Vices of My Blood (20 page)

“I’ll have to stop, my back has seized up.”

Gowan guffawed. “Of course it has. Well you can stop Mr. Williams but if you do, you’ll have to leave. No tasty hot soup for you.”

“I think he really has hurt himself,” said Harris timidly. “He probably got chilled. He’s been working hard, I’ve noticed. Surely we can make an exception.”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but you don’t know these men like I do. They’re better actors than a music-hall troupe.”

It was all Murdoch could do not to grab the man by the throat and throttle him. The only thing that prevented him was the fact that he was bent over in an agonizing and undignified way.

“Thank you for your kind words, Mr. Harris. You can stuff your hot soup up a place where it will surely burn, Mr. Gowan. I’m leaving.”

Parker, who was sitting nearby, grinned, but Murdoch sensed the fellow was rather enjoying his discomfiture. He crept back to where he’d left his hat and coat, feeling as if he had suddenly aged twenty years. Traveller stopped chopping.

“Sorry you hurt yourself, Mr. Williams. That old injury, I suppose.”

Murdoch nodded. Traveller picked up his coat for him and helped him to put it on. Alf patted his back solicitously and smiled at him.

“Are you coming back here tonight?” Murdoch asked Traveller.

“Mebbe. Or we might go over to the House of Providence. They have better food even if you do have to go to mass in the morning. What about you? What will you do?”

“I’m not sure of anything except I won’t be here another night.”

“Goodbye, then. Perhaps our paths will cross again.”

As far as Murdoch was concerned, they were going to cross very soon.

He shook hands with both of them and hobbled as best he could out of the yard, Gowan watching him to see if he could catch him malingering.

Chapter Thirty-Four

T
HE PREVIOUS NIGHT
, S
ARAH
D
IGNAM
had retired to her room as soon after supper as she could without exciting a barrage of questions from Elias about her health. As he believed all illnesses to be caused by poor bowel function, he was apt to ask her embarrassingly personal questions no matter who was present. Fortunately, his attention had been diverted by May Flowers, who had refused to leave her good friend until she was reassured she was exhausted and thinking only of bed. May had remained until almost eleven o’clock, and Sarah heard her high-pitched laughter as she cheered Elias up. He was laughing too and she wondered if he would ever give up his lifelong dedication to bachelorhood and succumb to the full bosomy charms of her friend.

Sarah felt a stab of loneliness at the thought, so intense she closed her eyes. Her love was dead and any possibility of finding fulfillment in a matrimonial embrace was gone. She touched the back of her hand to her cheek. She was hot. Her head was aching and her throat felt dry and sore. She was coming down with something, she was certain. She had slept so badly that she stayed in bed late even though Walters had fussed outside the door. Thank goodness Elias was a late riser and he hadn’t come with some new physic.

Sarah reached for the bible under her pillow and turned to the Song of Solomon. She didn’t really need to read it. The verses were so familiar to her by now, she could recite them by heart.

“I found him whom my soul loveth: I held him, and would not let him go until I had brought him into my mother’s house, and into the chamber of her that conceived me.”

She was in the room where she had been born, perhaps conceived, although she was not comfortable imagining her tiny mother having connections with the large burly man she knew as her father. Elias had taken their father’s room after he died, and she naturally had requested to have the pleasant front room that had been her mother’s bedchamber. She had replaced little over the years, changing the wallpaper only once. However, the green and burgundy flock she chose was so similar to the previous covering, she hardly remembered the old one. The mahogany bed was the same as her mother had used, but Sarah had brought in her own dresser and wardrobe. Her room was a comfort to her. Elias had never stepped foot in it since their father died and he had come to wake her with the news.

“By night on my bed, I sought him whom my soul loveth: I sought him but I found him not … I held him and would not let him go …”

She had never held Charles or been held by him. Not so long ago, when she was leaving the church, she had turned her ankle on the steps and he had caught hold of her arm. She had pressed her hand into his as she regained her balance. Even through the leather of her glove, she could feel the strong sinews of his hand and it was all she could do not to press his palm against her cheek.

She touched the plain gold cross that was hanging around her neck.

“A bundle of myrrh is my well beloved unto me; he shall lie all night betwixt my breasts.”

Tentatively, she placed her hands on her breasts, soft and pendulous under the silk of her nightgown.

“His left hand is under my head and his right hand doth embrace me.”

No man had caressed her in the way that she knew men caressed women.

When she was a child, she’d heard the cook chatting with one of the maids. The girl had a follower, whom Sarah had seen coming to call for her on Sunday mornings. The maid had said to the cook, “He stroked my diddies.” And she’d squealed with excitement when she said it. Sarah had later asked her nanny what the word meant and she had been alarmed at the upset her innocent question had caused. The maid had been dismissed immediately and even the kind old cook had been severely reprimanded. “Little pitchers have big ears,” said Nanny and afterwards as long as they had servants, Sarah felt the constraint between them.

“This thy stature is like to a palm tree and thy breasts to clusters of grapes.”

She moved her hand down to her stomach, which in spite of her small frame, felt too full and flabby without her corset.

“
Thy belly is like an heap of wheat set about with lilies.”

Chapter seven had been May’s responsibility and she had done a very poor job. None of the passion of the verses made sense as symbolic of Christ and the church. Charles had said to think of the holy state of matrimony and the sanctified love between a man and his wife. Sarah had wondered about Charles and if he had thought of the joints of his wife’s thighs as jewels,
“the work of a cunning workman.”
She had pushed that thought away at once, of course. She didn’t like Louisa. Thank goodness she didn’t come to the prayer circle, flaunting her position. Sarah noticed how she always made a point of placing her hand on Charles’s arm, as if to claim her possession. When she spoke in company, she frequently said, “Charles and I,” reminding everybody present that they were bound together. True love needed no such ostentatious display, as Sarah well knew.

Charles had asked her to present chapter eight, “and especially let us look at verse six,” were his exact words. “Let us especially look at verse six.”

“Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave: the coals thereof are coals of fire which hath a most vehement flame.”

Sarah got out of bed and went over to the mirror. Her fine hair was hanging loosely about her face, she had been too tired to braid it last night. She was quite grey now, not blonde, and in the dull morning light, she looked old and haggard.
“You have such fine eyes, Miss Dignam, if I may say so.”
No, that is not exactly what he’d said, he said her blue dyed caperine brought out the colour of her eyes but he might as well have said she had fine eyes. He, himself, had startlingly beautiful blue eyes. She’d asked May if she thought so too, but her friend had only looked at her curiously. “They’re not that unusual,” she said, but then May never acknowledged any of Sarah’s enthusiasms, ever.

She closed her eyes, trying by an effort of will to remember Charles how he had been, not the way he was when she had last seen him, with a bloody socket where his eye had been. How many times had she imagined pressing gentle kisses on those eyes, taking the black lashes as delicate as moth wings into her mouth.

Abruptly, she opened her eyes and met her own image in the mirror. She reached into the drawer, took out the piece of bloodstained paper, and held it against her cheek. His hands had touched it and therefore she was touching him.

“The watchmen that went about the city found me, they smote me, they wounded me: the keepers of the walls took away my veil from me.”

She had to tell the truth no matter what the cost. She owed it to Charles and the love he had declared to her.

Walking eased the spasm somewhat, but Murdoch still couldn’t stand up straight by the time he reached the police station. Fortunately, Seymour was on duty and Murdoch didn’t have to go through a long explanation about why he was dressed the way he was.

“What the heck happened to you?” Seymour asked.

“I was overzealous. I forgot I wasn’t twenty years old any more.”

“Was it worth it?”

“I’m not sure yet, but we might have some evidence on the case. I want you to send Crabtree and Dewhurst over to the House of Industry right away. There are four men there I want brought in for questioning. The names are Bettles, Kearney, Trevelyan, also known as Traveller, and a simpleton named Alf. Keep Bettles and Kearney in a separate cell from the other two. Also make sure Ed Parker comes back to the station. I haven’t finished with him.” Murdoch scratched at his chest. “Oh God, I had a bath last night but I’d dearly love to sit in a hot tub for a couple of hours. I must get out of these clothes. Do they smell as bad to you as they do from here?”

Seymour nodded. “‘Fraid so. Rotten egg kind of smell.”

“That’s the sulphur they use for fumigating.” Murdoch started to go toward the rear door then stopped. “Charlie, could you send out for a couple of meat pies before I keel over from hunger?”

“Of course.”

“And if you don’t mind, I’m going to burn these clothes. They will probably stink, but I can’t bear them for a minute longer.” Standing still hadn’t helped his back and he groaned as he went to open the door. “Where is Crabtree, by the way? Any new developments on the case?”

“Not that I know of, but I had to send him out on another case. We’ve had one of those bloody tragedies with carbon monoxide gas fumes. Typical story, people use the worst coke because that’s all they can afford and the landlord doesn’t get the chimneys cleaned properly. An entire family, including one poor cripple lad, died upstairs and an elderly man in a room downstairs. Two other occupants are very ill, one might not live. Crabtree and Dewhurst are at the house now.” Murdoch stared at him “Where is it?”

“Sherbourne Street, south of Gerrard.”

“Do you know the names of the people?”

Seymour checked the notepad on his desk. “The elderly cove downstairs was a Thomas Hicks and the family upstairs was Pugwell, no sorry, Tugwell. There was Mrs. Tugwell, her young crippled son, and her grown daughter.”

“My God, Charlie, when did this all happen?” “Sometime in the night. Why, do you know them?”

“I was just there yesterday. The Tugwells were on Howard’s visiting list, a family whose application he rejected.”

Seymour whistled through his teeth. “Are we looking at a coincidence here or are the incidents connected?”

“I don’t know, but I’d better get up there right away. How were they discovered?”

“One of the local ministers dropped in early this morning and found them all dead. He got one of the neighbour’s boys to run for the beat constable. Fortunately, it was Burley’s watch and he’s a good lad with a clear head in an emergency. He figured out what had happened, and opened all the windows. He had to smash some of them apparently. He just got the other two women out in time or they’d be dead too.”

“Damation, Charlie. What the hell is going on?” “Look, you’d better get over there. I’ll send Fyfer and Wylie to pick up the tramps. We’ll hold them here until you get back.”

Murdoch went to head out the door.

“Will, you should change your clothes first.”

“Damn. You’re going to have to help me, Charlie.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

M
URDOCH HAD RETRIEVED
his wheel from the station and he found that although bicycling was easier than walking, getting on and off the bike was a problem. He had difficulty straightening up when he parked his bicycle near the house on Sherbourne Street. There was the usual crowd of onlookers gathered outside by now, not nearly as well dressed as the one that had gathered outside the church, but the morbid curiosity was the same. A police ambulance waited in front and Burley was keeping guard at the door. He greeted Murdoch with a salute.

“Good morning, sir.”

“The bodies are still here, I presume?”

“Yes, sir, and the physician has just arrived.”

“The air has cleared now?”

“Yes, sir.”

They both glanced back at the house. The front windows on both floors were smashed.

“I hear you acted very promptly, constable. Well done.”

Burley flushed with pleasure. “Thank you, sir. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that the two ladies will live. They was both unconscious but they revived a bit in the air.”

“Have you had time to inspect the fireplaces?”

“No, sir, but Constable Crabtree and Constable Higgins are in there now.”

Murdoch took a deep breath, not because he feared the carbon monoxide might be still lingering in the house but because he didn’t relish what he knew he was going to see.

He went inside. The door to Hicks’s room was open. His body was in his chair close by the hearth. A book was at his feet where it had fallen. His eyes were open and his face was covered with the typical red blotches caused by monoxide poisoning. There was a sour smell of vomit in the room and Murdoch could see Hicks’s dressing gown was stained down the front. Constable Crabtree was at the fireplace, holding a lantern so he could examine the chimney.

“Find anything, George?” Murdoch asked. As best he could he bent down to look. Crabtree glanced at him startled.

“I did it chopping wood. I’ll explain later,” said Murdoch. “Aim your light, will you?”

The constable did so. “Looks like a brick came loose and caused a blockage.” Murdoch reached up and released a small shower of debris. “The whole bloody thing needs repairing. I wish we could prosecute the miserly landlords who prey off poor people like Hicks. They take their money and do nothing. It’s disgusting.”

He eased himself away.

Crabtree poked in the coal scuttle, which was by the hearth. “He was burning the cheapest variety of coke. The fumes must have backed up. He probably didn’t know what was happening. The same with the people upstairs, who were all in bed asleep. As I understand it, there were three of them in the family and we did find the bodies of two females in one bed and that of a young man in a cot by the window.” He paused. “The sad thing was, it looked like he’d tried to get out of bed, probably feeling ill, but he couldn’t do anything. Apparently, he suffered from the palsy.” Crabtree consulted his notebook. “The two women who live in the room next to Mr. Hicks are sisters, Miss Emma and Larissa Leask. There’s a connecting door that’s been plastered over but not very well. The only reason they survived at all is that they always sleep with their window open, but Miss Emma is elderly and she is critically ill at the moment. Next to the Tugwells on the second floor are a man and his wife, Mr. and Mrs. Simon McGillivary. They are in the hospital but expected to recover, although Mrs. McGillivary is with child and the doctors are most concerned about the baby’s future welfare. On the third floor there are three tenants. A German man, Mr. Werner Einboden, and his wife, Gudren, on one side of the stairwell and a bachelor by the name of Philip Taylor on the other. He works a night shift at the newspaper office and he wasn’t at home. The Einbodens both have severe headaches, but other than that they are all right.”

“Where are they now?”

“Across the street with one of the neighbours, a Mrs. Cole.”

“Does the blocked chimey look like an accident to you, George?”

“It’s impossible to say, sir. He may have killed himself. Suicides will do this sort of thing to make it look like an accident so the family doesn’t lose out on insurance. You talked to him, sir. Did you think he was unbalanced?”

“He was a lonely man full of sorrow, but I wouldn’t say unbalanced and I’m sure he’d know his act could cause the death of other people.”

“Not everybody realizes how monoxide travels, sir.”

“Mr. Hicks was very well read. He used to be an engineer, he told me.”

“It’s hard to imagine somebody blocked that chimney deliberately. But I suppose we have to keep that under consideration, don’t we, sir?”

“He never went out. He’d hardly sit there while some cove went and stopped up his chimney. Besides, what earthly reason would anybody have for murdering a frail old man like this?”

Crabtree didn’t answer. They’d both seen enough of human depravity to know almost anything was possible.

Murdoch went over to the dead man and, with difficulty, bent to pick up the book that had fallen from Hicks’s lap. It was the Book of Common Prayer.

“I was going to bring you a book to read, but I didn’t get around to it. I only wish you’d had a chance to read some more rollicking tales, Mr. Hicks.”

“Shall I go and round up a jury, sir?”

“Yes, indeed, George. I’ll go upstairs and talk to the physician. Who is it, by the way?”

“Dr. Ogden again.”

“Good.”

Murdoch waited until the constable had left, then he gently closed the staring eyes of the dead man. He made the sign of the cross.

“May God have mercy on your soul.”

Stiffly, he climbed the stairs to the second floor and went into the Tugwells’ room. Dr. Ogden had just finished her examination of the bodies and she turned to greet him.

“Good afternoon, Detective Murdoch. Oh dear, you have lumbago, I see.”

“Yes, ma’am. I was chopping wood.”

“Do you have a female at home?”

“Er, no, ma’am, I’m not married.”

“I don’t mean that. I mean is there somebody at home who could use an iron on you?”

“Er, I’m not quite sure what you are asking me, doctor?”

She smiled slightly. “The best treatment that I know of is to have somebody apply a hot iron to your lower back muscles. It should be done over thick brown paper, but one or two treatments like that will cure you in no time.”

It was on the tip of Murdoch’s tongue to say, “Yes, Sister,” but he caught himself.

She turned her attention back to the bed where Esther Tugwell and her daughter were lying side by side. Except for the pallor of their skin, they could have been asleep. Dr. Ogden had removed the tattered quilt to do her examination, but otherwise the situation was clearly as it had been when they went to bed. There was no sign of disturbance or struggle. Murdoch could see the same red blotches on both of their faces that had been on Hicks, but neither of the women had vomited. The son was a different matter. He had obviously tried to get out of bed and he was entangled with his blanket, half on the floor.

“Rigor mortis is well established but carbonic monoxide poisoning tends to delay the onset so it is more difficult to determine with accuracy when death occurred. But I’d say they all died at approximately the same time, which would be no earlier than ten o’clock last night but could have been as late as one or two in the morning.”

“Is there any doubt that the monoxide was the cause of death?” Murdoch asked.

She snapped the clips shut on her medical bag. “None at all. There are no signs of trauma to the bodies, except for the lad bruising his face when he fell to the floor. I intend to do the postmortem examination this afternoon. You can attend if you wish or I will have the results sent to you immediately.”

The other constable had been standing by the window, looking a little queasy.

“Higgins, did you examine the chimney in this room?” Murdoch asked.

“Yes, sir. It was clear.”

“Poor innocent souls,” said the doctor.

“I understand the fumes originated down below with a blocked chimey.”

“It looks that way, ma’am.”

She tugged her gloves on. “No matter how much you might warn them, people are so careless. He was probably using coke.”

“Yes, he was. A poor quality.”

“That wretched fuel should be outlawed.”

“It’s cheaper, ma’am.”

“I’m aware of that, detective. As far as I am concerned the poor are often their own worst enemies.” With that she headed for the door but paused in front of Higgins. “Constable, you should go outside at once. The gas can linger for a long time. Mr. Murdoch, don’t forget my suggestion concerning your back and above all, keep your bowels open.”

“Yes, ma’am.”