by Paula Paul
“The recent murders, of course. You have heard of the criminally insane, I assume.” Snow spoke with his schoolmaster voice.
“Bloody hell.” Clyde’s eyes were wide.
Snow turned toward him with an expression that suggested he had forgotten he was there. “You may be excused, Mr. Wright. Since I’ve had no report of stolen money, and since Lucas was in jail when the organ you brought in was discarded, he was obviously referring to someone else he saw burying it. There is no reason for me to keep you here.”
Clyde rose to his feet and hurried out of the office without a word. The constable then turned his angry gaze on Nancy. “And you, Miss Galbreath…” He paused, frowning at her. “May keep your seat. But do keep quiet, please.”
“Of course, sir,” Nancy said with a sweet smile that made Alexandra suspicious. “I’m always rather quiet, you know.”
The frown on the constable’s brow became even deeper as he eyed Nancy, and he seemed about to speak, perhaps to refute her, but he turned his attention back to Alexandra as he resumed his seat. “I suspect, as I’m certain you do, that the heart is the one torn from the most recent victim.”
Alexandra nodded.
“And I presume you agree, Lucas could not have seen anyone burying that particular heart, since he was in jail at the time of the murder.”
“Of course.”
“I suspect the gossipmongers are right. It’s the work of a madman.”
“Certainly,” Alexandra said.
Snow was silent a moment and seemed to be studying his hands, which were folded in front of him. “Dr. Mortimer has authored some interesting articles on the criminally insane,” he said at last. He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a pamphlet, which he handed to Alexandra. “I suggest you read this one.”
Alexandra glanced at the title, Mental Science and Criminal Lunacy.
“It’s not the usual drivel about insanity being the result of an immoral life. At least not in the usual sense,” Snow said. “He takes a rather interesting approach to lunacy, as you will see. A somewhat unorthodox medical view. That’s why I think it is important that a medical person should be the one who speaks with him. I should like you to read this, and then discuss the matter of the two recent murders here with him. Perhaps he can help us gain insight into precisely the sort of person who might do such a thing.”
“I shall be happy to read this of course,” Alexandra said, “but I’m afraid leaving Newton-Upon-Sea now is out of the question. My patients are—”
“Nancy is quite capable of attending your patients until you return.” Snow seemed to make a point of not looking at Nancy. “It is precisely because she is versed in medicine and because she is your assistant that I allowed her to stay while I discussed this with you.”
“Am I to understand, sir, that your conviction is that whoever is committing these insane acts is doing so as the result of a physical illness?” Alexandra asked.
“I have no convictions at all on the matter, Dr. Gladstone,” Snow said in his usual cold voice. “That is the reason I wish you to interview Dr. Mortimer…to gain insight. I trust you will keep an equally open mind.”
“But—”
“The constable is right,” Nancy said. “You must go. And I shall be fine with your patients. ’Tis not the first time you left me the duties when you’ve found it necessary to be gone, you know.”
“But if the whooping cough spreads, as I fear it will—”
“Then I shall take care of it.” Nancy’s voice was firm. “And remember, we agreed to ask Polly to help for a short time.”
“Excellent,” Snow said to Nancy and turned his gaze to Alexandra. “I should like you to leave as soon as possible. Perhaps tomorrow morning? I shall arrange for a carriage to take you to Bradfordshire. You can take the train from there.” His tone of voice left no doubt that they were dismissed.
“I say ’tis a good thing you’re going,” Nancy said as they both stepped out of the office to retrieve the bundle before they began the walk home. “As for me, though, I’d be wary of a man who thinks insanity is a medical problem.” She seemed about to expound further on her Cartesian view of the separate realms of the human body and the soul, but something distracted her. Alexandra noticed that her eyes were focused at a small gap between buildings just ahead of them. When she followed her gaze, she saw Clyde, once again lurking in the shadows.
“What’s he doing there?” Alexandra asked.
Just as she spoke Clyde emerged from the shadows and gave both of them a look and a grin that could only be described as lascivious.
“That man gives me the jimjams,” Nancy said.
Chapter Eight
Nancy carefully folded a freshly starched petticoat and placed it in the trunk next to the day dress of cream-colored linen with a matching hip-length jacket which Miss Alex had chosen to take with her. The mistress had always insisted that Nancy construct her clothing in the simplest of styles. She especially eschewed the long trains that were the current fashion. Nancy had complied with her wishes and cut the skirt with only a short train and a bit of draping in the front. The only ruffles on the costume were at the ends of the tight-fitting, elbow-length sleeves.
While Alexandra’s back was turned to search through a stack of her medical notes, Nancy took the opportunity to place another frock into the trunk. This one was made of light green faille with a neckline cut a bit low in the front as well as the back. The edges of the neckline were trimmed with ecru lace. While Nancy had kept the train relatively short, she’d pulled the overskirt back to reveal a silk lining and a pleated underskirt of the same color as the lace. Alexandra had never worn the frock, and Nancy was certain she would protest her packing it now, so she quickly placed it beneath the plain linen dress. Miss Alex would say the dress was impractical for her trip, and she would insist on alternating between the cream linen and her equally simply made brown traveling suit of summer weight wool while she was there. But, Nancy thought, there was always the possibility that her mistress would want to indulge herself in a social event, and then wouldn’t she be grateful Nancy had thought to pack the green faille?
Perhaps the possibility wasn’t enormous, but there was at least hope, wasn’t there? Nancy had taken the liberty of sending a telegram to Nicholas Forsythe, remembering when Alexandra had met him at Montmarsh. Oh yes, those were the days, Nancy thought. The days when the earl brought his reckless, wealthy, and highborn friends to his country house each summer for dinners and balls and hunting parties. Miss Alex was sometimes invited to those parties, and why not? Wasn’t she equally as beautiful and charming as any of the ladies? And while she might be a few generations removed from the title, one of her ancestors had been a duke.
The problem, however, was that Alexandra had never enjoyed the earl’s friends or his parties, much to Nancy’s disappointment. Now, however, given the events of a summer past, Nancy had to admit, however grudgingly, that perhaps her mistress’s reluctance had not been without reason. That was the summer the earl had been murdered by one of his own guests and his own wickedness had been revealed as a result. The lovely house that was Montmarsh had remained closed ever since. Nevertheless, that was the summer Alexandra had met Mr. Forsythe, a London barrister and the younger son of a viscount. In spite of the fact that he dressed like a dandy and could be naïve about certain things in that odd way the highborn were, he had proven to have a head on his shoulders, and he seemed to have taken a liking to Miss Alex. Nancy suspected that Alexandra was equally fond of him. Nancy always enjoyed playing matchmaker, but she understood her mistress’s reluctance to encourage Mr. Forsythe. There were certain events in her mistress’s past. Well, she wouldn’t think about that now. Suffice it to say, Miss Alex was a challenge when it came to matchmaking, and Nancy always welcomed a challenge. So she’d notified Mr. Forsythe of the time and station of Alexandra’s arrival in London.
“I went early this morning to check on the Hastings’ baby.” Alexandra spoke over her
shoulder to Nancy as she continued to write the report on the previous evening’s fruitless examination of the heart Clyde had found. “I think there is small improvement, but her cough lingers still.”
“More bleeding from her nose and eyes?” Nancy asked as she placed a lace-trimmed fan in the trunk, then took it out again. Alexandra hated fans. She placed a parasol in the trunk instead, in the hope that her mistress would at least acquiesce to that if the sun was sufficiently bright. She’d leave the umbrella out for her to carry in case of rain.
“Her mother told me of one more episode,” Alexandra said.
“I don’t have to tell you, ’tis the nature of the disease to run rampant in a town.”
“Yes.” Alexandra picked up her papers and tapped the ends on the small table to even them before she turned to face Nancy. “I only hope we’re able to stem it somewhat.”
Nancy was aware that two more cases had been reported besides Alice and the Blackburn boy. At least they were older children who stood a better chance of recovery than the Hastings baby. “I have plenty of red clover infusion if ’tis needed,” she said.
“Good. Yes, yes of course. I know they’ll be in good hands.” Alexandra sounded uncommonly edgy. But who could blame her? Besides the precarious condition of little Alice Hastings, there were those dreadful, uncivilized murders. And now, the threat of anthrax in the area. All the more reason to give her the opportunity to get things off her mind for a bit.
“And Polly will be here, of course.” Nancy had to keep telling herself she would refuse to be jealous of Polly Cobbe’s skills. After all, it had been her idea for Miss Alex to hire her in the first place. Not that she needed the assistance, she told herself. She’d only wanted to help the poor woman. It was just that she hadn’t expected Polly’s skills to be so…well, exemplary.
“I shall leave the decision regarding Polly up to you. You know I trust your skills without question,” Alexandra said as if she’d read her thoughts.
That was when Nancy knew she was being foolish. Of course there was no need for jealously. Her own skills, she was confident, were equal to Polly’s, and besides that, there was a bond between herself and Miss Alex that no one else had. “Perhaps I should invite her to stay here while you’re gone,” she said.
“Oh, I didn’t want to suggest that for fear you would object, but I’m so glad you brought it up,” Alexandra said. “I know Zack will be here and Rob and Artie, of course, and I know it sounds illogical, but I will feel ever so much better knowing there’s another person in the house.”
“She’s good company. I’m sure we shall both enjoy it,” Nancy said and meant it.
Alexandra still had a worried expression on her face. “I just hope there’ll be no more—”
“Don’t invite trouble, Miss Alex. There’s always trouble enough without an invitation. And anyway, the two of us will be fine here. Your mission for now is in London.” Nancy hoped her choice of the word mission would have the proper effect on Miss Alex. She didn’t want her backing out now on an all too rare opportunity to get away for a few days.
“Now who’s playing whom like a violin? Don’t you think I know why you’re so eager for me to go to London?” Alexandra, with her hands planted on her hips, gave her an accusing look.
“Well, of course I’m eager. I know you’re looking forward to hearing Dr. Lister—”
“London is a large city, you know. I don’t expect to see Mr. Forsythe at all. He won’t even know I’m there.”
“Mr. who?”
“You are insufferable, Nancy.”
Nancy, with her back turned, pretended to be busy smoothing out the already smooth and carefully folded petticoat that was packed in the trunk, but she couldn’t keep a little smile from flicking across her mouth. Everything was going to work out wonderfully. She had told Mr. Forsythe in the telegram she’d sent that he was to give Miss Alex the impression that he happened only by chance to be at the train station when she arrived. It had cost her a pretty penny to send the message because she found she couldn’t keep her words from multiplying. There was so much she needed to tell Mr. Forsythe, and she couldn’t possibly get it all in one message.
“And don’t try to pretend now that you’re not as concerned about these awful murders as I am. You see danger lurking in every corner,” Alexandra said.
Nancy turned and glanced at her, eager to defend herself. “Of course I don’t. Why would you say—?”
“What was that you said about Clyde Wright? That he gives you the jamjims?”
“Jimjams,” Nancy said, correcting her. “But that doesn’t mean I’m frightened.”
“What does it mean?”
“Well,” Nancy said, beginning to feel trapped. “It simply means that he…That—”
“He gives me the jamjims, too. He has a rather…well, unpleasant air about him, doesn’t he?”
“Now that you mention it…” Nancy was reluctant to delve too deeply into the unpleasantness of Clyde Wright at the moment, but the truth was, she had been wondering about him recently. It seemed a bit odd that he had disappeared for a time and then reappeared just as the two gruesome murders had taken place. Of course it could have been mere coincidence, yet—
“Nancy! Are you listening?”
“What? Oh, yes, of course, Miss,” she lied.
“Then tell me.”
“Tell you what, Miss?”
“What was preoccupying your thoughts so? Something about Clyde Wright?”
Nancy hesitated for a moment, trying to decide what to say. She was tempted to deny that she’d been thinking of Clyde, but it seldom worked to lie to Miss Alex. She was far too clever. “It just that…”
“Yes?” Alexandra urged her.
“Well, it does seem a bit odd, doesn’t it, that he disappeared for a while and—”
“And then suddenly reappeared when the murders took place,” Alexandra said, completing her thought for her. “Yes, I’ve thought of that myself.” She shook her head. “But that could be a coincidence, and the fact that he’s rather repugnant doesn’t justify our suspicions.”
“’Tis always been my belief that a woman should pay attention to her instincts. Even when it seems improper to do so. ’Tis the gift of second sight, you know, a woman’s instinct. One must cultivate it.”
“Good lord, Nancy, you can be utterly pagan at times.”
“Call it pagan if you like, Miss, but we both know, without knowing why, that there’s something about that man that makes us uncomfortable. And besides, he has always wanted that apothecary shop for his own.”
Alexandra frowned. “And how does that relate to anything?”
“Well,” Nancy said, wondering why Miss Alex couldn’t see the logic, “it seems obvious that he couldn’t have it unless Harry Neill was dead, and his brother Winslow as well, since he would be his only heir. With both of them out of the way, he could grab the shop for very little—”
“Excuse me, Nancy,” Alexandra interrupted, “but you’re making no sense at all. Harry and Winslow Neill died of blood poisoning, possibly as a result of anthrax, but…” She stopped speaking and appeared to be thinking as a puzzled frown creased her brow.
“You’re thinking what I’m thinking, I can tell,” Nancy said.
“Of course I’m not.” Alexandra looked annoyed.
“Yes, you are.”
“But it doesn’t make sense, I tell you.” Alexandra slammed the trunk lid shut.
“What doesn’t make sense?” Nancy said as Alexandra was on her way out of the room. “That Clyde could have caused the two brothers to contract anthrax? Of course he could have.”
Alexandra stopped and turned to look at her, the annoyed expression she’d worn now replaced by a troubled one. “Even if Clyde could have somehow caused the Neill brothers to contract anthrax, why would he have caused Ben Mulligan and Frewin Millsap to contract it?”
“I don’t know, but I would bet the Neill brothers were supposed to die of anthrax, and w
hen they didn’t, someone, Clyde, maybe, made sure they died another way.”
“Why? What could possibly be his motive for them to die and for the stranger to die?”
Nancy shrugged. “They saw him stealing money from the shop, as the constable suggested? I don’t know. I’m not saying I have all the answers, Miss. I’m just saying I have a feeling about that man. And if it doesn’t make sense now, ’tis only because we haven’t opened our eyes to our own second sight.”
Miss Alex looked at her without speaking for a long moment, but it was impossible to tell whether or not she was considering what Nancy had just said. Finally, she spoke. “Where could he…where could anyone get the anthrax strain with which to infect others?”
Nancy shook her head slowly. “I don’t know, Miss. Perhaps…”
“Perhaps we should stop such foolish speculation,” Alexandra said.
“I was going to say, perhaps we should keep using that second sight.”
Alexandra gave her an annoyed look and left the room without speaking. Nancy had seen something in her eyes, though, something that let her know her mistress would not discard everything she’d said.
It was early the next morning when Constable Snow arrived with his carriage to drive Alexandra to the train station in Bradfordshire. Alexandra had left Nancy with instructions she knew were unnecessary. She was more than capable of taking care of most of the needs of the patients who came to the surgery. Now that some of the more progressive hospitals were seeing the value of medically trained nurses, Nancy could, no doubt, find a lucrative and satisfying career in a large London hospital. Alexandra had offered her that opportunity, but Nancy refused, saying she could think of nothing more satisfying than the position she held. The words that would express the sense of sisterhood and the dread of separation they both felt had remained unspoken between them.
Alexandra was still uneasy about leaving in the wake of the recent murders in Newton, but she did her best to convince herself that Nancy and Zack as well as Rob and Artie would be safe.