“Come on, Sergeant!” Johanna shouted back to him, waving her arm. “Race you!”
She was like a puppy, Mendick thought; all fun and frolics, teasing and tormenting for his attention. She turned and dived under water, jack-knifing. For an instant he had a splendid view of her rounded bottom with every curve and contour closely caressed by wet linen and then she was gone, swimming beneath the surface. He smiled and shook his head. She was a creature of the water, a nymph, an auburn mermaid. He should be asking her about Gordon, but that would be to acknowledge the fact she was married and he did not want to do that, not yet. Dear God, he never wanted to admit that, not even to himself.
The hands took him by surprise, grabbing at his legs and he floundered and ducked under. Johanna was there, smiling at him and for a second they grappled like lovers then surfaced in a fountain of water that rose, suspended in the air for a long instant as the morning sun played a hundred rainbows with the water droplets and then cascaded downward to join the surface of the sea. For some reason Mendick knew he would never forget that tiny fragment of time. It encapsulated his feelings about Johanna − a magic escape from reality, a relationship doomed by circumstance yet blessed by fate and the God of Love.
Love. He had admitted the fact to himself. He was in love with Johanna Lednock and there was not a thing he could do about it.
“I just could not resist that,” she said. “You looked so staid and respectable, and good of course. I thought you were obviously thinking of your duty when you should have been enjoying yourself for once.”
“I am enjoying myself,” Mendick told her, and he was not lying.
From their vantage point he could see the sunlight reflected on the great glass windows of Unicorn House with the village of Broughty Ferry spread on either side. Mendick looked to the west, where the factory chimneys of Dundee serrated the horizon, some extinguished in this time of depression but others oozing smoke into their already leaden sky.
He saw the steeple tower of St Mary’s, prominent despite the fire of 1841 that had destroyed much of the fabric of the church, while the great green mound of the Law provided a backdrop like a mother caring for her brood. Dundee: the town of his nightmares and here he was spending a day in a dream more perfect than he had experienced since Emma died. An oxymoron of experiences jostled his senses, but at that second he would rather have been here and with Johanna than anywhere else or with anyone else in the world. Including Emma, God forgive him, including Emma.
They bobbed together on the surface of the sea, and Mendick was content to just be. He glanced over at Johanna and she was watching him, her eyes narrow, thoughtful and green; or were they grey? He could not decide. He did not really care, he just enjoyed the sensation of her gaze.
“You look better now, James.” Johanna said quietly. “You looked terrible when we picked you up. I think it’s time you told me what happened.”
Mendick nodded. When had she started to call him James? He shrugged. Did it matter, as long as she did?
Unicorn Cottage greeted them with warmth and a ready-laid fire that Johanna lit even before she dried and changed herself. Mendick watched as she walked around with the wet linen clinging to her, moving with her, enhancing each contour and curve and when she looked up and caught his gaze he did not look away.
“I know,” she said so softly he almost missed her words. “I feel just the same way.” She pulled a towel from a corner cupboard and passed it to him. “Best get dried, James.” She smiled again, the mischief so evident her eyes sparked. “I won’t watch.” When she left the room Mendick’s eyes were busy on her.
She returned with a small bundle of clothes, withdrew politely until he dressed and took him upstairs to the room in which he had first interviewed her, with the tall windows looking out to the Tay and the pictures adorning the walls. John was running around like a boy demented, with the same cheerful maid serving tea and the same fire casting its heat. Johanna, who had been so confident in the water, made straight for the heat and shivered in front of it.
In borrowed clothes and without his notebook and pen, Mendick hardly felt able to conduct a proper interview.
“You mentioned that your husband habitually lived in Mandarin House. Does that mean he was there on the night of the murders and you were here?”
Johanna accepted a cup from the maid and sipped gracefully. “He is there every night, Sergeant, unless he is out hunting or shooting. And I am here every night unless he requires me for some reason.”
Mendick raised his eyebrows but made no comment and Johanna laughed and shook her head.
“No, Sergeant. Not for the reason you are thinking!” She pointed to where John lay on the floor making strange noises and looking up at the ceiling. “He is the only reason David and I ever indulged in that sort of activity. He wanted an heir. I gave him one.”
“And a very handsome young heir, too.”
Johanna smiled. “I like to think so.” She was quiet for a minute. “John is my life,” she said at last. “John and my painting, and water. Here I have the sea. At home I had the rivers.”
“So you must get a little bored,” Mendick said, “which explains the smuggling of duty free rum and tobacco.”
The sadness was fleeting but definite. “It could be a lot worse,” Johanna said. “I have a lovely house, a lovely son and everything I need except affection and adult companionship.” She shrugged. “But I am very lucky compared to most . . . I think that is enough information about me, now.”
“Not quite,” Mendick said. He would have liked to listen to Johanna speak all day and every day, but he had to focus on his duty. At that moment he detested his duty, keeping him from her. “Mr Gordon made his money in the Chinese Opium Trade, is that correct?”
“I believe so,” Johanna said.
“So tell me, how does he spend his time now?” Mendick lifted his cup, watching changing emotions chase across Johanna’s eyes.
“Are you asking this as Sergeant Mendick or as James?” The smile was back, still slightly lopsided, but her eyes were cool. The laughter had disappeared.
“Both,” Mendick said.
“In that case, Sergeant Mendick, I do not know.” She faced him directly and her voice dropped. “He is my husband, James, and the father of my son.”
“If I was your husband . . .” Mendick stopped himself. He had learned while in the army never to venture unsupported into dangerous territory.
“James . . .” Johanna held out both hands. “I think there is something we need to do.”
“Johanna? Or Mrs Gordon?” He smiled. They were both living dual lives. He was the duty-bound policeman, she the dutiful wife, but beneath the mask of duty lay the turmoil of emotional reality. Life was a matter of layers with the truth concealed behind the public face.
“My name is Johanna Lednock,” Johanna’s voice was soft. “Come to my bed, James.” Her hand was held out in invitation and her eyes wrapped their love around his heart.
They lay side by side under the tangled sheet with the afternoon sun ghosting through the window and their fingers entwined. Mendick looked at her as she slept. With her eyes closed and her mouth relaxed she looked very young indeed and for a moment Mendick thought of Emma, but he shook away the memory. That was unfair to both women. Emma had been his wife; loyal, devoted, loving. This was Johanna; another man’s wife but now joined to him by a bond he could neither define nor deny.
Her eyes opened, focussed and smiled. “Hello James.”
He smiled back. “Hello, yourself, Johanna.”
Her hand squeezed his. “That was unlike anything I have experienced before.”
“I hope that is not an insult,” Mendick smiled.
He lay back. Love-making with Emma had been gentle and soft, he had needed to take his time and woo her. Johanna had been ready before he was, had matched him in every way, anticipated his desires and climaxed as fully as he had. She had been a ready and willing partner, laughing with open glee and en
joying their mutual pleasure. He had thought he had known about women but Johanna’s reaction had been so unlike Emma’s he had been at first astonished, and then met her energy with his own.
“Gordon is not . . .” Johanna hesitated, “I do not like to be disloyal, James, but Gordon is not . . . the most enthusiastic of husbands in the bedroom.” She stirred and looked away. “We have been married seven years, James, and he has bedded me less than that number of times.”
There was nothing Mendick could say to that. For a moment he wondered if Johanna was merely using him because of her naturally frustrated desires, but one glance at her eyes assured him she was not. What they felt, whatever they felt, was genuine.
“You have me now,” he said, and she smiled and moved closer.
“I have you now,” she confirmed. As she moved, the sheet slipped clear of her breasts. Rather than cover them back up as Emma would have done, she left the sheet where it was and lay natural and unashamed at his side. “You know a lot about me, James, but I know so little about you.”
Mendick could not escape the magic of her eyes. “I think that after the last couple of hours you know a great deal about me, Johanna.”
Her hand slid down and patted him. “Not the physical, James. We all share some needs there. I mean you. Who are you, where are you from, what made you a police sergeant?” She turned to face him with her head propped up on her hand. “Tell me about yourself, James.”
He had been a climbing boy for as long as he could remember; he had been a climbing boy since his father had died of fever and his mother had signed him onto a seven year apprenticeship. He knew nothing else except that life was a nightmare of misery, pain and work.
Mendick shrugged. “There is nothing much to tell,” he said. “I was apprenticed to a chimney sweep as a boy, ran away to sea and then joined the army.”
He knew she was looking at him, watching every expression on his face as she tried to work out what made him tick, but he did not care. For a second the images returned; the horror of his early life, the hardship at sea and the mud and humidity of India and China. “The regiment came home in 1843 and I joined the police.”
“Tell me more,” she demanded. “Tell me all.”
Mendick did so. For the first time in years he revealed his inner self. He spoke of his fear as a climbing boy, his adventures at sea and the sordid horrors of the Chinese campaign. When he finished, there was interest and even compassion in Johanna’s eyes. “I will never look at a chimney sweep in the same way again, James.”
Mendick looked around the room, so fresh in its bright colours, so civilised with its paintings and books. He could not imagine Johanna understanding the persistent misery of his early life and for a moment he resented her casual acceptance of her wealth and position. He chased that thought away as being unfair to a woman who had shown him nothing but kindness. She touched him, softly.
“Are you all right, James?”
No, he thought; it was not kindness. It was something far greater than kindness. He did not dare to admit the depth of her feelings for him, but as he watched that small dimple, and the slightly lopsided smile, he knew she felt as he did, or nearly so. As her fingers sought his, some of the bad memories faded; they would never disappear completely, but Mendick knew he could push them to the back of his mind, at least when he was with Johanna.
“So you were a seaman as well, James?” Johanna sat up, allowing the covers to slide further down her body. She smiled as Mendick’s eyes followed and did nothing to cover herself up.
“Seaman and soldier both and now I am a policeman.” Mendick felt suddenly embarrassed and looked away. The room was obviously a woman’s domain. The wallpaper was light and simply patterned, and vases of spring flowers adorned most surfaces, while the oval mirror on the dressing table reflected the whalebone mirror, comb and hair brush and the collection of pots and potions that reminded Mendick so much of Emma. “Are these all your paintings?”
“All mine,” Johanna said.
He heard the pride in her voice, and the undertone of doubt.
“They are beautiful.” Mendick slid out of bed, unconcerned about his state of undress, and examined the pictures once more. He stopped before the largest, a canvas a full three feet square. Two ships sailed side by side down the Tay with Dundee as a backdrop. In the foreground four men pulled at the oars of a small boat while a slim, hooded figure sat in the stern. He did not need to be told who that slim figure was.
“That could be in an art gallery,” Mendick said. “Are these real ships or from your imagination?”
Johanna did not smile. “They are real ships of course: that is Evelyn Berenger and Rose Flammock of Gilbride’s Waverley Whaling Company.”
Mendick turned around and ignored Johanna’s wicked smile. “What did you say their names were?”
“Evelyn Berenger and Rose Flammock,” Johanna pointed to the names painted on the stern of each ship. “They are characters in Scott’s The Betrothed. Gilbride names all his ships after Scott’s characters . . .”
“Dear God! Of course!” Mendick suddenly remembered Johanna had ordered the smugglers to get back to the old Rose but he had not thought anything of it at the time. “Rose. It’s a ship’s name and I have been wasting my time dilly-dallying with you.” He stopped and turned as he realised what he had said. “I did not mean that as it sounded. I did not mean that I had wasted my time with you in any way at all.”
Johanna was lying on her back, her head propped up on her pillows, watching him. “I did not think you did, James,” she paused and sighed. “No, you are not my James now. Sergeant Mendick is back, all duty and gruffness.”
My James. Mendick closed his eyes. My James. The phrase spoke of ownership and belonging; it spoke of someone who cared for him, and a home and hearth to call his own. While duty compelled him to thrust on, search for China Jim and solve these horrendous murders, there was a huge part of him that wanted to forget he had seen that picture, to forget about Rose Flammock and climb back into bed with Johanna. But he knew he could not; life was not so easy. He had made his commitment and he must stand by it. He looked down at her. She suddenly looked so alone.
“I must go back to the police office,” he said.
“I know you must.” Johanna slid out of the bed and stepped towards him. She held him close, her head against his chest and the scent of her hair sweet and clean. “I know.”
When she stepped back, the mischief was back in her eyes. “But you had better put some clothes on first. Maybe James can parade himself around as stark as nature intended, but I do not think Sergeant Mendick should arrive at the police office in quite so unclad a condition.” The laugh gurgled in her throat, but now Mendick knew there were hidden depths behind Johanna Lednock; and deep desires.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A trio of blackbirds were singing when Mendick dismounted from the cab, paid the driver with money borrowed from Johanna and walked self-consciously into the police office. He ignored the stares of the office sergeant and mounted the steps to the office he shared with Sturrock and Deuchars.
“What in the devil’s name are you doing here? You’re dead!” Sturrock sat on Mendick’s chair with his feet on Mendick’s desk, busily engaged in stuffing Mendick’s tobacco into the bowl of his own pipe.
A quick sideways gesture of Mendick’s thumb ejected Sturrock from his seat. He grabbed Sturrock’s pipe and emptied the tobacco onto the desk before planting himself firmly in the chair. “No, Sturrock, I am very much alive and wanting to kick back.” He thumped his feet on top of the desk.
“That’s what we heard, Sergeant,” Deuchars slurped from a large mug of tea. He did not look perturbed to see Mendick back from the dead. “Wee Donnie has probably stopped your wages.”
“Wee Donnie has not.” As silent as always, Superintendent Mackay arrived. He pointed to Mendick’s feet. “Being dead does not give you the right to destroy the property of the Dundee Police, Mendick. Put your feet on the flo
or where they belong.” He waited until Mendick complied, gestured Sturrock move from his chair and dragged it across to Mendick’s desk.
“We’ve thought you dead for the past 48 hours.”
“I assure you sir; I have never been dead in my life.” Mendick began, Mackay held up a slender hand.
“Well you are now.” His smile was as friendly as a cat spotting a nest of mice. “A young lad found your hat lying in Dock Street all covered in blood and gore, and your Chesterfield turned up ripped and bloody on the harbour protection wall.”
“How did you recognise my hat, sir?”
“It’s unique, Sergeant; no-one else wears a hat that battered,” Deuchars said.
Mendick glanced down at his borrowed clothes and was glad nobody asked him from where they came. “Was there any news of my watch? My wife gave me that watch and the bastards stole it from me.”
“There is no need for foul language, Mendick,” Mackay said. “The entire Dundee underworld is alive with the news that China Jim has murdered a Scotland Yard detective, they are crowing to the world how clever they are.”
“Are they, by Christ?” Mendick thought of the time he had spent with Johanna when he should have been pursuing China Jim. He had forsaken his duty for personal pleasure and his professional worth was therefore diminished. “Well, I will soon disprove their assertions and show China Jim to be the liar he most certainly is.”
“That’s the spirit, Mendick.” Mackay stood up. “Now, I want a full report of your activities by noon. And find some decent clothes.” He glanced at Sturrock, “But if you could give me a quick overview? This young constable appears eager for enlightenment.”
Mendick nodded. “I know how China Jim makes his money sir, and I may know about the Rose tattoo as well.”
A Burden Shared: The Dundee Murders Page 17
