“I can’t imagine participating in a conversation like that. And you are sure it was not Malcolm playacting?” James asked, leaning forward.
Soothcoor sighed deeply, compressed his lips and nodded. “Yes, I am certain. You’d have to have witnessed it to believe it.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him I would make inquiries, but I thought he should contact his cousin who stood as executor. It was odd. When I said his cousin’s name to Malcolm, there was no reaction. Mentioning Boyd Ratcliffe to this person had the result of anger at even voicing the name, let alone saying something about him being Malcolm’s de facto guardian. He claimed the man did not have Malcolm’s best interests in mind and implied that he was somehow responsible for the state they found themselves.”
“Interesting. I spoke to Dr. Nowlton before I left London. Do you know him?”
“Yes, we have met. His sistervolunteeredhim to work at Mrs. Southerland’s, one of my charities.”
James nodded. “I had him examine Cecilia before I allowed her to journey north. We spoke about Mr. Montgomery and the condition Mrs. Montgomery described to us. He said he had no personal experience with a similar case. However, he had read about a young woman who appeared to be different people at different times. She was fine in the sanatorium where she’d been placed, but when she returned home, she killed her father and then herself.”
“Why? Do they know why she would suddenly do that?”
“Evidently, the father had raped her repeatedly as she was growing up. Being back home, he thought he would go to her bed one more time. She killed him and then killed herself.”
Soothcoor shook his head dolefully. “I wonder if Malcolm ever had any traumatic experience with his father in life?”
“Or with this cousin.”
Soothcoor stared off for a moment then slowly inclined his head in agreement. He straightened and looked directly at James. “That’s when I left Malcolm—or some other unnamed part of him. The wind had intensified as we’d been outside. Dark storm clouds rolled toward us from the east. I wanted to return to the inn before the worst of the weather descended upon us. And I wanted time to think about what he'd told me. I promised I would make some inquiries and be back to him, or whoever was available, the next afternoon.”
“You left him outside?” James asked.
“Yes. He said he liked storms and wished to savor it when it began, all new and wild. I told him not to catch his death of cold. He laughed at me and said for that would serve all our purposes. I reprimanded him. He sobered and told me not to worry. As I rode across the bridge that accessed the sanatorium island and looked back. I saw him still standing there, watching me leave. I raised my hand to wave at him. He waved back. That was the last time I saw him.”
James’s brows furrowed. “Did anyone see you return to the inn?”
“Yes, I spoke to the proprietor to request dinner.”
“Did you make it back to the inn before the rain came?”
He laughed. “Barely, but yes. We joked about it at the inn.”
“So, your clothes were dry?”
“Yes, why do you ask?”
“Wondering if a person could drown another person without getting wet themselves.”
Soothcoor perked up at that observation.
“When were you arrested?” James continued.
“The next morning, while I was having breakfast at the inn.”
James frowned. “That was quick. What had them decide you were the murderer so swiftly?”
Soothcoor shook his head. “I have no idea, and no one would answer my questions.”
“I will have to speak to the magistrate,” James mused.
“Good luck. I will tell you that Boyd Ratcliffe was there when I was arrested.”
James frowned. “I need to understand why the magistrate seems to believe waiting for the assizes is merely a formality and had you put directly into the general prison population.”
Soothcoor nodded. “I think that was Boyd Ratcliffe’s influence. he kept going on and on about the perfidy of murdering an ill man.”
