even once. Me sister an’ me sometimes takes a walk through the park of an evenin’, and this here man seemed out o’ place, if you know what I mean. Dressed real smart-like. Oh, an’ long hair.”
“Like my friend’s?” he asked, pointing to Aubrey.
“Aye, sir, but longer e’en. Past his shoulders. Wavy and dark. He talked real pretty at first.”
“What do you mean by that? He complimented you? He was polite?”
She nodded. “Aye, sir, he talked sort o’ like you.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“She means like a toff, isn’t that right, Miss Murdoch?” Aubrey explained.
The patient nodded, her hands twisting together as if embarrassed. “Aye, sir. Tha’s wha’ I mean.”
Charles laughed softly. “I’m not sure I’ve ever been called a toff, Miss Murdoch. But this man seemed rich?”
“Aye, sir. Only he talked wif a real strange accent. Foreign-like. He said he thought me and me sis was right good lookers, and he asked if we was from Londonderry, which surprised us both, ya know, ‘cause our folks grew up there, but me an’ Melin’s from Belfast. Our pa moved us there when we was three. After Ma died.”
“Your sister was with you in the park last night?”
“Aye, sir, she were. I told them other coppers ‘bout it. Didn’t they tell ya?”
“I’ve not read their reports yet, Miss Murdoch. Forgive me for repeating their questions, but it’s important that I hear your answers for myself. Did this man in the park seem dangerous to you?” he asked. “Was your sister concerned? Were you?”
“No, sir, no’ at first. When he asked us ‘bout Londonderry, we both figured he were all right, so, we said we’d...” She paused, looking around her, as if making certain no one else might overhear. “Well, sir, we said tha’ we’d spend a little time with ‘im,” she whispered, her cheeks flushing. “I know it’s a sin, bu’ I lost me housemaid job wi’ Mr. Merriweather, an’ the rent’s due every Saturday, no matter if there’s money comin’ in or no. I ain’t a bad girl, sir. Really, I ain’t.”
Charles touched her bandaged hand. “I’m sure you’re not,” he whispered gently. “Your plight is understandable, Miss Murdoch. You merely try to survive in a brutal world. This man offered to take you elsewhere? Outside the park?”
“Aye, sir. He said his carriage weren’t far, and tha’ he would take us to a music hall. Melin were all happy to go, but I weren’t so sure. We’s twins, but no’ identical, and she’s more easy wi’ men than me. I were startin’ to have me doubts, bu’ this gent insisted. Finally, as I kept sayin’ no, he just up and left me there, takin’ only me sister in the carriage.”
Sinclair stared. This account was not at all what he’d expected. “And then the second man came along, correct?”
She began to weep, nodding her head, her bandaged hands covering her face. The detective continued. “Moira, did you see other women that night?”
“Other women? No, sir, I never did. I told them other coppers the same. All I seen were this other man. Iffin ya can call ‘im a man. When the first gent’s carriage pulled up, this other fella go’ out as me sister climbed in. He were a right awful lookin’ man, sir! All over hairy, and bent-like. He frightened me somethin’ fierce! I looked abou’ fer someone that might help, but there were no one. No’ anywheres! Melin didn’t e’en so much as look out the window as tha’ carriage pulled away, and though I shouted her name, she must no’ o’ heard, for the horses did no’ stop once.”
“That must have been terrifying for you,” Charles told her. “Miss Murdoch, has this ever happened
to you before? At any other time, has your sister left you in the park, all on your own?”
“Aye, sir. She done it before. Each Sunday night fer three weeks, bu’ I always jes walked on home, ya know? Bu’ this time... This time...!”
Her hands tore at the sheets as her eyes filled with tears. Aubrey noticed that the nurse’s gaze turned their way. “Charles, I think our time is up,” he told the detective.
“I’m afraid I’m being turned out, Miss Murdoch. But before I go, can you tell me anything else about this first man? His name? The type of horses he drove? You said there was more than one horse. A pair of horses then?” She nodded. “Was the carriage enclosed?”
“Aye, sir, and real big, too. Like them charabangs, but wi’ one o’ them tops what comes off, you know?”
“A landau, then,” Charles said. “The horses. Colour? Size?”
“Mighty, big horses—nearly big as Percherons, but not so stocky. Black as pitch wi’ a high step.”
“They might be Friesians, Charles,” Aubrey said. “An expensive horse. Miss Murdoch, did these horses have thick necks and feathering on the legs?”
“Aye, sir, they did. Real pretty animals, they was.”
Paul continued. “Did you notice any markings on the side of the coach? A crest perhaps?”
“No, sir. Nothin’. I shoulda known it were a trick. I ain’t seen Melin since. Is she all right, sir?”
“Your sister hasn’t visited you?” Charles asked.
She lowered her head, tears dropping from her face onto the yellow coverlet. “No, sir. But mayhap the doctor won’t let her see me, all bandaged up like this. Funny, you’d think there’d be pain, don’ cha? I don’ feel nothin’, though. Just a bone deep weariness, and I could sleep ‘til doomsday! I reckon that second man done it. Hurt them two girls. I canno’ remember much ‘bout that, but the doctors tol’ me it were so.”
Sinclair touched her hand again and spoke gently. “You did not see the dead women? You’re sure of this?”
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