Chapter 10

Death has left on her

Only the beautiful

 

Ainsley peered from the hallway as Elizabeth opened the door to Lillian's chamber. He was not sure what to expect on the other side of the door. He imagined the middle daughter would be equally like Elizabeth and Josephine both. Blond curls, pale skin, slight figure. His expectation was not far from reality.

Elizabeth walked into the room allowing the housemaid, Mary, to enter before her. Mary approached the small bedside table and placed the morning's meal next to the patient. She looked to Elizabeth then, pausing a moment in case there were further directions. Elizabeth shook her head and motioned for the door with a slight tilt of her head. Mary slipped out, almost thankfully, and left the two sisters alone with the doctor.

Holding his hands neatly behind his back Ainsley stood near the door. It was a rather large chamber room with one fairly impressive wood poster bed. There was a lone dressing table and wardrobe but that was all. No books, no toys, no adornments of any kind save for a delicate ivy pattern on the wallpaper, and matching green drapes that framed two bright windows. Lillian was lying on her side in the middle of the bed, with her eyes fixated on something outside the window.

“How are you faring today sister?” Elizabeth asked, as she rounded the corner of Lillian's bed.

Lillian did not move from her reclined position. She clearly had no interest in the food that had been brought to her. She gave no indication that she was even aware that the doctor was there.

“You should eat before your food becomes cold,” Elizabeth pressed, slipping into a bench placed at the window. “Lillian?”

“I am not eating,” Lillian muttered, her voice muffled by the quilt on her bed. Her eyes shifted from the now obstructed view and she changed her focus to the intricate threads on her bed clothes. “I will not give you any more means by which to kill me.”

“Lillian!” Elizabeth shot up from her seat and formed fists at her side. “How dare you suggest such a thing? I would never--”

“You wouldn't?”

“Come now Lillian, you are simply overwrought.” Elizabeth glanced to Ainsley then, clearly embarrassed by Lillian's behaviour. “This is Dr. Peter Ainsley,” she started, gesturing to the door where he stood. “He's come from London to help.”

Lillian grew more aware then, lifting her head from her pillow to look at the man in her room.

Ainsley watched the patient turn in her bed, her eyes darting from him to Elizabeth and back again.

Beneath white linens and a matching quilt lay a slight girl, young woman, actually. She looked solemn at first glance. Almost half asleep and yet waiting for him. She was not the child he was expecting when he first arrived on the train. In fact, this girl was just as grown as her sister Elizabeth. She was blonde as well, but lacked the curls of both sisters. There was no mistaking the relation. Their faces gave their blood connection away.

From the bed, Lillian made no motion to invite him in further. Lillian was quite pale and sickly. Her head lay on the pillow which was propped up against her headboard so that she may sit up.

“I wish to speak to the doctor alone,” Lillian said at last.

“Mother would never allow it.”

“Then it is a good thing that Mother is not here.” The young woman spoke the word “mother” with utter contempt. Her mouth spat it out as if it hurt her to even think of it.

Elizabeth let out a breath, glancing to Ainsley and then back to Lillian. Ainsley could tell she was not pleased with the arrangement.

“Leave us,” Lillian commanded.

“So be it,” Elizabeth answered. “I will return within half an hour.”

With the door closed after Elizabeth's departure, Ainsley remained at the foot of the bed. So seldom did he converse with his patients, it seemed odd to him and he was terribly out of practice.

“Good day, Lillian,” Ainsley said.

“I saw you when you arrived yesterday.” Lillian motioned towards the window and Ainsley could not help but look beyond the panes of glass. He smiled. She had a rather prominent view of the foregrounds of the house and the lane way which led visitors to and from the estate. “Why have you come?”

“I can help you.”

Lillian snorted. “No one can help me,” she answered with a teasing smile. Ainsley raised his eyebrow. He had never encountered a girl so refined yet distinctly defiant. “Mother would have something to say about that. She is very particular, you know. Has everyone on a very tight leash.”

Ainsley could not help but smile. This description suited Mrs. Lloyd perfectly.

“You know her then,” Lillian jested.

“We have met,” he said, nodding.

“She does not respect doctors. She thinks that physicians are mostly quacks with little substance.”

“She'll be glad to know I am a surgeon then. Not a physician.” Lillian gave a slight look of confusion matched with interest. “Physicians traditionally heal using tonics, remedies and pharmaceuticals. Surgeons, on the other hand, deal mainly with the inner workings of bodies and set about to heal patients using surgery and—”

“You cut open bodies,” she said.

Ainsley hesitated. Normally he would not converse with a lady on such a matter but Lillian looked genuinely intrigued by his profession. “In a manner of speaking, yes.”

“What do you find?”

“All sorts of things. Certainly not a topic of discussion in the presence of a lady. An ill one at that.”

Lillian seemed indifferent to his protest. “How many bodies have you...examined?” she asked.

He laughed nervously. “Enough to fill a graveyard,” he answered. “All in the name of science mind you.”

Lillian smiled slightly, “Of course.”

Ainsley took a seat at the very edge of the bench and sat rigidly while taking in all the information he could on this young woman on the verge of death. He knew that if she were to pass away in the night, he would be barred from examining her body as well. “You look pale,” he said meeting her gaze. She pulled her eyes away quickly.

“That's simply my face cream we brought home from Paris. The women there are divine with very few freckles.” Lillian slid her hand over her cheek, smiling at the memory. “It's designed to make one quite pale.”

“That is the fashion,” Ainsley answered, recalling his own sister's plight for unblemished skin.

Lillian pulled herself up higher in her bed, clenching her teeth as she did so and then clutching her stomach as if moving brought on pain.

Ainsley stepped toward the bed. “I'm all right,” Lillian said putting her hand up. “Comes and goes.”

“Stomach pains then? Any vomiting?”

Lillian nodded.

“Light headed? Dizzy? Lethargic?”

“Yes on all accounts. I cannot keep any food down. My stomach churns and aches relentlessly.”

Ainsley leaned in and reached his hand out to her face. Lillian flinched slightly as his hand came near. He stopped suddenly. “Oh, I am very sorry,” he said quickly pulling his hand away. “I am not used to dealing with patients who are awake. May I touch you?” he asked.

Lillian looked up to him and smiled. She nodded demurely and then braced herself for his touch. She closed her eyes and parted her lips slightly, taking in air, as Ainsley moved in closer.

Ainsley placed his hand over her forehead to check for fever. She felt somewhat cold and her skin had an odd texture to it. “Listless? Fatigued?” He pulled away to remove his jacket. He placed it on the window seat. He sat on the edge of the bed facing her and used both hands to reach out to her. “I am just going to feel around your neck.”

She nodded and he reached behind her head, one hand on both sides and moved his fingers along her neck and the base of her hair. She moved to brush the loose hair from her shoulders when their hands touched. “Sorry,” she said, with a laugh and pulled her hand away. Ainsley could not help but smile. Their faces were inches apart but neither seemed to mind. As much as Ainsley wanted to remain professional he could hardly concentrate with her eyes gazing up at him so intently. She certainly had adjusted to his touch rather quickly it seemed.

Her muscles were very strong, he noted. Her hand had touched him with a strength he would not expect from a women who had spent weeks in bed. He could tell she was a tall girl, though naturally slender.

“Perhaps you should eat,” he said gesturing to the food on the table next to the bed.

“I do not eat what she brings me.”

“What she brings you?” Ainsley slipped back and settled farther down the bed. “Why would it matter if she brings you the food?”

Lillian pulled her eyes away and began to study to threads in her quilt again. “I get sicker when she brings me food. Yesterday, she seemed very upset to see I had not eaten.”

“People who are ill need to keep their strength up. She is looking out for your well-being.” Ainsley held up her chin so he could look into her eyes and examine the features of her face.

“She is poisoning me, I am sure of it.”

Ainsley dropped his hand. “Poisoning you?” He remembered the letter she had sent to Dr. Bennett and would request to see it when he saw Bennett again.

“I became ill after Father. We were both terribly sick and then he died. I got better for a time and then Josephine fell ill and the pains came back.” She bit her lower lip. “Elizabeth hates me, just like she hated Josie.”

Ainsley let out a deep breath and stood up beside the bed. Was it possible for a woman to hold enough hatred to want to kill her younger siblings? Ainsley had seen babies in his examination room killed by their mothers, and he knew of fathers who beat their children in the city streets. Anything was possible. In his line of work, he knew there could be any number of possibilities. Even the wealthy were not immune. His own family troubles were proof of that.

He noticed two medicine bottles on a desk positioned against the wall. He reached down and picked one up to read the label. The first one, he recognized, was a tonic meant to settle the stomach. The next one targeted the bowels.

“Have you been taking your medicine?” Ainsley asked.

Lillian did not answer straight away. She sulked silently, most likely because Ainsley did not immediately agree with her assessment of the situation. Ainsley opened the bottles of tonic and breathed in their smells.

“Do you not believe me then?” she asked quietly.

“Too early to tell,” he answered honestly. “I always try to gather facts before pointing fingers in any direction.”

Lillian nodded, though her eyes gave a look of apprehension.

“I hear you are quite the pianist,” Ainsley said with a smile.

“I was.” Lillian’s head dropped, “I have not played in months though.”

“You miss it, I can tell.”

She looked up sharply, “How can you tell?”

Ainsley smiled and lifted a stack of sheet music from the desk and showed her his evidence.

“I can hear the notes in my head,” she said reaching for the sheets. Ainsley gave them too her. She glanced over them briefly before placing them beside her on the bed. “They remind me of Josie, now.” Lillian's face fell when she mentioned her sister. “I wonder if I will ever be able to play without expecting to hear her voice alongside me.”

Hardly knowing what to say, Ainsley hesitated. It was not often that he could converse with his patients, hear their life stories and see their pain and sorrow. This new business of curing people contrasted boldly against his regular day to day procession of dead bodies. After a pause, he spoke, “I regret I never met her.”

“You would have like her. Everyone liked her.” The morning was slowly becoming midday and Ainsley knew the funeral procession would begin soon. “You must be getting tired. I will leave you.” He gathered his coat and made his way for the door. “Take your tonics as Dr. Bennett prescribed and I will check back... in a few days.”