by Paula Paul
“No rest for the weary,” Nancy said as she rose to her feet and headed toward the surgery wing of the house. Alexandra followed close behind. She soon saw that it was Lord Dunsford in the waiting room. He stood, looking handsome and trim in his riding clothes and tapping his riding crop against his leg.
“Ah, there you are,” he said when he saw Alexandra. “I thought you might be off on another emergency. How is the young mother you attended?”
“Better than she was earlier,” Alexandra said. “But that’s not why you’re here.”
“No, as a matter of fact, I came out of curiosity. I couldn’t wait any longer to learn what you’ve found in the specimens you took during the autopsy.”
“I can’t be certain yet. I must do more research.”
“Of course,” Nicholas said. “At least there’ve been no more mysteriously dead Freemasons.”
“No,” Alexandra said, “but I was just about to tell Nancy something I heard today on my rounds that’s quite interesting.”
“Something related to the deaths?”
“Perhaps.”
“Something about the buried treasure in Newton-upon-Sea,” Nancy said, turning to Nicholas.
“Buried treasure? By all means, you must tell us.” Nicholas pulled out one of the waiting-room chairs and held it, signaling for Alexandra to sit, then did the same for Nancy before he sat himself in another chair.
“We used to talk about it when we were children. Haven’t thought of it in years,” Nancy said, when Alexandra had relayed Mrs. Fontaine’s story to them.
“Sounds like a lot of rot to me,” Nicholas said.
“I can’t remember all the details about those old-line families you said Mrs. Fontaine mentioned,” Nancy said.
“I’ve heard of those families,” Nicholas said, “and that part isn’t all legend. I believe they’re just as Mrs. Fontaine described them to you—old aristocracy. They’re all over Europe and England. I don’t remember a Templar connection, but perhaps I’ve simply forgotten. I could never keep it all straight. My grandmother used to talk about them. We are supposedly descended from them, but who knows if that’s true? That would be on the Forsythe side, my father’s side. I believe most of my mother’s family members were ruffians and thieves until the sixteenth century.”
“So some of the treasure could be yours, my lord,” Nancy said.
Nicholas laughed. “I’m not going to waste my time trying to collect it. What I’m more concerned about is the restless mood in Newton—after all those deaths, the entire village is in turmoil. Think of the mob trying to break into the coroner’s building. And there’s plenty of speculation about the horseman, too. Some even say it’s Robert Snow. If he doesn’t show up soon, I’m afraid the village is going to descend into complete chaos.”
“Mrs. Fontaine is completely convinced that Constable Snow will return soon.”
“Now, how would she know that?” Nancy asked.
“Why, she doesn’t know, of course. It’s simply that she can’t see anything but good in everyone she meets.”
“Perhaps she really does know where he is and why,” Nicholas said. “She seems to know something about everyone in this town, even more than you, Nancy, if you’ll forgive me for saying so. Mrs. Fontaine has lived in Newton-upon-Sea longer than anyone else alive, I’d wager. She probably knows a few secrets about…Why are you blushing, Nancy? Does she know something about you?”
Alexandra put a hand on his arm. “Nicholas, please…”
“Ah, you’re blushing, too, my dear Alexandra. This is becoming more and more interesting.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, of course I’m not blushing.” The truth was, Alexandra did have her own secret regarding an old lover, but as far as she knew, only Nancy was aware of the details.
“Very well,” Nicholas said. He winked, making Alexandra blush even more.
Nicholas had scarcely left when a sharp bark from Zack distracted the women. As she and Nancy made their way to the front, Alexandra was musing over Zack’s demeanor with Nicholas. He still hadn’t shown his usual belligerence toward him. This time, he had done nothing more threatening than stand at attention, as if he was still assessing the situation. Could it be he’d decided to trust Nicholas as a result of his actions that night in front of the mortuary?
Once they were in the main part of the house, Nancy went to the door while Alexandra settled herself in the parlor, ready to see who had come to visit. From where she sat, she could see the door. Nancy opened it to Constable Snow.
Chapter 13
“God help us, it’s you!” Nancy said when she saw the constable.
“I shouldn’t think my presence requires intervention from the Almighty.” Snow’s voice was stern, verging on scolding. When Nancy continued to look at him with a surprised expression, he asked, “Am I to be invited in?”
“Of course, Constable,” Nancy said, coming to her senses. “You’re here to see Dr. Gladstone, of course. She’s in the parlor.”
“Good evening, Constable,” Alexandra called from a few feet behind Nancy. “This is a surprise. You’ve been gone a long time and have been greatly missed.”
“Be that as it may, I’m here now,” he said. “I came as soon as I was summoned.”
“Summoned? May I ask who summoned you? I wasn’t aware anyone knew of your whereabouts.” Alexandra’s tone was stiff. She couldn’t help but be angry with him for abandoning his duties when he was most needed.
“I’ve come to ask you to relay to me all that you know about the recent deaths in Newton-upon-Sea,” Snow said, ignoring her questions.
Alexandra was silent for a moment, looking at him while her anger smoldered. “Very well,” she said at length. “I suggest you have a seat.”
“Shall I bring tea?” Nancy asked.
“That won’t be necessary, Nancy. I want you to have a seat as well. You can provide the constable with any information I leave out or may be unaware of.”
Snow showed no sign of contrition as he sat, listening to Alexandra and Nancy relate all of the events. Together, they told him nearly everything they knew, leaving out only that they had performed an illegal autopsy.
“First of all,” Snow said when they had finished their stories, “I shall assure you that Miss Payne’s father could not have possibly murdered anyone as his daughter suggests. I have known George Payne for a great number of years, and I know that he is completely incapable of killing anyone.”
“Including himself?” Alexandra asked.
“I shan’t speculate on that. One never knows what may bring unbearable distress to others.”
“But you clearly believe his daughter was lying about her father’s guilt,” Alexandra said. “Why would she do such a thing? Lie about her own father?”
“She wasn’t lying in the strictest sense, I suppose,” Snow said, his manner as stiff as ever. “I can imagine that she believes it. Her relationship with her father was not a smooth one after her mother died. Miss Payne has always been somewhat unstable and prone to jump to conclusions unwisely.”
“Has she, indeed?” Alexandra said, trying her best not to appear to be bristling.
“Yes,” Snow said, pronouncing the word as if it were a final decision and not to be contested.
“So you don’t believe her story that Mr. Mayhew and Mr. Fitzsimmons were her suitors? And, one might suppose, Deputy Daniel Poole as well,” Alexandra said.
“I have no knowledge of who her suitors may be, nor do I believe it necessary that I do,” Snow said.
“I see,” Alexandra said. “Could that mean you are more inclined to believe the story of a treasure buried under the floor of the temple being a motive for murders?”
“There is no treasure buried under the floor of the temple,” Snow said, accompanying his statement with a mixture of a sneer and a scoff. “I am a past Grand Master of the Lodge of the Ninth Daughter, as was my father before me. Beyond that, I have done considerable research on the founding and his
tory of the lodge, so I believe I am in a position to say with definitiveness that the story of a buried treasure is rubbish.”
“But it’s certainly possible someone could believe it’s there,” Alexandra said. “Possibly even kill for it.”
“Many outlandish things are possible. Few are probable.”
“What of the so-called knight who rides the streets of Newton-upon-Sea?” Nancy asked. She had been squirming and shifting about in her chair, eager to say something more since she’d finished her part of the story.
“You two say you saw him yourselves,” Snow said, “and since you are relatively stable individuals, for females, and since there are reports of more than one sighting besides yours, I shall not be quick to discount it. As to whether it is connected to the murders or merely the act of some deranged individual, I cannot say.”
“Is it only a coincidence that sightings of the horseman coincided with each of the murders?” Alexandra asked.
“I shouldn’t need to tell you that I will be examining and considering every possible link to the crimes,” Snow said.
“Will you also explain your long absence to the citizens of Newton-upon-Sea at some point?” Alexandra’s heart pounded as she asked, knowing her question could be considered impertinent and unable to forget that he had once been her teacher.
Snow’s eyes narrowed and his back straightened. “My absence was of a personal nature. Beyond that, no further explanation is warranted.” With that, he stood and spoke to Nancy. “My hat and cloak, please.” Then, looking down at Alexandra, who was still seated, he said, “Good night, Dr. Gladstone.”
—
“Same odd bird that he ever was,” Nancy said when he was gone.
“I should think he seemed even odder than usual,” Alexandra said. “It’s as if he wants to deny all that has happened here.”
“Could it be his strange behavior is because he’s trying to hide something?”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions, Nancy,” Alexandra said.
“Perhaps he was in Newton all along,” Nancy said.
“I find that difficult to believe,” Alexandra answered. “I fail to see how he could have been here without someone knowing about it.”
“You know as well as I how strange and secretive he’s always been. Even when we were children and he was our tutor.”
Alexandra sighed. “I do admit that all of the current goings-on seem strange.” She paused for a moment before she spoke again. “It only adds to the mystery, does it not, that Mrs. Fontaine seemed to know that Constable Snow would be back in Newton by tonight?”
Nancy’s face took on a knowing expression. “It could be she knew he was here all along. She must have known his schedule as well.”
“That’s not likely,” Alexandra said.
“Begging your pardon, miss, but ’tis the only explanation.”
Alexandra frowned. “Well…unless she somehow sent him a message and asked him to return.”
Nancy shrugged. “You have to admit ’tis possible. As Lord Dunsford said, she’s lived in Newton-upon-Sea longer than anyone else and known most of us since we were born, including Constable Snow.”
“Do you also believe she knew why he was in London, if indeed he was?”
“ ’Tis possible,” Nancy said, and nodded.
“Then why didn’t she tell someone? It would have gone a long way toward calming the mood of everyone.”
Before Nancy could reply, they were both distracted by a strange moaning coming from Zack. It was only then that Alexandra noticed he was no longer in the room with them. She called his name, but there was no response. A few seconds later, she heard another moan.
“He’s not in the house,” Nancy said. “He’s somewhere outdoors.”
“Odd,” Alexandra said. “He doesn’t usually like to go outdoors when it’s dark. There must be something wrong.”
Nancy went to the door and called for him. “He’s not here in the front,” Nancy said, turning to Alexandra. “He must have slipped out through the kitchen door.”
Alexandra knew that was a possibility, since they often left the kitchen door open awhile in the early evening, in case Rob or Artie needed entrance to the house. She ran with Nancy to the kitchen, where the door was indeed open, and they heard Zack’s low growling moan again. They found him outside, near the door. He was lying on his side, his feet and legs jerking.
“Dear God in heaven, he’s been poisoned!” Nancy said, bending over him to watch as Alexandra forced one of his eyes open to reveal a dilated pupil.
“Help me get him inside,” Alexandra said.
Together, they managed to get him to the surgery, but he was too heavy to be lifted up to the table. They laid him on a small rug, and Alexandra began an examination, noting his rapid breath and profuse drooling. She hurried back to the parlor where she kept a bookcase full of the medical books she’d inherited from her father. In the early days of his practice he’d served as both a physician and a veterinarian. Pulling a book from a shelf, she leafed through it until she found what she wanted.
Running back to the surgery, she called to Nancy. “Dover’s powder!” The words were barely out of her mouth before Nancy handed her the bowl containing the mixture of ipecac and opium. The pestle was still in the bowl as she turned aside to bring a small cup of water to add to the mixture so Alexandra could pour it down Zack’s throat.
Zack was convulsing again, and his drooling had become more profuse, although his moans had grown weaker. “How could he have gotten poison?” Nancy asked as she held the dog’s jaws open for Alexandra to pour the mixture into his mouth. She clamped his mouth and snout, forcing him to swallow.
Alexandra could only shake her head in response to Nancy’s question. She was too upset by Zack’s condition to be able to speak. Possibilities ran through her mind: He could have eaten something on the streets of Newton-upon-Sea or in front of someone’s house while he waited for her. He could have found something outside her own house. Someone could have poisoned him deliberately. The last scenario was the most upsetting to her. She couldn’t imagine anyone deliberately poisoning Zack or any other animal.
Finally, Zack gagged and then vomited. The ipecac mixture had done its job. Now she could only hope that it was sufficient to rid Zack’s body of all of the poison. He vomited a few more times, giving her even more hope. For several minutes he lay still while Nancy and Alexandra watched him closely. At last, he raised his head and seemed to indicate that he recognized both Nancy and Alexandra. However, his pupils were only slightly less dilated, and he was obviously weak. Some of the opium they had forced him to ingest had most likely cleared his body when he vomited. There probably wouldn’t be enough left in his system to induce sleep, but his weakness might allow him to rest. That, both Alexandra and Nancy knew, would be the best of all remedies for him at this point.
The two of them took turns staying up with him and watching over him for several hours. He was still lethargic by morning, and Alexandra would not allow him to accompany her on her rounds. He offered no protest but continued to lie on his side, obviously ill. She left him in Nancy’s care.
—
When she stopped at Mrs. Fontaine’s house the next day for another routine check, it was Judith who answered the door. Her face was even more drawn than it had been before, and she bade Alexandra enter in a tired voice and told her Mrs. Fontaine was resting in her bedroom.
“You don’t look well, Judith,” Alexandra said.
“No, I suppose not.” Her voice was listless. “I’m as puzzled as anyone about my own reaction to my father’s death. Conflicted, actually. He was…obsessed, of course, and what he did was evil, but somehow, his death has affected me in a way I didn’t expect.”
“I understand, certainly,” Alexandra said. “He was, after all, your father.”
“Yes, he was my father, and though it may be hard to believe, I have some rather nice memories of him from when I was a child,” she said, her voice
still dull. “Our disagreements started after I was grown. That’s when I asserted that I wanted control of my own life. He refused to believe he should not have a right to manipulate my entire existence. You won’t be surprised to hear that he felt it his obligation—his right, actually—to take control of me until my husband could assume the responsibility.”
“Yes,” Alexandra said, “I understand the conflict. It’s unfortunate, but I’m afraid it’s pervasive in our modern society.”
Judith looked down at her hands and didn’t reply.
“If I may ask you another question,” Alexandra said, “about Daniel Poole.”
Judith raised her eyes to look at Alexandra. “Yes?”
“You said your father’s motive for killing the first two men was because they were your suitors. Was Mr. Poole also your suitor?”
“Of course not. He was a married man. Surely you know the reason he died.”
“You believe it was because your father somehow learned you spoke to the deputy?”
“Yes. Didn’t I warn you he’d find out?”
“You did, but you thought you would be the one in danger.”
Judith shook her head while tears welled in her eyes. “I was wrong, I suppose. Maybe he could never have hurt me. I don’t know. I didn’t know what he was capable of doing. But if he killed the first two, it seems he was capable of anything.”
Alexandra shook her head. “None of us expected another death.”
When Judith did no more than look down at her hands again, Alexandra added, “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to see Mrs. Fontaine.”
Judith nodded and showed Alexandra to the bedroom upstairs where Mrs. Fontaine rested, then returned to the parlor. Mrs. Fontaine was awake and sitting up against two pillows. All four of her cats were on the bed beside her, nestled on the embroidered counterpane. There was an old-fashioned green carpet splotched with red leaves on the floor. The furniture was of the finest mahogany, including a large wardrobe that must have been in the family for at least a century, judging from its style.