by Paula Paul
Nicholas was silent, and Alexandra suspected he was thinking the same thing she thought. The boy was lying because he was still afraid for his life. And, it appeared, not willing to take the risk even to save Elsie.
“Very well,” Nicholas said at length, “why did Elsie think the earl had killed you.”
“Quince told ’er, but don’t be askin’ me why he thought that. I ain’t fer knowin’.”
Again, Alexandra felt he was lying. Perhaps Nicholas did as well, but he moved on to another question. “Exactly how did this unknown person attempt to kill you?”
“Strangled me. Left me for dead, ’e did.” He pulled down his collar to reveal a dirty rag encircling his neck, apparently hiding a wound. “Strangled me same as ’e done the earl, but ’e never came back to finish me off with the knife as ’e did the bloody earl.”
Nicholas nodded and leaned back against the wall as he glanced at Alexandra and then back to George. “And just how did you know the earl was both strangled and cut with a knife?”
“Why ain’t that what the doctor lady said? That ’e was both strangled and stabbed?”
“Indeed it is,” Nicholas said. “But, pray tell me how you knew she said this.”
George seemed to consider for a moment whether or not he wanted to answer the question. Finally, he said, “There was some what was talking about it in the kitchen.”
“The servants, you mean?” Nicholas said.
George nodded.
“And did they know you were listening?”
“Oh no, sir. I thought it best that none knew I was around. Especially since the murderin’ bastard was in the…”
Nicholas exchanged another quick glance with Alexandra, then leaned toward George again with even more intensity. “Go on, George. You were about to say the murdering bastard was in what?”
George shook his head and dropped his eyes. “I don’t know, sir. I was just scairt, that’s all.”
“If you don’t tell me everything, how do you expect me to help you or Elsie?” Nicholas spoke in his intimidating barrister’s voice.
George raised his eyes to Nicholas again. “Expects you to ’elp me?” His tone was once again defiant. “I expects nothing from the likes of you, sir.”
Once more the boy’s eyes darted nervously, as if he was looking for a quick way to escape. Alexandra suspected that the rapport Nicholas had developed with George was gone. She suspected that Nicholas realized it as well, as he appeared to make a conscious effort to speak in a softer timbre. “But you said you wanted to help Elsie, George. You must tell me everything you know about—”
George was seized by a fit of coughing, and it was several seconds before he could speak. “I knows nothing,” he said choking. He stood and, still coughing, made a quick move toward the door.
“Wait!” At the urgent sound of Alexandra’s voice, the boy hesitated and turned around. “Before you go, you must let me have a look at your neck.” She moved toward him with what she hoped was authority, yet without enough aggression to frighten him even more.
George’s hand went to his throat, and he seemed confused, as if undecided whether to flee or to allow her to examine what was obviously a painful wound.
“This will only take a minute.” Alexandra now spoke in a low, soothing voice, and she reached her hand toward the dirty rag around his neck and untied it. The wound was several days old and not healed properly. It had become infected as well. “You must first let me clean it,” she said, leading him to the chair. With a gentle push, she forced him to sit again and spoke over her shoulder to Nicholas. “Bring me a basin and some hot water from the kettle on the stove up stairs, as well as another basin of cold water. Then look around until you find some clean linen. A napkin or a dishcloth will do as long as it’s clean. I shall need two of them.”
She heard, rather than saw, Nicholas moving toward the exit to do her bidding while she looked at the angry red and blue mark on George’s neck. She was holding his head back, gently, with her left hand. There was still some bruising and broken blood vessels on his neck, and in one place the skin had been broken. That was where the infection had set in.
She called out to Nicholas, who was on his way up the stairs. “Bring a bit of soap along with the water, please, if it’s about.” Her eyes were still on George, and she had the feeling that if she turned around, he would escape.
“How long have you had the cough?” she asked.
He shrugged. “A goodly while, I reckon.”
“Any pain in you chest?”
“Not much. Just a bit of pleurisy now and then. “
“And blood flecks when you cough? Shortness of breath?”
His eyes widened, and he shook his head and turned away from her. Alexandra suspected that he did, indeed, have those symptoms, but denial eased his fears.
Within a few minutes, Nicholas returned with a basin of water in each hand and the cloths across his arm. He placed everything on the trunk on which he’d been sitting. He seemed agitated. “George,” he said, “perhaps you could just tell me—”
“Not now, Nicholas.” There was a quiet, but sharp tone to Alexandra’s voice. She tested the water in one of the basins with a finger, then, seeing it was not so hot as to be scalding, picked up one of the cloths and fished the soap out of the water to bathe the wound while Nicholas stepped aside. “You must keep this clean,” she said, speaking to George as she worked. “It will help rid the area of infection.” She saw George’s eyes widen in what she interpreted to be fear. “The infection is not severe,” she said, still keeping her voice low and soothing, “but it can become severe if proper care is not taken.” She wiped away a spot of pus and spoke to Nicholas again, still without looking at him. “Find me a bit of yeast, please. It will likely be upstairs in the larder.”
“A bit of…?”
“Yeast,” she repeated, and this time turned to look at Nicholas. She saw the puzzled look on his face. Although he must surely have heard of the substance, it was clear he had no idea what it looked like. It was possible that a man of his station might not even know what a larder was. “It’s of a soft texture, yet solid. Grey in color, and it will have a rather exaggerated odor of fresh bread.” She pointed above them. “It will most likely be on a shelf in that small room up there, just off the kitchen, the larder, where the other foodstuff is kept.”
Nicholas moved toward the exit again, and Alexandra turned her attention back to George. “I shall mix a concoction of the yeast with some of the sweet oil I have in my bag, and you must drink a tablespoon of the mixture several times a day. You should also have a poultice of elm and lobelia about your neck. If you will be so kind as to come by my surgery early on the morrow, I will prepare it for you. I will also give you a tonic for your cough.” She was now dipping the cloth in cold water and holding it to his neck. George winced every time she touched the wound.
“There was a great deal of pressure applied to your neck, was there not?”
George nodded in response to her question.
“Enough, I would venture, that you found it impossible to breathe and you lost consciousness.”
Again George nodded, and she sensed that he was relaxing at least to a small degree.
“Well, then I can certainly understand why, if Elsie saw you that way, she thought you dead.”
“Aye, they all did. Even Quince, and he’s not an easy one to fool, I’ll tell you that. As for Elsie, they tell me the poor girl was near out of her mind with grief for me. Loves me, that one does.”
Alexandra saw Nicholas stick his head back into the cellar, as if to hear better. “You’re very fortunate to have someone like Elsie love you.” She moved one hand behind her back and surreptitiously waved Nicholas away, then handed George the cloth dampened in cool water. “If you’ll just hold that to your throat when you need it for comfort. But mind you, don’t keep it there if it begins to irritate.”
“Thank ye, my lady.”
“Dr. Gladstone will do.
I have no title.”
“Aye, Dr. Gladstone.”
“Have you eaten, George?” She was suspicious that his diet, in general, was lacking, which was often the case with consumption. The malnourished condition seemed to encourage tubercles of the lungs.
“It’s been sometime, now that you mention it,” George said.
“I’m surprised you found anything to eat at all.” She removed the cool cloth and inspected the wound again.
“It weren’t so hard a task to find a few scraps after the house was asleep,” George said. “If Elsie hadn’t got thrown in chokey, she could ’ave ’elped me.”
Alexandra gave him a surprised look. “Elsie?”
“Aye, I had to tell her the truth, didn’t I. Couldn’t ’ave her goin’ on with her grievin’, could I? I told ’er that night after she threatened all them nobs with a knife.” He laughed. “Lor’, but I wish I coulda seen ’er. ’Twas the next mornin’ before dawn she run away because the bloody killer put the knife next to ’er bed to make it look like she done it. Tried to bury it, she did, but that bastard Jamie saw ’er and grassed on ’er.”
Alexandra said nothing as she replaced the cloth and went about placing her supplies back into her bag. Her silence seemed to bother George.
“Now don’t go blaming ’er for lying to you when she told you she seen me ghost. ’Twas me what told ’er to lie. It was best none knew I wasn’t kilt. She was scairt at first, after you talked to her, then she said she was wrong to mistrust you. `Set up that meeting wif Quince and the lady doctor,’ she says to me. `They’s both got brains,’ she says. Quince was a smart ’un all right. Could read and write, ’e could. Even taught some o’ them young boys the readin’ and writin’. Never got around to learnin’ meself, though.”
Alexandra continued to arrange the supplies in her bag, hoping George would keep talking now that he was more relaxed.
“I could do with a bit of cream, you know. I ain’t et so regular today, since…” George’s voice trailed off as if he was afraid he would say too much, but all the while he was glancing toward the pails of milk which had been set in the cellar to cool.
“I’m afraid the cream’s not risen yet,” Alexandra said, glancing at the milk. “Fresh milk will have to do.” She found a dipper next to the pails, scooped it full of milk, and handed it to George. “You put a great deal of trust in your Elsie, don’t you?” she said.
George swallowed and nodded. “Aye, she’s a good ’un, that one is, and I was sorry to give ’er such a fright when she seen me after me resurrection. But I knew not what else to do but come ’ere for ’er ’elp. It was she what found me these duds when me own was soiled with me own vomit from the strangling. Little did I know, though, that I was jumping from the kettle to the fire by comin’ ’ere. But how was I to know, since I knows not the ways of the dandies?” He looked down at his hands. “If Elsie was ’ere, she’d ’elp me. But now that she’s in chokey I knows not what to do.” His voice broke and he wiped his hand across his eyes in a quick movement.
Alexandra did her best to keep her voice even. “You are very frightened, of course, because it’s dangerous here for you.”
George nodded, but said nothing more. He kept his eyes focused straight ahead.
“As dangerous as it was for the earl. The person who killed him is here.” Alexandra’s voice was almost a whisper.
George nodded again, still looking away.
“And you want to help Elsie.”
George’s eyes darted to her face, and he stared at her, frightened. “I…I want to ’elp ’er, sure, but…”
“Then tell me who—”
Before she could say more, George stood and bolted up the stairs and outside. Alexandra tried to follow him, but he was too quick for her. By the time she reached the exit, he had disappeared into the darkness. She turned her head, searching in all directions, but all she saw was Nicholas emerging from the kitchen. He had a small jar in his hand, which he offered to her. “I hope this is yeast.”
Alexandra took the jar absently. “I frightened him away,” she said.
“You…” Nicholas turned his head in all directions, peering into the darkness.
“I’m sorry.” She turned back to the cellar to fetch her bag.
“Did you learn anymore?” Nicholas asked, hurrying after her.
“Only that he believes his would-be killer also killed the earl. And he confirmed the killer is here, but he didn’t know that when he came here for Elsie to help him. It seems he only recently found out, and now he doesn’t know what to do. He’s afraid to leave for fear he’ll be followed and afraid to stay for fear he’ll be found. He wants to help Elsie, but he fears that too. It seems, though, his instinct for survival is stronger than his love for the girl.”
“If the poor cowardly bastard’s too frightened to leave, then we’ll find him.”
“I’m not so sure,” Alexandra said. “He’s not terribly bright about figuring out what to do, but he could be on his way from here now, under the cover of darkness, unless…”
“Unless what?”
“Unless he decides to kill the murderer first.”
Alarm marked Nicholas’s face. “But isn’t he too cowardly to attempt anything like that?”
“I’m not sure. Under the right circumstances, I think he would kill to save his own life. I think he’s afraid the murderer will track him down.”
“My god, if that’s true, then we’ve got to stop him.” He paced back and forth in the small open area of the cellar. “We do know it is someone here in this house he’s after.”
“And it’s one of the guests, I’d say.”
Nicholas stopped his pacing and looked at her. “How can you be sure?”
“I’m not absolutely sure, of course, but remember, I said he didn’t know the killer was here at first. What was it he said? He didn’t know he was jumping from the kettle to the fire by coming here? Since the servants are here all the time, and he knew that, it must mean it wasn’t one of them who attacked him. He would have been too afraid to come here if he knew that beforehand.”
Nicholas pondered it. “You may be right,” he said, “but we still don’t know why he was attacked in the first place.”
“Perhaps I know someone who does know why,” Alexandra said.
“Who?” Nicholas asked.
“Quince’s boys.” Alexandra picked up her bag. “And I must talk to them as soon as possible.”
Nicholas stood, as if to stop her. “Not tonight, Alexandra. It’s dangerous, and anyway, you don’t know where to look. If those boys think they’re in danger, they won’t go back to their usual place at the docks, knowing the killer would know how to find them there.”
Alexandra sat down, feeling defeated. Nicholas reached to touch her hand.
“You’re tired, Alexandra. You must rest. I suggest you retire to your bedchamber.”
She shook her head. “I should not be able to rest for worrying about that poor girl. And for worrying about George killing someone.”
“I’ll search for him, of course, but you must go back to your room. Our best hope is that he’s too cowardly to follow through and that even if he weren’t, he doesn’t have wits enough to get in by picking a lock. And as for Elsie, we’ll do the best we can for her tomorrow. We’ll just have to do it from the witness stand.”
Alexandra raised her eyes to look at him. She had no doubt that he would do his best, and she had no doubt that his best was exceedingly competent, but she also knew that circumstances weighed heavily against Elsie O’Riley simply by virtue of the fact that the man she was accused of killing was an aristocrat, and she a mere scullery maid. She saw in Nicholas’s eyes, that he was thinking the same thing. Elsie O’Riley would surely hang.
Chapter Seventeen
In spite of Nicholas’s insisting that she not do it, Alexandra joined him in searching the stables, the grounds, and as much of the house as possible for George. Although Nicholas agreed with Alexandra that
he still was most likely somewhere on Montmarsh property, he conceded, along with her, that he had eluded them, and they would be better off trying to gain a few hours sleep and continue the search in the morning.
Before Alexandra retired to her assigned bedchamber, she tried to look in on Mrs. Pickwick again. However, she found that she was unable. Mrs. Pickwick had locked her room, just as she had been instructed.
Taking some comfort in that, Alexandra returned to her own room and locked the door, but she slept very little. There was a killer somewhere under the same roof. Would he or she kill again? Would George kill first? Had all the guests and servants locked their doors as they had been warned to do? Would George not have wits enough to find a way past the locked doors, as Nicholas had suggested?
She was up very early the next morning, out of bed, and dressed, even before the servants were about. Once again she looked around for George, but found him nowhere. When she went to search the stables, she saw that she was not the only one awake. Jamie, the stable boy, was up. In fact, he looked as if he had not been asleep.
“Are you not feeling well, Jamie?” Alexandra asked.
“Today’s the day, ain’t it?” he said. “The day for Elsie’s trial.” He looked as if he might cry. “She’ll hang, won’t she?”
Alexandra reached to touch his arm. “There’s a very good chance of that, yes.”
“I never meant to grass to that copper about Elsie. I had to tell him I saw her bury that knife, didn’t I? But I never meant—”
“You told the truth, Jamie. No one can blame you for that.”
A tear escaped. “But now she’s going to hang.”
“If she hangs, Jamie, it’s not your fault. You must remember that.”
He nodded, sniffed back his tears and ducked his head. Presently, he spoke. “Shall I saddle your mare, Doctor?”
“Not yet, thank you.” Alexandra knew she could not leave until she assured herself that everyone in the household was accounted for. She lingered over breakfast in the dining room until Lord Winningham showed up. He seemed distracted and nervous, but at least he had not been murdered in his sleep. Nicholas was next. She could see in his eyes the same concern she felt, and they were both relieved when the Atewaters came down together. Apparently they had been quarreling. Isabel was pouting and distant, while Jeremy, save for a warm greeting to Alexandra, was cool to everyone.