A Murderous Malady

by Christine Trent

  For my part, I was stunned by what I believed him to be transmitting to me.

  “Sidney, are you suggesting that either Liz or the General has a past so horrendous that someone paid our killer to attack the carriage?”

  The moments ticked by. Finally, Sidney repeated adamantly, “Everyone has a past, Flo.”

  But Liz had had no past to speak of before marrying Sidney eight years ago at the age of twenty-four. General à Court undoubtedly had a murderous past in the Army, but he wouldn’t be the instigator of a plot against his daughter. As gruff and unlikable as he was, he clearly adored his daughter.

  “Sidney, can you cease being vague and mysterious for just a few moments and tell me whom you suspect to have this dangerous and illicit past?” Dealing with ailing women each day who perpetually lied to me about what they ate and drank while being transparently coy was bad enough. I had no patience for this same conduct with someone I called a friend.

  He heaved another sigh. “I’m worried that it is me.”

  CHAPTER 7

  “You?” I exclaimed, nearly barking with laughter. “To what dark deed could Sidney Herbert possibly lay claim?”

  Sidney shifted uneasily in his seat again. “Well … before I met Liz, I had an, er, attachment to a woman, Lady Caroline Norton.”

  Liz had never mentioned this to me. Perhaps she didn’t know.

  “Were you victim to the time-worn tale of being unsuitable for someone of her status?” I asked.

  Sidney smiled grimly. “If only it were that easily explained. No, the actual trouble was that she was married.”

  I blinked several times. Sidney was a devoted father and husband. It was impossible for me to think of him placing a cuckold’s horns on another man.

  “Obviously, nothing came of the relationship,” I managed to say through my astonishment.

  “No, but not for lack of trying. George Norton was—is—a brute in many ways. Is jealous to the point of insanity. About twenty years ago, Caroline began publishing romances and books of poetry, and the earnings were enough to enable her to leave him. Norton, though, claimed that he was entitled to the earnings. Not surprising, considering that he is a totally incompetent barrister, incapable of earning his own fees.”

  Had Caroline Norton had affairs prior to Sidney? Were they the cause of George Norton’s mad jealousy, or had his jealousies driven her to commit that of which her husband had already declared her guilty?

  As if reading my mind, Sidney continued, “A great scandal erupted in 1836 when Caroline developed a friendship with Lord Melbourne, who was then prime minister. Norton accused Melbourne of committing adultery with his wife, which was positively ridiculous. Melbourne was a fifty-seven-year-old man and Caroline was only twenty-eight. He was merely a father figure to her.”

  I said nothing, wondering if Sidney had swallowed an embellished narrative from his mistress.

  “The case went to court and the newspapers gobbled it all up,” he said. “Don’t you remember?”

  I had been sixteen years old at the time and living tucked away in Hampshire. It wasn’t the sort of subject my parents would have discussed at the dinner table, no matter how much chattering was going on about it in town or in the papers. “I’m afraid I was too young to be aware of it.”

  Sidney nodded. He himself would have been twenty-six at the time, and had likely read all of the accounts himself. “The case was thrown out of court, but Norton used the situation to keep their three children and to block Caroline’s attempt at a divorce. Poor girl, treated so shamefully and then prevented from having the comfort of her boys. Ultimately, I think Norton was furious not so much that Caroline might have had an affair, but that she was no longer using her beauty, wit, and political connections to further his otherwise nonexistent career.”

  Sidney was working himself into quite a righteous snit over Caroline Norton.

  “Where did you figure into the situation?” I asked.

  “I met her in 1840, at a party of some sort, I can’t remember who hosted or where it was; all I remember from that evening was Caroline in a dress of the brightest pink you’ve ever seen. I was utterly besotted.” He rose restlessly from his chair and feigned interest in the nearby bookshelf, running his finger along a series of titles. “We both were.”

  Now I understood where this was all going. “But her husband wasn’t going to permit her a divorce based on the suspicion of a relationship with the prime minister, so it was certain that he wasn’t going to relent because his wife was in love with a nobody like Sidney Herbert.”

  Sidney dropped the trailing finger and bristled. “Well, I wouldn’t say I was nobody. I already had a seat in the Commons for a part of Wiltshire and had held some minor offices under Prime Minister Peel. My talents were recognized even then.”

  “Of course,” I said soothingly. “But you could not maneuver a path to secure your inamorata’s divorce?”

  He sat down again. “No. I did try. But eventually I realized that with my brother off on an illicit dalliance in Paris, it would be up to me to take care of the Wilton estate. That meant I needed legitimate children to inherit it all. If she and I could not be married, then I would be forced to marry elsewhere. That was the hardest day of my life, leaving her.” He amended that thought quickly. “Well, the hardest day save the terror of Liz’s near miss with death.”

  I could empathize with Sidney on this. Leaving Richard was the hardest thing I had ever had to do. However, I wasn’t sure what this story had to do with the attack on Liz. I took a stab at it. “And so you think it’s possible that George Norton has held a grudge all these years and sent someone to attack your carriage, believing you would be in it? I’ve seen some strange behavior in my life, Sidney, but that strains credulity.”

  “Bad men frequently behave in a manner that strains the sensibilities of cultured women like yourself, Flo. I do think it’s possible. Melbourne is lucky he’s dead now, or perhaps he would be under attack. Anyway,” he said, rising, “I thought you should know. Liz is aware of Caroline, although I haven’t shared the extent of my previous feelings for the woman. It’s all in the past, and I am completely devoted to Liz.”

  He laughed without mirth. “If only my forty-five-year-old self could have told my thirty-year-old self how foolish liaisons could impact the future, I might not be in this situation.”

  I rose as well. “If you believe George Norton to be behind the carriage attack—and I cannot possibly fathom that to be true—then why did you send Fenton into Soho? What did you think he could investigate?”

  “As I said,” Sidney said, his tone awash in measured patience. “Fenton could move about in Soho relatively easily. And if George Norton was behind the attack on Liz, he obviously wouldn’t have done it himself but would have hired a ruffian in a dark corner to do the work for him. I had hoped Fenton could find that lout.”

  Sidney’s theory about how Liz’s carriage had been attacked still seemed largely ridiculous to me. Even more ridiculous was the fact that the theory was coming from the mouth of someone as intelligent and logical as the secretary at war. Why was he flogging his horse down this path?

  I walked with him to the entry hall of the Establishment. Sidney’s step was lighter now, like a penitent who had just offered up a confession behind closed doors and now felt the sweet relief of forgiveness. I had witnessed many people like this—running to the devil with hounds all week, then seeking the confessional on Sunday to make everything right. Yet I could hardly conceive of Sidney as someone who would be sneaking out the back door on his wife. Even if he were, he would be intelligent enough not to report it to her friend, no matter what the circumstances.

  We stopped at the hall entry table, where Sidney picked up his hat and turned back to face me. “You understand why I couldn’t speak of this in front of Liz and her father? It would only distress my darling wife needlessly. And the General …” He shrugged, as if attempting to explain his father-in-law’s incorrigibility. “Even
if Fenton was guilty of a gambling vice, he still deserves justice in the form of apprehending my wife’s attacker. I hope I haven’t unduly upset you, Flo, and that you will continue your work.”

  I had a surfeit of emotions about Sidney’s behavior, both past and present, but I, too, had a passion for justice. That passion was understandably magnified given that it involved my dear friend Liz. “Of course,” I said.

  I opened the door to see him out, then thought of one more thing. “Where is Caroline Norton now?” I asked out of feminine curiosity.

  Sidney shrugged and shook his head. “I don’t know. Returned to her family home, for all I know. Or perhaps she’s still in London. Or maybe even gone to the continent.”

  My heart sank, for I could tell by the subtle change of tone in Sidney Herbert’s voice that he was lying. He knew exactly where Caroline Norton was.

  I gave him a stern look, but he misinterpreted my disapproval. “At least we don’t have to worry about her,” he said, securing his hat on his head and disappearing into Harley Street.

  I stared after his retreating figure for several moments as I replayed our unsettling conversation in my head. When I finally abandoned those thoughts, I retreated to my study for a light supper of salmagundi and tea.

  While eating, I dashed off a note to Dr. Killigrew, asking him to visit the Reeve family in Seven Dials. I thought there were better than even odds that a gentleman doctor like Killigrew would read my request in complete horror and refuse, but I had to try.

  With my meal finished, I checked on John Wesley and his ridiculous little squirrel, then stumbled off to bed. I needed an unfitful night of sleep, for I feared the next day would be at least as hard as this one had been.

  * * *

  The next morning, I dressed in my plainest work dress, given that I expected to end the day covered in filth. I then selected a different pair of shoes to wear and took my stained boots down to the kitchens to see to them with a vinegar-and-soap mixture.

  The inmates were up and about, several reading in the library. Others were in the rear garden with a nurse, enjoying the outdoors before the heat of the day set in.

  As I gazed out a library window at the rear garden—noting that I needed to speak with Charlie Lewis about some vines that seemed to be eating a portion of the shrubbery along the rear wall—I saw that the sun was not to be tempered by clouds today. It had already risen blindingly in the sky.

  I didn’t look forward to the heat, but there was work to be done.

  Before I could gather Mary and the nurses to explain what I wanted done in Soho that day, Mary herself appeared in the library. “Miss Florence, you have both a message and a visitor.”

  She handed me the loosely folded note—a couple of lines from Dr. Killigrew stating that he would be unable to attend to the Reeves. I sighed and handed it back to her. I admit I was disappointed, but not very surprised. Of more concern was who might be awaiting me.

  “Is it Sidney Herbert?” I asked with dread. “Or anyone from the Herbert household?” I wasn’t sure I was ready to face Liz and pretend as if I now knew nothing about Sidney’s past.

  “No, it’s a messenger from Middlesex Hospital. Shall I attend you?” Mary held up her writing journal. How much I relied on her to make notations for me.

  I nodded and followed her out to the entry hall. My visitor, however, was not exactly a messenger but more of a harbinger of doom.

  The man was older than me, perhaps forty-five years of age, with a closely trimmed beard. He wore fine clothing and possessed an austere air about him. I immediately recognized him as a gentleman physician. Most had the aura of distant compassion, although our own Dr. Killigrew—with his silly joking and laughter—was much the exception to that archetype.

  He nodded formally at me. “Miss Nightingale? I am Dr. Stephen Goodfellow. I am an assistant physician to Middlesex Hospital. We—the hospital—have come to the conclusion that we need a particular … expertise … that we believe you can provide for us.”

  My interest was stirred at once. “What is that, sir?”

  “As you probably realize, King Cholera has reared his ugly crown in nearby Soho. We have few resources at the hospital for actually stopping the disease’s spread, and what we mostly need now are people to care for the victims. Nurses, I mean. It is well known how you have improved this small hospital and that you rigorously train your nurses, so I am here to see if you and a few of your nurses would be willing to help us. For our part, we can recompense you for your time.”

  I shook my head. “I take no salary, Dr. Goodfellow, for I have a considerable allowance from my father. My nurses, though, are not so fortunate. You may offer them payment. First though, I need to see your hospital.”

  I was fairly certain it would be in the same stuffy condition the Establishment had been in when I had started here over a year ago and would require extensive airing out, at a minimum. However, the invitation to assist at a larger hospital was most flattering. “I can come shortly.”

  His expression was one of disappointment. “Can you not come now? I have a taxi waiting outside.”

  I had been derailed enough over the past twenty-four hours. “I must tend to other work this morning, sir,” I said firmly. “I will be there in a couple of hours.”

  Goodfellow frowned. “My superiors believed that I would bring you back with me. You must realize that we have a bit of a difficult situation over there and need immediate help.”

  “Nevertheless, I must attend to my other duties first.” I moved to show him out the door. He was clearly unhappy with the delay, but I could not be expected to leap every time someone wanted something of me. I was already taxed enough under Sidney’s demands, and it had only been a day since meeting with him.

  As he left, Mary scribbled notes in her journal, not that I was likely to forget an appointment with another hospital.

  I called my nurses and Mary to join me down in the kitchens—the only place with a table large enough to accommodate all of us together—to explain why I needed a couple of them to come with me to Soho. Most of them blanched, but Clementina Harris and Louisa Lambert readily volunteered. I had expected it of Harris, but I was a bit surprised by Lambert.

  “I can be ready to leave as soon as I visit Mrs. Parris again. She had a restless night of sleep.” Lambert stood in respect as she addressed me, although she kept her head at a downward angle, not meeting my eyes.

  I had hired Nurse Lambert last year after firing several other nurses on my staff. I had been glad to find a woman in her thirties, as younger applicants could sometimes be too flighty for the work of nursing. Lambert came from a modest background, and her unfortunate visage ensured she was not likely to attract a suitor. She had a purpled, lumpy birthmark running down the right side of her face, from the corner of her right eye to a sharp point below her chin. She attempted to distract attention from it with very strange hairstyles and even stranger hair caps.

  The inmates didn’t mind her, though. In fact, I think it made them feel better to be cared for by someone they saw as being in an even more pitiful state than they were themselves.

  Lambert might be a bit pitiful, but she was dedicated to her work and I liked her immensely. I hoped to one day convince her that she could be as satisfied with nursing as she might have been in the marriage that would never materialize for her.

  As it also wouldn’t for me.

  “Thank you both,” I said, expressing my gratitude with a smile. I issued other instructions for the day, then left Harris and Lambert to check on their inmates and prepare some food and supplies for the two families while I spoke to Charlie Lewis about the ivy and visited John Wesley once more. He hardly acknowledged my presence, as he was completely enthralled with his little red squirrel, which he had eating berries from his open palm.

  Satisfied that the Establishment was running smoothly for the day, I left for my visit at Middlesex Hospital. It was in Mortimer Street, a mere half-mile walk from the Establishment.
I decided the exercise would be beneficial for me, and I made my way there with my head down, ignoring the noise and busyness of London as I considered what needed to happen after my visit.

  After the nurses and I visited the Reeves and the Maddoxes, I wanted Mary to go with me to the Lion Brewery to talk with the owner of that establishment. And of course there was a list of hospital supplies that needed to be ordered, and I must ask Charlie Lewis to figure out what window Dash had come through to see if there was a nest of them outside. I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I almost didn’t notice Middlesex Hospital in the near distance. It startled me that I could have been so lost in thought, for the hospital was a magnificent structure, with two wings on either end that gave it a U shape facing the road. Dominating each wing was an enormous Palladian window made up of dozens of panes. Elegant fringed draperies were swept back in an artful way to frame the windows.

  What elegance these inmates must enjoy, I thought.

  As I turned to go through the black iron gates, which surrounded the three-story property, I became instantly aware of a familiar stench. And then I saw it all.

  Lining the lawn on either side of the walkway to the front door were dozens of people, some on good hospital linens and some on rags. All of them were pitifully weak as they attempted sleep, cried out in pain, or relieved themselves in overflowing slop buckets. A few orderlies walked helplessly from patient to patient, offering ladles of soup or water from pails.

  Now I thoroughly understood why Dr. Goodfellow had wanted me immediately. Death had set up camp here and was not likely to leave anytime soon.

  CHAPTER 8

  I am not often speechless, but I was having difficulty gathering my thoughts as I waited for Dr. Goodfellow in the hospital’s entry. As I stood in the company of a slovenly orderly, I was assailed by the disgusting combination of moldy lime-green paint peeling off the walls, dust and debris all over the floor, and the strong odor of urine in the hot, airless place.