Vices of My Blood

by Maureen Jennings

  “The grave’s a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace.”

  Liza had encouraged him to read poetry, although it wasn’t quite to his taste. Like Mr. Hicks, he preferred rollicking adventure stories. But one day, he’d come across Marvell’s poem when he was browsing through some of the poetry collections at the library and he’d rushed home to read it to her. Oh God, when was that? June probably, he remembered it was a lovely sunny evening and Liza was wearing a light summer dress. She listened seriously to the poem and laughed. “You can praise my bosom as long as you like, Will,” but then she kissed away his scowl with a frustrating passion. “We’ll be married soon.” But they weren’t married soon, or ever would be.

  “None I think do there embrace.”

  He poured water from the pitcher into the bowl on the washstand. He’d expected the water to be cold, but it was lukewarm and he smiled. Dear Katie must have crept into his room with a jug of hot water, expecting he would be waking soon. He was later than usual, but he was finding it hard to move fast. He couldn’t be bothered to sharpen his razor and paid the price by nicking himself on the chin. Blood coloured the water immediately and he dabbed at the wound with the towel. Another damn.

  He hadn’t read Marvell’s poem to Enid. She was not playing the coy mistress with him. The opposite. She had made it clear she wanted to be his wife. It was he who was holding back.

  Serves you right then, he said to himself. Why should she wait for you? Now she’s probably being courted by the old family friend who has conveniently lost his wife, that, thank goodness, Alwyn, who as we all know is very particular, actually likes.

  He sponged himself down as best he could and dried off. The room was cold, the fire in the hearth long burned out, and he tried to hurry. He got into his undershirt all right, but his trousers were a problem and he had to shuffle from one foot to the other before he could get them on. He’d been so intent on that struggle, he hadn’t heard the knocking on the front door, but as he was wrestling with his socks, there were footsteps on the stairs and a light tap on his door. Katie said softly, “Mr. Murdoch, there’s somebody here to see you.”

  He opened the door. “Is it Constable Crabtree?”

  Katie turned a little pink at seeing him half-clothed. “No, Mr. Murdoch. It’s a lady. She is most apologetic about coming here at this hour, but she says it’s urgent. Here’s her card.”

  Murdoch took the calling card and read, Miss Sarah Dignam.

  “Good Lord! Show her into the parlour, will you, Katie? Tell her I’ll be right down.”

  “Shall I make tea?”

  “Yes, indeed and toast too if you don’t mind. With lots of butter.”

  He returned to his room and pulled on his shirt. The celluloid collar of the shirt was stiff and as he fumbled with the button, some of the blood from his chin transferred to the edge of the collar. Damn and blast to that. Hurriedly, he knotted his tie and put on his jacket, which fortunately hid the blood spot. Bending over to tie up his shoelaces was almost impossible and required contortions he didn’t know he could ever repeat. He felt as if he were taking so long, he half expected Miss Dignam, who had taken such an unorthodox step as to call on him at his lodgings, to be coming upstairs to greet him. Fortunately, she was contained enough to be still waiting in the front parlour. Katie had brought in the tea and a rack of toast, but Miss Dignam was sitting motionless in the chair. Like Mrs. Howard, she looked as if she hadn’t slept and she too seemed to have aged. However, in spite of her pallor and the deep lines etched around her eyes and mouth, she retained the vestiges of a sweet prettiness, now fragile and desiccated as a pressed flower. The short blue cape she was wearing accentuated her blue eyes.

  “Miss Dignam, I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.”

  “No please, it is I who should apologize for coming at such an early hour and to your own lodgings. I first went to the police station, but the sergeant said you had not arrived and I managed to get out of him where you lived so I came here directly.”

  The strangeness of the visit couldn’t totally distract Murdoch from the hunger pangs in his stomach and he indicated the tea trolley.

  “May I offer you some tea and toast.”

  “No, thank you.” She must have noticed his yearning glance at the teapot because she said, “Please, have your breakfast. I have waited this long, a few more minutes won’t make that much difference.”

  Murdoch poured himself a cup of tea, added milk and sugar lumps, and took a piece of the toast. Miss Dignam sat staring into the fire, which was just getting going in the hearth. She looked so grey and sombre that he paused for a moment. Good God, had she come to confess to the murder of Charles Howard? He put down the toast, uneaten.

  “I’m ready now, ma’am. Why is it you wanted to see me?”

  “Mr. Murdoch, I have done nothing but pray to our Lord for guidance ever since this tragedy happened. I am aware that what I did was against the law and I am quite prepared to take my punishment.” She reached into her jet-beaded reticule and he thought she was looking for a handkerchief but in fact she removed an envelope, which she handed to him. “I have not told you the complete truth on two counts, Mr. Murdoch. I hope you will understand and forgive me when I explain why. There is something in the envelope that you should see.”

  Murdoch opened the flap. Inside was a piece of paper that had smudges of brownish red on the edges that he recognized as blood stains. He unfolded the letter.

  To the board of directors.

  It is with a heavy heart that I write this letter. I wish I was not privy to the information I have just now received which I must impart to you

  The letter stopped with a sharp upward zig of the u.

  “Where did you get this, Miss Dignam?”

  “I took it from Mr. Howard’s desk when I found him.”

  “Why did you do that, ma’am?”

  She didn’t answer, only clasping her hands more tightly together. Murdoch was aware that in the adjoining kitchen, Katie had started to sing to the twins. Miss Dignam raised her head and listened for a moment and an expression of intense loneliness crossed her face. Hearing the lullabies sometimes affected Murdoch the same way.

  “Ma’am? You didn’t answer my question. Why did you take the letter?”

  His voice was by no means sharp, but she shrank back into the chair. “When you first came to talk to me, Mr. Murdoch, I had the impression that you are a kind man and I must trust that impression now because what I am about to tell you could easily invite your ridicule and contempt and frankly, I would find that hard to bear.” Finally, she met his eyes. “You see, Mr. Murdoch, what I have to tell you is that Charles Howard and I loved each other.”

  All he could think of was Louisa Howard’s angry words: Poor Charles, she was driving him to distraction.

  Miss Dignam didn’t seem insane. She was speaking calmly, not weeping, and the only sign of emotion was a slight flush on her thin cheeks and a brightness to her eyes. “Let me explain,” she continued. “When Charles was chosen as our new pastor, he was not the unanimous choice. Our previous pastor was a conservative man who died as he had lived, without much reverberation. Some of us had been hoping for a minister who might bring new vigour to the church and Charles was such a man. He was well travelled and urbane and had actually experienced the battle of Khartoum, as a civilian, you understand, not a soldier. He had many stories to share with us and he brought exactly the breath of life we needed.” She paused. “My throat is a little dry, Mr. Murdoch, perhaps I will have a cup of tea after all.”

  He poured the tea and waited while she sipped at it. He didn’t know where all this was leading, but he knew he must be patient. And there was something about this little wan woman that tugged at his heart.

  She replaced her cup on the trolley. “It fairly soon became apparent to me that Charles was developing special feelings for me. His wife is a good woman but, I regret to say, rather shallow and far too caught up in the prestige of
her position as a pastor’s wife. I say that only to you, of course. May Flowers shares my view, but that is all we have shared. I do not gossip, Mr. Murdoch. I never told Miss Flowers what was happening between Charles and me. I did not know how we were going to resolve our dilemma, but I trusted he would find a way and on Monday, by certain signals that he sent me, I knew he was going to openly declare his love.”

  “What were these signals, Miss Dignam?”

  Unexpectedly, there was a flash of fire in her eyes and her voice was stronger. “I know what you’re thinking, Mr. Murdoch. How could a woman such as I, no longer in her youth, be an object of attraction to a man in his prime? A man who is already married? I myself doubted it many times, but finally I was convinced. The signs? A woman knows these things. They were in his special smiles to me, the way he would touch my hand when we parted, the expression on his face when he thanked me for my little gifts but especially the way he was in our prayer meetings.” She smiled slightly, remembering. “There are some things that transcend differences of age or station. Ours was a meeting of minds, an excitement created by the awareness of mutual understanding that was shared by no other woman.”

  Staring at him with eyes that would put a puppy to shame.

  “You asked me earlier why I had taken the letter from Charles’s desk … I did so because I thought it might have something to do with us and our dilemma.”

  “You thought he might be writing a letter to his wife?”

  “I glimpsed the first few words and that is what I assumed. Perhaps I have not made myself clear, Mr. Murdoch. Charles had asked me to comment on the text for that Monday.”

  She paused again and Murdoch could see how hard she was struggling for control. “You see, this was his way of signalling to me his intention.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Miss Dignam.”

  There was a flicker of impatience across her face. “No, of course not, how could you understand? The text in question that Charles asked me to study was from the Song of Songs, chapter eight, verse six; ‘Set me as a seal upon thine arm: for love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave…’ You see, Mr. Murdoch, Charles was about to discuss how we could realize our love publicly and somebody has made sure that wouldn’t happen.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  MURDOCH REMAINED WITH MISS DIGNAM for another half an hour, during which time, seemingly relieved at having unburdened herself of the secret, she wept ceaselessly. However, when he pressed her to say more about what she had insinuated, she became shifty. “He was the soul of discretion, but I cannot say with complete certainty that his wife was oblivious.”

  Half the parish knew. She was making quite a fool of herself.

  Finally, Murdoch escorted her home where he left her to the untender mercies of her friend Miss Flowers, who appeared to be staying at the house. He didn’t know what to make of her statement, whether to believe her. On the surface, it wasn’t likely, but then he hadn’t known Reverend Howard. Perhaps the intellectual compatibility she was convinced they shared had been seductive. On the other hand, what if she had expected Howard to declare his love? According to Mrs. Howard, he was going to declare the exact opposite. Had that driven Miss Dignam into a kind of madness? She didn’t strike him as cunning, but what if her madness took the form of a sort of amnesia? What if she had killed Howard and now didn’t remember? Fyfer had said she was covered in blood when he saw her. Her explanation for that was plausible, but what if there was a more sinister reason? The attack had been vicious and it was hard to see Miss Dignam capable of it. Murdoch ran his fingers through his hair. While he was on the subject of sinister, could he believe the newly widowed Mrs. Howard? Her murdering her own husband also seemed most unlikely, but as Miss Dignam had quoted to him, “jealousy is cold as the grave.” And many a time he’d heard the Christian Brothers warning their young charges about trifling with a woman’s affections. “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” Murdoch, shy and awkward around the few young women he did meet, had been rather afraid of that possibility and vowed to deal honourably with any woman he might encounter as an adult. He winced at that thought, still not at all sure he was behaving honourably toward Enid Jones. On the other hand, jealousy was a powerful emotion, as he knew all too well, that could take over a man or a woman, and he was beginning to wonder if the green-eyed monster wasn’t somehow at the centre of this murder.

  He parked his wheel in the stable that adjoined the station, enjoying for a moment the warmth and smell of the old white horse, Captain, who was standing, already partly harnessed in case he was needed to pull the police ambulance. There had been complaints from the drivers that the horse was getting too old and slow for his job, and Murdoch knew it wouldn’t be long before he was dispatched to the knackers. He gave him a quick pat on his wide rump, glad he was ignorant of his fate and left him to munch on his hay.

  When he entered the hall, Murdoch found a sleepy and sullen-looking pair of queer plungers waiting for him. Damn, he’d forgotten he’d told them to come first thing and he was much later than usual.

  “Good morning, folks. I’ll be right with you,” he called out a cheery greeting and went to hang up his coat and hat on the peg by the door.

  Charlie Seymour was at his desk and he came right over. “Bettles and Kearney are confirmed to be at the House of Providence on Tuesday. The admitting Sister says they were there on Monday night and didn’t leave until close to five on Tuesday. The nuns didn’t want them to stay any longer. She says they are malcontents.”

  “How certain is she of the time when they left?”

  “Very certain, apparently. She had to get a porter to escort them out just before the new applicants were admitted at five o’clock.”

  “Howard was dead by three-thirty that afternoon so unfortunately that means those two bits of scum are in the clear.”

  “Shall I let them go then?”

  “Wait until I’ve got Olivia and Parker in the duty room. No point in them being seen as narks. Bettles is the type who will take any excuse to throw his weight around. How’s Traveller doing?”

  “He’s been pretty quiet except for singing sea shanties at six o’clock this morning. He says he thought we needed livening up.”

  Murdoch grinned. Traveller had taken his advice.

  “I’m going to talk to these two first, then you can bring him in.” Murdoch eased himself up.

  “How’s your lumbago?” asked Charlie.

  “About the same.”

  “Did you speak to Amy or Katie? They’ll probably have some suggestions for what to do.”

  “I’m sure they will, everybody does, but no, I didn’t see either of them at supper so I haven’t had the benefit of their feminine wisdom.”

  Seymour gave him a searching sort of look. This wasn’t the place to go into it, but Murdoch was burning to know what Charlie knew about a certain Mr. Roger Bryant, rich man.

  Murdoch beckoned to Olivia and Ed to follow him and they went down the hall to the duty room. There was more room in here than in his cubicle and as it was between shifts for the constables, they wouldn’t be disturbed.

  “Sit down, please. Ed, how’s your ankle?”

  “Better, thank you, sir. Somebody gave me a nickel this morning.”

  “Ed!” exclaimed Olivia warningly.

  “I weren’t doing nothing wrong. I was just standing there waiting to cross the road and I took my hat off to wipe my brow and before I knew it a kindly lady had dropped me a coin.”

  Murdoch chuckled. “Before you know it, kindly ladies will have paid your rent. You’ll be able to milk that injury for a long time.”

  “Frankly, sir, I can’t earn near as much just acting like a cripple as I can plunging. I think folks like the excitement of plunging.”

  Murdoch took the big blackened kettle off the hob and poured more hot water into the teapot. The constables waited a long time before they emptied out the pot and it was already half full with tea leaves.
/>   “Do you want some tea?” he asked.

  Ed was about to say yes but Olivia got there first.

  “No, thank you. We’ve already had our breakfast.”

  She was very cool this morning and Murdoch knew he was still in her bad books.

  He poured three mugs of tea anyway. “Mrs. Bagley, I’m sorry I was rude to you yesterday. It was uncalled for.”

  She stared at him in surprise. “Well … apology accepted. You’re just doing your job, I expect.”

  “You’ve been very helpful, both of you. I was frustrated with my own lack of progress.”

  Both Ed and Olivia reached out and took a mug of tea. Wordlessly, Murdoch offered them milk and sugar. He filled up his own mug and for a moment, there was silence in the room, broken only by the clink of the spoons. Ed smacked his lips.

  “Now that’s what I call a good cuppa. It’d take the blacking off the stove.”

  Olivia gulped down the tea in a way that told Murdoch she had lied about having breakfast.

  “I did think some more about what you said, yesterday,” she said. “I can’t promise you that I remember a lot more than I already told you, but some things did come back.”

  Murdoch smiled appreciatively and nodded at her to continue.

  “The woman was young. Younger than me by five years at least, about my height and she had a plaid shawl over her head. And a brown or black skirt. She was lathy, but then all the paupers get that way, don’t they?”

  Murdoch sighed. He knew Olivia was telling him the truth, but it wasn’t much to go on. There were likely several young, thin girls of medium height in the pauper queue and most of them would be wearing plaid shawls and dark skirts.

  “Would you recognize her again?”

  Olivia frowned. “Hmm. I might if I was close up.”

  “Would you go back to the House with me and see if we can find her? They open the gates for the soup at noon, don’t they?”

  Olivia shrugged. “I’ll go on one condition. You’ll have to put your old clothes on again. They’ll all know you for a frog and I don’t want to be seen as some kind of nark.”