The Burying Ground (20 page)

Then again, she seemed unconcerned with Thaddeus's inadvertent discovery of the marten carcass. Nor had she attempted to keep him out of the kitchen when he asked about getting something to eat. Whatever Christie was up to, she obviously found it in no way odd.

He thought back to the night of the second incident at the Burying Ground when Morgan pounded on the front door in such a panic. It had been Christie who answered. Thaddeus heard him stumble down the stairs and open the door, and he was standing in front of it bleary-eyed and in his nightclothes when Thaddeus followed. Morgan had been in close pursuit of the intruders. Christie could not possibly have run from the cemetery to his house, gone upstairs, changed his clothes, and come back downstairs in the time that had elapsed. But what if there had not been two men that night, but only one? Morgan saw “one of them,” he said, just as he'd slipped into the street. Maybe he assumed that there were two intruders because he had seen two before. Could Christie have sent Mrs. Dunphy off on her own to dig up the second grave?

Thaddeus shook his head. This was fanciful in the extreme. He was seeing patterns where none existed. If Christie wanted bodies to boil, surely he could just present himself at the dissecting rooms and ask for the ones they had finished with. Resurrectionists still plied a lucrative trade because of the shortage of cadavers, in spite of the legislation that made unclaimed bodies available for medical study. But what happened to these illegal corpses when the anatomists were finished with them? Someone must take them somewhere. And Christie had a contact at the general hospital. He probably knew someone at the medical school as well.

It would make no sense for him to risk raiding a graveyard when he could more easily obtain bodies elsewhere. But, Thaddeus thought, nothing about this puzzle made sense.

He would talk to Luke, he decided, and get his son's reaction to the notion of Christie as bodysnatcher. Luke seemed disinterested in Morgan Spicer's puzzle and disinclined to speculate on how to solve it, but surely his curiosity would be piqued by Christie's macabre activities.

But, Thaddeus decided, there was no point in waiting around for Luke to turn up. He could be gone all day. He was a busy man, after all, with patients to see. He wasn't in a position to make himself available whenever his father might have something to discuss with him. Thaddeus couldn't expect his son to be the same confidant his wife had been. He wasn't Betsy.

He shook off the melancholy thought. In the meantime, he decided, he'd follow his first instincts and find out what he could at St. Paul's Cemetery, even though he was less and less convinced that any answers lay there. He rose and left the house, forgetting that Mrs. Dunphy had promised to bring him tea.

He collected Morgan at the Burying Ground and together they walked along the Concession Road to Parliament, then turned south toward Queen Street. A month or so ago, Thaddeus realized, this much walking would have jangled loose the shards that floated around in his knee and set him wincing with each step. Now he kept a brisk pace and ignored the omnibuses as they rattled by. His knee felt fine.

St. Paul's Cathedral was in what was commonly referred to as “Corktown,” a neighbourhood for the Irish workers who found employment in the nearby brickyards and breweries. Shabby and insubstantial cottages had begun to replace the makeshift sheds and lean-tos that huddled along the banks of the Don River, a sign, Thaddeus supposed, that the Irish were establishing some kind of permanence in the city, whether the staid citizens of Toronto were in favour of their presence or not.

The cemetery was located at the east side of the red-brick St. Paul's Church. They could find no one about, either in the grounds or in the church itself, until a door opened at the rear of the building and children came spilling out into the yard. There must be a school here, as well, Thaddeus thought, and the children have finished their lessons for the day. A young, pleasant-looking priest followed them into the yard.

“May I be of assistance?” he asked, the lilt in his voice betraying his Irish origins. Thaddeus was reminded suddenly of Father Higgins, the Irish priest who had died of typhus in Kingston.

Again, Thaddeus introduced Morgan as Keeper of the Burying Ground in order to provide a justification for his questions, then briefly outlined the events that had brought them to St. Paul's.

The priest looked puzzled. “Our cemetery is no longer open. It filled up far too fast with fever victims back in '47. Everyone goes to St. Michael's Cathedral now.”

“The graves that were opened at the Strangers' Ground weren't recent,” Thaddeus said. “They date from several years past. It's a very odd thing, and we thought it would be worthwhile to ask if the same thing were happening here.”

The priest shook his head. “If there had been such a dese­cration, I'm sure I would have heard about it. As far as I'm aware, all of our souls are sleeping peacefully.”

Thaddeus thanked the man for his trouble and walked away, almost certain that it was not Phillip Van Hansel who was digging up graves. If Hands was involved, there should be disturbances at St. Paul's similar in nature to those at St. James-the-Lesser and the Burying Ground. St. Paul's was where most of the dead from the fever hospital had ended up. It was where most of the double burials would have taken place. Christie made a far more likely suspect.

It began to drizzle again as Thaddeus and Morgan walked back toward Yorkville, and by the time they reached the Keeper's Lodge they were both sodden.

“Come in,” Morgan said, “Sally will make us some tea and rustle up something for us to eat.”

Thaddeus was wet and hungry and he found Morgan's offer tempting, but he was anxious to talk to Luke and wondered if he should go straight back to Christie's. On the other hand, Thaddeus supposed, he could scarcely share his suspicions about Christie at the man's own supper table. And there was no guarantee that Luke would even be there, now that he'd found friends in the city. Perhaps it was better to take his welcome where it was surest. He followed Morgan into the lodge and was met with broad smiles from both Sally and the mob of identical children.

“You've been avoiding us, Dr. Lewis. I hope we haven't offended you in any way.” Lavinia poured a cup of tea into a thin porcelain cup. Luke expected her to hand it to him, but instead she took it herself and settled back into her chair, leaving him standing across the table from her. Like a servant, he thought. Or a supplicant.

Cherub sat in the corner near the shelf of whatnots that Perry had made so much fun of. Her face was in shadow, and he might have missed her altogether had it not been that the whites of her eyes flashed as he entered the room.

“I've been very busy,” he said in response to Lavinia's question. “There was an outbreak of typhoid in Yorkville and it was all Dr. Christie and I could do to keep up with it.”

“Yes, I heard there was a great deal of illness around this summer. However, the contagion appears to have passed on. And you seem to have no difficulty finding time to spend with Perry Biddulph.”

Luke's stomach instantly turned into a queasy mass. There was the threat. Now what was the price?

“You know, Luke, I was intrigued when I first met you,” Lavinia went on. “I always find that doctors are fascinating people to know, and you're such a good-looking one.” She reached forward to extract another cube of sugar from the silver bowl in front of her. “And then I met Dr. Christie, who struck me as an extremely interesting man indeed.” She slowly stirred the sugar into her tea. “When he first came barging into the parlour wearing that incredibly fouled apron, I was convinced that he was a
useful
physician, if you know what I mean. Alas, I've since discovered that this is not the case. Your Dr. Christie is nearly as upright as he appears, although he does have a habit of bilking his well-to-do patients.”

It took Luke a moment to understand what was implied by the word
useful
, but then he realized that Christie's appearance that day must have seemed extremely suspicious. There were some doctors, he knew, who could be persuaded to help a young girl out of a predicament. There were some doctors who made a practice of it. Christie was not one of these. No stream of women appeared at his office door. No patient was ever shown into the back part of the house, to emerge white-faced and shaky a few hours later. And then it occurred to him to question how someone like Lavinia Van Hansel would even know about what some girls asked of doctors.

She was looking at him with amusement. “You're wondering how I have knowledge of such things.”

“Well, yes. I mean, you're the respectable wife of a … businessman. I'm surprised you've even heard of it.”

She took a sip of her tea, and savoured it for a moment before she replied. “It's like this, Luke. Since I know your secrets, I'm sure it will do no harm to share a few of mine.”

Is that what she wants?
Luke thought.
A tame doctor? Somewhere to send whores when Fowler's Solution fails them?
He felt sick. This was worse than anything he had imagined.

But what she said next surprised him. “First of all, you should know that I absolutely detest my husband.”

“But … you're married to him.”

“Wives often detest their husbands. And there's rather a lot about Phillip to detest.”

“Why did you marry him then? Or did you not find out about him until after?” Marry in haste, repent at leisure was the old adage, and the thing about old adages, Luke knew, was that there was often good advice in them.

“Oh no, I knew all about him, and so did my father.” She set her teacup down on the table and looked at him squarely.

“It's a long, sad tale, and one that is repeated all too often. My grandfather made a great deal of money. My father managed to lose it all in a number of distinctly
un
enterprising enterprises. Best way out of the mess, of course, is to auction the daughter to the highest bidder.”

“Even though your father knew Van Hansel was a thug?” Luke wanted to call the insult back as soon as he uttered it, but Lavinia seemed to take no offence to it.

“He was a thug with money. Make no mistake, Luke, I was bought and sold every bit as much as Cherub would have been had you not rescued her that day.” Her thin eyebrows arched. “However, I am surprised that you know about Phillip. I thought he covered his tracks more effectively than that.”

“It's a long story,” Luke said. “And no slight intended, but what is he getting out of your father's arrangement? I suspect he has plenty of women, if that's what he wants.”

Lavinia poured herself a second cup of tea. “Respectability. Introduction to the proper circles. A way to make a connection with old money.” She shrugged. “We weren't precisely top of the heap, you understand, but father did know a few people. None of whom would ever let their daughters within fifty feet of Phillip Van Hansel if they could help it. I was the best he could do in the patronage game.”

“And you went along with it?”

“Yes, I did what my father wanted. What choice did I have? But I made it my business to find out everything I could about Phillip's business. I know all about the brothels and the bribery and the fraud. The blackmail. The violence and intimidation. I can't quite prove murder, but I have no doubt that it happened. I know everything there is to know about my husband except for one thing. I don't know where he's hidden his money. And I need money, Luke, so I can get away from him.”

“I have no money. I can't help you.”

“I know that,” she said with a wave of her hand. “It's my husband's money I want. I've earned it.” And just for a moment bitter lines showed around her rosebud mouth.

“Can't you just divorce him?” Divorce was uncommon, but Luke had heard of a few cases where marriages had been dissolved.

Lavinia sighed. “That's not an easy thing to do in this country. It requires an act of parliament. One must prove cruelty or abandonment, and of course the personal lives of both parties are laid bare for the entire legislature to see — and for the public to read about in the newspapers.”

“Wouldn't that be a good way to get at him? Let everyone know what he is?”

“Let's just say that it wouldn't serve either of our interests. It's easier in the States — they actually have a divorce law — and that's where most people go. But I wouldn't be able to take Cherub with me. She was nearly snatched off the streets of Toronto. She wouldn't last long on the streets of New York. And I won't leave her here where Phillip can get at her. He has a long reach — and a grudgeful nature.”

Hands doesn't like it when he's crossed.
The steamer captain had said that in Kingston. And so had the Irish girl who had been so desperate to get away from him. Luke had no difficulty believing it.

“Besides,” Lavinia went on, “at the end of it all I'd be left with nothing. A man's property is his own. A wife has little claim on it.”

“I'm very sorry for your difficulties,” Luke said, “but I don't understand what it is you want from me.”

“I didn't understand it myself for the longest time. You just sort of turned up, and I thought I'd wait to see how you could make yourself useful. But then you disappeared again.”

“I was aware of your husband's activities, and I must confess they made me extremely uneasy. I thought it best if I didn't pursue our acquaintanceship.”

Her lip curled a little. “Really? So your reluctance to exploit a friendship with the Van Hansels was on the basis of moral misgivings? Rather ironic for a molly.”

The epithet stung, but in a way helped Luke, because it made him angry. If Lavinia could be blunt, so could he.

“When I first met you I didn't know that your husband's name was Van Hansel,” he said. “I knew him only as Hands. It wasn't until the night of your party that I realized who I was dealing with. And I had good reason to avoid meeting him again.”

“So that's why you left through the garden doors,” Lavinia said. “And here I thought it was love at first sight. Perry's been a bit of a disappointment, you know, in spite of the fact that he's a Biddulph. Of course, I didn't realize when I first met him that he was such a naughty little black sheep.”

So Perry hadn't set him up after all, if Lavinia's words were to be believed. She'd noticed Luke follow Perry into the garden, but she hadn't engineered it. Luke's accusation had been completely and contemptibly wrong.

“Leave Perry out of it,” he said. “What do you want?”

Her eyes widened in mock surprise. “Oh, so you
are
in love. Lucky Perry.” She set her teacup down and leaned forward in a confiding pose. “You have to understand about Phillip. He trusts no one. Not even me. And especially not banks. He found himself in a bit of trouble a few years ago. He'd perpetrated a fraud in connection with the fever hospital.”

“By doubling up on the bodies that went in coffins,” Luke said. “Someone at the hospital was claiming a per diem payment for patients who had long since died.”

Lavinia's eyes narrowed. “You really do know a great deal about him, don't you? No wonder you wanted nothing to do with us.”

Cherub spoke for the first time since Luke had entered the room. “Be careful,” she said in a soft voice. “You have no idea what danger you're in.”

Lavinia ignored her. “Since you already know the whys and wherefores, you'll also know that Anthony Hawke was appointed to investigate the matter. Hawke is like a bulldog when he has a job to do. Phillip was sure the trail would lead to him. He was in a panic. So he buried his money where he thought no one would ever look for it.”

“With the double bodies in the coffins?” Luke guessed. “But now that the trouble's blown over, he's started to retrieve it.” That would explain the disturbance at St. James-the-Lesser, he realized, but what about at the Strangers' Burying Ground? There were only single bodies there.

Lavinia confirmed his guess. “Yes, he's digging it all up again. The government is guaranteeing the return on railroad bonds. There's a large fortune to be made, if you have a small fortune to begin with. He's borrowed as much as he can, but it's not enough. He needs every cent he can lay his hands on. That's why he's moving so fast, taking chances. He's grown careless. So careless that he left a book where I could find it. I made a copy.”

She pulled a small green account book from the folds of her dress.

“But the majority of the fever victims at the hospital would have been taken to the Catholic cemetery at St. Paul's,” Luke said. “And a lot of them would have been buried all at once, in mass graves. He wouldn't be able to get at those very easily.” That was the way it had happened in Kingston. There was no reason to believe that it would have been any different in Toronto.

“As far as I can tell he didn't use St. Paul's to hide his money,” Lavinia said. “He chose other places instead. Some of them are double burials, some of them aren't. But every grave contains an emigrant, or an indigent, or a person with no family. They're all people nobody cared about. There would be no one to complain if the body was disturbed later, you see. No one to raise an alarm or demand an investigation.”

No one but Morgan Spicer,
Luke thought.

“He must have reasoned that he could retrieve his money over time, and that the disturbances would be attributed to vandals or resurrection men. He didn't anticipate that he would ever need it all at once.” She handed him the book. “See what you can make of it.”

Luke opened the book. There were only a few pages with writing on them, but a few pages were enough. He was astounded at the amounts listed. He had thought that each grave might contain a small bag of notes and coins — pounds and shillings — none of it amounting to more than a few hundred. The book detailed thousands and thousands in British pounds sterling and American dollars. He could decipher the initials Van Hansel used to denote some of the cemeteries —
SJ
was obviously St. James-the-Lesser;
M
was probably Methodist, although there was no indication of which particular Methodist cemetery was being referenced. And yes, there was
SB
— Strangers' Burying Ground — but he realized that he could understand the code only because he already knew what some of the letters referred to. Otherwise they were meaningless. He could only guess at the other initials that had been inked in beside each entry. He pointed to one that had an
E
beside it.

“Does this mean ‘Emigrant'?” he asked.

“I think it must. And I think
V
is for vagrant.
W
is for whore.”

“And
M
?”

“Molly, I expect. I just tried to think of every variety of outcast I could and guessed it from there.”

Luke winced a little at the term
outcast
, but he couldn't fault her reasoning.

“The trouble is,” she went on, “even if you know what the letters stand for, there's no indication of where to go from there. The book tells me where and how many and how much, but it doesn't tell me how to find the individual graves. There's some other part of his code that isn't in the book.”

“And you thought that Perry could help you figure out where the mollies are?”

She shrugged. “I thought there might be some clue in Wood's Bush. Or he might hear something at one of the taverns he goes to. He's been singularly unsuccessful.”

Luke was a loss. “How do you think I can help you with this, if Perry can't? I'm not nearly as connected in the city as he is. I've been here only a short time.”

“You live in Yorkville. Manufacture some excuse to get a look at the records at the Burying Ground. See if there's a clue there.”

Luke already knew there wasn't, or his father would surely have mentioned it. He stopped himself from blurting this out just in time. There was no point in giving his hand away.