eattie now had a thunderous look on his face. This was when Sarah expected to be shown the door, amidst a pompous tirade about impropriety and further insistence that he would see her sacked. Instead, a sudden calmness seemed to come upon him. A transformation. He sat back in his chair, holding open his hands in a placatory gesture.
‘Miss Fisher, I owe you an apology. You are correct. All is indeed not as it would appear.’ He got to his feet, his expression sincere. ‘I would ask of you the courtesy of allowing me to explain. And by way of contrition, let me offer you some tea, that we might take it together while you hear me out.’
Sarah stood up too, almost by reflex. ‘Allow me to assist you then, sir.’
‘No, please. The kettle is not long boiled in the grate, and you have served me often enough. It is right and fitting that I should reciprocate for once.’
Sarah knew not to push the issue. She watched him leave the room, then made use of the brief time he was absent to step quietly across the hall and take a closer look at his study.
She saw anatomy specimens arrayed in jars upon shelves against the wall, reflected gaslight glinting in the glass. There were examples of every organ preserved in clear fluid: hearts, lungs, kidneys, even a brain. Sarah could well imagine how this sight might unnerve many an unwary visitor, but as someone used to the ways of medical men, she did not regard it as out of the ordinary. That said, something struck her as unusual about the specimens, though she could not from such a brief glimpse discern what it was. It gave her a vague sense of unease, but that was as nothing compared to the shock of seeing the pair of kid gloves that were lying upon his desk.
Sarah returned to the drawing room in time for Beattie’s reappearance bearing the promised tea on a tray. He placed it down on the low table, whereupon it was made clear that he was unused to serving anyone. She noticed that the cups were not matching and that the tea was already poured.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘It is such an unaccustomed honour to be waited upon by a gentleman. Might I then be so bold as to trouble you for a fancy or even a biscuit?’
Beattie looked annoyed with himself at this oversight.
‘Of course. I bought scones this morning, if that would suffice.’
He returned presently with a solitary scone on a plate. He had forgotten to bring a knife or butter, but she was content with what was offered.
‘How did you come to be in Dr Simpson’s service?’ he asked.
Sarah answered briefly, sipping from her cup. The tea was passable, but far from the finest.
‘It is a most unusual household, is it not?’ Beattie went on. ‘What strange sights you must have seen there.’
For a man who normally talked exclusively about himself and his ambitions, this was a remarkable level of interest to be showing in anyone else, far less a housemaid. It was almost as though he was waiting for something. Perhaps he thought that if he stalled her long enough, she would forget about her own questions. She would put him straight on that.
‘Dr Beattie, you promised me an explanation. I wish to know why you lied to Miss Grindlay and to Dr Simpson about having this uncle. Because if you are prepared to lie about that, one must wonder what else you might be lying about.’
With that, she drained her cup, thus underlining that the niceties were over.
Beattie watched her place it down upon the saucer, at which point she was sure she detected another transformation. He seemed more himself again, confident and haughty.
‘I asked about your service, Miss Fisher, because I hoped you would understand that opportunities are not always easy to come by. Sometimes they must be manufactured. People can be encouraged to believe in something, that they may have confidence in it. I wished them to have confidence in me.’
He took a drink from his own cup.
‘You are correct. I have no uncle and no house to inherit. All that I have, I have made for myself. My background is of no real relevance. It is my prospects and my future that are important, and I will have a great future. Mina is very lucky that she will share it.’
‘You are only interested in her for the connection to Dr Simpson such a marriage would afford, are you not?’
‘Let us be realistic. Mina’s only hope of a husband was someone seeking association with Dr Simpson. She is fortunate that it should be me. In the field of my profession, my gifts are only matched by my ambitions.’
He was finally showing the true face she suspected, and he clearly knew that he had nothing to fear from such candour. Not from this housemaid before him.
‘On the subject of gifts, Dr Beattie, I saw you purchase a pair of kid gloves at Kennington and Jenner’s. I assumed them wrapped as a present intended for Miss Grindlay, and yet I spied them open and worn in your study. Do you have another woman?’
‘I have many women. One would imagine Mina ought to be realistic enough to understand the nature of the match. But I will own that those gloves do belong to one who is particularly dear to me.’
He wore an odd smile, one that Sarah found unsettling.
‘You were prying around my study, then,’ he went on, standing up once more. ‘Perhaps you should come and pry a little closer. For I have something there that I would like you to see.’
Beattie took hold of her arm and pulled her roughly to her feet, leading her from the room with a tight grip. He hauled her into the study, where he stood her next to the table upon which the gloves lay.
‘I am not the only one disguising their true intentions. You and young Raven are secretly in league, are you not?’
Sarah said nothing. She was looking for how she might flee, but Beattie stood in the doorway.
‘Have a look in that press, there by the window.’
Sarah approached it, her heart beating a tattoo. Even before opening the door, she knew what she would find inside.
Hanging before her in the cupboard was the French midwife’s robe.
‘Have you answers enough now?’ Beattie asked, his tone distressingly calm.
She stared at the garment, contemplating all of its implications.
‘The gloves were for you. You are Madame Anchou. You murdered Rose Campbell because she discovered this.’
‘Like you, she saw things she should not have. At least in her case, she was not spying. I thought her asleep and she witnessed me take on my disguise.’
Sarah turned to face him. ‘Why are you telling me such things? Why would you show me this?’
‘I’m sure even a housemaid must have the wit to work that out.’
Sarah swallowed, her mouth dry and her voice failing. ‘Do you intend to kill me, Dr Beattie?’
‘No, Miss Fisher, I do not intend to kill you. I killed you two minutes ago, when you drank your tea.’