A Murderous Malady

by Christine Trent

  Maddox dropped like a bag of barley as Davies shouted at me, “Lord, woman, killed me you could have!”

  Nevertheless, he reached down and grabbed Mary, bringing my soaked, sputtering, and wild-eyed friend up from where George Maddox had intended her to die.

  As soon as she saw me standing before her, just a foot of stone separating us, she broke into a cascade of tears and threw her arms around my neck. I tossed the spade to the floor behind me.

  The yeasty smell of mash was overpowering in my nose as it dripped like gruel from my beloved friend.

  “Now, Goose,” I comforted her, more relieved than I was willing to admit. I had no care for my own clothing as I wrapped my arms tightly around her trembling, sodden person. “Imagine how proud of you Milo would be right now. Why, you survived a very deadly attack.”

  I released Mary and she stood back, nodding and snuffling. I couldn’t blame her for her reaction. Her eyeglasses were gone; they would no doubt be fished out by a brewery worker later.

  Davies now held a swaying George Maddox firmly under one arm. Blood flowed freely down the side of his head near an enormous lump that had already formed, but he was conscious.

  A strange, random thought occurred to me. “Berenice Porter will be devastated to hear about this, I suspect.”

  Mr. Davies frowned at me. “Not nearly as devastated as I was to have you call me a liar, Miss Nightingale. Accuse me of murder, I thought you were about to do.”

  “There was a time when I might have thought it, sir. But I’m glad we have the right culprit. And you didn’t know you were harboring a murderer under your smokestacks.” Another unbidden realization came to mind. I would also now have a second young boy residing at the Establishment. Soon it would no longer be a hospital, but an orphanage.

  “Hold him under myself, I should do,” Davies said in disgust. “But I suppose the correct thing is to turn him over to the authorities.”

  I agreed, and left Davies to see to Maddox while I hurried a soaked Mary out of the mash tun and as far away from the brewery as possible. As we passed through the doors into the public house, I heard the distant blow of a whistle.

  CHAPTER 22

  I stood inside Herbert House once more with four adults sitting and staring at me, agape.

  Charles Henry à Court was the first one to speak. “Are you saying that Alice was murdered simply because this Maddox fellow caught her talking to my father and assumed they were involved with one another, and thus he believed himself to be creating a way to make Father miserable?”

  I nodded sadly.

  “Dear God!” he exclaimed. “This is all … beyond comprehension.” I could see that he was attempting to control his emotions. No doubt all memory of his irritation with Alice Nichols had been erased on the occasion of her death. I had no comfort to offer him other than the knowledge that George Maddox was likely headed to the gallows.

  “You’re saying this had nothing to do with Liz or me but that Pagg was the intended target that day?” Sidney said, shaking his head. “I was so certain it had to do with—” He let the words drop. “And I lost my manservant Fenton because my coachman loved gambling. Fenton would never have contracted cholera if he had not gone into that pestilent part of town.”

  “Fenton must have had water from the pump, which he could have obtained in any number of ways while he was down there. If only he had confined himself to ale from the Lion, he might not have gotten sick.” As the words left my mouth, I knew they were of no comfort at all.

  The General cleared his throat. “But this whole affair did have everything to do with me. Should have listened to the nurse. I knew they were cheating dice the first time I held them, but it was important for me to conceal that they had belonged to someone who had seen action in Afghanistan. I knew that one day there would be a payment extracted from me for my crime.”

  Liz tilted her head in perplexity to one side. “What do you mean, Papa?”

  “You heard Miss Nightingale. This Maddox fellow was ultimately after me, for what happened to his brother in Afghanistan. Am I never to shake this dog from nipping at my heels? I caused this mayhem.”

  Was the General about to confess to something? All our gazes were riveted to the General’s face.

  “No one ever knew that I actually loved that woman.” The General passed a hand over his eyes. “But I let her go, knowing that those chiefs would murder her even before their miserable, tattered camel train was out of sight.

  “Ah, don’t look at me like that, my girl,” he said, addressing Liz. “You think I don’t know that your mother would have been pained to know of it? Anyway, I knew it would come to nothing. I wasn’t about to abandon your mother and bring home a woman half her age. It was all just … we lived in a different world while we were in Afghanistan. It was intoxicating to have your money stretch out limitlessly, to buy anything your heart might desire.

  “When it came to the men, though, there was no question that I had to make a sacrifice. Others thought that I just tossed Najiba to the wolves, but it wasn’t so easy for me. I knew what would happen to her. Everyone knew. But I had to do whatever was necessary to save my troops. Of course, they weren’t saved, and it was all for naught. Slaughtered. Just like Najiba was.” The General’s voice broke gruffly on the second mention of her name.

  The room went silent. What was there to say?

  Charles Henry finally spoke up, dispelling the gloom in the air. “Father, what say we go up to York together. We can buy some good Irish whiskey and play some terrible sets of lawn tennis while Emily and her gaggle of friends do all that wedding planning. We could even rescue the groom from it all.”

  Charles Henry made it sound like a very lighthearted affair, but the General did not agree to his son’s suggestion. “No, I’m needed here with Sidney, for war strategy.”

  Sidney held up a hand. “Sir, I would not object to you spending time with your son.”

  The General was insistent. “Frittering away my days staring at the bottom of a whiskey glass and bounding about on the grass? I think not. I need to be useful. It is the best way for me to both atone for and forget about the past.”

  No one had an argument for that.

  With the deaths of Joss Pagg and Alice Nichols now solved, Sidney ushered everyone out in order to speak privately with me. Closing the paneled doors, he turned to where I still sat and addressed me more seriously than I had ever seen him do.

  “I must thank you for your discretion where Mrs. Norton is concerned. I presume you spoke with her?”

  “Yes. She has clearly led a troubled life, but Sidney, I believe she thinks it possible to be reunited with you.”

  “What?” His shocked expression assured me he had never even contemplated such a thing. “What can she possibly mean?”

  “She is a determined woman who is wielding her pen energetically to attempt to change divorce laws. She believes that she is close to doing so, and that once she secures her own from Mr. Norton, you can also do so from Liz.”

  He was aghast. “But I have absolutely no wish to do so. I love my wife and children and our domestic life together.”

  “I don’t think Mrs. Norton understands that. She is very much clinging to the deranged hope that her past relationship with you will be revived in the future.” I did not wish to share any of Caroline Norton’s revelations with Sidney and hoped that he understood my warning.

  Fortunately, he did. “I will see to this and let her know in no uncertain terms that this will never, ever happen. I cannot permit her to harm herself with false hopes, nor can I allow her to harm Liz. My wife has been through quite enough as it is.”

  I nodded. “Despite everything that has happened, I am relieved that Mrs. Norton was not involved in this sordid affair, which would have brought an even greater grief to your family.”

  Sidney finally sat down across from me. “Let us speak on other topics. I understand that Dr. Snow has discovered that the source of the cholera outbreak is
centered upon a water pump in Broad Street.”

  “Yes,” I said, not ready to admit that the doctor had been completely correct in his assessment about the spread of the disease while I had been very wrong. “He was able to trace it to a nearby cesspool into which someone had tossed a fouled, infected baby diaper. The disease leached from the cesspool into the pump water.”

  “Remarkable,” Sidney replied. “I wonder if that means we can control any future outbreaks by simply seeking out from where the initial victim has drawn water. Imagine London without constant visitations by King Cholera.”

  I nodded. “Dr. Snow intends to publish his findings on it, which he hopes will not only inform public opinion but affect public policy. He has done a good turn for the city.”

  Sidney was quiet, as if gathering his thoughts. Finally I spoke. “Sidney?”

  “Yes. Speaking of good turns, Flo, I’ve transmitted your hospital recommendations to Dr. Hall at Scutari. But even as the dispatch left my hands, I knew that the war effort would need more help than that. I have received an answer to an inquiry I made as to what the state of affairs truly is in the Crimea. I have learned that the whole ambulance service is comprised of two four-wheeled wagons, and that they were sent there without horses or harnesses. Each regiment has a mere ten stretchers for moving the wounded, and the stretcher bearers come from the Hospital Conveyance Corps.”

  I shook my head. “What is that?”

  “They are men too old or too decrepit to be soldiers, and so they are assigned duties as stretcher bearers. But they often cannot perform even that task. Moreover, Dr. Hall—who was given the task of readying the medical service—prepared for a ten-thousand-man force. We will end up sending three times that many. Our soldiers have been deployed without shelter tents, without winter uniforms, and certainly without adequate food. There is only one surgeon for every two hundred troops. I stand on the precipice of complete disaster, Flo.” Sidney’s haggard expression relayed that fear well.

  “I need someone to go to the Crimea, to take a firm hand in organizing medical care into something humane and competent. I want you to go there yourself.”

  I sat still, full of conflicted emotions. I was flattered, to be sure, but … why me? Surely there were competent doctors to do this? I had been working inside a hospital myself for only a year. Of course, I had made improvements there and then to Middlesex and had already received a glowing letter of appreciation from Dr. Goodfellow, but still …

  Sidney must have seen the indecision on my face. “I am prepared to name you the Superintendent of the Female Nursing Establishment in the English Military General Hospitals in Turkey. You may choose whatever nurses you wish to go with you, but it needs to be done quickly.”

  I still hesitated.

  Sidney smiled broadly in encouragement. “You will fix it all right up, Flo. You must do this for God and Queen, and the good of England.”

  I swallowed my uncertainty and slowly nodded my head. Yes, I would go, as a fulfillment of duty to both England and my divine calling. And in thanks that Alberto had not shown up again to relieve himself upon my boots.

  CHAPTER 23

  I finally sat down to respond to Richard’s letter.

  No. 1 Harley Street, Marylebone

  My dearest Richard,

  I send you happy felicitations from London where, as you know, I have been working as superintendent of a hospital for governesses. It has been the fulfillment of all the dreams which I shared with you on many occasions. It has not replaced Old Dreams of mine, but I am well content.

  I am in receipt of your verses, for which I thank you. I regret to inform you that I shall be unable to correspond with you on it for some time to come, as I have agreed to raise a contingent of nurses to go to the Crimea at the earliest possible date. I anticipate that to be in the next two weeks.

  I trust you are also well content, and do not think too harshly of your old friend for any past Unhappiness or Distress I may have caused.

  As for me, I will always harbor the most tender respect for your Person.

  I remain humbly and ever—

  Your Flo

  I was glad that Sidney had created an excuse for me, as, even after all this time, I found my willpower where Richard was concerned to be wavering. If enough time had passed without something to divert me, I might have written to him and suggested that we run away to the continent together.

  Thank goodness a war had come along to save me.

  Mary tapped at the door, interrupting my thoughts. “Miss Florence, would you like a luncheon tray?”

  I flicked my glance to the clock on my desk. It was nearly half past one. “Perhaps later. Why don’t you eat quickly and then gather your notes so you can make a visit with me?”

  “A visit?”

  “Yes. We’re going to visit Father Bradshaw at St. Patrick’s to see about gathering up some nuns to go to the Crimea.”

  “Nuns! The Crimea! Whatever are you talking about, Miss Florence?” In everything we had been through together, I had never seen Mary look so shocked. “What will your mother think?”

  I put down my pen and carefully blotted my letter. “I am much more concerned about what you think, Goose, as I’d like you to go with me.”

  “To the Crimea?” Her voice squeaked so sharply I was surprised I didn’t hear dogs howling outside.

  Perhaps I had been too blunt with her. “Think on it, Goose. I won’t be leaving for a few weeks. I’d love to have you with me to continue working on the notes for my book.”

  “Notes?” she squeaked again. “Shall I take dictation while men with bayonets stab at us?”

  Her melodramatic imagery made me smile. “We will be at the hospital, far away from actual fighting. But there will be more blood than you are used to seeing.”

  “Oh dear. Dear me. Haven’t we been through enough? What would Milo say if he heard this?” Mary was fretting in earnest now.

  “I believe he would say you were very brave.”

  She still looked uncertain. No, she was almost panicked.

  “Do not think it a stay in purgatory, Goose. After all, Sidney is certain the war will only last a couple more months, so we couldn’t possibly be there very long.”

  Mary continued to stare at me, her expression an amusing blend of dismay and astonishment. I rose from my desk to head downstairs to seek out a Penny Black stamp. “Coming?” I prodded her gently.

  I left my study without looking back to see whether she was following me. My mind was already whirling with new plans for training an entirely new set of nurses for work in a war setting.

  I knew I would face numerous hardships—none of my usual luxuries of food and clothing, little contact with the outside world, and encounters with surgeons who would no doubt disapprove of my presence—yet I felt a creeping excitement I had never felt before.

  I would handpick nuns to become my cadre of nurses, using the criteria that Pastor Fliedner had used in managing Kaiserswerth. As a group, we would air out hospitals, bring nourishing food to the poor wounded soldiers, and prove that nursing was critical to their recovery.

  I laughed in delight and joy for the first time in weeks.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  In the first book of this series, I presented the reader with the Establishment for Gentlewomen During Temporary Illness, or as I call it, the Establishment. Although Florence Nightingale (1820–1910) was viewed with suspicion by many people for running a small hospital—what gently born woman would do such a thing?—she was generally permitted free rein to run it as she pleased. Thus was it made over into a very successful hospital in the short time that she ran it, until she was asked to go to the Crimean War in late 1854, after the cholera outbreak in Soho.

  The astute reader will notice that I have overlapped the events surrounding the cholera outbreak of 1854 and the initiation of the Crimean War. Cholera arrived in Soho on August 31 of that year and was largely gone by the middle of September. Troops did not begin arri
ving in the Crimea until September 13th. I moved up the timeline for the war to better suit my fictional timeline.

  By the middle of the nineteenth century, much of Soho was a decaying mess of slaughterhouses, sewers, and cesspits. Combined with the unsanitary overcrowding of many homes, the area was a powder keg of pestilence ready to be lit. The flame came in the form of cholera in September 1854. Cholera was already a fairly common occurrence in London, with outbreaks occurring periodically over the decades. The Thames was also heavily polluted with untreated sewage, a problem that would not be significantly addressed until after the “Great Stink” of 1858.

  In fact, outbreaks occurred in many places across the world in the nineteenth century: Hungary, Egypt, Paris, New York, and Mexico, to name a few.

  Almost as if the great plague had come back from the seventeenth century, few families in Soho were spared the loss of at least one family member in 1854. “King Cholera” did not discriminate between rich and poor, nor young and old. It was thoroughly devastating for the month that it lasted, killing more than 600 people. It killed as quickly as the plague, too, sometimes overnight. It should be noted, though, that the worst cholera outbreak in London’s history was in 1849, claiming more than 14,000 lives.

  Researchers would later discover that the Broad Street well had been dug only three feet from an old cesspit that had been lost when the city widened the street. The cesspit had begun to leak fecal bacteria from the cloth diaper of a baby who had contracted cholera from another source and whose diaper had been washed into this cesspit.

  The Soho outbreak, however, which would become known as the Broad Street Outbreak because of its concentration at the water pump in that location, would prove to be a pivotal event in the science of epidemiology.

  John Snow (1813–1858) was a physician who traced the source of the cholera outbreak to the water pump at Broad Street. He was the first to propose what is now the accepted mechanism for transmission of cholera—that victims swallow something infected and it multiplies in the intestines. Snow had a difficult time convincing authorities that the pump was the source of the problem, since many people—including Florence Nightingale—believed that diseases were spread by noxious odors, or miasmas. It simply wasn’t deemed possible that cholera could be passed through a contaminated water supply. Once Snow made his case thoroughly enough to have the Broad Street well pump handle removed as an experiment, the outbreak stopped almost immediately.