Sleepless in Southampton by Chasity Bowlin

Chapter Fifteen

There was never truly a lull in activity in a house with so many servants and so many guests. But there were times of the day when the activity was centered more thoroughly below stairs. It was midmorning, thus the beds had all been made, laundry gathered and rooms tidied. All of the younger members of the household were out for the day. Cecile was tending to household duties and Edward had gone on an outing with William under the guise of getting to know her betrothed better. Besides the servants, she was alone in the house. It was a rare occurrence and an opportunity that could not be squandered.

As such, Horatia did not creep down the hall. She simply walked with her head held high, as if it were her right to go anywhere in the house of her choosing. And in truth, to her mind, it was. The home belonged to her brother, after all. Her purpose might be suspect, but no one, if seen, would dare to question her. In the pocket of her day dress, the necklace was a heavy weight against her hip.

There was a part of her that recoiled at what she was doing. If Miss Upchurch was only her niece’s companion, she would never dream of committing such an act. But she wasn’t. She was a young and beautiful woman who had caught Henry’s eye. He would throw his future away on her and that could not be permitted. The whole of it, the girl showing up to be the companion of a dead woman, encountering Henry on the road as she had, it all smacked of a conspiracy. It was too convenient, too indicative of the girl being a consummate adventuress. And Henry had to be protected from such. After all, he would very likely be the next Duke of Thornhill! Despite what Cecile had said at dinner the night before, she could not condone such a match.

Of course, Henry would call it hypocrisy. He would point out that, in the overall scheme of things, William Carlton was far beneath her own standing. But she wasn’t the heir. She wasn’t the scion of the family. She was naught but an aging spinster who had always been more handsome than beautiful and for whom even wealth and rank had not been adequate inducement for a husband that met her exacting standards.

It was a funny thing how those standards lowered year by year. Now, hovering dangerously close to forty, a time when most women were dandling grandchildren on their knees, Horatia found herself on the cusp of marriage. Her first proposal had come when she was so firmly on the shelf most people had forgotten about her entirely. Yes, it was marriage to a man that, in her youth, she would have snubbed. Not that William wasn’t handsome. He was. But he was in trade and that was something that, even with her limited options, she’d considered carefully. Ultimately, she’d been so charmed by him and so taken by his obvious infatuation with her that she’d elected to simply overlook it. She was also terribly tired of being alone and of being an object of pity when anyone deigned to notice her at all.

But she adored Henry and she adored Philippa. She looked upon her niece and nephew as the children she’d never had. In truth, she wanted nothing more for them than to be happy. She wished to spare Henry the pain of marrying a woman he so clearly loved and who was more than likely naught but a fortune hunter. And there was nothing she would not do in order to spare Philippa the pain of a life such as hers had been. Whatever it took, she would see her niece well and not relegated to the life of a lonely spinster. Someone had to look to preserving their family—not only the line but the reputation, as well.

As she reached Philippa’s room, she looked about her. There were no servants in the corridor. No one was about at all. Moving quickly, she bypassed it and slipped quickly into the chamber that had been assigned to Miss Upchurch.

It was a lovely room and one she herself stayed in on previous visits. The dressing table was positioned near the window, where the best light would reach it, but also near enough to the fireplace to aid with the always monumental task of drying one’s hair. It was the most likely place for the necklace to be discovered, as well.

There were a few personal items placed carefully atop it. A small bottle filled with a delicate scent. A box of hairpins. There were no cosmetics, but then a woman of Miss Upchurch’s youth and beauty would hardly require them. A lovely comb and brush set backed intricately with carved wood rested there as well. They were fine pieces but not overly extravagant as befitted a woman of Miss Upchurch’s limited means. The center drawer just beneath the mirror was slightly ajar. From her own experience, Horatia knew that drawer had a tendency to stick. Pulling it out entirely, she placed the necklace in the void created and then eased the drawer back in place. It took some maneuvering but when it was done, the drawer appeared undisturbed and the damning evidence had been planted.

Another pang of conscience swept her. Edward could be unpredictable. What if he had the girl arrested? Or transported? Or heaven forbid, what if she were hanged? She had nothing more to go on than her own cynical and suspicious opinions… and William’s. Horatia reached for the drawer once more, but the doorknob rattled and she quickly pulled her hand back and hurried toward the door as a maid entered.

“Oh! My lady! I’d not have come in if I’d known you were here!”

“It’s quite all right,” Horatia offered. “I was looking for Philippa and Miss Upchurch. I thought we might spend some time together today.”

“They’ve gone for Miss Philippa’s sea bathing today,” the girl offered with a shudder. “Can’t stand the thoughts of it myself. All that water, black as pitch, and frothing around you! Terrifying. I want to see what’s in the water with me and I want it no deeper than a bathtub.”

Horatia smiled. “I quite agree. Thank you for reminding me about their appointment. By the way… I’m missing a necklace. I’m sure I’ve simply mislaid it. But it’s a rather dear piece and has very special significance. It was a rather extravagant gift from Mr. Carlton.”

The maid smiled. “Oh, yes, my lady! Should I see it, I’ll let you know straightaway!”

“Thank you.”

Horatia left the room and made her way downstairs to the morning room. It would be best to be in company with Cecile when the discovery was made. It would allay any suspicion.

As she reached the foyer, William was entering with Edward. The two of them had gone riding. She met William’s questioning gaze and offered a smile accompanied by a slight nod. It was done. Now they had but to wait.

*

If one wantedto know about a physician, the best place to start, Henry reasoned, was with his competition. There were few enough physicians in Salisbury, fewer still that catered exclusively to the upper class. It was to those men that Henry turned his attention. Tracking down the first one, who had offices on New Street, Henry rang the bell and a woman garbed all in black answered the door. Rail thin and with a hawkish nose, she did not inspire feelings of welcome.

“Are you ill?” she asked.

“I need a word with the doctor.”

“It’s five shillings to walk through this door, young man.”

Dutifully, Henry reached into the pocket of his coat and produced a small purse from whence he paid her. She immediately pocketed the coin. “He’s upstairs. You wait in the parlor and I’ll fetch him.”

Henry did as he was bade, stepping into a parlor bedecked with furniture that could use reupholstering and curtains that could have done with a good washing. After a few moments, a man who appeared to be near his uncle’s age stepped into the room. He still wore the powdered wig of his youth and, judging from the strain on the buttons of his outmoded waistcoat, it was from another era of his life, as well.

“I am Dr. Howard Almstead. How may I help you, sir?”

“Lord Henry Meredith, Viscount Marchwood, Dr. Almstead,” Henry said, sketching a brief introduction. There were times when a title was quite a useful thing, after all. “I am here to inquire about another physician who may have left the area not long ago. A Dr. Richard Blake.”

Dr. Almstead shook his head, powder raining down upon his shoulders. “No, my lord. To my knowledge there has been no Dr. Blake in Salisbury.”

Henry had feared as much. “He’s a young man, handsome. Treats primarily women. And prescribes laudanum quite generously but may disguise it as something else entirely.”

The elder doctor’s expression hardened, his lips firming into a thin, disapproving line. “His name is not Dr. Blake. Here, he was known as Dr. Albert Evans. To put it mildly, Viscount Marchwood, the man was run out of town. He married one of his patients—not unheard of—but somewhat unusual given that she was quite young. Sixteen to be precise. She died within months of the marriage under somewhat mysterious circumstances and conveniently for him, too, as her family had just cut them off. But he had what he wanted from her, I suppose. He’d gotten her dowry and apparently spent it on fancy clothes, a barouche and all the trappings of wealth that a physician truly cannot afford.”

“Do you know from whence Dr. Blake—excuse me—Dr. Evans had come? Where did he practice before?”

Dr. Almstead shook his head again. “I knew little enough about the man. We did not associate. I think perhaps London, based only on his clothing on the few occasions I saw him. He had what one might refer to as town polish. Beyond that, I could not say. What is your interest in the man?”

“He is currently treating a young woman in my family and concerns have arisen about the efficacy of his treatment and about his intentions toward her,” Henry admitted. “You said his young bride died under mysterious circumstances. What were they precisely?”

Dr. Almstead sighed heavily, as if the entire matter were too distasteful to discuss. “Given the reason for your investigation into the man, I can make an exception to my rules regarding the repetition of gossip. Normally, I would consider it far beneath my dignity.”

“Dr. Almstead, I assure you that I have no interest in gossip myself. I only seek to protect my young cousin from someone who may exploit her illness and isolation for his own gain.”

“Quite right. The girl had suffered spells of megrims and dizziness. Oftentimes, she would also have fits. Seems to me, she was far more ill and far more frequently ill after her marriage to that man. Her family was advised to have her committed but she was their only child.”

It was all sounding terribly, terribly familiar, Henry thought with a sinking feeling in his gut. “Go on.”

“She was found at the bottom of a flight of stairs. Her neck was broken. But there were servants who reported hearing the doctor and his bride arguing the night of her fall. It was also very unusual for her to be out of her rooms in the middle of the night. Given her health issues, she rarely went below stairs at all as I understand it. Anything she required, she would have had a servant fetch for her… even in the wee hours.”

“I see,” Henry said. And he did see. He was beginning to see very, very clearly. “I appreciate your candor.”

“My advice to you, my lord, would be to bar him entrance to the house and never let him near anyone you care for.”

Henry nodded. “Thank you for your time, Dr. Almstead, and for the information. It is much appreciated. I mean to act upon your very sound advice at once.”

“Good luck and good day to you, sir,” the doctor said stiffly.

Leaving the man’s offices, Henry retraced his steps to the Red Lyon Inn where he’d stabled his horse. There, he made arrangements to have the mount returned at a later time and obtained a fresh horse for the journey back to Southampton. He couldn’t afford the necessary time to allow the horse to recover. He was overtaken with the feeling that something was terribly wrong and that it was imperative he return at once. He needed to speak to his uncle about Dr. Blake. Or Dr. Evans as it were. The sooner they limited that man’s access to Philippa the better. He also needed to see to Sophie’s safety. If Dr. Blake-possibly-Evans knew that it was she who had called his position into question, it would not go well for her at all.