Chapter 5 #3
Julia carried her medical bag into the library, glancing at the clock.
She wasn’t sure when Richard would arrive, but she wanted to be ready.
She covered a side table with a white towel and lined up surgical scissors, wads of cotton wool, and a bandage roll.
She added a bottle of carbolic solution and pulled up a chair.
Dr. Andrew Lewis twisted around in his seat. “For Richard?”
“Yes.”
“And how did you find him? You know your great-aunt will quiz me tomorrow at luncheon.”
“Even Aunt Caroline can’t expect much from a reunion at a morgue.”
“Don’t be too sure about that.”
“You can give her a firsthand report. That sounds like his cab now.”
“I doubt it’s my impressions she wants to hear.”
Andrew Lewis was on his feet with his hand outstretched as Mrs. Ogilvie led Tennant through the library door. “Richard.” Dr. Lewis turned his handshake into a pat on the upper arm. “Come, sit by the fire.”
“First things first, Grandfather.” Julia took Tennant’s elbow and steered him to the chair by the side table. She cut away the old bandages, daubing the wound with carbolic solution and wrapping his hand with a clean covering. Then she gripped his chin lightly and turned his head to the right.
“What’s this?” She touched the edge of a sticking plaster peeking from under his collar.
“Nothing. Only the result of my first attempt at shaving. Tricky with one’s left hand.”
“Hmm … did you forget they’re called ‘cut-throat razors’ for a reason?”
“Learned my lesson and visited a barber this morning.”
“Very wise.” Dr. Lewis patted the armrest of a fireside chair. “Julie, a drink for the inspector.”
“Whisky?” When he nodded, she poured. “Now that I think of it, you and Grandfather are just about the only clean-shaven men I know.”
“Shaving was impossible in the Crimea. For two years, I dreamed of hot towels and a sharp blade scraping my cheeks. Most of us looked like shipwreck survivors when we got back to England. All of us were bearded and scrawny.”
Four sentences, Julia thought. It was the most Richard had ever uttered about his experiences in the Crimea. He looked into the fire without comment and sipped his drink when her grandfather declared the war’s poor provisioning had been a national disgrace. Perhaps one day, he’ll say more …
Dr. Lewis said, “You’ve had a long first day, Richard.”
“Did it begin with Chief Inspector Clark’s warmest welcome?” Julia sat opposite him with her sherry. “He’s always a little ray of sunshine.”
Tennant smiled. “The man hasn’t the wit to hide how much he resents me. And that I caught up with Romilly in the end.”
Dr. Lewis said, “Tell us about the hunt.”
“You had us worried,” Julia said. “Nearly two months of silence. Your letter from Berlin turned up the same day as your last one from Paris.”
“I’m sorry. I thought the Prussian postal service was more efficient than that.”
Dr. Lewis asked, “How did it end for the scoundrel?”
Julia noticed he addressed her grandfather with only an occasional glance at her. He minimized the danger, but she wasn’t fooled. Her hand shook as she set down her sherry glass, thinking how close he came to death in that narrow passageway.
“A thousand rifles making their way to England?” Andrew Lewis shook his head. “Perhaps already in the hands of a thousand Irish hotheads.”
“A thousand so-called patriots.” Tennant sipped his drink.
Julia said, “Men who make the lives of fifty thousand peaceful Irish living in London a misery of hostility and suspicion. That includes Kate.”
“Paddy told me what happened at the clinic,” Tennant said.
“When will it all end?” Julia asked. “How will it end between us?”
“With a parting of the ways, my dear,” her grandfather said. “And an independent Ireland. But not before we’re drained dry of tears and grow weary of the bloodshed.”
Kate entered with a tray, followed by Mrs. Ogilvie with a pitcher of ale. She poured out a pint and handed Tennant a plate and napkin. “Can I bring you anything else, Inspector?”
“Thank you, Mrs. Ogilvie. This looks splendid.” He helped himself to a sandwich and looked at Julia. “Now, tell me about the autopsy.”
“Well, no surprises there,” she said. “Brigid Dowling died of manual strangulation.”
“Doctor MacKay agreed to do the cabbie’s postmortem tomorrow morning. As for the first one, your examination of Lizzie Dowling. Tell me about it.”
“While you eat, I’ll tell you all I know.”
When she finished, Tennant said, “There was no alternative to an open verdict, but now …”
“Kate was right all along,” Dr. Lewis said. “It was murder. And her money was on the ‘maggot’ who got the girl pregnant.”
“It’s a motive and place to start,” Julia said.
“It’s absurdly far-fetched to suspect that a local sweetheart or a fellow servant murdered Lizzie then traveled to London to kill her sister,” Tennant said. “No, these crimes needed someone with resources, mobility, and accurate knowledge about the Dowling sisters’ movements.”
“A gentleman with a lot at risk if Lizzie’s pregnancy became known,” Dr. Lewis said.
“Would it be so threatening, Grandfather? Gentlemen usually find ways to deal with the problem, short of murder.”
“But Lizzie was no ordinary maid, my dear. She served in the queen’s household. That might raise the stakes for someone.”
“The question of timing is critical,” Tennant said. “Your autopsy narrows the frame.”
“Yes, someone at Osborne House last July when Lizzie became pregnant and someone on the Isle of Wight in October.”
Tennant said, “Lady Styles is preparing a list.”
“There may be more overlap than you think,” Julia said.
“Why do you say that?”
“Bertie’s yachting set treats Cowes like a private playground. The sailing season starts in the summer and stretches into autumn. Do you remember, Grandfather? His friends were staying at our hotel during our October visit.”
“Remember? I heard them returning from the yacht club in the wee hours and in their cups.”
Tennant asked, “Do you recall any names?”
“Captain Oliver Montgomery introduced himself.” Julia shrugged. “As for the others … Lady Styles can tell you who else was there in October.”
Nine chimes sounded from the mantel clock. Tennant drained the last of his ale and stood.
Dr. Lewis said, “Come back in a few days, Richard, and we’ll change that bandage again. Ogilvie has the carriage waiting for you.”
In the foyer, Julia held Tennant’s coat as he shrugged into it awkwardly. “I can’t wait to see the back of these bandages.”
“We’ll replace it soon with something easier to manage.” She handed him his hat.
Tennant frowned, brushing the crown against his sleeve and tapping the brim against his knee. Julia recognized the signs. Making up his mind about something.
He cleared his throat. “Hannah told me … that is, my housekeeper said you traveled to Kent to—”
“Something of a wasted journey,” Julia said with a slight smile. “Sergeant O’Malley told us you’d decided to resign from the Yard.”
“That was my original plan.”
“I went to Kent to talk you out of it. And there you were … or rather weren’t. You were off, sleuthing on the Continent.”
“I’m sorry.”
Julia felt her smile tighten. “No harm done. I just left with a little egg on my face.”
“Hannah said she offered you a bed—”
“I had a hotel reservation in Dover,” she said quickly.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to—”
“How were you to know?” She opened the door.
“Julia, I …” He looked over his shoulder. Mr. Ogilvie waited at the curb with the carriage. “Well, thank you for this,” he said, holding up his hand before settling his hat awkwardly with his left.
“It’s good to have you back,” she said.
But it would be a long way back. Back to where we left off. She sighed as she closed the door. Back to wherever that was.