Diana chewed thoughtfully on a hot, buttered roll. It seemed more and more likely that Winthrop had killed Frank Ennis, but how could they prove it?
Abruptly, Serena turned on Mrs. Monroe. “How much did Min tell Lucien Winthrop about this island’s history?”
How much did Min know? Diana wondered, and wondered, too what more Serena was holding back. If Min Somener was the reason Serena had developed an interest in history, was Min also a link to those early European colonists? Had Min uncovered their story before either Serena Dunbar or Lucien Winthrop had a clue to their existence? Just what had been in that trunk Min had willed to Serena?
Mrs. Monroe ignored Serena’s demand for information, busying herself cleaning up the mess on the floor.
“Mrs. Somener asked you a question.” Graham’s stern voice commanded obedience.
“I couldn’t say.” Mrs. Monroe held herself stiffly and glared at her employer.
“Did Winthrop question you about Keep Island’s past?” Diana asked.
The housekeeper made a derisive noise. “Wanted to know about legends and such. Lot of nonsense, that is. All that business about the island being cursed.”
“Legends,” Ben mused. “It all comes back to legends. This is the ancient land of Norombega, where there was once said to be a white tribe.”
This was news to Diana. She did not think that detail had been mentioned during the conversation between Ben and Lucien Winthrop. Then again, she’d missed most of it when she’d slipped away to explore the professor’s library.
“Are you saying that the source of that legend might have been the presence of early European settlers?” she asked. The idea still seemed farfetched.
“Why not? In a generation or two, if they didn’t just die out, they’d have been absorbed into the native population, but the story of a white tribe would have survived.” Ben’s enthusiasm proved contagious.
“Along with a legend about a curse on the island,” Graham mused. “Perhaps that had its origin in the shipwreck. Bad luck for somebody.”
“The story could just as easily have stemmed from sickness among the settlers ... or
because
of them,” Serena put in. “Any historian will tell you that Europeans brought deadly diseases to these shores. Measles wiped out entire tribes after colonies were established in what is now Massachusetts. If a great many people died on this island, what more natural than for those who witnessed their deaths to decide the place was cursed?”
Mrs. Monroe snorted. “Tale I heard says something was buried here long ago. Something dangerous. Lethal. That’s why everyone had to stay away.”
“A body,” Ben suggested, “ravaged by a disease others feared to catch.”
“How do you know that it was something that was buried, Mrs. Monroe?” Diana asked.
The housekeeper shrugged. “I expect my grandfather told me. He had lots of stories, and he told them over and over again when I was a child.”
Chapter Eleven
Ben and Diana strolled to the top of the promontory to watch the sunset. As the brilliant yellows and pinks faded into purple over the distant Camden Hills, just visible across the width of Islesborough, Ben felt more content than he had in days. Graham had come around, after releasing considerable aggression with his fists, and forgiven him for trying to stop the wedding. He’d even agreed that he might have done the same thing had their positions been reversed. Ben’s fears about his old friend’s mental state had been assuaged.
Only one problem remained, the question of who
had
tampered with Frank Ennis’s air hose. Was Lucien Winthrop the cause of all the trouble on Keep Island? And if he was, had he hired someone to do his dirty work? Ben was keeping an eye on Paul Carstairs, but it occurred to him that Justus Palmer was also a likely suspect.
“I heard from my friend in Boston,” he told Diana, “the one I asked to visit Palmer’s office? With everything else that’s been going on, I forgot to mention that his telegram was delivered to my office shortly after Captain Cobb showed up there. It seems that Palmer’s office is rarely open. The neighbors say it appears to be a legitimate business but Palmer keeps odd hours and works alone. Often the lights burn all night and he frequently meets clients long after respectable folk are in their beds.”
“Perhaps he is a vampire, after all,” Diana suggested with a grin.
“I very much doubt it, but he could be a killer. What if he did more than look into rumors for Winthrop?”
“Ben,” she said, placing one hand on his forearm and waiting until he looked at her to speak. “I know you don’t like thinking about it, but perhaps Palmer’s helpfulness the other night had more to do with Maggie than with Winthrop.”
“He’s years younger than she is!” Repulsed by the picture in his mind’s eye—Justus Palmer embracing Maggie Northcote in the herb garden—Ben clenched his teeth.
“I know their association seems slightly scandalous, but—”
“I don’t want to discuss it, Diana!”
“I understand. When my mother toddles off to bed with her new husband in the middle of the afternoon, I don’t like to think about
that
, either.”
“Hardly the same—” He broke off. It had every appearance of being exactly the same and he did
not
want to dwell on the details. “Can we go back to talking about murder?”
Diana sighed. “For two people who wished to avoid ever coming in contact with crime again, we have not done very well.”
“There is no real need to involve ourselves further. We’ve warned Graham and Serena. Besides, she is probably right. It was a ploy to have her blamed for Ennis’s death. It failed. End of story.”
“Except that Ennis’s killer goes unpunished.”
That went against the grain, but Ben didn’t know what they could do about it. They had theories, but no hard facts. Nothing, certainly, that would hold up in a court of law.
“It seems a poor reason for murder,” Diana said after awhile. “Stealing another archaeologist’s work.”
“I’ve known of cases where men killed for far less.”
“Is it a sort of madness that makes someone take a life?”
“Sometimes it is.” Ben realized he’d never have a better opportunity to reveal the one secret he was still keeping from his fiancée. He took her in his arms and kissed her lightly on the forehead. “Diana, I am thinking of giving up my practice.”
She shifted in his embrace, trying to see his face. If his announcement distressed her, she gave no sign. Her expression was calm. Her eyes conveyed curiosity and interest. “What will you do instead?”
“I’ve been offered a position at the Maine Insane Hospital in Augusta.”
“You are already a trustee there.”
“There’s more I can do. As trustee, my only obligation is attendance at the quarterly meetings, when we tour the facility to inspect the wards and audit the accounts. Maine’s madhouse is as well run as any I’ve seen. Even when it was established back in 1840 it was a model for its kind, with separate wings for men and women and a dispensary, kitchen, laundry, engine building, and chapel. New rooms for the help, an elevator, and bath rooms have been added since, and there is a new building planned. Unfortunately, that is because the wards are already overcrowded. There are 578 patients, Diana, and but three physicians to tend to them. Dr. Mary Lowell has only just been added to assist Dr. Sanborn and Dr. Hill.”
“A woman? Well, I approve of that.”
He chuckled. “Her gender is not so surprising when you consider that there is also a woman on the current board of trustees. My point, however, is that the hospital desperately needs a fourth physician.”
“You?”
“Why not?”
“The hospital is in Augusta. You’d spend hours on the train every day to travel back and forth, unless you mean to relocate.”
“I believe that will only be a temporary inconvenience. Bangor’s state senator is a member of the legislative committee on insane hospitals. He plans to propose that a second facility be built in Bangor, to serve the northern part of the state.”
“That will take time.” She sat on the rock so well placed for that purpose, folded her hands in her lap, and smiled up at him. “Perhaps you could set up a clinic for patients in the Bangor area—those whose families are unable to care for them at home. Later, when funding is approved for a state facility, those patients can be transferred to the new hospital.”
Ben stared at her, struck speechless at the ease with which she’d come up with the perfect solution to his dilemma.
“You’ll need a staff, of course,” Diana continued.
“And guards. I am not so foolish as to assume there is no danger involved in working with the insane. But I do believe some of them can be cured.” In fact, he had been thinking that hypnosis might provide part of the answer.
“You’ve made great strides with Aaron.”
“I am not as certain of that as you are.” Ben winced as he recalled his brother’s most recent outburst and his complete failure to diagnose Graham. Still, there had been a time, not so very long ago, when he’d feared he would have no choice but to lock Aaron away. That had prompted him to learn everything he could about mental disorders and their treatment. He’d soon discovered that doctors who were ignorant of both cause and cure, often put their patients through needless suffering. He could do better than that.
Ben and Diana talked for another hour there on the promontory overlooking Penobscot Bay. He sketched out his hopes and dreams while she listened. When he at last wound down, she gifted him with a gentle smile and her confidence.
“You will make it happen, Ben. I have faith in you.”
* * * *
Paul Carstairs did not report to work on Monday morning. He did not seem to be anywhere on the island and Graham’s sailboat was also missing.
The reason seemed obvious to Diana. Carstairs had realized they suspected he was in cahoots with Lucien Winthrop and had taken off for parts unknown.
“Why leave now?” Ben asked. “Ennis’s death was ruled an accident. The county attorney won’t be easily persuaded to reopen it.”
“I don’t care why he left,” Graham said. “I’m just glad he’s gone. He won’t be allowed back. We know to watch out for both him and Winthrop now.” He sent a fond glance towards his wife, who was carefully sifting through a shovelful of dirt George Amity had dug up for her. “I’ll keep MacDougall and Landrigan on watch. I’ll hire more men for guard duty from Islesborough. And more men to work on the excavation, too. Serena will have everything she wants. She’ll find what she’s looking for.”
Ben nodded and repeated the party line: “Winthrop’s plot to take over her expedition has failed. He must realize by now that there’s no possibility he’ll ever be allowed to excavate on Keep Island.”
Diana wasn’t so sure. “What if he decides he wants revenge? We’ve thwarted his plans.”
But Ben shook his head. “I spent quite some time talking to the man. He’s petty and misanthropic, quite capable of stealing someone else’s ideas, and capable, too, of holding a grudge, but my impression was that he’s sly rather than violent. The most logical conclusion is that he hired Carstairs to cause trouble and Carstairs went too far.”
“You don’t think Winthrop intended Frank Ennis to die?”
“He may have assumed the damage Carstairs did to the hose would be discovered when Ennis checked his equipment.”
“Then that means Carstairs
let
Ennis die.” Diana found the idea deeply disturbing.
“
If
he was as involved in this as we think,” Ben pointed out. “This remains pure speculation, and—” He shot an apologetic glance at Graham. “—I’ve speculated incorrectly before. It’s equally possible that Winthrop acted alone.”
“I want to examine Carstairs’s possessions,” Diana said.
As Graham had no objection, the three of them left Serena to her digging and went back to the house. Carstairs had moved into a room on the third floor after the incident with the morphine.
Mrs. Monroe gave a little shriek of surprise when Ben opened the door. “Goodness but you startled me, Mr. Ben! I was just tidying up in here.”
In spite of the feather duster she held in one hand it was clear she had been doing more than that. The drawers in the bureau were open, their contents in disarray, and a number of Paul Carstairs’s possessions—clothes, papers, and toiletries—lay jumbled together in a heap atop the unmade bed.
“Find anything interesting?” Diana asked.
Sarcasm did not sit well with Mrs. Monroe. Scowling, the older woman clapped both hands to her hips and glared at all three of her accusers. “I’ve got a right to know what’s going on around here.”
“Some, yes, Mrs. Monroe. But other things need not concern you.” Graham fixed her with one of his formidable scowls. “Why were you searching Carstairs’s belongings?”
“Because he took off, that’s why. Plain as the nose on your face,” she added in an irritable mutter.
“He seems to have left behind everything he owned,” Ben remarked.
“That’s consistent with fleeing in panic,” Diana said.
“You may go now, Mrs. Monroe.” Graham’s tone was as autocratic as Diana had ever heard.
The housekeeper’s resentment-filled glare would have given most men pause, but Graham didn’t see it. He was too busy inspecting the clutter on the bed.
“Maybe he just got tired to taking orders,” Mrs. Monroe grumbled. “Years of service, and what do I get: ‘You may go now, Mrs. Monroe.’“ With an angry swish of skirt and apron, she stormed out of the room.
“Aren’t you afraid she’ll quit?” Diana asked. Good help was hard to find.
Graham shook his head. “She’ll burn the roast tonight, then forget all about it.”
“She’s right, you know,” Ben said as he examined the contents of the drawers Mrs. Monroe had already rifled. “She should be told what’s going on. If she’d been involved earlier, we’d have known about Winthrop much sooner.”
“I know how to handle Mrs. Monroe. Her family and mine go way back.” Graham bent down to peer beneath the bed. “Huh! Moxie. A case of it.” He tugged it out and removed the top to reveal rows of the familiar bottles, each one protected by its distinctive paper wrapping.
“There were two cases of that in his tent.” Diana frowned, remembering something else. “Frank Ennis told me that Carstairs convinced him to try a bottle. He said he didn’t like it very much. In fact, he thought at first that it was the Moxie that made him sick. What if it did? What if Carstairs put morphine in the Moxie?”