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Charlie took Grace’s arm as soon as they left the police station. She had presented her evidence as a poised and confident professional in the interview room, but he couldn’t help noticing the way she had gripped her hands in her lap to stop them trembling. Her account had been traumatic even in the retelling.
Charlie could scarcely envisage what it must have been like for Grace, trying to save a man’s life in the dead of night, full moon notwithstanding. “A harrowing evening’s entertainment, Grace, even by your standards. Let’s get you home straight away.”
Grace simply nodded and pulled her coat tighter around her shivering body.
Anne’s house was silent. Everyone else had gone to church, as normal people do on a Sunday. Charlie guided Grace into the drawing room. While he stoked the fire, Grace cast off her outerwear with careless abandon. The coat slithered of an armchair and pooled on the Turkish rug. The scarf caught on a vase, sending it teetering to the edge of a side-table. The gloves and hat landed on a pile of books, knocking her toxicology text to the floor.
Grace went over to the window, leaning her head on the frame. “I’m glad you trusted your instinct to come back, Charlie,” she whispered.
The desire to comfort her almost overwhelmed Charlie, but the defensive hunch of her shoulders held him back. After hurting her by insisting on time away to consider his future, he wanted to avoid any missteps as he fought his way back into her favour. Instead, he stood at arm’s length, staring out the window without seeing. “Does that mean you might be willing to forgive me?”
“There is nothing to forgive. After a great deal of consideration, I’ve come to see you were right. It is better for each of us to concentrate on our careers. Right at this moment, I need your detective skills more than anything else.”
“Whatever skills I possess are entirely at your disposal, Grace. That goes without saying.” Charlie felt his way carefully around the ambiguity of the rest of her words. “Aside from that, I trust we can still be friends. Close friends, I mean, not passing acquaintances.”
“Yes, of course. I feel ... stronger with you here.”
Charlie watched the tension play across the muscles of her neck. “Grace, you are the strongest person I know, but even you cannot bear the entire weight of the world on your shoulders. Can I recommend sharing the load with a close friend?”
She closed the gap between them with a sudden lurch, falling into his arms. He held her in silence, stroking her hair, until her trembling ceased.
When Grace spoke, it was a whisper against his waistcoat. “What if I didn’t do enough, Charlie? I’ve never had a patient die before, not without a qualified doctor present.”
“Dearest Grace, I think it is a miracle that you kept your wits about you in such circumstances. I’m not a doctor, but I have seen many people reacting to an emergency – screaming, fainting, freezing, running away, crouching in a ball pretending they are elsewhere. Not one in twenty reacts with calm good sense, as you did. You only have to look at that damnable idiot, Henry Ormsby, who failed to act to save his own father.”
The tension across Grace’s slim shoulders eased at his words. “Can we sit and talk about something else for a while?”
Charlie led her to the sofa, where she sat down beside him, so close her hair tickled his chin. He struggled to think of a safe subject. “Have you been a bridesmaid before?”
“At my brothers’ weddings, but that doesn’t count, because I only had to walk down the aisle at the end of a line of the brides’ sisters and friends. I confess I am a little nervous, as this time I am the only bridesmaid. Your mother will be matron of honour, of course, so she will do most of whatever needs to be done. Lily says all I need to do is attend a gown fitting and show up on the day, but I feel I should be doing more to help her organise it.” The tension flooded back. “If Detective Sergeant Elliot and Henry Ormsby have anything to do with it, I might end up spending their wedding day in prison. Lily might never forgive me.”
“That is not going to happen, Grace. I will not let you go to prison. And I’m sure Aunt Lily and my mother will have every last detail of the wedding under control. However, you should know that there is one other challenging duty you will be required to perform.”
Grace sat up in alarm, bumping his chin. “I knew Lily wasn’t telling me the full extent of it.” She groaned. “I hope it isn’t anything to do with decorating, dressmaking or cooking. Not my strongest talents. Or flower arranging ... or etiquette or ... Oh fiddlesticks, I’m going to the worst bridesmaid in history. Go on then, you’d better put me out of my misery – what is it that I have to do?”
Charlie leaned closer. “You will be required to dance with the best man, after the bride and groom have taken a first turn around the dance floor. All eyes will be upon you and your fortunate partner. Your performance will have to be dazzling.”
Grace sank back against his chest. “Oh Charlie, you had me worried for a moment. I expect I can manage a dance. Not the dazzling part, as I haven’t had much dancing practice lately. Remind me who the best man is?”
“That would be me.”
Graced exhaled rather forcibly, but her lips twitched into a smile. Charlie knew she was recalling the few times they had danced together – each time so memorable that she would have no choice but to accept they were meant to be together.
“Perhaps a little dance practice would take my mind off being a police suspect,” Grace murmured.
Charlie had little doubt it would take his own mind to places he shouldn’t go. Close friends he could manage, at a pinch, but not if he was circling the room slowly, with Grace in his arms.
The bell at the front door came to his rescue, unfortunately. Charlie hoped it wasn’t DS Elliot, back with more questions. Grace ignored the bell, but he knew they could not escape the visitor, as Mrs Brown was home, preparing the Sunday lunch. Charlie heard her welcoming the visitor in, followed by footsteps down the hall.
“Doctor Beechworth,” Mrs Brown announced.
Dark smudges under Beechworth’s eyes, combined with mis-matched cufflinks and a skewed tie, suggested the doctor was short on sleep and long on anxiety. “Miss Penrose, please forgive me for arriving without notice. I see you have company, so I shall detain you no further.”
“Not at all, Doctor Beechworth, please take a seat. Allow me to introduce Mr Charles Pyke, a private investigation agent and close friend. Charlie was kind enough to accompany me to the police interview this morning. There is no one I trust more to find answers to mysteries that appear baffling.”
Charlie extended his hand. “I wish we had met under more pleasant circumstances, Doctor Beechworth. If you wish to speak to Miss Penrose privately, I would be happy to oblige.”
“Not at all, Mr Pyke. The more intelligent minds deployed upon the matter, the better, as far as I am concerned.”
Charlie led the conversation, in the interests of sparing Grace. “How is Mrs Beechworth this morning? I assume she was also called to the police station to see Detective Sergeant Elliot?”
“Less a talk than an interrogation,” Beechworth growled. “I came close to flooring the oaf on several occasions. Unfortunately, everyone at the soirée saw the heated exchange between my wife and Ormsby. It seems her later apology ended badly too. Worse still, Ivy had brought Ormsby a glass of port in an attempt to mollify him after confronting him earlier in the evening. Now, rumours are swirling that she poisoned him.”
“Outrageous.” Grace set aside her indignation with conspicuous effort. “I’m truly sorry, Doctor Beechworth. I know your wife did nothing untoward, as I told the police. However, I have to warn you that Mr Horncastle overheard your wife after the Hospital Trustees meeting, joking about being cross enough to murder Ormsby. Elliot may not view this as the harmless venting of frustration that her friends understand it to be.”
Doctor Beechworth sunk his head into his hands. “Don’t I know it. Sergeant Elliot pressed her about it until Ivy was in tears. Not Horncastle’s fault, of course, but I do wish he had kept it to himself. Especially the bit about using rat poison.”
Grace grimaced at the memory. “I am not acquainted with Mr Horncastle, or his normal relationship to Ormsby, but he appeared to be actively avoiding his host at the soirée.”
“That dratted new hospital building has everyone’s hackles up.” Beechworth stopped his fist from thumping down on the arm of the chair and gave her an apologetic smile. “We need the new facilities desperately, of course. If only I could get the Trustees out of their leather seats and into the women’s ward, they’d change their minds in an instant. I must say, your manipulation of the Trustees to our point of view last night was masterful. With Ormsby gone, there is hope.”
Beechworth’s hand flew to his mouth. “I ... I didn’t mean that as it sounded. Ormsby’s death is a great loss, naturally.”
“I know exactly what you mean, Doctor Beechworth,” Grace assured him. “Doctor Ormsby was a difficult character, at times. I must say, I saw a different side of him last night on our walk. In fact, he agreed to a compromise that would allow the building of the women’s ward to proceed, so there was no ill will on his side. His death was untimely for our cause, as well as tragic. The only consolation I can offer to your wife is that the police’s prime suspect appears to be me, not her.”
“Hardly a consolation. Ivy would prefer to bear the brunt of accusations herself, rather than have your reputation impugned. Miss Penrose, I know it is a lot to ask in the circumstances, but I would be very grateful to hear exactly what happened, directly from you, as the only reliable witness. Young Henry Ormsby seems to have quite lost his head last night, when he accused you of causing his father’s death. Foolish idiot, he mistook your brave attempt at resuscitation as further evidence of a concerted attack. Henry was suitably shamefaced about that mistake after I blasted him, but I doubt he bothered to retract his statement to the police.”
“Henry Ormsby vanished before the police arrived,” Charlie said. “His conduct in this matter has been deplorable.”
Mrs Brown knocked and entered with a tray of tea. Grace poured and passed around cups as she spoke of the previous night, concentrating on the critical events, in the calm, coherent manner of an ideal witness. “I fear I did not do enough to save Doctor Ormsby,” she finished, “but I cannot undo what is done.”
Beechworth sat in silence for several seconds, crushing one of Mrs Brown’s delicious shortbread biscuits into crumbs. “On the contrary, Miss Penrose, I must commend you on your quick thinking. You did exactly what I would have done in the circumstances, which is more than many qualified practitioners would have managed. From what you say, there is little doubt that Ormsby suffered something akin to a grand mal seizure. The question is, why?”
“Doctor Ormsby was clearly very unwell during the soirée,” Grace replied, “but it seemed no more than a bad stomach upset until he had the seizure. He did not appear to have a fever indicative of some type of infection that affected his nervous system. A prior head injury is possible, but I checked his head and found no sign of anything abnormal. The most likely cause is epilepsy, unless the nausea and disorientation he had been suffering over the course of the evening was due to a toxin. Hopefully, his doctor will be able to explain it.”
“I fear not,” Beechworth said. “I spoke to Ormsby’s personal physician last night. I am breaching no confidences in telling you that Ormsby had a weak heart and a tendency to stomach upsets, as that fact is widely known. He has never suffered from epilepsy or any other cause of seizures.”
“Perhaps the police surgeon will find the cause of death at the post-mortem,” Charlie said.
Beechworth shook his head. “I visited Doctor Cranston-Hartfield on my way here. He confirmed heart failure as the proximate cause of death and noted the presence of a slightly malformed heart valve, which explains his weak heart. The seizure Ormsby suffered likely led to the heart failure, but the cause of the seizure is as yet unknown. I hardly need add that the police surgeon found no evidence of strangulation, although he did find a minor bruise on Ormsby’s cheek. Aside from that, the police surgeon would only say that the stomach and colon were completely void, confirming that the malaise we all noted in him during the evening had been accompanied by retching and bowel evacuation. But if it was accidental food poisoning, why did nobody else suffer ill effects? And why the seizure?”
“Did the police surgeon view his death as potentially suspicious?” Charlie asked.
“All I can say is that Cranston-Hartfield is running further tests. Not that he suspects anything specific, but as a precaution. As you will be aware from the symptoms, Miss Penrose, there is considerable room for doubt. It is possible Ormsby took an accidental overdose of medication or ingested some toxin by mistake.”
“As a detective,” Charlie said, “I cannot help but wonder whether anyone held a sufficiently severe grievance against Edgar Ormsby to wish him harm.”
“Good heavens, Mr Pyke, you cannot be suggesting a deliberate attack? Ormsby could be a little fixed in his ways, but who amongst us doesn’t have minor disputes from time to time? I do wish Ivy had been a little more circumspect in her dealings with him. My dear wife has a heart of gold, but a loose way with words, which often causes unnecessary trouble.”
“I fear that being in my great-aunt’s company only encourages that type of sharp banter,” Grace said. “We women are all guilty of it, whether spoken or unspoken, having little other outlet for our frustration. But your wife must take heart from the facts, Doctor Beechworth. Ormsby was seriously ill even before the party began and therefore none of the invited guests was at fault. Whatever caused his illness was the most likely trigger for the seizure, and ultimately his heart failure.”
Beechworth turned to Charlie. “Am I to understand that you are a private detective, Mr Pyke? Might I engage your services to clear my wife’s name?”
“There is no need, as I am already looking into the truth of the matter for Miss Penrose.”
“I beg you, Mr Pyke. My wife’s reputation is worth a great deal to me.”
Charlie looked to Grace for her assent before agreeing. “I can make no promises about the outcome, Doctor Beechworth. Like the police, a private detective must ask questions that people may prefer to remain unasked. I would advise waiting until the direction of the police investigation is clear. If the police accept that Ormsby’s death was due to natural causes, such as epilepsy or accidental food poisoning, then it may be better to leave it at that.”
Beechworth considered the advice for a moment, before shaking his head. “I don’t believe that will be the case. I cannot allow my wife’s reputation to be left open to slander while the police poke around making accusations for weeks or months. That Elliot fellow appears to have his mind made up already. If you don’t act on our behalf, Mr Pyke, I fear the coroner will leave the verdict open. You know what that would mean. A lifetime of whispers.”
“If you are determined to go ahead, Doctor Beechworth, I accept,” Charlie said. “I would ask that you consider, as a medical doctor, what could cause the symptoms. Also, as an intimate of the medical community, who do you think might have wished harm to Doctor Ormsby? Did he have any fierce rivalries or bitter disagreements, or perhaps deceased patients whose families held a grudge?”
Beechworth gave the matter due consideration. “Offhand, I would say that Ormsby had no enemies who might wish him physical harm. He was not a man who was well liked, but nor was he a man to make bitter enemies. His private practice was well regarded. He specialised in hernias and other types of abdominal surgery, largely for wealthy male clients. He’s had a few patient deaths over the years, but that is normal for a surgeon. Still, it is possible that a bereaved family held a grudge against him. I will investigate further and compile a list of potential suspects for you.”
Charlie shook Beechworth’s extended hand. “Thank you, sir. That would be helpful.”
“Meanwhile, please forward your contract terms to my residence. Miss Penrose has the address.” Beechworth rose and bowed his head to Grace. “I have taken far too much of your time on the Lord’s Day. I wish you success, Mr Pyke. And Miss Penrose, whatever I can do to assist, please do not hesitate to ask. I feel I have let you down most dreadfully by neglecting my chaperoning duties at the soirée.”
Grace watched Beechworth stride from the room with far more energy than he had shown on his arrival. “It seems your Southern Investigations Agency has its first client, Detective Pyke. Beechworth didn’t even ask what fees you charge.”
“Just as well, considering Alistair and I haven’t yet discussed the matter of fees, let alone contracts, premises and whatever else needs doing to set the business on an official footing.”
Grace waved away his doubts. “I expect Mr Drummond will have a standard legal contract and a fair idea on the matter of fees. Don’t undervalue your services, for heaven’s sake. Recall that you have to cover many ancillary expenses, such as travel and office premises, before you make a healthy profit. Doctor Beechworth will expect to pay well for your professional services, as he is paid for his.”
“So much to consider, Grace. Perhaps life as a simple copper would be preferable after all.”
“Nonsense, you were born for this. And Charlie?”
“Yes, Grace?”
“Be sure to add in a hefty percentage to cover the consultation fee for your medical expert. That is, if one can be a consultant on a case where one is also the accused.”