Parting the Veil by Paulette Kennedy
CHAPTER 28
Eliza’s breath puffed in a cloud as she and Malcolm stood on the railway platform in Winchester, awaiting the first train. The temperatures had taken a precipitous dive, and she’d had to don her wool cape for the first time that season. Winter would come early this year.
Malcolm had been troubled all night, pacing and talking to himself as he and Turner packed trunks and made arrangements for managing the estate in his absence. Eliza had played the dutiful wife, helping Shirley fold clothes and handkerchiefs, all the while plotting an internal list of investigations to engage in during Malcolm’s absence.
The rumbling locomotive pulled into the station, blasting a loud hiss of steam. Malcolm stooped to kiss her brow. “Try not to worry about things, love. I’m hoping to be home by Christmas, at the very latest. It will likely be a brief conflict.”
“Where will you lodge?”
“I’ll stay at the club for now, but if our session is extended much more than a month, I’ll look into letting a room. I’ll strive to make it home now and again in the meantime.”
Silence swelled between them, full of words Eliza was afraid to speak. A porter with a braided cap and handsome scarlet livery came to claim Malcolm’s valise. “First class, sir?”
“That’s right, mate,” Malcolm answered. He kissed her once more. “I need to be going now, darling. Take care of yourself until we’re reunited.”
Eliza stood watching until Malcolm’s train was only visible by the plume of smoke threading from its stack. She pulled her cloak tight against the buffeting wind and turned to go back to the station. There, leering like a goon, was Lord Eastleigh, dressed impeccably in a caped Astrakhan greatcoat and wool hat. Eliza’s stomach dropped.
“Ah, Lady Havenwood. I’ve missed the seven o’clock, haven’t I?”
“I’m afraid so,” Eliza said, making no attempt to mask the chill in her voice. “On your way to London?”
“Indeed. Bloody business with these rebel colonists. I’m assuming you’ve just seen your husband off?”
“Yes. I’m only sorry I couldn’t accompany him. I’m needed at Havenwood.”
He nodded. “Lady Eastleigh will be remaining at Clairborne Hall as well.”
“Oh? She isn’t going with you?”
“It’s her ladyship’s condition that makes her unfit for travel at the moment.”
“Is she unwell?”
“Yes. I suspect she’s in the family way,” Eastleigh said with a grin. “You should call on her. I’m sure she’d be glad for your company.”
She gave a sharp little laugh. “I’m not so sure about that, my lord. But congratulations, all the same.”
Eastleigh took two steps toward her, close enough that the breath steaming from his mouth collided with her own. He took her gloved hand. “I was hoping we could mend our rift, Eliza. That we could endeavor, at least, to be friends.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I’m quite sure that’s impossible. After what you asked of Malcolm, I cannot fathom the thought of our ever being civil, much less friends.”
“Do you really know everything about your husband, Eliza? It’s an easy thing, to paint me as the monster. But have you asked him the troublesome questions? Or is your mind still clouded by the tragically romantic idea you have of him?”
Eliza’s heart hammered as he studied her—searching her face for the doubt she knew was there. The ground beneath them began to shake. A mournful wail pierced the silence between them as the train bound for Dorset arrived. Eliza jerked her hand from his. “I’d better be going, Lord Eastleigh.”
“Very well.” He lifted the brim of his hat. “Good day, Lady Havenwood. I’ll be sure to keep an eye on your husband. He acts a different person entirely when he’s in London.”
With Malcolm gone, Eliza had two goals in mind. The first was to pay Freddie a visit. Her errand would serve mostly to cheer Freddie as a charity, it was true. But she also wanted to hear his version of the accident in the south wing. Malcolm had been curiously obtuse about the events of that day. There was something he wasn’t sharing, and Eliza meant to find out what.
The second endeavor, which would require much more creative enterprise, would involve breaking into the south wing to investigate the clues in Ada’s cryptic diary. Eastleigh’s words at the station lay heavily on her mind. In order to feel settled and safe in her marriage, she needed to know whether her husband was innocent of murder. If Malcolm wouldn’t willingly divulge his secrets, she would find out what he was hiding in the south wing. On her own.
The morning after Malcolm’s departure, she dressed in a simple plaid shirtwaist and woolen walking suit, then gathered a basket from the pantry and filled it with ginger tea biscuits, shortbread, and a carafe of coffee.
Instead of riding Artemis, Eliza walked to the village along the back lanes. A rare sunny morning in October was enough cause for a constitutional. It also afforded her the chance to smoke. Her old habit rankled Malcolm, and while he hadn’t forbidden her smoking entirely, he certainly cast aspersions. Unbefitting a lady of rank, he’d said one morning as they breakfasted together in the conservatory. She’d ignored him, idly puffing her Sobranie while enjoying her coffee. Even though she acted cavalier, Malcolm’s casual criticisms wounded her more than she let on. He couldn’t see her unfitness now though, could he? She smirked and blew a steady stream of smoke toward the treetops.
When she arrived at the hospital, Lydia was bustling around the atrium, her arms laden with hot-water bottles. “I forgot to fetch the pushcart before I filled these,” she said, an errant curl falling into her eyes. “Here to check up on Freddie?”
Eliza nodded. “Let me help you, sister.” She adjusted her basket and unburdened Lydia of one of the bottles. They were much heavier than they looked. “Goodness. Are you here all alone?”
“Yes,” Lydia said. “Clarence is in surgery, and Dr. Gilmore has gone to Godshill for the day. A small outbreak of cholera started there before the frost. Probably an infected farm pond, I’d imagine. I’m left here doing everything else, and the arthritics are whinging because of the cold snap.”
Eliza grinned at the nascent English accent Lydia was developing. “It’s certainly lucky for those gentlemen doctors that you’re so capable.”
“If there were such a thing as women doctors, I could run this place all on my own,” Lydia said proudly. “Although Clarence has made me nurse-midwife, which is almost as good. He means to turn the delivering of babies over to me.”
“Oh, that’s fantastic! I’m pleased you’re so happy in your work.”
“I certainly am. Come this way,” she said, motioning to the left. “Freddie’s just here, in the recovery ward. I’ll drop you off before I see to the other patients.”
Lydia led the way through the swinging doors. The room beyond was clean and sterile, its pale-green walls reflecting the sunlit windows opposite. Freddie sat in a narrow cot, propped up with pillows, his injured leg elevated. A screen separated his bed from the one next to it, which held a sleeping elderly man whose right arm was bound up in a splint. They set their water bottles on the wheeled cart inside the door and pushed it through the ward.
Freddie’s eyes lit up when he saw Eliza. “Lady Havenwood, aren’t you in fine fettle.”
“Hello, Freddie. Would you like a hot-water bottle for your feet? My sister is making the rounds.”
“I sure would, maum. Your sister is right bossy, but she takes good care of me.”
Lydia snorted. “You can have a hot-water bottle for your good foot, Mr. O’Riordan, but you can’t suffer the weight on your injured leg.”
Freddie gave a playful grin. “See what I’m on about?”
“You’re not telling me a thing I don’t already know,” Eliza said. “Lydia’s taken charge of every situation she’s ever been in, since birth.” Lydia took a water bottle and applied it to Freddie’s foot before moving on to check the patient next to him. Eliza pulled a chair close to Freddie’s bed and sat. “I’m so sorry I haven’t been by. How are you, darling? Are you feeling any better?”
“A bit. They won’t let me walk with crutches just yet, but the doc said I could try next week. He thinks I’ll be fully on my feet again within a few months.”
“That’s good news.” She rustled around in her basket. “I’ve brought you some coffee and shortbread.”
“Sugary sweets are hardly good for his recovery. He’s not supposed to have any outside food unless Dr. Fawcett approves,” Lydia scolded. “Don’t tempt him. He’s ever begging for more to eat as it is.”
Eliza rolled her eyes and gave Freddie a conspiratorial look. “Ignore her,” she said in a stage whisper.
“I heard that.” Lydia shot an annoyed look at Eliza and left to resume her rounds. Eliza waited until the squeak of the cart and the swish of Lydia’s uniform could no longer be heard on the other side of the door. The silence was broken only by the quiet snoring of the elderly man next to them.
She cleared her throat, unsure of how to begin. “Say, Freddie. Your friend—that tall fellow—I think his name is Charlie? He told me something quite concerning after your fall.”
“It’s Cecil, maum. Cecil Wright.”
“That’s it. Cecil.”
“He told you I were pushed, didn’t he?”
“Yes. What happened, exactly?”
“Right.” Freddie shifted in the bed, wincing as the covers pulled tighter over his leg. “Your husband asked me not to tell anyone how it all happened. He gave me a great deal of money to make sure myself and the others would keep things quiet.”
So Malcolm had lied. Again. Eliza pressed her lips hard against her teeth. “My husband and I have no secrets between us, Freddie. He’s told me what he saw. I only want to hear things from your perspective.”
“Fair enough. I’d been working along the back attic wall all morning. I kept hearing sounds in the wall—scratching and scrabbling, like.”
“Like rats?”
“Yes, maum. Just that.” Freddie nodded. “That’s a problem, see. When rats get between the inner and outer walls of a house, it’s bad. Dangerous. I started tearing through the lath and plaster with my hammer. The lath was all rotted out, so it was easy work. As I was at it, the air around me started getting cold.” Freddie passed a hand over his jaw. “But it wasn’t cold at all down by my mates. And you’ll remember, it was a warm day, otherwise.”
Eliza remembered the unnatural chill in her room on the night she’d felt the presence beside her bed. Had this been the same spirit? “Go on, please.”
“I started to wonder if I was taking ill, seeing as I got real sick to my stomach. But I kept on working, as it were almost the lunch hour. A few minutes went by. Some sort of crazed, wavery line flickered at the corner of my eyes, all different colors.”
“Like a migraine aura?”
“I couldn’t say, maum. All of a sudden, I felt something stinging the back of my neck, like a cat had sunk its claws into my skin. I cried out and clapped my hand to my neck, and that’s when it jerked me over the scaffolding. Grabbed me by the shirt, just like a bloke does during a brawl.” Freddie shook his head. “I didn’t just fall, maum. Whatever that thing was, it meant to hurt me. I don’t figure it liked us working on the house. The misplaced tools and all, that was a warning, right. And when we didn’t heed it . . .”
Eliza reached for Freddie’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Rest assured, Freddie, I mean to find out what’s going on. And should you need more compensation to tide you over until you can work again, come to me, not my husband.” After turning his mood happier with talk of Polly, Eliza bid Freddie farewell and left the ward.
Lydia met her at the foot of the stairs. “I see from your face he’s told you what really happened.”
“I don’t know what to make of it, Lyddie.”
“He won’t talk to me about it now, but I heard enough on the day it happened. His friend was in a state.” Lydia pressed her lips together, blanching their color. “It’s what some call a poltergeist . . . or a demon. The bad energy I was telling you about. If it’s strong enough to toss a man from a scaffold, it’s mortally dangerous. I’m worried for you.”
Eliza grasped her sister’s hands. “You’ve enough to worry about here, with your work. I won’t go poking around, trying to stir things up. I promise,” she lied.
Lydia wrinkled her brow. “I wish I could believe you. I will pray for your protection, Liza.”