Chapter 16 #2
I could hear the consternation in Milngavie’s voice, the tension, and I wondered if his mind was formulating the same suspicion Anderley’s had. If so, I found it interesting that a third party had come to the same conclusion.
Truth be told, I’d not known what to make of Milngavie’s behavior when we’d questioned him. He’d been one of the archers who’d seemed angry. But now I could tell the emotion he’d been struggling with was more a sense of exasperation and bewilderment.
Someone called to the men inside the billiards room, so I moved on before I was caught eavesdropping. But their conversation stayed with me as I went to seek my own luncheon.
—
Refreshed and restored after having a tray sent to my room and a brief respite before the window where the sharp breeze from an incoming storm had cooled my cheeks, I set off for Mr. Birnam’s chamber to change his bandages.
I could have waited a few more hours to complete the task, but after the morning’s excitement, I’d decided a friendly chat would not be out of order.
A rumble of thunder crackled in the distance as I turned the corner, and I spared a moment to wonder if Emma’s nap would be interrupted by the storm.
Reaching Mr. Birnam’s door, I rapped and then turned to scrutinize a watercolor hanging on the wall opposite while I waited for Birnam or Paget to answer.
There was a long lull in which I heard nothing but the rumble of thunder, and I’d begun to wonder if Birnam was elsewhere, when the vibration of a heavy tread reached my ears.
Paget scowled at me as he opened the door.
“Good afternoon,” I said politely. “I’ve come to see how Mr. Birnam is faring and to change his dressings.”
“ ’Tis already done,” he stated hostilely even as he allowed me to enter.
“What do you mean?” I asked in confusion before focusing on Mr. Birnam where he was seated on the same settee as the day before. I crossed the room in dawning dismay and vexation as Paget scoffed.
“I can change a bandage, m’lady. ’Tisn’t so very hard.”
“Except it’s not merely a matter of wrapping the wounds in a fresh dressing,” I snapped. “The wounds must be examined to ensure they’re healing correctly, and the pressure and tautness of the bandage adjusted to account for variations.”
“The wounds looked the same tae me,” he replied, his face pale, and I recalled the squeamishness Dr. Clarke had alluded to.
“You might think, but do you know the signs of necrosis? Are you able to recognize the slight variations in tissue coloration and inflammation that might allow us to act swiftly to save a part of Mr. Birnam’s hands?
” I gestured furiously toward the appendages in question as I pinned Paget with my gaze.
“What of the smell? Did you make note of it?”
He stared at me as if I’d grown a second head.
“It’s a pertinent question, Mr. Paget. Necrosis has a stench. Yet, you didn’t bother to notice, did you?”
“Enough, Mrs. Gage,” Birnam interrupted blearily. “You’ve made yer point. Paget will no’ change my dressings wi’ oot the doctor’s approval. Ye may change them. But tomorrow. I canna stomach it again taeday.”
And no wonder why. He reeked of whisky and, if I wasn’t mistaken, was already foxed. Judging from his greenish hue, he was close to casting up his accounts, and I did not wish to be present when he did so.
“Very well.” I turned to point my finger at Paget. “But I shall hold you to your word or else not be accountable when your employer’s fingers rot.”
Paget’s scowl hadn’t abated, but he nodded in acceptance.
“You may want to fetch him the chamber pot,” I added in parting as I marched past him and out the door.
Evidently, Mr. Birnam was either in more pain than he dared to admit or even more agonized over Miss Whitlock’s death than he wanted us to know.
Perhaps both. I wished he would allow Lorna to prepare him an herbal tincture.
It would be far better for his constitution than whisky.
I sighed. But we could not force the stubborn man to see reason.
The thunderstorm continued to growl overhead as rain lashed the windows.
Knowing this would keep everyone inside, I strolled through the chambers where everyone was most likely to have gathered, ensuring they were all well settled.
Most of the men had congregated in the billiards room and adjoining green drawing room.
The windows there had been thrown open to the covered terrace, and several of the men stood conversing and watching the storm.
Leaving behind the clack of the billiard balls, I entered the adjoining red saloon to find it empty except for Lord Lyndhurst, who sat reading.
Not wishing to disturb him, I nodded in greeting and continued on through to the mauve drawing room.
Here the windows to the terrace were shut save for one that was cracked to allow a slight breeze.
Alana was playing the pianoforte while Lady Lyndhurst and Lady Brougham were bent over their needlework, idly chatting.
Lorna was nowhere to be seen, but I suspected she was upstairs in the nursery, where I was bound next.
That is, after a stop outside Mrs. Birnam’s door. I’d not failed to notice that she and Matilda were both also absent. However, no one answered my summons when I knocked.
Clearly, they were still unwilling to confide in us.
One would have thought after the incident with the arrow they would be more eager to speak with us, lest Mr. Birnam be attacked again.
For it was doubtful that, if he’d feigned the attack, he’d informed anyone of his intentions save Paget, who must have riled the ducks somehow to distract us all.
Frustration bubbled up inside me, for we needed them to talk to us, or else we might never get to the bottom of Portia Whitlock’s murder.
I hated to think that was exactly what they wanted, but the longer they refused, the more guilty they looked.