Chapter 12
I arrived in the sitting room attached to Mr. Birnam’s bedchamber just as Dr. Clarke was changing the dressings on his injured hands.
The valet, Paget, had answered the door at my knock, his face a stony mask.
I wasn’t certain of the cause of his strained stoicism until the physician glanced up at me and called me over.
“Ah, my lady. Will you come assist me? This fellow…” he tipped his head toward Paget “…is all thumbs.”
“Of course,” I replied, hurrying over.
Birnam, for his part, appeared miserable. His hands now laid bare were an angry red as the skin peeled away and here and there lesions began to form. He’d closed his eyes, as if reluctant to look at them.
“Hold this,” Dr. Clarke directed me, passing me a bandage. “And feed it to me while keeping it taut.”
I did as directed, noting he’d smeared some sort of unguent over the skin.
“I know it doesn’t look it, but thus far Mr. Birnam is healing nicely,” Dr. Clarke remarked almost cheerily. “Blood is still flowing to each finger, and the nails have not died. However, it will be some days before we know the true extent of permanent damage.”
“You mean, scarring?” I queried.
“At the least. If Mr. Birnam is fortunate, he will not have any lasting deep tissue damage or loss of dexterity.”
Birnam did not react to this assessment, but I supposed he’d heard his prognosis earlier.
It bothered me how pale he looked. Plainly, the man was in a great deal of pain.
So much so that I moved him to the very bottom of my list of potential suspects.
It was too hard to believe he would do this to himself in order to avoid suspicion.
Once Dr. Clarke finished the first hand, we began the second, all while the physician kept up a comfortable stream of chatter. I presumed it was meant to soothe the patient’s nerves, and it undoubtedly worked for some, but it didn’t seem to have any effect on Birnam.
“My lady, may I rely on you to handle changing these dressings if I don’t make it here by this time tomorrow and possibly Thursday?”
I lifted my gaze to Dr. Clarke in surprise, not having anticipated such a request. Though we were barely acquainted, I was quite certain he was aware of my past and my scandalous involvement with my first husband’s work as an anatomist. Some medical men viewed this with disgust and misgiving, while others seemed to pity rather than despise me.
The rare few looked on me as not a figure whose knowledge was to be feared, but to be appreciated.
Apparently, I’d taken too long to respond, for his eyes shifted to meet mine over Birnam’s half-swaddled hand.
“Of course,” I finally managed to reply.
He nodded once, returning his attention to his work.
“Mrs. Wright—over near Weethley—her youngest daughter is due with her first child. Her stable lad delivered a message as I was departing to come here to tell me her pains had just begun. Now Mrs. Evans…” presumably the daughter “…is a hardy lass, and I suspect she’ll sail through with no issues.
But a woman’s labor with her first child always takes the longest.” His gaze flicked to mine again. “As I’m sure you remember.”
Much of my labor with Emma had happened while Gage and I had been trapped in the underground Edinburgh Vaults, so I hadn’t exactly been focused on the time passing or urging my daughter to come more quickly, but rather for her to stay put until we were rescued.
However, I remembered my physician accoucheur in Edinburgh warning me that labor with my first could be long.
“By the fourth child, I often barely make it in time to catch them.” He chuckled.
“I don’t anticipate Mrs. Evans being ready to deliver her first until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest, but her mother will grow antsy if I don’t arrive in the morning, though she knows from her own experience and her two other daughters that the wait will be long.
So off I’ll go to twiddle my thumbs ’til the time is ripe. ”
I didn’t know why Dr. Clarke was confiding all of this to me—and in the hearing of Birnam and his servant—but it took a considerable amount of my self-control not to scowl openly at him.
The favorable impression he’d made in accepting my medical experience so readily had all been undone, and I was now quite determined that I should never have my lying-in with any of my future children in Warwickshire, but instead put my care in Dr. Fenwick’s competent and compassionate hands in Edinburgh.
Once the physician had finished—and not a moment too soon—and issued a few additional instructions to me for the morrow, I told Paget I would sit with Mr. Birnam while he showed Dr. Clarke out. The valet’s pleated brow told me he wished to argue but knew better, so he complied.
After they departed, I turned to study Birnam’s blanched face.
He’d been assigned to one of the more masculine-decorated suites of rooms, boasting dark colors and heavy furniture.
But the large man seemed dwarfed now by his surroundings, shrinking into himself as pain racked his body.
I’d noted that the physician had told him he could continue to use the laudanum he’d left him to ease his discomfort, but it was obvious he’d not taken it. Even so, I pressed him.
“Shall I fetch you some of that tincture, Mr. Birnam?” I offered.
He blinked open his eyes, looking at me for the first time since my arrival. “Nay.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, unable to keep the concern from my voice. “Or…if laudanum does not agree with you, Lady Tavistock has offered to fix you something milder. She’s a gifted herbalist.”
“Please thank her, but nay,” he replied dully, lowering his gaze to his wrapped hands where they rested in his lap. “Nay, I deserve this. Every blindin’ twinge and throbbin’ ache.”
For a moment I held my breath, wondering if he was confessing to something, but then he shook his head woefully.
“I was supposed tae protect her. Tae keep her safe. I promised her mam…her da.” He screwed his eyes shut. “And I failed.”
I’d not forgotten Miss Whitlock had been orphaned. “You must have been quite close to her parents,” I prodded, hoping he would tell me more.
“Aye. Clive Whitlock was my best mate since practically the day we was born. And his wife, Ellie…” He heaved a sigh of almost yearning. “Aye, she was a fine woman.” He looked at me directly. “They were the best o’ us and not a day goes by that I dinna think o’ ’em and miss ’em.”
“You all grew up together?”
He nodded.
“Did your wife also?”
He rubbed a forearm against his chest, and I wondered if his heart was troubling him. “Nay. Maggie was from Port Dundas.”
I didn’t know anything about Glasgow’s various neighborhoods, but I gathered this was different in some significant way than his own district.
“I haven’t been able tae find the note,” Birnam said suddenly. “That’s why you’re here, isna it?” His jaw tightened. “Tae ask after it for your father-in-law.”
“I’m here to check on you,” I corrected him, before cautiously adding, “though it would go a long way to convincing his lordship of your innocence if you were to find it.”
His bloodshot eyes searched my face while I fought to keep my expression placid. “You dinna believe I did it, do ye?” he asked after a few intense moments.
“No, I don’t,” I admitted, hoping this would encourage him to trust me.
He sank back deeper in his chair with a harrumph. “Your brother said ye were a canny one. Speaks quite highly o’ ye, he does.”
For some reason this made my throat tight, hearing that Trevor was proud of me. I supposed I’d known it, but to hear it put so bluntly stirred something within me. I had trouble finding my voice.
“I hope he’s right,” Birnam continued. “Because it seems you’re the only one wi’ sense I have tae rely on tae bring Portia’s murderer tae justice.”
“I’ll do my best,” I managed to reply.
He harrumphed again as if this wasn’t enough.
I scrutinized the barrel-chested man, disliking his arrogance. He might be a savvy tradesman, accustomed to ordering people about and demanding results, but I was not his employee, nor was this a mere business matter.
“However, my task would be much simpler if you and your family would answer my questions about Miss Whitlock,” I pronounced sternly. “Remember, I made her acquaintance just three days ago. I haven’t the slightest notion why someone would wish to throw acid into her face.”
This wasn’t strictly true. I had several notions, most of which implicated Birnam or his family in some way. But I was curious to hear his answer and witness his reaction to my deliberate use of such harsh words.
His face flushed nearly as red as his hair, bringing a bit of welcome color to his complexion. “Maybe ye dinna have the good sense yer brother ascribed tae ye, for ’tis perfectly obvious she was no’ the target.”
“You were.” This was a statement, not a question, but Birnam answered it anyway.
“Aye!”
“And why would someone wish to throw acid in your face?”
This time his answer was not so quick, so I pushed harder.
“If you believe you were the intended target, then there must be a reason.”
When still he didn’t respond but sat ruefully chewing on the inside of his lower lip, I crossed my arms and glared at him.
“You just said you wished to see her murderer brought to justice. Was that a lie?”
“ ’Tis business,” he groused. “Surely, you’ve heard o’ the vitriol attacks that’ve been made on other mill owners.”
I gave him no quarter. “And why would they target you specifically? And why here?”
“Opportunity. Obviously, Lord Gage’s security is lax.”
I raised my eyebrows, letting him know how absurd I thought his claim of an outsider causing such carnage was.
“As for why, some o’ the workers always have a grievance. There are troublemakers in every lot. Men and women who dinna wish to work, who think life should be handed tae them on a plate instead o’ laborin’ hard for it.”
Except from what I’d heard, their chief aims were simply to receive a living wage, to not be forced into debt to the owners by being compelled to live in company towns and company housing, and to toil in safer conditions.
“Why, when I started oot…”
But I had no desire to listen to him prattle on about how he’d gotten his start. I’d heard it all before. So I cut him off quickly. “Then why did they lash out at Miss Whitlock instead of you?”
This was something he’d evidently already been thinking about, for he answered readily.
“They must’ve found her first. Must’ve realized hoo much it would outrage me.
And…” He hesitated before continuing. “There are some who’ve no’ taken kindly tae my hirin’ a female secretary.
Some who’d no’ qualm to lash oot at her in spite, as well as tae get tae me. ”
“Can you think of anyone in particular?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “I dinna always ken their names.”
This exasperated me, for he was giving me no information that I could use to find the culprit. “You should know, she asked me to meet her,” I informed him crisply. This was not something I’d intended to divulge, but I decided that it might cut through some of his flimflam.
His brow furrowed.
“That’s why she was there near the blue room at midnight.
She’d asked me to meet her somewhere we wouldn’t be disturbed.
” I could tell he was struggling not to react, and so I pressed on, determined to make him reveal something.
“She didn’t mention asking you to join us.
In fact, I got the impression she didn’t want any witnesses to our meeting. ”
“Hoo many times do I have to say it?” he erupted. “She slipped a note under my door, askin’ me to meet her. I dinna ken why she asked me to meet her, only that she did. And ’twas no’ in her character tae do such a thing, so I kenned it must be serious.”
“Are you certain the note was from her?”
“She signed it, didna she?”
I huffed. “Yes, but was it in her handwriting? Was the wording her style?”
This, for once, seemed to give him pause.
“You said it wasn’t in her character to ask for such a meeting, so what I want to know is, was it actually a note from her?”
He began to lift his hand but then lowered it. I could see it was shaking. “I dinna ken. I…I didna pay much attention.”
I leaned toward Birnam, pleading with him. “The one thing I know for sure was that Miss Whitlock was frightened of something or someone. She wouldn’t tell me then for fear of being overheard, but I assure you, her distress was palpable.” I searched his frazzled features. “Why would she be afraid?”
“Afraid?” He seemed shocked. “But why wouldn’t she have come tae me?” His voice was hollow with hurt as his gaze trailed away. “Surely, she must have kenned I’d look oot for her.”
“Perhaps she was afraid for you,” I suggested, attempting to refocus his thoughts. “What was she working on? Could she have uncovered something that put you at risk?”
“Just the usual invoices and correspondence,” he muttered. “Nothin’ extraordinary.”
“Could we see it? It might help us understand.”
His eyes returned to me, his fog of uncertainty clearing. “Nay.”
“No?” I repeated in surprise, for I’d thought I’d made him understand.
He arched his chin. “What ye seek is no’ in any o’ my papers, and I’ll no’ risk them fallin’ intae the wrong hands.”
Instantly, I was suspicious, especially when I realized Paget had returned.
A speaking look passed between the two men over my shoulder, and it was all I could do to swallow the accusation that sprang to my lips.
For I was now almost certain it had been Paget who had broken into Miss Whitlock’s locked chamber and confiscated the contents of her writing desk.
However, without proof the allegation would only place more obstacles between us and Birnam, and we needed his cooperation if we were to uncover anything of import.
I would have tomorrow and perhaps Thursday to try again while I changed the dressings on his hands.
Excusing myself, I left Birnam in Paget’s care, wondering just who the valet was and what else he might do at Birnam’s behest.