“You… it was you… you killed Isobel,” she whispered, her horror for a moment overcoming fear. “My God, she was pregnant.”
“She couldn’t stick to the story, could she?” Bryan replied angrily. “She declared Rowland Sinclair’s innocence to the world… it was only a matter of time before the bishop became suspicious… started looking at who else might have sampled his precious Isobel. Stupid girl couldn’t stick to the story!”
He pushed the sculptress down, so she knelt on the soil. He kept the knife at her neck, reaching into his pocket with his other hand.
Edna felt the panic rise again in her throat—it choked her.
He pulled out a small flask and removed the stopper with his teeth. Bryan smiled as if something had suddenly amused him. He spoke solemnly but his voice was cut with derision. “Corpus Christi, sanguis Christi.”
He pushed the flask against her lips, forcing them open, and tipped the contents into her mouth. Instinctively Edna pulled away and spat and gagged. Now she would fight. She clawed at him.
Bryan let the knife drop and grabbed her hair determined that she should drink. He jerked back her head and as she opened her mouth to scream, he poured the poison into her throat.
39
POISONING SPARROWS
Vinegar and Strychnine
Mr. E. Watters, of Tallygaroopna, has been very successful in poisoning sparrows by a simple, but novel method. Sparrows are notoriously shy of taking wheat that has been poisoned. Mr. Watters mixes one ounce of strychnine in a 2 lb jam tin of vinegar. This is sufficient to poison a bushel of wheat. Two or three “free feeds” of unpoisoned wheat are given to the birds and then wheat flavoured with vinegar is given. This is followed two or three evenings later by the poisoned wheat. Mr. Watters poisoned over 1000 sparrows at his first attempt using only 10lb of wheat.
The Argus
Anyone watching may have assumed that the three men who burst into the chapel of St Michael the Archangel were in an almighty hurry to repent. But the only person who saw was the chapel’s rector. He had been woken by the roar of the German automobile and watched in his robe and slippers from the window of the presbytery. They did not seem like the faithful—he suspected they were up to no good. There had been far too many dubious visitors to his church this night. A cautious man, he turned to call the police.
Rowland sat down in the front pew, disappointed, terrified. He’d been wrong. There was no-one here.
Milton sat next to him, his panic was now silent.
Rowland felt himself unravelling. “Where could he have taken her?” He slammed his fist against the back of the pew. “I was so sure…” He stopped. Something glinted near the altar, in the light of the last candles. He walked over and picked it up.
“Ed’s locket,” he said as Clyde came over to him. “The chain’s been snapped—they were here.”
“So what’s the bastard done with her?” Milton asked. “Where would they go from here?”
Rowland stared at the locket, willing it to tell him where the deacon had taken Edna.
“Can I help you, gentlemen?” The rector stood at the door of the chapel, still in his robe.
The rector. Of course. Rowland felt a late surge of hope.
“Father… we’re looking for someone… she was here with a man…”
Clyde intervened.
Rowland let him do so, aware that he was sounding a little incoherent in his desperation to find Edna.
Clyde explained quickly that they were looking for a young woman who had been taken forcibly by the man she was with, that the couple had come here that night.
The old priest sighed, nodding sympathetically. “I’m afraid this is not the first time I have been called to aid the protectors of a young woman’s virtue.” He sat on a pew, settling to dispense his wisdom. “It does distress me that my church, God’s house, would be used to lure a woman of such purposes, but morality is not what it once was…”
Rowland grabbed the priest’s shoulder. “Father!”
Clyde held him back. “Rowly, take it easy… did you see them Father?”
“I saw them,” the rector replied, startled. “Wrapped up in each other, they were… quite inappropriate. They left just a few minutes ago—towards the new graves…”
Suddenly Rowland knew. Isobel Hanrahan’s grave.
“Thank you, Father,” Clyde called as they ran past him.
They left the Mercedes where it was—it would be faster to cut straight through. They stopped only to grab torches.
The new graves were only half a mile from the chapel as the crow flew. They covered the ground quickly, weaving through headstones at a sprint. The more recent gravesites were obvious by the lack of headstones and monuments, sad mounds marked only by wooden crosses and temporary tributes. It made Bryan and his victim all the more visible in the muted light of the moon.
Rowland saw them struggling before he raised his torch. Edna was gasping—the crazed clergyman had her by the throat. Rowland exploded, throwing himself at Bryan.
Bryan turned immediately, surprised. He hit back, a pewter flask in his hand impacting on the wound he’d inflicted to Rowland’s head a couple of days before.
Rowland reeled back, momentarily stunned by the blow. The gash had reopened. He wiped the blood out of his eyes, oblivious to everything but relief and fury.
Clyde was with Edna, holding her as she gagged and retched.
Milton threw his fist at Bryan. He made contact but not directly. The deacon reefed out the wooden cross from the ground and swung at the poet’s head. Milton ducked the first but the second sent him to the ground. Now Rowland had regrouped. He hit Bryan in the face, sending him flying back against a headstone. He grabbed the deacon by the collar and hit him again. Bits of shattered tooth flew from the man’s jaw. Rowland could hear Edna choking and vomiting behind him.
Clyde shouted. “The bastard’s poisoned her, Rowly.”
Rowland pulled up Bryan’s head. “What did you give her? What was it?”
Bryan spat blood at him.
Rowland punched him. “What did you give her? Tell me or so help me I’ll kill you here.”
For a moment the deacon looked like he would laugh. “Strychnine,” he said hoarsely.
Matthew Bryan didn’t see the next blow, as Rowland sent him into darkness. Milton pulled Rowland away from the unconscious man.
“Leave him, Rowly—he’ll swing anyway. We need to get Ed to a hospital…”
Rowland nodded. “Get the car… I don’t think we have much time.”
Rowland dropped to his knees beside Edna. He took her from Clyde’s arms. Her head and neck were beginning to spasm, her face bruised by the beating that Bryan had given her. She didn’t seem aware of what was happening.
“Ed, listen to me… you’ll be fine… just don’t…” He held her tightly trying to still the convulsions.
Clyde watched in horror. He’d got Edna to vomit up as much of the poison as he could—but she was in a bad way. It would be too late by the time they got her to a hospital.
The Mercedes screamed towards them, its headlamps casting the scene into stark brightness. Milton drove straight over garden beds and small shrubs in his haste. At this point Rowland couldn’t have cared if the poet had driven his beloved roadster over a cliff. Edna writhed and sobbed in agony in his arms.
“Rowly, is your paintbox in the back?” Clyde asked.
“Yes,” Rowland replied too distraught to wonder at the question.
Clyde ran to the car and threw open the luggage compartment. He unlatched Rowland’s paintbox and rummaged through the trays.
“Thank God,” he muttered as he found some sticks of charcoal. He returned to Edna, crushing the sticks in his hand as he went.
“Rowly, I’ve got to get her to swallow this,” he said holding up a handful of roughly crushed charcoal. “I’m not certain, but I think it might absorb some of the strychnine.”
Rowland was ready to try anything. They p
ushed some of the black pieces into Edna’s mouth. “Come on, Ed, just a bit more.”
Edna coughed, choking on the dry substance.
“She can’t swallow it like that,” Rowland said, despairing. “There’s water in the car.” He turned to Milton. “With the drinks.” The Mercedes’ beverage compartment held soda water, a mixer for the spirits.
Milton moved quickly and returned with the bottle.
Gradually they fed Edna the charcoal and washed it down with soda water. The spasms and convulsions continued.
Rowland carried her into the car and they tried to make her comfortable. He had just started the engine when they heard the sirens: Colin Delaney and his officers had arrived. With them, Van Hook and Wilfred, in the latter’s new green Continental.
“Rowly wait!” Wilfred stayed his brother. “I’ve brought Maguire with me.”
Rowland nodded. Of course Wilfred would think to bring a doctor. God, he hoped it wasn’t too late—it couldn’t be too late. Wilfred Sinclair stood quietly by his brother, as Maguire did his work.
Maguire was typically dour, but he was gentle with Edna. Clyde told him about the strychnine and what they had done with the charcoal.
“When I was droving, we saved a working dog who had taken rabbit bait that way,” he explained nervously.
The physician accepted the information, giving no indication as to whether they had helped or harmed her with their attempt at remedy. He checked Edna quickly, treated her with something from his bag, and had her moved into a police car which he immediately dispatched for the hospital. Maguire spoke only to Wilfred before he left… Rowland saw him shake his head. He walked to his own car. Clyde and Milton followed.
“Sinclair, where do you think you’re going? We’ll need to speak to you.” Delaney left Bryan in cuffs in the custody of his officers as he came after Rowland.
“I’m going to the hospital Col, unless you plan to arrest me.”
The detective started to say something but then he looked up at Rowland Sinclair and changed his mind. “Go—I’ll see you there.”
40
YOUNG WOMAN’S SUICIDE
Statements at Inquiry
SYDNEY
Evidence that the deceased had stated her intention of taking her life was given by several witnesses yesterday during an inquiry by the City Coroner. Reginald Ernest Prior, a nephew, of the deceased, said the deceased was despondent and on one occasion referred to the death of a girl from strychnine poisoning, adding, “How long did it take to kill her?” On several occasions the deceased indicated to the witness that she wished to take her life. He afterwards heard that the deceased had died from strychnine.
The Age
Rowland rubbed his face. The pressure of his palms on his eyes seemed to appease the ache behind them. It was mid-afternoon. The reception room at St Andrew’s Hospital was crowded with men awaiting news of Miss Edna Higgins. Only her father had been allowed into the private room in which she lay stricken.
“Rowly.” Wilfred Sinclair handed Rowland the jacket which he had discarded sometime before dawn. “Come along, old boy—Detective Delaney wants to talk to you.”
Rowland shook his head. He was not leaving the hospital. Not till he knew Edna was safe.
“He’s just in the next room.” Wilfred motioned towards the matron’s office in which Delaney waited as he gripped his brother’s shoulder. “There won’t be any news for a while.”
Twenty-four hours. Edna needed to survive the first twenty-four hours before they could be confident that the strychnine would not kill her.
Rowland got up.
Wilfred pushed the jacket at him once again. “Get dressed.” Even under the circumstances, Wilfred did not consider shirtsleeves “dressed”.
Rowland pulled on his jacket. Clyde and Milton played cards listlessly behind him. Hubert Van Hook was in custody. Perhaps it was time to sort matters.
The hospital office was small, cluttered but neat in an overstocked way. Colin Delaney rose to shake his hand.
“Hell of a thing, Rowly,” he said sympathetically.
Rowland nodded. He took the seat to which the detective directed him.
“We’ve spoken to your friend Van Hook,” Delaney started. “But we have a problem with Bryan.”
“What kind of problem?”
Delaney sighed. “I gotta tell you Rowly, a lot of villains are really bloody stupid—they’ll brag about what they’ve done to anyone who’ll listen. Matthew Bryan—he’s not stupid.”
“What’s he saying?”
“He claims that he was trying to prevent Miss Higgins ingesting the strychnine, when you and your compatriots attacked him.”
“That’s bloody preposterous! Why would Ed voluntarily drink strychnine?”
“Bryan says she killed Isobel Hanrahan in a fit of jealousy over you. Overcome with remorse she confessed to him. Apparently he gave her a penance of fifty-two Hail Marys but, unsatisfied with the absolution he provided, she decided to take her own life.”
Rowland laughed bitterly. “The idiot still thinks Ed’s Catholic. She wouldn’t know the first thing about making a confession, even if she had cause to do so. I doubt she knows what a Hail Mary is.” He pushed the hair back from his face. “Ed was never jealous of Isobel in any case—she had no reason to be.”
Delaney looked at him thoughtfully. “Look Rowly, why don’t you come back to the station with me? Sit in on the interview. I think having you there may be exactly what I need to get Bryan to snap. I’ve noticed he flares up whenever you’re mentioned. If you were to talk to him…”
Rowland shook his head. “I’m not leaving this hospital.”
“What if I have Bryan brought here?”
Rowland shrugged. He needed something to distract him. Edna had been heavily sedated as they waited, hoped, for the tremors and spasms to pass.
And so, an hour later, Rowland Sinclair sat down opposite the man who called himself Matthew Bryan. The latter was in shackles, but otherwise calm. His face was bruised, his front teeth broken. A rosary was wrapped around his hand. Rowland held Edna’s locket in his.
Bryan’s face broke into a smile.
“I say Rowly, it’s a jolly relief to see you… how are you holding up? You look wretched…”
Rowland stared at him silently.
Bryan sat forward, earnestly. “This has all been a rather appalling misunderstanding. How is Edna?… I wasn’t too late, was I?”
Rowland regarded the man with such loathing that it seemed to chill the unventilated room.
Delaney took a seat beside Rowland.
“You can give it up, Mr. Urquhart,” he said quietly. “We know who you are.”
“We’re all entitled to find God and start a new life, Detective,” the prisoner replied smoothly. He looked at Rowland. “Dear God, Rowly, you don’t believe I would try to hurt Edna?”
Rowland glanced carefully at Delaney. He spoke slowly, with control.
“Don’t worry, Father, Ed will be awake in an hour or so. I expect she’ll be able to clear this up.”
“Edna’s all right then…” Bryan was only slightly unnerved. “That’s splendid news. I do hope she remembers clearly…”
“Ed confessed, you say? I must say that surprises me.” Rowland kept his eyes on his hands lest they give him away.
“Confession is both a duty and a solace for members of the Catholic faith, Rowly. It’s not surprising that in her darkest moment, Edna would seek absolution as she has done since her first holy communion.”
“Ed’s a Protestant, Father, and not a very good one at that.”
Bryan’s eyes flickered but he recovered quickly. “I do believe, in her heart, Edna had converted, Rowly… you know yourself she attended Mass on the Aquitania. Perhaps she imagined that she had… she was very distraught, hysterical I’m afraid.”
“I suppose she would be if she killed Isobel,” Rowland replied.
“Don’t be too hard on her, Rowly. She was consumed
with love and jealousy… it is for the Heavenly Father to judge Edna, not us. Remember thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven…”
Rowland interrupted. “Oh I don’t judge Ed. I don’t know why she thinks she killed Isobel but it’s not possible… perhaps she was, as you say, hysterical.”
“I didn’t want to believe she could have murdered Isobel either Rowly, but…”
“Ed was on deck when Isobel was thrown into the harbour—with Milton and Clyde and hundreds of other people. You weren’t on deck, of course, so you wouldn’t have known.”
Bryan said nothing; his eyes narrowed.
“Perhaps Isobel did jump to her death …” Rowland played with the locket in his hand. “I don’t think she ever got over the death of Orville Urquhart… I suppose you understand. He was your brother.”
Bryan flinched, just slightly.
“I don’t think Isobel loved Orville.”
“Oh… that wasn’t my impression… Mr. Urquhart seemed to have a way with the ladies.”
Rowland watched as Bryan’s nostrils flared.
“Did Mr. Urquhart recognise you, Father? I suppose he would not have expected to see you in the cloth, without your spectacles?”
Bryan’s voice was brittle. “Orville rarely recognised anyone but himself.”
“So he didn’t know you?”
The rosary strained as Bryan clenched his hand. “No, he didn’t know me.”
“I thought that given his relationship with Isobel you might have had cause to cross paths.”
Silence.
Delaney broke it.
“It’s a shame Father Murphy can’t give us an insight into Isobel Hanrahan’s life in Dublin since they were such friends.” Delaney now took Bryan’s gaze. “It’s interesting, though… Bishop Hanrahan seems to have no knowledge of any particular intimacy between Murphy and his niece… he thought instead that it was you, Father Bryan, who she sought when troubled.”
Rowland laughed. “His Grace always did jump to rather ridiculous conclusions, didn’t he, Father?” He turned towards Delaney and waved his hand dismissively. “Ignore the old fool, Colin—Isobel had no interest in the Father here… I doubt she looked upon him as a man.”
Decline in Prophets Page 29
