An Improper Death (Dr. Alexandra Gladstone Mysteries Book 2) by Paula Paul

was a moment of silence in which the housekeeper’s features huddled even closer. “Wait here,” she said, motioning for Alexandra to step inside. She disappeared briefly. When she returned she informed Alexandra in a funereal voice that Mrs. Orkwright would receive her in the parlor.
    When the housekeeper had shown her to the parlor and had even designated the chair in which she was to be seated, she left, leaving a measure of her gloom in her wake. Alexandra rose from her chair and went to the window, trying to allay the dismal mood as she watched the mottled sea stretching its stubby white fingers to eternity. Even that left her clammy with a sense of despair. She didn’t turn away, though, until a small “hello” startled her.
    She turned around quickly to see young Will standing behind her. “Hello, Will.” She smiled at him, struck by his resemblance to his father. He had the same fair hair and stocky build of the admiral. His wide lapis lazuli eyes were his mother’s, though.
    “Are you here to see Mama, Dr. Gladstone? Is she ill?” His voice was young and frightened.
    “No, I don’t believe she’s ill.” Alexandra moved toward a chair and sat in it, bringing her eyes to a more even level with the boy’s. “I’ve come to have a chat with her, that’s all.”
    Will’s wide eyes had never left her. “Is it about Papa?” he asked.
    “Yes.” Alexandra spoke softly, wondering at the confusion and grief the child must be feeling.
    He sat on a chair next to her, his short legs stretched straight in front of him. “Annie says he’s gone on a very long journey and won’t be back until I’m all grown up.”
    “Annie? The houskeeper?”
    He nodded. “But that’s a fib, you know. My papa’s dead.”
    Alexandra felt a moment of uneasiness. “Who told you that?”
    Will gave her an incredulous look. “Why Mama, of course. Mama would never fib to me.”
    “Of course not.”
    Will had now turned his attention to the toes of his shiny black shoes, which he was rhythmically bumping together. Alexandra hoped that his little boy thoughts had moved on to something more mundane. He glanced up at her, his expression grave. He had stopped flopping his toes together. “I must ask you something,” he said, still looking at his shoes. Then, glancing up at her, said, “I’m afraid to ask Mama, and Annie wouldn’t tell me the truth.”
    “Will, I’m not sure I should—”
    “It’s an easy question. You need only answer yes or no.” He leaned closer to her. “Will I be sent to burn in hell when I die because I’m glad Papa is dead?”
    A sudden flood of something—dread? surprise?—threatened Alexandra’s breathing. And she was just as quickly distracted by the soft voice of Jane Orkwright.
    “Will, I hope you’re not annoying Dr. Gladstone.” She walked toward them, bringing with her the scent and lightness of lavender.
    “No, Mama, I’m not.” Will scooted out of his chair, his pale face colored slightly with what Alexandra took to be a combination of embarrassment and guilt. He obviously did not want his mother to know about his confession, and Alexandra felt an almost ecclesiastical need not to divulge it. At the same time, she felt a burgeoning desire to explore what was behind the boy’s remark by discussing it with his mother.
    Jane held her arms out to her son and bent to embrace him and receive his kiss. “Let me have a little private chat with Dr. Gladstone, Willy, and afterwards we’ll have a game of draughts.”
    “Not draughts, Mama. Hide-and-seek.”
    “Very well.” She gave him a gentle, playful swat. “Run along now.”
    He scurried out of the room, running directly into the taciturn housekeeper, who swept him up in her arms and carried him away.
    As soon as he was out of sight, Jane sat down and spoke to Alexandra, a grave expression stealing the light from her eyes that Will had inspired. “Why wasn’t I told about Mary Prodder?”
    The remark caught Alexandra off