An Improper Death (Dr. Alexandra Gladstone Mysteries Book 2) (2 page)

“It’s all right, Zack,” she said and tried to soothe him by rubbing his neck. She was finally able to get him to sit while she examined the body further. The admiral had been lying on his side when they approached the body, but the purplish color of his face indicated that the blood had pooled there, probably as he
lay face-down in the water before he was washed to shore. There was no sign of a vessel, such as a punt or skiff he might have been in, however.

She scanned the area for anything unusual, but she could see very little in the dense fog. The heavy curtain of mist now hid even the cliff just ahead of her where the admiral’s new house sat. The only significance she could see in the proximity of the cliff and the house, however, was that he did not stray far from home to die.

By the time Nell and Nancy returned with Constable Snow, Alexandra still had made no sense of the admiral’s death. The constable was accompanied by Nell’s husband, Tom, and Samuel, his apprentice. The men walked ahead of the two women, the constable leading the way and carrying his own lantern. Zack barked frantically at their approach. He seemed to want to tell the constable what they had discovered, and it took both Alexandra and Nancy to quiet him.

Constable Snow wasted no time in taking charge of the moment. “Stand back, please,” he said to Nancy, Nell, and the two men. He glanced toward Alexandra, gave her a nod, and spoke his greeting. “Dr. Gladstone.”

“Constable,” she said in reply.

“You have examined the body?” His voice was tense, and it occurred to Alexandra that he was embarrassed that he had to be in the presence of women with the admiral dressed (or undressed) as he was.

“I have made only a cursory examination.”

“And you have concluded…?”

“I have not made a firm conclusion.”

“Are there marks—wounds of any kind—on the body?” His expression grew sterner as he waited for her answer.

“I have not seen any, but I would prefer to examine the body further in better light.” Alexandra felt as if she were a student trying to give the correct answer in an oral exam.

He continued to press the matter. “Have you found anything at all unusual?”

Alexandra hesitated only a moment. “There is seaweed in the mouth.”

“That would suggest drowning.”

His insistence puzzled her, but she stood her ground. “Perhaps, but I cannot eliminate other possibilities. Not until I have examined the victim further.”

Snow was silent for a moment, and when he spoke, it was not to reply to Alexandra’s request. Instead he turned to Nell and Nancy. “Thank you, ladies, for your bravery on this unpleasant morning. I suggest you both return to the comfort of your homes now. Tom and Samuel will transport the body to the undertaker’s home, and Dr. Gladstone will accompany me
to notify the admiral’s wife.” He turned to Alexandra. “We’ve already notified the vicar. He’ll meet us there.”

“May I ask, sir, why you are sending the body to the undertaker’s home?” Alexandra was puzzled. The constable’s order was unheard of. A body was always taken to the family home to be prepared for burial.

“I understand that the request is unusual,” Snow said. “But in this case it is best. I’m afraid that having the body in the house will cause the widow undue stress.”

The explanation was unsatisfactory, but Alexandra had no choice but to relinquish a reluctant Zack to Nancy and to accompany the constable to Gull House. It was a long trek up the hill to the admiral’s home. By the time they reached the house, the sun had risen well above the horizon, but the light was still diffused by the shroud of fog. The house, constructed of heavy dark stone, lurked in the yellow vapor like a predatory beast. The admiral had named it Gull House, presumably because seagulls flew around it as if it were a ship. It was not an enormous house, yet it was grandiose in appearance with gables and turrets and pointed spires, rather overly elaborate and American-looking, Alexandra thought. In fact, the admiral’s decision to build a house was an American affectation, since most of the middle class in England resorted to long-term leases of fine homes in town.

They were greeted at the door by a tall, big-boned maid with a grim face who told them in a hushed voice that Mrs. Orkwright would see them in the drawing room, where she was with the vicar. She led them through the dark front hall to a room brightly lit with flickering oil lamps. The vicar, Father Kingsborough, rose from his chair and moved rather hurriedly across the room to greet the two of them. Mrs. Orkwright sat poised and erect in a chair, a black shawl of a fine Persian weave over her shoulders. One of her arms rested gracefully on a table next to her chair. Her heavy ginger-colored hair was swept back from her face, and that, along with high cheekbones and fine, wide eyes gave her a regal look. She stared straight ahead with an expression that was almost blank.

“I’m afraid she’s in shock.” Father Kingsborough spoke in a hushed voice. “I was certain she was going to faint when I first told her. It’s a difficult thing to tell a wife of her husband’s death.”

Constable Snow ignored the vicar and approached Mrs. Orkwright. He spoke her name softly, and she glanced up at him.

Her eyes were still blank at first, but they slowly focused. “Are you quite sure it is the admiral?” Her voice was soft but clear.

“Yes, I am sure.” Snow also spoke softly as he stood in front of her with his head down, his cap in his hands.

Mrs.
Orkwright gave a little gasp and looked away.

“I’m sorry, Madam.” Snow kept his respectful and professional demeanor.

Mrs. Orkwright turned her gaze back to him without acknowledging his apology. “What time did you find him? And where?” Her hands trembled, and she clasped them in her lap, long alabaster fingers intertwining.

“It was Nell Stillwell, the butcher’s wife, who found him on the beach while it was still dark, and she notified Dr. Gladstone.”

Mrs. Orkwright turned her beautifully tragic face toward Alexandra, as if waiting for her to speak.

“I believe he had been dead several hours when I examined him,” Alexandra said. “It is difficult to know precisely how long.”

“And the cause of death?” Her once dull eyes had now begun to burn brightly.

“It appears to be drowning, but I cannot be certain until I examine him further, and perhaps not even then.”

Mrs. Orkwright dropped her eyes again. She seemed to be holding her breath, perhaps to keep from weeping, and her hands trembled again. When she looked up at her guests, she had regained her composure. “Please forgive me. I haven’t invited you to sit. Perhaps you would like tea?”

“Tea won’t be necessary, Madam.” Snow spoke as he settled himself on the edge of a sofa opposite Mrs.
Orkwright. “But if you will forgive me, I must ask you some questions.”

“Of course,” she said and motioned for Alexandra to sit in a chair next to the sofa, also facing her. The vicar remained standing, but he moved protectively behind Mrs.
Orkwright’s chair.

“When did you last see your husband?” Snow was seated in a stiff pose, his long back straight but not leaning against the sofa, his knees rising at a sharp angle in front of him.
His hands, as long and fine as Mrs. Orkwright’s, moved and twitched self-consciously, like uninvited guests.

“I said good night to him at approximately nine-thirty, I think, when I retired to my room. He said he would have a bath and retire early as well. I assumed that was what he did.” Mrs.
Orkwright’s voice trembled as she spoke, and her eyes remained overly bright. It was clear she was working hard at maintaining her composure.

Snow shifted uneasily on the sofa. “What was he wearing when you last saw him?”

“Wearing?” Mrs. Orkwright seemed puzzled by the question. “Why his tweeds, I believe. He didn’t dress for dinner, since he said he wasn’t hungry. William and I had dinner alone.”

“William. Your son, of course,” Snow said.
“If I recall, a boy of about six years.”

Mrs.
Orkwright spoke softly. “Yes.”

“And where is young William now?” Snow asked.

Mrs. Orkwright stiffened. “He’s still sleeping. I asked that he not be disturbed. I want to…to tell him myself that…”

“Yes, of course,” Snow said. His long hands grasped both of his knees as if he thought they might jump away.

There was a brief, awkward pause before the constable stood and spoke again. “Thank you very much for your cooperation, Mrs. Orkwright. I won’t trouble you again, and please, accept my condolences.”

“You are very kind.” Mrs.
Orkwright’s voice was weak, and she had grown so pale, Alexandra thought she might faint.

“Excuse me.” Alexandra’s voice seemed to startle everyone. “I was wondering
, Mrs. Orkwright, did your husband enjoy swimming?”

“Swimming?”
Mrs. Orkwright seemed puzzled again as she glanced up at Alexandra.

The vicar spoke up for the first time. “Please, I’m afraid Mrs.
Orkwright has had quite enough for this morning. I beg of you, let her rest.”

Mrs.
Orkwright ignored the vicar and looked Alexandra straight in the eye. “He detested that particular form of recreation. He always said the sea was meant for fish and naval vessels, that human beings were poorly suited to direct congress with the sea, and that they should do their bathing in private.”

Alexandra nodded slightly. “Yes, I do believe I’ve heard him use words to that effect
myself on occasion, and that is precisely why I find it odd that he should drown in the sea.”

“Dr. Gladstone, please, I believe we’ve taken quite enough of Mrs.
Orkwright’s time for now. I suggest—”

“No, please, Constable Snow.” Mrs.
Orkwright held up her hand as if to stop any further protest he might have. “I, too, find it odd that my husband should drown. He was a capable swimmer in spite of his dislike for it. I’m afraid I don’t know what to make of it, except…”

“Except what?”
Alexandra said.

There was another pause before Mrs.
Orkwright said, “Except that he had been drinking rather heavily last night.” Once again her hands trembled, and once again she clasped them in her lap. The vicar placed a steadying hand on her shoulder.

“Then the drowning was most likely an accident,” Snow said.
“A gentleman in his cups who ventured too close to the water.” He took a small step toward Mrs. Orkwright, who appeared to be on the verge of tears. At the same time he gave Alexandra a quick glance as if to warn her not to say anything more. “You said you retired at around nine-thirty last night, Mrs. Orkwright, and you’re not certain when the admiral went to bed?”

“No, I’m not certain.” Mrs.
Orkwright’s voice was little more than a whisper.

“The storm didn’t begin until almost midnight,” Snow continued. “So is it possible, maybe even likely, that the admiral went out for a walk along the shore, and, once the storm blew in since he was inebriated, fell into the sea?”

“I don’t know,” Mrs. Orkwright said. “I suppose it’s possible.” There was a moment of silence before she added, “And yes, perhaps even likely.”

“You must understand,” Snow said, “that in spite of the obvious it is necessary to investigate these matters to make certain nothing untoward happened.” He gave Alexandra another quick glance of warning.

Mrs. Orkwright’s hands flew up to cover her face and a sob wracked her body. When she dropped her hands several seconds later, there were tears in her eyes and on her cheeks. “I understand, of course.” Her voice trembled as she spoke. “You must do your duty.”

“Thank you again for your help,” Snow said. “We shan’t trouble you longer.” And then, as if to make sure they didn’t, he took Alexandra’s arm in a firm grip and led her toward the door.

Behind them, the vicar asked if Mrs. Orkwright would like his wife to come stay the day with her. Mrs. Orkwright refused graciously, saying she preferred to be alone.

Alexandra and Constable Snow walked together in the fog-weakened morning light, neither of them speaking until they reached the bottom of the hill. And then Alexandra could stand it no longer. “Excuse me, Constable, but why were you so intent upon my not asking questions that needed to be asked, and why did you not mention the admiral’s unorthodox attire?”

“Well, I should think it would be quite obvious, Dr. Gladstone.” There was hint of exaggerated patience in Snow’s voice. “Mrs. Orkwright was understandably distressed, and there is nothing to be served by upsetting her more, especially when it’s obvious what happened.”

“Obvious?” Alexandra stopped to look at him. “I’m afraid I saw nothing obvious.”

“Did you not say that the admiral appears to have drowned?” Snow did not stop, but walked on ahead of her.

Alexandra hurried to catch up. “I did say he
appears
to have drowned, but I also said I cannot be certain until—”

“He was drunk, Dr. Gladstone.
Obviously quite drunk. So drunk that he didn’t know what he was doing, and in his stupor, unknowingly put on an article of his wife’s clothing after his bath, ventured out into the night, fell in the sea, and drowned. I saw no need to embarrass his widow by discussing those details. It will be enough that the butcher’s wife tells everyone who comes into their shop about the spectacle of finding the admiral in such a state. Mrs. Orkwright will have to live with the embarrassment of everyone knowing, and I don’t see the necessity of compounding that embarrassment.”