The Burying Ground (14 page)

Perry slowed the carriage as they approached the intersection of Tollgate Road and Yonge Street. There was a disturbance ahead, with vehicles stopped and people milling in the street.

“It looks like there's been an accident of some sort,” Perry said.

“I wonder if I should see if anyone needs help.”

“Oh … I'd quite forgotten that you're a doctor. By all means, gallop to the rescue. I'll wait here.”

Luke hopped out of the carriage and made his way through the crowd. He had not brought his medical bag with him, so he knew that whatever help he could render would be rudimentary, but an unequipped doctor was still better than no doctor at all. But when he arrived at the scene of the commotion, he discovered that the cause of the holdup was a dead horse. It was a poor, skeletal beast hitched to a cart that carried a load of hay. It had apparently given up on life and fallen over just as the wagon reached the middle of the busy intersection. Two men were trying to remove the harness that still tethered the horse to the wagon.

There was nothing he could do for the horse and nothing that anyone could do about the bottleneck but wait until the obstruction was cleared. He turned and walked back to where Perry was waiting, intending to send him on his way. It was an easy walk from there to Christie's, but a number of carts and buggies and wagons were jammed together in a line down Yonge Street, causing as much obstruction to traffic as the mishap ahead of them. Perry would be unable to turn the carriage until it cleared. Luke could scarcely walk off and leave him sitting there by himself. He would have to wait, too.

Just as he climbed up into the carriage, he happened to notice a rather handsome buggy a hundred feet or so down the street. He couldn't be sure, but he thought it might be the same vehicle that Lavinia had been driving the day he rescued Cherub.

He was about to point it out to Perry, but suddenly decided against it. Even if it was the same buggy, he had no way of knowing if it was just happenstance that it was on the same road. It could be anyone from the Van Hansel household driving it. And even if it was no coincidence, and Lavinia had arranged to have he and Perry followed, he decided it didn't really make any difference. He wasn't going to have anything to do with any of them ever again.

They had to wait only a few minutes until traffic started to move again. As they went through the intersection, Luke saw that the horse had been carted away and the hay wagon pushed to the side of the road, awaiting another horse to complete its journey. He pretended he was studying it, so he could take a look behind him again, but the handsome buggy he had spotted was nowhere in sight. Maybe he was mistaken after all.

He directed Perry to Dr. Christie's house and quickly climbed down when they reached it. “Thank you for the ride,” he said. He knew that Perry was expecting to be invited in. Good manners can go to the devil, Luke thought, and he tried not to notice the look of disappointment on Perry's face when he was left sitting in his carriage.

Thaddeus had worked his way through most of his circuit and was hoping to make it back to Christie's for dinner, but the men's class in Davisville ran far later than he anticipated and he arrived in Yorkville long after the household had retired for the night. He went straight up the stairs to Luke's sitting room, intending to fall into bed immediately, but once he got his boots off he realized that he wasn't in the least sleepy. He could light a lamp, he supposed, and read for a while, but he had neglected to grab a paper from the pile on the hall table and he was reluctant to risk waking someone by thumping down the stairs again. He could always read his Bible, but as he had long since memorized most of it there seemed little to be gained by reading it again. Eventually he pulled an armchair over to the open window and sat looking out at the deserted Yorkville street, a faint breeze blowing in to chase away the stuffiness of the room. As he watched a bank of low stratus cloud scud across the face of the moon, he wondered if Morgan Spicer was awake, as well, vigilant lest yet another grave be disturbed.

Thaddeus knew that there was a clue somewhere, a tiny piece of thread that he would have only to pull and the story would begin to unravel, but it was elusive, hiding out of sight. Maybe he could find it the next day in the city, but he would need to look carefully and consider everything.

Thaddeus was startled awake when a stray beam of sunlight flashed into his eyes. He had fallen asleep in the chair. Tentatively, he stretched his legs out. It wasn't the first time he had slept upright in a chair, and certainly over the years he had nodded off in far more uncomfortable circumstances, but that was when he was young and limber, before accident and injury and age stiffened his muscles and ate at the strength of his bones. To his surprise, however, there was no twinge of pain as he moved. He felt marvellous. And he was ravenous.

Luke and Dr. Christie were already at the breakfast table.

“Mr. Lewis! Home again! Wonderful!” Christie said as he passed him the customary bowl of oatmeal.

“Successful circuit, I hope,” Luke said.

Thaddeus thought his son looked a little low, and wondered if there was a particular reason. “Fair to middling,” he replied. “Nobody at all in some places, picking up in others. What's been happening here?”

“Oh, Luke has turned into quite the social butterfly,” Christie said. “In great demand at all the parties in the city.”

Thaddeus shot a glance at Luke, who signalled with a frown that they would have a private discussion later.

“Came home in a carriage, he did,” Christie went on. “Hobnobbing with the local gentry. A Biddulph, no less.”

Biddulph was a name that carried a fair degree of weight in Upper Canada. None of the Biddulphs had been members of the old Family Compact that once controlled nearly everything in the colony, but they had certainly been welcome in their drawing rooms. Lawyers and land speculators, Thaddeus seemed to recall. Advantageous marriages. Lucrative investments.

He was curious as to how his son had connected with someone like a Biddulph, but Luke's frown seemed to indicate that there was more to the story, and that he didn't particularly want Christie in his audience while he told it.

“Well, it's nice to see that you're making some friends,” he ventured.

“And helping the practice at the same time,” Christie crowed. “Good stuff, my lad, good stuff.”

“Any plans for today?” Luke asked his father.

“I thought I'd collect Morgan Spicer and take him with me into the city. I'm not optimistic that I'll find any of the answers that I'm looking for, but I think it's at least worth nosing around.” He turned to Christie. “Do you happen to know specifically where dissections are done?”

“In a rather squat two-storey building on Richmond Street,” Christie replied. “It's part of the School of Anatomy. Go, by all means, but I somehow doubt anyone there will be inclined to talk to you.”

“What about the hospitals?”

“I think you can exclude the lying-in hospitals, as both of your corpses are male. That leaves the General Hospital and the Asylum. And the House of Industry, of course.” Christie stared thoughtfully at his bowl of oatmeal for a moment. “Any of those might be willing to confirm that the gentlemen in question were patrons at some point, but I doubt they'd be willing to tell you much more than that. Might I offer my assistance in this? I have a contact or two who might be able to help. I could drop a note and ask for details. Better the request comes from a doctor, you see.”

“Or you could just come with us,” Thaddeus said.

“Oh no,” Christie protested. “Far too much to do here. Happy to help if it means writing a letter. Not keen on traipsing all over the city.”

Only then did Thaddeus recall the old doctor's reluctance to travel any distance. It was why Luke was hired in the first place. However, it would be most helpful to have Christie make the inquiries, even if it was only by mail. “I'd be most obliged for any assistance you can offer.”

Christie beamed. “Consider it done.”

“I'd like to talk to the people at the African Methodist Chapel as well,” Thaddeus said. “That's on Richmond Street too, isn't it?”

“Do you think they'll know anything about it?”

“Probably not,” Thaddeus admitted. “But I'm curious to see the church and I'll be in the neighbourhood anyway. Would you like to come with us, Luke?”

“No, I'd better stay put,” Luke said. “Dr. Christie has been good enough to stand in for me on several occasions already.”

“I do have one request,” Christie said. “Should you happen to gain entry to the dissecting rooms, I'd appreciate it if you could keep an eye open for any interesting bones.”

Thaddeus nodded. “Yes, of course.” And then he dove into his oatmeal. He was starving.

Luke waylaid his father just as he was leaving to collect Morgan. Dr. Christie had once again disappeared into the back rooms of the house. Even so, Luke spoke in a low voice.

“Christie thinks it's a wonderful thing that I've been taken up by the Van Hansels,” he said. “And he's quite over the moon that I've met a Biddulph. I was quite prepared to ignore them all, but Mrs. Van Hansel sent an invitation for us both. I couldn't get out of it gracefully. Fortunately, Hands wasn't present.”

“If you keep going there you'll run into him sooner or later,” Thaddeus said. “You're going to have to think of some way to disentangle yourself. Would it help if I put my foot down about you going to fancy parties or something of that nature? Claim our Methodist scruples? I have half a mind to do so anyway, truth be told.”

“Maybe. If I can't think of any other way. Thanks.”

“Let me know.”

Thaddeus walked the short distance to the Burying Ground. He and Morgan could take an omnibus into the city, he decided. The horse and cart he used to cover his circuit was for church-related business, and he intended to be scrupulous about not using them for anything else.

Sally opened the door at his knock.

“Mr. Lewis. How nice to see you again. Are you looking for Morgan?”

Thaddeus explained his plan for the day.

“Oh dear, Morgan's still abed. He had a late night.”

And before he could offer to come back later, she sent the children clattering up the stairs to wake him.

When Morgan appeared a few moments later, Thaddeus was shocked at his appearance. He had never been a prepossessing figure, but now there were black circles under his eyes and he seemed to have lost weight.

“I thought we'd go into the city to ask some questions, but we can do it another day if that would be more convenient,” Thaddeus said.

“No,” Morgan said. “The sooner we go the better.”

He bade Sally and the row of look-alike children goodbye and followed Thaddeus to the road.

“They tried again last night,” Morgan said as soon as they boarded the bus and found their seats. “There was someone by the back fence, but I had a lantern ready. That was enough to chase them away.”

“Have you been staying up every night to watch?” Thaddeus asked.

“Yes.”

“Then the sooner we sort this out, the better. Do you have any idea which grave they were trying to get to?”

“No,” Morgan said. “They didn't get that far.”

“Well at least it's certain that the first two incidents weren't isolated,” Thaddeus said. “I suppose that's something.”

“I suppose,” Morgan replied, but he looked gloomy for the rest of their journey.

They disembarked in front of Osgoode Hall at the corner of College Avenue. The city had grown enormously in the four years since Thaddeus had last been there. Back then, Queen Street was the northern limit of the city and Osgoode Hall was situated on six acres of country parkland. Now it was being encroached upon by the untidy bustle of Macaulaytown, with its liveries, blacksmiths, shoemakers, and barbershops. The modest one- and two-storey buildings that crowded the streetscape looked insubstantial next to the towering grandeur of Osgoode, with its dome that poked past the massive wings added to each side of the original building. It was in this hall that law students pored over the statutes and regulations of the province, and where the august body of the Superior Court handed down its decisions. Osgoode Hall's expansive lawns were fenced, access granted through an ornate cast-iron kissing gate, designed, Thaddeus guessed, more to keep the cows off the grass than to provide the opportunity for a romantic encounter. To the west the grounds terminated at the broad chestnut-lined street that led to King's College, guarded at either end by a gatekeeper. The approaches to these public institutions had been intended, Thaddeus knew, to blend into the park lots laid out along the north side of Queen Street, but the owners of this land had been unable to resist the temptation to subdivide their properties to accommodate spillover from the labourers' district to the south. It was from this working-class neighbourhood that two enterprising coloured gentlemen, Mr. Carey and Mr. Richards, established the very first ice delivery service in Toronto. Their wagons often rumbled up and down Yonge Street with cargoes of precious ice carved from mill ponds north of the city. Horse cabs sprung from this community, as well; a novelty at first, but now a convenience that most Torontonians took for granted.

“According to
Rowsell's Directory
, the African Baptist Church is just east of Yonge Street,” Thaddeus said. “Let's try there first.”

“I don't know where I'm going at all,” Morgan said, “so I'll just follow you.”

As they walked along Queen Street, they saw placards posted on walls and in windows. Thaddeus stopped to read one of them.

CAUTION!

Coloured People of Toronto, one and all

You are respectfully
CAUTIONED
and advised to keep a
SHARP LOOKOUT
for
KIDNAPPERS AND SLAVE CATCHERS
who by illegal means are harassing the Coloured People of our city, freeborn or no, with intent to claim a bounty for them in the United States of America.

Be VIGILANT and have TOP EYE OPEN

The incident that Luke had been involved in was not unique, apparently. The kidnappers must be growing bold, indeed, if they were so common on Toronto's streets.

There were even signs nailed to each side of the front door at the church. These were similar to the handbills and notices posted all along the street, urging the coloured citizens of Toronto to be wary of slave catchers.

When Thaddeus knocked at the front door of the church, no one answered. He tried the handle, but the door was locked.

“So much for finding anything here,” he said. “It doesn't look as though there's anyone around.”

They were about to leave when three men appeared, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Was there something you wanted?” one of them asked.

“Just a little conversation, that's all. My name is Thaddeus Lewis. And this is Morgan Spicer. We have some questions about a man who may once have been a member of your congregation.”

“And why would you need this information, if you don't mind my asking?” The man's face was wary and mistrustful.

“Mr. Spicer is the Keeper at the Strangers' Burying Ground. There have been two graves tampered with recently. One of them was that of Isaiah Marshall, whom we discovered was a coloured man.” Thaddeus shrugged. “It's a very small detail to base an enquiry on, but we have no other information to start with and we would like to prevent any further desecrations.”

The man shook his head. “I don't know anybody named Marshall.” He continued to regard them with suspicion, but Thaddeus noted that the other two men appeared to relax a little.

“Me either,” one of them said. “I only came here three years ago. I don't know the old-timers.”

The third man nodded. He, too, was a newcomer. “For a minute there, we thought you were kidnappers,” he said.

“I understand your caution. We saw the posters. I don't understand it, though. Why are slave catchers coming here? They have no legal claim in Canada, and I would think that coming so far north would cost them more than any bounty they could collect.” The question seemed to loosen the reserve of the trio even more.

It was the man who had spoken first who answered. “It wouldn't be worth it for one fugitive. But some of the plantation owners don't bother chasing their runaways — they just sell the right of ownership to someone in the north who sweeps up whatever coloureds he can snatch. They don't have to be taken all the way back to the plantations, you see. They're just sold in blocks on the open market.”

Thaddeus was appalled. “What are the authorities doing to stop this?” he asked.

“If the catchers are found with dangerous weapons, they're fined. Other than that, not a lot, although we do find some support from the white folks. Mr. Douglass and Mr. Brown have helped us with that.”