Chapter 14 #2
“But she’s losing weight, not gaining it,” Harry said.
“Some expectant mothers do lose weight at the start, when they can’t keep anything down.
The weight gain will come later as the baby grows.
I believe she’s one of those unfortunate women who gets very ill during pregnancy.
I told her she needed to rest, but she refused.
She said she couldn’t afford to stay in bed all day. ”
The woman we’d seen a mere half hour earlier hadn’t mentioned being with child. She hadn’t even hinted at the possibility. “What did she say when you asked her if she was?”
“She denied it. Unwed girls often do.”
“Not to their doctor.”
“When her doctor is also her employer, it’s a difficult predicament.
Miss Wainsmith needs her wages, particularly now, and will want to work for as long as possible.
She’ll try to hide the pregnancy until it becomes too obvious.
Naturally, I haven’t mentioned it to her again, as I didn’t want to upset her.
Her situation is difficult enough, and I want to do everything in my power to care for her and the baby. ”
Was that because he was the father?
The thought felt rather insidious and I couldn’t shake it. It stayed with me all the way back to the hotel.
Our roles had been assigned at the previous day’s security meeting. Harry was stationed at the front entrance alongside Frank and Goliath, while I stood beside one of the enormous floral arrangements in the foyer. If Mr. Pierce managed to slip past Harry unnoticed, I’d identify him and alert Peter.
It was not a plan I liked. It didn’t use me to best advantage. As the only two people who’d met Mr. Pierce, Harry and I were in a unique position to stop him before he entered the building, but the hotel had two entrances—the front one for guests and the service one for staff and deliveries.
Mr. Pierce wouldn’t get past Harry’s keen eye, so placing me in the foyer was pointless.
Uncle Ronald had dictated where to put me and Harry hadn’t disagreed.
They wanted me kept safe, but doing so meant I wasn’t useful.
It also meant the second entrance to the hotel was manned by staff who’d never met Mr. Pierce.
Although Harry and I had given them a thorough description, there was a very good chance he would come in disguise.
At the service entrance, he could pose as a deliveryman and slip past them.
At least I’d have a better chance of recognizing him.
I informed Peter that I was going to join the staff at the entrance near the kitchen. He protested, but I wouldn’t be swayed.
Some of the attendees were heading into the ballroom for Mr. Lombardi’s first session.
As I passed, I overheard them gossiping about Dr. Iverson’s predicament.
None seemed particularly worried for their colleague, although one did voice his concern that electric revitalizers could be so easily turned into killing machines.
I headed down the service stairs to the basement area.
From the main corridor, staff could head to the larders, scullery and kitchen, the laundry and steam room, and beyond to the maintenance room, coal cellar and boiler room.
The latter two I’d visited on my very first tour of the hotel but never been back.
I was more familiar with the kitchen. The hum of voices was much calmer under Mrs. Poole’s captaincy compared to when the previous chef de cuisine oversaw the domain, but the clang of lids and pots was the same.
I glanced into the kitchen and spotted Victor standing over a large pot, inspecting its contents. He looked up as I passed and nodded a greeting. I nodded back.
The two footmen lounging against the wall at the base of the short flight of steps that led up to another corridor straightened upon seeing me.
“You two are supposed to be out there.” I pointed at the door at the top of the stairs that led to the laneway.
They exchanged glances then mumbled apologies.
They climbed the stairs ahead of me then entered the lane.
Usually employed to attend to the needs of guests, including acting as valet to the male guests who hadn’t brought their own, they cut fine figures in their suits.
They weren’t used to watching for undesirable arrivals and I didn’t blame them for worrying about a confrontation.
I engaged them in idle chatter while I kept my gaze focused on the lane entrance where it joined Piccadilly. The cobblestones were damp from recent rain and the air felt cool from lack of sunlight. I wished I’d worn a coat. I folded my arms, but it did little to ward off the chill.
An hour later, two new footmen took over guard duty. I decided to fetch a warmer coat for myself and re-entered the hotel. I took the stairs to my suite, collected a thick woolen coat, and returned to the basement.
As I got there, the door to the laneway opened, and a deliveryman carrying a large pot entered. I didn’t like the way he kept his face averted as he walked toward me. His cap was pulled low so I couldn’t get a good look at him, but he was the right height and build to be Mr. Pierce.
“Good morning,” I said.
“Morning,” he mumbled under his breath. “Crayfish delivery.”
I blocked his path. “May I see?”
“Got to get ‘em to the kitchen.” He tried to push past me, but I continued to block him. As I drew closer, the smell got stronger. Not of crayfish but of unwashed man.
I knocked off his hat.
Mr. Pierce glared back at me. “You! What are you doing here? Never mind. Just get out of the way!”
“He’s here!” I shouted to the footmen.
No one came.
“This isn’t for you, Miss! Move aside!”
I shouted again, louder.
Mr. Pierce swore, then removed the pot lid. He tossed it aside and swung the pot to throw its contents over me. I covered my head with the coat to protect it from whatever was in that pot. The sound of a thick liquid sloshing was followed by splashing as it fell on the floor.
Then came a loud grunt. The pot crashed, followed by thuds and more grunts.
I lowered my sodden coat and saw Victor wrestling with Mr. Pierce on the floor. Victor had the upper hand, but Mr. Pierce put up a good fight. One or both of them were badly injured—there was blood everywhere.
No. Not blood. There was far too much, and the smell of paint fumes replaced the odor of my attacker. He’d thrown red paint on me. My coat had borne the brunt of the attack, as had the wall and floor, but some had also splashed on my skirt.
Victor managed to subdue Mr. Pierce before the two footmen reached them. His chef’s uniform was smeared with red paint too. He got to his feet, shoving Pierce into the arms of one of the footmen, and looked down at his uniform.
He seemed more concerned about me, however. “You all right, Miss Fox?”
“I am, but my coat is ruined, as is your uniform.” My skirt wasn’t quite as bad, so hopefully it could be salvaged. “Thank you, Victor. You were marvelous.”
“What do you want to do with him?”
“We’ll take him to one of the storerooms and keep watch until the police arrive. Can one of you footmen let Mr. Hobart or Peter know that we caught our saboteur. I’m in no fit state to be seen in the foyer.”
One of them hurried away while the other helped Victor wrestle a struggling Mr. Pierce into a nearby storeroom.
I followed a few paces behind, holding my coat away from me in such a way so as not to damage the clothes I wore.
Mr. Pierce refused to go quietly and protested loudly the entire way.
Staff going about their duties gave us a wide berth.
I handed the laundresses my coat in the laundry room and asked them to try to remove the paint if they could, and throw it away if they couldn’t, then rejoined the men.
Victor pushed Mr. Pierce onto a stool in the storeroom where every shelf was crammed with labeled jars of varying sizes.
I wasn’t sure it was a good idea to keep Pierce in a room full of potential projectiles, but when Victor directed one of the footmen to fetch him a length of rope, my mind eased a little.
“You ruined everything!” Mr. Pierce spat at me. “I was going to destroy Lombardi’s life like he destroyed mine. Now he’ll get away with murder because of you!” He directed a string of expletives at me until Victor threatened to punch him in the mouth.
“Disrupting Lombardi’s presentation won’t achieve anything,” I said.
“It will draw attention to the poison in that tonic he peddles. The newspapers will get wind of it and print the truth about his so-called medicines. He’d be ruined by the time I finished with him.”
“You’d be in prison, Mr. Pierce.”
“I don’t care,” he snarled. “What does it matter anymore?” He lowered his head and his shoulders slumped. “If the doctor got what he deserved like she promised, I wouldn’t have to come here and punish the tonic maker.”
The footman returned carrying the rope, then Harry rushed in behind him.
“Cleo! You’re hurt!” He grasped my shoulders, his worried gaze scanning my face.
I took his hands in mine. “It’s just red paint. The only thing hurt is my coat and my skirt.” I squeezed his hands then released them.
I stepped back as Floyd entered with Peter and Goliath. I signaled for them to stay near the door but was ignored. Goliath stood over Mr. Pierce as Victor tied his hands behind his back with the rope.
“Cleo?” Floyd asked. “Why weren’t you in the foyer like you were supposed to be?”
“Someone who knew what he looked like needed to be at the service entrance.”
He scowled, but fortunately didn’t scold me further.
Peter indicated the paint on my skirt. “Whose blood is that?”
“It’s paint. There’s quite a lot of it in the corridor just beyond the kitchen. It should be mopped up before someone slips.”
He departed to find Mrs. Short, the housekeeper.
“Has someone telephoned the police?” I asked.
“Mr. Hobart is doing it now,” Floyd said. “They’ll come to the service entrance.” He glared at our captive. “You’ll pay for the cleaning up.”
Speaking of paying for things…
Victor had tied Mr. Pierce’s hands together behind his back and was in the process of tying his legs to the stool, so I felt comfortable getting close.
The angry man who’d spat nasty things at me was nowhere in sight.
Instead, Mr. Pierce looked utterly defeated.
He must feel as though he had nothing left now.
Even his revenge had been taken from him.
I spoke gently but firmly. “What did you mean when you said, ‘If the doctor got what he deserved like she promised?’ Who promised to ruin the doctor, and how?”
“I won’t say another word.”
He didn’t have to. I’d worked it out. “It was Sister Dearden, wasn’t it?”
Mr. Pierce’s head jerked up in surprise. It was the only answer I needed.
“Cleo?” Harry prompted.
“Do you remember when we were told Mr. Pierce caused a scene at the clinic? He calmed down only after the nurse spoke to him. We all assumed she merely had a soothing way about her, but perhaps her words were more of a warning not to ruin what she had planned for the doctor.”
Harry turned to Mr. Pierce. “Did the nurse tamper with the machine that killed Dr. Iverson’s patient?”
“I don’t know,” Mr. Pierce mumbled.
“You could be charged with being an accessory to murder.”
“I don’t know! All I know is she must have failed because he’s still treating patients, and no doubt still advising them to take Lombardi’s poison.
That’s why I had to come here. Seems Iverson can rebound from an assault on his reputation, but Lombardi has further to fall. It’s his tonic, after all.”
Mr. Pierce may not be able to confirm whether Sister Dearden had tampered with the Electro Therapy Machine, but I was now quite sure she had. I suspected I also knew why she wanted to ruin Dr. Iverson. What I didn’t know was why she wanted to kill Isabel Kempsey.
Without knowing the link, I wasn’t yet prepared to confront Sister Dearden, but the path forward was clearer than it had ever been.