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Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

THE DOWAGER DUCHESS TELLS A TALE

T he Dowager Duchess of Malmsby felt horrified that she had been gone from the house when Gwinnie was injured. She and Mrs. Morrison— with Mr. Cott as their guard— had visited her dear friend Lady Oakley to discuss recent events and to learn the latest city gossip.

On learning the news from Stephen, the Dowager Duchess rushed up the stairs to check on Gwinnie. Coming out of the room was one of the maids carrying a tray.

"Is she awake," the duchess asked the maid.

The maid curtsied. "Yes, Your Grace, and fretful. She wanted nothing to do with the healing tisane Cook sent up to her. She's asked for a good cuppa tea."

"Good," said the duchess.

She pushed the door open slowly. The room was dim, the curtains drawn against bright daylight.

"Gwinnie," the duchess called out softly.

"It is all right, Grandmother. Come in," Gwinnie said.

"I wanted to see how you are," she said, as she came into the room.

"My head hurts, but not like earlier, and light bothers my eyes, otherwise I am awake and conscious, and there was no blood to require stitches so I would say that makes me all right."

Her grandmother sat on the edge of the bed. "Have you had some laudanum?"

"Earlier, when Dr. Walcott was here, but no more until tonight, when I want to go to sleep. He said with a head injury it is better that I stay awake for now. You can help keep me awake. I think Rose is nearly hoarse from constantly talking to me."

Rose, seated by the window, laughed. "Not yet, mi lady."

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"What I can remember, which isn't much. One moment I was waiting for Rose to leave the carriage, and the next moment, my head exploded in pain, and I was on the ground. I don't know more than that."

The duchess frowned. "Those aren't exciting details. You need to work on your story, Gwinnie," her grandmother fussed.

Gwinnie laughed a little, then grimaced. "That hurts my head— Rose, the compress is not cold enough anymore."

Rose removed the compress from Gwinnie's forehead. "I will get a fresh compress for you." She left the room quietly.

"I visited Mrs. Southerland's this morning." She plucked at her blanket and stared up at the canopy.

"You visited her? Not alone, I hope."

"No— Rose and Mr. Martin went with me."

"What did you think of her?"

"I have not decided what I think of her," Gwinnie told her grandmother. "Let's just say I'm glad she is not Mrs. Southerland's permanent replacement. But we did manage to learn more about Mrs. Southerland that will help the investigation."

"Like what?"

"She has a daughter named Alice."

"No, she doesn't," countered her grandmother as she brushed hair away from Gwinnie's face.

Gwinnie's brow furrowed. "That is what Miss Southerland told Mr. Martin and me, and that her daughter was involved in those robberies of society houses during the season festivities five years ago. Remember those?"

"Yes, I do. Lady Oakley was one of the hostesses whose house was burgled during a party. She had a beautiful brass Chinese bowl disappear and some female guests reported missing jewelry they had been wearing. But Mrs. Southerland didn't have a daughter."

"That is not what Miss Southerland told us. How can you be so sure she didn't have a daughter?"

"Because she told me she never could have children."

"Told you? I didn't know you knew Mrs. Southerland," Gwinnie said.

"Remember when I found out about your charity work and was annoyed that your father knew and I didn't?"

Gwinnie laughed slightly, "You gave me quite a lecture about not telling you about all of my activities."

"Yes, and quite right. I have a reputation to maintain!"

"So you told me. Repeatedly."

" Hmph . I went to visit her."

"You did! She never told me."

"I asked her not to. We discussed how she became interested in helping unfortunate women. She said it was because of her niece."

"Niece!"

"Yes." The dowager duchess nodded slowly. "Her niece, Alice Southerland, the base-born child of her sister-in-law."

"The woman who is now leading Mrs. Southerland's House for Unfortunate Women?"

"I would assume so," her grandmother said.

"Why would she lie?"

Her grandmother shrugged. "As much as you admired Mrs. Southerland, you need to consider she might have been the one to lie."

Gwinnie's expression fell. That was not something she wanted to consider as truth. But she must clear her mind of her affection for Mrs. Southerland.

For now.

"We have to let Mr. Martin know!" Gwinnie said. "— And Lord Soothcoor."

Her grandmother nodded and stood up. "I'll have Malmsby send notes to them."

Rose returned with the cold compress. "I'm sorry I took so long, I?—"

"No matter," Gwinnie said tiredly. "I need it to numb my thoughts as well as my injury."

Her grandmother grabbed her hand and squeezed it gently. "This will get sorted out. Trust Mr. Martin."

Gwinnie's eyes watered. "I do." She turned her head away as the duchess left the room.

Lewis entered Daniel's room to find him playing solitaire on the counterpane with an old deck of cards Lewis had had in the house. Lindsay must have found them for him.

"I'm bored," Daniel said with an exaggeratedly long expression.

Lewis laughed. "I'll bet you are, but cracked ribs are nothing to ignore. How is the wrist?"

"It's healed, see?" He moved his left wrist in all directions.

"Yes. You are lucky it wasn't broken."

"I know. You're not going to start the lecture again, are you?" Daniel asked sourly.

"The one about sliding on ice? No, I will let that one go for now. Being confined to this bed is punishment enough. Mrs. Fullerton told me the doctor is pleased with your progress. He told her you may get out of bed?—"

"He did!" exclaimed Daniel. He tossed his blankets aside.

Lewis put his hand on Daniel's shoulder, holding him on the bed. " TOMORROW ," he continued, "for meals and quiet activities like reading." He felt Daniel's shoulder slump under his hand.

"Better than lyin' in this bed, I suppose," he said glumly, pulling the blanket back over himself.

Lewis nodded, then let his hand drop. He walked to the chair by Daniel's desk and sat down. "I saw Robbie Gilgorn today."

"You did? What was he doin'?"

"Street sweeping for Johnny, who he said was sick."

"That sounds like somethin' Robbie would do."

"I didn't know Robbie was an artist," Lewis said.

"Yeah, He's good ain't he? What did he draw?"

"He drew a picture of the man who threw a brick at Lady Guinevere."

"No! Is she hurt?"

Lewis nodded. "Unfortunately, yes. He hit her in the head."

Daniel threw off his blankets again. "I gots to get up. I gots to get my gang together." He jumped out of bed.

"Whoa! Stop!" ordered Lewis. "You are not going anywhere." He pushed Daniel back onto the bed.

"But they can find him. You know they can!" Daniel protested. "No one gets away from hurtin' Lady Guinevere," he said fiercely

"And he won't get away," Lewis assured him. "I took the sketch to Bow Street. He's been identified as Freddie Suthers, a carter. Works out of the Wild Hare Inn. Mr. Trolley is bringing him in."

"Good." Daniel settled back in bed. His brows drew together in a pensive look. "Why would a carter throw a brick at Lady Guinevere?"

"I don't know. From what Robbie said, it seemed like he might have been paid to do it."

Daniel's lips quirked sideways. "I cain't see someone protestin' them new machines payin' fer their dirty work."

"Very good," Lewis said, nodding. "I happen to be in agreement with you. I need to write a note to Lady Guinevere's father and Lord Soothcoor. I think my writing supplies are still up here unless Mrs. Fullerton, in her efficiency, took them back downstairs."

"Not that I saw, but I did sleep late this mornin'. Stayed up late readin' that book you lent me. Cor' it were good!"

Lewis laughed. "I'll tell him you liked it when next I see him."

He sat down at the desk again and opened the drawer to find his writing supplies. He wrote quick notes to the duke and the earl. Then he stood up and turned toward Daniel. "I have to go out again this afternoon and will probably not return until late; however, we will have breakfast together tomorrow morning."

"Downstairs?" Daniel asked.

"Downstairs," agreed Lewis.

Since they knew Miss Southerland had told differing stories of how she came to replace Mrs. Southerland, Lewis wondered how much else of the story of Mrs. Southerland's past was true. He'd decided to see if Alice Southerland had been transported to Australia.

Lewis thanked the clerk in the Old Bailey records office for his assistance and left the building. He walked slowly, considering what he'd learned and thinking about what he should do next.

Miss Southerland told Lady Guinevere and himself that Mrs. Southerland's daughter had been transported to Australia for her part in the theft ring that hit during society parties. Yes, she had been charged, according to the records, but charges against her had been dismissed. Interestingly, three other names showed up in the records that he recognized, people who were questioned but did not have charges against them: Millie Southerland, Derek Southerland, and Freddie Suthers.

Millie had worked the same party Alice had and was questioned regarding the thefts. Derek Southerland and Freddie Suthers were questioned regarding receiving stolen goods.

Alice had been charged because a silver spoon had been found in the pocket of the apron she'd worn during a party that suffered thefts. She claimed she found it on the floor, picked it up, and dropped it in her pocket intending to return it to the butler later. She said she forgot about it and hung the apron up before she left. Ultimately, her room was searched, and nothing was found, and since she had not removed the silver from the house, charges were dropped.

The two names in the records that intrigued him were that of Derek Southerland and Freddie Suthers. Why was Derek Southerland suspected of participation? According to his sister, he'd been a groom at that time. Was that true?

And why should Freddie Suthers' name show up among the Southerlands? That he was associated with the ring of thefts five years ago convinced him Suthers was not part of the threats against the Duke of Malmsby for his invention support.

Was Suthers a corruption of the Southerland name? Were they all involved together, though no proof was found? He'd copied down the list of items stolen. He wondered if any had been found. The newspapers might have more information about the thefts and the stolen goods. He didn't have time to search for those today. But he was curious about Derek Southerland's death. He thought he served in the Mayfair area so Dr. Brogan could have the records. He had time to pay him a visit today.

He hailed a hack and directed him to Dr. Brogan's surgery.

"Is Dr. Brogan available?" Lewis asked the young man talking with a woman seated in a waiting room of Dr. Brogan's surgery.

"He is with a patient at the moment, and this lady here is ahead of you," he said gesturing to the woman seated in the plain wood chair thrust up against a wall.

"I do not wish to see him as a patient. I am Mr. Lewis Martin from Bow Street."

"Bow Street!"

"I need to see the coroner's records from five years ago. Does he have them here?"

"Oh, death records. Yes, he had the last ten years of records brought here. If that is all you need, I can show them to you," the young man said.

"That would be appreciated," Lewis said with his winningest smile.

"Certainly, right this way," the man said, leading Lewis across the room to another door.

"And you are…?" queried Lewis.

"Beg your pardon. I am David Asher, Dr. Brogan's assistant." He pushed open a door to an office. "We haven't had the chance to get them organized yet. When did you say this death was?"

"I believe it was four years ago, certainly not more than five."

"Then you need these books over here," Mr. Asher said.

"Do they record all the information that is also on the death certificate?"

"Yes, and sometimes more. Would you mind going through these? I am supposed to stay with the patients in the waiting room and take a summary of their complaint before the doctor sees them."

"I can do that," Lewis said, stripping off his gloves and removing his hat.

The man smiled thankfully and hurried back to his station.

Lewis took off his coat and laid it across a chair, then selected a book and started reading. It was forty minutes later before he found what he was looking for. He looked again at the date. Four months after the Old Bailey proceedings where Alice Southerland was absolved of guilt.

Lewis yawned and ran a hand along the back of his neck and stretched his head from side to side. If he'd had to read many more entries, he might have fallen asleep before finding it.

Derek Southerland had been impaled by a pitchfork in his neck. That didn't sound like a stable accident. The verdict was murder by person or persons unknown. What caught his attention was the angle of the pitchfork. He stood up to envision being attacked with that angle against his neck. For a normal person to pierce him that high and upward thrust angle, wouldn't they have to hold the pitchfork low and pointed up? But the description of the wounds did not match a horizontal entry. They were almost vertical. Did that imply a short person? Or just someone carrying it low and thrusting upward?

He wondered how tall Freddie Suthers stood?

The door to the office opened behind him. "Mr. Martin!" said Dr. Brogan. "Mr. Asher told me you were going through old death records."

"Yes, and I think I found what I was looking for. Come here and take a look at this," he invited, moving his chair aside. "See the entry here for Derek Southerland?"

"The deceased Mrs. Southerland's husband?"

"Yes."

The doctor leaned over and read the entry. "Interesting. The entry wound wasn't deep, but it caught the carotid artery on the right side."

"He bled out."

"Precisely."

"Could he have been saved with prompt medical attention?"

"I can't say for certain, but based on what is written here, I would think so."

"Thank you, Dr. Brogan."

"Why are you looking into this man's death?"

"I think five years ago he was part of a band of robbers."

"You think his death might have been a falling-out among thieves?"

"I don't know; however, it is possible. Well, I got what I needed. I will get out of your office and let you get on with your day."

"It is near the end of the day, Mr. Martin. I am closing up and going home to my wife."

Lewis looked at his pocket watch. "I didn't realize it was that late. Thank you for the information."

"Are you continuing to investigate Mrs. Southerland's death?"

"Yes. The Duke of Malmsby and Lord Soothcoor are not satisfied."

Dr. Brogan looked down. "I understand. I don't know what to do about Mr. Gedney."

Lewis started to put on his coat. "I think Lord Soothcoor might have some ideas for you. If he doesn't reach out to you soon, you might consider contacting him."

Dr. Brogan nodded. "Thank you, I will."

Lewis picked up his gloves and settled his hat on his head. "Good night to you, then." He left the doctor to his musings. Lewis had enough musings of his own to consider.

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