Page 80 of A Devilish Element
The hair across Jem’s body rose at her words. Bell too became rigid. It was Cluetts though who bleated the incomprehensibility they all felt.
“Your son? But it can’t be. You can’t be.” Henreitta spluttered.
A statement Jem swore every person gathered was also thinking. If Jane was already swelling with Linfield’s child, then the leeches, his torment, Davy’s gas, Henrietta on her knees, Linfield’s fight with George; none of it had been necessary. Either Linfield had played them all for utter fools, or his wife was a liar…or deluded…? Perhaps it was wishful thinking, like a woman facing the noose, eagerly making a plea of her belly to spare herself that dreadful fate.
“’Tain’t legitimately his,” George declared, shaking his sandy head. “Even supposing he sired it, which—”
“How dare you? What are you accusing me of?” Jane wrapped her arms protectively around herself. “Of course, it is his. I have never been unfaithful to my husband. I can’t believe you would accuse me of such… We’ve only been wed eight weeks.”
Jem was damned certain Linfield wouldn’t have borne leeches on his prick if the deed was done. Perhaps Jane was merely inexperienced enough that she believed the act accomplished. Whatever the case, this did not seem the moment to tease forth the truth. Linfield was not yet cold. Better they spent a few moments reflecting on the fragility of existence and considering what was important.
Eliza appeared before him. She must have crawled under the table. She was curiously composed as she double-checked Linfield’s pulse and confirmed Bell’s diagnosis of death for herself. Jem covered his mouth with his hand, still struggling to comprehend that the man was gone. For all his faults, his blackmail attempts, and manipulations, there had been good times back before the carriage race, before his marriage, when Jem had been far less reticent about their loving. When it had all been a grand lark, and there weren’t ties and expectations binding them. When he’d been only too happy to escape his memories of this woman who he knew he couldn’t have.
He felt a splash against his hand and was startled to find that he was weeping. A hole seemed burned through his chest. Eliza leaned over the body and whispered something. He wasn’t sure what she said, but she pressed a kerchief into his fist.
Then she rose. “Quiet, all of you.” The sharp bark of her voice won her the silence of the other guests. “Is this any way to behave? His lordship is dead, and you are screeching at one another like crows at a feast. Save your speculations and accusations for the coroner and his jurors. There will be a time for such things, but right now, we should afford him some dignity. Doctor Bell, you among us are most familiar with death. Is it best to leave him here or remove him to his bedchamber, perhaps?”
Bell twitched with unease. This was no natural death, and if it was murder, then the body ought to be left in place to be examined by those summoned to see justice done, but Bell was also a practical man. Not the sort to hand over the investigation of an aristocrat’s death to a dozen or so of the parish’s finest, and whose discretion was definitely not guaranteed. The earl would be ill disposed to the family being embroiled in a scandal, and that man was now their direct paymaster. Moreover, if the actual culprit were to be found, Bell was far more likely to find him with his science than a few local well to dos sniffing around and mulling their findings in the back room of the local ale house.
To that effect, Bell drew a cloak of humility about his person. “It would seem that Lord Linfield has suffered an acute malaise of the alimentary tract.
Every ear in the room strained in his direction. Every head turned.
Bell kept his head bowed.
Jane squinted sceptically at him, then down at her husband’s blood splattered corpse. “A malaise of the alimentary tract?”
“Yes, or a tumour. Or an ulcer. Mayhaps, even a malady of the liver. If you grant me permission, then I can definitively determine which of those things it is.”
“The old crow wants to carve him up,” George chortled.
Jane paled and bit her lips. “I’m not sure… I don’t think the earl would like to hear that his son had been dismembered.”
“The earl will be pleased to know what has caused the death, and I think we can all agree that it is in our best interests to determine that quickly, without outside interference. I can assure you, Lady Linfield, that your husband will be treated with the uttermost care and dignity, and suitably preserved for his casket.”
“Yes, I suppose.” The meek, marrowless incarnation of Jane had returned. Her fire drained now that the possibility of murder had been cast aside. “What you say, does make sense.”
Bell bowed rather stiffly. “I humbly request that I be allowed to move Lord Linfield’s body to my surgery. It is much cooler in that part of the house, and hence better suited to the task of preservation, and I can better fulfil my investigations there.”
She nodded, before sagging into a chair.
The Cluetts too, both slumped. George grasped the sherry decanter. Bell summoned the male servants and had them set about the task of improvising a stretcher.
“Jane?” Eliza came to her friend on her knees. “You must write to the earl. Shall I assist you?”
“Please. Yes,” she replied soggily.
“Then, let us go to the library and use the desk there.”
Eliza turned her head to Bell on the threshold. “I’ll see she gets to bed afterwards, and I’ll stay with her.” She might as well have said that she didn’t trust any of the castle’s other inhabitants, Jem among them, but if she had to put her faith in someone, then the doctor was it.
The Cluetts lingered after the two women left. George watching the proceedings with sharp eyes as Linfield was lifted onto the stretcher and borne away.
“Perhaps best not to touch the remaining victuals,” Bell remarked to the servants, which prompted George to set the sherry decanter he was in the act of pouring from down with a thud. He gave Bell a shrewd squint.
“A malaise?”
“Yes.”
