The Grays of Truth, page 33
Octavia, too, glared at Jane as she passed, giving her the same black look she had given her mother when the verdict was read. Jane shuddered as if there were something crawling up the middle of her back. She felt Teddy take her elbow in his hand, steadying her.
“I’m fine,” she whispered to him as Rosa and her husband walked by.
“Mrs. Wharton,” Dr. Nugent said as he approached. “We need to talk.” He offered her an engraved ivory card. “Please meet me at my office in Baltimore on Friday at noon.”
“Why?” Jane asked, puzzled.
“Please,” he whispered, his eyes pleading. “And come alone. I am across from the Johns Hopkins Institute.”
Dr. Nugent pushed the card into her hand and held it there, forcing her to take it. “Friday. Twelve noon.”
Chapter 65
Friday, January 5, 1872, North Broadway, Baltimore, MD
When Jane arrived at the address on George Nugent’s card, a crowd had gathered on the street in front of the building. One uniformed police officer was blocking the window to the right of the door, holding them back; another was standing at the building’s entrance. Jane pushed through the crowd to the officer at the door.
“Sorry, ma’am. Can’t let you pass,” he said.
“I am Mrs. Jane Gray Wharton,” Jane said. “Dr. Nugent asked me to be here at noon.”
“Wharton?” he asked. Jane nodded. He hollered down the hall. “Got a Mrs. Wharton here to see the doctor.”
“Let her through,” came the response. Jane detected a slight German accent and was certain the voice belonged to Deputy Marshal Jake Frey.
The officer moved aside and allowed Jane into the building.
The first things Jane noticed were the bloodstained boot prints on the foyer floor. Her eyes followed them to their originating point: the doorway to an office bearing the shingle Dr. George Nugent, Alienist.
Another policeman was standing like a sentry at the office door. Jane recognized him from one of her visits to Jake’s office.
“Ma’am,” he said, a grimace on his face. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“It’s all right, Jonathan,” Jane heard Jake say from inside the room.
“Prepare yourself, ma’am,” Jonathan said with a shake of his head, and he moved aside. As she walked past him and stepped into the room, a grisly scene like nothing Jane had experienced before unfolded in front of her.
Blood was everywhere. On the walls, the curtains, the glass shade of the lamp that sat on the desk. And the smell. Jane recognized it from her days in her father’s operating theatre and at Armory Square: the rusted-iron odor of blood. Time seemed to slow as her eyes followed the crimson arcs that dripped over the room’s walls to land at last on Ellen Wharton’s lifeless body in a bloody pool on the floor. A gaping gash on her milk-white throat. A bloodied letter knife with a gleaming blade and a tortoiseshell handle lying nearby. Vacant black eyes staring at the blood-splattered gas lamp that hung overhead. Jane’s mouth fell open as she took in the gore.
Dr. George Nugent was sitting on a small sofa near the body. His complexion was whiter than usual, and his hands—shirt and jacket, too—were covered in blood. Jake Frey was next to him, his little notepad resting on his knee, a pencil in one hand, the other on the doctor’s shoulder. Neither man stood when Jane entered. They both just looked at her, an empty horror on their faces.
“The doctor isn’t feeling well,” Jake said. “Says his apothecary cabinet is in the next room. Might you get something for him?”
George Nugent closed his eyes momentarily and nodded. Jane understood the issue. Ignoring the emotions rising from the ghastly sight, she left the room and hurried down the hall. In the next room, she found a tall cabinet, painted white with glass doors. Jane scanned its shelves. She pulled a bottle filled with white crystals labeled Carbonate of Calcium from one shelf and a tin box labeled Bicarbonate of Sodium from another and mixed a tonic in a tumbler with water from the hydrant. She dampened one of the towels that hung above the washstand and grabbed a dry one before heading back to the office.
When she reentered the doctor’s office, Jane was careful to avoid stepping in the blood that had collected on the floor. She handed the doctor the dampened towel, looking at his hands, her eyes urging him to clean them. He nodded and took the towel, his fingers trembling.
“Let me help you,” she said, and set the tumbler on the table next to him. She took George’s shaking hands in hers and wiped the blood from them. She followed George’s eyes to his sister’s body, then looked back at his face, ashen and distraught. When most of the blood was washed away, Jane tossed the bloody towel aside and handed him the tonic.
“Just like I used to make for you,” she said with a sympathetic smile.
“I can’t thank you enough,” George said, sipping the water.
Holding the dry towel, Jane stood from the sofa and bent to Ellen’s body. No matter what Ellen had done or how much Jane loathed her, she didn’t deserve to die like this. Jane reached over Ellen’s body and closed her eyes before covering her face with the towel.
“There are table and chairs in the apothecary room,” Jane said, as she stood from the body. She looked at Jake. “Perhaps if we remove Dr. Nugent from all of this”—Jane waved her hand over the room—“he might feel a little better.”
Jake nodded and tucked his notebook into his jacket pocket. Each taking one of the doctor’s arms, Jake and Jane assisted George from the sofa. Jonathan, the young officer at the door, rushed to help and took George’s left arm from Jane. Jane followed behind them, doing her best to avoid soiling her shoes in the carnage.
When they reached the other room, George walked to the back wall and washed his hands and face at the hydrant while Jane and Jake waited for him at the table in the room’s center. Jake pulled his notebook and pencil from his pocket as the doctor took a chair.
“I really do need to know where you sent Miss Wharton,” Jake said.
“As I told you before, Deputy Marshal,” George said, wiping water droplets from his neck with the towel, “I am not at liberty to share that information.”
“She just murdered her mother,” Jake said. “We need to take her into custody.”
“And I have assured you that, where she is going, she will be of no harm to others.”
“How did Mrs. Wharton end up in a bloody mess on the floor of your office if Miss Wharton is of no harm to others?”
“I’m sorry, gentlemen,” Jane interrupted. “But may I ask what in blazes happened?”
With a frustrated sigh, Jake turned to Jane.
“It seems Dr. Nugent and Mrs. Wharton had made plans to have Octavia Wharton committed into an asylum for the insane. When Miss Wharton was informed of her mother’s intentions this morning, in a fit of rage, she took the blade from the doctor’s desk and sliced her mother’s neck, severing the artery that connects to the heart.”
Jane stared at Jake in disbelief. While she knew that Octavia was easy to anger, never could she have fathomed that Octavia would strike out against her mother.
“Before the police arrived, men from the institution removed Miss Wharton from the scene. And Dr. Nugent refuses to tell me where she is,” Jake said, eyeing George again.
“I don’t understand,” Jane said to George. “Why would Ellen send Octavia to an asylum?”
“Because I convinced Ellen that it was the only way to protect her own life and to save Octavia from the gallows,” George explained.
“It seems that the good doctor got Miss Wharton to confess to the poisonings,” Jake said.
Jane felt her shoulders fall against the back of her chair as the words hit her. As much as she had grown to suspect Octavia, she didn’t want to believe that her niece was capable of such heinous acts. It had always been Ellen that Jane blamed. Ellen who must be responsible. Ellen who had destroyed Jane’s life. Evil Ellen whom Jane hated.
“Tay?” Jane asked. George nodded. “Why?” But Jane already knew the answer. She and Achsah had only days ago analyzed her motive for each killing.
“Octavia is insane, Jane Gray,” George said. “I have felt that something was off with the girl for years. When our father fell ill, and Ellen and Hank returned from the West with their children, I became concerned about Octavia’s behavior. After our father died, the child seemed to celebrate his death as opposed to mourning the loss. I had implored Ellen to let me evaluate her, as I thought she was suffering from bouts of hysteria. But Ellen brushed me off and told me that Octavia, like all teenaged girls, was simply moody. When Major Wharton died, Octavia seemed indifferent to her father’s passing, and I suspected something was wrong. And then, at his wake, when you accused Ellen of foul play, my concerns grew.”
“If you were suspicious, why didn’t you order a postmortem on Hank’s body?” Jane asked.
George picked at the blood that stained his cuticles and nails. “I don’t know,” he answered. He looked up from his hands, his face awash in guilt. “Perhaps I was afraid of what would be uncovered. I regret that decision to this day.”
“And Clifton?”
“I dismissed his death as natural. Both he and Octavia had contracted influenza, so I thought nothing of it. But that, too, was a mistake.” Jane could see the tears welling in George’s eyes as he spoke. She reached out to him and placed her hand over his and forced an encouraging smile. He covered hers with his other hand and bowed his head. After taking a moment to collect himself, he looked up and continued.
“When Ellen was sent to jail, she insisted that Octavia not be left alone. I had suggested that she go to Philadelphia and stay with my sister Rosa and her family at Poplar Lane, our family’s seat. Ellen was adamant that Octavia could not be around the family in her delicate condition. So she came to stay with me here in Baltimore. At first I didn’t understand Ellen’s concern, but it didn’t take long before I took note of her odd behavior.
“The girl rarely slept. She held conversations with herself while alone in her room. She angered easily over the simplest of frustrations, as a small child might. Her mood would change from that of a sweet young woman one moment to a raging witch in the next. So, during one of her spells, I confronted her. Something had set her off, and she ranted about how disrespectful her father had been to her mother. I told her how grateful I was that she had relieved her mother of her father’s disparagement and the humiliation of his many affairs. And she proudly admitted to adding poison to his scotch whiskey. From there, it didn’t take me long to get her to confess to the rest.”
“Why didn’t you inform me when Miss Wharton confessed?” Jake asked.
“The girl belongs in an asylum, not a jail, Deputy Marshal,” George said. “And at that moment, I was only certain of her involvement in Major Wharton’s death. It took patience for me to gain her confidence.” He looked over at Jane. “It requires a certain temperament to reach someone with a diseased mind. I believe you may also have that talent, Jane Gray, to understand those suffering terrible thoughts.” He squeezed her hand and gave her a knowing look.
Jane blanched. “I understand chemistry, sir. I know very little about the human mind.”
“I think you understand more than you realize. I could see it on your face as you watched Octavia in court. You suspected. And empathized. I think you’ve been sensitive to her abnormalities for quite some time now.”
Jane pulled her hand away. “Are you suggesting that I knew Octavia was responsible and did nothing?”
“Not at all,” George assured. “I believe you felt sorry for her and, like all of us in the family, thought her incapable of such horrendous acts. But then again, if we believed in Ellen’s innocence, what other explanation could there be?”
“So, why did you invite me here?” Jane was suddenly feeling deluded. “After you sent Octavia away, was Ellen supposed to convince me that she was innocent?”
“I knew better than to have you and my sister in the same room,” George said. “Ellen would have left by the time you arrived. No one was trying to convince you of anything. I simply wanted to tell you about Octavia and all that I had learned to give you some semblance of peace.”
“You believe that Ellen was completely innocent?” Jane asked. “That Octavia killed her own father and brother as well as my family and my fiancé, and Ellen was naïve to all that was going on under her roof?”
“Not at all,” Jake said, interrupting the exchange. “The doctor admits that Mrs. Wharton suspected her daughter was responsible and took no action to stop her. In fact, Mrs. Wharton covered for Octavia. She had the maid, Susan, help clean up the mess, and coerced the woman to lie to protect her daughter. And later, she would collect on the insurance policies she had taken out on the lives of both her husband and her son.” Jake shook his head in disgust.
“So, Ellen knew that Octavia had poisoned Hank and Clifton?” Jane asked.
“She suspected it, yes,” George said, “but like any dedicated mother, she gave her daughter the benefit of the doubt.”
“And Ned? Did Ellen suspect Octavia had poisoned him?”
“She didn’t until later,” George said. “But when Mary Louise fell ill, Ellen remembered how angry Octavia had become at the supper table during your husband’s visit. Apparently, he was boasting about the marriage arrangement. That’s when she began to put two and two together.”
“Yet, she did nothing,” Jane said, still feeling George was defending Ellen. “And the lethal dose of antimony that killed Scott? Did Ellen knowingly administer it to him?”
“Ellen said she didn’t know the sugar was tainted,” George explained. “She claimed Octavia had prepared the water and handed it to her.”
“And you believed her?” Jane asked, her eyes wide and growing angry.
George shrugged his shoulders in surrender. “It doesn’t matter what I believe. Ellen is dead. And Octavia is locked away where she can never harm anyone again.”
“Miss Wharton needs to be held to account,” Jake said. “Now please, Doctor, tell me where she is!”
Wild thoughts ran through Jane’s mind, and the chatter grew, but among them, a sudden voice of clarity. Not Emma’s voice. Not Scott’s. But Jane’s own voice.
“Account to whom?” Jane asked. “The next of kin of Octavia’s
victims—Ned, Mary Louise, Hank, Clifton, Scott—are mostly gone except for me. I can assure you that no one in the Wharton family wants the publicity of another trial, especially one that would expose insanity among their ranks. With Ellen dead, you can close any further investigation into their deaths, can’t you? I mean, who will complain?”
“How do I explain the bloody mess next door?” Jake asked, incredulous. “And what do I tell members of the Nugent family who will question how Mrs. Wharton died?”
“Suicide,” Jane said. “Tell them Ellen took her own life.” She looked at George. “As a doctor who treats mental disorders, you can surely attest to Ellen’s melancholy, can’t you?” Jane deliberately emphasized the word. “To how guilt-ridden she was at the gravity of her crimes, how terrified she would be should the bodies of Clifton and Hank be exhumed. The unbearable stress of her upcoming trial for the poisoning of Mr. Van Ness. Her all-consuming fear of living the rest of her life in prison or, worse, the public humiliation of hanging at the gallows.”
“She was indeed terrified of another public trial and the prospect of possible conviction,” George said, following Jane’s lead. “The burden weighed heavily on her conscience.”
“And how do you expect me to convince the coroner that she cut her own throat?”
“Ellen had a flair for drama,” Jane suggested. “Maybe she wanted to ensure the press sensationalized her death.”
Jake raised a brow.
“Perhaps we can come up with a better explanation,” George said.
“Such as?” Jake asked.
“That it was Ellen who I was having committed,” George proposed. “And when the men from the institute arrived, she threatened them with the knife from my desk. Then, realizing the hopelessness of her fate, in a desperate moment, she turned the knife on herself.”
Jake looked across the table at the two of them, unconvinced.
“And what about Daniel Ketchum?” Jake said. “Doesn’t he deserve justice for his father’s death?”
“I’ll speak to Daniel,” Jane offered. “I am confident that he’ll agree to our plan. After all, Octavia was his sister. And he loved her once. He might have married her had he not discovered the horrible truth. I’m certain he’ll want what’s best for her.”
“As will the Wharton and Nugent families,” George said in agreement.
“Deputy Marshal,” the young police officer, Jonathan, interrupted with a rap on the doorjamb. “The men from the undertakers are here with a bier for the body. They said to tell you that the coroner is waiting for you at their mortuary wareroom.”
An awkward tension fell over the room as Jake moved his gaze between the doctor and Jane.
“I’ll attest to her state of mind and the facts as discussed,” George said, his eyes urging Jake to accept their version of events.
“Spare me any more trials, Deputy Marshal Frey,” Jane pleaded. “I beg you, spare me suffering through it again.”
Jake shook his head with a scoff and tore a page from his notebook, crumpling it in his hand. He picked up his pencil.
“Tell me again, Dr. Nugent, what happened this morning when you told your sister that you were committing her to an asylum?”
Epilogue
Monday, March 25, 1872, Maryland Institute, Baltimore, MD
“Top of the morning to you, Lady Jane Gray,” Liam Tonry said in his chipper Irish brogue as he threw open the door to his laboratory at the Maryland Institute. “How was your Palm Sunday?”
