Half a Mind TO Murder (Dr. Alexandra Gladstone Mysteries Book 3) (12 page)

“
It is the age of electricity and machines, Dr. Gladstone. I learned the unfortunate facts in a telephone conversation with a colleague.”

“
But we have no telephones in Newton.” Alexandra sounded a bit confused.

“
No, but the telegraph wires reach that far. My colleague received a wire message from a rather distraught pig farmer wanting to know if he could bring suit against a witch for killing his pigs. He asked the farmer for more details, of course, and learned of the murders in the farmer’s reply. Seems the farmer thinks the murders are connected somehow to his dead pigs.”

Alexandra
’s puzzled frown deepened.

“
Oh, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking there was no good reason for my colleague to call me, but there is, of course. He knows I have a connection to Newton.”

“
You have a connection to Newton?” Her voice was full of doubt.

“
Well, yes, as a matter of fact I do. You see I’m involved in the legal aspects of determining who is the rightful heir to Montmarsh. It’s rather complicated, you know, since the late Lord Dunsford had neither progeny nor siblings, and there is more than one claim to his holdings.”

“
I should think that would be a task for a solicitor.” Alexandra appeared to be distracted and losing interest, Nicholas thought, since she was once again glancing toward the servants’ quarters.

“
Why did you not tell me about the murders?” he asked.

She suddenly turned her attention back to him.
“I’ve hardly had time, Mr. Forsythe, and how could I have known you’d be interested in the first place?”

“
I am more than interested, Dr. Gladstone. I am concerned for your wellbeing.”

“
How…kind of you.”

He thought he saw her cheeks color slightly, and he expected her to look away, but she did not. He tried to hang onto the moment.
“You are so…” Words failed him. Did he want to say she was beautiful? She was not conventionally so. Her mouth was too wide and she was too tall and perhaps a bit too thin. But her skin was the color of ivory, and he had seen that beautiful auburn hair once, quite by accident, when it was unbound and wild. She wet her lips and looked away, and it was in that moment that he decided her mouth was not at all too wide. It was at once sensuous and intelligent. He wanted to tell her so, but before he could form the words, she spoke to him.

“
There is no need for you to be concerned about me since I am quite safe here in London. But, as you can imagine, I am concerned for Nancy and Polly as well as my stable boys, and while it may be irrational for me to think I could do anything to protect them, I am, nevertheless, quite anxious to return to them.”

There it was again—that mask of propriety she wore. It made him more determined than ever to learn why she felt the need to protect herself from him. If he could keep her in
London and in his house long enough, he would find a way to get behind that mask. “Perhaps,” he said, deciding not to push the matter too hard, “you could give me the name of the person you wish to contact on the constable’s behalf, and I could hasten a response from him.”

“
There is simply not time.” Her old edginess had returned. “I must leave within a few minutes for the lecture, and by the time I summon a hansom—”

“
I shall use the telephone, but I must have the name of the party you wish to contact. I can even arrange a meeting. Oh, and no need to call a hansom. I’ve already arranged for my driver to take you in my carriage.”

She stared at him without speaking for the span of two heartbeats.
“If it’s possible to contact the doctor, I would appreciate it. His name is Dr. Kingsley Mortimer, and while your second offer is generous, there is no need to have your driver—”

“
I insist.”

Another pause, and then,
“Very well.”

It took several minutes for central exchange to make the connection with Dr. Mortimer
’s office, and during the wait a new worry began to nibble at him. Why was Alexandra seeing a doctor in London? Was she ill? Was her claim that Constable Snow had requested it just a way to cover up the fact that she was not well? Was it just another aspect of the mask she wore?

It was not until
a clerk answered the telephone on Dr. Mortimer’s end with a stilted phrase— “Dr. Kingsly Mortimer, alienist and neurologist”—that Nicholas realized what Snow was thinking. The murders were the work of a madman. He turned the telephone over to her, and by the time she had arranged a meeting with Dr. Mortimer, he knew he had to find a way to accompany her.

Chapter
Eleven

Dr. Joseph Lister
’s lecture on infection and the germ theory of disease was delivered to an audience that practically overflowed the small lecture room at the university. No talk regarding the theory of germs as the cause of disease was possible without the mention of Louis Pasteur, however. It was that name that caused Alexandra’s thoughts to stray during the lecture, in spite of the fact that she was truly interested in Dr. Lister’s theories.

Miss Nightingale
’s revelation that Polly Cobbe had once been an assistant in his laboratory still puzzled Alexandra. It wasn’t that Polly was not capable of serving as a laboratory assistant, and certainly her having trained as a nurse might, in some way, be an advantage. The puzzle was that Polly hadn’t mentioned either her training or her work for Monsieur Pasteur. The puzzle was compounded by the fact that she hadn’t taken advantage of her training to find a position better than that of charwoman. Perhaps she had something to hide. Could Nancy somehow be in danger?

Alexandra chided herself for such negative thoughts and returned her attention Dr. Lister
’s lecture. He was demonstrating how disease-causing microbes react to certain chemicals. She was able to focus her attention for several minutes before her thoughts drifted back to Nancy and Polly and the recent disturbing events at home. There seemed to be no sane or sensible reason for all that had happened. If it was the work of a madman, she could only hope that Dr. Mortimer could provide some insight, as the constable suggested.

Dr. Mortimer hadn
’t seemed particularly eager to see Alexandra when she finally was able to speak to him on Nicholas’s telephone device. Or perhaps it was the device itself that made it seem that way. She had felt awkward speaking into the mouth of the dark metal object while she held its appendage to her ear for listening. Dr. Mortimer’s voice had a queer, distant, and somewhat tinny sound to it as it came to her ear from somewhere inside the appendage. To respond to him, she had felt the need to shout into the thing’s mouth since he was on the opposite side of London. Nicholas whispered to her that there was no need to shout, and she had lowered her voice to a normal range, causing Dr. Mortimer to complain in a very unpleasant manner that he was unable to hear her.

The entire experience left her feeling drained and a bit disconcerted. It did
seem, however, that she had secured an appointment to see him in the evening. Dr. Mortimer’s entire demeanor had changed once she mentioned Constable Snow’s name. He assured her that he would most certainly make time for her, and that yes, the constable had sent him a wire that someone would be calling on his behalf, and he was terribly sorry that he hadn’t known she was the person who would call, but he would be very pleased to see her this very evening if she would come to his home near the asylum where he worked. He was quite eager to discuss what Constable Snow had revealed to him in the telegram, he said, and he even offered to send a carriage and driver for her.

Dr. Lister moved deeper into his discussion of the germ theory of disease and once again m
entioned Monsieur Pasteur’s work, this time regarding how the theory led to the development of vaccines for both humans and livestock. His latest work, according to Dr. Lister, involved a vaccine for anthrax in sheep. Alexandra had no idea how he had made the transition from antiseptic surgery to anthrax in sheep, and she was once again having trouble maintaining a focus on the distinguished physician’s words until he brought his remarks back to diseases in human beings.

The act of forced concentration had
been demanding and tiring for her, and she was relieved when the lecture ended, in spite of the fact that she knew it had undoubtedly provided new insight into the practice of medicine and to surgery in particular.

She walked out of the lecture hall expect
ing to look for a hansom since she had instructed Nicholas’s driver not to wait. She was barely out the door when she heard her name called in a voice so deep and rich it seemed to be made of chocolate.

“
Dr. Gladstone. Paging Dr. Gladstone.”

She quickly fo
und that the source of the voice was a giant of a man with the look of Scotland about him—fair hair that was wild, unruly, and almost red and a face that life had carved into a craggy landscape. He was dressed in livery, as incongruous on him as an Eton jacket would have been.

It took her a moment to work her way through the crowd to his side. He was still calling her name and searching over the heads of everyone around her.

“I am Dr. Gladstone.” His height made her feel like a child, as she had to look up to speak to him.

His pale eyes widened as he looked down at her.
“You?”

“
Yes. I am Dr. Alexandra Gladstone.”

He continued to stare at her a moment longer, as if she were some odd specimen he
’d never seen before, then his eyes crinkled out a smile and a brief burst of strong, round laughter forced his head back. “You?” he said again, looking at her. “Doctor Mort did nae warn me ’twould be a woman,” he added, tumbling every R around on his tongue a few times before he let it escape.

“
Warned you?”

“
Ah you must pardon my bad manners, milady. ’Tis just that I was nae expectin’ a lady is all.”

“
Am I to assume you were sent to fetch me by Dr. Kingsley Mortimer?” Alexandra couldn’t help smiling. There was something about the man’s pleasant face and manner that put her at ease.

The man nodded affirmatively.
“Sent a carriage for you, he did. Said I was to find and deliver one Dr. Gladstone, so you can see why I naturally thunk ’twas a man I’d be afetchin’,” he said.

The big coachman t
urned and, with his rich, round, and resonating voice, cleared a way through the crowd to the carriage. They were soon on their way through the streets of London. It was a long ride to the hospital on the opposite side of the city. The sun, self-satisfied with its day’s work, had turned to a lazy bronze by the time they reached the long, stretched-out building that was the Beckwell Hospital for the Insane.

The brick structure, with two wings spreading from each end of the tall center, looked like children
’s blocks laid side by side, some jutting out further than others, some stacked higher. It was set amidst park-like grounds and gave the appearance of ultimate modernity. The carriage circled around one side of the building to a respectable middle-class house at the edge of the grounds.

When Alexandra knocked with her gloved hand on the door, it was opened by a tall, silv
er-plated woman who looked to be in in her fifties. She wore a grey dress with an apron of a darker shade of grey, and her grey hair was pulled severely from her face and wound into a bun at the back. Her thin face, which was neither pleasant nor unpleasant, looked as if it had never been marred by a smile. “This way please, miss,” she said before Alexandra had a chance to speak. She led her toward a room just off the hall where a portly gentleman with a white-flecked beard sat, relaxed in a chair sipping a glass of brandy.

He put aside the brandy and rose to his feet as soon as he saw her.
“You are Dr. Gladstone, of course. Please come in.” He gestured toward a chair then turned to the silver woman. “Tea, please, Gerta.” His voice was cordial but not particularly warm. When Alexandra settled herself in the chair he had indicated, he turned to her again and spoke in his same lukewarm voice. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Gladstone.”

“
Thank you,” she said.

“
Tell me, please. How is Robert?” He seated himself in the chair opposite her.

“
Robert?”

“
Snow. How is he?”

“
Constable Snow. Of course. Quite well,” she said, noticing for the first time that his eyes did not match his voice. Those eyes burned with something.

“
Good,” he said, nodding. “He’s a good man. As you may know, I met him through his sister.”

“
Did you?” she said, hoping to cut short the polite banalities. There was nothing to say anyway, since she hadn’t known until that moment that Constable Snow had a sister.

“
Yes, well, that’s another story, of course.” He cleared his throat and leaned toward her slightly. She got a faint whiff of the brandy as he spoke. “Robert sent me a wire and told me to expect you, but, as we all know, one is not able to go into great detail with a telegram. He said only that the subject is a series of murders on which I might be able to shed some light and that you would explain the details.”

“
I shall do my best,” she said, accepting the tea Gerta had brought. Dr. Mortimer took a cup of the steaming liquid as well, but he set it down next to his brandy snifter and spoke again.

“
You must start at the beginning and include every detail you can.” He settled back in his chair, but in spite of his relaxed posture, his eyes still smoldered.

Alexandra had scarcely started when Gerta reappeared at the door.
“Excuse me Doctor,” she said, addressing Dr. Mortimer. “There is a gentleman at the door who says his name is Forsythe. He claims to be an associate of your guest and insists that he must be allowed entrance.”

Dr. Mortimer turned to Alexandra.
“Do you know this man?”

“
I…Yes, of course,” Alexandra said, deciding to minimize the awkwardness of the situation as much as possible, although she was seething with anger at Nicholas for putting her in such a position.

“
Then show him in.” Dr. Mortimer sounded annoyed.

Nicholas entered looking handsome and very much the elegant aristocrat with his tall, well-bui
lt frame and his expensively tailored suit. He went immediately to the alienist with his hand extended. “Dr. Mortimer, I can’t tell you what an honor it is to meet you at last.” He spoke without feigned effusiveness and with a quiet confidence.

“
Indeed,” Dr. Mortimer said in his icy voice.

“
I must tell you I was impressed with your work on the McGarry case. Quite innovative. I believe you may have changed one aspect of medical jurisprudence forever, that which deals with the criminally insane.” Still with his sincere, matter-of-fact tone.

“
Well now, that’s a rather bold statement.” Dr. Mortimer’s voice had lost some of its chill.

“
Nevertheless, it’s true. As I said, your thinking is quite innovative.”

“
You are perhaps a member of the queen’s bar?” Mortimer asked. “I understood you were Dr. Gladstone’s assistant.”

“
Yes, I am,” Nicholas said, leaving it unclear to which title he was making claim. Then he turned and acknowledged Alexandra for the first time. “I do hope you will forgive me for being late, Dr. Gladstone. The errand you sent me on took a bit longer than I expected.”

Alexandra could only stare at him, in awe of his charming charade. She had not, of course, sent him on any errand at all.

Nicholas seated himself on the settee next to Alexandra, so close that his thigh pressed ever so slightly against hers. “Please, do go on with what you were discussing,” he said.

“
Dr. Gladstone was about to tell me the details of the case at hand,” Dr. Mortimer said.

Nicholas turned to her and gave her a
most annoyingly innocent, encouraging smile. Alexandra had to struggle to keep from rolling her eyes. Instead, she took a breath, turned her attention back to Dr. Mortimer and told him about the gory murders of Ben Milligan and of the stranger, including how the bodies were found and how the heart of each had been removed, the stranger’s with less expertise. When she finished, Dr. Mortimer sat silently musing for several seconds, a thumb and forefinger stroking his beard while he stared into nothingness. Nicholas, in the meantime, was on his best behavior. He sat quietly listening, pretending he had heard it all before. Finally, Dr. Mortimer spoke.

“
This last murder, the stranger, I mean, you say that one occurred while the imbecile, young Lucas, was in jail?”

“
Yes,” Alexandra said. “That’s why Constable Snow released him. It was obvious that he could not have committed the murder while he was in jail, and that he, therefore, was not likely to have committed the other one either.”

“But that
one was different, wasn’t it? The other mutilation was more expertly done.” Dr. Mortimer seemed to be thinking aloud rather than addressing Alexandra.

“
Are you suggesting that Lucas could have killed the first victim?” She had read the paper which Snow had given her. Mortimer’s theories on the criminally insane, as she understood them, would not have indicted Lucas.

Dr. Mortimer brought his attention back to her.
“It’s possible the imbecile could have done it. The second murder could have been someone trying to mimic the killer of the first victim.”

Alexandra shook her head.
“I can’t imagine who—”

“
The imbecile’s mother, perhaps? You said she was extremely protective of her son.”