BICYCLING SEEMED TO EASE the spasm in his back and Murdoch was able to dismount and bring his wheel into the house without too much difficulty. He stowed the bicycle in its usual place under the stairs and was about to go up to his room when he noticed a black astrakhan coat and a silk hat hanging on the hall stand. At the same time, he heard the now familiar sound of a foghorn emanating from Amy’s room. This was followed by a convincing rendition of a loon calling. Then a burst of man’s laughter. She was home early from school. And she had a visitor. The loon sound became a lovely liquid finch song. More laughter and applause. Murdoch stood listening a few moments longer when suddenly the door opened and Amy came out into the hall. Right behind her was a man he had never seen before, a tall, well-dressed fellow whose face was a glow with pleasure. Murdoch felt himself turn scarlet with embarrassment and would have liked to get up the stairs in a hurry but he couldn’t. Amy saw him, and to his eyes, she likewise seemed disconcerted.
“Good afternoon, Will. I didn’t expect you home so early.”
“Nor I you.”
“It’s a half holiday today.”
“Oh yes, I forgot. You did mention that.”
The man was still standing behind Amy, eyeing Murdoch with frank curiosity. He leaned toward her and said cozily in her ear, “This must be the famous Mr. Murdoch, the police detective you told me about?”
She stepped away from him. “Yes, that’s right. Allow me to introduce you. Will, this is Mr. Roger Bryant-William Murdoch, my fellow lodger.” She smiled. “And my saviour.”
“What an enviable position to be in your life, dear Amy,” murmured Bryant.
“What I meant was that Will took me into these lodgings when I had nowhere to live.” She sounded slightly irritated and Murdoch could feel some tension easing inside his chest. Mr. Roger Bryant might be acting like a masher, but Amy was having none of it. Who the hell was he to be on such familiar terms with her? Murdoch stepped forward to shake hands, but no will power in the world could force his back muscles to release sufficiently for him to stand completely straight.
“Will, what have you done to your back?”
“Touch of lumbago, nothing serious.”
“Ah, how unfortunate for you,” said Bryant as he shook hands. He was a couple of inches taller than Murdoch, perhaps a little older. He had attractive blue eyes, thick wavy brown hair, and a luxuriant moustache, waxed to fine points on either end. His breath smelled faintly of wine.
Amy turned and removed the hat and coat from the stand and handed them to him.
“My dear, one would almost think you are trying to get me out of here in a hurry,” said Bryant.
“You said you had an appointment.”
“So I did but it does not have nearly the same appeal as your wonderful lodging house does. Thanks, as you say, to your landlord here.”
Murdoch and Amy spoke at virtually the same time.
“Oh, I’m not the –”
“He’s not the landlord.”
That made them laugh and Mr. Bryant frown. He took Amy’s hand and bowed over it. Murdoch was certain he would have kissed her fingers, but she pulled away before he could do so.
“Please think about what I said, Amy. I will await your reply.”
He took a gold-topped ebony cane from the stand and with a brusque nod at Murdoch he left.
Amy closed the door emphatically behind him. “Roger’s an old acquaintance of mine,” she said to Murdoch, who was leaning against the stair wall. Amy bent down and picked something up from the floor. “Oh dear, this is your letter, Will. It slipped off the table. It’s from Great Britain. You’ve been waiting for it, haven’t you?”
Murdoch took the letter from her. It seemed distressingly thin.
Amy turned away. “I have to practise some more of my songs for tomorrow. Take care of your lumbago. I’ll see you at suppertime.”
She headed back to her room.
Murdoch felt as if there was acid in his stomach. She had every right to have visitors, to know men who acted like suitors. She had every right, of course she did. And why wouldn’t she be attracted to a man who was handsome and obviously rich. His coat alone would have cost Murdoch two weeks’ wages and the gold-topped cane another month’s.
Traveller would probably have said, We’re just the same as the creatures of the wild. The one with the biggest cock always wins the female.
Appalled he was thinking this way, clutching Enid’s letter, Murdoch made his way up the stairs.
On the other hand, Amy hadn’t seemed exactly won over by Mr. Bryant in spite of the jollity he’d heard coming from her room.
The dream was one that recurred over and over, only small details changed but the import was always the same, he was trying desperately to rescue his mother or Susanna or Bertie and couldn’t. This night’s dream was particularly vivid.
He seemed to be in the school dormitory in his hard, narrow bed. It was very dark and although his eyes were open, he couldn’t see and he strained desperately to make out the vague shapes around him. He was also finding it impossible to sit up, as if he had no power in his body. He sensed rather than saw that over in the corner of the big room, his mother and sister were both sitting on a bed that resembled one of the flat-topped rocks that jutted out from the beach on the south arm of the cove. They were surrounded by some kind of dangerous sea animals, half seal, half rat, which they were trying to fend off. He had to get to them if only he could move. Bertie was crying, but he didn’t know where he was.
Murdoch woke up. He could hear babies wailing and it took him a few moments to come out of his dream and realize it was the twins downstairs. He’d been struggling so hard, he’d almost moved himself off his bed but he was lying on his back and when he tried to sit up, he couldn’t move without a shooting pain up his spine. Slowly, there that’s it, roll to one side, now push. Argh. He was sitting straight up at least, his feet dangling over the side of the bed.
From downstairs, the wails lessened. One of the twins at least had stopped crying. Katie was probably feeding him. In a moment the other quieted down. Murdoch could make out a murmur of voices, then the sound of the door opening and closing. Amy was leaving for school. With an effort and another moan, he stood up and shuffled to the washstand. She hadn’t come into the kitchen for supper last night, and Katie told him she’d said she had a headache and was going to eat in her room. Seymour had gone out for one of his regular meetings and even Katie, who loved to sit with him and chat, had pleaded exhaustion and gone to bed so he had eaten alone. He was pretty tired himself, but when he managed to get upstairs and into bed, sleep had eluded him as it so often did. He’d read Enid’s brief letter through again. She’d begun by saying, “I might not have occasion to write for a long time …” and the words were seared in his mind. Her father was about the same as he had been, the weather was damp, she’d had a cold. Then in her last paragraph, she said that “an old family friend” had come to visit, the man, now a widower who “got along just wonderfully with Alwyn.” That was a particularly sharp stab, considering how long it had taken Murdoch to win the boy’s affections. All these “old acquaintances” were getting under his skin. Enid’s letter was friendly enough, but the tone was as cool as a cucumber, as if he, Murdoch, were the old acquaintance, not a man who had been her lover. Only at the end of the letter had she said anything truly personal. “Think of me sometimes, Will.” He glanced over at the lovely ormolu clock on the mantelpiece that she had given him just before she left. “At least I can be sure you will be reminded of me from time to time.”
Damn. He felt both guilty and irritated at her timidity. He had cared for her deeply and even now the memory of the lovemaking they’d experienced stirred him. She was the first woman he’d ever had intimate connection with. He’d loved Liza passionately but both of them had believed in the sanctity of marriage and the love was not consummated.
“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.”