This brought several seconds of fretful silence. “And, pray tell, Commissioner, in what manner did my husband arrive?”
I gave her the last sorrowful fact. “Madam, he arrived in a box.”
She paused, her eyes widening. “A box?”
“The postmaster's mailbox, to be precise. The doctor in Swarts tells me he was dismembered with his own surgical saw so that he would fit, this after he was dispatched with one of the ship's fire axes. It grieves me deeply to bring you such news, madam.”
Her color turned from its previous rosy shade to the paler hues associated with the wild mushrooms we used to hunt together in the forests fringing Table Mountain all those years ago, when she had purportedly been in love with me.
In a stiff tone, I said, “Madam, I'll fetch water.”
* * * *
I retreated to the farmhouse.
The widow Doorenspleet, a stout, sturdy farm woman of sixty, submerged the dipper into the water pail for me. I brought the dipper back to Mrs. Page.
She continued to struggle with the tragic news. For several minutes I said nothing, delaying the questions I had to ask and the inquiries I had to make.
When she was at last ready to drink, I handed the dipper to her and she took small, distracted sips. I told her I had to pose some questions to her, ones that might upset her, but which, as the king's representative in the District of Swellendam, I was duty-bound to ask.
“Of course, Commissioner.” She returned the dipper to me. “This is all so distressing. I feared he was dead, but not dead in this particularly upsetting manner.”
I put the dipper on the bench. I studied her. I could hardly believe I was sitting next to her again. Did she have any idea of just how much I had once loved her, and how dashed I had been when she had thrown me over for Sergeant Mason? I suppressed these thoughts and feelings, and struggled to maintain my official tone.
“Can you tell me the last time you saw Dr. Page?”
She cast an anxious glance toward the hawthorn hedge where, behind the leaves, I made out the azure sea. “The night of the storm. He'd gone to sick bay to see to our patients.” She elaborated. “Our patients are of a special order, Commissioner. We were transporting four of them, each with various mental maladies.”
“And Molly Morris among them?”
Her eyes narrowed. “You've learned she was saved?”
“I have.” Yes, that was better. Stay on track and forget what happened between us seven years ago. “My constable in Swarts tells me she's staying here at Doorenspleet Farm with you. I'm so happy she survived.”
Anne Page nodded, but now seemed distracted, and even disturbed. “Of the four, Molly is perhaps our most difficult patient.” She looked at me with sudden urgency. “She's a violent patient, Commissioner Rivers. So violent, we could no longer handle her at our hospital in Mauritius. And that's why, along with the other three, we were transporting her.”
“And where, precisely, were you taking her?”
“To Bethlem Royal Hospital in London.”
“Bedlam?”
“Just so. My husband has had to use a firm hand with Molly on several occasions, Commissioner Rivers, and I'm afraid Molly has come to resent it.” Her voice took on a more pronounced tremor. “And in light of the way you tell me my husband has died, I feel I should point out that there has been a recent escalation in Molly's resentment toward the doctor. Molly often hit the doctor, and the doctor had to respond with his cane. In fact, I should tell you that there occurred two particularly regrettable exchanges in the hours before the storm. During the first, I was next-door in our stateroom. I went to assist.” She touched the scrape on her forehead. “I received this injury when Molly pushed me against one of the ship's supporting timbers.” She motioned at the hawthorn hedge where, through a gap, I spied a large woman pacing back and forth. “There she is now.”
I looked. Molly Morris wore a bonnet and a striped frock that looked borrowed from the widow Doorenspleet, was in her late thirties, stocky, broad-shouldered, with tiny, close-set eyes, a head that was disproportionately small to her large body, and expansive, mannish hands.
Mrs. Page said, “She means to be gentle, Commissioner, but sometimes she simply can't control her temper.”
“And so you and your husband regained control of her during the first encounter?”
“Yes.”
“And then there was a second incident?”
“Closer to the time of the storm. The doctor had been playing cards with officers from the King's Eighty-Seventh Royal Regiment of Sappers and Miners. I was in our stateroom. The doctor had told me previously that after the card game, he would check on Molly again. I'm not sure what happened, but in light of what you've told me, I can't help thinking Molly might have killed him. She's certainly large enough to wield the fire axe.”
“Has Molly told you anything?”
“Only that she argued with the doctor the second time.”
“Nothing else?”
“No.”
“What about this card game? You say your husband was playing with some officers from the King's Eighty-Seventh.”
“Yes.”
“I heard that one of those officers survived. Corporal Edward Ridgway.”
A smile came to her face. “I was so happy to learn that he was saved. The rector says he's at Dundas Farm recovering from a broken leg.”
“You don't suppose he was playing cards with your husband on the night of the sinking? He could be a witness.”
“As I say, I was in our stateroom.”
“When your husband came to check on Molly the second time, did you hear any disturbance from sick bay?”
She shook her head. “By that time, the gale was rising. All I heard was the wind.”
“And did you grow concerned when your husband didn't return after a reasonable time?”
She nodded. “I went to look for him. I was surprised to find sailors climbing the ratlines and unfurling the sails. The wind was rising. They told me the captain was concerned that the Ancaster was drifting too close to the reef, that he wanted to make headway into deeper water before we ran aground. We'd been stuck there a week waiting for a weather change to take us west. While the sailors were up on the ratlines, the wind grew ten times stronger. The captain rang the alarm. The first big wave struck. The ship was thrown upon the reef and I heard a crack below. I saw Sergeant Dobbie, another of the officers from the regiment, lowering the port-side lifeboat, and thought my husband might be with him, but he wasn't.” She paused. “Tell me, Commissioner, is there any sign of Sergeant Dobbie? When the rector informed me of Corporal Ridgway's survival, he had no news of the sergeant.”
I shook my head. “Alas, Mrs. Page, the search for Sergeant Dobbie continues. Did you find the doctor anywhere about the deck?”
“No.”
“Nor in sick bay?”
“No.”
“Was Molly in sick bay?”
“Yes.”
I jotted this in my notebook. “Did you see any evidence of a crime in sick bay?”
“The whole was flooded with seawater from the large waves by then.” She shook her head, tears coming to her eyes. “Then we suffered another great knock against the reef. I was thrown to my knees. Corporal Ridgway, who by that time was lowering the other boat, saw my distress and came to assist me. He locked his arm around me and removed me to the second boat. I begged him to help find my husband, but he said the ship was going to capsize any minute.” She took out a handkerchief, dabbed her eyes, shook her head, and wept. “Little did we know that half of us would be drowned.”
* * * *
Molly Morris, perhaps drawn by the sound of Mrs. Page's weeping, emerged from behind the hawthorn hedge.
“It looks like Molly is concerned about you,” I said.
Mrs. Page looked up from her weeping. “Yes. She dotes on me.”
“Could you call her over, please?”
“Of course, Commissioner.”
“Molly, this is Commissioner Rivers. He's come to ask about the wreck.” With a catch in her voice, she said, “And he also has some questions about my husband. It appears Dr. Page might have met his end before the Ancaster sank. The constable in Swarts is suggesting foul play. What that means, Molly, is that someone might have killed the doctor.” Mrs. Page's voice took on an accusatory tone. “And as you were the last to see him, and as earlier in the day you attacked the doctor not once but twice, we believe you have some explaining to do.”
The poor simpleton wouldn't look up. “Ma'am, I didn't lay a finger on Dr. Page that second time. All we did was argue.”
“Are you sure, Molly? Lying's not going to help.”
“Ma'am, nobody hit anybody that second time. All I did was ask him for me opium because me head was hurting again. That first time, when you was there, he didn't give it to me, did he? The second time, he gave it to me and I settled right down.”
I stepped forward. “Molly, do you and Dr. Page fight often?”
“Only when me temper gets the better of me, sir.”
“And were you fighting that second time he came to see you?”
“No, sir. Only the first time. And only because he wouldn't give me my opium.”
I tried a different approach. “Do you know where Dr. Page keeps his surgical saw, Molly?”
The woman's face filled with fear. “Course I do, sir. We're all afraid of it.”
I pressed the point. “Do you remember having the saw in your hands on the night of the storm?”
Molly thought about this. “I don't remember much of anything after the doctor gave me my opium. I go all rubbery and stop thinking when I have me opium.”
I paused to think. Perhaps in an opium-induced fog she had killed the doctor? “Do you remember putting him in the postmaster's mailbox?”
Her brow rose in shock. “Sir, we're forbidden to go anywhere near that mailbox. The doctor said he'd cane us if we did.”
I glanced at Mrs. Page. “The postmaster's mailbox was in sick bay?”
She nodded. “The Ancaster is of the barque class, Commissioner, and so quite small. Sick bay did double-duty for many things.”
I turned to Molly. “Molly, a grave capital offense has been committed, and it's my responsibility as the king's representative in Swellendam to get to the bottom of it. I want you to search your memory carefully. If after a day you have some recollection of how the doctor met his end, please send for me.” I glanced at Mrs. Page, then back at Molly, deciding that it was perhaps time to conclude my visit at Doorenspleet farm. “I'm staying at the inn. God is watching you, Molly, and a confession from you now might make His judgment more merciful when it comes time for your last reckoning with St. Peter.”
* * * *
As Mrs. Page was unable to determine whether Corporal Edward Ridgway had been at the card game, I had no choice but to get on my horse and ride to Dundas Farm to question the man.
On the way, I tried to quell my unruly feelings for Anne Page. But as much as I tried, I kept recalling how she had thrown me over for Sergeant Mason; how, near the end, whenever I came to visit, the servants always insisted she was out, even though I could hear her playing the pianoforte in the music room; and I would never forget how I had caught Sergeant Mason kissing her under the acacia boughs in her father's garden the day before she finally told me I couldn't visit her anymore, that she was going to marry Sergeant Mason, and it wouldn't be proper.
Much to my consternation, Corporal Ridgway turned out to be a tall, handsome officer of the Sergeant Mason mold. He had a lean face, sandy hair, and eyes the color of the sea. His broken leg, raised on a few pillows, was taped in a splint.
The first words out of his mouth, spoken in an urgent tone, were, “Is Mrs. Page safe?”
With this, I couldn't help but regard him with some suspicion. “She is safe, Corporal, though naturally shaken.”
He sank with relief to his bed. Why the huge concern? I had to take note. How well did they know each other? Was this another soldier Anne had fallen in with? Or was my old heartache tormenting me with cruel imaginings again?
“I'm so relieved,” said the corporal. “And by the way, what of Sergeant Dobbie? I saw him lower the other boat.”
“Alas, the other boat has not been recovered. A half-dozen fishermen are at sea right now looking for it.”
The corporal's brow settled. “Then may God have mercy upon his soul.”
I proceeded to outline for him how I was not only investigating the wreck, but also the unnatural demise of Dr. Page.
He surveyed me the way he might an opponent on the battlefield, wary, and with a degree of belligerence. “And you're sure the doctor was murdered?” His lips tightened and he looked out the window, where an old gray nag nibbled grass in the yard below. “I believe the victims came ashore in pieces, all torn up by the reef. Was not the doctor in like condition?”
I tapped my notebook. “We have irrefutable evidence, Corporal, that he was murdered.” I raised my chin. “I understand you might have been with him the night he was killed, and that you were perhaps one of his companions in the card game.”
The corporal composed himself and gave the matter some thought.
By and by, he said, “Yes, I was at the card table that night, Commissioner. And some of the other fellows from the regiment were there as well. We were all bored. The wind hadn't changed for a week. We were stranded, windless, by that infernal reef.”
“And that was the last time you saw Dr. Page? At the card game?”
“Yes.”
“And did there seem to be anything troubling him?”
“As a matter of fact, there was an unpleasant row between the doctor and Sergeant Dobbie. The row continued outside afterward. All quite suspicious, now that you tell me of his murder.”
“And what was the row about?”
The corporal shrugged. “I'm afraid the doctor lost a considerable sum to Sergeant Dobbie, nearly twenty pounds. The doctor didn't take to it kindly because Dobbie has a notorious reputation as a cheat. He asked for his money back. The sergeant took exception and refused. The doctor left, telling us he wasn't a man to play with cheats. After that, Dobbie sat brooding for a long time, drinking dram after dram, getting drunker and drunker. He finally got up and said he had to put the doctor to rights, that he didn't appreciate having his good name smeared. Not that Dick Dobbie was in a blind rage, mind. No, he was frightfully controlled. But I've seen him put a man to rights when he's controlled, and it's never a pretty sight.”
I jotted this down. “And that's the last time you saw the sergeant?”
“No, I saw him later, when he was lowering the other boat.”
“And the doctor was nowhere in sight?”
“Quite vanished.”
As I rode back to Swarts at sunset, I understood that over and above Molly Morris I now had a second suspect, Sergeant Richard Dobbie, of the King's 87th Royal Regiment of Sappers and Miners. After all, the sergeant had gone to set the doctor to rights, not in a blind rage, mind, but in a frightfully controlled and unpretty manner.
Yet I couldn't help thinking how easily Mrs. Page had blamed Molly, and how quickly Corporal Ridgway had pointed his finger at Sergeant Dobbie. I also continued to puzzle over—and be suspicious of—the corporal's urgent concern for Mrs. Page, how he had asked me about her safety immediately upon my arrival at Dundas Farm. It made me wonder once again if Mrs. Page had thrown her lot in with another solider. And it was all I could do to stop my hands from shaking.
* * * *
My suspicions about Mrs. Page and the corporal found substance in a most unusual manner the next day.
A large packet of letters came ashore in an oilskin sack, perhaps the exact letters ejected from the postmaster's mailbox to make room for Dr. Page.
Of these, one in particular implicated the pair, written by Mrs. Page to her sister, Elizabeth, addr
essed to her sister's home in India, a missive due for the return ship in Cape Town before the Ancaster set sail up the west coast of Africa for Britain. I shook my head with some melancholy. Elizabeth in India, Anne in Mauritius, and myself in Swellendam—how the old Cape Town crowd had sadly scattered.
I broke the letter's seal and read.
After some run-of-the-mill news about Anne's various daily concerns in Port Louis, I came to a most disturbing passage.
“I must confess, dear sister, I have formed a passionate attachment to Corporal Edward Ridgway of the King's 87th Royal Regiment.” My hands tightened around the correspondence. I tried to push my own feelings aside and take a dispassionate view, but further along I read, “The love I feel for Corporal Ridgway is like the love I felt for Sergeant Mason, but much stronger. If only there was some way Eddie and I could remove the impediment of my husband. Not that I would ever dream of such a thing, as Dr. Page was my pillar and support when he tried to save Sergeant Mason during the cholera outbreak. But I see now that I was perhaps a fool to fall in love with him solely because of his efforts to nurse the man I really loved back to health. How I fancied the doctor a hero as he fought valiantly to rescue Sergeant Mason from the disease. And how foolishly I surrendered my hand to him after he had failed. Now I'm stuck with him and feel toward him the way I felt toward poor old Harry Rivers. Do you remember Harry Rivers, Beth? He was much like a barnacle, wasn't he, clinging and clinging, and entirely obtuse about the way I wanted him to leave me be. I fear I now regard the good doctor the same way. I would rather he just disappear into these sea mists we've been having.”
I couldn't restrain my anger. Or my alarm. Seven years ago, I had been under the impression Anne had held me in some affection. Now I was a barnacle? Now I was poor old Harry Rivers, clinging and clinging, when at one time I was sure I had been the man she would someday marry? Yes, Sergeant Mason had at last won that particular race, and tragic that the cholera should take him one short year into his marriage, but had I not even been a contender? Had she truly wanted me to leave her be, when we had spent so many happy hours at the pianoforte together?
EQMM, July 2012 Page 15
