Chapter 3
We found Sister Tuppence Dearden and Miss Emma Wainsmith together in the front parlor at their boarding house.
Miss Wainsmith had clearly been crying and Sister Dearden seemed to be attempting to comfort her when we entered.
The older woman had her arm around the younger’s shoulders and was speaking gently to her.
The nurse was by no means old, it was just that the receptionist was quite a bit younger.
She couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, whereas Sister Dearden was mid-thirties.
She looked up as the landlady led us through to the parlor, but Miss Wainsmith turned her face away and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.
Harry introduced us and the reason for our visit. “May we ask you some questions about the incident?”
“Please, do,” Sister Dearden said, indicating the spare chairs. “Anything to help prove Dr. Iverson is innocent.”
“You believe he didn’t do it?”
“Of course he didn’t. He wants to save lives, not…” Sister Dearden patted a hand against her chest. “He isn’t a perfect man, but he’s not a murderer. And poor Mrs. Kempsey deserves justice.”
Dressed in a simple outfit of navy blue skirt and matching jacket, her dark hair was parted down the middle with a thick plait wound into a bun at the nape of her neck.
Although she didn’t wear a uniform, it was easy to imagine her dressed in a crisp white apron with a white cap perched on her head.
Likes Mrs. Iverson, she had a no-nonsense air about her, but I didn’t feel as unsettled with her as I had with the doctor’s wife.
Perhaps it was the fact she showed more sympathy in the two minutes of our acquaintance than Mrs. Iverson had shown the entire interview.
“I’ve read about your agency, Mr. Armitage,” Sister Dearden went on. “You’ve solved a number of murders recently. I am very glad Dr. Iverson hired you.”
Miss Wainsmith blinked damp lashes at Harry. “Oh, you’re that detective. You must be very clever.”
Harry indicated me. “Miss Fox is the clever one. I merely take the credit.”
Both women smiled politely at me, then turned back to Harry.
I suspected they didn’t believe him and assumed he was simply being chivalrous.
The receptionist in particular barely even glanced at me.
Her attention was focused on Harry, the tears on display when we arrived having dried up, leaving behind a smear of lash-darkening substance under her eyes.
If I’d not seen that smear, I’d have guessed she darkened her lashes anyway.
No strawberry blonde I knew had jet-black lashes.
I also suspected she wore rouge on her cheeks.
Their color was too pink against the rest of her pale face.
Her outfit was more fashionable than Sister Dearden’s, with the butter-yellow dress belted at her waist to draw attention to her thin frame.
The lace belt, collar and cuffs, however, were a little yellow and somewhat frayed.
I suspected she’d taken them from an older outfit and sewn them onto this one.
Usually when young women did that, it was to give the appearance she’d purchased new clothes.
I suspected neither woman was well-off, since they lived in a boarding house, but unlike Sister Dearden, Miss Wainsmith wanted to appear to be more comfortably off than she was.
“It’s our understanding that Dr. Iverson is the only one with the key to the cupboard where the Electro Therapy Machine is kept,” Harry said. Both women nodded. “Does he always lock it?”
“He’d be a fool not to,” Sister Dearden said. “And he is no fool.”
“What about a key to the premises? Do either of you have one?”
“I do,” Sister Dearden said. “If Dr. Iverson has a house call, I’ll open up the clinic of a morning. Although only the doctor takes appointments, sometimes patients show up without one and he wants me there to answer any questions they may have.”
“I don’t have a key,” Miss Wainsmith added.
“Does Mrs. Iverson?”
“No,” Sister Dearden said.
“But she would have access to her husband’s,” Miss Wainsmith pointed out rather enthusiastically, until she realized the implication of her comment. “Not that she would have stolen it and sabotaged the machine. Please don’t think I am accusing her, Mr. Armitage.”
“They have a good marriage?” he asked.
The younger woman looked at the nurse.
Sister Dearden gave a shrug. “I’ve not seen anything in their behavior to imply otherwise. On the occasions she has helped at reception, Mrs. Iverson was as professional as her husband.”
Miss Wainsmith stared down at the handkerchief she was twisting around her slender fingers.
Sister Dearden suddenly gasped. Frowning, she turned fully to the receptionist. “Do you recall last Thursday, when I couldn’t find my key?”
It was Miss Wainsmith’s turn to gasp. “I do. You found it before you left for the day, but that was several hours after you noticed it had gone missing. Oh my! Could someone have taken it, made a copy, and returned it later?”
Sister Dearden got up and began to pace the small parlor with short, brisk strides. “One of the patients was there twice on Thursday. Firstly, for her appointment in the morning, then she returned at the end of the day. Do you recall, Miss Wainsmith?”
“I do.” Miss Wainsmith nodded eagerly. “This particular patient was new. She paid in full after her appointment and didn’t make another, yet she returned just before we closed. I distinctly remember her. She was pretty, confident and younger than our typical patient.”
“Her name was Mrs. Linton,” Sister Dearden added.
“She wanted the doctor to treat her with the Electro Therapy Machine, even though it was her first appointment. Usually, first appointments are an introduction. Dr. Iverson talks to the patient, diagnoses their condition, then discusses treatments. Sometimes he’ll prescribe medicine, but a session on the machine requires a full appointment, so the patient needs to return.
Mrs. Linton insisted she needed it then and there. ”
“And Dr. Iverson obliged?” I asked. “Without first deciding if that was the treatment she required?”
Sister Dearden chewed her lower lip as she returned to her seat. “I’ll be honest with you. I don’t think the machine is a very effective treatment. It emits a mild current that gives the skin a vibrancy for a little while afterward, but once it wears off, the patient’s health has not improved.”
Miss Wainsmith drew in a sharp breath. “It’s a fraud?”
Sister Dearden looked pained. “I don’t know, but I think so. I’ve tried it myself and while somewhat exciting at first, it didn’t really do much. Whether Dr. Iverson believes it’s effective, I cannot say. I assume he must, since he continues to encourage sessions with it as a treatment.”
Miss Wainsmith leaned forward and fixed Harry with an unblinking stare. “It must work. Dr. Iverson wouldn’t continue to prescribe such a treatment if it wasn’t effective. He’s an excellent doctor, Mr. Armitage. He must be to have rooms on Harley Street.”
Harry removed a pencil from his pocket and wrote down Mrs. Linton’s name in his notebook. “What reason did she give for returning later that day?”
“She’d lost one of her gloves,” Miss Wainsmith said. “She remembered removing them in the waiting room and thought it must have fallen out of her bag when she paid. A thin excuse, if you ask me.”
“You don’t happen to know where she lives.”
“Her patient file will have that information,” Sister Dearden said. “If you’d like to return to check, you may borrow my key to let yourselves in. I don’t think I’ll be needing it until Dr. Iverson is released.”
“Thank you,” Harry said.
“It’s in my uniform pocket.”
“Before you retrieve it, I have some more questions. Apparently, a man came to the premises last week and caused a scene, accusing Dr. Iverson of medical malpractice. Do you remember that incident?”
Before he’d even finished, it was clear they both did.
Sister Dearden nodded, her expression grim.
The incident clearly had a more troubling effect on the young receptionist. She pressed the handkerchief to her mouth as tears filled her eyes.
Sister Dearden, seated beside her, put her arm around the younger woman’s shoulders.
“It was awful,” Miss Wainsmith said. “He barged in like a madman and began shouting, demanding to speak to the doctor. He called him a murderer for treating his wife with an addictive tonic. He said the cure was worse than the ailment. I was terrified. Fortunately, there was only one patient in the waiting room, and one other in with Dr. Iverson. The doctor came out of the consulting room and spoke to the man, but that didn’t calm him down.
If it wasn’t for Sister Dearden, we would have had to call the constables. ”
“What did you say to him?” I asked the nurse.
Sister Dearden shrugged. “I don’t really recall. I think I told him he needed to leave because he was upsetting the ladies. I may have mentioned telephoning the police. Or perhaps he just ran out of steam after getting it all off his chest. Anyway, he left.”
“Not before he threatened Dr. Iverson, shouting that he’d pay for what he’d done.” Miss Wainsmith waved her handkerchief at Harry’s notebook. “You should write down his name—Mr. Pierce. It was also Thursday, the same day Sister Dearden’s key went missing.”
Harry dutifully wrote. “Do you know of anyone who would want to kill Mrs. Kempsey and have Dr. Iverson arrested?”
Both women shook their heads, although Miss Wainsmith hesitated.
“Sister Dearden, would you mind fetching that key now?” I asked.
The nurse rose and left the parlor.
Once she was gone, I moved to sit in the spot she’d vacated on the sofa. “Miss Wainsmith, I think you have something you wish to tell us?”
She glanced at the doorway through which Sister Dearden had just gone.
“Something about the marriage of Dr. and Mrs. Iverson?” I prompted.