Chapter Three #2
“Mr. Clarke!” the doctor called out as, without wasting a second, he knelt down and set his black bag on the carpet.
“Mr. Clarke!” He opened Mr. Clarke’s frock coat, removed his tie, unbuttoned his shirt, and then used a stethoscope from his black bag to listen to the man’s chest. At length, in a tone of regret, he sat back on his heels and said, “I’m sorry.
I’m too late. I’m afraid your friend has passed away. ”
“Oh, no!” Selena’s hand went to her mouth.
“It can’t be.” Colonel Blackwood’s face crinkled with sorrow. “There must be something you can do.”
“I wish there were. Again, I am so sorry.”
A heaviness descended on Selena’s limbs. She had only known Mr. Clarke less than a day, but she felt terrible that he’d lost his life and in such a dreadful way. She felt bad, too, for the colonel and for Mrs. Hillman, who had both clearly been fond of Mr. Clarke.
Dr. Scott glanced at the landing area around Mr. Clarke’s body. “Do you know if he was carrying anything when he fell?”
It seemed an odd question. Selena noticed a candlestick and snuffed candle amidst the scattered pieces of firewood. “He may have been carrying that candle. Why?”
The doctor hesitated. “I was curious if he’d had something in his hands that might have prevented him from holding on to the rail.”
“I don’t know. The maid said she found him like this,” Selena told him.
“Such a senseless accident.” Colonel Blackwood shook his head. “It is too awful.”
Dr. Scott glanced up at the staircase and then back to Mr. Clarke’s prone form. His brows drew together as he said quietly, “Was it really an accident, I wonder?”
Selena’s body tensed as she stared at him. “What do you mean? Are you saying that he might have been pushed?” The same thought had occurred to her at first, but she had rejected it. For who would wish to harm Mr. Clarke?
“Pushed?” exclaimed Colonel Blackwood, his eyes huge. “Whatever put that idea into your heads?”
The doctor paused again, then gave his head a shake.
“Never mind. At first, I thought it might have been more likely, if he had fallen while walking down the stairs, that he would have landed face down instead of face up. But that’s wrong.
He might have tumbled head over heels or slid down on his back. ”
“Or rolled onto his back when he hit the landing,” Selena pointed out.
“Very true.” The doctor rebuttoned Mr. Clarke’s shirt and frock coat. “As you said, he most likely took a misstep in the dark.”
Selena wrung her hands. She had no clue what to do next. Her own life had been put in peril once when she’d lived at Thorndale Manor, but she had never had to deal with a dead body before. “Doctor. I have no experience with this sort of thing. Please tell me what to do.”
He rose to his feet. “Are you a relation of the deceased?”
“No,” Selena answered. “Mr. Clarke is—he was a guest here. I only met him yesterday afternoon when he arrived to attend our holiday house party.”
“I see. Is this your house?”
“No,” Selena said again. “I live here, but I am a friend of the mistress of Darkmoor Park, Mrs. Rose Hillman.”
The doctor glanced away, his eyes narrowing as if he were having difficulty focusing on the task at hand. “Is there someone—a family member, perhaps—we should contact on Mr. Clarke’s behalf?”
Selena frowned. “I have no idea.”
“Clarke was unmarried,” Colonel Blackwood interjected. “I don’t know about any next of kin. Mrs. Hillman might know.”
Dr. Scott gave a slight nod. “Normally, I’d have the body transferred to an undertaker.
But that would prove impossible at present.
” He gestured towards the window, beyond which was a swirl of white.
“Do you have an icehouse where we might move him for the time being? He will keep there until the storm passes and other arrangements can be made.”
As Selena processed the idea of moving poor Mr. Clarke to the icehouse, an involuntary shiver ran down her spine. “Yes, we have an icehouse. It’s about a five-minute walk from the kitchens. I could summon the footmen to help.”
Dr. Scott held up a hand. “First, is there anyone here whom you think might like to see him before we move him?”
Selena hesitated. “Mrs. Hillman, I suppose. I believe she’s still asleep.” She sighed. “I had hoped we wouldn’t have to disturb her until—until Mr. Clarke had recovered. But I see that I shall have to rouse her, after all.”
“What can I do?” asked the colonel. “I want to be of help.”
“Please inform the other guests as to what has happened, Colonel,” Selena told him, “and keep them calm and away from here until all this is resolved.”
“Very well, Miss Taylor. Dr. Scott,” Colonel Blackwood added in parting, before proceeding down the stairs.
Despite the dreadfulness of the morning’s events, it suddenly occurred to Selena that she was, most improperly, still in her nightclothes—in front of a complete stranger.
And a handsome one, at that. Heat flooded her cheeks, and she wrapped her dressing gown more tightly about herself as she turned back to Dr. Scott.
“Before I waken Mrs. Hillman—can you tell me what you think killed Mr. Clarke? Was it the injury to his head?”
The doctor didn’t answer. He was staring out the window. A scowl had taken over his face and once again, he appeared to be lost in thought.
“Dr. Scott?” Selena repeated. She was about to call his name again when he blinked and turned to her.
“I beg your pardon. I was wool-gathering. What did you say?”
“I only wondered what you think may have killed Mr. Clarke? Medically speaking?”
“I’m guessing there was internal bleeding in his body or his brain,” Dr. Scott mused. “Are you certain he was alive when you found him and sent for help?”
“Yes. I saw him breathing. And … he spoke to me.” In the anxiety of the past hours, Selena had forgotten all about that.
The doctor’s brows shot up. “What did he say?”
Selena paused, as Mr. Clarke’s anxious but enigmatic last words came back to her.
“I hid it … under the dragon. Four rows! In the …” There, he had broken off.
He seemed to have been trying to tell her something of great import.
But what? Had he truly hidden something?
If so, had he wanted her to find it? Selena wished now that she hadn’t mentioned it to the doctor.
She wanted to give the matter more thought before sharing it with anyone—and she had only just met this man.
“It was rather nonsensical,” Selena said quickly.
“I could make neither heads nor tails of it.”
Just then, a shout rang out from above. Mrs. Hillman, clad in her red, silk dressing gown, her hair still covered by her frilly, white nightcap, burst into view at the top of the stairs, with Gladys at her heels.
“Where is he?” Mrs. Hillman’s voice was filled with anguish. When she caught sight of Mr. Clarke lying on the half-landing below, her features contracted with horror. “Oh, no! Jack! No!” Her legs collapsed beneath her, and the chambermaid raced to prevent her fall.
Selena’s gut constricted. She had worried that something might go wrong at this holiday party, but she could never have imagined this—that one of Mrs. Hillman’s friends would die. It was too, too horrible.