A Journeyman to Grief (21 page)

“No, of course not. We haven’t finished our task yet. When that’s done, we’ll go.”

“Are you up to it?”

For an answer, Mrs. Dittman beckoned her maid to sit beside her on the couch. “By myself, no. But with you beside me, my rod and my staff, I am invincible and have always been so.”

Faith laughed out loud. “You and your fancy talk. You never stop, do you? Here, lie back and put your feet up on my lap
and I’ll rub them for you. I can tell you’ve been in pain today.”

“Pour some more brandy and it will all be forgotten. Besides, I have eaten the sweet meat of revenge and that has soothed my pain.”

“There you go again.”

CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN

A
my lifted up Jacob from the sink where she had been bathing him and handed him over to Murdoch, who was standing at the ready with a warm towel. James was already bathed and dried and lay contentedly in his cradle watching them. Charlie and Katie had gone out for the evening to celebrate their engagement, and Amy and Murdoch were taking care of the twins. It had taken a bit of persuading to get Katie out of the door, but with repeated assurances from Amy (
It won’t be too much trouble
) that the boys would be well taken care of (
Oh, I know that
), the two of them had left.

Murdoch was enjoying himself. “I remember my mother giving Bertie a bath. He was always afraid of water and she’d get me to distract him by blowing bubbles.” He sighed. “I took a lot of pride in getting him to laugh, and momma often let me do the whole business myself.”

“Poor Bertie,” Amy said softly.

“Yes, he didn’t have much of a life, sad little titch.”

After they became lovers, Murdoch and Amy had spent many hours talking far into the night about their own lives. She had been born into a well-educated family, the only girl and the youngest of five, both mother and father teachers themselves. “I knew from childhood that I wanted to be a teacher and the best I could be. My father, bless him, was considered slightly mad by the folks in the town because of his unorthodox habits and teaching methods, but he was well loved. He died far too early, and my mother grieved herself to death. As I was only twelve at the time, I considered that very selfish of her and I still do. My brothers all went into professional life, two doctors, a lawyer, a clergyman, very High Church. Except for my brother, the lawyer, who is distinctly eccentric, I cannot understand why they are so conventional, considering how we were brought up, but they are and they do not approve of my bohemian ways.”

Even though she had said it lightly, Murdoch thought he detected a hint of wistfulness in her voice and he had pulled her close to him.

“Well, I thoroughly approve.”

She tweaked his nose. “That’s because I come to your bed without benefit of clergy.”

“No, it’s not. I’d make us legitimate any time you say the word.”

“Never. Sorry, Will. I can’t.”

He’d been hurt by that answer, but as she had taken away the sting by sitting astride him and kissing him, he recovered quickly.

On another occasion, he had told her some of his own tales; of the cruel treatment his father, Harry, meted out to all the family, including his wife; of his sister, Susannah, who had fled to a cloistered convent as a young girl and died there; of Bertie, a simpleton, and the youngest, who shortly after their mother’s
premature death had suffered a heart attack when he was only twelve years old.

“Only Harry is left and who knows where he is?”

It was Amy’s turn to comfort him. “Perhaps someday that look will be gone from your eyes, Will.”

Jacob was wriggling in his arms so Murdoch placed him in his cradle and rocked it gently.

“How do you like your new beds, boys?” he asked them.

The single cradle Katie had arrived with was far too small, and Charlie had immediately set to work to make two new ones. Murdoch had done his part by painting them light blue. He’d even sketched galloping black horses across the headboards. Amy had provided material for Katie to quilt, and now the twins lay, plump and well cared for by their new family.

Amy cleaned up the bathing area while Murdoch rocked both cradles.

“I hope Charlie and Katie do stay here. I’d miss these little fellows.” He addressed the twins. “Even though you do wake me up at all hours, don’t you? Not to mention periodically plucking the hair out of my moustache.” James dribbled happily at him. “Ha, you think that’s funny, do you? Wait till you’ve got more hair, I might have a go at pulling that.”

He suddenly became aware that Amy was watching him. She had an expression on her face that he couldn’t quite read, but before he could ask her what was wrong, they heard knocking at the front door.

“Oh no, I hope that’s nobody from the station come to fetch you,” said Amy.

“I’ll answer it.”

The knocking was repeated.

“Hold on, I’m coming.”

He opened the door expecting it to be indeed an urgent
message from the station, but to his surprise, there on the doorstep were Dr. Julia Ogden and Professor Broske. It was the professor who had been doing the impatient knocking as his hand was already raised to knock again. “Good evening, Mr. Murdoch,” said Dr. Ogden. “I hope you don’t mind us disturbing you, but we were out for an evening stroll. I’ve been showing Marc, er, Professor Broske, some of the delights our city has to offer.”

It flashed through Murdoch’s mind that perhaps that meant they’d gone walking in the Mount Pleasant Cemetery on the off chance of stumbling over some old bones.

“I’ve examined the objects you asked me to and analyzed both the piece of sacking and that potion you brought me and I thought you’d be interested in the results,” continued Dr. Ogden.

“And I understand you wanted to ask my opinion about something,” said Broske. “So here we are, at your service.”

Murdoch stepped back from the threshold.

“Please come in.”

Broske gestured to Julia to go in front of him and they entered the hall. They were both wearing summer boaters and the professor had on a pale yellow linen suit that was undeniably foreign.

“One of my fellow boarders and I are taking care of Mrs. Tibbett’s twins for the evening,” said Murdoch as he led the way down the hall. “We are in the kitchen.”

Broske’s eyes brightened. “Twins! How marvellous. I am always happy to encounter them. I have conducted several experiments with twins that have yielded remarkable results.”

Murdoch could feel himself stiffen. Given what he’d already seen of the professor’s experiments, he wouldn’t let him get within ten feet of the boys.

He pushed open the kitchen door. Amy turned around to greet them and put her finger to her lips. “They are almost asleep.”

Murdoch made gestures to indicate they would go upstairs and Amy nodded.

“I’ll come up shortly,” she whispered.

Broske was casting acquisitive glances at the twins, but he kept quiet and the three of them trooped out again.

Murdoch ushered his guests into his sitting room.

“I’d offer you some tea, but I’d better not go down to the kitchen just yet.”

“Do not fret, Mr. Murdoch. I am so experienced a traveller I always come prepared,” said Broske, and he took a small silver flask from his inside pocket. “This is what in my country we call pomace brandy or, more popularly, grappa. It is not as smooth as the brandy I have sampled in Canada, but consequently, one drinks less. May I pour you a little, Miss Julia?”

“No, no, thank you.” Dr. Ogden’s hasty refusal did not bode well for the brandy, but Murdoch was curious.

Broske poured some of the liquid into the flask cap and handed it to him. “Good health.”

Murdoch took a sip and almost choked. His lips and tongue caught fire and the brandy blazed a trail down his throat, taking layers of skin with it. His eyes watered and he coughed.

The professor grinned at him. “Grappa is something of what you would call a taste of acquirement.”

Murdoch handed him back the cap. “I think that’s enough for me, thank you.”

Casually, Broske tossed back the remaining brandy in one gulp, wiping his thin moustache delicately. “Ah, that warms the heart, does it not?”

Murdoch thought that for a physiologist, the professor’s sense of anatomy was decidedly inaccurate. The grappa had gone nowhere near his heart but had headed directly for his stomach, where it was now burning a hole.

“To quote one of England’s eminent men, Mr. Samuel Johnson, ‘Claret is the liquor for boys; port, for men; but he who aspires to be a hero must drink brandy.’ And perhaps we must admit that is especially true of those who drink our Italian brandy.”

Broske tossed back another capful of grappa and waved the flask at Murdoch questioningly. Dr. Ogden rescued him.

“Shall I tell you my findings now?”

Murdoch didn’t trust his voice, so he nodded.

“First I should say that the piece of sacking was not very useful. The blood was mammalian and of fairly recent origin, but that was all I could determine. There were some hairs that were likely equine, but as it was in a stable, that proves nothing. The same was true of the whip. I saw nothing at all on either of the Indian clubs or the rope.”

“And the vial?”

“That, on the other hand, proved to be quite interesting. Considering it is called the gold cure, I found no gold at all. Professor Broske confirmed my analysis of the contents.”

“No gold. Much cocaine.” The professor’s English was rather suddenly truncated.

“Quite so,” added Julia. “There was a small per cent of chloral, which as you know has a sedating effect, water, and a 10 per cent solution of cocaine. I’ve heard of this before. Unscrupulous or ignorant practitioners claim to cure addictions to alcohol and so they do, but they replace one addiction with another. Men stop drinking but then they begin craving the ‘cure’ or the cordial or whatever they want to call it, not knowing they are now dependent on another drug.”

“Friend should be got out,” Broske slurred. “And soon.”

There was a tap at the door and Amy came in. She was still wearing her comfortable at-home clothes with silk pantaloons
fastened at the ankle and full over-tunic. Broske jumped to his feet, his brown eyes glowing with admiration.

“Allow me to present Miss Amy Slade,” said Murdoch. “You know Dr. Ogden, of course, and this is Professor Marc Broske. He is visiting here from Italy.”

Amy held out her hand to Broske and, predictably, he held it in both of his for an instant, then planted a kiss on her fingers.

“Enchanting, mademoiselle.”

Dr. Ogden pursed her lips. “We can’t stay much longer, but I understand you have a question you wish to ask the professor, Miss Slade.”

Amy described her visit to the Blongs’ house and the condition of Mary Blong.

“I suspected she was faking the seizure, but I’m not sure. William thought you might be able to help. Perhaps you might even come to see the girl yourself.”

Broske beamed. “I have a most simple method to detect fakery, which is infallible. But I am due to return to my homeland in five days so we must do something soon. Can you make an appointment for me to come to see the girl?”

“I’ll arrange it as soon as possible,” said Amy. “I do thank you, professor.”

“Not at all, I am only to happy to demonstrate my skill.” He turned to Dr. Ogden. “Perhaps you will come also, Miss Julia? I am sure you will be most fascinating to see the test.”

“I would love to be there.” She smiled at him, her annoyance gone.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT

T
he following morning, Murdoch decided to pay another visit to Thomas Talbert. He had supposedly known Cooke for a long time, and he might be able to confirm what Whatling and Ferguson had said about Cooke’s predilection for gambling.

It was another lovely fresh morning and Murdoch found himself whistling as he rode down Mutual Street. Last night, just as Dr. Ogden and Professor Broske were about to leave, Charlie and Katie had returned and somehow in the introductions the news of their engagement came out. Broske insisted on celebrating but, fortunately, Charlie had a bottle of good whisky in his room and they were able to avoid the grappa in the several toasts that had followed. It was almost midnight when the doctor and her companion had finally left, Broske kissing Amy and Katie’s hands with much gusto. Murdoch noticed he even slipped in a quick kiss to his Miss Julia’s cheek. He smiled at the memory and at how pink Dr. Ogden had turned.

He leaned his wheel against the fence and opened the gate to Talbert’s front garden. He paused. All of the front-room blinds were pulled down. It was almost nine o’clock, surely it was not too early to call on the man? He checked the upper windows and there the blinds were up. A sharp pinch of alarm gripped him. Of course, it was quite possible that Talbert had fallen asleep downstairs, but where was his housekeeper? There was a quiet to the house, a feeling of something not normal that was troubling. He went up to the door and knocked. Nothing stirred. He knocked again harder and this time he turned the door handle, pushed open the door, and stepped into the hall.

“Mr. Talbert? Mr. Talbert? Detective Murdoch here.”

The unmistakable odour of death hit his nostrils.

The portières to the parlour had been drawn back and that door was wide open. He could see Talbert lying on the floor, near the fireplace. He was on his right side with his knees tucked tight to his chest.

Murdoch ran to the body and crouched down. He could see a single bullet hole in the neck just below the jaw. The bullet must have pierced the artery and there was a wide spatter of blood around the area where Talbert was lying. He was fully dressed and wearing the same light-blue smoking jacket that Murdoch had seen him in before. It was covered with blood down the left side. His wrists were tied in front of him and his arms had been drawn down over his bent legs. A poker was thrust behind his knees and over his elbows, pulling him almost into a ball. Incongruously, on top of the body was a scattering of bills, mostly five-and two-dollar notes, some of them stuck to his jacket by the blood.