Ella started to protest, but Mitchell had already descended to the street and was urging her to hurry. So she nodded to Mr. Dawson and quickly stepped out of the carriage, ignoring Mitchell’s proffered hand.
Thanking providence for a full moon and a sky unobscured by clouds or fog, Ella had no trouble crossing the street and finding the entrance to the alley. The alley itself was bordered by back hedges of only moderate height, so it was easy to look up to see if there were any lights still visible on the upper floors of the homes on either side.
Mitchell took her elbow and steered her to the left side of the alley where these hedges provided some cover from the moonlight. His hand, despite the gloves he wore and the wool of her jacket, created a small pocket of warmth on her arm.
When they got to the third house, which would be the Truscotts’ home, she couldn’t see any lights. This might or might not be a good sign. Mitchell urged her to go slightly past the gate to the Truscotts’ back yard to where a couple of dustbins stood in a pool of darkness created by the back hedge. Ella realized this was a good place to stand. They should be invisible to anyone looking out from the Truscotts’ upper floors.
As they stood silently in the dark, Ella again began to think about what could go amiss. What if Richard Truscott decided to stay the night with his wife? Joan had told her that he had recently reverted to the pattern he’d developed throughout his wife’s earlier illnesses, sleeping in a separate room. However, Phoebe’s collapse this morning could have changed everything. What if he’d overheard his wife when she whispered her plea to Ella? If so, he, and maybe even the police, could be standing in the backyard, waiting to catch them and accuse them of attempted kidnapping or burglary. On the other hand, what if Joan was looking out the back window, expecting to see a carriage arrive? Then the whole escape plan might fail because they would think that Ella hadn’t come through for them.
This last thought caused a wave of panic, and she tugged on Mitchell’s arm.
He put a finger on her mouth and leaned over so close to her face that she felt the slight brush of his mustache. “Be very quiet. What do you want?” His breath on her cheek was warm and smelled slightly like mint.
She whispered, “What if they won’t come out until they see some evidence we’re here? Maybe I should go stand in the middle of the alley, where someone could see me from an upper window.”
Mitchell hesitated, reached under his coat, and took out a watch from his vest. He moved slightly so the moonlight would shine on it then moved back quickly into the shadows. Again leaning close, he said, “Give it ten more minutes. If we don’t see any sign of them by then, yes, I guess that might be something to try.”
He stood with his watch out, and Ella tried to ignore how cold her feet were getting. Mitchell made a sudden movement, closing his watch, and she was about to move out of the shadows when he pulled her back. He pointed to his ear and to his mouth, and Ella held her breath, which seemed all too loud in her ears, and listened.
There was a rustling sound coming from the other side of the hedge, and then she heard the slight squeak as the back gate opened, very slowly. A moment later, two figures appeared, one holding the other up. Ella rushed over and whispered urgently, “This is Dr. Mitchell. He will carry Mrs. Truscott down the alley to where we have a carriage waiting.”
Without a word, Mitchell swept Mrs. Truscott up into his arms and was striding down the alley before Joan had a chance to reply. Ella put her arm around the maid, who was trembling, and they stumbled after them.
When they got to the carriage, Mitchell had already handed Mrs. Truscott to Mr. Dawson, who was getting her settled. Joan quickly followed her mistress.
Ella paused and said to Mitchell, who was still standing by the open carriage door, “Joan’s just told me that they think someone in the house may have heard them leave!”
Mitchell nodded and said, “You go on in. I will ride up with Robertson. Hurry. If that’s true, we need to be out of this neighborhood as soon as possible.”
Chapter 31
Monday, early morning, March 6, 1882
Pacific Dispensary for Women and Children
* * *
The first thing Ella did once she was seated in the carriage was to take Mrs. Truscott’s pulse, which was rapid but strong. And while Phoebe leaned against her maid, she appeared conscious.
Ella said, “Mrs. Truscott, this is Mr. Dawson, a lawyer. He believes that it would protect Miss Carpenter and the Pacific Dispensary from legal action if you could sign this document he’s prepared, saying that the decision to leave your home tonight was voluntary and that you asked to be taken to the dispensary for treatment. Do you feel capable of understanding what you hear if he reads the document out loud to you?”
Phoebe Truscott nodded once and said weakly, “Yes, I understand. That is an excellent idea, Dr. Blair. And thank you so much for coming for me tonight.”
Mr. Dawson lighted one of the interior lamps, and he read the document, stopping in places to ask if Mrs. Truscott had any questions. Each time, she would shake her head and indicate that he should continue.
As the carriage slowed and came to a stop in front of the dispensary, Nate Dawson said, “I would like you to at least glance at this document to assure yourself of its contents, then if you agree with it, sign and date it. Mr. Robertson, the driver, will then sign as witness. It would be best if this was done before you actually set foot in the dispensary. Does that meet with your approval?”
With some effort, Mrs. Truscott said yes and sat up, taking the document from Mr. Dawson, she began to read it. Ella continued to keep her hand on Phoebe’s pulse as Mr. Dawson left the carriage, reappearing momentarily at the door with the driver Robertson. He then produced a stylo, one of those new, ink-filled pens, and Mrs. Truscott, the paper trembling in her hands, rapidly scrawled her signature and a date. Robertson then took the pen from her and signed on another line and, when prompted by Dawson, also wrote the date.
Ella took a deep breath. Then she and Joan helped Phoebe stand so Mitchell, who had just exited the carriage, could take her into his arms again to carry her to the dispensary. Joan jumped down on her own and followed them to the front porch. As Ella picked up her medical bag and descended to the sidewalk, she saw the door to the dispensary open. Framed in the light of the front hall stood Mrs. McClellan, who welcomed them in.
Nate Dawson had stayed by the carriage, and as Ella reached the ground, he handed the document to her and said, “I would advise not letting anyone into the dispensary until tomorrow morning. If by some chance the police do arrive tonight, insist that they look at the document, although don’t let it out of your possession, and don’t let them do anything else unless they have a warrant, which would be unlikely. Also, refer them…or anyone else…like the husband, to me. I believe I gave you my card? My firm’s address is on the document.”
Ella said, “I understand. Your wife has a meeting scheduled for tomorrow morning at the dispensary, so I will be able to let her know then if we’ve heard anything from anybody. I can’t thank you enough for all you have done for us. But I must get in and attend to Mrs. Truscott.”
Mr. Dawson nodded. “Mitchell said he’ll make his own way home. He wants to make sure that we weren’t followed. He’s a good man; I’ve known him for years, and he helped me out in a tight spot, so trust him. Meanwhile, Robertson will take me home. But don’t be afraid to send a message to the boardinghouse if you need me or Annie to come.”
With that, he shook Ella’s hand warmly, and she turned and hurried up the steps to the dispensary. When she entered the hallway, she saw that Mrs. McClellan was helping Joan Carpenter support Mrs. Truscott down the hallway to the back bedroom they had prepared for her.
She watched for a moment to make sure she wasn’t needed, then she turned to Mitchell, who stood in front of the door, which was only partially closed. Ella found herself reluctant to bid him goodnight, fearing that Joan’s suspicion might prove correct—that P
hoebe’s husband had already discovered their absence and he would come directly to the dispensary, looking for his wife. Maybe, if Ella offered to have the night servant make him some tea and light a fire in the reception room, he’d stay for a while, at least until she could report back on how Phoebe Truscott was fairing.
She was about to suggest this when the front door suddenly slammed open, knocking Mitchell to his knees. A strange man barreled into the hallway, grabbing Ella by the shoulders as he shouted, “Where is she? Has the baby come yet? I don’t give a damn about the whore but the baby’s mine.”
Stunned and confused, Ella stammered out, “Baby? What baby? What are you talking about?”
Could this man be working for Richard Truscott? If so, what did a baby have to do with it?
“Take your hands off the lady,” Mitchell growled, now back on his feet and tugging at the man’s shoulder.
The stranger let go of Ella and whipped around to take a swing at Mitchell, hitting him a glancing blow on the chin. Mitchell staggered back but didn’t fall.
Ella stood frozen as she watched Mitchell rush the stranger, peppering him with several punches to his stomach. The man, taller and wider than Mitchell, didn’t budge. Instead, he laughed and said, “You’ve got to do better than that. I’ve stood in the ring for eight rounds with the Benicia Boy.” Then he swung and hit Mitchell squarely in the jaw.
As Mitchell toppled to the ground, Ella tried to run to him, but the man grabbed her again and said, “Where’s Hilda? Do you really want me to go through this place, room by room? Disturb your other patients?” He pointed down the hallway.
Horrified, Ella saw that Mrs. Betts, a woman who was recuperating from a bout with pneumonia, stood in the doorway to her room. Tearing herself from the man’s hands, Ella ran over to the woman, urging her to go back into the room and lock the door. She caught a slight movement out of the corner of her eye, and she said loudly, “Everyone should stay in their rooms,” hoping that Mrs. McClellan, who was standing at the end of the hallway, would do as asked.
Then she heard Mitchell’s voice and turned.
He stood with a gun in his hand, pointed directly at the stranger’s chest, and he said, “Hands up, now!”
The man slowly raised his hands.
“Ella, see if he’s armed,” Mitchell said. “Look in his pockets, feel under his coat jacket, but be careful and do it from behind him, so he can’t grab you again.”
Ella hesitated, then she complied, following Mitchell’s instructions.
When she was done, she backed quickly away from the man, saying, “I didn’t find anything.”
Mitchell said, “I don’t know who you are and what your beef is, but you have two choices. Stay here and get shot, with a witness who will testify that it was in self-defense, or leave right now and not show your face anywhere near this building again.”
There was a long moment of silence, then the stranger shrugged slightly and started towards the open door.
Mitchell barked, “Keep your hands up.”
The man paused at the doorway and glared at them. “This isn’t over. Tell her she’s not keeping my child. And as for you, whoever you are, you just made a big mistake. No one draws on Charlie McFadyn and lives to tell the tale.”
Then he moved swiftly into the darkness of the front porch, and Mitchell slammed the door shut behind him.
Chapter 32
Monday morning, March 6, 1882
Pacific Dispensary for Women and Children
* * *
When Ella fell into bed at three this morning, she didn’t think she would be able to go to sleep. But somehow she’d lost consciousness right away and not stirred until her alarm rang at five-thirty. After hastily dressing, she stopped first on the second floor to check in with the nursing staff, who reported that there had been no unusual problems with the children or the women in the maternity ward during the night. Miraculously, all had slept through the disturbance downstairs, even Hilda.
Mrs. McClellan, who met her on the first floor, reported that she had been successful in getting Mrs. Betts settled down, having assured her that there was nothing to worry about beyond a rather distraught husband. The woman, in her eighties, had laughed and said there was a reason why men should be barred from sick rooms. The matron also reported that both Phoebe Truscott and her maid were sleeping soundly.
Ella told Mrs. McClellan to go and get some rest while everyone was being served breakfast. She then looked into the reception area, where they had set up a cot for Mitchell. After the fracas with the stranger, he had insisted on spending the rest of the night. A servant, who was busy putting the bed linens away, reported that she had sent him downstairs to get some breakfast in the kitchen.
Ella hurried down the back stairs, wanting to make sure that she saw him before he left the dispensary. She found him sitting in a chair in the corner of the kitchen, out of the way of the frantic activity that always accompanied the preparations for breakfast. He had a plate on his lap, a mug of steaming coffee on the floor at his feet, and he was forking down eggs, using a piece of toast to mop up the yolk. When he saw her, he looked as if he was going to try and stand up, so she hurriedly motioned for him to stay sitting. She pulled a chair over to him so they could speak quietly.
“Good morning, Dr. Blair,” Mitchell said after wiping a bit of egg off of his ginger mustache.
“Oh dear, that’s quite a bruise,” Ella said as she gently touched his chin. Feeling the slight scratchiness of the beginning of his beard, she snatched her hand back and said, “No problems with the teeth on that side?”
He put his hand up to his chin where she had touched it and said, “No, just sore.”
After a pause, he continued. “Been thinking about what sort of story I need to come up with to explain what happened to me when I get to work in the laboratory. As you know, medical students aren’t exactly shy about joshing a fellow.”
Ella refrained from mentioning that he was normally the leader in that department, so it wouldn’t hurt him to be on the other end. She said, “Well, for the sake of the dispensary, I suppose you can’t tell them why you were hit by someone who fought…who did he say he fought?”
“Eight rounds with the Benicia Boy. That was the name of Tom Heenan, who was a bare-knuckle fighter in the fifties. No, I guess I shouldn’t. Truth is, no one would believe me. But are you all right? McFadyn wasn’t all that gentle with you.”
Ella shrugged. “Just a little bruising on the shoulders. I’ve had much worse from women in the midst of confinement. They tend to grab you during a bad contraction.”
Mitchell chuckled. “I’ve not participated in a delivery yet. Seems that being a resident here gives you a good deal of practice doing all sorts of things. I don’t expect that your professors gave you any tips on what to do if you found yourself in circumstances like last night.”
Not feeling up to bantering about an experience that still had her shaking, she said, “Are you planning on going by Mrs. Dawson’s on your way home?”
“Yes. Nate said he was going to stop by the police first thing this morning, see a Sergeant Thompson he’s worked with before. I want to fill him in on what happened last night before he goes. Tell him that we can be pretty sure that the man who’s been loitering is this McFadyn, and it’s your young patient Hilda he seems interested in, not Mrs. Truscott.”
“Do you think that wise…not telling Mr. Dawson…but informing the police? You were the one who said we shouldn’t notify them last night.”
Ella remembered how sharp Mitchell had been when she suggested he go out and look for the local policeman. He’d said that given that McFadyn didn’t actually break in, since the door was still open, and given he’d been the one who pulled a gun, the police might decide he was the one who needed to be taken in for questioning. Not having any experience with the police, Ella hadn’t argued. But she wondered if Mitchell had any previous dealing with the authorities, remembering how Mr. Dawson had said something
about him helping him out in some trouble.
He said, “Look, the last thing the dispensary needs is for this incident to end up in the papers. Nate will know how best to make sure that doesn’t happen. Do you have any idea who this McFadyn is and what his relationship is to this girl, Hilda?”
“No, not beyond what we had learned from Jocko’s newsboy friends—that he runs a boxing club. It seems pretty obvious from what he said that he thinks he’s the father of Hilda’s unborn child. Thank heavens, she slept through the uproar. But I would like you to ask Mrs. Dawson if she could possibly bring her maid Kathleen with her this morning. Kathleen is the only one Hilda has been willing to talk to about her past.”
“Will do. How about Mrs. Truscott? Is she doing all right?”
“Sound asleep. Although I definitely found signs of irritation to her digestive system. I started her on liquids, a milk and egg white mixture, just a bit of morphine, to help her sleep. The most immediate problem is that she appears to have been starving herself the past week, being too afraid to eat or drink anything. If the milk and egg mixture stays down, we will start her on some beef broth. I will send a telegram this morning telling Dr. Granger that Mrs. Truscott is here. I hope he will be able to come by this afternoon to give me his opinion on the best course of treatment.”
“Do you feel the symptoms she is exhibiting are consistent with someone poisoning her?”
“Oh, most definitely. She seems convinced as well, although she said she hoped to discover everything that’s been happening was the result of an accidental poisoning—either because she was given the wrong medicine or the wrong dose. But every time she brought up her concerns with her husband, he dismissed them. She was especially upset about the fact that her husband and his aunt had been keeping me and Dr. Granger away from seeing her. That appears to be the last straw, as far as she was concerned. She told us last night that she left a letter to her husband to that effect. Telling him that she was coming to the dispensary because she needed better medical care, care that she could trust.”
Lethal Remedies Page 21