by Paula Paul
Nancy had grown used to Alexandra’s treks into storms and darkness, and made no protest as she found a coat, a hat, and an umbrella for Nicholas. She also produced a pair of trousers and a shirt.
“You’d best not try riding a horse in a dressing gown,” she said.
Nicholas took the clothes into the dining room to change and emerged in trousers that were too short and a shirt he could barely button across his chest. Within minutes they were on their way, buffeted by wind and rain. Alexandra, riding behind Nicholas, clung to him in an unaccustomed position astride the horse. The umbrella Nancy had provided was useless against the blowing rain, and before long the wind had ripped it from Alexandra’s hands. They rode on without trying to retrieve it. Alexandra’s only recourse against the drenching downpour was to bury her face against Nicholas’s back and cling to him even tighter.
The relentless storm made the distance to Montmarsh seem to double. When they arrived, the mansion was no more than an enormous shadow looming in darkness with no lights showing from any of the rooms. No one came to let them in when they knocked at the door.
“What in the name of hell is going on?” Nicholas said.
He was answered by a scream as sharp as a bolt of lightning. The sound came from one of the second-floor windows, but the house remained cloistered in the shadows of night.
Chapter 16
Nicholas pounded even harder on the door, but no one came to open it.
“There’s a crossbar against the door, so it would do no good even if I could pick the lock,” he said.
“Pick the lock? You could do that?”
Nicholas didn’t answer. He was looking around the front of the grand house, searching the ground.
Alexandra had to shout to be heard above the roar of the storm. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for a stone or anything else heavy enough to bash against the door to break it down,” he said as another cry wafted from the same upstairs window. “Maybe there’s something in the stables.”
“Wait!” Alexandra called. “Before you damage the house, let’s try something else.” She took his hand and led him, slogging through cold rain and mud, around the enormous house to the side where one of the basement windows in the servants’ quarters overlooked the driveway. It was the same driveway on which she had seen the queen’s carriage a few days earlier.
“There’s no easy entrance on this side,” Nicholas protested. “All of these doors are bolted with crossbars just like the front.”
Alexandra made no reply. She was on her knees, making her dress even soggier as she pounded on the window. It was several seconds, perhaps minutes, before she saw a dim light emitting from the inside, and Mrs. Pickwick’s plump face appeared at the window.
“Who’s there?” the cook called, her eyes wide with fright.
“Mrs. Pickwick! Please let us in!” Alexandra said.
“Who’s there?” Mrs. Pickwick said again. “Away with you! No one in his right mind would be out on a night like this.”
“Mrs. Pickwick, please.”
“I’ll not be letting a madwoman in. Away with you!” She blew out the light in the oil lamp she held and disappeared into the darkness.
“Cookie! Pickwick!” Nicholas rapped the window and called again “Pickwick! It’s Nicholas Forsythe. Lord Dunsford.”
“Lord Dunsford?” Mrs. Pickwick’s voice sounded muffled, coming from inside the house. There was what seemed to Alexandra an inordinately long pause before the light shone again, and Mrs. Pickwick pressed her face to the window. She spoke again, but a flash of lightning and a crash of thunder reverberated so loudly it was impossible to hear what she said. There was another pause before she called out again, this time from the servants’ entrance. She held the lamp in her hand and shouted from the shelter of the doorway. “This way! In the name of heaven, come in out of the cold rain!” She was dressed in her nightgown, with her hair loose and falling on her shoulders.
They entered the back door that led to the kitchen of the great house, both of them dripping wet, shivering, and covered with mud.
“If you don’t mind my asking, my lord, what on earth are the two of you doing out on a night like this? ’Tis Noah’s flood we’re having for sure, and no one with a grain of sense would be out in…What I mean is, what are the two of you doing out in this?”
“I’ve come to check on Lady Forsythe,” said Alexandra. “Lord Dunsford tells me she’s not feeling well.” She found she could hardly speak for shivering.
“The front door is bolted, and we could arouse no one to open it for us,” Nicholas added.
“Lancaster’s half deaf,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “And as for Her Ladyship not feeling well, I should think not. She’s been in a dither ever since Her Majesty…” Mrs. Pickwick clamped her hand over her mouth in what had now become a gesture familiar to Alexandra. “I don’t doubt she needs you, doctor,” she added. “But you can’t go upstairs looking like that, now, can you? I’ll get you some dry clothes, but I’m afraid all I have is a maid’s dress.”
“I’ll be grateful for anything you have,” Alexandra said, “but first tell me, have you heard anything unusual coming from Her Ladyship’s room tonight?”
“Unusual?” Mrs. Pickwick looked puzzled. “I’m not sure I know what you mean. Her Ladyship is a sound sleeper, as far as I know. Not sure, either, if I could hear anything down here. Especially with this storm blowing. Should I have heard something?”
“Of course not,” Nicholas said before Alexandra could reply. “But you might tell me if there’s anyone upstairs with Her Ladyship.”
“Hannah, her lady’s maid, just arrived. Another one crazy enough to be out in the storm. Says ’tis not her fault what time the train arrives. Don’t know about that girl, though. Sick mother, indeed! Thinks I don’t know what’s been going on between her and that—”
“Cookie,” Nicholas said, interrupting her. “If Hannah is up there alone with her, then I have to…” He hurried toward the door without finishing the sentence.
“Saw Hannah leave Her Ladyship’s room several minutes ago to go to her own room. Saw it with me own eyes,” she said. “Madam Cudney was with Her Ladyship for a time, as she always is, but I think she left soon after Hannah did.” Mrs. Pickwick’s eyes grew wide with curiosity. “Is something wrong?”
“Nothing for you to worry about, I’m sure,” Nicholas said as he started for the door again. “Now, if you’ll just fetch something for the doctor to wear, we’ll go up to check on Her Ladyship.”
Mrs. Pickwick turned aside to find the clothes, but quickly turned around again, eyeing Nicholas. “Seems to me you’d be wise to change into something dry yourself, my lord.”
“I’m sure you’re right, Mrs. Pickwick,” Nicholas said over his shoulder as he hurried away, “but I’m going to see Her Ladyship first.”
Mrs. Pickwick continued to inspect Nicholas, soaked through and through and clad in the old doctor’s clothes. “Whatever you say, my lord,” she said as she turned away again.
“Never mind the clothes for me,” Alexandra said. “I’m going with Nicholas.”
“If there’s something wrong, you must tell me,” Mrs. Pickwick said.
Nicholas gave her a wave of his hand and took Alexandra’s arm to lead her upstairs. None of the other servants were anywhere in sight. When they reached Lady Forsythe’s room, Nicholas tapped lightly on the door, but there was no response from inside. He tapped again, louder this time, still with no response. Trying the door handle, he found that it was locked. Now there was a groaning sound coming from inside.
“MaMa!” Nicholas called, knocking again and pushing at the door. When there was no response except another groan, he turned to the stairway and spoke in a hushed voice to Alexandra. “Stay here. Keep knocking. I’ll be back.”
Alexandra watched him flee, unsure why. She kept knocking at the door and calling out to Her Ladyship but getting no response. In a remarkably short tim
e, she heard Nicholas racing up the stairs with Mrs. Pickwick following several steps behind him in her nightgown, her unpinned hair flying around her head. Nicholas knelt in front of the door and stuck something in the lock. It looked to be a long nail, or perhaps a hatpin. Alexandra was about to ask him what he was doing, but before she could get the words out, he had the door open.
“Something useful I picked up from one of my clients,” he said over his shoulder to Alexandra as he stepped into his mother’s room.
Lady Forsythe lay on her bed. She appeared to be asleep, but she thrashed from side to side, groaning again, and she scratched at her arm where a red rash had developed.
“MaMa! What’s wrong?” Nicholas asked, going to her bedside. Mrs. Pickwick gasped audibly as she, too, hurried to the bedside.
“Let me have a look,” Alexandra said, nudging her way between them.
They moved away but hovered in obvious anxiety as Alexandra pulled her stethoscope from her bag to listen to Lady Forsythe’s heart. The heartbeat was weak, and when she touched Her Ladyship’s face, her skin was clammy. The lady tried to speak, but her words were incomprehensible, and when Alexandra lifted an eyelid manually, she noted the small pupils. Next, she gently turned the sleeping woman to her side and positioned the stethoscope on her back to listen to her lungs. Her breathing was unusually slow and somewhat irregular.
“Is there any coffee in the house?” Alexandra asked.
“Coffee?” Mrs. Pickwick sounded as if she might be insulted at the idea.
“Coffee,” Alexandra repeated. “I need coffee. As strong as possible.”
“Well, perhaps a bit. Been in the larder a while, I’d say. Don’t use it much at Montmarsh, except when certain types shows up to—”
“You must brew a pot. As strong as possible,” Alexandra interrupted. “It will help Her Ladyship come out of her stupor.”
“Help Her Lady…? Of course. Strong as possible.” Mrs. Pickwick turned and hurried out of the room, catching the skirt of her nightgown in her hands to help her move faster.
“What is it? What’s wrong with her?” Nicholas was clearly worried.
“Too much laudanum, I suspect. That could also explain her screams. She could be having nightmares.”
“You gave her more laudanum?”
“No, I made the decision not to give her more. She must have got it from someone else.”
Nicholas moved closer to the bedside. “My God! She hasn’t become one of those women who overindulges, has she? One hears of so many among our set who do that.”
“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that. Not yet anyway.” Alexandra was giving Lady Forsythe quick but gentle pats on her jaw to awaken her. Her own eyes, however, were scrutinizing a large, ornate wardrobe across from the bed. The door was partially open, and a small puddle of water had formed on the floor of the wardrobe and spilled over, making a damp spot on the bedroom floor.
Nicholas followed her gaze with his own. “Been out in the rain again, I’d say. Left her coat dripping there. And what do you mean by not yet? Do you think she’s on the verge of becoming an addict?”
“I’ll explain later,” Alexandra said. “Why was Her Ladyship out in the storm tonight?”
“Looking for that brooch, I suppose. I don’t understand any of this.”
A sudden rap at the bedroom door stopped him. Before anyone could respond to the knock, Madam Cudney opened the door and stepped inside.
“I heard voices,” she said, “and I thought…Oh, dear!” She hurried to Lady Forsythe’s bedside. “Has she worsened?”
Lady Forsythe screamed again—the same terrifying sound Alexandra had heard when they tried to enter the front door.
“Dr. Gladstone seems to think she’s had too great a dose of laudanum,” Nicholas said, visibly shaken.
Madam Cudney frowned and glanced at Lady Forsythe, who by now had widely opened eyes. She appeared to be about to scream again, but she closed her eyes and was soon asleep.
“I tried to warn her that she was overindulging,” Madam Cudney said. “I’m afraid she’s been taking doses of laudanum for several hours repeatedly.”
“Where did she get it?” Alexandra asked.
“Why, from you, of course,” Madam Cudney said.
“I’ve left none of it for her recently. She’s getting it from someone else.” Alexandra opened Lady Forsythe’s eyelids again to inspect her pupils. “How much do you think she’s had?”
Madam Cudney picked up Lady Forsythe’s limp hand. “It’s hard for me to say, of course, but I know she’d had several doses before dinner. She was too sleepy to eat or even to get out of bed. I saw her pull it from the drawer in her bedside table. I thought you—”
“Before dinner?” Alexandra asked. “That would be what time? Perhaps around eight?”
Madam Cudney nodded. “Of course.”
“You believe she’d had several doses by then?”
“I do believe so,” Madam Cudney said. “She was showing signs of an acquired morbid appetite and dependence on the substance, I’m afraid.”
“She didn’t seem to feel well when I last saw her.” Nicholas’s voice was strained with worry. “But I had no idea she could have taken too much of that drug.”
Alexandra said nothing. She was looking at the wardrobe again and at the damp spot on the floor. Madam Cudney followed the glance with her own eyes.
“I must get that wet cloak out of the closet,” she said.
“Is that Her Ladyship’s cloak?” Alexandra asked as Madam Cudney pulled it out.
“I believe so,” Madam Cudney said.
“I can attest that it is indeed my mother’s cloak,” Nicholas said. “I’ve seen her wear it.”
“Strange that she would put it away wet,” Alexandra said.
“It is a bit odd, I agree,” Nicholas said. “She’s usually quite meticulous with her clothing.” He shook his head. “She hasn’t been herself lately.”
“She certainly hasn’t!” Madam Cudney haughtily replied. “I’ll make sure this is placed somewhere so that it can dry properly. It shouldn’t be in a closed wardrobe. Very careless of Her Ladyship.”
“Madam Cudney, let me have the cloak, please.” Alexandra took the garment from her and examined the hem. It was wetter than the rest of the cloak, and a dark ring of mud clung to the bottom.
“I can’t imagine my mother going out in the storm.” Nicholas approached Alexandra and fingered the wool of the cloak. “How odd. How unlike MaMa.”
Madam Cudney shook her head and frowned again. “One never knows what a person can do under the influence of the likes of laudanum,” she said. “Here, let me have it. Perhaps it’s not too late to hang it in the air somewhere and avoid mildew.”
She reached for the cloak again and took it from Alexandra just as Mrs. Pickwick entered, holding a tray on which sat a steaming pot of coffee. A deep woodsy perfume filled the room.
“Here ’tis,” the cook said, “but mind you, I’ve no experience with the brew, it being the drink of Arabs and the like.” Her frame filled the entire doorway, making it impossible for Madam Cudney to leave with the damp cloak.
“Give the coffee to Her Ladyship,” Alexandra said. “Prop her up in bed so she doesn’t choke, and give her as much as she’ll drink.”
“Move aside, and do as the doctor says, and I’ll see that this is properly hung,” Madam Cudney said.
Mrs. Pickwick wrinkled her nose. “Has the smell of a wet dog, it does. Looks as if ’tis ruined to me. Who would do such a thing to Her Ladyship’s lovely cloak? ’Twas her favorite, she told me. Given to her by Lord Forsythe.”
“Yes, I believe it was her favorite,” Nicholas said. A puzzled frown creased his brow.
“More’s the pity,” Madam Cudney said.
“She didn’t wear it out into the storm, though, did she, Madam Cudney?” Alexandra said.
“Of course she did. Isn’t it obvious?” Madam Cudney said without turning around.
“You w
ore it out into the storm,” Alexandra said.
Madam Cudney stopped and turned around slowly, the damp cloak draped over her arm. “Why on earth would you suggest such a thing?”
“You knew the cloak was in the wardrobe, and you knew it was wet. How could you have known that if you hadn’t put it there yourself?”
Madam Cudney sighed. “You’re right. I did put it there. I took it from Her Ladyship when she came in from the storm. I did it to protect her. I didn’t want to embarrass her by having the servants and her son find out how irrational she’d become.”
“You did it to protect yourself,” Alexandra said. “Lady Forsythe was too drugged to leave the house. You said so yourself. I suspect you’re the one who gave her the laudanum. So it had to be someone else who wore her cloak into the storm, and it had to be you, since you were the only one who knew the cloak was there. You wore it to the graveyard to meet young Lucas. You wanted to plant a ghost story in his mind one more time so he could spread the lie around the village.”
“What’s wrong? Is Her Ladyship…?” Hannah, looking tired as well as frightened, appeared in the doorway. “My lady! What has happened?”
Madam Cudney seemed not to hear or see her. “I did not kill that wretched woman!” Her voice was choked. “It was that man, that Young Beaty, as you call him. He did it. You know he did it to cover up a sordid affair.”
“How did you know about that accusation?” Alexandra asked. “No one except those of us who witnessed the séance knew about it.”
Madam Cudney’s face grew even paler and took on the look of stone.
“So ’twas you pretending to be a ghost!” Mrs. Pickwick said, pointing a finger at Madam Cudney as she placed her arm around Hannah. “I thought I recognized that voice. Not Alvina’s voice at all. She never had that Londonish lilt. I know ’twas you! You’re a fraud.”
Madam Cudney turned a cold gaze toward the cook. “How dare you accuse me of fraud. I am a professional. I know what I’m doing, and I’ll not countenance anyone suggesting I’m a fraud.”
“I think you should explain to the constable.” Nicholas took her arm, as if to lead her away. “And you need to explain why you were pretending to be Miss Elwold’s ghost.”