CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“Take a deep breath for me.”

Oliver complies with Dr. Thornton’s request, breathing in deeply and releasing it slowly. It ends in a coughing fit, as all four of his previous breaths have.

I hold Oliver’s hand on one side. Theresa holds his hand on the other side. Lady Cordelia stands behind the doctor, biting her nails in anxiety. Oliver is expressionless, but he grips my hand tightly, and I can sense his fear.

Dr. Thornton puts his stethoscope away and smiles at Oliver. “Thank you for your cooperation, Master Oliver. I’ll leave you to your own devices for a moment. Lady Cordelia and Miss Wilcox, if I could have a word.”

I squeeze his hand, and then pass it to Theresa. She takes it in her other hand and smiles at him. “So brave, Master Oliver.”

He manages a wan smile in return.

Dr. Thornton leads the two of us from the room. His smile is gone when we are out of Oliver’s view. Lady Cordelia is shaking almost uncontrollably. She is too afraid to ask the question that must be asked.

So it falls to me. “How serious is his condition, Dr. Thornton?”

The doctor sighs. “Quite serious, I’m afraid.”

Lady Cordelia releases a soft cry and presses her eyes shut. Her lips shake, and tears leak from her eyes.

“There’s hope, my lady,” the doctor continues. “In fact, there’s a very strong chance he will grow up normally and recover from this ailment with perfectly adequate lung function. But I will spare you no details. He will have a long road ahead.”

Lady Cordelia cries out again. I put an arm around her, and she leans against my shoulder. She is so frail.

“What can we do?”

Thornton sighs again. “Oliver’s problem is that his left lung is severely underdeveloped. There are holes in the brachial tubes of his right lung that cause him to aspirate fluid when he eats.”

My eyes widen. “We’ve been feeding him tea and broth.”

“You’ll want to stop that right away,” he says.

“Oh God,” I whisper. “Have we hurt him?”

“Not seriously. Not yet. It’s not a high level of aspiration either, but it’s enough to cause the coughing. The coughing, really, isn’t too much of a concern. The concern is infection. His breathing function is forty percent of normal at best, but if he contracts pneumonia or a sufficiently bad flu, what would be an irritation to us could be deadly to him.”

“Oh God!” Cordelia wails.

She drops to her knees for a moment, and I glance nervously at the room door. Lady Cordelia’s cry was no doubt heard. “What should we do?” I ask.

“I am going to recommend that he be hospitalized immediately. We have tools at the hospital that can scan his lungs thoroughly and determine if his pre-existing condition has worsened. We can also start him on a diet that will minimize the risk of aspirating fluid as well as prescribe an antibiotic that will fight infection and an expectorant that will make it easier for him to clear what he aspirates.”

“That’s so much,” Lady Cordelia whispers. “That’s so much, and he’s so small.”

She runs her hand over her face and plants it on her chin. She’s still squatting on her heels. Dr. Thornton looks decidedly uncomfortable at seeing the Countess like this, but he does his job professionally. “We can transport him in my vehicle with your permission, Lady Cordelia.”

“We’ll need my husband’s permission,” she says. “He’s Oliver’s guardian. I’m not.”

The doctor frowned. “I see. “Is there a number where he can be reached?”

Lady Cordelia takes a deep breath. “I’ll call him. It will be easier to convince him if I’m the one who delivers it.”

She gets to her feet and heads to her room. Dr. Thornton waits until she is gone, then turns to me. “Miss Wilcox, if Lord Edmund doesn’t give his approval, can I count on your testimony when I complain formally that Lord Edmund is negligent?”

I blink. “I… well… you’ve put me on the spot, doctor.”

“I know, and I’m very sorry to do that, Miss Wilcox, but…” He glances over my shoulder to make sure Lady Cordelia isn’t on her way back. Then he lowers his voice and says, “There is significant indication that an infection has already started. If we don’t treat it soon, it could turn a corner, and if it does, there may be no turning that corner again. Frankly, any choice other than allowing Master Oliver to receive treatment at the hospital is going to put his life in danger, and I can’t allow that to stand. Even if the culprit is Lord Blackwood.”

“You won’t have to worry about that, Dr. Thornton,” Lord Edmund says.

We both jump. Lord Edmund looks coldly down at the doctor and says, “I agree to your recommendation. We will transport Oliver to the Clifton Hospital at once. I shall expect a private suite and the care of your finest medical team. I will want you, and whoever else you nominate for that team on call twenty-four-seven, and I and the Lady Cordelia are to be kept apprised of any changes. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly clear, my lord,” Dr. Thornton says. His head is lowered in shame, and his voice is soft.

“Miss Wilcox,” Lord Edmund says, “I will allow you to remain here, and when I am informed by Oliver’s medical team that he is well enough to take school, I will send a driver for you to complete school at the hospital. Is that satisfactory, Doctor?”

“Perfectly, my lord.”

“Good.”

The bedroom door opens. Lady Cordelia strides toward us but stops when she sees her husband. A look passes across Lord Edmund’s face. I can’t tell if it should encourage me or terrify me.

His words encourage me, though. “Pack a suitcase, Cordelia. We are going to take Oliver to the hospital.”

Lady Cordelia stares at him in shock for a long moment. Then tears fall from her eyes. She rushes into her husband’s arms and embraces him fiercely. “Thank you, Edmund. Thank you.”

He smiles softly, and I hope very much that the love in his eyes is genuine.

***

Theresa, Franny and Matilda go with the family to assist with each person’s luggage. I am left alone in the house. I don’t doubt that Lord Edmund’s decision not to include me is intended as a slight, but I will use that slight to my advantage. As soon as their car disappears up the road, I rush to Lady Cordelia’s bedroom and into the study she points out to me earlier.

In all of my past mysteries, private studies and bedrooms have revealed information that later proves crucial to the unraveling of the mystery. People are creatures of habit, and nearly all people have a habit of hoarding items that call to mind powerfully emotional memories. Many killers have been caught because they kept mementos from their victims, and I have brought several people to justice by uncovering records that prove their involvement in murder.

Lord Edmund’s study is no different. His filing cabinet is locked, but I use two bobby bins to pick the lock and open the drawers. I flip through the files and find a document stamped with a large red OVERDUE.

I frown and pull it out. Behind it is another. And another. And another.

I skim through the files. One is a property tax bill. Another is a telephone bill. One is a payroll account. My eyes widen at that. I am financially secure regardless of my income, but I can’t imagine that Theresa and the other maids can say the same.

The thrust of these documents is clear. Lord Blackwood is deeply in debt. I do some quick math and come up with a figure north of seven figures. The family is teetering on the edge of bankruptcy.

This is shocking information, and it can truly explain Lord Edmund’s irritability and rudeness, but it’s not enough yet to suggest a motive for murder. I need to keep looking.

I take pictures of the documents and send them to Sean with a question mark caption. Then I replace them and look through the rest of the cabinet. I find more records that indicate the dire financial straits in which this family finds itself, but I don’t find anything that can connect this precipice with the one over which Sarah was thrown.

I look through the unlocked drawers and find nothing of importance. Nothing either that would indicate the struggles Lord Blackwood is facing. Evidently, he's chosen to keep his finances locked away and hidden from Lady Cordelia. I can’t say that surprises me.

I nearly leave the study when, out of the corner of my eye, I see a shoebox. It sits on top of the refrigerator in the office. I have to stand on tiptoes to reach it and nearly fall, but when I pull it down, I am rewarded for my efforts.

Inside the shoebox is a stack of letters. I sift through them and find mostly innocuous items. There are a few love letters from girls in college and university and a few pictures that I quickly look away from as they are very private. Perhaps this is only a shrine so Lord Edmund can remember the conquests of his youth.

But when I work my way through the first few letters, I find that most of them are from Lady Evelyn. These are of more interest to me, but as I read through them, I find that they are no different from the letters Lord Edmund receives from other admirers. It’s touching that he saves the memory of his former wife’s love, but that doesn’t help me understand if Edmund could be responsible for her murder. It doesn’t really indicate innocence either, since, as I’ve said before, many serial killers keep mementos of their victims.

I finally strike gold at the bottom of the box. The letter here is frayed at the edges and written in a harried scrawl that speaks of great distress at the time of writing.

The contents of the letter are chilling.

I don’t think I have much longer. I don’t have anyone on my side. Edmund’s going to take Oliver, and no one will care that his own mother wants to raise him to be better than she was. No one believes I can.

So this letter was written by Lady Alivia Blackwood, Oliver’s mother. I read on.

They might be right. I really can’t take it anymore. The screaming. It’s always the screaming and the moaning and the wailing of the ghosts. They’re coming for me. I don’t have long to live. I hope I am wrong, but I can feel it in my soul.

The final line is bold-faced, written so harshly that it tears the paper in some places.

Death is coming for me.