Chapter 2 #3
“I’ll have my written conclusions for you tomorrow,” Julia said, “but I can tell you now that Lizzie Dowling drowned. Water filled her lungs.”
Phillips asked, “Suicide, accident, or murder?”
“I cannot say with certainty, Chief Constable.”
“Well, that’s torn it,” Milgram said savagely. “A damnable waste of time.”
Julia ignored the coroner and addressed the policeman. “Suicide is least likely, given the state of her fingernails. Still, those who decide to end their lives sometimes change their minds. She may have tried and failed to claw her way to safety.”
“Good Lord,” the chief constable muttered.
“It’s also possible that she overbalanced and fell in accidentally,” Julia said. “It’s equally likely that someone tipped her in and held her underwater. Perhaps by her ankles. Her leather boots would leave no trace of bruising from an assailant’s fingermarks.”
Chief Constable Phillips asked, “Were there any other signs of violence on her body?”
“Abrasions on her right forehead and cheek. An attack would explain it, but so would thrashing against the stone wall of the well, trying to save herself.”
Milgram scowled. “Not very helpful.”
“My report will record that she was pregnant. I’d estimate she was about four months gone.”
The following morning at breakfast, Lady Aldridge said, “That poor girl. Alone, perhaps abandoned in her trouble, now to be a victim again. This time, of gossip and speculation.”
“Violent death affords no private place,” Dr. Lewis said. “Her tragedy becomes public property at the coroner’s inquest. When do you give your evidence, Julie?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Quarr Abbey … I visited it once,” he said. “Such a strange and lonely place to die.”
“An omnibus driver said she visited often, according to Chief Constable Phillips.”
“Thank you, Kate,” Dr. Lewis said as Julia’s maid removed his empty plate. “They found no evidence at the scene?”
“The chief constable said nothing, except …” Julia frowned. “It’s strange, but the police found two piles of flat stones on the well’s wall.”
Kate dropped a teaspoon that clattered across the parquet floor. She bent to retrieve it and rose, pink in the face. “Mother of God, is it a holy well, this water at Quarr Abbey?”
Dr. Lewis looked at Julia. She lifted her shoulders and said, “I don’t know, Kate.”
“Sure, it must be if the girl left piles of stones behind. All my old aunts in Ireland did the same to ward off illness or beg a blessing. What sort of abbey are we talking about?”
“They’re just ruins, now,” Dr. Lewis said. “But it was the Abbey of Saint Mary and—”
“Praying to the Virgin at a holy well? Sure, she’ll not be taking her life in such a place. ’Tis a mortal sin, and to do such a terrible deed after asking for a blessing? Never.”
“I can’t be certain,” Julia said. “Suicide is one possibility. It may have been an accident or—”
“’Twas no accident if she knew the place and prayed there often.” Kate picked up the tray of plates. “They should be looking for the maggot who got her in the family way.”
Doctor Lewis stood and held the door so the maid could pass through. He closed it and said, “We know where Kate stands. If not suicide or accident …”
Julia nodded. “That leaves murder.”
At the inquest the following morning, the omnibus driver testified to Lizzie Dowling’s unaccompanied journey to Quarr Abbey, and a local constable described the discovery of the body by hikers. Then the court clerk called Dr. “Julius” Lewis to the stand.
“If only it were true,” she murmured to her grandfather, standing. “Mister Milgram would be much happier.”
The clerk blinked at her approach. Julia raised her right hand and swore the oath, correcting her name.
Near the end of her medical testimony, a low hum buzzed across the room at the news of the girl’s pregnancy.
Silence greeted Julia’s inconclusive determination of the cause of death.
The coroner’s jury shuffled out, deliberated for ten minutes, and returned with an open verdict.
The stone-faced coroner gaveled the proceedings to a close.
“A suspicious death but no certainty,” Doctor Lewis said, taking his granddaughter’s arm. “Still, no other conclusion was possible beyond a reasonable doubt.”
Julia murmured, “The coroner doesn’t look happy.”
Mr. Milgram approached her on the courthouse steps. Without a word, he counted out four crowns and six shillings, handed them to Julia, and stalked off.
“One of the world’s charmers,” Dr. Lewis muttered. “I wager he’d be civil enough if Sir Charles had performed the autopsy.”
“Never mind. Your friend foisted me on him, and Mister Milgram just paid for the privilege.” Julia jingled the coins. “Although it’s half the going rate for an autopsy and expert testimony in London.”
Her grandfather said, “Between your clinic work and medical examiner fees—”
“I’ll never get rich.” Julia’s gaze drifted away from Milgram and down to the courtyard. “That woman … the one speaking to Sir Charles. She’s striking.”
Her grandfather turned. “Yes, I noticed her in the courtroom. A young widow, by the look of her.”
The tall, fair woman wore a gown of mauve and gray, her collar and cuffs trimmed with narrow ribbons of black silk. She glanced their way and then laid a hand on Sir Charles’s sleeve. He said a few words to the lady and mounted the steps. At the top, he tipped his hat to Julia.
“Doctor Lewis, can you spare a moment to speak with Lady Styles? She is a lady-in-waiting to the Princess of Wales and would like a word.”
“Of course.”
“I’ll bring her to you.” Sir Charles smiled. “Then, unless I take my leave, I’ll be late for a celebratory luncheon. We’re welcoming a new grandson into the family.”
“A happy occasion, Sir Charles,” Julia said.
“Thank you, my dear. The boy is called Henry Locock, named for my father.”
As she waited for Sir Charles to return with Lady Styles, Julia overheard two elderly ladies whispering behind her.
“Married three months, and the young Lococks are adopting a child? Why, they’ve hardly had time.”
“Mark my words,” the second lady said. “There’s a family connection. Some ‘by-blow’ of one of Sir Charles’s sons and a servant girl.”
“Could it be Captain Locock’s own child? He’s always been the wildest of the brothers.”
“That might explain why Frederick and Mary would take a strange child into the family. It seems distinctly odd for a newly married couple.”
Julia shook off her distaste at the gossip. She smiled when Sir Charles introduced Lady Styles and then excused himself.
“Thank you for seeing me, Doctor. I attended the proceedings at the Princess of Wales’s request, but an open verdict leaves many questions. I suppose you can’t say—”
“Which possibility is most likely?” Julia shook her head. “I’m sorry.”
“Princess Alexandra’s concern …” Lady Styles sighed. “I suppose some at the palace will fear scandal, but her heart breaks for the girl. How alone she must have felt. You said she was four months pregnant? Of that, you are sure?”
“An autopsy allows one to make a reasonably accurate assessment.”
“I see.”
Julia thought she did. The lady could do the simple subtraction. And remember, perhaps, who was at Osborne House in the summer. “Did you know Lizzie Dowling well, Lady Styles?”
“Not really. She was part of the queen’s household, not the Wales’s establishment. The prince avoids his …” Lady Styles dimpled a charming smile. “Waiting on the princess has taught me that family conflicts are the same everywhere. The only difference is that the combatants have royal titles.”
“They seem like exotic creatures to mere mortals.”
“The two princesses, Alexandra and Louise, will be fascinated by you, a lady doctor. Do you practice in London?”
“At our house in Finsbury and my clinic in Whitechapel.” Julia reached into her medical bag and produced a card with her particulars. “Seeing is believing, so they say. Evidence to convince a skeptical world.”
“Proof positive of a female physician.” Lady Styles waved it like a prize. “Thank you, Doctor.”
Julia watched her walk to her carriage, thinking, I’d like to know her better.
An hour after luncheon, Lady Styles retreated to the quiet of her favorite Osborne grove and sat on her bench. She had informed the Princess of Wales about the inquest’s findings. When she ended with the news that Lizzie had been pregnant, Alix’s face matched the white tablecloth.
Susan retrieved the card from her pocket and tapped it against her palm. She turned it over. DR. JULIA R. LEWIS, 17 FINSBURY CIRCUS, LONDON. It also listed the location of her clinic on Fieldgate Street in Whitechapel.
A woman doctor … I wonder.
Susan looked up on hearing her name called and sighed at the imminent interruption.
Peter FitzGerald and Captain Oliver Montgomery crossed the grounds from the direction of the stables.
They made a dashing pair: the queen’s tall, dark, clean-shaven equerry and Montgomery, matching Major FitzGerald in height but with sandy hair and a neat military mustache.
Oliver Montgomery was an equerry to the Prince of Wales.
And Alix’s faithful swain, Susan thought.
The captain had been in Cowes for the past week, riding with the prince and Peter FitzGerald.
But he hadn’t turned up for tea with the Princess of Wales until that day.
It had surprised Susan because it was plain to everyone that he adored Alix.
Obvious to everyone except the princess.
Montgomery stood guard over his love like the Sphinx: lionlike in his strong attachment, rooted, mute, and immutable.
A pity her husband isn’t as devoted. No, that wasn’t entirely true, Susan thought. Bertie is devoted … he just isn’t faithful.
Captain Montgomery clicked his heels and bent over Susan’s hand. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was something in his manner. Overdone? He charmed Alix, but his gallantry left Susan untouched.