“Come in,” called a woman.
He did that, too.
He entered a spacious room with deep windows along one wall. It was no doubt usually bright and airy but today the grey skies permeated everything, sucking any sunlight away. There were about a dozen desks lined up in neat rows facing the blackboard at the far end, each bearing a typewriter. Just inside the doorway was a larger desk. A shaded lamp cast a greenish light across the face of the woman who was seated there. She was of indeterminate age, thin and angular. Her hair, streaked with grey, was pulled back into a tight bun that would have been severe except for the frizz of curls at her forehead. Everything about her said “professional.” And efficient. In a totally different way from Bessie Schumacher, she too was somewhat intimidating. Her black silk blouse was unadorned except for a silver chain from which dangled what appeared to be a small propelling pencil, also silver. Murdoch almost expected her to bring out a notebook and begin taking dictation the second he started to speak.
“May I help you?” she inquired. Her voice was pleasant.
“I’m Detective William Murdoch, madam. Do I have the honour of speaking to Miss Wildin?”
Even to his own ears he sounded old-fashioned and stilted, but the classroom and the woman had that effect.
“I am she,” she replied. She raised her neatly trimmed eyebrows. “Are you here in a professional capacity or are you interested in our courses?”
“I am afraid I am conducting an investigation into the death of a young man. He was enrolled as a night student at this college.”
“Oh dear. Who was it?”
“His name is Daniel Samuels.”
Miss Wildin’s hand flew to her firm bosom. “Mr. Samuels. How dreadful. He was here to see me only two days ago. What happened?”
“I regret to say he took his own life.”
She turned and gazed out the window for a moment. “I am most sorry to hear that. He was one of my best pupils. I awarded him a first-class certificate upon graduation, which I don’t do very often.”
“You say he came to see you recently. Did he seem despondent at all?”
She twisted the pencil in her fingers. “Daniel was a quiet young man. Reserved. I cannot say if he was despondent. He was distressed, however, because he had just lost his position.” Her eyes met Murdoch’s.
“My students are always in demand. Employers search my graduation lists for good candidates. With such an excellent examination result, Daniel was offered a position right away. Unfortunately, his employment was terminated a few days ago.”
“Why was that?”
She reached into her desk and took out a bundle of papers, riffled through them, and pulled one out to show Murdoch. “You may read this. I always request a report from the employer if my student is not satisfactory.”
Murdoch unfolded the letter.
WARDELL’S MONUMENTAL WORKS
The Home of Classy Monuments
Dear Miss Wildin,
As requested, I am herewith forwarding my report on Daniel Samuels, who was taken into my employ on October 10 of this year. Mr. Samuels came with excellent credentials but I have been forced to terminate his position as of November 20. His office work was quite satisfactory, but part of his job was to deal with our customers. When they have made their choice of monuments they then proceed to the clerk, who must take down pertinent information. Mr. Samuels’s performance in this regard left much to be desired.
In fairness I should say that was not entirely his fault. Many of the bereaved are purchasing monuments for sons, brothers or even husbands who have lost their lives abroad. As we tell them, “Their corporeal remains may be in a foreign land but their souls are here in their homeland and we can attest to their bravery with a splendid marker.” However, when questioned why, as a healthy young man, he was not in active service, Mr. Samuels seemed unable to give a satisfactory answer. As I am aware, he was given an exemption on account of the ill health of his father and the need of his mother for support. He would inevitably become agitated when this was raised. I cannot afford to alienate my valued customers and this was rapidly becoming a bone of contention between him and I.
In addition, he is of the Jewish persuasion. My customers are entirely Christian. He would be better to apply for a position with somebody of his own faith within his own community.
I am your most obedient servant,
C.W. Wardell, Mgr.
Murdoch returned the letter to Miss Wildin.
“I only wish Mr. Wardell had thought about these matters before he accepted Daniel.” She touched her eyes with a lace handkerchief as if to wipe away a tear. There was none visible, but Murdoch thought her distress was genuine nonetheless. “Daniel did confess to me that he had not yet informed his mother about this turn of events. For the last two days he was simply leaving the house as if going to work as usual. He was most anxious about bringing in wages. I assured him he would soon find another place. I would give him a very good testimonial.” She put the letter in the desk.
Murdoch removed the red book from his coat.
“This was among his effects. Sir Max Aitken’s account of the Canadian Expeditionary Force to date. It appears that Daniel was about to send it to a Miss Fiona Williams. Is that name familiar to you?”
Miss Wildin frowned. “Yes, it is. She too was a student here, at the same time as Mr. Samuels. Unfortunately she and I both soon realized that she is not temperamentally suited for secretarial work. She is a most intelligent young woman but restless in spirit. She reached a certain level of accomplishment but decided that spending her life taking dictation, as she put it, was not for her.”
“Was she a friend of Mr. Samuels’s?”
“I suppose she was. She tried to bring him out of his shell. She is an attractive young woman and Daniel was quite taken with her.”
“There was a white feather in the book. I assume you are aware of the significance?”
“I am.”
“Do you think Miss Williams gave it to him?”
“I would very much doubt that. She made no bones about her anti-war sentiments.” Miss Wildin’s lips tightened. “I myself am not in favour of trying to shame young men into enlisting, but we here in Canada are committed to a war that we must win. We cannot allow evil to triumph.”
“Do you think somebody else in the class may have given him the white feather?”
“I think it highly unlikely. The topic of the war did come up once in a while but frankly I discouraged it as being too distracting. I did not witness any particular interaction between the other pupils and Mr. Samuels. They were more likely to take exception to some of Miss Williams’s statements. If any discussion ensued it was more likely to be in that quarter.”
“There is a note in the back that appears to be written in Pitman’s shorthand. I wonder if you could translate it for me.”
She fixed a pair of pince-nez on her nose, took the book, and turned to the back page. There was no hesitation in her response.
“It says, ‘Tried to enlist but’…the next symbol is not clear but I believe he meant to say ‘two objected. Several of my chums went overseas.’” She regarded Murdoch over the top of the pince-nez. “The tone of the note is apologetic. Perhaps he wanted to justify himself and the fact that he wasn’t in the army. He makes such a point of declaring he did try to enlist. Clearly it was very much on his mind.”
Murdoch was of the same opinion. Perhaps the hateful white feather had tipped the balance.
“Will you tell his mother and father that he had been dismissed?” asked Miss Wildin.
“Frankly, I’m not sure. I have no desire to cause them any more grief. Mrs. Samuels was very proud of him. On the other hand, according to Mr. Wardell, a reason for his dismissal was his inability to deal with the criticism levelled against him. More than likely the two who ‘objected’ to him joining up were his parents. I would hate to have his mother feel responsible for his despair.”
“I do not envy
you your task, Detective. I am truly sorry about Daniel. He was a gentle soul. May he rest in peace.”
Murdoch took his leave. And on his way out, he stopped at the second floor to buy toffees and cigarettes for Jack. And a box of chocolates for Madge Curnoe.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
MADGE TOOK THE HAT FROM the clothes cupboard in the tea room and pinned it on firmly with a sparkling hatpin. It was a wide-brimmed, elegant affair that she wore only on these assignments, when she was impersonating a well-to-do woman. The same with the gabardine Ulster, which cost as much as she earned in a week. She still hadn’t got used to the smooth feel and smart cut of the coat. Finally, she took out a cardboard box that held the pièce de résistance, a silver fox fur muff. She slipped her hands inside. How silky and warm the fur was. All articles were considered police property.
Oops. She’d almost forgotten the wedding ring. Murdoch had offered to put in a requisition to pay for the cost of a ring but she’d refused. She wanted to use her mother’s. It was a thin band of white gold, a little modest for the affluent matron she was pretending to be, but she liked wearing it. It made her feel that her mother, who had died when she was a child, was watching over her. She kept it locked in a special box on her desk. She took it out, put it on her finger, and stepped back. Done. Hello, Mrs. McIvor.
She checked herself in the mirror on the wall. Her hair was neatly tucked up under the hat. The walk in the cold air had brought colour to her cheeks and a sparkle to her blue eyes. For a moment, her thoughts jumped back to the visit to the Samuels. It never ceased to impress her how kind Murdoch could be to the bereaved. She was also touched that he had confided in her about his son. Madge allowed herself a little smile. Maybe she could invite him to the picture show. She could always say she’d been intending to take her Gran but she wasn’t available. She supposed that was being a little forward, but it was all in the name of friendship. Wasn’t it?
Louisa Street was a brisk fifteen-minute walk from headquarters. The wind was icy and Madge was grateful for the warm coat and the muff. A hansom cab went past and the driver slowed down to see if she wanted to get in. He scrutinized her as if he were puzzled, and she realized she should indeed have hired a cab given her pretense of affluence. She certainly hadn’t noticed any other well-dressed women travelling on foot. However, it was too late now, and she waved him off and proceeded on her way.
Number 82 was one of a ramshackle row built close to the road. The narrow houses seemed to be leaning on each other as if they had barely been caught from toppling over. The Payne house was on the end.
Madge knocked hard on the door. No answer. She was aware that the curtains had twitched in the window of the house at the opposite end of the row. She knocked again, and this time the door was opened a crack. A girl whom she could hardly see was peering around the doorframe. She didn’t speak.
Madge smiled. “I’ve come about the advertisement in the newspaper.”
The girl’s expression was so blank, Madge wondered if she was in fact a deaf-mute.
“I’ve come to see the baby,” said Madge more loudly.
A woman appeared behind the girl. She smiled, revealing a distressing absence of teeth.
“Good afternoon,” said Madge. “I’ve come about the advertisement. A baby boy is available for adoption?”
The woman eased the girl to one side and opened the door wider.
“Come inside, madam,” she said, pleasantly enough. “It’s perishing out there.”
Madge was only too glad to obey.
The house was warmer than she’d expected and smelled like singed linen. There was no hall, and the front door opened directly into the main room. Madge could see why it smelled the way it did. There were two ironing boards near the wall and an older girl was tending to the irons themselves, heating them on the small coal fire. Two young boys were sitting under a quilt on a bed in one corner. At first Madge thought they might be ill but she noticed there were two pairs of trousers hung on a line in front of the fire. The boys most likely had only one pair each and were waiting until they dried. None of the children said a word.
The woman moved a cane chair forward. “Have a seat, Mrs….?”
“McIvor. Elinor McIvor,” said Madge. “And you must be Mrs. Payne?”
“That’s right.” She lapsed into silence. The girl continued with her ironing, her back to Madge.
“My husband and I have not been blessed with children, and when I saw the advertisement, my heart leaped. Perhaps this is what we’ve been waiting for.”
Madge wasn’t too happy about saying such outright lies but she hoped the ends would justify the means.
“May I see the child?”
“Of course.”
As if on cue there was a thin wail from a wooden apple box next to the fire.
“Winnie, deal with the baby,” the woman said sharply to the girl at the ironing board. A sullen expression on her face, the girl put down the iron and went over to the makeshift cradle. The infant was crying in earnest now. Winnie picked him up and rocked him back and forth. Madge thought she was rough.
“Let Mrs. McIvor hold him,” ordered her mother.
It was only when she came closer that Madge got a good look at the girl, whom she had thought to be about twelve years old. Her arms and bare legs were emaciated but, whatever age she actually was, it was obvious she had the full breasts of a woman who had given birth. The baby was nuzzling at her.
“He seems to be hungry,” said Madge.
“He’s all right,” said Mrs. Payne. “Boys are always more demanding. Why don’t you hold him?”
The child was bellowing his lungs out, his little face scarlet with pain and need. Madge held her hands firmly in her lap.
“And how old is he?”
“Just three months.”
“Mrs. Payne, it is as plain as a pikestaff that Winnie here is the baby’s mother. Please allow her to feed him before we go any further.”
Mrs. Payne looked as if she were going to protest but then simply nodded at Winnie, who went to a stool in the corner. She turned her back and fiddled with her blouse. The baby stopped crying and Madge could hear suckling noises. Winnie didn’t speak.
“Perhaps you could explain what happened, Mrs. Payne.”
“Like I stated in the advertisement, the babe is healthy as a horse. You can see what an appetite he has. I already have too many mouths to feed. I thought he would have a better chance at life if he was adopted by a good family.”
“That’s all very well,” said Madge, making her tone hard, “but it is your daughter who has given birth. She is very young and I assume she is not married.”
Mrs. Payne scowled. “She was taken advantage of.”
“By whom?”
“Winnie, tell the lady what you told me.”
The girl didn’t move but addressed the wall in front of her.
“He’s a soldier. He said he’d take care of me if anything happened but I ain’t seen him since. He’s gone overseas most like.”
“Do you know his regiment? We can follow it up.”
“No, I don’t, missus.”
Winnie lifted the infant to her shoulder and patted his back.
“Do you at least know his name?” asked Madge.
Winnie shrugged. “He said it was John.”
She got up and returned the now drowsy baby to his cradle.
“John what? What is his surname?”
“He said he wasn’t allowed to tell me because of the war.”
An expression of exasperation crossed Mrs. Payne’s face.
“I raised my Winnie to be a good girl. She’s too trusting. She didn’t know what was happening. He took advantage of her.”
“How old is she?”
“She just turned sixteen.”
“Seduction of an underage girl is a criminal offence, Mrs. Payne. You can have the man prosecuted.”
The woman slumped a little in her chair. “If we could find him. There’
s dozens of soldiers doing things they shouldn’t. Who knows where this one is. Damage is done now. We have to deal with it best we can.”
Madge glanced around the room. The dirt, the untidiness were quite different from the Samuels’ house, where Mrs. Samuels had made such an effort to create a home. The walls here were bare of any kind of decoration, the plaster cracked and peeling. Damp patches stained the corners. The small, silent girl who had opened the door had joined her brothers in the bed and the three of them watched the proceedings.
Madge smiled at them and got a tiny response from the younger boy.
She did a quick calculation in her head. If the baby was indeed three months, Winnie had conceived sometime late last year. And where the heck had she had connections? Not in this room, surely.
“Where did you meet the baby’s father, Winnie?” Madge asked.
The girl had returned to the ironing board and now began to stretch out a man’s shirt. She didn’t answer.
“Winnie,” said her mother sharply. “Mrs. McIvor asked you a question.”
“I, er, well it was down in the Beaches. Ma had given me the day off and I went for some fresh air by the lake. I was strolling on the boardwalk when he went past. He stopped to say hello and what a nice day it was and all. We got chatting. He asked if he could walk further with me and I agreed.”
Mrs. Payne interrupted. “See? I told you she is too trusting.”
“Was he in his uniform?” asked Madge.
Winnie nodded.
“By himself or with some pals?”
“By himself.”
“Where did you go then?”
“Nowhere, we just walked up and down.”
“And it was after this encounter that you had connections and he promised to look after you?”
The girl slapped the hot iron hard on the shirt. “That’s right.”
“And where was that, Winnie? Where did you have connections with this man?”
“I don’t see the need to know that,” interrupted Mrs. Payne again. “What does it matter?”
“It might help us to track down this person,” answered Madge. “I mean, for instance, did he take her to a hotel? His home? Or did they just lie on the grass and do it in public?”
Let Darkness Bury the Dead Page 11
