With Malcolm gone, Eliza had two goals in mind. The first was to pay Freddie a visit. Her errand would serve mostly to cheer Freddie as a charity, it was true. But she also wanted to hear his version of the accident in the south wing. Malcolm had been curiously obtuse about the events of that day. There was something he wasn’t sharing, and Eliza meant to find out what.
The second endeavor, which would require much more creative enterprise, would involve breaking into the south wing to investigate the clues in Ada’s cryptic diary. Eastleigh’s words at the station lay heavily on her mind. In order to feel settled and safe in her marriage, she needed to know whether her husband was innocent of murder. If Malcolm wouldn’t willingly divulge his secrets, she would find out what he was hiding in the south wing. On her own.
The morning after Malcolm’s departure, she dressed in a simple plaid shirtwaist and woolen walking suit, then gathered a basket from the pantry and filled it with ginger tea biscuits, shortbread, and a carafe of coffee.
Instead of riding Artemis, Eliza walked to the village along the back lanes. A rare sunny morning in October was enough cause for a constitutional. It also afforded her the chance to smoke. Her old habit rankled Malcolm, and while he hadn’t forbidden her smoking entirely, he certainly cast aspersions.Unbefitting a lady of rank, he’d said one morning as they breakfasted together in the conservatory. She’d ignored him, idly puffing her Sobranie while enjoying her coffee. Even though she acted cavalier, Malcolm’s casual criticisms wounded her more than she let on. He couldn’t see her unfitness now though, could he? She smirked and blew a steady stream of smoke toward the treetops.
When she arrived at the hospital, Lydia was bustling around the atrium, her arms laden with hot-water bottles. “I forgot to fetch the pushcart before I filled these,” she said, an errant curl falling into her eyes. “Here to check up on Freddie?”
Eliza nodded. “Let me help you, sister.” She adjusted her basket and unburdened Lydia of one of the bottles. They were much heavier than they looked. “Goodness. Are you here all alone?”
“Yes,” Lydia said. “Clarence is in surgery, and Dr.Gilmore has gone to Godshill for the day. A small outbreak of cholera started there before the frost. Probably an infected farm pond, I’d imagine. I’m left here doing everything else, and the arthritics are whinging because of the cold snap.”
Eliza grinned at the nascent English accent Lydia was developing. “It’s certainly lucky for those gentlemen doctors that you’re so capable.”
“If there were such a thing as women doctors, I could run this place all on my own,” Lydia said proudly. “Although Clarence has made me nurse-midwife, which is almost as good. He means to turn the delivering of babies over to me.”
“Oh, that’s fantastic! I’m pleased you’re so happy in your work.”
“I certainly am. Come this way,” she said, motioning to the left. “Freddie’s just here, in the recovery ward. I’ll drop you off before I see to the other patients.”
Lydia led the way through the swinging doors. The room beyond was clean and sterile, its pale-green walls reflecting the sunlit windows opposite. Freddie sat in a narrow cot, propped up with pillows, his injured leg elevated. A screen separated his bed from the one next to it, which held a sleeping elderly man whose right arm was bound up in a splint. They set their water bottles on the wheeled cart inside the door and pushed it through the ward.
Freddie’s eyes lit up when he saw Eliza. “Lady Havenwood, aren’t you in fine fettle.”
“Hello, Freddie. Would you like a hot-water bottle for your feet? My sister is making the rounds.”
“I sure would, maum. Your sister is right bossy, but she takes good care of me.”
Lydia snorted. “You can have a hot-water bottle for your good foot, Mr.O’Riordan, but you can’t suffer the weight on your injured leg.”
Freddie gave a playful grin. “See what I’m on about?”
“You’re not telling me a thing I don’t already know,” Eliza said. “Lydia’s taken charge of every situation she’s ever been in, since birth.” Lydia took a water bottle and applied it to Freddie’s foot before moving on to check the patient next to him. Eliza pulled a chair close to Freddie’s bed and sat. “I’m so sorry I haven’t been by. How are you, darling? Are you feeling any better?”
“A bit. They won’t let me walk with crutches just yet, but the doc said I could try next week. He thinks I’ll be fully on my feet again within a few months.”
“That’s good news.” She rustled around in her basket. “I’ve brought you some coffee and shortbread.”
“Sugary sweets are hardly good for his recovery. He’s not supposed to have any outside food unless Dr.Fawcett approves,” Lydia scolded. “Don’t tempt him. He’s ever begging for more to eat as it is.”
Eliza rolled her eyes and gave Freddie a conspiratorial look. “Ignore her,” she said in a stage whisper.
“I heard that.” Lydia shot an annoyed look at Eliza and left to resume her rounds. Eliza waited until the squeak of the cart and the swish of Lydia’s uniform could no longer be heard on the other side of the door. The silence was broken only by the quiet snoring of the elderly man next to them.
She cleared her throat, unsure of how to begin. “Say, Freddie. Your friend—that tall fellow—I think his name is Charlie? He told me something quite concerning after your fall.”
“It’s Cecil, maum. Cecil Wright.”
“That’s it. Cecil.”
“He told you I were pushed, didn’t he?”
“Yes. What happened, exactly?”
“Right.” Freddie shifted in the bed, wincing as the covers pulled tighter over his leg. “Your husband asked me not to tell anyone how it all happened. He gave me a great deal of money to make sure myself and the others would keep things quiet.”
So Malcolmhadlied. Again. Eliza pressed her lips hard against her teeth. “My husband and I have no secrets between us, Freddie. He’s told me what he saw. I only want to hear things from your perspective.”
