Page 9 of Alive (Shadows of a Forgotten Past #2)

CHAPTER 9

~ DR. JONES ~

A few telephone calls established that Dr. Jones was still alive, though from what I gathered, just barely. I kept my plans to myself, confiding only in Mr. Brown, though even he knew nothing of the visit’s purpose. His role was simply to drive the Lagonda, lending the trip an air of formality. Older folks often appreciated such gestures, and I needed every advantage I could get.

Morning broke with pale, filtered light as dark clouds rolled over the countryside. Mr. Brown secured the Lagonda’s roof, while I retrieved an umbrella from the boot and kept it by my side.

Thanks to Mr. Brown’s engaging conversation, my nerves stayed at bay. He began by commenting on the erratic weather and his dislike of downpours, especially for the damage they could cause to vehicles. Then he launched into a monologue on the latest automobiles, detailing their features, performance, and price. While I appreciated his effort to keep me entertained, I feared I would learn more about the car industry in this one ride than I had in two lifetimes. It became clear why Alex enjoyed his company.

The Lagonda rolled into Breamore. The town lay as though death had beaten me here, leaving a stifling chill. Its brick homes stood in silence, their windows dark and unwelcoming. No pedestrians walked the streets, and the shops hadn’t bothered to set out their goods for display.

We had advances only a few blocks when heaven unleashed the downpour. A gaggle of geese squawked and flapped their wings, scrambling for cover. Mr. Brown veered onto a narrow road, slowing the Lagonda to a crawl as the rain pelted the windshield, obscuring our view.

“It’s really coming down,” Mr. Brown rasped “but we are almost there.”

My stomach twisted as my mind raced with the task ahead. What would Dr. Jones think of my unannounced visit? Would he discuss the affairs of the former Mrs. Sterling with me? Would he recognize me?

“This is it, Mrs. Sterling.” Mr. Brown parked the car in front of an elegant house with a red-tiled roof. A tidy garden, bordered by a white gate, stretched toward the entrance.

“I won’t be long.”

“Take your time. I’ve got no complaints waiting here in my dry seat.” He grinned, lighting a cigar.

Forgetting the umbrella, I dashed for the porch, my shoes splashing through puddles. I tapped lightly on the door, my pulse quickening as the seconds stretched. I knocked again, harder this time. Five, then ten seconds passed before footsteps shuffled inside.

The door parted, and a gray-haired woman appeared, her face framed by a pair of spectacles. The lenses were so thick I wondered if they improved or hindered her vision.

“May I help you?” She stared at me critically, leaving no doubt—she neither expected nor welcomed visitors.

“Good morning. I’m looking for Doctor Seldon Jones. Is he at home?”

“He is, but he isn’t receiving visitors. May I schedule an appointment for you?” She was ready to shut the door.

“Would you please ask him? I’ve come a long way, despite my chauffeur’s advice, I’m afraid.” I motioned toward the car idling in the downpour, hoping to appeal to her sympathy. “Might Doctor Jones make an exception?”

She hesitated, just as a gust of wind swept rain into the doorway. “Come in, come in,” she said in exasperation.

“Thank you, Mrs. . .?”

“Abbotts. I’m Seldon’s sister.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Abbotts. I’m Mrs. Sterling. Alexander Sterling’s wife.”

“ The General Sterling?” Her expression softened.

“Yes.”

“You should have mentioned that from the start. Welcome to our humble abode, Mrs. Sterling. Please allow me.” She helped me remove my coat, then hung it on a peg by the exit. “This way.”

I followed her down a short passage, relieved that I’d made it this far. We entered the living room, where a fire crackled in the hearth, casting light over a burgundy Victorian sofa and a bookcase filled with medical tomes.

“This is lovely,” I said.

“It’s kind of you to say, darling. Of course, it’s nothing compared to Forti Radici.”

“You’ve visited the manor?”

“A few times, long ago. I used to bring fresh milk to Mrs. Allerton, you know.”

Hearing Mrs. Allerton’s name brought a smile to my lips. I missed her dearly.

“Oh, I’m sorry. You probably don’t have the faintest idea who Mrs. Allerton is.” Mrs. Abbotts misinterpreted my gesture. “You see, she was the housekeeper at Forti Radici ages ago. A wonderful lady—oh yes, truly remarkable. What happened there was horrid. Just thinking of it makes me ill.”

I knew she referred to the attack and murder of my loved ones. And it occurred to me that she might know something about my death and my son. After all, the doctor’s sister clearly had an excellent memory.

“I heard about the tragedy,” I said softly. “I understand that my husband’s first wife passed away shortly after.”

“Oh, the poor thing. I didn’t know her personally, but her loss devastated the town. It was as if the devil himself campaigned against the family.”

“She died during childbirth, I’m told.”

“That’s correct. The baby died as well. My brother couldn’t save either of them. It was a terrible blow. It took him some time to recover. Anyhow, I’m glad the general rebuilt his life.” She readjusted the spectacles on the bridge of her nose, signaling an end to the conversation. If she knew anything more, she wouldn’t share it. “I’ll check on Seldon. He’s quite weary these days, and has lost most of his sight and hearing.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Though a little blindness might spare him the shock of seeing me.

“Please, do sit. It’ll just take a moment.” She marched out of the room.

I wandered to the hearth, grateful she hadn’t asked why I wanted to see her brother. Surely, she would coax it out of him later.

I extended my hands toward the fire, praying that Dr. Jones might recall something—some overlooked detail that would either rekindle or extinguish—preferably the former—my hope that my son was still alive. I needed to know the truth to move forward.

Mrs. Abbotts returned sooner than expected. “Mrs. Sterling, it’s your lucky day. He is awake and in good spirits.”

“Wonderful.”

I followed her to Dr. Jones’s bedroom, where he lay motionless on the bed. The alert eyes, bountiful dark hair, and vibrant energy I remembered were gone. Memories of my interactions with him in my previous life flooded back. He had been there from the very beginning—witnessing my baby growing inside me, listening to his heartbeat week after week, month after month.

When the time came, he forbade me from riding horses, and in the final hours of my life, he worked tirelessly to save me and the baby. He had even defended me against Mrs. White’s accusations that I’d caused the accident through carelessness.

“Seldon, dear, Mrs. Sterling is here,” his sister informed, her voice raised. “I’ll have her sit on your left side, all right?”

Mrs. Abbotts installed me in a threadbare chair, and I wondered how many hours she spent sitting here, caring for him.

As soon as she left, he spoke. “Mrs. Sterling, it’s good of you to have come.” The authoritative voice I remembered now emerged weak and slow.

“Thank you for allowing me to see you. I’m making inquiries on behalf of my husband, General Alexander Sterling.”

“How is the general these days?”

“He’s well enough to be involved in the war. He’s away on an assignment.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t expect nothing less. When brave men are needed, they answer the call.” His head turned to me in a slow, unsettling motion, his gaze burning into mine. “How may I help you?”

Guilt pricked me for not speaking openly to him, but I steadied myself and pressed on. “As you may have heard, Alex returned from America not long after his former housekeeper, Mrs. Deborah White, attempted to kill him.”

“I did hear about that. I always suspected something was off about that woman. I never liked her—always hovering, always meddling in the Sterlings’ affairs.”

“She still is. The authorities tracked her to the New Forest, and I fear we haven’t seen the last of her.”

“Ahh.” He watched me for a long, uncomfortable moment. “However, you haven’t come to inform me of Mrs. White’s deeds and whereabouts.” His mind was sharp, his thoughts incisive.

Perfect.

I decided not to rush into the topic of the baby’s birth and demise, letting the conversation unfold naturally. “The thing is, after dealing with her in New York, I’ve become curious about what happened to the late Mrs. Sterling. Alex told me about it, but I can’t shake the feeling there’s more to the story. I was hoping you could shed some light on the matter.” I couldn’t very well tell him she had thrown the snake into the stall, causing Sunny to injure me. Still, he might have suspected foul play, making this a good place to start.

“Do you fear for your life, Mrs. Sterling?”

“When dealing with an emotionally unstable person, anyone would. Both my husband and I want her behind bars. If there are additional crimes for which Mrs. White should be held accountable, I want to bring them to the authorities’ attention.”

“I see—well, Florence, the beautiful Florence. She was brave. She fought until the end. On the day of the accident, I was summoned to the house. The staff said the accident had just occurred, but my years of experience suggested otherwise. However, I saw no reason for them to lie, nor did I have time to dwell on it. The evidence showed that a horse had trampled her. Believe me, I did everything in my power to save mother and child, but the damage was irreversible.

“It was the most devastating case of my career. I wish I could have done more. If truth is what you seek, I must admit that countless times, I’ve wondered . . .” His voice trailed off.

“Wondered what?”

“Oh, so many things—chief among them the strange feeling that seized the room when Florence passed. Do you know what I mean, Mrs. Sterling?”

It dawned on me that this sensible, intelligent man, so familiar with death, must have felt the veil between worlds merging that day. Could he sense the connection I had to that moment? Did he recognize me?

“Do you?” he pressed.

“I’d like to think I do,” I replied cautiously. “I’ve experienced my fair share of tragedy.”

“An uncompromising answer.” He chuckled softly. “Now, my dear Mrs. Sterling, we both know that even if Mrs. White had a hand in Florence’s death, it’s been far too long to prove anything. What is it you truly seek?”

As I braced to disclose my hopes and fears, I had the impression he’d already guessed the answer. “I’m here because I don’t believe the Sterlings’ son died that day. I’m here to find something—anything—that will confirm my suspicions and bring him back to m . . .” my voice wavered as I held back the word me , “his father.”

“Ah, now we begin to understand each other.” He pointed to a jug on the nightstand. “If you don’t mind . . .”

“Of course.” I poured water into a glass and helped him lift it to his lips. The moment’s tenderness stirred my affection for my dear doctor.

“Thank you. That’s enough.” He closed his eyes and laced his fingers over his chest. “It was a forced, arduous delivery. When the boy finally made his appearance, I was relieved that his heart was strong, and he bore no signs of trauma. He was a beautiful baby.

“Until other arrangements could be made, our best option was to send him to the dispensary. The attending nurse there was equipped to ensure his well-being. I commissioned Mrs. White to bring him there—something I regret to this day.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I fear she might have done something to the baby. When I called to inquire about him, the nurse informed me he was dead upon arrival.”

Dead . My hopes waned. He’d confirmed Alex’s account and my worst fears: if my son had died that day, it was possible Mrs. White had killed him en route to the dispensary. But just like my death, I had no way to prove it.

“That daunting possibility has haunted me ever since,” he continued. “However, something else has puzzled me all these years, though at the time, it seemed insignificant.”

“What is that?” I leaned forward, gripping the edge of the chair.

“The nurse also said that Mrs. White had already left the dispensary. Given the circumstances, I expected her to return to the manor immediately.”

“She didn’t?” Considering what she had done, she wouldn’t have wasted a minute away from me. I might have been able to tell Alex the truth.

“She and the driver, Vines, I believe, took double the required driving time. I was beside myself. In such difficult circumstances, a doctor relies on the support of someone overseeing the patient’s household. When she reappeared, I questioned her harshly. Unmoved by my frustration, she claimed they were delayed by a broken-down truck blocking the road. It was an unusual excuse. Surely there were ways to bypass the obstacle, but I had no time to investigate her lies. The general soon arrived from London, and then Florence was gone.”

“Did you see the baby’s remains?”

“No. When we took Florence’s body to the parish, the boy had already been placed in a coffin. In those days, coffins were quickly sealed to prevent the spread of disease and so forth.”

Like a lightning strike, it hit me. “ When we took your body to the church, his remains were already there ,” Alex’s voice echoed in my head. I had assumed he had seen our son’s body, but he hadn’t. If no one had, then it was possible—he could have grown to adulthood. My emotions surged once more, hope rising with them. “Doctor, this is extremely important. Did Alex see the baby’s body?”

“The general did not see it. As I said, the casket was closed when we arrived. The constable asked the general if he wanted to open it. Alexander refused. I was relieved. His grief was overwhelming, and seeing the little corpse would have sent him over the edge.”

I recalled the cemetery scene Lucca had shown me during my journey back in time. While the mourners dispersed, Alex had knelt by my grave and our son’s, inconsolable. He remained there for the longest time. When he finally walked away, I knew he’d left his heart at the burial site. The doctor was right—seeing his lifeless son would have been too much.

I let my thoughts tumble out. “Do you realize what you’ve just implied? If no one saw the remains, he could have survived. Mrs. White could have bribed the nurse to lie. She could have taken him elsewhere. And that’s why she took so long to return. I must speak to the nurse. Do you know where she is now?”

“I’m sorry. She passed away years ago. Now, Mrs. Sterling, don’t let your hopes run rampant. The cost of unfulfilled expectations is sorrow. I assure you, I questioned the nurse extensively. I believe she was truthful. The baby died of natural causes before reaching the dispensary.”

I can’t accept that. I simply can’t.

“You must also consider the constable,” Doctor Jones added. “He signed both death records. Before you ask, he’s also dead. I once spoke to him about the case. He was a reserved man who disliked having his work scrutinized. He confirmed the baby’s death and firmly stated that he wouldn’t have signed the document otherwise.”

“But did he see the body?”

“I assumed he did. By law, he should have.”

“He should have,” I emphasized, “but, Doctor, as you know, people in small towns often rely on trust.”

“Are you suggesting he might have taken the nurse’s word for it?”

“Precisely, Doctor, precisely.”

“Hmm, it’s an interesting thought. Improbable, but a thought nonetheless.” Eyelids that had grown heavy slowly parted, his eyes beholding mine once again. “I’m afraid that’s all I can recall. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”

“You have been more than gracious. Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure, Mrs. Sterling. And if I may say so, it’s admirable that you’re investigating the past for the general’s sake, considering this all happened so long ago—even before you were born.” His fading sight may have limited him, but the rumors about my supposed age clearly hadn’t escaped him.

“Once again, thank you. I’ll take my leave now.” I attempted to rise, but he grasped my hand.

“Mrs. Sterling, few people understand the complexities of life and death. Most want to believe in an afterlife, but so few know . Don’t let yourself be consumed by what you can’t accept. Instead, find peace in what you know and in what you’ve been given.”

His statement stunned me. Though improbable, again, he spoke as if he knew who I truly was. Perhaps it was simply that, in his final days, he understood the futility of chasing a past that would never return. The problem was that I had emerged from that very past, and because of that, nothing seemed impossible.

There was one way to clarify the confusion. I had to see my son’s remains, which I now had growing reason to question if they existed. While Alex might be right that no miracle had saved the baby, he could still be alive if Mrs. White had placed him with another family.

If that were the case, the lengthy drive suggested they might have taken the baby far—perhaps even beyond the boundaries of the New Forest. Such an act was within her capability. However, it contradicted the claims of those who supposedly saw the body—unless, of course, she had bribed them. Still, the Sterlings were a prominent family in the area. If Mrs. White had given my son away, the recipients would almost certainly have suspected whose child he was. That they, too, might have been willing accomplices in her crime seemed utterly implausible.

Amid the conundrum, one thing was clear: I still didn’t know the truth. “I can’t accept what I don’t know. I must know,” I said.

“Then I wish you the best in your quest.”

“I hope our paths will cross again someday. Goodbye for now.”

“They will. Perhaps not in this life, but they will . . .”