The Rowanwood Curse (Hal Bishop Mysteries Book 1)

by Elizabeth O'Connell

  She gave Hal an appraising look as he approached, and her eyes narrowed as she observed his obvious good health. “What do you need? The doctor is a very busy man.”

  “We’ve come on behalf of Sir Jasper,” Hal said.

  She gave him a thin-lipped glare. “Is he ill?”

  “No.” Hal frowned around his pipe. “He has asked us to speak to Doctor Adams.”

  “Well, he’s with a patient. You can wait here.” She knit her eyebrows, scowling at Hal’s pipe. “And you can put that out, while you’re at it. This is a surgery, not your sitting room.”

  Hal emptied the contents of his pipe into the stove, and sat down, looking chastised. I stifled a laugh by clearing my throat and sat down beside him. The woman put a pair of spectacles on her long nose and went back to looking over her ledger.

  After a few uncomfortable moments, the door to the surgery opened. A man with a sooty face emerged, the clean white bandage on his hand like beacon amongst the dust and dirt that coated his clothing and person. He was followed by a tall, lean-faced man with thinning grey hair whom I could only assume to be the doctor.

  “Mind you keep that wound clean, Mr. Sutcliffe. Come back in a day or two and I’ll have another look at it,” he said.

  “Aye,” Mr. Sutcliffe said dourly, before setting his cap on his head and ambling out the door.

  “You might have reminded him about his bill, Andrew,” said the woman at the desk, plucking her spectacles from her face.

  “They’ll take it from his pay, Sarah.” The doctor looked uncomfortable under her sharp gaze. “We needn’t worry about that.”

  “Not this bill,” she said crisply. “The other. For his wife.”

  The doctor knuckled his forehead. “He’ll pay up when he can, I’m sure.”

  “You always are sure, and they never do,” said the woman, but her tone had softened. “Well, never mind. These men say they’ve been sent by Sir Jasper.”

  “Have they?” He turned to us, and pulled a watch from his pocket. “I always walk down to the village pub for my dinner about this time. Perhaps you’ll join me?”

  CHAPTER TEN

  We followed Doctor Adams out of the surgery, and Hal introduced us, briefly explaining our work for Sir Jasper. When he had finished, the doctor frowned and shook his head, looking troubled.

  “I’m a man of medicine, you know,” he said. “Not magic. But whatever has hold of that girl is doing something terrible to her. She’s declined terribly these last few weeks.”

  “Then you are familiar with the case?” Hal pulled his pipe from his pocket and began refilling it.

  “Oh, yes.” Doctor Adams ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve been the family physician since Sir Jasper was a boy. I was the first person he called in about his daughter.”

  Hal had relit his pipe and was now smoking it with an unmistakable air of satisfaction. Doctor Adams glanced at him and chuckled.

  “Sarah told you off for smoking in the surgery, I expect?”

  “Yes.” Hal frowned. “She is a . . . formidable woman.”

  Doctor Adams laughed outright at that. “She certainly is! But it’s just as well, else I would scarcely get paid. You mustn’t mind her ways, though. My wife’s a good soul at heart.”

  “I will take you at your word for it,” Hal said. “But you were speaking of Cecilia Pryce.”

  “I don’t know how much I can tell you.” Doctor Adams’s face darkened. “There was certainly nothing I could do for her. I do feel for poor Sir Jasper, though—he’s had a great many tragedies in his life. I don’t doubt that it would be the death of him to lose Cecilia.”

  “Hm.” Hal blew out a cloud of smoke. “But did you suspect that the illness was of magical origin?”

  Doctor Adams shook his head. “As I say, I’m a man of medicine. But I did not dissuade Sir Jasper from pursuing the idea—especially when my profession proved to be no help to him whatsoever.”

  We walked on in silence for a bit, taking the narrow road down to the village. Rowanwood Village was scarcely more than a few lanes lined with narrow stone buildings, each belching the smoke of their stoves into the cold grey sky. It was a blustery sort of day, and few people were out in the street, but an occasional face poked out from behind a curtain, regarding us curiously.

  “We don’t get very many visitors in this part of the world,” Doctor Adams said, as we turned down the narrow lane where the pub sat. “It tends to make a stir when it does happen.”

  “Then Sir Jasper’s nephew returning must have been electrifying,” I said, sliding out of my coat as we entered the pub.

  “It was quite the scandal, in fact.” Doctor Adams smiled grimly. “When his mother left, she fair shook the dust of this place from her feet. She denounced Sir Jasper as a murderer and vowed never to return. So you can imagine people were quite intrigued to see what her son would do when he faced his uncle again.”

  “And what did happen?” I settled down onto a bench near the fire, feeling the chill seep out of my bones.

  “I think the village was rather disappointed,” Doctor Adams said, taking off his spectacles and polishing them on his coat. “Sir Jasper and his nephew certainly had words, but it was really nothing more than a dull family quarrel. No skeletons brought out of closets for gossips to grind their teeth on, sadly.”

  “Then let us come to the reason I wanted to speak with you.” Hal leaned back on the bench, folding his arms over his chest. “This sickness in the village—what do you make of it?”

  “There isn’t much to tell.” Doctor Adams gestured to the barman and put in his order. “As far as I can determine, it’s all very ordinary. Bronchitis, influenza, the sorts of illnesses one gets in a northern town in the winter.”

  “Hm.” Hal sat for a moment puffing his pipe thoughtfully. “Yet it seems the villagers believe there to be some connection with the mine.”

  “And they are right to think so.” Doctor Adams took a bite of kidney pie and washed it down with a swallow of his pint. “It’s certainly no mystery that coal dust and smoke are lung irritants. But I know what you mean—some of them seem to ascribe an almost mystical tie between the mine and the illnesses. I suppose Sir Jasper’s told you of the belief that he’s angered the local spirits?”

  “He has,” Hal said. “And you think there’s nothing to that idea?”

  “Of course not.” Doctor Adams laughed, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Pure poppycock. I’m surprised to hear you give any credit to it.”

  “I don’t discount it entirely.” Hal smiled thinly. “Surely it would be unscientific to ignore a piece of information merely because it does not comport with one’s ideas of how things ought to be.”

  “I can’t argue with that,” Doctor Adams said. “And as I say, I know little of magic. But I do know medicine—and I can tell you that I have seen nothing here that could not be explained by cold weather and coal dust.”

  “What of the girl who died?” I said.

  Doctor Adams took off his spectacles again, his face suddenly sobering. “That was probably the beginning of the bad feeling between Sir Jasper and the villagers—though I don’t think there was anything he could have done to prevent it.”

  “How did she die?”

  “It was pneumonia.” He shook his head. “Daisy Fulton—that was her name. She was all of eight years old.”

  “We heard her father took it very badly,” Hal said, drumming his fingers upon the table. “Did he accuse Sir Jasper?”

  The doctor stared down at the spectacles in his hand for a moment before he spoke. “It was hard for them to understand—it was so sudden. Perfectly healthy one day, then ill the next, and dead a week later. And Joe Fulton had been very vocal about the mine’s conditions—he didn’t think the men were paid enough. He became convinced that Sir Jasper had done something to his daughter—to punish him, I suppose.”

  “But there was nothing to that, I gather,” Hal said.

  “No,” Doctor Adams said,
almost angrily. “It was pneumonia—a case of influenza that sadly became complicated. There was nothing anyone could have done. Mind you, Sir Jasper took it quite badly himself.”

  I looked up from my dinner with surprise. “Did he? But why should he, if it wasn’t his fault?”

  Doctor Adams smiled sadly. “Sir Jasper has always taken on more than he ought. I’ve been his friend for years—I should know. Take Peter Soames, for instance. His father was killed when Peter was very small, in an accident at the mine. Well, not only did Sir Jasper investigate every avenue to improve safety, he took a personal interest in the boy. He paid for all his education.”

  “Including magic?” Hal blew out a puff of smoke.

  “Just enough to get by at the mine—they use a great deal of enchanted equipment there, you know.” Doctor Adams frowned. “I certainly hope you aren’t suggesting Peter has anything to do with what’s happening to Cecilia. He wouldn’t harm a hair on her head.”

  Hal raised an eyebrow. “Are you so certain?”

  “He’s been in love with her for years,” the doctor said, putting his spectacles back on. “Since they were children. Anyone could see it. He used to follow her about like a little puppy.”

  “Did she return his feelings?” I leaned forward, laying down my fork. “What about her cousin?”

  “I think she loved Peter—but I suppose she saw him more as a brother than anything else.” He chuckled. “As for her cousin—well, her father put an end to that.”

  “Curious that he should not approve of the match,” Hal said. “Given that it would keep the money in the family and his daughter on the estate.”

  “Sir Jasper will likely never approve of any match for that girl—unless the Prince of Wales comes calling.” The doctor shook his head. “But it was a special case with Lord Marcus—I suppose he reminded Sir Jasper too strongly of the late Lord Marquardt.”

  “Was there a quarrel between them?” I said.

  “A quarrel would be too narrow a description.” Doctor Adams wiped his brow with a napkin. “As I say, I knew them from boyhood—and never were two brothers more unlike in temperament. Anthony was wild and reckless, a gambler and a profligate, where Jasper was dependable and hardworking, a businessman. And yet Anthony stood to inherit—and there can be no question their father favored him.”

  “The prodigal son,” Hal said. “But the elder this time.”

  “Precisely,” said the doctor. “And I won’t deny there was something very charming about Anthony. But—and heaven forgive me for saying it—it was almost a blessing when he died. He would have squandered the entire estate.”

  “Perhaps that is why his wife thought Sir Jasper murdered him,” Hal said, as matter-of-factly as though he were commenting upon the weather.

  Doctor Adams went red in the face. “That is a slander—that woman had the European sense of drama. Sir Jasper wasn’t even at Rowanwood when his brother died. And he’s been very good to his nephew. No one can deny he’s invested the estate well, and he sends him an allowance out of the interest regularly. What more could be expected of him?”

  “Oh, nothing, I’m sure.” Hal stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Of course, you would have been called out after the death, being the family physician.”

  “Yes, I was,” Doctor Adams said. “And that’s how I know there is nothing to those rumors. Lord Anthony fell from the balcony. It was a tragic accident. That is all there is to it.”

  “Is it?” Hal said mildly. “I find it a bit difficult to believe that a grown man should take a sudden tumble off the balcony in the home where he has spent his whole life.”

  The doctor removed his spectacles and polished them again, with unnecessary vigor. “All right,” he said, after a moment. “All right. I can see you’re not going to let this go—and I might as well tell you, for the rumors are worse than the truth.”

  “Then let us have the truth.”

  “Lord Anthony was a laudanum addict.” Doctor Adams replaced his spectacles. “He was an insomniac, and troubled by terrible dreams. Occasionally he walked at night. It was my opinion—as I said at the inquest—that he had fallen from the balcony while sleepwalking.”

  “That’s not so terrible,” I said. “Why should you wish to conceal that?”

  “Because the testimony was not entirely true,” Hal said. “Another verdict may have been possible. Am I correct?”

  “Yes.” The doctor leaned forward, putting his head in his hands. “The dreams Lord Anthony had—the laudanum addiction—he had confided in me his growing fear that he was going mad. He was plagued by debts—and he believed that he was turning into a monster. When I was called out—I admit my first instinct was that he had committed suicide.”

  “And you did not give that evidence at the inquest,” Hal said.

  “No—how could I?” He shook his head. “It would have been a terrible scandal—Lady Marquardt had already made enough trouble. She was furious at the suggestion that her husband committed suicide. And Sir Jasper’s wife was having a very difficult pregnancy—we were already afraid for her life, and the child’s. A verdict of accident seemed the best outcome.”

  “Hm.” Hal blew out a ring of smoke. “Why did Lord Anthony believe that he was turning into a monster?”

  “I believe it was a delusion—caused by the tremendous pressure of his debts and compounded by his vices,” Doctor Adams said. “But he claimed that he walked abroad at night, in the form of a beast.”

  “How strange.” Hal drummed his fingers upon the table. “And was there any evidence that he had done so?”

  “Of course not.” The doctor laughed bitterly. “You have some very odd ideas, Mr. Bishop.”

  He checked his watch and declared he really ought to be getting back to his practice. The walk back to the mine was rather more silent than the walk out to the village had been, and when we had returned the doctor to his surgery, I couldn’t help but think he seemed grateful to be rid of us.

  “You do have an uncanny talent for upsetting people,” I said to Hal, as we walked back to Sir Jasper’s office.

  He paid me no mind, walking ahead with his hands stuffed in his pockets and his pipe sending smoke curling into the air. “Sometimes a man dreams of being a wolf,” he muttered.

  “You think Cecilia was talking about her uncle?” I quickened my pace, catching up with him. “But what could that have to do with her? She wasn’t even born yet when it happened.”

  “I know.” Hal frowned. “But it’s quite curious that she should say something like that, when her uncle had such a dream.”

  “But would she even know about it? Doctor Adams seemed loath to mention it; I doubt Sir Jasper would have shared such a story with his daughter.”

  “Perhaps not.” Hal rubbed his chin. “But the spirit that holds her contract doubtless knows the tale. This business with the beast attacking the sheep farms deserves more of our attention, I think.”

  We found Sir Jasper as we had left him, sorting through papers on his desk. He looked up at our entrance. “Well, did you learn anything useful from the doctor?”

  “You’ll be pleased to know that he doesn’t think the illness is of magical origin,” I said. “He thinks it’s only very ordinary bronchitis.”

  “I know what he thinks.” Sir Jasper shifted his sharp gaze to Hal. “I want to know what you think.”

  “I see no reason to doubt his medical judgment just yet.” Hal folded his arms over his chest. “Although it wouldn’t surprise me if there were a connection.”

  Sir Jasper pulled his watch out and frowned. “That was a very long conversation to reach no real conclusion.”

  “It was not entirely fruitless.” Hal raised an eyebrow. “Doctor Adams is quite familiar with your family history.”

  Sir Jasper went quite pale, and looked back down at his watch. “I—I believe I ought to be getting back to the Hall. Peter, finish going through these papers for me.”

  Peter nodded, a puzzled look on his f
ace, and retrieved Sir Jasper’s coat. Sir Jasper shrugged into his coat and thundered past us, thudding down the stairs with a speed that belied his great bulk. Hal and I followed him down in silence to where his aether-carriage stood waiting, the driver dozing behind the wheel. Sir Jasper pounded on the window, startling the poor fellow awake and demanding to be returned to the Hall at once.

  The driver gathered his wits together enough to come round and open the doors for us, and we climbed into the aether-carriage. Sir Jasper fairly radiated wrath—not the thundering, bombastic temper he had displayed before, but the sort that turned his face pale and quivering with anger.

  “What did you mean by that?” he said, when the doors had shut behind us. “What in my family’s history could possibly interest you?”

  “Why, the circumstances of your brother’s death, of course.” Hal, in typical fashion, was utterly nonplussed by our host’s sudden change in temperament. “The doctor had a very interesting account.”

  “He had no right.” Sir Jasper’s voice trembled. “He ought to have kept silent.”

  “Be that as it may, he did not.” The smoke from his pipe curled round Hal’s head. “But I find it curious that I should have heard it from him, and not you. Why did you say nothing of this family quarrel?”

  “Because it is not relevant.” Sir Jasper looked up, his eyes full of fire. “My daughter had not even been born then, as you are no doubt aware by now.”

  “Not relevant?” Hal’s eyebrows shot up. “It is entirely relevant. It concerns two of the players in this little drama directly—yourself and your nephew—and provides one of them with a motive, at least.”

  “Motive?”

  “Vengeance is a powerful motivator,” Hal said. “If your nephew credited his mother’s version of events at all . . . .”

  “But how could he?” Sir Jasper leaned back wearily. “You might as well tell me what you’ve learned—I wouldn’t want you to place undue importance on things that happened years ago.”

  Hal gave Sir Jasper a brief sketch of what Doctor Adams had told us. Sir Jasper leaned back in his seat, eyes closed, looking old and weary. This talk of his brother’s death was obviously reopening a painful wound.