Chapter 16

Mrs. Worcham laid her embroidery work for the hem of a new gown down beside her.

“Of course. How may I help you, ladies?” Mrs. Worcham smiled happily, her cheeks like little rosy apples. Her wig was an attractive dark brunette. It looked so natural on her, Cecilia wondered if it was close to her natural hair color.

“We’ve come to talk to you, if we might,” Cecilia answered as she and the other two ladies took seats near Mrs. Worcham.

“How luscious! But you know—or at least Mrs. Vance and Lady Stackpoole know—Mr. Turnbull-Minchin does not like me to associate with the patients.”

“Why not?” Cecilia asked.

Mrs. Worcham shrugged. “Control, I suppose. Mr. Ratcliffe suggested Thaddeus hire him to help get Camden House expenses under control, but I dare swear,” she said with a laugh, “sometimes he wants to control everything, not just what has a monetary impact.”

“That doesn’t bother you?” Cecilia asked.

“Not particularly,” she said airily. “My dear Thaddeus has been so much more relaxed since he hired Mr. Turnbull-Minchin. Things were so at odds for him. His anxiety was terrible. As much as I do not care for Mr. Ratcliffe, I commend him for recommending Thaddeus hire a superintendent.”

“I know Mr. Ratcliffe was Mr. Montgomery’s cousin and guardian—” Cecilia began.

“I didn’t know that!” Mrs. Worcham exclaimed.

“Nor I,” said Mrs. Vance. Next to her Julia nodded, her expression perplexed.

“Mr. Mongomery seemed to hate the man! He always hid when Mr. Ratcliffe came to Camden House,” Julia said.

Cecilia nodded. “He did that even as a child.”

“How do you know that?” Mrs. Worcham said.

Cecilia bit her lip, realizing she had revealed more than she meant to. She took a deep breath in and blew it out.

“Mrs. Montgomery sent a letter to my husband asking that he and I come to London. She had just found out that her husband—whom she had supposed dead these past two years—had been killed, and that the Earl of Soothcoor had been arrested for his murder.”

“The murder of a dead man,” Mrs. Vance said. “How very confusing.”

“Yes. And it gets worse.”

“My husband told me they had arrested the man who murdered Mr. Montgomery. I didn’t know who it was. I didn’t think to ask,” Mrs. Worcham said.

“Well, he didn’t murder him. Would never murder him! You were one of the signatories to Mr. Montgomery’s will.”

“Yes.”

“The earl is the Mr. Sedgewick named in the will.”

“Mr. Montgomery spoke so fondly of him,” Mrs. Worcham said.

Mrs. Vance nodded.

“It is my understanding that the cause of death has been identified as drowning because he was found in the water,” Cecilia said.

“Yes, that is what I was told.”

“The canals here are steep sided. How does one hold a person under the water along here without getting wet themselves? And if one is in a fight, wouldn’t there be some evidence on their person of that activity?”

“What are you saying, Lady Branstoke?” Mrs. Worcham asked.

“Soothcoor came to visit Mr. Montgomery on two consecutive days. They were longtime friends and rivals for the hand of the woman who became Mrs. Montgomery. Mrs. Montgomery thought herself a widow. Now, she and the earl planned to marry. As proper, she notified Mr. Ratcliffe, who she knew as the executor of the estate, and overall guardian for her children.”

“Children!” Mrs. Worcham exclaimed.

Cecilia nodded. “Two girls and a boy. I’m surprised they weren’t mentioned in the will.”

“He did say family in the will, He never specified names,” Mrs. Vance said. “I suppose we should have questioned that,” she said to Mrs. Worcham. She turned to Cecilia. “He did name his wife and swore us to secrecy about her. Mr. Ramsay did say family could means more than just a wife in terms of the will. We didn’t think to question that.”

Mrs. Worcham put her hands to her head. “I wonder if my husband knows about the children?”

“He didn’t seem to know. He does now because we just talked to him about my son wanting to marry Mr. Montgomery’s oldest girl, Aileen,” Julia put in.

Mrs. Worcham’s face crumbled. “Oh Thaddeus,” she whispered. “What have you gotten yourself into?”

Cecilia reached out to gently touch her arm.

“It was Mr. Ratcliffe who wrote Mrs. Montgomery to tell her she could not marry Soothcoor because Mr. Montgomery was still alive,” she told her. “Soothcoor came to see Mr. Montgomery on her behalf—and his own, too, I’m sure.”

“But, to continue, Soothcoor left Mr. Montgomery standing outside as he returned to The New Bell Inn. When he returned, the rain deluge started just after he was inside the inn. It was so sudden it startled him, and he looked back at the closed door and the sound of the pounding rain outside. Those who saw him laughed that he was lucky not to get caught in that heavy rain. His clothing was dry and in excellent condition according to Mr. Price. No sign of a struggle.”

“My husband said Mr. Ratcliffe told him the murderer had history with Mr. Montgomery and that with the rumble of the approaching storm negating sounds of a fight, he killed him.

“Someone may have taken advantage of the approaching storm. How would Mr. Ratcliffe know that? When was Mr. Montgomery’s body found?”

“We hire a groundsman from the village to take care of the property. He comes at dawn. He saw something in the canal as he came down the canal path to the bridge and investigated. Woke Mr. Turnbull-Minchin, and he sent for the magistrate and Mr. Ratcliffe.”

“How long did it take the magistrate and Mr. Ratcliffe to arrive after the discovery?”

“Mr. Ratcliffe was already here. He’d stayed with us. He’d ridden over earlier that evening and got caught in the rain. His clothing had become drenched on his way here. I invited him to stay here and ordered a maid see to his clothes,” Mrs. Worcham explained.

“Why was he coming here at that time of day?”

“He often did that. Evening was a good time to discuss the business of Camden House with my husband and Mr. Turnbull-Minchin,” she explained.

Cecilia cocked her head to the side. “Why did he discuss sanatorium business with Dr.Worcham? What is his relationship to the good doctor?”

“Oh! You don’t know! Mr. Ratcliffe arranged for all the investors who bought shares in Camden House. He owns the biggest bank in Stamford.”

“What!” Julia said, sitting straighter.

“Makes sense,” Mrs. Vance said, nodding sagely. “Sanatoriums can be a lucrative business from what I’ve read. Wish I’d known. I’d have bought a share.”

“I don’t understand,” Julia said.

“Camden House is a business accountable to investors for profit and loss,” Cecilia explained. “Isn’t that correct Mrs. Worcham?”

“Precisely, Lady Branstoke,” Mrs. Worcham said. “I liked it better when we were a small, private sanatorium, not an institution driven by money,” she said forlornly, dropping her cheery disposition.

She spread her hands then dropped them in her lap. “Thaddeus is not a money person. Once Mr. Ratcliffe sank his claws into him with flattery that he could have a renowned sanatorium if he expanded Camden House, he’s had stars in his eyes. He does anything Mr. Ratcliffe tells him to do, promising it will build the business.—Business! A sanatorium should not be considered a business! Certainly not like a factory with investors and the like is a business.”

“I think you have answered my question as to why Dr. Worcham agreed to Mr. Montgomery’s fake death.”

“If you mean Mr. Ratcliffe talked my husband into agreeing to the scheme, you are correct, though I argued against it. Unfortunately, my words to Thaddeus fell on deaf ears,” she said sadly. She stared off across the room. “We used to be so close as a couple. Now we seem so far apart, and I think that is when it started.” She looked back at the ladies. “Look at me here in this small parlor. I used to sit out in the library with Thaddeus and others in the evening, partaking in the discussions as I did a bit of needlecraft. Now I’m not allowed to sit with anyone. Nor am I allowed to chat with patients. That’s Mr. Turnbull-Minchin’s edict. I feel like a prisoner here. Patients have more liberties than I do. That’s why I like to go to the linen drapers, where we met, Lady Branstoke. There I have people to talk to.”

“Did Mr. Turnbull-Minchin say why you are not to talk to patients?”

“He gave some rambling, disjointed excuse that it set a bad precedent to be conversing with patients as if they were normal people.”

“Which we are!” interjected Julia.

Mrs. Worcham nodded. “Such an attitude shows you precisely why he is unfit to be a superintendent here. He has no knowledge of the needs of our patients.”

“Has anyone done anything to Mr. Montgomery’s room since he passed?” Cecilia asked.

Mrs. Worcham shook her head. “No one should have. If a patient dies while they are here, we have a rule that the room remains undisturbed for a minimum of one month. If any relative is going to claim their belongings, it would be in that month, and a month allows any spirits that might be lingering to decide it is good to move on.”

“Spirits?”

“We say that for the other patient’s benefits. After a month the notion of a ghost fades.”

“Might I have a look in his room?”

“We’d probably have to sneak in,” Mrs. Worcham warned. “That won’t be easy.”

“Where is his room?”

“Here on the ground floor. When Mr. Montgomery was threatening suicide by jumping out of his second-floor bedroom, Thaddeus had him moved to the ground floor. It’s actually a nice room. He even has a terrace door. It is kept locked as far as I know, both the inside door and the terrace door.”

“Will I have to pick the lock to gain entry?” Cecilia asked.

“You know how to do that?”

“Yes. Hairpins are quite useful in that way, especially on older locks, as are on the doors here.”

“Well, you won’t need to do so as we have a second set of keys in our rooms,” Mrs. Worcham said.

“Splendid!”

“When shall we do this?” Mrs. Vance asked.

“I didn’t think we would all go,” protested Mrs. Worcham.

“You’ll need lookouts and backup,” Mrs. Vance said, getting into the idea of an adventure.

Cecilia laughed at Mrs. Vance’s attitude but didn’t nay say her. If they were discovered, it would be easier to claim they were a bunch of nosey women. “Midnight, I’d say. The appropriate time after everyone has gone to sleep for there to be things heard that go bump in the night.”

“Oh, please don’t even suggest that,” said Mrs. Worcham. “I sometimes go down to the kitchen late in the evening for warm milk. I have trouble falling asleep and that helps me. Thaddeus is used to me doing that nocturnal activity and won’t think a bit about it.”

“What about Matron?”

“I have some laudanum in my room. We could slip a teaspoon into her evening tea.”

“How will you get that by her.”

Mrs. Worcham smiled. “A little distraction and it’s done,” she said lightly.

“I feel a horrible coughing fit coming on,” suggested Cecilia, warming to Mrs. Worcham’s idea. “She is solicitous to those.”

“Yes. But what?—?”

The door to the little parlor opened. It was Dr. Worcham.

“Hello, my dear. When I didn’t find you in our rooms, I came down here, thinking maybe you’d fallen asleep reading. Yet here you are talking to patients! You know Mr. Turnbull-Minchin doesn’t like you to do so.”

“I know, Thaddeus dear. But I get so lonely sometimes. And we were just chatting.”

He looked at Cecilia and frowned. “And I suppose Lady Branstoke has told you Mr. Montgomery was married and had children?”

“Yes, and that Lady Stackpoole’s son wants to marry his oldest daughter despite his father’s objection. I find that romantic, don’t you?”

“Romantic? To go against his father?” Dr. Worcham countered.

“Because she is Scottish. So—so—antediluvian, don’t you think? I mean, you were born in Scotland. What if my father had the same objections when we wed?” Mrs. Worcham said.

Dr. Worcham harrumphed. “So that is what you have been discussing? This romance?”

“Women love romance, Dr. Worcham,” Cecilia said, wrapping her arms around herself in a hug.

“I suppose that is an acceptable topic of conversation.”

“It certainly isn’t a depressing one,” offered his wife.

“True. But it is late now. You ladies should be upstairs. Your absence will worry Matron.”

“What time is it?” Cecilia asked, looking about the room until she saw a mantle clock. “Gracious, it is nine. We should go upstairs, Mrs. Vance, Lady Stackpoole. I sometime have such trouble falling asleep if I don’t do so in a timely fashion,” she told the doctor.

“Precisely why we have the retiring hour at 8:30. Early by society hours, healthy for you,” he said, rocking back on his heels. “Now off with you.”

“Yes, of course. And thank you, Mrs. Worcham, for allowing us to disturb your sewing,” Cecilia said.

Mrs. Vance led the way out of the small parlor, through the library and out to the hall and up the grand staircase. They didn’t speak amongst themselves, just hurried toward their destination, nodding to Mr. Turnbull-Minchin and the majordomo as they passed them.

In their wing, they nodded and mouthed an agreement to meet at midnight and each went into their own rooms.