Chapter 11

Still, for all slips of hers,

One of Eve's family—

 

Ainsley was greeted at the bottom of the stairs by Dr. Bennett who had come to the house for the funeral. While Ainsley had been with Lillian upstairs the house had awoken and was ablaze with activity. People, many more than could be comfortably contained, were filing into the foyer and parlour, many coming to pay their last respects before partaking in the funeral procession through town.

“How does our patient fare?” Dr. Bennett asked glumly.

“As good as to be expected. Severe gastric issues. Refuses to eat anything.” Ainsley leaned into Dr. Bennett so no one else could hear. “A tad bit spoiled in my humble opinion.”

Bennett stifled a laugh. “Of course. She is a challenge, that one. All things considering, I think we can make some allowances for her behaviour don't you?”

“I am not used to dealing with patients. Is it always this difficult?”

“And more,” was Dr. Bennett's knowing reply. “Did you grab a cake?” Bennett held up a small black cloth package, wrapped neatly with a black satin bow. Ainsley recognized the favour as a funeral cake. A long standing tradition dictated that a family in mourning provided the often bland morsels for everyone who showed up at the funeral.

Just then Mary, the young servant girl, appeared in a simple black frock with a deep basket nestled into the crook of her arm. With her free hand she handed Ainsley a wrapped cake. Ainsley caught her eyes for a moment as he thanked her but she looked away quickly, as if afraid to meet his gaze. Before he could say anything she had moved on to the next person and continued to hand out the cakes.

“My ribbon is white,” Ainsley showed the small parcel to Bennett. “What do you suppose that means?”

Bennett shrugged and Ainsley slipped the wrapped cake into his pocket.

With a tilt of his head Bennett gestured towards the front door, and Ainsley nodded, feeling the need to break free from the tightly knit throng of people, more arriving each minute. He glanced into the parlour as they passed and saw a huddle of men, Walter included, gathered around Josephine's casket. Mrs. Lloyd stood nearby, a white handkerchief held to her nose as she directed the group. Elizabeth stood a few paces away, her hands folded in front of her, her gaze tight to the floor.

As if sensing his gaze she looked to him then, rising her head ever so slightly. Could it be, he wondered, as Lillian said. Could Elizabeth be poisoning her family one by one?

A moment passed and their mutual gaze was broken as the crowd swelled. Ainsley realized Dr. Bennett had made it to the fresh air of the outdoors and began maneuvering through the crowd to join him.

Once outside he noticed the entire length of the drive was awash with black carriages led by black horses, many of them stationed side by side to allow for more room along the procession route. Ainsley and Bennett stood watch just outside the door surveying the high volume of people who had come to attend the funeral. The horse-led hearse was stationed directly in front of the steps, two elegantly dressed coachmen stood at attention beside the open and waiting doors, ready to receive the body of little Josephine Lloyd. The team of six black horses, adorned with high black ostrich plumes on their bridles and silver studded reins, pounded their hooves in anticipation, the activity around them causing them to become restless.

Ainsley could see women silently crying all around him, each finely dressed lady dabbing their eyes with lace handkerchiefs. Many of the accompanying men held folded black umbrellas in case the threatening grey clouds decided to open up. The sea of people gathered at the front of the house parted suddenly, as if almost on instinct, allowing the procession of six servants to carry the white and gold leaf accented casket out of the front doors and down the few steps to the gravel laneway.

A loud gasp rose from the crowd and more than one person cried out as the pallbearers came forth. Stepping down the steps had caused the casket to tilt forward, revealing that the body was leaving the house head first. Bennett shook his head disapprovingly, and Ainsley glanced around to hear what people were saying as the casket was carried past.

“I don't understand,” said a young man, who was standing next to him. “What is the matter?”

“Hush boy!” an older man, most likely his father, admonished.

Ainsley bent down, and lowered his voice. “It is tradition for bodies to leave the house feet first. If the body is removed head first it gives the soul a chance to look back on its life and refuse to rest in peace.”

The boy nodded, his attention riveted on these macabre details, most likely finding it just as fascinating as Ainsley did.

“It is also said,” Bennett interjected, “That the spirit will look back and beckon another to join him.”

Instinctively Ainsley looked up, knowing Lillian would be perched at her bedroom window in an effort to say goodbye to her sister. Sure enough, she was there, looking over the crowd with her fingers pressed up against the cold panes of glass. Ainsley could see she was crying freely, her lips trembling and body shaking as she stood there, watching, most likely wondering if she would be next.

When Ainsley looked back to the casket, the hearse doors were being closed and latched, signalling the start of the procession. Everyone scattered for their carriages en masse, aware that the hearse would only wait so long. As the people cleared the lane, the mist descended like a blanket and everything was quickly covered in a cold, unforgiving rain.

The hearse lurched into motion and led the way down the drive, proceeding slowly so the other carriages could follow behind. The train of carriages passed the manor gates, draped with mourning cloth, and began its journey through town before turning back to the small chapel on the outskirts.

Winding its way through the nearly empty streets of Picklow the rather long and extravagant procession drew attention from everyone out that day. People murmured to each other as the hearse passed. Men removed their hats out of respect and children pointed and gawked at the spectacle of it all.

As the carriage rocked its way along, Bennett unwrapped his funeral cake and began to eat. Ainsley merely looked at his and set it aside. He'd have no interest unless it was laced with a bit of brandy.

“I am surprised Lady Lloyd allowed you to see her daughter,” Bennett said after finishing his cake.

“I doubt the woman even knew I was there,” Ainsley replied.

“What did you find out then?”

Ainsley shrugged. “I'm not quite sure. Elizabeth has followed her mother's lead and hates me.”

Bennett nodded, as if none of this surprised him. “You are a doctor, son. You have little respectability among the noble classes. You are in a far worse position than I was. At least I am a physician. You, my friend, are a labourer.”

Ainsley cocked a smile.

“Are you going to eat yours?” Bennett pointed to Ainsley's cake. Ainsley smiled and handed the old doctor his small portion.

 

 

The church was the largest building in Picklow and it dominated the landscape between Lloyd Manor and the village. Its stone exterior was nearly black with age and the web of stone walls marking the perimeter of the cemetery matched its dreary tone. Black smoke billowed from the church’s chimney as parishioners filed in and took their seats in the pews.

After a somber service not many stayed to view the internment. The misty cold kept most mourners away. Ainsley and Bennett remained, taking a position alongside the family and the Parrish Reverend, watching silently as the small casket was installed into the grave cut deep into the near frozen ground. It pained Ainsley to watch as the servants slowly lowered the ropes, Josephine's casket slipping further beneath the sod.

He allowed himself a bold glance at the few who ventured out to the graveside. Elizabeth closely guarded her mother, of course, who was crying loudly into a handkerchief. Walter stood a few paces away, vacantly staring like any dutiful brother would be expected but showed little interest in the proceedings. A few servants, the butler and above stairs staff mainly, stood just behind the family. A few curious onlookers from the village, oblivious to the cold and rain, gathered and watched the bereaved family say their last goodbyes.

Their bereavement seemed subdued, muted even. Ainsley wondered if the reality of their shattered normalcy had hit them yet. He presumed it had not or else Mrs. Lloyd would surely have allowed him to examine the body to determine the root cause of her mounting misfortune, unless, Ainsley stammered in his mind, unless Martha herself was behind these illnesses.

His eyes grew wide involuntarily as he stared down the family, conjuring up possible reasons for Martha's desire to kill them all. His face hardened at the thought, the audacity of such betrayal. A self-sacrificing mother, tired of her continuous plight for relevance in a world created for men decides to take matters in her own hands. Plausible. He had certainly witnessed his own mother's struggle with the demands of the family and a domineering husband. The papers were rife with stories of female hysterics and all the manifestations they took. Suicide attempts, sexual affairs, sudden rampages and divorce all fall under the umbrella of hysteria. Murder could be attributed to this phenomenon, he reasoned.

“Shady business eh?” Bennett broke his train of thought.

“Entirely.” Ainsley agreed.

A rain sodden man, a grave digger employed by the church, sliced into the mound of dirt with his spade and unceremoniously began filling in the hole that was Josephine's grave. Ainsley hesitated and moved forward as if he would halt the whole process. Josephine deserved justice. If she was poisoned it was his duty to find out how and ultimately by whom. If it was illness, he could save Lillian with one autopsy.

Ainsley could feel Bennett's eyes on him, and when he turned the old doctor’s gaze burned into him, pleading with him not to make a scene. Ainsley ignored his silent pleas. Clearly the old man was more interested in appeasing the family than finding out the truth.

Ainsley stepped forward, being careful not to fall into the six foot deep hole and approached Mrs. Lloyd just as she was turning towards her carriage. “Mrs. Lloyd, one moment if I may?”

She turned, giving him her signature scowl. Evidently she had not forgotten his brash treatment of her the night before. “What can I do for you, Doctor?” Her words came from her lips slowly, emphasizing doctor as if she doubted whether he was one.

“Please, if you love your daughter, I can help her. I can stop this man right now and it would give me a chance to examine the body.”

“Are you suggesting I don't love my daughter?”

“Of course not.” Ainsley hesitated. He looked to the grave, now even more filled in and then turned back to Mrs. Lloyd. “I can save your daughter. I can find the cause of Josephine's illness and I promise I will be nothing but respectful.”

Mrs. Lloyd swallowed hard and shifted in place. Ainsley saw her lip quiver slightly as they stared at each other.

“I am a man of science, and we are on the brink of some amazing discoveries. Your youngest child need not die in vain. Let me help. I need to examine the body, properly. Lillian deserves this chance.”

At the mention of Lillian's name, Mrs. Lloyd's scowl deepened and her eyes narrowed. “Dr. Ainsley, why do you presume yourself to know who should live and who should die?”

The question surprised Ainsley. He did not have an answer right away.

“Can modern science save us all? Do all of us deserve to be saved?” Mrs. Lloyd raised an eyebrow and slipped her hand deep into her muff. “I have made my decision, and I am at peace with it. Now, excuse me doctor,” She nodded and bent slightly in a curtsey before turning from him and walking to the carriage. Elizabeth remained briefly, looking at him.

“Elizabeth, think of Lillian.”

Elizabeth turned sharply and retreated, joining her mother at the carriage door.

With a clenched jaw, Ainsley turned from the departing family and shoved his cold hands into his pocket. His flask was hidden deep within. Without care to any who watched him, Ainsley took some large gulps before replacing his flask in his pocket. He watched for many moments, lulled by the sound of the dirt being thrown on the casket, as Josephine's grave was slowly filled in.

The more Ainsley thought about it the more certain he was that Mrs. Lloyd was behind these misfortunes. She was so domineering and commanding in her house that there was no other who would be capable of pulling the wool over her eyes. She was either the murderous hand or she wasn't as domineering as she would have everyone believe. In Ainsley's mind she was murdering her family one by one, but he severely lacked the evidence to prove it.

“Come Dr Ainsley, the skies threaten rain.” Dr. Bennett pulled Ainsley from the scene, just as the scattered droplets turned into a drenching rain.

Moments later Ainsley and Bennett were climbing into their carriage. With his passengers aboard, the coachman commanded the horses to go forward, snapping the reins. Exhausted from the day, Ainsley and Bennett slipped deeper into their seats, both looking forward to an evening of rest.

The two doctors watched through the carriage window as their conveyance weaved through the rather large cemetery to the broad iron gates at the other end. In the distance, just outside the gates, Ainsley could see two darkened figures walking down a mud path leading away from the cemetery. He watched them as the carriage grew closer. It was a mother walking speedily, as a girl skipped along beside her oblivious to the rain. As if feeling the young doctor's eyes on her, the woman stopped walking and turned to watch the carriage go by.

“Miss Dawson.” Ainsley had not intended to say it out loud.

“What?” Bennett looked out the window. “Oh, yes. It was better that she stayed away. In the background.”

Ainsley nodded, well aware of the doctor's need for peace. “Why do you suppose Mrs. Lloyd is displeased with Miss Dawson?”

“Oh the well-to-do are a strange breed. Us plebs have only to sit back while we fall in and out of favour at their whims. I doubt Miss Dawson did much to make them displeased.” Dr. Bennett laughed. “Perhaps she looked at Mr. Lloyd for one second too long.” Bennett let out a deep, exhaustive sigh. “I am hopeful Mrs. Crane will have some tea for us and perhaps something a trifle bit better than those funeral cakes.”