Death Takes a Lover

by Olivier Bosman

  She winked at him and there was even an attempt at a smile. Why was she being so friendly all of a sudden? Had Wilcox had words with her?

  Billings sat down, took the spoon and dug into his gruel. Martha looked on expectantly.

  “Good?” she asked.

  It wasn’t really, but he nodded and smiled back politely.

  “There,” she said, satisfied. “I’m not all bad, Detective Sergeant Billings. I’ve a big mouth, that's all. And I'm prone to lying.”

  “Lying?”

  “Aye. Lying. It was all lies I told thee about Mr Wilcox and Gracie. A load of lies. Tha mu’n’t believe anything I said.”

  So Wilcox had been speaking to her.

  “Why don’t you sit down and talk to me for a while?” the detective suggested.

  She turned her back on him immediately and returned to the stove.

  “No, I can't. I've got to start on luncheon.”

  “Why don’t you tell me about the stabbing then?”

  “Stabbing?” She turned to face him with a shocked expression on her face. “I don't know nowt 'bout no stabbing!”

  “Mr Thornton was stabbed in a tavern brawl.”

  “How dost tha know that?”

  “Miss Whitfield told me.”

  “Oh, she did, did she?”

  “Yes. So, you see, I know everything already. I merely need you to fill in some details. Won’t you sit down and talk to me?”

  Still Martha hesitated.

  “I'll think you're trying to obstruct the course of justice if you don’t,” said Billings with the hint of a threat in his voice.

  She frowned.

  “What's tha being so hard on us poor servants for? We're only doing us jobs. I've got dependants, I'll have thee know! I’ve a son to help through his studies.”

  “So sit down and your son can continue depending on you.”

  “Oh, tha’rt a harsh one, Mr Billings!” She approached the table reluctantly and sat down. “Tha’ll get me sacked, tha will!”

  “Tell me how Roger injured his arm? It wasn’t an accident, was it?”

  “Nay, he got stabbed, he did. On account of a woman.”

  “April Threadgoode?”

  “Aye, 'twas some country lass the master had grown fond of. He fought over her with her man and the master got stabbed. He came stumbling down the drive in the middle of the night, bleeding like a slaughtered pig. ‘Wilcox! Wilcox!’ he cried. He always called for the old chap when he had an ailment, although ‘twere me who’d be called on to nurse him back to health. I know about medicine, Mr Billings. My son’s a medical student up in Edinburgh. Tha didn’t know that, did tha?”

  “Yes, I did. You told me.”

  She frowned and carried on with her tale.

  “We both ran out of t’house at the same time, Wilcox and me, awakened by the master’s call. We ran out in our nightgowns and saw the poor lad stumbling on the gravel, his face pale and frightened. His shirt was soaked through with blood and he was shivering with cold and shock and exhaustion.”

  “Did he come back on foot?”

  “No, he came on hossback, but he fell off along the way and t’hoss had bolted somewhere over t’moors.

  “‘He stabbed me, Wilcox!’ Master Roger kept saying as he staggered towards us.

  “‘Who stabbed you?’ we asked, but he weren’t listening. He just kept repeating the same thing. ‘He stabbed me, Wilcox! He stabbed me!’ And then suddenly he went quiet and his expression changed from one of fearfulness to melancholy. ‘She kept calling me “sir”, Wilcox,’ he said softly.

  “‘Who?’ we asked.

  “‘The poor plump creature. She kept calling me sir. “No, sir. Please, sir. Let me be, sir.”’

  “He was delirious. We took him inside and pulled off his shirt. He’d been stabbed in th’upper right arm. ‘Twas a horrible deep wound. I took a bowl of water and started cleaning it immediately while Wilcox went upstairs to wake Mrs Thornton.”

  “How did your mistress react?”

  “Oh, she went into her usual hysterics. Sent poor Wilcox off to t’village in t'middle of the night to offer Bill Parker some money. It were Parker who’d stabbed the master. It were his girl the master had been fooling about with, and Mrs Thornton was afraid of the scandal. She wouldn't even call for a doctor.”

  “Surely she would have done if she’d realised her son’s condition was serious?”

  “Oh, no, she absolutely forbade it. We pleaded with her repeatedly. ‘Mrs Thornton,’ we said, ‘please let Doctor Duncan have a look at him.’ But no, she was too scared.”

  “Why was she scared of the doctor?” enquired Billings, mystified.

  “Because she abused the laudanum he gave her.”

  “She takes laudanum?”

  “For her migraines. How else dost tha think she can spend day after day sleeping without even waking up for a bite to eat? She started to take too much. T'doctor disapproved and told her so. But Mrs Thornton don't like to be told nowt by no one. So she told me to look after the young master by myself. ‘Martha can deal with him,’ she said. ‘Her son's a doctor. She'll know what to do with Roger.’”

  “And did you?”

  “What?”

  “Know what to do?”

  “Well, I don't know nowt 'bout no stab wounds, but I do know 'bout infections. Internal and external. And dost tha know how I treated it? Garlic. And loads of it. I made garlic tea for the master to drink five times a day. And I washed his body thrice daily with warm water and freshly squeezed garlic juice. Oh, ‘twere a lot of work, Mr Billings. All that garlic… Poor Gracie had to go to Grosmont four or five times that week to buy all t’garlic she could lay her hands on.

  “‘Yeardley says there's no more garlic to be found anywhere in the county,’ she said as she entered the sick room with the last few bulbs she’d been able to muster.

  “‘Well, tell him to go up to Newcastle, if need be,’ I said.

  “She put the cloves down on the table and turned to look at Master Roger in his bed.

  “‘Is he asleep?’ she asked.

  “‘Aye.’

  “‘He looks lovely and peaceful, don't he?’

  “‘Try taking his shirt off without waking him.’

  “‘Oh, I couldn't!’ she cried, getting all hot and flustered.

  “‘Go on, hurry up, woman. He needs another garlic wash.’

  “She approached the bed reluctantly and carefully started removing his shirt. I didn’t think nothing of it. I’d been bathing t’master before myself. And so had Wilcox, so had Bella. We all helped to nurse him. So I just turned my back on Gracie and carried on peeling the cloves. I could hear her mumbling behind me, the way she always did when she were contented. She kept mumbling in a sing-song way. I tried ignoring her at first, but that sort of thing can get annoying eventually, so I turned around to scold her and found her staring longingly at Master Roger’s naked torso and running her fingers over his chest.

  “‘What art tha doing?’ I cried.

  “She stopped singing and looked at me in alarm.

  “‘What?’

  “‘Tha’rt touching the master lover-like!’

  “‘I wasn't!’

  “‘Tha were! I saw thee. Tha was fingering his nipples.’

  “‘I wasn't! I was undressing him, just like tha told me to.’

  “‘You dirty old hag! I'm gonna tell Mrs Thornton about thee.’

  “‘No!’

  “‘She'll have thee whipped for being a brazen hussy.’

  “‘No, please! I wasn't touching his tipples… I wasn't!’

  “‘It's nipples, woman, not tipples! When's tha gonna learn to speak proper English!’”

  And Martha burst out laughing, remembering.

  “Tipples, Detective Sergeant! That’s the word she used. Tipples!”

  Billings was not amused.

  “This is a dead man we're speaking of, Mrs Pringle. And your former master.”

  “I
know. What's tha telling me for?”

  “You should show more respect!”

  “I'm only telling thee what happened.”

  “How long did you nurse Master Roger for?”

  “About a week. He were restless for the first few days. Kept having nightmares and wanting to get up, but after that he became very calm. His temperature had gone down and he slept a lot. We really thought he’d recover. I remember Mrs Thornton coming into the room while I was attending to him. It was on a Sunday, I think.

  “‘How is the patient doing, Martha?’ she said.

  “‘Oh, he's sound asleep, Mrs Thornton,’ I said. ‘Gracie has just given him another garlic wash.’

  “‘Well, do tell the maid to cover him up again after she's finished.’ The mistress went over to him and pulled his blanket up to his chin. ‘How long has he been asleep?’ she asked.

  “‘Must've been about five hours now, ma'am.’

  “‘He doesn't normally sleep this long.’

  “‘No, he's being a real saint today, ma'am.’

  She sat on the edge of his bed and put her hand on his forehead.

  “‘He's awfully cold,’ she said.

  “‘Is he?’

  “‘I can't see him breathe.’

  “‘He's just asleep, Mrs Thornton.’

  “She became worried and pulled down the blanket to put her head to his chest.

  “‘I can't feel him breathe, Martha!’ She’d gone pale and was starting to breathe harshly herself.

  “‘Oh, he is, ma'am, I assure thee,’ I told her.

  “‘No, he's not, Martha! He's not breathing!’

  “‘Grab his wrist,’ I said to her. ‘Check his pulse.’

  “She did, but couldn’t feel nowt.

  “‘Oh, Martha, he's dead!’

  “‘Can't be,’ I said to her, and grabbed his wrist myself to see if I could feel his blood pumping. But I couldn’t either.

  “‘Oh, Martha, you've been nursing a corpse,’ she said to me, breathlessly. Her face had gone so pale now that I thought she’d faint.

  “‘That's impossible, Mrs Thornton. I assure thee that…’

  “‘You said you could cure him!’

  “‘I could… I can!’

  “‘You've killed him instead!’

  “‘Oh, Mrs Thornton, no! That's not...’

  “She got up from the bed and ran out into the corridor.

  “‘She's killed him! Bella! Wilcox! Martha has killed my son!’ she cried.”

  Martha stopped talking and looked away. That combative glint in her eye had disappeared and Billings thought he could see tears welling up.

  “I'm just a simple Yorkshire widow, sir,” she said, still without looking at him. “She should never have asked me to tend him. I could operate on a pig, but a young gentleman like Master Roger... It weren't my fault.”

  “I know it wasn't.”

  “But everyone is blaming me.”

  “Who is?”

  “She is, Mrs Thornton. And Wilcox! And Miss Whitfield! They all believed her. Wilcox was summoned by her cries and came running into t’room.

  “‘She killed him, Wilcox!’ the mistress said as he appeared in the doorway. ‘She killed my son!’

  “‘t’weren't me, Mr Wilcox!’ I said. I was shocked too, you know. I’d had no idea he was dead. ‘But there's no pulse,’ I explained. ‘He must've been dead for hours without anyone realising.’

  “‘We shall have to call Doctor Duncan now,’ said Wilcox.

  “‘No! I won't face him!’ the mistress insisted.

  “‘Mrs Thornton, please, now is not the time to fear the doctor's reprimands.’

  “‘Fear? What are you talking about, Wilcox! Why should I fear that odious man!’

  “‘We need him to issue the death certificate, Madam.’

  “‘Martha can do it!’

  “‘Me?’ I said. ‘I don’t know nowt ‘bout no death certificate.’

  “‘Mrs Thornton, you're not being reasonable,’ Wilcox continued. He’s a good one at staying calm when everyone else is panicking.

  “‘Why should I be reasonable!’

  “She looked at her son lying dead in his bed. The blanket had slipped from his torso and his head had rolled off the pillow while we were arguing. His jaw had fallen open and his eyelids had sprung up. There was no mistaking the look of death now.

  “‘Oh, I can't bear to see him like that!’ she said, turning her head away and covering her eyes with her hand. ‘Couldn't we dress him? Couldn't we comb his hair at least?’

  “‘Dress him?’ Wilcox said, looking at me with concern. He must have thought the same thing I did. That Mrs Thornton had finally cracked.

  “‘Can't we make him look more alive?’ she cried.

  “‘Mrs Thornton, he's dead.’

  “‘Dress him in his black suit and place him on that chair, with his head resting on his chest. Like he used to sit, napping contentedly after his Sunday lunch.’

  “‘Mrs Thornton, you're not...’

  “‘Please!’ She looked at him with pleading eyes. ‘I can't see him like this. My glorious young god. My little titan. Please, Wilcox. I want to remember Roger like he used to be. You must allow me to remember him like that.’

  “And so we did what she asked. We washed him and we dressed him and we combed his hair and we placed him on his chair. I even put some stitches through his lips to keep his jaw from dropping open. We really made him look like he were just having a nap. Mrs Thornton would come into the room and stand in the doorway and look at him. And smile.

  “She kept him there for nearly two weeks. Two weeks! She absolutely refused to part from him. She opened t’windows and kept them wide open, day and night, until it was like the Baltic in this house. ‘Twere colder in here than it were out on the moor. And she had Gracie and Wilcox dress and wash him every morn. Of course he started to smell after a few days. All the blood collected in his lap and broke his skin. His face started swelling and his tongue got so big it wouldn't even fit in his mouth and would pop out behind the stitches. Wilcox couldn't bear entering the room any more, and neither could I, but Gracie...”

  Suddenly Martha stopped speaking and looked around in confusion, as if she had just woken from a bad dream.

  “What about Gracie?” Billings asked.

  “Oh, tha’rt a crafty one, Detective Sergeant,” she said, looking angrily at him. “Tha knows I have a big gob on me and tha just kept me talking and talking.” She got up and returned to the stove.

  “What about Gracie?” he pressed her.

  “Tha doesn’t want to know.”

  “I do.”

  “I’ve said too much already.”

  “Tell me what she did.”

  “No.”

  “I’ll arrest you for refusing to cooperate if you refuse.”

  “Arrest me then.”

  Martha squatted down in front of the stove and threw some coal into the hole. Then she got up again and started re-heating the gruel, all this time keeping her back turned to Billings.

  He paused while he contemplated his next move.

  “The truth will out eventually, Mrs Pringle,” he said. “Sooner or later someone will squeal. If not you, then it’ll be Wilcox or Miss Whitfield or Mrs Thornton herself. That’s the way it always goes. Secrets are just too heavy a burden for people to carry. I think you’ll find it a relief when the truth is finally known.”

  “She were mad,” Martha said suddenly, her back still turned to Billings.

  “Who?”

  “Gracie. She lived in a dream world. She couldn’t tell what was real and what was not.”

  Martha took the pan off the fire, returned to the table and sat down.

  “I were walking down the corridor to bring some soup up to Mrs Thornton when I heard Gracie, singing and humming and mumbling in Master Roger’s room, and I got curious. I wondered how anyone could sound so cheerful in a place like that. So I took a few steps back. The door wer
e open and I saw her standing by the chair with Master Roger’s stiffened corpse on it. She were brushing his hair as if he were a doll. Humming and talking to hersen all cheerful like.

  “‘tis like a bramble bush, Roger, tha hair,’ she said. ‘How can tha let thysen go like this? Look at thee. Tha shirt reeks of sweat and liquor. I'll give thee a good scrubbing, so I will. Tha'll niver be King of Paris like that.’

  “Then she walked over to the dresser, put the brush down, poured some water into the basin and started soaking the sponge.

  “‘No, no, don't argue with me. Tha hast been a disgrace of late, hanging around them lowly folks in t'village. Tha hast squandered all of my money. I can't marry thee now, can I?’

  She walked back towards the corpse with the sponge and slowly and delicately started wiping its face.

  “‘No, no, we'll have none of that,’ she said. ‘Them tears don't work on me no more. I have warned thee often enough. If tha doesn't know how to behave like a gentleman, tha doesn't deserve me. Oh, now, come, come, it can't be as bad as all that. Oh, I know! I know what would make thee feel better.’

  “She then walked towards the bed, lifted the mattress and pulled a scarf from underneath it. It were Miss Bella’s scarf. The one Master Roger had taken off her.

  “'Tis the scarf tha wants, isn't it?’ said Gracie as she started tying it around her head.

  “She went back towards the corpse, wearing the scarf, knelt down on the floor and started unbuttoning his trousers.

  “‘That's what tha wants, isn't it? That'll make thee feel better. I know how to release tha agitation, so I does.’

  “Oh, I could see where this were leading and I couldn’t stand to see it happening so I stormed right in, smell or no smell. I couldn’t let this go any further. She needed telling, so she did. Wilcox says I was too harsh. He blames me for what happened next. But Gracie needed telling. She needed the fear of God put right back into her.

  “‘What's tha doing, tha filthy bint?’ I said.

  “She looked at me, shocked.

  “‘I weren't doing nowt,’ she said as she got back on her feet.

  “‘That's a corpse, you depraved woman! That's a corpse you're touching!’ I were incensed. I were shocked and horrified and beside mysen with rage. ‘I'm going to tell Mrs Thornton!’ I said. ‘I'm going to tell Mr Wilcox! We need to bury that body quick! This madness has been going on for far too long already!’