Tamar (30 page)

‘What are ye saying?’ demanded Myrna.

‘It appears Mr Montgomery may have attempted to kill himself, failed, and was finished off by someone else,’ said the detective slowly, his eyes on Tamar. ‘Either that or he was shot twice by someone who missed the first time.’

‘Do you think
I
did it?’ asked Tamar bluntly.

‘I am obliged to talk to everyone who was in contact with Mr Montgomery before he died,’ replied Detective Childs, his voice giving no hint of his personal views. ‘Why don’t you tell me what happened the last time
you
saw him, Mrs Montgomery?’

Myrna said quickly, ‘Hold ye horses, does she need legal representation?’

‘Of course not. I am merely attempting to put the pieces together, Miss McTaggart.’

Tamar told him the truth. ‘I was delivered of my baby at home.
My domestic servant assisted me. My husband was drunk when he saw the infant and became enraged. He was convinced the child was not his.’ At this, Detective Childs’ eyebrows lifted but Tamar ignored him. ‘He assaulted my servant and myself, causing the wound to my face, and we were forced to flee. We went over the Waitakere Ranges to my servant’s home at Kainui. The child died on the way and I became ill with fever. I stayed at Kainui for twelve or so days, then I came here.’

‘So you were not in the vicinity of your home a fortnight ago?’

‘No. I was here by then. Or on my way here.’

‘Can anyone vouch for your whereabouts around that time?’

‘You can ask the people at Kainui, or the guard on the train I boarded at Henderson. And of course everyone here knows when I arrived. Miss McTaggart can confirm the date.’

‘I’m sure,’ said the detective, glancing at Myrna whom he suspected would say whatever suited her. He was well aware he was sitting in the private parlour of Auckland’s most elegant brothel, and what an astute and formidable woman its madam, Myrna McTaggart, was.

‘And your servant accompanied you from Kainui to Henderson?’

‘Yes, that’s right,’ replied Tamar. ‘How did you know? And how did you know where to find me?’

‘We’ve already talked to Riria Te Hau. Her version of events was the same as yours, although she neglected to mention the infant died on the way to Kainui. Her people have confirmed she returned from Henderson after seeing you onto the train. So we are left with a deceased person who may or may not have been murdered, and no one able to shed any light on what might have happened. As he had been dead for some days by the time his body was discovered, we are unable to establish his exact time of death. I am afraid we may have to regard this as an unsolved suspicious death.’

The detective paused, then added, ‘You do not seem to be overly perturbed by your husband’s demise, Mrs Montgomery. Can I assume your marriage was an unhappy one?’

‘Yes, you can. I truly hope my husband did not suffer, but I can’t in all honesty say I will grieve for him.’

‘There will be the matter of his estate; will you be expecting to benefit?’

‘I doubt it,’ replied Tamar.

So did Detective Childs. He had already talked to Peter Montgomery’s bank, his lawyer and several of his business associates, and it was clear the man had been indebted up to his eyebrows. He rose and collected his hat and gloves. ‘Thank you very much for your time, Mrs Montgomery and Miss McTaggart, and again I apologise for being the bearer of bad news.’

After Eliza saw the policemen out, Myrna turned to Tamar with her hands on her hips. ‘Well, fancy that! Ye didnae do it, did ye?’

‘No, I did
not
!’ Tamar shot back, indignant.

‘More’s the pity. Still, at least someone did.’

Outside as Detective Childs and Sergeant David climbed into their cab, the sergeant asked, ‘Do you think she did it?’

‘No, I don’t. And if she did I don’t know if I’d blame her. By all accounts Peter Montgomery was a prize bastard and from what we’ve been told, anyone could have done the deed. I’d love to know who fathered that baby, though. And where it is now. No, she’s better off without him, I’d say. Pity about her face. She’d be a fine-looking woman without that scar.’ He looked up at Myrna’s house. ‘She should find herself more salubrious lodgings, if she wants to keep her reputation.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Sergeant David wistfully. ‘It looked quite nice to me. I liked that statue at the bottom of the stairs.’

Childs looked at him and shook his head.

The following day Tamar received a note from Peter’s lawyer offering his condolences and requesting her presence at his rooms in Victoria Street the following afternoon.

Myrna volunteered to go with her and the next day Sven drove them into town in the landau. Tamar was wearing a hastily acquired black mourning gown, hat and gloves, all purchased with money provided by Myrna, and had arranged her hat so the veil concealed much of her face in the traditional fashion of widowhood. Tamar felt very little grief for Peter’s passing but the veil covered her scar nicely.

The lawyer, Mr Mahoney, was small, dapper, concerned and sincere. ‘Thank you so much for coming in, Mrs Montgomery,’ he said to Tamar after she and Myrna had been seated in his office and served with tea. ‘I learned of your whereabouts from Detective Childs. I hope my intrusion at this difficult and trying time has not inconvenienced you.’ He fussed with some papers on his desk before he continued. ‘I understand how bereft you must feel, but there are certain issues regarding Mr Montgomery’s unfortunate and untimely demise that I am compelled to impart to you in my capacity as your late husband’s lawyer.’ He looked embarrassed and cleared his throat. ‘Mrs Montgomery, are you aware of the state of your late husband’s financial affairs?’

Tamar lifted her veil slightly, took a sip of tea, put her cup down and shook her head. ‘No, Mr Mahoney, I am not. Mr Montgomery did not consider it necessary to share that information with me.’

‘Ah. I see,’ said Mr Mahoney. ‘Then in that case it is my duty to do so.’ He pressed his hands together as if praying, his fingertips against his lips, and lowered his eyes before he continued. ‘I am afraid I have to tell you he died owing a considerable sum.’

He looked up to gauge Tamar’s reaction and glimpsed her large eyes looking unwaveringly at him through the dark net of her veil. ‘It appears he was a gambler, Mrs Montgomery.’

Myrna rolled her eyes in disgust.

‘I know he played the occasional game of cards.’

‘I mean he was a
serious
gambler. He lost a lot of money at the gaming tables. So much, in fact,’ continued Mr Mahoney apologetically, as if Peter’s financial incompetence was his fault, ‘he had to borrow a considerable sum against the property at Huia and another large sum from a business associate, Mr Thomas Beck.’

Tamar thought back to her cryptic conversation with Thomas Beck at the Coulthards’ dinner party. Where she met Kepa. ‘I’ve met Mr Beck. A very pleasant man,’ she replied.

‘Indeed. I provided the legal services for the loan from Mr Beck, and I was aware of the monies owed to the bank. When Detective Childs advised me of Mr Montgomery’s tragic demise, I accessed his bank accounts and, unfortunately, there is very little left. Nothing in his personal account and very little in his business account. There is no easy way to say this, Mrs Montgomery, but the bank will foreclose on the property at Huia and sell it to recoup the money loaned to Mr Montgomery, and the balance will go to Mr Beck to repay his loan. Based on current land values, there will be an outstanding amount owing to Mr Beck of around seven thousand pounds. And there are several outstanding accounts at various businesses, which brings the total amount owed to almost nine thousand pounds.’ Mr Mahoney could not bring himself to tell Mrs Montgomery one of the outstanding accounts was for her wedding dress and trousseau. He reluctantly added, ‘Mr Montgomery made no provision for your financial welfare. There was an insurance policy but this was cancelled in December and the money withdrawn. I’m sorry.’

That
bloody
bastard, thought Myrna.

Tamar was stunned. ‘I don’t have nine thousand pounds.’

Mr Mahoney felt desperately sorry for her. He had advised strongly against Peter taking on such a massive level of debt but to no avail. ‘There may be ways in which you could raise the money. I may be of some help — I would waive my fee, of course.’

‘That willnae be necessary,’ Myrna said quickly. ‘I have considerable financial means o’ ma own, Mr Mahoney, and I will be assisting Mrs Montgomery out o’ these dire financial straits in which her late husband has so thoughtfully left her.’

‘Myrna, no,’ said Tamar, shaking her head. ‘I’ll come up with it one way or another. I can talk to the bank.’

‘Ye’ll do no such
thing
. How can ye? Ye’ll be saddled wi’ debt for the rest of your days. Use that brain o’ yours, lassie, and get off your high horse. Ye’ve been dropped in it, so ye have, so let me help ye out o’ it.’

Bravo, thought Mr Mahoney. He had heard Myrna McTaggart, madam of the finest brothel in Auckland, was doing very well for herself. He was intrigued to see the gossip was true — the fiery little Scotswoman was not only a successful and very acute businesswoman but generous as well. He wondered if she was happy with her current lawyer.

‘Mr Mahoney, will ye be so kind as to furnish me wi’ an itemised list o’ the monies owed. Down to the last penny. Mrs Montgomery and I will go to the bank to discuss the sale o’ the land at Huia and the repayment o’ her husband’s loans. When the outstanding debt is finalised, I will pay it. Through you. I dinnae wish the entire town to ken where the money is coming from, d’ye understand?’

‘Of course, Miss McTaggart. And will the money be in the form of a loan?’

‘No. In the form o’ a gift, Mr Mahoney.’

‘You are a very generous woman, Miss McTaggart.’

‘To those who matter to me. I would appreciate that list o’ debts as soon as possible, delivered to ma place o’ business. Ye ken where that is?’

‘I do indeed. I will have it prepared and delivered before noon tomorrow.’

On the way to Peter’s bank, Tamar turned to Myrna and said, ‘Thank you, Myrna. Again. But you have to let me repay the money somehow.’

The older woman smiled. ‘Och, but ye
will
pay it back, lassie, but no’ in cash. Ye’ll be learning to take care o’ the financial side o’ ma business. I believe it’s time I slowed down and put ma feet up. I’m no’ getting any younger, and I need a hand now the house is doing so well. But we must get John to have another look at your face. I cannae have ye representing ma business looking like Frankenstein’s monster.’

Tamar was not insulted; she knew she looked odd. But she was reluctant to approach John in case he was unable to do anything about improving her scar. This, she knew, was a resurrection of an old behaviour; hiding from what she didn’t want to confront. Damn, she thought, I’ll
have
to face up to it. Then she smiled.
Face
up to it. That was quite funny, really. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I’ll send a note and ask him to come tomorrow if he’s not too busy.’

The visit with the bank manager was successful. He was solicitous and full of concern for Tamar’s financial position, although clearly anxious to recoup the loan he had advanced to Peter. He agreed to arrange the sale of the land at Huia as soon as possible — he thought it would not be difficult as the land still encompassed many fine
kauri
stands — and confirmed he would start the process immediately. He also offered his condolences, which Tamar accepted graciously, but when he suggested his bank may be able to lend her money to pay the balance of Peter’s debts, she declined.

‘Thank you, but I will honour those myself,’ she had replied, wondering if she was the only person in the North Island of New Zealand who had not known Peter owed money all over the place.

That afternoon she wrote John Adams a short note asking him to call, and had Sven deliver it to his clinic. A reply came back immediately; he would attend Tamar the following morning.

She felt nervous as she sat in the parlour waiting for him. On a slightly irrational level she suspected her scar was God’s punishment for her adultery; she deserved to be disfigured and should carry the mark of her sins for the rest of her days. The pragmatic side of her character, growing stronger every day, told her not to be so silly; the scar was the result of her face coming into contact with an iron fender and if the disfigurement could be improved, then it should. Although John had already said he could do something about it, she worried the scar may be irreparable. Then she worried about the extent of her vanity, remembering how her susceptibility to flattery, and her naive and unrealistic vision of life, had gotten her into this situation. To stop the incessant chatter in her head, she made tea and sliced some cake for John for when he arrived.

Half an hour later he did, out of breath and full of apologies. ‘An emergency,’ he said, flinging his gloves and hat onto the sideboard and collapsing onto the sofa. ‘On the wharf. A winch line broke and took out the eye of one of the wharf-hands. He refused to go to the hospital, insisting he’d rather come and see me. I couldn’t save the eyeball, it had been ruptured, but I think the socket should heal cleanly enough for a prosthesis. Is that cake for me? Good, I’m starving. I haven’t had breakfast.’

Finally, after two quick cups of tea, John examined Tamar’s face. He prodded gently and pulled the scarred tissue this way and that as he considered the best approach. ‘Have you got a hand mirror?’ he asked Myrna. Eliza was despatched to find one. When it arrived
John gave it to Tamar to hold in front of her face.

‘What I can do,’ he said, indicating the worst of the scarring, ‘is to excise this lumpy bit and suture the edges evenly together to minimise the disruption to your brow. And I’ll line your eyebrow back up so it will match the other one. I’ll have a go at excising this bit of scar from your eyelid as well so you can open your eye properly, although that might be a bit trickier. And I might as well nip out this lumpy bit on your cheek while I’m at it. It won’t be perfect, you’ll still have a noticeable scar, but that should fade to a white line, and your face won’t look crooked and dragged down any more. How does that sound?’