Lethal Remedies

by M. Louisa Locke

  There, in one simple statement by a maid, was the problem at the center of this family…Phoebe Truscott wasn’t seen by anyone but Joan as the mistress in this household.

  Then she heard her name called and saw Joan Carpenter come running down the stairs.

  Joan said, “I’m so glad to see you both here. I came back to the house with Mr. Truscott to fetch some more of Phoebe’s clothes. Mr. Truscott has told his aunt that she must move out before Phoebe returns, and she’s having a fit.”

  Thompson turned and took the stairs two at a time, disappearing from sight.

  Annie and Joan followed more slowly, with Joan confiding as they mounted the stairs, “He told his aunt last night that he wanted her to move out, and this morning he reported to my mistress she hadn’t put up much of a fuss. He thought it was because he told her that he’d gotten permission from Phoebe to spend the money to set her up in a house in Berkeley, where she could take in university boys as boarders. He seemed to think this would make everything all right. When we arrived back here this morning, she first announced that she had already dismissed me and that I couldn’t step foot in her house. That’s when the master lost his temper. Said this was the very proof that she needed to leave. They’ve been arguing ever since.”

  Annie couldn’t help but think that everyone, except perhaps Joan, had seriously underestimated Miss Ruby Prentise.

  As they reached the second floor corridor, the tableau reminded Annie of a melodrama you would see at the theatre. Thompson stood behind Richard Truscott, trying to get his attention. Richard was completely focused on his aunt. And Miss Prentise had struck a very dramatic pose.

  She was dressed in a dark red dressing gown and had some sort of bottle clutched to her chest as she pointed theatrically at her nephew and said, “You ungrateful boy. Snake in my bosom. I did everything for you, sacrificed my own chances at marriage and children, for you. And you take her side. A weakling who can never give you children, never give you the love and support that I have.”

  Richard, his voice holding a pleading note, said, “Please, Aunt Ruby. I know how much I owe you. But you must understand. It’s time for me to be the man you brought me up to be. And that means taking care of my wife. I know if you will just be sensible, see the benefits of what I am suggesting. You will have a whole new crop of young men to take care of over in Berkeley. Good fraternity boys, who can really benefit from your guidance.”

  Thompson tried to assert himself at that point. He put a hand on Richard’s shoulder and said, “Sir, if you please. I must speak with you, now. I have a warrant to…”

  “Get out of my house, this instant!” Miss Prentise shouted, turning on Thompson with fury. “Barging in, uninvited, on a Sabbath, no less. Your superiors will hear of this. Persecuting good women like Dr. Skerry, making unfounded accusations against my nephew.”

  Richard, again trying to placate his aunt, said, “I’m sure the sergeant has a good reason for coming. Why don’t you retire to your room and compose yourself? I will send the servant up with some tea.”

  “No tea. I have my tonic here, and I’ve sent for Dr. Skerry, I’m feeling so ill. I never complain, but she will tell you. All this worry about Phoebe, the attacks on Dr. Skerry, and now you turning against me has seriously undermined my health.”

  With that she took the bottle, which Annie noted looked a whole lot like the bottles Joan had found on Phoebe’s bureau, and downed the small amount of liquid left inside with a note of triumph.

  Thompson pulled Richard aside and said quietly, “Here is the warrant I have. I do think it would be a good idea for your aunt to retire, but not to her room. We will have to search there first. Perhaps the downstairs parlor?”

  Richard, looking completely confused, read the document then read it again, his lips moving, as if he was a child. Annie thought perhaps he was, and she worried that if the police didn’t find something concrete to prove who had been poisoning Phoebe, he would eventually give in to his aunt. And then Phoebe would never have her happily ever after.

  Diverted by a cry from Joan, she turned to see the maid dart forward, catching Miss Prentise as she slid down in an apparent faint. Annie ran over and was shocked to see the woman’s eyes had rolled back in her head and there was white foam coming out of her mouth.

  She turned and got Thompson and Richard’s attention, saying, “Mr. Truscott, I believe your aunt is truly unwell.”

  Richard came rushing over to stand looking down at his aunt. Wringing his hands, he looked around, as if help would materialize, and said, “What’s wrong with her? What should I do? She said she sent for Dr. Skerry. Should I go see if the doctor’s on her way?”

  Sergeant Thompson kneeled down and put two fingers against the woman’s throat. After a moment, he looked up at Annie, shaking his head.

  He then stood up and quietly said to Richard Truscott, “I’m sorry, sir, but it looks very much like whatever your aunt just took killed her.”

  Epilogue

  Friday, May 19, 1882

  San Francisco

  * * *

  Ella watched as Martin Mitchell carefully lowered Jocko back into a sitting position on the bed and brought up the covers. For nearly two months, since Dr. Taylor’s surgery, the boy had been confined to his bed with his leg immobilized in a plaster of Paris cast. His newsboy friends visited off and on during the day, helping him pass the time, reading the papers to him, sharing gossip they picked up on the streets, keeping up his spirits.

  Dr. Taylor took the cast off a week ago, and Jocko was now free to practice standing up and walking. He had been doing this for very short periods every day. A staff member would stand on one side of him while he used a crutch to support himself on the other. Then he would take one careful step after another, going up and down the second-floor hallway.

  Ella knew that all the muscles in his legs were screaming in pain from the unexpected demands he was now making on them. Dr. Taylor said it was crucial that Jocko build up his muscles slowly, and he advocated giving the boy frequent leg massages, which the nurses took turns doing, using arnica to help ease his discomfort.

  Martin had made a point to come by every day to see if there was anything he could do to help the nurses lift and care for Jocko, skills he’d perfected from his years as a hospital orderly. He also checked to see if there was anything bothering Jocko that the boy might not confess to one of the female staff members.

  Ella bristled the first time Martin suggested that Jocko could be hiding the extent of his discomfort, but she had to admit he was right. Martin knew just the right tone to take, man-to-man, as it were, to get the boy to tell him when the cast had rubbed a place raw or a muscle was cramping in pain. As a result, they’d been able to do a better job of taking care of him.

  Ella could still get irritated with Martin’s jocular tone, especially when he teased her. However, she had come to understand that was his way of dealing with embarrassment—his own or on the part of a patient. A joke shared with Martin seemed to make it easier for Jocko and some of the older boys in the nursery wards to admit to a weakness or confess a fear.

  She thought that he’d do particularly well in his practice with male patients and children of all ages. Although, when she watched the matron, Mrs. McClellan, treat him with amused affection, she decided he’d be a success with women of a certain age, as well.

  She didn’t mind, confident she would have plenty of patients among the women who preferred a female doctor. In any case, she planned on specializing in obstetrics and gynecology, the two fields Martin swore he had no interest in pursuing. When Caro Sutton got her degree, with a specialty in infectious diseases and heart ailments, the three of them should be able to treat most any ailment a patient might present with at their offices on Powell.

  On May 31, in less than two weeks, her residency with the Pacific Dispensary would end, and the next day she and Martin would open up for business. Caro had already submitted their names for the next edition of the Langley
Directory and had paid for a series of advertisements in all the local papers. She’d even had a lovely brass sign made, with their names and office hours, ready to mount by the front door.

  Ella still felt like she should pinch herself to make sure all this good fortune wasn’t a dream.

  An hour later, having finished her afternoon rounds, Ella went into the first floor office, where Megs was setting out the tea service, including two thick sandwiches and Cook’s special raisin scones. As usual, some medical crisis earlier in the day had meant she had skipped lunch, so this repast was welcome. She knew the tea tray held enough for herself and Martin, since he’d established the habit of stopping by before he left the dispensary, ostensibly to report on Jocko. He also kept her apprised about which piece of office equipment had arrived for their new offices. He said it was like having Christmas morning every day.

  Ella once expressed some concern to Annie Dawson about the amount of money Caro was spending, saying that she worried that neither she nor Martin had the kind of social standing that would bring in a wealthy clientele. Mrs. Dawson assured her that Caro wouldn’t be particularly interested in attracting well-to-do patients. That was when she told Ella that Caro, while she had come from an upper-class family, had spent a number of years supporting herself as a public school teacher, just as Ella had, and that her closest relations were simple Kansas farmers.

  She also confided to Ella that a much-loved cousin from that family had died recently and that the most valuable thing she and Martin could give Caro was simply their friendship.

  “Well, Dr. Blair, whatever did that scone do to you to make you stare at it so? Did Cook fail to put enough raisins into the batter?” Martin said as he came into the office.

  He planted himself in the seat across from her, stretching out his long legs towards the fire. Although he had quit his orderly job, since Caro was paying him to do the work of setting up the offices, he still worked as a part-time laboratory assistant at Toland Hall in the mornings and occasionally in his uncle’s pharmacy in the evening. He said he would quit the laboratory job as soon as he knew he was making enough money as a doctor to pay Caro the rent for his office and start to save for emergencies.

  When Ella expressed concern that this would mean twelve-hour days, not counting the time she knew both of them needed to spend keeping up with reading medical journals, he’d laughed. Said he’d not had more than four hours sleep for years, so this new schedule would be more along the lines of a vacation. Then he pointed out that she was the one taking on pregnant women, so she would be the one facing nights when she would have to roll out of a warm bed to race across the city to attend a birth.

  Yet, tonight, he looked especially tired, and she wondered why. However, if she said anything, he’d only tease her about the dark circles under her own eyes, which in her case came from having spent much of last night assisting one of the maternity patients in labor.

  Not having the energy for banter, she asked him, instead, what he thought about Jocko’s progress.

  Martin looked over at her and said, “As you know, he’s able to walk a little further and longer every day. However, I don’t think that he’s ever going to walk without a cane or be entirely free of pain. That said, he should be able to get around on his own in a couple of months.”

  Sitting up, he frowned and said, “Do you know what the plans are for him? I don’t see how he’s going to get on, out in the world. He certainly can’t go back to selling papers.”

  Ella said, “Mrs. Dawson has offered to train him to handle the basic clerical needs of the dispensary. She believes he’s bright enough to handle the filing, keeping the financial records straight, and such. The fiasco with Mrs. Branting demonstrated the need for more daily attention to these details. The board president, Mrs. Stone, agreed, and she thought that he could do these jobs in exchange for room and board here. Also, my favorite volunteer, Miss Keene, has been elected as the new treasurer, and her emphasis is going to be on recruiting new members. Jocko seems pleased with the idea, and he pointed out that he can help out with the children in the nursery, reading to them, as well.”

  “I knew the good women here would find a solution to that problem. Sure looks like we all had a lucky escape with the whole Charlie McFadyn mess.”

  Confused, Ella said, “Lucky escape, what do you mean?”

  Martin grinned and said, “What, Dr. Blair, didn’t you hear the news?”

  “What are you talking about, Dr. Mitchell?”

  “There’s not going to be a trial, so none of us needs to testify. Nate Dawson stopped by Miss Sutton’s this morning to tell me. Turns out, McFadyn pled guilty to attempted blackmail and kidnapping, and the judge sentenced him to two years. In addition, Nate said he’d heard that Blind Boss Buckley made it clear that when McFadyn gets out, it will be a lot healthier for him to relocate…out of state. Guess McFadyn discovered it didn’t pay to play fast and loose with Boss Buckley, or his own wife, when she’s Buckley’s favorite cousin.”

  No trial! Ella’s eyes fill with tears of relief.

  Embarrassed, she stood up and hurried over to the tea table, where she could stand with her back to Martin and pretend to fuss with the cups while she dug in her pocket for her handkerchief.

  He followed her and, putting a warm hand on her shoulder, said, “Oh, Ella, what a fool I am, springing the news on you like that. Please say you’ll forgive me.”

  Ella wiped her eyes. “For what? I’m the one being foolish. This is such good news. I don’t know why I’m crying. I was so dreading having to testify, standing up and answering questions in public. I couldn’t help but worry about what a trial would do to the dispensary’s reputation, and mine. Dr. Brown kept reassuring me that the press would portray us all in a positive light, but I could see she was concerned as well.”

  Martin laughed and said, “For my part, I’d rather looked forward to taking the stand, playing the hero, you know. I assure you, I would have made it clear you were a regular Clara Barton, tending to me on the field of battle.”

  Ella tried to smile, but the details of that awful night were still too fresh. The chaos that erupted after Officer Blakely shot his colt into the ceiling, with McFadyn swearing, Tessa screeching, and Brenda wailing. Then, the terror she felt when she saw blood pouring off of Martin’s hands from the knife wounds McFadyn had inflicted. Her immediate thought had been that if his tendons were cut, his medical career could be over. That was, if he didn’t bleed to death from a severed artery.

  He made light of the whole incident now, but for an instant, as he looked at his hands, she’d seen the fear in his eyes. And the relief when she’d grabbed the disinfectant and gauze from her medical bag and used them to clean the wounds, revealing how superficial they were.

  Today, he was the one gently tending her, taking her handkerchief and carefully wiping the tears from her cheeks.

  Smiling down at her, he said, “Now, that’s better. This is a night for celebration, not for tears. Let’s have some of that scrumptious dinner that Cook’s fixed for us, while you tell me all about how Mrs. Fielding’s labor went. I heard the poor woman’s had twins!”

  “Come right in. I’m so glad both of you could make the appointment. Let me see that big one-year-old,” said Dr. Brown, smiling broadly as she opened the door to her examining room.

  Nate, who’d been giving Abigail a pony ride on his knee, hurriedly got up, taking his daughter into his arms. She immediately struggled to be put down, since she’d decided about a week ago that walking was her preferred method of transportation. Well, staggering while holding on to his hand was a better description of what happened. However, he was as proud of her new form of locomotion as his daughter was, so he set her down on the floor. Leaning over and holding her hand, he patiently accompanied her as she stumbled forward on her new soft leather shoes, following her mother into the office.

  “Oh, well, you’ve answered my first question already,” Dr. Brown said, turning and looking down
at Abigail. “Can she stand unsupported?”

  Annie laughed and said, “Yes, although she tends to sway and then sit down abruptly. She did take a few steps on her own yesterday, trying to catch the kitchen cat.”

  Dr. Brown washed her hands as Nate lifted Abigail onto the examining table and took off her shoes. As the doctor started her examination, he watched everything closely, since this was the first time he’d been to one of Abigail’s visits to the doctor. Annie had scheduled this appointment for late in the day so he would be able to come.

  He appreciated how Dr. Brown moved swiftly through her examination. When Abigail started to object to one thing, like being weighed on the scale, the doctor moved to something else, like looking into her eyes and ears, while murmuring encouraging words. After listening to Abigail’s chest with the stethoscope, Dr. Brown then tickled Abigail so that when his daughter squealed with laughter, she was able to get a quick look at her mouth, running her fingers along her gums and then pushing her tongue down. His daughter took exception to that maneuver, but the doctor swiftly distracted her by picking up a small squeaking ball from the examination table, moving it back and forth to get Abigail’s attention and then holding it so his daughter could demonstrate how good she was at grabbing things.

  Content that she’d gotten the toy, and squeaking it with gusto, Abigail barely noticed when the doctor laid her on her back so she could examine the rest of her and measure her length. Nate realized he had even more appreciation for the doctor’s skills now that he had started tending his daughter while his wife worked on Saturday afternoons.

  He’d learned to move quickly to distract her when Abigail started to feel frustrated, to not get upset when she had a bit of a temper tantrum, and to find enjoyment in the smallest things—a drooling grin, a wave of a hand, a frown of concentration, and the word, “Da,” shouted when he came into view.