Murder at Cleeve Abbey

by Anita Davison

  ‘We were, actually.’ Flora caught the hard line of his mouth as he returned Mr McCallum’s handshake. ‘Osborne insisted I see the new transport system.’ He indicated where William sat on the seat behind him. ‘You can imagine my surprise when I spotted my wife being assisted out of a tram when I thought you were at Cleeve Abbey.’ The firm set of his jaw meant she had some apologizing to do, but it would have to wait.

  ‘Mr McCallum was kind enough to take pity on me while you and William went off to look at motor cars.’ Flora squeezed his arm as a warning not to sound quite so abrasive, but if he noticed it he gave no sign.

  William watched from the carriage, his upper body angled forward through the open door, an amused smirk tugging at his mouth.

  ‘Most kind of you, McCallum.’ Bunny’s manner teetered on the edge of politeness. He gave the road a swift, enquiring glance. ‘I didn’t realize there were any spas or teashops along this road.’

  ‘Actually, we were on our way to the hospital.’ McCallum met Bunny’s gaze with amusement. ‘Flora expressed a wish to discuss her father’s case with Dr Fairbrother.’

  ‘Case, Flora?’ Bunny inflected criticism into two words. ‘I thought we had agreed to await the inquest?’ He pointedly removed Flora’s hand from McCallum’s arm and tucked it beneath his own. ‘Thank you, McCallum, I shall take charge of my wife now.’

  ‘What’s all this?’ William alighted the carriage, an enquiring look on his face.

  ‘It’s nothing.’ Flora said. ‘The inquest will be held at the mortuary, I’m told, and well—’

  ‘Oh quite.’ William flushed and stared at each of them in turn. ‘Though I expect they have a separate room for the proceedings. It won’t be in the actual – um…’

  ‘I realize that,’ Flora reassured him.

  William coughed into a fist. ‘Well then, what say I find a local hostelry and take some refreshment while I wait for you both? Care to join me, McCallum?’ He rubbed his hands together, his cheerful demeanour going some way to diffuse the fact Mr McCallum and Bunny had reverted to a staring match.

  ‘Oh no, please don’t wait for us.’ Her face flamed at being the subject of Bunny’s overt jealousy. ‘I have no idea how long we shall be. We can take the tramcar back. Thank you, Mr McCallum. You’ve been the perfect gentleman.’

  ‘It’s been a pleasure, Flora. I hope we will meet again soon.’ He tipped his cap and followed William back to the carriage. ‘I’d like to take you up on that, Osborne. Where shall we go?’

  ‘I thought the Queen’s,’ William replied, closing the door on the two of them.

  Flora watched the carriage move off with a set jaw, furious at Bunny for having behaved so badly. Though at the same time she rather liked the fact he was so possessive. He had never demonstrated such feelings before. Perhaps now he would understand what it was like for her when pretty women blushed and flirted with him in her presence. Unsure which emotion was uppermost in her head, she kept her mouth firmly shut.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to come to the hospital?’ Bunny performed an about-turn and changed sides, which put him on the outer side of the road. ‘I would have accompanied you.’ Even when he was annoyed with her, Bunny always put her welfare first.

  ‘Because I hadn’t made up my mind it would be today.’ She grasped his arm tighter as they approached the wrought-iron gates. ‘You gave me the impression you saw it as a fruitless exercise. And Mr McCallum offered.’ Flora peered up at him from beneath her hat brim. ‘Do I have Mr McCallum to thank for your change of heart?’

  ‘I haven’t changed my heart – I mean my mind. I can only hope that whatever the doctor has to say will finally put your mind at rest. Anyway, it’s too late to reason with you now. We’re here.’

  They climbed a short flight of steps set between Doric pillars three storeys high, where a uniformed porter admitted them into a double-height entrance hall that smelled of carbolic soap, disinfectant and decayed flowers.

  Bunny explained his request to a man seated behind an oversized oak desk, and they were directed to the end of a cavernous corridor with a barrel ceiling; the antiseptic smell worsening with each step.

  A middle-aged nurse with an uncompromising expression and ferret-sharp eyes glared at them from a much smaller desk set before another set of double doors. Her expression unchanged when Bunny repeated his request.

  ‘I’ll enquire as to whether the doctor is available to see you,’ she said, her tone implying she harboured grave doubts as to the possibility. ‘Wait here.’ She sniffed and disappeared through the double doors.

  A sign above their heads read ‘Mortuary’ in black letters on a white board. Flora’s knees buckled, and she might have fallen had not Bunny’s arm been clamped hard round her waist.

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ he asked.

  ‘Very sure. I simply hate the smell of disinfectant.’ She approached a row of wheel back chairs against a wall painted a shiny bilious green, and sat.

  Nurses in frilled caps and starched white aprons tied at the back into large bows marched past them.

  ‘I take it this jaunt wasn’t an arrangement you made with McCallum at dinner the other night?’ Bunny angled his head toward her, one brow raised.

  ‘Of course not.’ Her teasing laugh fell flat when he did not return her smile. ‘He was merely being, well—’

  ‘Flirtatious, devious, manipulative, enigmatic? Do feel free to stop me when I reach the correct word.’

  ‘Hush. He’s none of those things, and you were very abrupt with him just now.’

  ‘Is this the same Mr McCallum whom you thought may have poisoned an entire garden fête with his beer?’

  ‘If you recall, I entertained other possibilities as well as that one. And if I’m not mistaken, you left that dinner the other night with a rather positive impression of McCallum yourself,’ She broke off as a porter in beige overalls approached pushing a trolley.

  ‘I concede that, he did come across as the perfect guest. Although,’ he said in the tone of someone who had more to add. ‘William happened to let slip an interesting snippet about your escort over luncheon.’

  Flora held her breath as the porter got closer, a squeaky wheel on the trolley protesting with each turn as she tried not to imagine what lay beneath the sheet. ‘Oh, what was that?’ He drew level and when she saw the contraption was empty, she closed her eyes and exhaled, relieved.

  ‘That Mr McCallum reputedly,’ Bunny drew the words out slowly, ‘conducted an affair with that girl who went missing.’

  Flora jerked her head round and stared at him. ‘Betsy Mason?’

  ‘The very same.’

  The door swung open and crashed against the wall, halting their conversation. The same nurse as before beckoned to them with an upraised finger. ‘Dr Fairbrother will see you now.’

  Her feet slapped against the rubber floor as she led them into a room lined with bookshelves crammed with leather-bound ancient tomes, their spines cracked and faded from long handling. A massive oak desk, its surface almost invisible beneath piles of papers, occupied the centre of the floor, with barely space between it and the shelves. The far wall contained two glass-fronted cabinets filed with medical instruments which Flora tried not to examine too closely.

  Bunny held out a wheel back chair, identical to the ones in the hallway, and bade her sit. He was in the process of taking the other when the door opened to admit a slightly plump man with sparse silver hair combed straight back over his head, not thick enough to conceal his pink scalp.

  ‘My name’s Dr Fairbrother.’ He acknowledged them both with individual nods before taking the scuffed leather chair on the far side of the desk. ‘How may I be of assistance? Though I might warn you at the outset,’ he balanced a pair of gold rimmed pince nez on his snub nose, ‘I only treat couples who have been unsuccessful in conceiving for at least two years.’

  ‘I assure you we haven’t—’

  ‘That isn’t why were are here—’
>
  Bunny and Flora responded together.

  At these vehement denials, Dr Fairbrother gave a start, his round eyes blinking behind the thick lenses. He folded his hands on the desk and nodded gently while Bunny explained the purpose of their visit and Flora’s relationship to Riordan Maguire.

  ‘Ah yes, of course.’ He cleared his through when Bunny had finished. ‘Allow me to offer my condolences, Mrs Harrington. I wish more could have been done.’ He removed the pince nez, and placed them on top of a pile of papers, then folded both hands together. ‘What do you wish to know?’

  ‘We—’ they began simultaneously, broke off and exchanged a pained look.

  ‘I wish to know how my father died,’ Flora began again. ‘I was told he fell from his horse and hit his head.’

  ‘That’s precisely my conclusion.’ He leaned back in his chair, his bemused smile indicating there was nothing else to say.

  ‘I need more than that,’ Flora persisted. ‘I-we wish to know the nature of his injuries.’

  ‘Mrs Harrington,’ Dr Fairbrother addressed her as if she were a small child, ‘I’m aware the deceased was your parent, and in my experience, relatives often feel the need to seek explanations other than the obvious for an unexpected death. However, to describe Mr Maguire’s actual injuries in detail would be too distressing for a young female. In all conscience I cannot do it.’

  ‘My gender aside, sir,’ Flora said through gritted teeth, her patience growing thin, ‘I wish to know what actually killed him?’

  ‘I’m not sure what it is you wish me to say.’ The doctor blinked behind lenses that magnified his gooseberry-coloured eyes to alarming proportions.

  ‘If I knew what I wanted you to say, I wouldn’t be here.’ Flora gripped her closed parasol to stop the tremble in her hand.

  ‘Flora.’ Bunny placed a warning hand on her forearm.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.’ Flora exhaled slowly through pursed lips. ‘I’m not very comfortable in hospitals.’ She pasted on a smile. ‘Dr Fairbrother, what I have been told amounts to little more than hearsay and rumour. I would be reassured to hear specific details from a professional gentleman of your obvious standing.’

  He puffed up his unimpressive chest at this blatant flattery. ‘Quite understandable, my dear. Suffice it to say, Riordan Maguire fell or was thrown from his mount and sustained injuries from the fall itself and from the horse, which possibly in its panic to get away, trampled him.’

  ‘What sort of injuries were they?’ Flora persisted. ‘Impact, crush or force?’

  He blinked in surprise, his gaze going straight to Bunny as if he sought help. ‘Er, well, there was evidence of impact injury to his ribs.’

  ‘What about his head?’ Her hands clenched in her lap so hard, they began to cramp. Although it pained her to hear about her father’s injuries and imagining the fear and pain of his last moments, she needed to know everything or she would never come to terms with his death.

  ‘His skull contacted with a rock which caused catastrophic injuries.’

  ‘Did you attend the scene, Doctor? And see the actual place where he fell?’ Flora leaned forward in her chair. ‘You see, I’m confused as to why anyone would take a horse through that particular area. The ground is rocky and steep in places and the trees are close together. Not easy terrain for a horse.’ Or a rider with a painful hip.

  ‘You are correct about the wood, and I admit I was also surprised he didn’t use the clearer track farther up the incline.’

  ‘Why were you surprised?’ Bunny asked.

  ‘Well, I examined him quite soon after he was found, but could find no reason why his horse would throw him in such a secluded area away from the road.’

  ‘That thought occurred to me too.’ Flora recalled the short but arduous trek Tom had taken her through the thick woodland.

  ‘Some horses shy if a bird flies out of a tree,’ Bunny said. ‘Was there anything else you didn’t expect, Doctor?’

  ‘Something I did expect actually. Blood. There was very little on the ground and I couldn’t see any rocks with bloodstains on. I looked for one to help me gauge the level of impact but couldn’t find any.’

  ‘Did it rain that evening?’ Bunny asked. ‘Between him being reported missing and finding him perhaps?’

  ‘Not a drop for a couple of weeks. The ground was quite dry, almost parched.’

  ‘Why do you think there was no sign of any blood?’ Flora worried a thumbnail with her teeth, trying not to imagine her father lying on the ground, bleeding. ‘Not even on the rocks where he fell?’

  ‘I have no idea, but it was almost dark by then, so a bloodstain might have been there but I missed it.’

  ‘Could a stray hoof have caused the head injury as opposed to a rock?’ Bunny asked.

  ‘Quite possibly.’ Dr Fairbrother blew a breath between his pursed lips as if agitated by their questions. ‘Though there were no hoof marks on his skull. Or it might have been a fallen tree trunk that caused it.’

  ‘If that was the case, wouldn’t traces of bark be left in the wound? Or indeed rock, if that had been the cause?’ Flora was rapidly losing patience. The doctor appeared content to accept whatever explanation was presented, as if he were uninterested in the real cause. Or didn’t wish to voice too strong an opinion in case it was challenged later.

  ‘Er— well, I didn’t actually – er—’ He propped his elbows on his desk and steepled his fingers against his lips like a headmaster about to deliver a lecture. ‘If it’s any consolation, Mrs Harrington, in my opinion, his death came quickly. One of his ribs fractured and punctured his heart. I doubt he suffered much, if at all.’

  Flora swallowed, not liking his use of the word ‘much’. ‘That’s some comfort, Dr Fairbrother.’ Though not much. Flora’s throat burned with emotion, but she recovered quickly, unwilling to display female sensibilities in front of this man. Not when it would prove him right.

  ‘I’ll give my full report at the inquest,’ he split a slow look between them. ‘I gather you’ll both be present?’

  ‘We shall.’ Flora eased forward in her chair. ‘One other thing, Dr Fairbrother, did my father ask you about the men who became sick after the summer fête?’

  ‘He did indeed.’ The doctor straightened, suddenly wary. ‘He had some strange notion about them having been poisoned. He even tried to show me some old newspaper articles which he appeared to regard as relevant.’

  ‘You didn’t agree, I take it?’

  ‘I diagnosed their symptoms as peripheral neuritis, nothing more. A not uncommon ailment among the working classes.’

  ‘Did you actually read the report my father showed you?’ Flora demanded, ignoring Bunny’s firm squeeze of her forearm. The more the man talked, the less she thought of his abilities.

  He shifted in his seat. ‘I-uh gave it some cursory attention and found the report inconclusive.’

  ‘Why?’ Bunny asked.

  ‘The amount of arsenic found in the Manchester beer did not exceed four parts per million. That’s hardly enough to constitute poisoning. It could have come from the water used in brewing.’

  ‘Maybe that was the case in Manchester, but there might have been more on this occasion. Did you test the beer served at the fête?’ Flora asked, determined not to let the man dismiss her the way he had her father.

  He released a long sigh. ‘By the time Maguire came to me, the remainder had been thrown away. Besides, the men recovered, so whatever the cause is not a matter for alarm now.’

  ‘Mr Hendry didn’t recover,’ Flora said. ‘He died.’

  ‘My dear,’ Dr Fairbrother extended both hands and smiled, ‘the man had chronic bronchitis and was over eighty.’

  Flora opened her mouth and closed it again. This was getting them nowhere.

  ‘Is that all?’ The doctor slapped both palms on the desk and stood, indicating the interview was at an end.

  ‘May we see the body?’ Bunny asked suddenly.

 
Flora turned her head and stared at him as pride surged through her. He was taking her misgivings seriously after all.

  ‘That’s most irregular, Mr Harrington.’ Dr Fairbrother blinked. ‘Relatives normally view the bodies at the chapel of rest. This is a medical establishment and not conducive to, well—’ He picked up the pince nez and polished the lenses with a scrap of cloth.

  ‘Even so,’ Bunny said, louder this time. ‘If I saw his injuries for myself, I could reassure my wife that no doubt exists. And with her mind at rest, she won’t bother you again.’

  Flora’s heart leapt, aware the conversation had taken a turn which had surprised Bunny and now, wanting answers for himself, he had taken on a task he knew she would find too distressing. A demand she thought had been made on impulse, while the reality was far less palatable. Silently she thanked him for stepping to act for her.

  ‘Er, yes I see. Mr Harrington.’ Dr Fairbrother started down at his desk for a moment as if coming to a decision. ‘I shall comply on this occasion, provided of course that your wife remains here.’

  Bunny followed the doctor through the same door the doctor had arrived from. At the last second before it closed behind him, he turned back and gave her a reassuring look.

  She mouthed a silent thank you, to which he nodded again.

  A moment later, the sour-faced nurse returned. ‘The Doctor has requested that I offer you tea,’ she said, with barely concealed resentment; the task evidently too menial for her capabilities.

  ‘Thank you, but no,’ Flora said.

  ‘Very well.’ The woman sniffed as if having offered such a kindness did not deserve rejection, and withdrew.

  Left alone again, Flora paced the floor, trying not to imagine what Bunny was looking at. Despite her resolve, lurid images crept into her mind and she tugged at the fringe of her parasol until the stitches gave way.

  After what seemed an eternity, Bunny returned alone.

  Flora opened her mouth to ask him a question, but before she had uttered a word, he gripped her arm and guided her along the hallway, his pace forcing her into a brisk stride toward the main doors.