Chapter Eleven #2
Fiona handled the introductions. “Thank you so much for coming, Dr. Bertram,” she said.
“I am happy to be of service, but I must admit, I wasn’t given much choice in the matter,” he replied. “I appreciate the food and hospitality, but if there is a patient in need of my assistance, I ought to get on with it.”
“A patient,” I echoed. I had a sinking feeling the footman had not fully explained the circumstances. “Are you at all acquainted with Dr. Joshua Penhollow?”
Dr. Bertram’s expression indicated that he recognized the name. “I believe he lives and practices nearby, which is why I was surprised to be called in. Has he not been to see the patient?”
“He is the patient,” I replied.
Fiona smirked. “Would you really call him a patient?”
The doctor glanced from Fiona to me. “I don’t understand. Is Dr. Penhollow ill or is he not?”
“I’m afraid he’s dead,” I said. Enough beating about the bush.
Dr. Bertram scratched his chin and worked up a look of sympathy. “Then it appears I’m too late. Terribly sorry, but I could not have come any sooner.”
“You misunderstand, Doctor,” I said. “We didn’t send for you because he was ill. We sent for you because he was dead.”
“There’s not much I can do about that.” Frown lines popped up between his brows. “In fact, nothing.”
“We hoped you could tell us how he died,” I said.
He tipped his head like a puppy. “You don’t know?”
“Please allow us to explain what happened and why we are in need of your services, won’t you?” Fiona drew us away from the hearth and to a group of chairs and sofas arranged for conversation and gestured for us both to be seated.
Dr. Bertram looked doubtful but did as he was asked.
Once we were all seated, Fiona began her explanation with our walk to the village, moved on to the discovery of the doctor’s body, and then to why we suspected a second person had been present when the doctor died.
“If he had simply fallen over dead while crossing the field, who made the tracks that led to the village path?” she asked.
“If someone had been with him, one would expect the person would have gone for help and we wouldn’t have stumbled over his body a few hours later. ”
“You stumbled over him?”
Fiona made a reassuring gesture. “We did not. I phrased that poorly. The point is the circumstances when we found him were such that we judged his death suspicious. Unfortunately, he is the coroner, so we had to make do with finding another doctor to determine his cause of death. That would be you.”
“But I am not a coroner,” he said, looking extremely uncomfortable. “I have never done an official autopsy, if that is what you are asking, in the whole of my career.”
“When did you begin your career?” I asked.
“I have been practicing in Aylsham for a year now. A little over a year,” he said somewhat defensively.
“I was under the impression that doctors did indeed do work of this type during their time at medical school, which for you would not have been so long ago.” I’d spoken haltingly, tiptoeing around any mention of dead bodies.
“Well, I won’t say I’ve never done so, but I am far more used to my patients being alive.”
“Dr. Bertram,” Fiona began, “we are in a difficult position. There is a chance that someone murdered Dr. Penhollow. We have no police or coroner here at the moment, and—Dear me, how shall I put this? Any evidence on his person may be deteriorating as we speak.”
“I understand your predicament,” he said.
“We are relying on your help,” I added. “Would you let a murderer go free?”
He tugged at his collar. “It is not my specialty, but you are right, I have done this sort of thing in medical school. Why don’t you take me to the body, and I will do the best I can.”
Fiona and I gave him our thanks and wasted no time in relocating him to the conservatory. That is to say we wasted as little time as possible, considering that the children were back at the drawing room door. This time accompanied by Lissette and Christine.
“Are you the doctor they’ve been waiting for?” Lissette stared at the young man in open admiration.
“This is Dr. Bertram,” I said, introducing the lot of them. “He is here to help us, so if you are all satisfied, we’ll take him to the conservatory so he may get to work.” I raised a finger to the younger ones. “And I will not have you disturbing him while he does so.”
The doctor chuckled. “I can’t imagine they’d be interested—”
“You don’t know them,” I said, leading him away from the crowd and down the hallway. Fiona walked behind to ensure no children followed.
Once we entered the conservatory, Dr. Bertram seemed resigned to the job at hand and became quite businesslike. He removed the sheet from the body and tested the sturdiness of the table before placing his medical bag next to the body, leaving me to wonder what he intended to do.
“Will you require some assistance?” I asked, praying the answer would be no. Fiona gave me a frantic glance, which led me to believe she felt the same way.
“Not with anything I’ll be doing in here,” he said.
“I may have some questions later related to his health or his recent meals perhaps, but in the meantime, I should be fine on my own.” He had removed his coat and was rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt.
I really didn’t know much about the process he was about to begin, and frankly, I didn’t want to, but I did wonder if he would require a change of clothing when he’d finished.
I’d have to see if George had anything suitable.
Meanwhile, the fact that he needed no help was certainly a relief. “We have some drawings that depict Dr. Penhollow’s position and location when we found him. Might they be of any value to you?”
“Perhaps, perhaps.” Dr. Bertram appeared ready to begin.
“I will have them brought to you,” I said, moving closer to Fiona, who was inching toward the doors.
“Feel free to use the bellpull to call for someone if necessary.” Fiona indicated the pull on the opposite wall.
As I turned my gaze, it landed for a moment on the body, and I noticed one of Dr. Penhollow’s gum boots was missing.
I stepped to the end of the table where Dr. Bertram had left the sheet in a heap.
When I moved it, the boot fell to the floor with a thunk.
After picking it up, I glanced from the boot in my hand to Dr. Penhollow’s stockinged foot.
“Dr. Bertram, do people’s limbs shrink after death?”
“They do to some degree,” he said. “Dehydration and all that. Why do you ask?”
I held up the boot next to the foot. The boot was far larger. “Look at the difference in size,” I said. “Could his foot have shrunk this much?”
Dr. Bertram moved closer and glanced from foot to boot. “No. I daresay those boots didn’t fit even when he was alive.”
“That’s strange. Why would he be wearing boots that look at least two sizes too large?”
“Perhaps they aren’t his,” Fiona suggested.
I considered the possibility. “Then an even better question is, why is he wearing someone else’s boots?”