by Paula Paul
Nancy shuddered. “Whatever the motive, the village is left unprotected, with a mad killer on the loose.”
“I’m sure Constable Snow will be back in time to take care of any further emergencies, and in the meantime, there will be a deputy in charge,” Alexandra said, without being as confident as she was pretending to be.
Before they could continue their discourse, a patient showed up at the surgery door. A housewife had sliced her hand on a broken teacup and needed a few stitches. Nancy helped by suppressing the bleeding with a solution of alum and white oak bark.
Several other patients followed, and it was no surprise that the prevalent topic of conversation among them was the two deaths.
“I say ’tis the horseman what done it, killed both of ’em,” Hannibal Talbot said. “Seen ’im meself, I did, on the night before young Mayhew died. Saw ’im again on the night before Fitzsimmons was kilt.” He’d come in for a compound of balsam and sulfur, which Nancy concocted for him at Alexandra’s direction. It was the only thing that would give him relief from the irritation of gravel in his kidneys, he claimed.
“You must restrict yourself to one cup of tea a day,” Alexandra said.
“What horseman?” Nancy asked, before Alexandra could finish giving her instructions to Hannibal.
“The Templar horseman,” Hannibal said. “You’ve heard the tale, haven’t you Nance? Lived here all yer life, ye have, just like me. Ask the doctor. I’m sure she’s heard.”
Nancy shook her head. “Can’t say that I have.” She glanced at Alexandra. “Have you heard anything about a Templar horseman, miss?”
Alexandra was too distracted to answer. She was making a note in Hannibal’s file to add a tincture of colchicum seed if his condition didn’t improve.
Hannibal scowled at both of them. “Now, I find that hard to believe, since the real Dr. Gladstone knew all about it. Must ’ave mentioned it to ye.”
“The real Dr. Gladstone?” Nancy sounded incensed. “You are in the presence of the real Dr.—”
“Never mind, Nancy,” Alexandra said, interrupting her. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard the inference that she wasn’t a real doctor. “Now, Hannibal, what’s this about a horse?”
“Not a horse, miss, a horseman. One of the Knights Templar.”
“I did hear someone mention something about a horseman, now that I think about it,” Alexandra said, remembering Mrs. Fontaine’s reference. “Now, Hannibal, if you’re not better in two or three days, come back to see me. And don’t forget, only a cup of tea each day.”
“Knights Templar!” Nancy said, her voice full of disdain as she, along with Hannibal, appeared to dismiss Alexandra’s instructions. “They’ve all been gone from England for centuries.”
“Well, one of ’em still rides here. Or at least the ghost of one. Out by the Temple of the Ninth Daughter,” Hannibal said. “You know, the Freemasons’ temple. Used to be a Templar priory there. They’s Templar treasure buried there, some say. That’s why the horseman shows up now and then. To guard it, they says.”
“Oh, that old wives’ tale about the treasure!” Nancy said. “I’ve heard that one, of course. Who hasn’t? But as the first Dr. Gladstone used to say, ’tis nothing but humbug and jiggery-pokery.”
Hannibal’s face turned red with anger. “Ain’t humbug and jiggery-pokery when men is dying for it. I knows that fer sure!”
“We can all agree that the death of two men is nothing to be taken lightly,” Alexandra said in an effort to diffuse the exchange.
“Freemasons! They’s all accustomed to the black arts. Don’t ye know they keeps a goat in that temple? ’Tis the symbol of the devil.”
“Never saw a goat around the temple,” Nancy said.
“ ’Tis true! I heard it many times. They’s plenty o’ secret stuff goes on in that temple. They say they kills a man by the name o’ Hiram and brings ’im back to live now and then. Dark magic, ’tis.”
“Hiram Abiff,” Nancy said. “Supposed to be the architect for Solomon’s Temple.”
“I ain’t fer knowin’ that. All I know is, they’s secret stuff they do in that—”
“Now, Hannibal, do you understand that I want to see you again in two or three days?” Alexandra asked, hoping to end the conversation.
“I understands that all right, but if ye thinks a man’s going to forgo his tea, then ye sure didn’t learn it from the real Dr. Gladstone. Why, I’d sooner give up me pint!” He was still grumbling as he left the surgery.
“How did you know about the architect of Solomon’s Temple, Nancy?” Alexandra asked after Hannibal was gone.
Nancy shrugged. “You hear all kinds of things about the Freemasons. Some of it true, some of it not, I suppose. But people are fascinated by them.”
“You amaze me with what you know,” Alexandra said, just as Elsie Prodder showed up at the surgery door. She was in no better mood than Hannibal had been and complained of a stomach ailment. “Now, don’t go telling me ’tis something I ate,” she cautioned Alexandra. “For I know ’tis not. I have something far more dangerous eating away at me, and I wants a cure. After all, that’s what you’re here for, is it not?”
“I will certainly do my best,” Alexandra said. Elsie kept talking all the while Alexandra examined her, stopping only long enough to stick out her tongue when she was asked to.
“Don’t know what Newton-upon-Sea is coming to. First we lose our doctor, then our constable disappears right when we need ’im most. Two dead men, and he leaves! Can you fathom that? There could be more deaths with Robert Snow not here to stop it. Not that he would stop it, mind you. Couldn’t stop the first two, could he? Has a streak of coward in ’im, don’t he? Don’t care if he did used to be a schoolmaster. Learning don’t keep a man from being a coward, I always say.” Elsie moved to the table, where Alexandra directed her to lie down. “Take me own husband. Never learned a thing in ’is life, and neither did I, but neither of us has ever been called cowards. Stands up to anything, we does. But Robert Snow? What does he do? Runs, that’s what. I say ’e’s scared o’ dying hisself, and I don’t care what Nell Stillwell says. Thinks ’e’s gone off to Scotland. Ung, that hurts when you do that.”
“Sorry,” Alexandra said. “Tell me if it hurts again.”
“Why would the constable go to Scotland?” Nancy asked. She was adjusting the sheet that had been spread over Elsie to protect her privacy.
“To visit that Orkwright woman, Nell says. Remember that one? Everyone says ’e was in love with ’er. Lived up there on that hill above the sea, she did. High-falutin’ woman she was. Not the kind to ’ave anything to do with the likes of old Snow. God in heaven, yes, that hurts.”
Jane Orkwright had been Alexandra’s friend and had moved away after her husband, Admiral George Edward Orkwright, died under unfortunate circumstances. Constable Snow had always admired Mrs. Orkwright, a gentle, refined woman, as had many people in Newton-upon-Sea. Even Alexandra had wondered herself if he had been in love with her.
“Well, it wasn’t Scotland ’e went off to,” Elsie said. “Nell don’t know of what she speaks. I happen to know ’twas London.” She paused long enough for a self-satisfied chuckle followed by another groan as Alexandra prodded her stomach. “You should ’ave seen Nell’s face when I told her that. Didn’t like it that I found out before she did.”
“London?” Nancy asked.
“The constable bought a train ticket for London. Stationmaster told me that. Ben Tottenham hisself.”
“For what reason?” Nancy never hesitated to pry. Alexandra was equally as curious, but she’d never allow herself to ask.
“And how would I be knowing the answer to that?” Elsie said, just as Alexandra put a stethoscope to her midsection.
“Most likely, business of the commonwealth,” Nancy said.
“Commonwealth, my foot. Most likely a woman, if ye ask me.”
Nancy wasn’t one to let things drop. “And why would you say that?”
> “Why? ’E’s a man ain’t ’e? Maybe ye wouldn’t be knowin’ about things like that, ye bein’ a maiden lady, but I can tell ye, when a man—”
“It doesn’t appear you have any serious problem with your stomach,” Alexandra said, interrupting before the conversation further degenerated. “I believe you can find substantial relief if you forgo things like butter, cream, and meat fats.”
Elsie was indignant. “You wants me to eat like a pauper?”
“Certainly not, but you’ll feel better if you cut back on rich foods,” Alexandra said.
Elsie pulled herself up to a sitting position. “What business does a doctor ’ave tellin’ a body what to eat? ’Tis not yer business. ’Tis yer business to give me tonics and physics and the like.”
Nancy had already pulled a bottle full of pills from the shelf. She and Alexandra had concocted them from sulfate of quinia and nux vomica for digestive problems. She looked at Alexandra for confirmation.
“Take one of these three times a day,” she said, accepting the bottle from Nancy. “But they won’t work if you don’t change your diet.”
Elsie took the bottle with a self-satisfied smile, paid her bill, and left.
“Now she has a new ailment to brag about to Nell and the pills to show for it,” Nancy said when she’d left. “Mark my word, Nell will be in wanting the same thing before the week is done.”
It was the end of the day, and Nancy and Alexandra were closing the surgery, straightening the room, and preparing to retire to the main part of the house for their evening meal when they heard Zack’s frantic barking coming from outside, then Artie and Rob shouting for him to come back.
Alexandra hurried to the surgery door with Nancy close behind her. It was unusual for Zack to bark in such a manner. He usually lay quietly in the hallway while Alexandra saw patients and followed her with devotion as she rode Lucy on her rounds to visit the sick in their homes. He’d give his single or double bark to signal that visitors had arrived.
As Alexandra opened the door and peered outside, she saw the two boys running along the driveway toward the road. Both stopped as Zack disappeared from view around a curve obscured by brush.
Alexandra and Nancy ran toward the boys. “Artie! Rob!” Alexandra called. “What’s happened to Zack? Where is he going?”
“Seen something, ’e did,” Rob shouted.
“What did he see?” Nancy called as she and Alexandra closed the distance between themselves and the boys.
“Not sure.” Rob was scanning the road, searching for Zack.
“Somethin’ scary,” Artie said. The little boy was by now hurrying toward Nancy and Alexandra.
“Zack sounded more agitated than scared,” Alexandra said, putting her arm around Artie’s thin shoulders.
“I think ’e seen that horseman,” Artie said, edging closer.
“Horseman?” Nancy asked.
“You know. The one they’s all talkin’ about in town. The one what rides out to that place they call a temple.”
“Oh, Artie,” Alexandra said. “That horseman isn’t real.”
“I knows that,” Artie replied. “That’s what makes ’im so scary.”
Chapter 5
It was neither Artie’s fear nor her patients’ cranky moods that kept Alexandra awake that night. It was Charlotte Malcolm going into labor.
Charlotte was practically a child herself—no more than fifteen years old—and her husband, Samuel, was only two or three years older than Charlotte. When he arrived at the surgery door, he was pale and could hardly speak.
“You must come with me, Nancy,” Alexandra called out, though Nancy had already donned her cloak and bonnet by the time the words were out of her mouth. Within a few minutes they were on their way to the small cottage where the young couple lived as they worked the farmland belonging to Nicholas Forsythe, the sixth Earl of Dunsford. Nancy rode behind young Samuel on his horse while Alexandra rode Lucy.
They could hear Charlotte’s screams long before they reached the door. As soon as Alexandra and Nancy entered, they both saw Charlotte writhing on the bed.
“You never should have left her alone!” Nancy scolded Samuel. “You should have stopped at a neighbor’s place on your way to the surgery and asked someone to stay with her.”
White-faced and trembling, Samuel had retreated to a corner and made no indication that he’d heard Nancy’s reprimand.
“There’s water in the kettle,” Alexandra said, directing her comments to Nancy. “I’ll wash up first, then you.”
Alexandra did her best to calm the screaming girl so she could examine her, but Charlotte, almost as big and robust as her young husband, was proving difficult to handle.
“Samuel, I’ll need your help,” Alexandra called over her shoulder. “Nancy, we’re going to need—” Nancy, with her hands still dripping from the quick wash, clamped a mask soaked in chloroform on Charlotte’s face, calming her enough for Alexandra to force her on her back in order to examine her pelvic area. Samuel had not moved from his corner, but they had managed without his help. It took only a few more seconds for Alexandra’s prodding to confirm what she had feared. “Breech!” she said in a clipped tone to Nancy.
“God help us!” Nancy said.
“What?” Samuel asked. “What’s that mean?”
“Coming out feet first,” Nancy said. “Now stay quiet while we try to save her.” She had opened both of the emergency medical bags they brought and was pulling out instruments to be doused with an antiseptic solution of carbolic acid. Next she set up a Lister machine, which Alexandra had recently purchased at great expense. The machine, invented by Dr. Joseph Lister, was small and could be mounted on a table as it sprayed a carbolic acid solution over the patient during the surgical procedure. Nancy would have to interrupt her other duties periodically in order to turn the crank to allow the solution to be sprayed over Charlotte’s body.
“Is she passed out?” Samuel asked. “Did ye poison ’er?”
“Sleeping,” Alexandra said. She didn’t have time to explain to him how anesthesia worked and that Queen Victoria’s personal decision to use chloroform during childbirth had helped spread its use to many women in the realm. “Help me move her to the table.”
Samuel seemed grateful to have something to do. Nancy had already wiped the table with the carbolic acid, and Alexandra took a swath of gauze, doused it in the liquid, and began to bathe Charlotte’s stomach while Nancy returned to the chloroform mask to try to maintain the delicate balance of giving enough to keep Charlotte unconscious but not enough to kill her.
Alexandra made her first cut, incising Charlotte’s midsection and into the uterus, extending the lengthwise incision with blunt pressure. Behind her, she heard a thump. It was loud enough and startling enough to make her turn around. Samuel was lying prone on the floor. She and Nancy exchanged a glance, but neither stopped what she was doing to attend to him.
When the incision through the uterus was complete, Alexandra grasped the blood-covered male infant and removed him first, then the placenta. After she snipped the umbilical cord, she forced her finger down the baby’s throat to remove any debris and to make him cry. Charlotte was breathing shallow breaths and moaning, but a brief nod of Nancy’s head told Alexandra that, so far, the girl was in at least satisfactory condition. Nancy left her position at Charlotte’s head long enough to take the infant boy and clean him.
Samuel groaned and rubbed his head as he pulled himself up to a sitting position. “What?” he said again.
“You have a son,” Alexandra said, not adding that there was still danger of Charlotte bleeding to death.
Samuel staggered toward Alexandra and his wife. “I have a…” He took one look at the gaping wound and saw Alexandra insert the catgut-threaded needle in his wife’s flesh and slumped to the floor again.
“Never should have let him stay in the first place,” Nancy said, stepping over him with the baby, wrapped in a cloth and tucked into the crook of her arm, as
she made her way back to attend to the ether mask.
“There wasn’t much time to dispatch him,” Alexandra said.
Nancy nodded at the new mother. “How is she?”
“I don’t know,” Alexandra said. “We can only hope, but there’s always so much blood loss with a Cesarean birth. So much risk of infection, even when we use the carbolic acid.”
Alexandra finished closing the womb, and Nancy gave Samuel a quick whiff of smelling salts before ordering him outside until he was called.
“Is they all right? The two of ’em?” he asked in a weak voice.
“Pray that they are, Sam,” Nancy said. “ ’Twill give you something to do while you wait.” She gave him a shove outside and closed the door, then set about cleaning the room of the blood and debris the procedure had created. Alexandra remained by Charlotte’s side where she still lay on the table. It was too early to move her, and she wanted to make sure the girl was able to awaken. Nancy alternately bathed the girl’s face and tried to soothe the crying infant, who, by now, had been placed in a homemade cradle. Alexandra found that Charlotte’s pulse was erratic, and she was having a difficult time awakening from the anesthesia. Meanwhile, the baby continued to cry.
“What’s wrong with it?” Samuel shouted through the closed door. “What are you doing to it?”
“He’s hungry,” Nancy snapped at him. “And he’s not an it. He’s a boy. Your son. Now be quiet! We’re busy.”
“Let him in,” Alexandra said. “This is going to be a long night. He should be by her side if she passes.”
Nancy hesitated slightly before she nodded and opened the door. “Come in,” she said.
Samuel took a reluctant step inside the door and glanced at his wife. “She’s dead, ain’t she?”
“She’s not dead,” Nancy said, “but she’s doing poorly. You’ve got to be strong. She needs you now.”
Still pale and trembling, Samuel nodded and moved to the table. He seemed not to know what to do with himself at first, but he picked up one of Charlotte’s limp hands. Nancy picked up the baby and held him, swaying back and forth to quiet him. Alexandra took over the job of bathing Charlotte’s face until she was awake enough to attempt to nurse the baby.