“That’s just awful.” Amelia waited a moment, pondering the wisdom of what she was about to say. “I happen to know an inspector with Scotland Yard who is investigating the sanatorium because of similar claims. Do you think the woman would be willing to speak with him?”
The seamstress stiffened, eyes wide as she looked up at Amelia. “I—I don’t know,” she said reluctantly. “Sorry, madam, I shouldn’t have said anything—”
“She wouldn’t need to know you mentioned it.” It was too good an opportunity to miss. “I could have the Inspector say he heard her father had stayed at the sanatorium. It might help both her and the police.”
The woman pressed her lips tight, clearly undecided. “You…you’re sure she wouldn’t know? Madame Fortier would be so angry if she knew I caused any problems.”
“No one needs to know,” Amelia reassured her. “It would be between the police and the lady. Neither you nor I would be involved.”
“If you’re certain...”
“I promise.”
Within a quarter of an hour, Amelia was walking out the door with the name of the woman, her address, and an order for two delectable gowns that had been modestly priced, Yvette directly behind her.
They moved down the street until they were several shops away before Amelia paused to look at her maid, filled with satisfaction. “Well. That went even better than I expected.”
“And you’ll have some new gowns, too. A splendid outing if I do say so myself.” Excitement shone in Yvette’s eyes. “Now what shall we do?”
Though tempted to call on the woman herself, perhaps it would be best to involve Henry. He would know the proper way to approach her and convince her to share her suspicions.
“We’re going to Scotland Yard,” Amelia told Yvette brightly. She hoped Henry would be there and that he’d appreciate assistance with the investigation.
Thirty
“ThededicatedDr.Thorneand her work at Hollowgate Heights are restoring the health of this country’s citizens. We’re blessed to have such a talented doctor to lead the way in modern medicine.”
Henry could only listen in stunned disbelief as Lord Alderley, a recent ‘guest’ of the sanatorium, continued to sing its praises.
Mr. Dunn’s former physician, Dr. Stanhope, had sent Henry a message earlier that morning with the lord’s information as a potential witness. Henry and Fletcher had called on him immediately to see if he could help, eager for further confirmation of their suspicions.
But the day was going from bad to worse. Director Reynolds had told him in no uncertain terms to leave the bombing investigation to the Special Irish Branch. Of course, he’d acted as if Henry had chosen to investigate it on his own—as if Reynolds had nothing to do with it.
Henry couldn’t fault his superior. No doubt the head of the Irish Branch had shared a few harsh words with Reynolds about the sudden crate of dynamite.
Perdy had approached Henry smugly immediately after the Director’s stern words. “You should know well enough to mind your own cases, Field. Can’t imagine what you were thinking.”
“I was thinking I want to know who nearly killed me,” Henry had ground out.
Luckily, Fletcher had kept him from saying anything more by presenting him with the message about the Hollowgate Heights patient. Which had not been what he’d expected.
“I’ve never felt better.” Lord Alderley, who appeared to be in his sixties, tapped his chest as if to prove it. “I lost a stone while there and feel stronger than ever. Reinvigorated!”
The man’s ruddy cheeks and obvious energy seemed to confirm his claim.
“I see.” Henry sent a warning glance at Fletcher, who was muttering something unintelligible under his breath. “You never felt concerned for your well-being while there?” he continued, aware of the footman who waited in the doorway.
“Well.” Alderley grimaced. “Naturally. There was a time or two when I felt certain I’d starve to death. Never been so hungry in all my life.” He leaned forward as if to share a private confidence. “And if you’ve never plunged into an ice-cold bath or experienced an hour-long enema, you haven’t lived.” He chuckled at his jest.
Neither Henry nor Fletcher joined in.
“So you found the treatments helpful?” Henry wanted to be sure of the lord’s opinion, especially since it wasn’t what he’d hoped.
“More than helpful.” The older man gazed across the expansive drawing room where they had been escorted, all chandeliersand luxurious rugs. “I never served in the military. Couldn’t, because of my gout, you see. Never had my mettle tried. But I like to think I was tested mentally and physically during my stay at the sanatorium. I’m all the better for it. It’s been a month since I was there, and I’ve maintained my good health—with the help of Dr. Thorne’s ongoing advice.”
While Henry was happy to hear the lord enjoyed good health, it didn’t help the investigation. Though tempted to ask how much he paid for the stay at the sanatorium, as well as the ongoing help, that particular curiosity wouldn’t aid the investigation.
“And did any of your procedures involve hypodermic needles?” Henry still thought the idea of injecting water under the skin was dangerous. Arthur had shared the same concern, nor had he seen any benefit.
