Chapter Twenty-Five
Selena gasped and froze, an action mirrored by the doctor, who had just burst into the chapel through the bookcase door that led to the underground tunnel.
“Selena!” His eyes were wide with shock. “Why are you out of bed?”
Selena’s heart thundered in her ears as, too stunned to speak, she recoiled backwards.
The doctor set the lantern he was carrying atop the altar. “I told you it’s vital that you rest for the next day or two. Any physical or mental activity could delay your recovery.” He paused, his forehead furrowing. “What’s wrong?”
She considered fleeing the chapel, but her legs were suddenly wobbly, and that simple backwards motion had caused another spasm of pain to ricochet through her head.
She doubted she could outrun this man in her current state.
Instead, she grabbed a large, brass candlestick from the altar and clutched it in a tight fist before her.
“You went back to the catacombs while I was sleeping,” she blurted out.
He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “I did.”
“Did you find the money?” she snapped.
He shook his head. “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t there.”
Selena blew out a disgusted breath. To know that he had continued searching while she had lain in bed drugged by whatever medication he had given her … It made her blood boil.
“If we could get a clearer picture from Mrs. Hillman about the dragon image she saw, we might have better luck, and …” He broke off, eyes narrowing. “Why are you holding that candlestick as if it were a weapon?”
“Shouldn’t I be, Dr. Scott?” Selena demanded coldly. “Or should I say, Dr. Andrew Dalton?”
At that, his jaw dropped, and his body stiffened. For a long moment, he said nothing. At last, he said quietly, “So, you know. Yes. I am Andrew Dalton.”
Anger rose in Selena’s breast. “How could you do it?”
“Do what?” he replied, his tone flat.
“Mr. Clarke wrote to The London Times. All about your plan to murder him and steal the money he’d raised for the London General Hospital Foundation.”
“Ah.” He nodded slowly. “You’ve read the December 23rd edition?”
“The hall boy fetched it from the train station this morning.” A thought occurred to Selena, and she inhaled abruptly. “The colonel brought a newspaper with him, but it was stolen. It was that edition, wasn’t it? It was you who stole it!”
“I did take that newspaper. I’m sure you can understand why.
” A dark glare took over his face. “It was highly irresponsible of The Times to print that letter. I’m guessing Clarke knew or paid off an editor there.
I intend to speak to my solicitor in Town at the earliest opportunity and file a libel suit.
All it takes is one accusation like that to ruin a man’s reputation, or his life.
And there isn’t a word of truth in what he wrote. ”
“Forgive me if I don’t believe you.” Selena took another step back.
“Mr. Clarke told his dining companions at the White Hart Inn that he had taken the money to protect it from his business partner, to whom he had been coerced into giving the combination to his safe. He never said who his partner was, but now I know. It was you.”
He blew out a sigh. “I did work with Clarke—but the issue of the money didn’t happen the way you think.”
Selena ignored his look of protest. “I trusted you! I thought we were searching for the money together, to return it to the foundation. But all this time, you intended to keep it for yourself!”
“No—” he began, but she cut him off.
“You followed Mr. Clarke here, determined to get that money. How shocked you must have been to find him dead—and yet how convenient that was. Now he could never come after you! All you had to do was find the cash and flee.” Selena’s stomach churned with fury.
“What a fool I was to play your willing dupe in this sham of a treasure hunt, and a ‘murder investigation’ to boot! Just how badly did you want that money? Did you kill Mrs. Whitlock to remove her from the equation?”
“What?” He stared at her, his eyes wide. “Don’t be absurd.”
“You’re a doctor. You would have known exactly how much laudanum it would take to kill a person.”
He shook his head emphatically. “No! You’ve got it all wrong.”
“Have I? Please enlighten me.”
“I will. But first, put down that candlestick. I swear, I mean you no harm.”
Selena hesitated, but to her surprise, she didn’t see any threat in the doctor’s eyes. He just looked tired and frustrated. Still, she didn’t trust him for an instant. She set down the candlestick on the altar but kept it close just in case. “I’m listening.”
He crossed his arms and stared at the stone floor beneath their feet.
“A year ago, I was just a struggling doctor with a small medical practice in London, working hard to make ends meet. Out of the blue, John Clarke came to me with a proposal—to be the co-founder of a new hospital. That’s the name I knew him by—John, not Jack.
He said he’d heard great things about me from my patients.
He needed a doctor on board to make the foundation more legitimate.
And he wanted it to be me. He was a man of immense charm and presented himself as a legitimate and respected businessman.
I was flattered. I saw it as an unexpected opportunity.
To help found a new hospital—I couldn’t have dreamed of taking such a step so early in my career. ”
He paced back and forth beside the altar with rising agitation as he continued.
“I willingly joined him. He put me in charge of the building phase of the project and its financial management so he could concentrate on fundraising. He appealed primarily to private investors—successful businessmen and wealthy widows and matrons who sought to do good in the world. Clarke said he didn’t trust banks.
He’d lost a bundle once when a bank had failed, he claimed.
Fool that I am, I believed him. Although I opened a bank account in the name of the foundation, he had me turn every investment into fifty-pound notes, which he kept in a safe at his house.
While continuing my private practice, I also sought out investors and put in nearly every penny I had, over three hundred pounds.
Two months ago, on Clarke’s orders, I signed a lease on a building for the future hospital, hired contractors to begin renovating it, and purchased the equipment we would need—all on credit with the promise to pay. ”
Selena listened to all this with a frown. He had lied about so many things. How could she trust a word he was saying? Even if what he’d said was true, it didn’t make him blameless if he had ultimately decided to go after the money for himself. “This is a nice little story, doctor, but—”
“It’s not a story. It’s the truth! Hear me out, will you?
” His blue eyes flashed. “On the morning of December 23rd, I saw that article in The Times. I was dumbfounded. Clarke had made absurd, totally false statements, accusing me of being a potential murderer and thief. I realized that I’d been duped—Clarke must have intended all along to flee with that money.
I felt like an idiot for having fallen for his scheme.
I raced to his house in a panic, but he wasn’t there.
His housekeeper had just arrived—she knew me and let me in.
The furniture in his study was in disarray.
His wall safe was standing open and empty.
There were bloodstains on the carpet. Where the blood came from, I don’t know—an animal, I imagine—but it looked like someone had been murdered there. ”
This was too much. Selena shook her head. “Doctor, this is beginning to sound like a serial installment from one of Mr. Dickens’s more sensational tales.”
He heaved a sigh of frustration. “I am only telling you what actually occurred. I guessed at once what his letter to The Times had been for. Clarke had intended to fake his death, frame me for his murder, and disappear with the funds. His housekeeper walked in, screamed, and ran off, I presume to summon the police. I knew I had to get out there and fast, or I might be arrested on suspicion of Clarke’s murder as well as theft.
So, I fled and hopped on the first train north. ”
Selena wished she could believe him. But looking at him as he stood before her, his eyes frantic, his hand raking through his hair, she saw only a desperate man who would say anything to try to convince her of his innocence.
“You just hopped on a train?” Selena charged, shaking her head.
“And it just magically brought you here, where Mr. Clarke happened to be?”
“No! No. I guessed that Clarke had gone to Darkmoor Park.”
“How?”
“My first thought was that he meant to flee the country—and had he lived, he undoubtedly would have. But I recalled him mentioning, a few months ago, that he’d received an invitation to spend the holidays at Darkmoor Park in Yorkshire, from a wonderful woman to whom he owed some money.
He said he had always wanted to pay her back.
At the time, he probably hadn’t made his escape plan yet.
I’m sure it never occurred to him that I’d remember what he’d said, but I did.
I figured he might have stopped there on his way to Scotland. At least it was worth a try.”
It was a simple and clever answer—but had he just made it up? “What did you imagine you would do when you got here? Confront Mr. Clarke and demand that he hand over the money?”
His face colored. “Something like that. It wasn’t much of a plan, I know, but there wasn’t time to think of a better one. I was determined to prove that he had the money so I could return it to the hospital fund.”
“‘Return it to the hospital fund’?” Selena repeated with heavy skepticism. “I’ll bet.”