Lethal Remedies

by M. Louisa Locke

  Thank heavens, there hadn’t yet been any sign of Richard Truscott. Miss Keene, the volunteer in reception, had strict instructions to keep the door locked and only let someone in if they were able to tell her which patient they were visiting. In addition, under no circumstances was she to let in anyone who wished to see Mrs. Truscott without first coming to get either Matron or Ella.

  This morning, Phoebe had sent another letter to her husband stating that she was being well taken care of and that she would send word when she felt strong enough to see him. She also said that she would be sending Joan to the house tomorrow to gather some things for her. With any luck, this letter would make it to him today or first thing tomorrow morning.

  The letter also requested that he give Joan some checks and the current bank statement to bring back to her. Mrs. Truscott had come away from home without any money, confessing that she had always let her husband and his aunt handle her finances. She was already upset that her husband had refused to pay the dispensary bills and worried that he would refuse to compensate the dispensary for her current care, so she’d been quick to follow Annie Dawson’s suggestion to ask for the checks and the bank statement.

  After they left Mrs. Truscott, Mrs. Dawson confided to Ella that she suggested that Phoebe ask for the most recent bank balance to see what her husband’s reaction would be. She thought if he wasn’t in any financial difficulties, he wouldn’t balk at showing his wife their current bank statement.

  Ella thought that Mrs. Dawson was rather naive to think that Mr. Truscott wouldn’t object, just on principle. She knew precisely how her father would react to a similar request by her mother, and it would have included a good deal of shouting.

  “Oh, Ella my dear, Matron said I would find you still in the office,” Dr. Granger said as he entered the room.

  Ella rose from behind the desk and ushered him over to the fireplace, watching as he sat down heavily in one of the two chairs she had placed there. He looked tired. Not wanting to keep him any longer than necessary, she said, “How did you find Mrs. Truscott? Do you have any suggestions regarding her treatment?”

  “No, my dear, beyond adding castor oil to the egg white and milk mixture that you have sensibly prescribed. That should help the poor woman eliminate any toxic substances that might still reside in her digestive tract. You should see if she will tolerate a boiled egg tomorrow.”

  “You do agree that she doesn’t appear to be suffering from her old complaint, or from an infection, but that her symptoms seem consistent with her ingesting something?”

  “Yes, yes, there is no fever or swelling at the site of the operation and no sign that any new cysts are developing.”

  He steepled his fingers in a fashion Ella recognized as the prelude to a short lecture. The man was a born teacher, and Ella felt she learned something new from him every time they met.

  He said, “I wish that patients didn’t expect us to be clairvoyant. Since medical science hasn’t yet determined what causes cysts to develop in the first place, there is no way that you or I can guarantee that her remaining ovary won’t be affected in a similar fashion. I know that Dr. Brown explained that to her before you discharged her, but I told her this again, today.”

  “But what of her belief that she has been poisoned?”

  “On examination, she certainly appears to have ingested something caustic that seriously injured her esophageal tissue. Given her description of her spells of violent vomiting, I assume that whatever she swallowed affected her stomach as well.”

  “Did Mrs. Truscott tell you that she feared that Dr. Skerry might have been poisoning her, maybe to ensure that she would continue to need the doctor’s services?”

  “Yes, she did. However, I have trouble believing that even Imogen Skerry would deliberately poison a patient for financial reasons. As far as I know, she has a fairly lucrative practice. Although the woman never seems satisfied, always looking for another way to make additional money. What seems more believable is that the wrong dosage of something Skerry prescribed was given to her.”

  “Something like the belladonna that the medical students found in the bottle?”

  “Yes, but we don’t know for sure what has caused the gastric distress, and we may never learn that. What we need to do is treat her symptoms, not go suggesting that someone is purposely trying to make Mrs. Truscott ill.”

  “But you told me how upset you were that she was under the care of Dr. Skerry. Couldn’t Dr. Skerry have been giving Mrs. Truscott something to make her ill as a way of convincing Phoebe’s husband he should refuse payment for the operation? Perhaps that was Dr. Skerry’s way of getting back at you and Dr. Brown for her getting turned down by the California Medical Society.”

  “No, my dear. That’s not what I meant. What worried me was that Mrs. Truscott wouldn’t be getting adequate care under Mrs. Skerry, not that the woman would be deliberately doing her harm. As for the idea that any of this is personally directed at me, or Dr. Brown, I have trouble believing that is true. Imogen can be a vindictive woman, but her weapon is usually the pen, not the courts. And surely she should know that since Mrs. Truscott has been currently under her care, she would be the more likely suspect if it could be proved that her patient had been given the wrong dose of the medicine she prescribed. Imogen might be venal, but she isn’t stupid.”

  Dr. Granger, while continuing to be skeptical of the idea that Mrs. Truscott had been purposely poisoned, was interested in hearing more details about how Martin Mitchell and Miss Sutton went about figuring out what was in the bottles that Joan Carpenter had brought to her.

  “Clever of them to start testing based on the symptoms, rather than just randomly testing for different substances. Sounds like this young man and woman have the makings of good diagnosticians. You say Dr. Mitchell recently got his medical degree and is currently working at Toland Hall as some sort of laboratory assistant?”

  “Yes, that’s correct. You don’t think I overstepped my authority by agreeing to let him stay here nights, at least until we can be assured that this Mr. McFadyn is no longer a threat? He also works as an orderly at the City and County Hospital in the evenings, so it doesn’t take but ten minutes for him to get here. Miss Kibler, Matron’s assistant who is in charge nights, said she didn’t mind being on the look-out for him. In fact, she said she would rest easier knowing he was here.”

  “I think that’s a sensible precaution, my dear. Do you think that this McFadyn was telling the truth, that he is the father of Hilda’s child?”

  “He certainly seemed to believe so,” Ella said. “Mrs. Dawson’s maid, Kathleen, had a real heart-to-heart talk with Hilda today. When she told her that a man named McFadyn had been asking about her, being careful not to reveal any details of what happened last night, Hilda…”

  “Father, what are you still doing here?” Harrison Granger stood at the office door, glowering.

  “I asked him to come and consult,” Ella said as she stood up, feeling for some reason as if she needed to defend the older man from his son. “We now have Mrs. Truscott here at the dispensary, and I wanted his opinion on how best to treat her.”

  “My question was directed at my father, Miss Blair. He promised my sister Lydia that he would be home in time for dinner tonight.”

  Ella’s face burned at Harrison’s failure to use her hard-won title of doctor. In that instant, she decided that she really did not like Dr. Granger’s son, at all. So odd that a man, whose career path and even his physical attributes—tall, handsome, full mustache, pale blue eyes—were so like that of his father could be so different in temperament.

  Dr. Granger, who had pushed himself out of his chair, said sharply, “Son, there’s no call to be rude to Dr. Blair. And I will be leaving for home in a few minutes. Lydia understands that I can’t always make it home when I say I am going to.”

  “Father, Lydia understands that you put everything and everybody before her and her wishes, but that doesn’t mean your behavior doesn’t
hurt her. You didn’t see how disappointed she was yesterday when you didn’t show for Sunday dinner with me and Nellie. It was Sunday, Father! You didn’t have any patients scheduled in your office, and since you don’t specialize in obstetrics the way I do, you couldn’t have had any women going into last minute labor. You just plain forgot. Like you forgot that you said you would talk to Dr. Lane about stepping down from your position as dean. I…”

  Hearing voices coming from the reception room, Ella welcomed the excuse to break up this spat between father and son. She walked between them and said, “Please, gentlemen, I need to ask you to lower your voices. Someone appears to be making a disturbance in the next room, so I must go see what is going on.”

  She hurried towards the reception room, knowing that visiting hours had just ended and sometimes the families of patients objected when the staff asked them to leave.

  Who she had not expected to see as she entered was Richard Truscott, berating Miss Keene, the poor volunteer. His aunt and a second well-dressed woman of middle years appeared to have accompanied him.

  “Mr. Truscott, may I help you?” Ella asked, indicating to Miss Keene that she could go ahead and leave. “Did you receive the letter your wife sent to you this morning?”

  “Yes, I did, and I can’t believe that she wrote this of her own will.” He flourished two sheets of paper in Ella’s face and said, “I insist on seeing her, right now.”

  Ella flushed, and she felt her pulse speed up as Truscott took a menacing step towards her, but she resisted the impulse to retreat. Instead, she raised her chin and kept her voice as steady as she could, saying, “Your wife is resting, and she was very clear that she didn’t yet feel up to any visitors. However, I know you will be relieved to learn that she is showing no signs of infection or a return of her cysts. We have been treating the main gastric symptoms she has been experiencing, and she is responding well.”

  “If all this is true, then why are you hiding her from me?” Truscott’s voice rose.

  “We aren’t hiding her. We are honoring her request, as you know, since you have her letter, written in her own hand. If it would help reassure you, I could have her maid, Miss Carpenter, come down and speak with you.”

  “As if I would believe anything that woman would tell me. She’s the one who has poisoned my wife against me. You can tell her that as far as I am concerned she’s been dismissed from my employ. Damned, interfering woman.”

  “Now, Richard, please don’t swear,” the motherly woman who Ella assumed was Richard’s aunt said, coming up to stand beside him. She put her hand on his arm, as if to restrain him, and said, “I’m sure Joan meant well. Perhaps if Miss Blair would be so kind as to let Dr. Skerry visit Phoebe, examine her? She could then reassure both of us that our precious girl is safe and well.”

  “Listen, my boy, I can testify to the fact that your wife specifically stated that she doesn’t want Mrs. Skerry to attend her, here, or anywhere else.” Dr. Granger had come up beside Ella.

  Ella looked more closely at the woman she assumed was Dr. Skerry. The woman was of medium height and build, her hair a glossy black with no signs of gray, and she was elegantly dressed in a heavily beaded black silk outfit with a narrow pleated flounce and touches of black lace at the neck and cuffs. Her hat was also black, with the only bit of color in her ensemble the vibrant jewel tones provided by two small peacock feathers. This was certainly the kind of woman with whom the wealthier supporters of the Pacific Dispensary, like Mrs. Branting, would feel comfortable.

  “You, you’re the one I blame the most, Granger,” Truscott said, shaking his finger at the older man. His face had reddened, turning his youthful good looks into that of a sulky boy.

  He went on. “You were the one who sold Phoebe the false promise that if she put herself under the knife she would be cured, become the wife and mother she desperately wanted to be.”

  “Richard, he’s never going to listen to you.” Mr. Truscott’s aunt tugged at his arm. “We have brought the valise Phoebe requested, so there is no more reason to stay and be insulted. We should go now.”

  Dr. Skerry stepped forward and said, “Listen to your aunt, Mr. Truscott. I told you that Dr. Granger would never admit in public that he’d been wrong. And now you can see that this is all part of a personal attack on me. But never fear, the world will soon know of his perfidy.” Dr. Skerry’s voice held a note of triumph.

  Ella feared that Richard Truscott, puffed up as he’d become with righteous indignation, wouldn’t listen to either his aunt Ruby or Dr. Skerry.

  Nevertheless, when his aunt pulled more urgently on his sleeve, he looked down at her with concern as she said, “Please, Richard, I beg of you. Take me home this instant. This is too distressing.”

  Seeing the tears that were spilling down his aunt’s cheeks, Truscott said gently, “Dear Aunt Ruby, I’m so very sorry. I never meant to upset you. Yes, we will leave immediately. There is obviously nothing we can do here.”

  He took the black bag that his aunt had been holding and tossed it at Ella’s feet. “Here are the clothes my wife requested. I will be glad to bring the other things she asked for and hand them over to her when you have decided to let me see her in person. Be assured that will happen soon, because I am done being polite. I will get my wife back, using whatever methods are necessary.”

  Chapter 37

  Monday evening, March 6, 1882

  O’Farrell Street Boardinghouse

  * * *

  “Could you please get me a bit of ice for Abigail to suck on, Tilly?” Annie asked, coming down the back stairs with Abigail in her arms. “She’s definitely teething. Every time I think I have gotten her asleep and go to put her in her crib, she starts to cry.”

  The Mountain Ice driver always delivered around three, right about the time the butcher boy dropped off the meat that Beatrice had chosen for dinner that day, so there should be enough ice left in the ice box for Tilly to find a clean chip.

  Laura, who was at the kitchen table finishing up her dinner, wiped her mouth and said, “Here, let me sit in the rocker with her. Seems like she’s never awake when I’m home. You’ll be a good girl for Auntie Laura, won’t you?”

  Nate’s sister took Abigail and began to do a little jig around the kitchen with her, singing nonsense. Abigail’s eyes widened in surprise, and she stopped crying for the moment. Kathleen looked up from where she was ironing some of Herman Stein’s shirts and smiled, while Beatrice went over to remove the kitchen cat, who’d been sitting on the rocker.

  Tilly, who had been in the pantry where the ice box sat, came in with a small, ragged square of ice that she put on the cutting board. She gave it a whack with the ice pick, shattering it into smaller pieces.

  Annie laughed and said, “Good heavens, Tilly, that was neatly done.”

  The young maid smiled shyly and handed a chip to Laura then put the rest of the chips in a bowl that she placed on the windowsill next to the rocker.

  Laura sat down with Abigail, who avidly took the chip in her mouth and began to suck on it. “Ooh, I can feel two bumps,” Laura said, rubbing her finger along the top of the baby’s gums. “Ouch! Those bottom two teeth can certainly hurt when she clamps down. What strong jaws you have, Abigail.”

  Annie chuckled as she pulled a chair over closer to Laura, knowing her sister-in-law would want to be filled in on the events of last night since she’d been off to the university before either Annie or Nate were up. This meant she also hadn’t heard about Charlie McFadyn.

  After recounting all the details about the midnight rescue, including the letter that Mrs. Truscott had left for her husband, and Dr. Blair’s assessment of her symptoms, Annie said, “I ended up going to the dispensary twice today. The first time was for my meeting in the morning with Mrs. Stone, the board president, and the third attending physician, Dr. Bucknell. Mrs. Stone simply wrote a check to cover the current short-fall. Then I came back in the afternoon to speak with Mrs. Truscott.”

  Laura,
who had gotten Abigail to put her head down on her shoulder and was rocking her gently, said, “She wrote a check? That’s all it took to solve the financial problems? It must be nice to have that kind of money.”

  “Well, I can tell you that many of the wealthier women I’ve advised wouldn’t be able to be as generous, even if they wished to. Many women, even if they brought money into their marriages, feel they have to ask permission from their husbands before they spend anything. Some will actually pretend their household expenses are higher than they are, in order to hide the fact that they are investing some of that money each month.”

  Laura stopped rocking, and Abigail stirred, so she started rocking again. “And you said you convinced Mrs. Truscott to ask her husband to bring her checks and a bank statement?”

  “Yes. I’ve always wished I had insisted on seeing the monthly bills and bank statements in my first marriage, although I don’t know if I could have stopped John from gambling everything away without taking him to court or filing for divorce. At least I could have gone to my father for advice, and he might have been able to step in. But I was too proud.”

  Laura said quietly, “You were awfully young when you first married, weren’t you?”

  Annie sighed. “Yes, and so was Phoebe. I am trying not to let my own experience with my first husband color my reaction to Richard Truscott. But it worries me that Phoebe insisted that either she had been poisoned accidentally or that it couldn’t possibly be her husband who was involved.”