CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Murdoch jumped down from the cab just as Amy Slade was walking up the path to the front door. She turned and Murdoch felt a rush of pleasure at seeing her.

“Mr. Murdoch, how nice. You are coming inside, I presume.”

Murdoch paid off the cabbie and followed her indoors. Reordan emerged immediately from the kitchen.

“Hello, Murdoch, come on in, I’ve got what you wanted. Hello, Amy, you look tired.”

“Mr. Kippen insisted on sitting in on my class for the entire afternoon, emanating waves of disapproval, I might add. He intimidated the children, who made all sorts of mistakes they don’t usually make. Then I had to remain to correct their papers.”

She sounded defeated and both men regarded her sympathetically for a moment. But Reordan was too excited to linger in that mood.

“Mr. Murdoch, we’ve been waiting. Charlie is in the kitchen. I have your lists for you.”

The temperature of his regard for Murdoch seemed to have increased considerably.

Amy and Murdoch divested themselves of their coats and hats and followed him to the kitchen, where they were greeted by a mouth-watering aroma from something cooking on the stove. Murdoch realized it had been hours since he’d eaten the fresh bread that Reordan had provided and he was hungry. Seymour stood up when they entered, greeted Miss Slade warmly, and pulled out two chairs.

“What have you been doing?” Amy asked Murdoch.

“John and Charlie have drawn up a list for me of bereaved families. I’m trying to follow the mourning-card path, see if that will lead anywhere.”

Amy cast a warning glance in Reordan’s direction, who saw her. “Look ahere,” he said to Murdoch. “I’ve been glad to help out, but I’m in the dark as to why. Surely you can tell me something? What do you take me for?”

Murdoch felt like quoting Seymour, “They aren’t my secrets to reveal,” but Amy took matters into her own hands.

“That seems only fair, John. But why don’t we wait until you’ve finished your business?”

“Right ho,” said Reordan. There was a sheet of paper on the table and he pushed it in front of Murdoch. “This is the first list I made. A lot of the announcements were repeated three or four times and several were in all of the papers. But I sifted out as best I could and you’ve got seventy-seven names there, fifteen of them were children under ten, and twelve of these were infants, stillbirths or babies of three months or less. Eight were males. That’s the ones you wanted, right?”

“Correct.”

“I marked them out separately. I also arranged them in order, starting with the closest to the house here. I kept them in line, as it were, so you won’t have to wander all around the wrekin.”

“I had the easier job,” said Seymour. “More people were dying than in need of servants.” He gave Murdoch another piece of paper. “In June, there were six advertisements. Four were in the Globe, two repeated in the World and the News. Three had box numbers to reply to the newspaper, only three gave an address, but all of those continued to advertise in July and August so I don’t think they’re the ones we want. Only two didn’t repeat their advertisement in July, one was in the Junction and the other, alas, gave only a box number. Both of those were in the Globe.”

“The Junction is too far, I think. I can’t imagine a girl walking from Sydenham Street to there. It would take her all day. But good work, thanks, John. I’ll see if I can get the accounts from the newspaper tomorrow. Meanwhile,” he stood up. “I’d better get going on this other list before it gets too late to make calls.”

“Not until you’ve had some supper, surely?” Amy said. “I for one am famished and I can smell something delicious that I would suspect is John’s famous ragout de pattes de cochon.”

“It is. Or, in English, Mr. Murdoch, pig’s feet stew. It’s a French-Canadian dish.”

“We can divide up the list, Will,” said Seymour. “It’ll go faster that way.”

“I stand persuaded. Thank you.” Murdoch conceded, as much as to the hunger pangs in his stomach as anything. Reordan beamed and limped over to the stove to serve the meal.

Murdoch turned to Amy. “Miss Slade, I will have to inform Inspector Brackenreid what I am doing. I’ve already been skating near the thin ice. I don’t know if he’d approve of me tromping around the city upsetting people who have recently suffered a great loss.” He grimaced. “I’m not implying our good inspector is a man of sensitivity because he’s not, but he is jumpy about stirring up complaints.”

Amy had laced her fingers in her lap. She didn’t look at Murdoch when she said, “Perhaps I could be of help? Three people will make even more headway.” She hurried on. “I can be quite truthful about it. I can say one of my pupils is in difficulties and I am trying to trace her nearest relative through the photograph she gave her.”

“Why? Why would a teacher go to that trouble?”

“I can only speak for myself. You forget I would be telling the truth.”

Seymour interjected. “She’s right, Will, and if anybody can get people to open up, Amy can.”

Miss Slade stiffened. “Don’t have any fear that I won’t appear quite respectable, Mr. Murdoch.”

“It’s not that,” Murdoch said, although the thought had crossed his mind, “Charlie and I are police officers. We have legitimacy.”

“I’m not going to make an arrest, surely? We all have the right to ask questions of one another and we have an equal right to refuse to answer.”

They were interrupted by Reordan’s plunking down three bowls of steaming stew on the table. Thank goodness no little trotters were sticking out of the broth.

“Eat up, argue later.”

Murdoch took a taste. The stew was rather on the bland side, the meat cooked to a pulp and mashed into balls. Definitely edible. He couldn’t help noticing that Amy made no dainty protestations about how much food was in her dish, but tucked in with as much gusto as the men. The meal was full of odd contrasts. There was no cloth on the scrubbed pine table, but the plates were of fine, patterned china and the knives and forks, silver.

For the next few minutes they spoke little except to make polite comments about the ragout. There was a stiffness between Murdoch and Miss Slade. He decided she was not a woman who liked to be thwarted.

Seymour finally spoke up. “Why not let Amy help? It would be better if you could hold off on letting Brackenreid in on the case until we ourselves know what’s going on. Besides, Amy will be a far sight better investigator than some of our constables.”

Amy leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Thank you, Charlie. Well, Mr. Murdoch, will you consider it?”

“It’s rather unorthodox.”

She laughed in delight. “Unorthodoxy and I are close acquaintances, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Murdoch studied her face for a moment and she returned his regard steadily. There was something about her that reminded him of Liza, although he couldn’t quite identify what it was. Physically they were quite different. Liza had been tall and of a dark complexion. Amy Slade had blue-grey eyes, fair hair, and was rather short.

“Well?” she asked.

“All right. I’ll agree.”

Reordan put a silver tray in the middle of the table and started to load the bowls and cups on to it.

“Isn’t it time you told me what is going on?”

Amy looked at Murdoch. “Do you have the photographs with you?”

He nodded and took the envelope from his pocket.

“While you do that, I’ll get some writing paper,” said Seymour.

He left, and Amy drew Reordan into the chair beside her. “I found these four photographs in the desk of one of my pupils, young Agnes Fisher. They are offensive. Three are obscene, one is both blasphemous and obscene.”

Murdoch was about to hand the envelope to Reordan when she stopped him. “I don’t want you to show him the picture of the girl.” She touched the Irishman’s destroyed hand. “This is nothing to do with you, John. Both Mr. Murdoch and Charlie needed to see the picture if they were going to investigate, but I believe strongly that any viewing whatsoever participates in the wickedness.” She searched for words. “We become carriers of the evil even if we ourselves are not one of those who would take pleasure from such a sight. This photograph should be destroyed and will be as soon as we find the perpetrator. Do you understand what I mean, John?”

He shrugged. “Not really, but it doesn’t matter. If you don’t want me to see it, I won’t.”

She opened the envelope and took out the three cards. Reordan whistled through his teeth when he saw what was written on the back of the mourning card.

“And you believe your pupil wrote those words?”

“It is her hand.”

“And who’s the dead prince?”

Murdoch answered. “His name is Leonard Sims. He was found murdered this morning.”

“You didn’t do the in memoriam surely?”

“No. It looks as if the girl was the one who inked in the black borders.”

“Which says she knew he was cooked?”

“Yes.”

“Bad business.”

Reordan picked up the Newly-wed card and seemed to freeze in his chair. To Murdoch’s surprise, who thought the Irishman fairly worldly, he appeared shocked by what he saw. He stared at the picture for a moment, then held it up to the light.

“Who scratched out the faces?”

“Probably Agnes, er, my pupil, did,” said Amy. “Mr. Murdoch says the ink appears to be the same as that used on the other two cards.”

“Is the photograph you don’t want me to see an obscene photograph of your pupil?”

“Yes, it is.”

Reordan was visibly agitated. He virtually spat at Murdoch. “Do you know who the photographer is?”

“Yes and no. We have no concrete evidence, but I’ve got my sights on a studio on King Street called Gregory’s Emporium. It’s close to both the school and Agnes’s house. I’m guessing she wouldn’t go too far afield. And I didn’t like the proprietor at all. Slimy bastard. Oh, sorry, Miss Slade,”

“I’m not so delicate, Mr. Murdoch. My ears didn’t fall off.”

Reordan was studying the Newly-wed card intently and Murdoch could see it was making Amy uncomfortable.

“What did he look like, this Emporium cove?” he asked Murdoch.

“Short and stocky with reddish-brown hair cropped short. He’s a cockney and likes to speak in what he called rhyming slang. You don’t know him, do you?”

Reordan shoved the card away from him. “Of course not, why should I?” He eased himself to his feet. “Well, I’ve got washing up to do.”

He limped over to the sink and Amy called after him.

“Are you all right, John?”

He didn’t turn around but his voice was flat.

“Of course I’m all right. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Murdoch found his reaction puzzling. He had been so eager to be involved in the case. What had happened? He was about to press the issue when Amy Slade gave a little warning shake of her head. Just then Seymour returned with paper, pens, and an inkwell.

“Here we go then.”

Leaving the Irishman to his task, the three of them huddled around the table with the list in front of them and began to copy out the addresses. Murdoch took three, Seymour three, and Amy was given the two closest to home.

“What do you think, can we reconvene in about two hours, finished or not?” asked Murdoch.

Seymour and Amy agreed and Murdoch managed to hold back on his fussing about what Amy should do or not do. He left, calling out a goodnight to Reordan, who had reverted to his rude self and merely grunted a reply.

When Murdoch got outside, he realized he’d forgotten he’d told Enid he would come to her in the early evening for supper. Damn. He was going to be very late.