Cobb had intended to be well away from police quarters when Burton Thurgood arrived to read his report at seven o’clock. Thurgood would find little in it to please him. Cobb had dutifully recounted his interviews with Dora, Auleen, Burton himself, and Seamus, and attached Betsy’s thank-you note. After discussing the matter with Wilfrid Sturges, Cobb agreed with his chief that the investigation had produced a stalemate. Seamus Baldwin’s denial and plausible explanation for the contents of the girl’s note had to be balanced against the questionable “confession” of Betsy Thurgood. There was no way to prove that Seamus was the father of her babe or that the five-pound note had been provided for an abortion. Betsy had spoken his name; she had obtained money from him; she had given that money to Mrs. Trigger; Mrs Trigger was directly responsible for her death. Those were the facts as they presently stood. No formal charge could be laid against Seamus Baldwin or recommended to Magistrate Thorpe.
Alas, Cobb was still at work when Thurgood arrived promptly at seven o’clock. He should have been at home eating a hearty supper, but Gussie French had been called away on an emergency (his son had the mumps, it turned out) and by the time he had got back, there was just time for Cobb to finish the report and discuss it with the Chief. Cobb spotted the wiry little man stomping up the walk, and ducked into the constables’ room. It was the Chief’s job to deal with him.
For a few minutes he heard nothing from the office next door. Then he thought he could detect the drone of the Chief’s voice – reading the report aloud, no doubt, to the illiterate mill-hand. Then silence again. Then:
“What! You’re gonna let that rapin’ bastard get away with this!” Thurgood’s voice was already loud and tight with rage. “You call that an investigation? The bastard says ‘no’ and you walk away believin’ him? My poor girl called out his name on her death-bed! She swore to me and to God that Seamus Baldwin raped her and put her in the family way! Let the bugger come inta court and deny it. I won’t take anythin’ less!”
“Please calm down, sir.”
The two men were in the main room now, visible to Cobb, who was beginning to feel like a coward for stowing away from the fireworks. Thurgood was actually backing the Chief up with the force of his anger, and Sturges was hobbling and flinching as he retreated towards the door.
Cobb came out. “You got complaints, sir, you make ‘em to me. I was the fella that did the investigatin’.”
“He admitted he give her the abortion money!” Thurgood shouted. His bold black eyes blazed and his sheaf of black curls shuddered with each bob of his jaw. “She wrote them words about lovin’ him in her letter. What more do you need? The man’s a pervert. He oughta be gelded and then hung!”
“There’s no proof,” Cobb said, coming between Thurgood and Sturges. “It’s her word against his deny-all. And Mrs. Cobb is willin’ to swear that the girl’s words did not sound like she was accusin’ him.”
“But she’s yer wife! A policeman’s wife!”
“She’s an honest woman and I’ll flatten the man that says she ain’t!”
Thurgood stepped around Cobb, jostled past the Chief and strode to the door. He turned to face them. His anger slowly evolved into a contemptuous sneer. “This ain’t the end of this! I’m gonna go to the magistrate and bring my own suit against that bigwig bastard. We’ll see what a jury of ordinary folk thinks!”
“That’s your right, Mr. Thurgood,” Sturges said, wincing. “But that won’t change the evidence. All you’ll be doin’ is draggin’ a gentleman’s name through the muck.”
“And the magistrate may see it the same way we did,” Cobb added.
Thurgood’s sneer intensfied. “We’ll see about that, won’t we? James Thorpe is a Tory and no friend of them Reformers up at Spadina. And the Attorney-General is a Tory, too, and a powerful man. They may not find the Baldwins as threatenin’ as you snivellin’ cowards do. So you can just waddle on up to Spadina and let them know I’m gonna see justice done. And they’ll be in the middle of it!”
The door slammed and rattled.
“He’ll cool off,” Sturges said, tipping gingerly back into a chair.
“I hope so,” Cobb said.
***
Cobb went over to Baldwin House to see Robert, but found Marc instead. As Robert was not arrived yet, Cobb gave Marc a summary of his investigation and its conclusion.
“Well done, Cobb. You did all you could in the matter. And unless Thurgood can come up with a witness who actually saw Uncle Seamus seduce Betsy, he has no case against the poor man. He’s near a nervous breakdown as a result of the girl’s death.”
“But Thurgood wasn’t happy with my conclusions, Major.”
“I feel sorry for the fellow, but facts are facts, eh?”
Cobb paused, then said, “He swore he’s gonna take his charge to James Thorpe and bring a civil suit.”
Marc was taken aback. “It’s like that, is it?”
“He’s as mad as a caged bull in matin’ season.”
“Well, it not only takes evidence to bring a civil suit, it takes money. Thurgood has neither.”
“He seems to think some of the Family Compact Tories might be interested in backin’ him. And you gotta admit, a Baldwin makes a temptin’ target.”
Marc sighed. “You may be right. I hadn’t thought of that. The Tories would like nothing better than to slander the Baldwin name before the new parliament opens and an election is called.”
“Thurgood may not be able to read, but he’s got a good head on his shoulders along with the elephant-sized chip already there.”
“Perhaps he’ll cool down when he’s had a chance to think things over.”
“Maybe so,” Cobb said, wishing he believed it.
***
When Robert arrived later in the afternoon, Marc brought him up to date on the investigation. Robert was pleased to hear that his uncle had been believed.
“After Cobb left our place and Uncle was tucked away in his room,” Robert told Marc in his chamber, “I went ‘round discreetly to my senior servants – Chalmers, Mr. and Mrs. Morrisey, and Miss Partridge – and asked them if they had, over the past three months, seen any behaviour between Uncle Seamus and Betsy that could possibly be construed as improper. They were quite aware that I expected nothing less than the truth. They reported that they had observed nothing untoward. Miss Partridge found his tickling of Edie Barr personally offensive, but felt that it was not improper as Edie herself seemed to like it and responded to it simply as childish fun. She had never seen Uncle Seamus do the same thing to Betsy. Chalmers found Uncle’s ventriloquist act in poor taste, but reminded me that Betsy had only played the dummy once or twice, and when it became clear she didn’t like the role, Uncle Seamus had not asked her to repeat it. He said that Uncle Seamus discussed books with Betsy in the library and encouraged her to use the library as her own. Mrs. Morrisey said she found the relationship between Uncle Seamus and Betsy to be akin to grandfather and granddaughter. It was his occasional flirting with Edie Barr that ‘got up her nose,’ to use her own words. And Herb Morrisey said that when outdoors, my uncle preferred always to be alone.”
“Well, that is good news,” Marc said, “all of it. Thurgood is not only wrong but has no chance of getting hard evidence from those sources.”
Robert was startled. “Hard evidence for what?”
“I must tell you that Thurgood has threatened to go to the magistrate to explore the possibility of bringing a civil suit against your uncle. He’s even threatened to get backing from our Tory opponents.”
Robert reached for a macaroon. “I’m sorry to hear that. You know as well as anybody that we cannot afford a scandal in the Baldwin family, however frivolous this charge might be.”
“The real question may be: how unscrupulous are those who would like to cripple our party before the next election?”
Robert looked grim. “The alliance between us and Louis LaFontaine wouldn’t survive a day if this were actually to be brought forward. Even a verdict of innocent might not clear the air. Is there anything we can do to stop this nonsense?”
“Nothing. Except wait and hope that Thurgood thinks better of his threats.”
Robert was tempted to tell Marc about Thurgood’s extortion attempt, but did not. Matters had not got out of hand – yet.
***
A week went by and nothing more was heard from Burton Thurgood. Whether he had actually approached Magistrate Thorpe or tried, bless him, to obtain an interview with Humphrey Cardiff, the Attorney-General, or any other Tory who would not walk across the street to snub him, Marc did not know. But by the next Tuesday, he felt confident enough to advise Robert to go ahead with a shortened version of his political trek to London and the western counties. Uncle Seamus was still up and down, but slowly recovering and stable enough to leave in the hands of Dr. Baldwin (despite the latter’s recent attack of lumbago). Reluctantly Robert agree to depart, provided that an express messenger would be hired to seek him out, should Uncle take a turn for the worse or, Heaven forfend, Thurgood should find some support for his suit among the numerous opponents of the Reform party.
Robert left on the Wednesday morning of the third week in October. On Friday morning the bombshell burst.
***
Cobb had just stepped into police quarters to see how Chief Sturges was doing (earlier that morning he had had to be carried from his rented buggy to his office) when he encountered a stocky young man loitering in the anteroom.
“Lookin’ fer someone?” Cobb said.
“I’d like to see the chief of police, if you please, sir.” The fellow, who looked all of twenty, was bare-cheeked and beardless, with round, innocent eyes. He wore a workman’s cap and a smock. From the wheat-dust on his clothing, Cobb took him for a mill-hand.
“The Chief ain’t too well this mornin’. Will I do?”
“Is there somewhere we can talk, private like?”
“You got a complaint to make?”
“I think so.” Despite his burly body and full face, the lad spoke with a soft, diffident voice, as if speaking too forcefully might a damage the furniture.
“We’ll go into the constables’ room, then.”
Inside, where the corner stove was still warm and the sun slanted in through the east window, Cobb sat the visitor down at the square table and then sat opposite him.
“Well, son, let’s have it.”
The fellow cleared his throat. “My name’s Jake Broom,” he began, almost apologetically. “I work out at Whittle’s mill on Trout Creek.”
The hair on Cobb’s neck began to rise, and he swallowed hard. Not more of this tomfoolery, he thought.
“At least I did until last August the third.”
“You quit?”
“Not actually. I got word that my father was dyin’ down in Port Talbot. I asked Mr. Whittle fer a few days leave and he said all right, so I left the next mornin’.” He blushed and added, “I just got back yesterday.”
“More than a few days, I’d say,” Cobb said, glancing at the detritus on Broom’s sleeves.
“Ah, yes. Mr. Whittle’s taken me back even though I was gone fer two months. I’m workin’ there again.”
“Sounds logical to me.” Cobb was relaxed again. Whatever the complaint was, and it might be a while before he heard it, it couldn’t have anything to do with Thurgood or poor Betsy.
“My father didn’t die right off,” Broom explained, obviously flustered. “He sort of wasted away. I stayed on to help with the chores. They’ve got a farm, or had one.”
“I reckon yer complaint has somethin’ to do with Toronto?” Cobb said helpfully.
“Yeah, it does. You see a little while after I started in at the mill yesterday, I heard stories from the other fellows, Joe Mullins and Sol Clift, about somethin’ terrible that happened while I was away.”
Cobb swallowed hard – again. “I see.” And he was beginning to.
“They told me what happened to Betsy Thurgood.”
“We know all about that. There was an inquest. We’re lookin’ fer Elsie Trigger, the woman who did Betsy in.”
“I was shocked to hear of it. We all knew Betsy. She brought her pa’s lunch around to him every day she worked. Made special for him by Mrs. Morrisey up at Spadina.” His round eyes watered. “There was always extra, and we got to sample it.”
“So everybody up there knew Betsy?”
Jake Bloom blushed. “Only to say hello, and tease her a bit. She never stayed. Her pa was real strict with her. And us.”
“Naturally,” Cobb said nicely, but he was growing weary of this meandering tale. “Have you or haven’t you got somethin’ to tell us that pertains to the matter?”
“In a roundabout way, I do.”
“Then spill it, son. I ain’t got all day and my left foot’s asleep.”
Broom would not be hurried. Whatever he was leading to it appeared to be too terrible to tell outright. “I went home last night a very worried man. You see, I saw somethin’ a while ago, somethin’ I should have reported right away, but word of my dad’s illness came that same day and I had no choice but to go to him and I couldn’t be absolutely sure of what I’d seen or if it was important or – ”
“Okay, slow down now. Just tell me, slow and careful, what you saw and let me be the judge of what’s important or not important.”
Broom paused to catch his breath and brush an earlier tear off his cheek. “All right. What I saw happened at the beginning of last August, Saturday the third. I remember because I heard about my dad late that afternoon and the day before we had that little tornado go through the township, remember?”
Cobb nodded, confused himself now. This could not involve Betsy, surely, and yet the long lead-up to the climax of the tale pointed in that direction.
“It was just after lunch time. Betsy brought her pa’s lunch, as usual. And left. The lunch broke up early, as some of us had special things to do. One of Mr. Whittle’s horses had been poorly that mornin’ and my extra job was to take care of the animals, so I went out to the barn, which is a hundred yards or so from the mill. I saw to the horse, who was fine, and was headin’ out the back way when I passed an empty stall. At least it shoulda been empty.”
“But it wasn’t?”
“No.” Broom blushed again, the redness exaggerated by his beardless, plump cheeks. “There was two people in it.”
Cobb waited while Broom gathered more breath and tried to find a voice that would bear the burden of his words.
“A man and a woman. A girl.”
Cobb braced himself. “Go on. Please.”
“They were goin’ at it. You know, like a – ”
“Man and a woman?”
“Yeah. Like that.”
“You could see all this?”
“Plain as day, though I was at the doorway, lookin’ back. I was maybe twenty feet away and there wasn’t a lot of light. But I could see plain enough.”
“And you recognized this couple?”
“I knew the girl was Betsy. I could only see her legs, up in the air, sort of wavin’ about and her thin little arms.” More tears threatened to halt this grim account.
“Take yer time. Try a deep breath.” Cobb himself was finding it harder to breathe.
“I’m okay. I gotta tell this. I knew it was Betsy ‘cause her blue gingham dress, the one she’d had on when she come into the office earlier, was draped over the side of the stall. And I could see bits of her yellow apron down in the straw.”
So, Cobb thought vaguely, the girl had been raped, literally. Two months ago.
“But you couldn’t see who the man was, I take it?”
“Not right on. All I could see was his legs and his rear end. He was bareback and his trousers were around his ankles and hidden in the straw.”
“So you couldn’t tell what they were like? Their colour or kind?”
“No.”
“But?” Cobb said, knowing there was more, and dreading it.
“But what I did see, as his head came up and down, up and down, was his great bushel of whitish hair, fluffed up and stickin’ out like a stook of oats.”
Cobb could restrain himself no longer. “What did you do? Shout out? Run forward to scare him off? You didn’t just stand there, did ya, and try to figure out which of yer mates had big white hair?”
Broom dropped his eyes. He was trembling. “I run,” he said, barely above a whisper.
“Jesus, a little girl is gettin’ raped by some old guy right in front of you, and you run?”
Broom looked up, as bewildered perhaps as he had been on that August afternoon. “I ran to get help. I didn’t run away. I should’ve shouted, but I was afraid he’d get up and – ”
“Run after you?”
“Yes, I’m ashamed to say. But I did run across to the mill office to fetch Mr. Whittle, but he wasn’t in the office. I remembered then that he and Burton’d gone down to fix the sluice in the weir. Joe and Sol must’ve been in the mill, but they wouldn’t have heard a horn blowin’ next to them.”
“So what did you do?”
“I ran back to the barn.”
“And?”
Broom hung his head again. “Nobody was there. The stall was empty. I looked behind the barn but I couldn’t see a soul.”
“Surely you reported what you saw to Mr. Whittle?” Cobb asked, but he already knew the answer.
“I was gonna do that. But then I wondered if he would believe me. I went into the stall, but they’d left nothin’ behind. And if I was wrong about the man I figured I saw on top of Betsy, then I’d be in deep trouble. I live with Joe Mullins’s family, and I thought I’d tell Mr. Mullins that night when I got home, and take his advice. But when I got home, word was waitin’ about my father dyin’. After that I couldn’t think of anythin’ else. Joe went to see Mr. Whittle fer me, and I left for Port Talbot early the next mornin’.”
“You know who that rapist was even though you never saw his face?”
“As certain as I can be. I saw that it was a short man, from the thin legs and buttocks, and probably old. But I’d know that big sheaf of white hair anywhere. I saw it at a picnic we had up at Spadina in July.”
Cobb knew what was coming but that didn’t ease of force of it.
“It was Seamus Baldwin. He raped Betsy Thurgood.”
***
They were in Wilfrid Sturges’ office – Cobb, Broom and the Chief. Cobb summarized what Broom had told him in order to save the young man from further stress. Sturges listened with growing concern and then outright anxiety, for he too saw where the story was going to end.
“And you’ll swear to all this, son?” was his initial response. “In a statement written and signed?”
“It is my duty, sir.”
“Indeed it is. But you realize that you’re accusin’ a gentleman from a prominent family of a horrific crime?”
“I do.”
“And that your eye-witness testimony, delayed over two months, is based on identification through a man’s hair?”
“And his size, sir.”
“A man you yourself saw on only one occasion?”
“Yes, sir. But it was at a picnic. And Seamus Baldwin entertained us with a ventriloquist’s act. His hair is almost pure white and it’s like a big puffball. I’ve never seen anythin’ else like it.”
And, although no-one in the room was saying so, there was now corroborating evidence of Seamus’s possible involvement in the aborting of a two-month-old foetus – and the girl’s subsequent death. And what could be interpreted as a love-note. Broom had no doubt heard the entire (and embellished) story from Thurgood himself.
“All right, then. I’ll ask you to go into the clerk’s room and dictate your statement to Mr. French. Please include every detail. Cobb will read it over with you and when you’re satisfied, you can sign it.”
“And then what?” It was a genuine question. Broom was no avenging father, which made his declarations all the more compelling, and credible.
“Your statement will give us leave to carry out a thorough investigation of the incident last August the third,” Sturges said. “If a charge of rape against Mr. Seamus Baldwin is warranted, it will be brought – forthwith.”
Cobb took Broom to Gussie French, and returned. Sturges was readjusting his foot on the stool. “Goddamn gout,” he muttered. “And now this.”
“Where do we go, Sarge?”
Sturges wriggled his foot, grimaced and said, “We investigate. Or you do. Very, very carefully. We’re walkin’ on eggs here.”
“Havin’ a Baldwin accused of seduction and rape is bad enough, eh, but havin’ it happen right now is even worse.”
“It’s a political nightmare fer us. Mr. Humphrey Cardiff, our Attorney-General, is a High Tory. Once he gets a whiff of this kinda charge against one of the Reform family, he’ll be like a he-hound on a she-hound’s arse.”
“And we bobbies might be the she-hound.”
“We’ll get pressure from both sides,” Sturges sighed. “So you’ll have to be scrupulous in yer investigation. If the stupid old fart turns out to be chargeable, then the evidence you gather will have to stand up in court and be seen to be nothin’ but the unvarnished truth. Remember, the Baldwins are lawyers, and they’ve got Marc Edwards in house.”
“We’ll need a lot more than that puff of white hair, then, won’t we?”
“We will. We can’t proceed on flimsy or circumstantial evidence. If we do, the Reformers will accuse us of a witch-hunt.”
“But if we can’t charge him, the Tories will claim we caved in to Reform pressure. ‘Cause I must admit right off, there sure is a lot of circular-stantial stuff layin’ about.”
“There is one positive side to all of this, though.”
“I don’t see none.”
“Here is a persuasive case as to why the Toronto constabulary needs the services of an experienced and dedicated investigator. The only way to work out of this mess, from the standpoint of the town council, is to show that the police are unbiased, objective and politically neutral. We’ll get the facts, and they alone will determine justice in this case.”
Cobb realized that the Chief was telling him that the future of the force as he envisioned it lay in this constable’s hands. He would be given charge of the case and, except that he would not be in plain clothes, he would be a de facto detective. The new breed. Moreover, as they both knew, not only would Cobb not have access to support and advice from Marc Edwards, Marc might well be pitted against him, as the Major’s personal loyalty to the Baldwins and his unwavering commitment to the Reform cause were never in doubt.
“So how do we go about gettin’ the true facts?” he said to the Chief.
“Get yerself out to the mill. Question all the hands. Someone must have seen a man with puffy white hair skulkin’ about the place. See if any of them young bucks at Whittle’s had anythin’ to do with young Betsy. If the rapist wasn’t Seamus Baldwin – and we gotta keep an open mind on this, despite the sincerity of Jake Broom – then it was one them mill-hands. For all we know, Broom might’ve been tricked by the light or simply panicked and thought he saw a puff of white hair. You’ll need to look over the scene real careful. Find out where everybody was just past noon on that day.”
“But that was two months ago!”
“Ah, but the day before there was a tornado that tore through the bush and a big wind that blew in windows and knocked down trees. They’ll remember, all right.”
“They’d better.”
“For the moment, though, there’s no need to go back to Spadina. If you feel you haveta go, it’d nice to have some further evidence to take with you.”
“I’ll need to quiz the servants about Uncle Seamus, as they call him. If Betsy and him were makin’ eyes at each other, they somebody would’ve seen it.”
“But will they tell us, eh? You’ll need all yer skills on this one, Cobb.”
And the constable’s notorious tact.