The Blood Is the Life

by Sharon K Gilbert

  Sinclair reached down and helped her to stand. “You’re welcome, darling. Hearing you laugh like that is worth the price of a thousand dogs. I’m sorry if I worried you. Do sit, now, and tell me all about Samson. I’m told he’s been ill.”

  “Serves him right for lapping up Beth’s cocoa,” Tory replied. “He’s a glutton and paying the price for his appetite. Charles, whatever happened to your face?”

  “It was the telephone game,” Adele interjected before Sinclair could reply. “It caused Beth to faint again.”

  “What’s this?” he asked, worry creasing his brow. “Paul didn’t mention another faint. Shall we send for Price?”

  “No. Really, I’m fine, besides George saw me only yesterday and said I’m much improved,” she insisted. “Ask Tory, if you don’t believe me.”

  “Is that true, Aunt?”

  “Mostly true,” she told him. “George did come ‘round yesterday, but he told Elizabeth she’s overwrought and that she should rest more often. Your disappearance did little to aid in that, Charles.”

  “I don’t think it was a faint, anyway,” Elizabeth continued. “Not really. The lights failed in the library, and it caused me to stumble, but I’m quite all right. Mrs. Meyer took my temperature, and she pronounced me fit, which is more than I can say for you. Victoria’s right about your face. It’s all scratched and bruised. Whatever happened? Have you been fighting? Is this why you suddenly left for Branham? Please, don’t tell me something there connects to crimes in London!”

  “No, darling. Nothing. Nothing at all,” he assured her. “My face bears the marks of my own clumsiness in the dark. I’d forgotten where I was and tumbled down that short flight of stairs off the master suite. Ask Baxter, if you doubt me. As to why I travelled to Branham, I merely wished to consult with our knowledgeable butler on a personal matter. His experience proved quite insightful, so it was time well spent. Look, darling, I have to attend this circle meeting, but I promise that you and I shall catch up later this afternoon. Ask Mrs. Smith to prepare us a picnic basket, and we’ll share it at Haimsbury House. Then, after we eat, you can help me choose colours for the master apartment. Five o’clock?”

  She nodded, and he could see tears forming at the corners of her eyes. “Yes. Oh, yes! I’ve looked forward to that picnic for many days, Charles. I’ll speak with Mrs. Smith right away, and I’ll be ready—whenever you are.”

  He kissed her again before leaving the dogs to keep watch on the ladies. Following quickly behind him, Adele Stuart passed through the broad doors and then shut them firmly so that she stood in the anteroom with Sinclair, out of sight of the others.

  “Might I have a moment, Cousin Charles?”

  “Of course, little cousin. What is it?”

  “Let’s move away from the door, if that’s all right,” she said, taking his hand and leading him into the main corridor. “I just wanted to apologise for playing that game last night. I think it upset Cousin Beth, despite what she claims. I realise that I’m not yet fully grown, but I do see things, you know, and I draw conclusions from what I see. Beth isn’t herself lately, and I wonder if she needs to see a doctor. A different one, I mean, as Dr. Price keeps saying she’s all right. He must be wrong, for she keeps fainting. I’m very worried—as are you. I can see it on your face each time you look at her.”

  Charles had half a dozen, disparate thoughts fighting one another inside his mind as he tried to decide how best to respond. He had no wish to rush—even though the circle members sat waiting for him—nor did he want to patronise the girl.

  “In here,” he said at last, leading Adele into the music room. “Sit,” he told her as he shut the door. “Della, I consider you very grown up, and as such, I’m about to tell you something that only a few of us know. You must promise to keep it to yourself. If you wish to share it, you speak to me first. Is that clear?”

  Her blue eyes widened. “She is ill, then. I knew it. I just knew it!”

  Charles sat beside her on the settee. “No. Beth is not ill. Della, has anyone talked to you about the... Well, about the special relationship ‘twixt husbands and wives? The kind that leads to the birth of children?”

  To his surprise, she began to laugh. “Oh, yes! I know all about that. Mrs. Kildare, our cook at Briarcliff, told me everything when I turned eleven in June. She said it was high time I heard the truth, and that my brother would never think to tell me. Why?”

  “Your cook told you? Does your brother know that she spoke to you about it?”

  Again she laughed. “I very much doubt it. My brother still thinks of me as a child. Paul doesn’t realise that I’m almost grown up. In Scotland, girls can marry at twelve years old, and I shall be twelve next year.”

  Sinclair blinked. “Scots can marry at twelve? Della, please, promise me that you will never do anything like that! Wait until you’re eighty, at least.”

  “I promise,” she laughed. “But why do you ask me about that?”

  “It has to do with Beth’s—condition. You see, she’s not ill. She’s going to have a baby.”

  Adele’s face lengthened into an oval as her mouth opened with shock. “A baby!” she exclaimed.

  “Quiet, please!” he warned her. “Remember, this is still a secret to nearly everyone here. Paul knows, and so do James, Tory, and Mr. Kepelheim, but we’ve told no one else.”

  “A baby,” she whispered, breaking into a wide grin. “Oh, this is simply wonderful! But wait, does this mean that you and Cousin Beth have been married all along?”

  He paused before replying, wondering how best to explain. “We’ve not had a formal wedding, no. It’s rather convoluted, but she and I were given a strange drug in Scotland that caused us to behave in ways quite unlike our usual selves, but perhaps to God, we are married now. To be honest, I’m not sure. Della, I hope this doesn’t make you think any less of me. I respect the duchess and would never willingly take advantage of her.”

  The girl considered this for a moment. “No, you wouldn’t. It’s quite strange, you know. I don’t think less of you, Cousin Charles. On the contrary, I respect you even more, if that makes any sense. May I talk with Cousin Beth about it?”

  “Yes, of course, you may, but you must keep the secret.”

  “Is this why she fell down the stairs last week?”

  “Possibly. Probably, in fact. Her balance is rather unpredictable, and she finds eating a challenge. Might you keep an eye on her for me?”

  “I shall be your little spy, if you wish it, Superintendent Sinclair,” she whispered. “I think that I would make a splendid detective, which is why I wonder about the dog,” she continued, her chestnut brows furrowing into an eleven over her nose. “I mean, if someone drugged you in Scotland, mightn’t it happen again? I’ve read that story, you know. The one printed in The Strand magazine from Dr. Doyle. A Study in Scarlet. I think our mystery might aptly be called ‘A Study in Chocolate’, for it’s quite possible that Samson got sick, because someone tampered with Beth’s drink. Shouldn’t we investigate the cocoa? Ask who made it and all?”

  He smiled proudly. “Apparently, spying and investigative skills are inherited through the blood. Very well, then, Detective Constable Stuart, give me your report, and then I shall assign your next task.”

  “Constable? May I not be a detective sergeant?”

  “First, let me hear your report, and then I’ll decide if your skills merit promotion.”

  “All right, then,” she said seriously. “When Beth took the telephone line into the library, the electrics were switched on and the fireplace lit. I know this, because I watched her go in, you see. However, when I saw the line had slackened, I entered the library and found it dark. All dark. There was not even one single ember glowing, which makes no sense at all, unless someone snuffed it all out with a great brass snuffer of some kind! She was cold, too. Her skin, I mean. Cold to the touch.”
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br />   “And your brother then helped Beth into the drawing room?”

  “Yes. Paul was most upset, but he showed a brave face—as he often does. My brother is far more sensitive than he pretends,” she noted.

  “You’re quite perceptive.”

  She nodded. “You are much the same. You want everyone to think you are terribly fierce, but I see through your façade, Cousin Charles,” she told him. “That is not part of my report, Superintendent. Once Beth returned to the drawing room, she seemed to improve very quickly. Someone—I think it was the new footman, Mr. Peterson—returned to the library to relight the fire, but he found everything in its previous condition: the electric lamps lit and the fire burning brightly. Quite odd, don’t you think?”

  “Quite.”

  “And then, my brother suggested that Elizabeth have some cocoa to help her sleep. She’s been rather restless of late.”

  “Yes, so she’s told me,” he said, finding the girl’s mature observations quite remarkable. “Go on, Constable.”

  “Well, the cocoa arrived, and as Cousin Beth was about to take a sip, my brother suddenly lost his balance and fell into her lap! He’d been pouring the drink into her cup when it happened, and he dropped the pot onto the sofa, and this caused Elizabeth to spill the cup all across the carpeting.”

  His face darkened. “Paul lost his balance? An accident?”

  “No! It looked to me as though someone or something bumped into him. My brother is quite graceful and athletic, yet his balance failed him. As I told you, Superintendent, it was as if someone shoved up against him and caused it all. Rather like dominoes, but no one stood nearby. Isn’t that strange?”

  “And the dog then lapped up the spill?”

  “Most of it, yes. Paul took Elizabeth upstairs as soon as it happened, for cocoa had stained her dress something awful, but before he came back down, Samson had begun to vomit. Perhaps, half an hour or so had passed. No more than that, though.”

  “Quite observant,” Sinclair said as he stood. “And deserving of a promotion to Detective Sergeant, I should think. I’ll have your ICI warrant card issued along with my own.”

  “Don’t you mean CID?” she asked as they walked to the door.

  “ICI, actually. Your brother and I have decided to start our own detective agency. It’s called Inner Circle Intelligence. ICI.”

  “ICI,” she whispered to herself. “I do like that. It’s somewhat like Sherlock Holmes, you know. He’s a consulting detective. Cousin Charles, all jesting aside, will women be allowed to serve in the ICI?”

  “We have women on the inner circle, so I think the answer is yes,” he told her. “But only those with the ability to observe and keep secrets.”

  She winked. “Then, I shall be your very first female inspector.”

  He bent low and kissed her cheek. “You make me very proud, little cousin.”

  Adele kissed his cheek as well, putting her arms around his neck. “I do love you, Cousin Charles. And I’m very glad about the baby. Will it be a boy?”

  He thought of Albert, remembering that he would have to confess the truth of his death to Elizabeth later that day. “Perhaps,” he answered. “We’ll know only after it’s born.”

  “Might that be in June?”

  “July, perhaps. I’m not certain how doctors calculate these things. Why?”

  “My birthday is in June.”

  “Is it? So is mine. The tenth.”

  “Mine is the twelfth! We’re almost birthday twins.”

  “So we are. But we missed Paul’s birthday, I’m told. Why don’t we have a party after the wedding to celebrate all our missed birthdays?”

  “A very good and logical idea,” she said, adding another wink. “Now, you must go to your meeting, and I have flowers to add to my arrangement. Do you like pink roses or yellow?”

  “Yellow,” he said, the thought of China Pink roses reminding him of Prince Anatole’s multiple baskets. “Though red ones are nice, too. Are these flowers for the chapel?”

  “No, but they are for the wedding reception. We’re making them to decorate the tables and doorways at Uncle James’s house. Oh, but also here, of course. There’s to be a family party afterwards. Will Cousin Beth feel like celebrating?”

  “I’m sure she will, little cousin. I mean, Detective Sergeant.”

  “I think I like little cousin, actually,” she admitted. “For now, at least, but when I’m on duty perhaps the title is better. See you later!”

  She skipped off towards the dining hall, and Charles watched her leave, a smile widening his face. Sighing happily, he followed the corridor away from the music room and entered the library just as the mantel clock struck the hour of one.

  1:33 am Castor Institute

  “Sister, where is your new nurse? I’d like her to meet me in the lower ward. What is her name again?”

  Charge Nurse Cynthia MacArthur had been on her feet for over sixteen hours, having stayed over to replace the day supervisor, who’d come down with measles. “It’s Bridget, sir. Bridget O’Sullivan, but I thought we were to employ only males in that section, Dr. Kepler. Have the orders changed?”

  “We require a female trainee, as we plan to add a women’s section to that level, Sister. I thought we’d discussed this with you last week. The special room our patron has asked us to construct is nearly complete and will require a fulltime nursing staff to monitor our patient and keep her secure whilst she enjoys her stay with us.”

  “Forgive me, sir. I’d misunderstood. I thought you intended for Nurse O’Sullivan to tend to the male patients. This new ward, though, sir. How many female patients will reside there? Shall I hire more nurses?” she asked, her stomach growling.

  “No, I believe our current complement will suffice. There’s to be one patient only—for the present. We hope to add to that number with time, but we begin with just the one.”

  “Very good, sir. If I may, Doctor, I noticed that Mr. Thirteen has been moved. Shall we expect a replacement for him?”

  Kepler’s beady eyes blinked. “Moved? I gave no orders to move Thirteen to different quarters. If he is not in his room, then, I fear that we must assume the worst! When did you last see him?” the alienist bellowed, hastening his steps towards the door to the lower levels.

  “Seven o’clock, sir. When I was asked to replace Sister Campion. She’s taken to bed with measles. Her employment record indicated that she had them as a girl, yet her illness was diagnosed by Dr. Collins, himself. It seems our Miss Campion either had a similar illness as a child, or else was misinformed.”

  “I care nothing about this measles tale, Sister!” he said, his voice rising in pitch. “Damn this key! It isn’t fitting. Has someone changed the lock?” he shouted, his hand shaking as he tried to turn the stubborn key.

  “Dr. Collins ordered all the locks changed following the incident with Miss Amberson. Her drinking, sir. Shall I?” The nurse inserted a new key and easily turned it. The door swung open, and the two hurried down the hallway towards a set of broad stairs. Four flights later, they emerged through a second, locked door into the sub-basement.

  Two male interns waved from their office, the larger of the pair emerging, still chewing on a steak and kidney pie. “We’d not expected ta see you down ‘ere, Doc,” he said to the physician. “Are you alterin’ yer schedule, sir?”

  “Where is Thirteen?” the diminutive alienist demanded. “Sister tells me that he was not in his room when she made her rounds this morning.”

  “He’s still with Dr. Collins, I reckon, sir. On that outin’.”

  “Outing? Mr. Carstairs, we do not take these men on outings! They have aberrations which make them highly unsuitable for such frivolous pastimes. I seriously doubt that my colleague would have done such a foolish thing!” he shouted as he led the way towards cell thirteen. “Gone!” Kepler wailed as he op
ened the narrow door. “Sound the alarm and get men on the grounds at once! Sister, when did you last check on this wing?”

  The charge nurse remained calm, for her twenty-six years of experience with doctors had taught her to retain composure in all situations. “If you look at the chart outside this room, you will see my comment, sir.” She donned a pair of reading spectacles and lifted a leather-bound notebook that hung from a hook to the right of the metal door. “It was at 7:07 am, precisely, Dr. Kepler, when I noticed him gone. You will see that I mention that the linen on Mr. Thirteen’s bed had been changed, and that the room appeared to have been scrubbed clean with carbolic. The last time I tended to that gentleman, previous to this morning’s visit, was at 7:39 yesterday evening. At that time, the patient seemed quite agitated. Therefore, I administered a sedative, per Dr. Collins’s standing orders. You can see my signature just to the right of the dosage and time of injection: ‘7:41 am, six millilitres of three-percent sulphurous morphine’. It is the same dosage we’ve been using with Mr. Thirteen for the past eight weeks, sir.”

  “Well, it is clearly not strong enough!” he shouted, sweat beading across his brow. The second-in-command for Castor Institute swiped at his face with a peacock blue handkerchief. “Don’t just stand there, Sister! Set the entire building to finding this man! He is dangerous, but more to the point, his mind is unreliable and unbalanced. Should anyone discover what we do here, then, we shall all find ourselves answering some very uncomfortable questions from the police. Do you understand? Find him!”

  “Calm yourself, Dr. Kepler. Remember your blood pressure.” She turned to the attendants. “Now, Mr. Carstairs, you and Mr. Brine begin down here. I’ll have the attendants and porters upstairs begin a thorough search of the upper floors. I’m sure Mr. Thirteen is somewhere on the grounds. After all, we have guards at every gate, and our walls are higher than anyone might scale. So, let us keep our minds sharp and use the brains God gave us.”

  Kepler shot the woman a scathing glance. “God gave us nothing! Anyone with a modicum of scientific knowledge surely knows that!”