Symptoms of Death (Dr. Alexandra Gladstone Book 1) (7 page)

“If he was strangled in his sleep, he couldn
’t resist,” Winningham said.

“It would have awakened him, and he would have struggled,” Dr. Gladstone countered.

“If it wasn’t a knife, then how do you explain the stab wound?” a man’s voice asked. Atewater, who kept his eyes on Dr. Gladstone, could not tell who it was.

“He was stabbed after he died.” Dr. Gladstone remained calm and unflappable, which Atewater found fascinating. He had never seen a woman quite like this one, and she might have gone on longer, giving him more opportunity to observe her if Isabel hadn
’t burst into the room suddenly and collapsed on the floor in a swoon.

Dr. Gladstone rushed to her as a crowd gathered around her prone body. “Give her some air,” the doctor pleaded and knelt beside her. Atewater watched as she took Isabel
’s wrist to check for a pulse and loosened the top button of her dress, then passed some smelling salts under her nose. Isabel’s eyes fluttered and opened, and as soon as she saw Dr. Gladstone, she pushed her away as if she were some offensive animal.

“Jeremy! Where is Jeremy?” Isabel screeched.

Jeremy pushed his way through the crowd to stand beside her, because it seemed the only thing he could do under the circumstances, although her dramatics were proving embarrassing.

By this time Isabel had brought herself up to a sitting position and was allowing some of the gentlemen to help her to her feet. As soon as she saw Jeremy, she began to cry. “Oh
, Jeremy, you’ve got to get me out of here. I’ve seen him. Seen him with my own eyes.”

“Hush, my dear. You
’re not feeling well; you must be quiet.” Atewater hoped his words would calm her and minimize the embarrassment, but she went on ranting.

“It was Eddie
. Walking in the shadows outside the house. But he’s dead. I saw him myself, being carried out by the coroner. How can a corpse be walking? I saw him. Saw him with my own eyes, and then he disappeared like a vapor.”

Atewater had to clench his fists to keep from slapping her. She was making a complete fool of herself, and, by association, of him as well. He tried to think of something to say to diffuse the moment, but he feared that to speak would only make it worse.

He needn’t have worried. It was that fool Winningham who saved the day. By now Atewater had become convinced the old fool was more than a little tipsy, and what he said only confirmed it.

“My god
. I saw him, too. Thought I was losing my mind, but if the lady saw him as well…”

Another excited murmur went up from the crowd, and Atewater saw his opportunity. “Please! Please, everyone. Calm yourselves, please.” The crowd obeyed as if they were sheep, and Atewater continued. “We
’re all quite understandably upset by the events of the past few days, but we must keep our heads about us and remain strong.”

“Of course, Atewater
’s right,” the gentleman who had complimented him earlier said. “You’ve got a head on your shoulders, old boy.” He slapped him on the back again.

Atewater followed through with his advantage. “I suggest we go to our rooms to prepare for departure. We
’ll all meet in London again for Lord Dunsford’s funeral, of course, but perhaps by then we’ll have had time to cope with this tragedy.”

He very gently took Isabel
’s arm and led her out of the room, thinking that the entire messy situation had worked to his advantage after all.

“They’re all daft,” Nicholas whispered as he took Alexandra’s arm to escort her out of the room. When Alexandra didn’t reply, he stopped suddenly and let go of her. “Surely you don’t believe what those two were saying. A ghost?” He gave an indignant snort. “An old man in his cups and a hysterical woman are hardly credible witnesses.”

Alexandra was mulling the so-called ghost sightings over in her mind, and she knew she
’d once again taken a little too long to reply. “Perhaps not, but…”

Nicholas raised his eyebrows and cocked his head, wearing a skeptical expression. “My dear, you are a woman of science. I find it difficult to believe you would even consider the possibility of a ghost.”

Alexandra turned away from him and resumed walking toward the door. She had already asked a servant to see that a carriage was ready. “I find it interesting that three people claim to have seen the ghost of Lord Dunsford.”

“Three?” Nicholas sounded surprised as he hurried to catch up with her.

“Yes, Cook told me this morning she has seen Lord Dunsford, or what she insists is his ghost. I dare say, sightings by three different people is interesting.”

“Mmmm,” Nicholas said, pausing before he opened the door for her. He seemed lost in thought for a moment, but he quickly gathered his wits. “I say, why don
’t we discuss this over luncheon? We could have the staff prepare something, and we could take it in one of the private sitting rooms perhaps.”

“That
’s very kind of you, but I still have my rounds to do, and I must open the surgery by one, and, since I am sure to be called as a witness at the hearing, I must make myself available for the justice.” Alexandra regretted the stiff, formal sound of her statement. In truth, she would like to discuss the odd situation with someone who showed signs of intelligence. Besides that, she was hungry, but what she had said was true; she was running out of time to make her rounds.

“Very well then.” In spite of his smile, Nicholas did not hide the disappointment in his voice or in his face. “Perhaps I
’ll see you at the hearing.” He raised an arm to signal one of the stable boys. “The carriage for Dr. Gladstone, please.”

“You
’re welcome to call,” Alexandra said, “but I assumed you would be returning to London with the others.”

“
London?” He sounded for a moment as if he’d never heard of the place. “Oh yes. Yes, of course, London.”

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Nicholas. Perhaps we will indeed meet again sometime.”

“Yes, of course.” He seemed oddly distracted. Perhaps the death of his friend was finally taking its toll.

He helped Alexandra into the carriage, and when she looked back, long after the carriage was on its way, he was still standing on the path, watching her departure.

Alexandra was tired by the time she finished her rounds, and
when she returned to receive patients in her surgery, a message was waiting for her, summoning her to appear at a hearing for Elsie O’Riley later that day. The hearing obviously had been hastily arranged so Elsie could be properly charged in time for trial when assizes convened. She had to close her surgery early in order to be at the Blue Ram, where all such hearings, as well as the courts of the assizes, were always held, since there was no public building large enough.

Just as Nicholas had forewarned, the hearing was a mere formality, and it became even more obvious as she answered the questions of Squire Thomas Trowbridge, a local landowner who acted as justice of the peace, that Elsie would, indeed, be bound over for trial. Poor Elsie appeared frightened and confused. She could not afford a barrister to represent her. Although
she had the right to cross examine the witnesses herself. But she did not know how to exercise her right. She asked no questions, but sat with her head bowed, awaiting her fate. If only Nicholas could have volunteered his time, but, since he was a witness himself, that was out of the question.

As it turned out, she did not see Nicholas at the hearing. He, like all the other witnesses, had given their testimony and their depositions and had been dismissed.

She was looking forward to a light supper and bed, but before Nancy had finished preparing the meal, someone pounded at the door. Alexandra opened it to a man dressed as a farm laborer and who introduced himself as Seth Blackburn.

“
’Tis me wife,” he said, his face gone white and his big roughened hands twisting a dirty cap. “The baby’s comin’, but ’tis turned bottom first, and me wife is dreadful screamin’. You must come with me, doctor, and we best hurry.”

Alexandra left her supper untouched. She had to saddle Lucy herself, since Freddie went home to his mother at night. It cost her some time, but finally she raced alongside Seth on his Percheron to the cottage at the edge of town. Alexandra had never met Seth Blackburn nor his wife. Mrs. Blackburn, whose name she learned was Priscilla, like most of the working-class women Alexandra served, never came to her during pregnancy or child-birth unless a problem developed. Alexandra
’s efforts to encourage regular visits of all women with child had so far been to no avail. She couldn’t help thinking that if she had seen Priscilla Blackburn sooner, she might have detected the breech position of the baby and been able to effectively turn the fetus. Now, she could only pray that she was not too late to help the woman and her child.

The
Blackburn’s cottage smelled of boiled cabbage and consisted of only one room furnished with a crude wooden table and chairs, a few shelves, and a cupboard, all on a hard-packed earthen floor. The deep-set windows were hung with white muslin curtains, however, and the pots above the fireplace were gleaming, giving the place a warm, cozy look. A boy of about two years sat on the floor with a yellow dog of mixed ancestry. At one end of the room were more curtains used to partition a bedroom. Priscilla, her face drained of blood, lay on the straw bed. Her dark red hair was plastered to her face with perspiration.

A hoarse moan escaped her throat when she saw Alexandra. It was hard to tell whether the moan signified relief or despair, but the hoarseness told Alexandra she had spent a long time screaming in pain.

The baby’s buttocks were already presenting themselves, and Alexandra had to wash quickly and get to work. She was not able to turn the baby, and the most she could do was aid the birth by slipping her hands into the canal to manipulate the small body a little. Priscilla’s body tore hideously as the buttocks emerged, and she screamed in agony. Seth, accustomed only to his own daily, less arduous labor, turned away, frightened. Alexandra, however, worked hard, stopping only occasionally to wipe the sweat from her brow with the sleeve of her dress, wishing she could offer her patient the luxury of ether, as women in the cities used now. It had become quite popular since the queen had sanctioned it by being the first in England to use it when her son was born. But Alexandra could only offer soothing words and a leather strap for Priscilla to clamp her teeth into when the pain was at its pinnacle.

It was tiring and painful labor Priscilla did, and it cost her a large quantity of her life
’s blood. After several hours, the baby, a boy, was born, and Alexandra knew the reason for the breech presentation. There was a twin. The second boy was stillborn a few minutes later.

Seth, who had excused himself twice to step outside to vomit, now stood by the bed with trembling hands and was even more white-faced than his wife. He did not yet know the second baby was not breathing. “Twins, by God
. She’s give me twins.” he cried, and for a moment Alexandra thought he might faint with ecstasy, or at least wake the boy who had now fallen asleep on the floor, using the yellow dog as a pillow.

“The second one does not live,” she said quietly. Seth
’s face drained of its color again, and he fell to his knees weeping. Priscilla’s glassy stare showed no emotion. She turned to Seth and spoke only two words in a weak voice. “Bury it.”

While Seth took the lifeless form in his arms to oblige, Alexandra wrapped Priscilla
’s abdomen with tight bandages to provide support for the loosened tissue and gave her citrate of iron and quinia, along with a generous cup of beef broth, then helped her put the surviving baby to breast.

“Take a little of the powders each day,” she said, referring to the iron and quinia, “and I will provide more when that is gone.”

Priscilla shook her head, too weak to speak, but Alexandra knew she was most likely concerned about the cost.

“You must,” she said, “to restore the blood you
’ve lost, else you’ll not live to see the babe walking.”

Priscilla
’s eyes grew wide with fright, and Alexandra knew she would take the powders. She knew, too, that it would not likely ever be paid for, but the worst of her knowledge was that even if she took the medicine faithfully, she still might not live more than a few weeks.

She left Seth with instructions to see that Priscilla continue the medication, along with rest. She did not waste her time giving her the usual instructions for a two-week lying-in period. Working-class women, even the sickest, did not have the luxury of giving up two weeks for recovery from childbirth. Most doctors said lower class women survived without the lying in because they lacked the delicate constitutions of the upper class. Recently, though, Alexandra had begun to wonder if all women, except for the very sick as Priscilla was, would benefit by leaving their beds sooner.

She was too tired to contemplate that now, though. She wanted only to get back to her home and fall into bed for at least four hours sleep before she had to begin another day.

Lucy found the way home with no guidance, for which Alexandra was thankful. She found she had to use all of her powers of concentration to
stay awake enough to keep from falling out of the saddle. The light Nancy left burning in the parlor was a welcome and comforting sight, and as Alexandra slipped from the saddle, she could think of nothing but getting Lucy put away and getting into her own warm bed.