Poor Tom Is Cold (33 page)

He closed the door.

“Arse crawler,” said Tingle. He was tempted to knock
again but knew it wouldn’t get him anywhere. The girl must have gone through the rear gate to the laneway at the rear of the house. She’d be well on her way now.

He made his way back to his cab. Sod it. He was going to make a report to the police. He hated his good nature being taken advantage of and this girl had gulled him. He climbed back into his seat, clucked to Blackie, and they turned around and headed off down Parliament Street toward the police station.

Peg had done exactly what Tingle surmised. She had run along the laneway, which ended at the Eakin property, two houses down. Here, she crouched by the gate, afraid to move until she was sure the cabbie wasn’t going to pursue her. She could hear him banging on the door and, shortly after, the sound of voices. Silence, only the soft patter of the rain, until finally she heard the clop of the horse’s hooves as the cab moved off. As soon as the sound had faded completely, she opened the gate and ran across the cobblestone yard to the rear door of the house. She was inside at once. The door opened into a small passageway at the end of which was the back staircase. She knew this was the way Jarius went when he left at night. For these excursions, he always wore a shabby overcoat of dark English tweed, quite unlike the formal black business coat of the day. She could barely make out the coat stand that was beside the door, and feeling almost more than seeing,
she checked whether the tweed coat was there. It was not and the flood of relief she felt made her dizzy. Jarius had gone out.

Immediately, she took off the cumbersome waterproof and hung it on the stand. There was an old green cape belonging to Augusta on the peg and she slipped it on, burying her face in the soft fur trim and hugging herself tightly to feel the warmth of the flannel lining. She knelt down, searching for the boots that were usually kept on a rack beside the stand. There were four pairs, one of them her own, a pair of red kid. She kicked off the soaking felt slippers and pulled on the boots, not stopping to button them. The warmth from the cloak and the boots gave her renewed strength, and she hurried as quickly as she could up the stairs to the second floor. Here, she waited briefly but there was no sound in the house, nobody had been disturbed. Carefully, she pushed open the door that led onto the landing. There was a candle burning in the hall sconce and she could see another faint light shining beneath the door of Nathaniel’s bedroom. Her heart lurched. Was he still awake? She stood still, listening. Faintly, she could hear his windy snores. He must have fallen asleep with the candle lit. She crossed the landing, pressed her ear against Jarius’s door, and hearing nothing, she went inside.

The curtains were closed and the room was dark. She would have to risk lighting a lamp. Forced to move more slowly, she felt her way to the mantelpiece. Here
she fumbled for the box of matches, found them, and struck one. Jarius’s bed was made and tidy. The room smelled like him. She lit the lamp, turning the wick low, and crossed over to his chair where the key was hidden. For a moment she couldn’t find it and almost panicked but there it was in the leather pouch. Rationally, she knew she had only been in the house a very short time, but her fear was mounting. She had to hurry.

The lap desk wouldn’t open at first and she fiddled desperately with the key. Finally, the lock yielded. The ledger was inside and she took it out, hugging it to her chest as if it were a beloved infant.

She had already started toward the door when she heard a footstep on the landing outside.

The door opened and Augusta stood on the threshold. Her hand flew to her mouth in shock. “You! What are you doing here? Where’s Jarius?”

For a second, Peg stared at her, transfixed.

“Why are you wearing my cloak?” gasped Augusta.

Peg bolted. Augusta was taken off guard and the force of Peg’s charge sent her reeling to the floor, so that she dropped her candlestick. Peg raced back the way she had come, out to the yard. She was heading for the front gate when she saw a man coming along the street. A tall man in policeman’s uniform. She swerved away and ran toward the barn, the only place she could hide.

Murdoch was dreaming he was in his childhood bed. Somehow, his mother had got herself locked out and she was knocking on the door.
Wake up, Will! Wake up, I’ve got to get your father’s tea going
. He was trying to open his eyes, straining to see, but the room was too dark. He had to get up and let her in before his father came home, but he couldn’t move.

Suddenly, he was awake and in the present. Somebody was knocking at the front door.

“Mr. Murdoch! Mr. Murdoch!”

He jumped out of bed, grabbed his trousers from the chair, and pulled them on over his nightshirt.

Again the persistent knocking and the half-hissed call. “Mr. Murdoch!”

He opened his bedroom door and at the same time, Enid Jones appeared on the landing. She was holding a night candle and, in spite of the circumstances, his heart jumped at the sight of her. She was dressed in a red flannel robe and her hair was down, loosely braided. She looked still soft from sleep.

“What is it? Who’s knocking?” she asked.

“I’m just going to see.”

He hadn’t waited to strike a light and she held out her candlestick.

“Take my candle.”

He did so and hurried down to the hall. Mrs. Kitchen emerged from her room.

“Who on earth is here at this time of night?”

Murdoch opened the door.

A tall, gangly young constable was standing outside, his dark lantern pointed downward.

He touched his forefinger to the rim of his helmet in greeting.

“Constable Dewhurst here. Sorry to disturb you at this hour, sir, but Sergeant Hales thought I should fetch you. We’ve heard from the asylum that the lunatic lady, Mrs. Eakin, has managed to run away. It seems like she’s come back to her home.”

“Good heavens! Have you got her?”

“Not yet, sir. The matron had only just telephoned. She wanted us to go and notify the family. The sergeant was about to send me over there when up shows a cabbie, name of Tingle.”

The constable’s words were rapid and excited. The drama was spicing up an otherwise dull evening. “He came in right at that moment to report on a fare who had gammoned him. We knew from his description it was one and the same woman. He’d picked her up on Queen Street not far from the loony bin and dropped her off right near the house.”

“Did the matron give you any more information?”

“Only that the woman has lost all of her slates. One of the inmates was taken ill in the night, gastritis probably, and Mrs. Eakin took it as a sign she was being poisoned. The matron thinks she could be dangerous. To herself or to her family. Sergeant Hales decided to
go over himself. He wanted me to get you, seeing as you know the woman in question.”

Murdoch was already dragging on his boots.

“Here!” Mrs. Kitchen, who had heard all this, handed him his hat and coat. “Please be careful.” He gave a quick glance up the stairs and saw Enid was still standing on the landing, watching. The concern on her face warmed him.

“The cabbie’s waiting outside,” said Dewhurst. “We requisitioned him.”

He led the way.

“Did you telephone the asylum?” Murdoch asked.

“Yes, sir. They’re sending somebody right over.”

Like the constable, Eddy Tingle was finding this quite an adventure, and he grinned at Murdoch as he climbed into the cab.

“Where to, sir?”

“Corner of Gerrard Street and Parliament. Can you get that nag of yours to at least trot?”

“Looks are deceiving. He can run like a thoroughbred when he needs to.”

“This is one such occasion then.”

Dewhurst got onto the step, holding on to the door handle.

“Scorch it, Tingle,” said Murdoch. The cabbie cracked his whip over the horse’s head and they lunged into a gallop up the sleeping street.

S
ERGEANT
H
ALES PUSHED OPEN THE GATE
and went into the yard. As he did so, a man and a woman in night clothes appeared at the rear door. He recognised Peter Curran from the inquest. When the woman saw him, she cried out.

“Officer! There’s a madwoman on the loose. Did you see her?”

“Yes, ma’am, I believe I did. She has just run into the barn.”

Mrs. Curran gasped. “My brother is in there. You must do something. She’ll kill him.”

She made as if to run to the barn and Hales caught her arm. “Hold on, ma’am.”

At that moment, another man came through the gate behind him. It was Jarius Gibb. He went over to the woman.

“Aggie, what on earth is the matter?”

“She was here, Jarius. In your room. She knocked me down.”

Mrs. Curran was almost incoherent with fear. Her husband made no move to comfort her and stood like a simpleton, staring at the sergeant.

“You mean Stepmother?”

“Yes. Oh, she’s quite mad, Jarius. She was standing there, in my cloak. She ran at me.”

Gibb turned to Hales.

“Officer, what is going on?”

“We’ve had a telephone message from the asylum, sir. Apparently, Mrs. Eakin has run away.”

Augusta interrupted him. “Oh, what a shock she gave me. I thought it was you in there, Jarius. She stole your ledger. Why would she want that? And my cloak?”

“Hush. Peter, is Frank in the barn?”

“S’far as I know. He went over there at midnight, same as usual.”

“She’ll kill him,” repeated Augusta.

“Ma’am, try to calm yourself,” Hales interceded. “She’s a slip of a woman and he’s a strong grown man. I doubt she’ll hurt him.”

“We can’t count on that, Sergeant,” said Gibb. “My brother often drinks himself into a stupor. There are many knives available to her if she wants to do him harm. And a shotgun. It is still there by the door, isn’t it, Peter?”

Curran nodded. “S’far as I know.”

Gibb turned to Hales. “I’m going to go into the barn, Sergeant. We must do something.”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but I don’t think that’s a good idea. A doctor is on his way from the asylum. He’s better to handle it.”

“She’s terrified of doctors. He will only make her more disturbed. I’m the one who should talk to her. She knows me and trusts me. Isn’t that so, Aggie?”

“I, er … oh, Jarius.”

“I’ll come in with you then, sir.”

“No, Officer. Absolutely not. She fears police even more than she does doctors. You can wait outside. If I need help, don’t worry, I’ll call for you.”

“Jarius, what about Frank?”

“Be quiet, Aggie. I’m doing what I can.” His voice was sharper, impatient. “Officer, may I take your lantern?”

Rather reluctantly, Hales handed over the light. Leaving the Currans at the door, he and Jarius hurried across the wet cobblestones to the barn. When they reached the doors, Gibb stopped, cocking his head to listen. There was no sound from inside except the soft snicker of a horse, no indication that the sleeping Frank had awoken. With a nod at the sergeant, Gibb swung open the door and stepped inside.

Hales heard the sound of the bolt being closed behind him.

Jarius waited for a moment, swinging the lantern high above him.

“Peg? Stepmother? Don’t be afraid. You can come out.” Gibb wanted to make his voice pleasant and reassuring, but even to his own ears, it didn’t sound that way. He walked over to the corner of the barn where Frank slept in a partitioned-off room.

His brother was fast asleep, face-down on his bed and fully dressed. The room reeked of stale beer. Jarius shook him awake, hard and roughly.

“Get up, you sot. Come on, rouse yourself.”

Frank blinked into the light. “What’s the matter?”

“Our dear stepmother has escaped from the loony bin. She’s hiding in the barn somewhere.”

“In here?” Frank was still stupid with drink. “How’d she get in here?”

“Never mind that now. Get on your feet. There’s a police sergeant outside. I said I’d bring her out nice and quiet.”

He put the lantern on a wooden box beside the bed, took off his overcoat and threw it across the bed, and went over to a shelf where Frank kept his shotgun.