The Viscount Made Me Do It by Diana Quincy

Griff strode away, eager to put as much space as possible between him and the hospital. And Norman. And the old floor cleaner whose shared confidence had led to his parents’ murders.

The sun felt hot on his face, even though it was a brisk day. His stomach gurgled and burned into his chest, threatening to regurgitate its contents. He crossed into the park, barging along the path lined with benches and flowers that taunted him with their cheeriness.

“Are you all right?” Hanna hurried to catch up. “Slow down. Where are you going?”

Griff kept up his pace. If he stopped, he might fall apart. If he acknowledged the truth, he’d be forced to face the unimaginable. That he’d been betrayed by a person he’d loved, respected and admired. A man he’d trusted. Who’d made him feel protected. The irony of it made Griff want to tear up everything in his path.

“Griff!” The words were breathless. “I cannot keep up with you. I’ll trip over my skirts.”

Griff stopped abruptly and bent over with his hands on his knees. Hauling in long, deep breaths, he fought to get ahold of his emotions.

“That could not have been easy to hear.” Concern filled Hanna’s voice as she reached him.

“It was Norman. Norman killed my parents.” The last word came out on a sob.

She guided him to a nearby bench. “Here, come sit.”

Griff couldn’t stop shaking. “That whoreson killed my parents.”

She sank next to him. But not too close. “We don’t know that. Fred Palk confessed to the crime.”

“Yes, he did. Probably because Norman paid him off. Maybe that’s why the Palks can afford to move away from Wapping. Perhaps Norman feared we were getting too close to the truth and made sure any evidence of his connection to the murders disappeared.”

Her voice was gentle. “Can you tell me why you believe Dr. Pratt is responsible?”

“The journal.”

“What about it?”

“Don’t you see? We assumed the reference to Thomas’s was related to me. What if it’s not? What if Father was referring to St. Thomas’s Medical College? The place that received the bodies from Margate.”

Hanna closed her eyes and slowly repeated the words from the journal entry. “I am alarmed by what I’ve learned about Thomas’s . Norman must be brought to account.”

“What if the word that was scratched out held no meaning?” Griff pressed. “We attached significance to it, but maybe it was just an irrelevant mistake Father marked out while he was writing.”

She paled. “But I thought Dr. Pratt was in Town when your parents were attacked.”

“Norman probably did hire Fred Palk, the clerk’s father, to do the job for him.” He sat back against the bench and tilted his head back, staring into the cloudless sky. “Fred Palk lied. He didn’t encounter my parents by accident. Norman dispatched him to Ashby to kill them.”

Hanna inhaled sharply. “Ibn al kalb.” Contempt laced her words. “What a filthy son of a dog.”

“That man comforted me. Housed me. Fed me.” Bile rose up into his throat. “He constantly reassured me that I was in no way responsible for my parents’ deaths. I was so grateful for his complete faith in me.”

“I cannot fathom it. He is truly evil.”

Griff bolted to his feet.

“Griff, wait,” Hanna called out. “Where are you going?”

“To finish what my father started.” He stormed down the path, leaving her behind.

This was something he had to do on his own.

“Norman! Norman!” Griff’s bellow echoed through his former guardian’s house.

He came in through the unlocked front door. The house was quiet except for the tread of Griff’s boots as he checked Norman’s study and then the empty kitchen. Mrs. Peele wasn’t here. Neither was Annie. Had they cleared their things out of the house in just a matter of hours?

Griff had gone to Wapping to see Fred Palk again. But the Palks had already moved away. The neighbors didn’t know where they’d gone. Griff then returned to the hospital only to learn Leonard Palk had recently left his position. No one at Margate knew anything about the young clerk’s whereabouts. But Norman would know. Griff felt it in his bones that his former guardian arranged for the family’s sudden departure.

A quick search of Norman’s house revealed that no one was home. Griff resolved to wait for the doctor. It would be their last encounter. But first he needed to hear the truth from Norman’s mouth. The confirmation that the man had orchestrated his parents’ murders, leaving Griff an orphan, an outcast from society and his own family.

He sank into an upholstered chair in the study. The spot where he’d enjoyed countless after-supper drinks and conversations with the man responsible for the deaths of his parents. There would be no more drinks or engaging discussions.

A sense of calm settled over Griff. As awful, as incomprehensible, as the reality was, he finally had the true and full answer to the question that had plagued him for fourteen years. Norman.

Death was too good for the blackguard. Griff would settle for nothing less than seeing his former guardian publicly disgraced. He’d watch Norman lose everything that meant anything to him. His position at the hospital. His reputation. His standing in the medical community. And then, once his public disgrace was assured, his reputation reduced to tatters, Griff would see him hanged.

Griff tapped his booted foot impatiently against the old carpet as he waited. It was getting dark.

Where the devil was Norman?

Hanna lit two lanterns as she waited for Annie and her mother to arrive. Mrs. Peele had sent word that Annie was in terrible pain, which surprised Hanna. The girl had been doing so well.

She stayed late at the dispensary waiting for them. Afterward, hopefully Griff would come by. He might want to talk after confronting Dr. Pratt. She shivered. She’d always despised the doctor, but she never could have fathomed how truly evil he was.

She pushed thoughts of Dr. Pratt out of her mind. Drifting across the dispensary floor, she took in her surroundings: the clean floors and neatly arranged examining tables, the organized chairs in the waiting area. The ramifications of the commission’s decision were sinking in. This was her clinic. No one and nothing could take it away from her now.

Annie had left a basket of freshly laundered cotton cloths to be folded and put away in the morning. Hanna started folding the linens, neatly stacking them atop the commode table, to pass the time until the girl and her mother arrived. The bell sounded over the door.

“There you are.” Hanna turned to greet Mrs. Peele and Annie. Her smile slipped when she saw who her visitor was.

“I suppose you think you’ve won,” Dr. Pratt said.

She straightened. “If you are looking for Lord Griffin, he isn’t here.”

“You are the person I want to see.”

“I don’t have time for this. I’m expecting a patient.”

“Annie and Mrs. Peele? They aren’t coming.” His smile chilled her. “I sent the note.”

“Why?” Alarm tingled down her back. “Any business between us is concluded.”

“You’d like to think so, wouldn’t you?” He ambled toward her. “Everything was fine before you came into Griff’s life. Your sort is ruining this city. Filthy foreigners.”

“I was born in England. This is my home.”

“Be that as it may, you’ll never truly belong here.”

“What do you want?”

“You’ve made many enemies.”

“Any woman who speaks her mind is bound to make enemies.”

“The commission refused to do what needed to be done.” His face gleamed. He was sweating profusely. “I am here to take care of what the commission did not.”

She put her shoulders back, determined not to show any fear. “Do you intend to harm me?”

“The owner of this building wants the land back. Mansfield and his father are eager to make you pay for dislocating Mansfield’s wrist.” He swiped perspiration from his upper lip with the back of his hand. “They’ll be so pleased by your demise they’ll no doubt donate generously to the hospital.”

“You would physically harm me in order to secure new benefactors?”

“For the greater good. Absolutely.” He jutted his jaw. “Margate needs the funds. I pour everything I have into the hospital, into helping people.”

“Except for the very poor,” she pointed out. “Or people without families. Those particular patients, you help to die a little sooner so you can sell their corpses to St. Thomas’s.”

“Ah, you figured that out, did you?” Something akin to admiration edged the words.

“Griff did. He knows everything.” She fought to keep her voice from shaking. “And if something happens to me, he’ll immediately suspect you.”

“Maybe. But to the rest of London, it will appear to be a tragic accident—the dispensary burning down with the bonesetter inside.” Dr. Pratt gave her a mocking smile. “Even if Griff suspects, he won’t be able to prove I’m responsible. Our relationship is in tatters already. Thanks to you.”

“I had nothing to do with it. Murdering his parents is what destroyed your bond with Griff.” Hanna forced herself to stay calm and rational. The ibn il-haram stood between her and the door, effectively trapping her. She might get past the bastard, but what if he had a weapon? She needed an alternative plan.

“I didn’t kill Jeffrey and Caroline,” Dr. Pratt informed her. “I sent Fred Palk.”

Goose bumps rose on her skin. “Griff was right about you.”

“But I didn’t expect Caroline to be there. Nor Griff. That was a tragedy.”

“But slaughtering Griff’s father wasn’t?”

He lifted a shoulder. “I replaced Jeffrey as Griff’s father. But I could not take the place of a mother. Caroline’s death was unfortunate. Sadly, her husband’s was absolutely necessary for the greater good.”

“You’ve taken it upon yourself to decide who lives or dies based on what you perceive is best for society?”

“Someone has to.”

“And you appointed yourself.” Hanna couldn’t believe she was having this conversation. It was like playing a scene with a villain straight off the Covent Garden stage. “I understand some doctors like to play God. In your case, it’s actually true.”

“Someone told Jeffrey that I was selling bodies. He confronted me and said he’d make certain that I paid for my supposed crimes.” Light from the lantern caught the sheen of perspiration on his forehead. “The man just didn’t understand the realities of life. If a few people have to die for the greater good, for the advancement of medicine, so be it. Do you know how many medical advances are made because of the scientific study associated with dissecting corpses?”

“Many.”

“Exactly. I begged Jeffrey to give me one more chance to explain myself. I insisted we meet at Ashby, where we could have some privacy.” He removed his spectacles and reached for one of the folded cloths. “Then I sent Fred Palk to do what needed to be done. In exchange, Palk kept the jewelry he stole. And I employed his son as a ward clerk.” He dragged the cloth down over his sweat-dampened face. “I recently paid for the entire family to leave London. To get them away from Griff and his infernal questions.”

“Why did Fred Palk kill Lady Griffin?” Hanna fought to keep her wits about her, to keep from giving in to the horror engulfing her. “Why didn’t he at least spare her?”

“Caroline tried to come to her husband’s defense.” He tossed the cloth onto the nearest examining table and resettled the spectacles on his nose. “Palk made a mess of the entire ordeal. I never meant to completely orphan Griff. I’ve always been fond of the boy.”

“You have a strange way of showing it.” She edged back away from him. “How did Palk get into the house?”

“There was a faulty window in the music room. I told Palk where it was.”

“Yet you allowed Griff to believe the killer came in through the side door he’d left unlocked.” Rage knotted her throat. “How could you be so cruel?”

A wild light gleamed in the doctor’s eyes. “I couldn’t exactly tell him the truth, could I?”

Hanna’s stomach turned. But she forced herself to remain calm. “I need a drink to steady my nerves. Can I pour you one?”

“This is not a social call, in case you have not noticed.”

“I assure you that I have noticed. That is why I would like some whiskey.” In reality, she did not consume spirits of any kind, but Dr. Pratt wouldn’t know that. “I need to settle my nerves.”

“Very well. It sounds like we could both use a drink.”

Evan stowed whiskey in the bottom desk drawer in the office. The dispensary was now almost completely enveloped in darkness. Hanna reached for a lantern to illuminate the way. She contemplated throwing the lamp at him while she made her escape.

But Dr. Pratt snatched it up. “Allow me.” The words were laden with contempt. The flame flickered as the lantern swayed.

He followed her back to the office. With trembling fingers, she took out the whiskey and poured them each a glass. She inched closer to Dr. Pratt and offered the drink, positioning herself so that he’d have to straighten his arm to take the whiskey.

When he did, Hanna seized her chance. She dropped the glass, letting it crash to the floor, and grabbed Dr. Pratt’s forearm with both of her hands.

He stumbled backward, struggling to wrest his arm away. To shake her off. “Get away from me, you bitch.”

But Hanna was strong. Thanks to years of yanking people’s bones and joints into place. And, although Dr. Pratt didn’t realize it yet, she already had him at a disadvantage.

Grasping his wrist in her left hand, she quickly slid her thumb under his palm and tugged his arm toward her to keep it straight.

“Unhand me,” he bellowed, trying to maneuver away.

“I don’t think so.” Hanna stepped closer, twisting his arm until she was by his side, pushing down above his elbow, putting all of her body weight and as much strength as she could muster into the action. The awkward position of his arm and shoulder forced Dr. Pratt to bend over at the waist, his arm high up in the air. He was in pain and at Hanna’s mercy.

She had none.

Using her body weight and exerting all of her strength, she pushed down on his arm above the elbow until she heard the crack.

Dr. Pratt collapsed to the floor with a scream of agony. Just as she’d expected. However, she had not accounted for the lantern, which he threw across her desk, igniting a stack of Baba’s files that Hanna had yet to put away.

Fire exploded on the desk, fueled by the ledgers. The flames jumped to the woodwork. Hanna rushed to Dr. Pratt. “Get up,” she said urgently. “We have to get out of here.”

Pratt was still moaning. “What have you done to my shoulder?”

“I dislocated it.” She tried to haul him up. “Come along!”

He grabbed onto her and yanked. She tumbled down on top of him. “You’ll burn here with me, you Arab whore.”

Coughing, her eyes burning, Hanna blindly tried to kick Dr. Pratt away. He held on tightly to one of her legs. The heat licked her face. An image of Griff flashed in her mind. Sorrow filled her. Would she ever see him again?

“You might as well stop fighting,” Dr. Pratt yelled as the flames raced toward them. “We’re going to die together.”

“Iniqbir!”she snarled, telling him to go bury himself in his grave. “You do not get to decide when my story ends.” With her free leg, she kicked as hard as she could, aiming for his dislocated shoulder. He recoiled from the contact, howling in agony as he lost his grip on her.

She scrambled away on her hands and knees, the smoke blinding her. She jumped to her feet and ran straight into a wall. No, not a wall. A man.

“Hanna!” Griff yelled. “Thank God. Let’s get you out of here.”

“Dr. Pratt is there on the floor.”

“We’re getting you out first. Let’s go!” The smoke searing her lungs, Hanna and Griff clung to each other as they stumbled toward the exit. They burst out onto the street, and Hanna fell to her knees, coughing and gulping in the fresh outside air.

“Mr. Rafi is still inside,” a panicked female voice shrieked. It was Lucy.

Hanna regarded her in disbelief. “He’s not in the dispensary.”

“He is, miss.” Desperation stamped the young woman’s face. “He ran straight inside to save you.”

Hanna let out a sob as she stared at the flames engulfing the dispensary. “No!” She struggled to her feet. “Rafi!” She had to get to her brother.

“Stay.” Griff commanded. His eyes met hers and held for just a moment. Then he turned and ran back into the burning building.