Under the Dragon’s Tail
- Автор: Jennings Maureen
- Серия: The Murdoch Mysteries #2
- Год: 2008
- Язык: английский
- Год: McClelland & Stewart
- ISBN: 9781551992815
- Жанр: Исторические детективы
Электронная книга - «Under the Dragon’s Tail». Краткое содержание книги:
Women rich and poor come to her, desperate and in dire need of help – and discretion. Dolly Merishaw is a midwife and an abortionist in Victorian Toronto, but although she keeps quiet about her clients' condition, her contempt for them and her greed leaves every one of them resentful and angry. So it comes as no surprise to Detective William Murdoch when this malicious woman is murdered. What is a shock, though, is that a week later a young boy is found dead in Dolly's squalid kitchen. Now, Murdoch isn't sure if he's hunting one murderer – or two. From the Paperback edition.
Once in their squalid bedroom, they closed the door quickly as if they could ever shut out spirits.
“Can we leave the light burning?” asked Freddie.
George had every intention of so doing but he pretended to hesitate just to torment the younger boy.
“All right, you yellow belly. Anything to stop you bawling.”
He turned down the wick of the oil lamp, leaving the candle stub lit. Instantly the room was filled with shadows. Both boys undressed hurriedly and jumped into bed.
“Can I sleep close, George?”
“Only if you don’t fart or fidget.”
“I won’t, I promise.”
“And if you piss in the bed, you’ll get it but good.”
“I won’t.” He pressed into George’s bony back, his arms folded against his chest. They lay for a few moments then he said, “George, can I tell you something?”
“Better be good. You’re spoiling my shut-eye.”
“Somebody came here in the night.”
“What d’you mean?”
“A woman came. I heard her. You were dead asleep but she was knocking like a thunder and woke me up.”
“Probably Lily.”
“She wouldn’t knock on the front door.”
George hesitated, not wishing to concede the point. “So what are you getting at, our Fred?”
“This woman. She and Mrs. Mother had a roaring good dustup.”
“I didn’t hear anything.”
“The house could fall down and you wouldn’t wake up,” said Freddie, making a tentative joke. “They were yelling like a pair of teamsters, they were.”
George shrugged. “So? Missus was always having a barney with somebody.”
“What if the woman clobbered Mrs. Mother? Sent her off.”
George grinned. “Good on her if she did.”
“Should we tell the blues about it?”
“Tell the frogs? Have you lost a slate? It’s nothing to do with us, is it? We were tucked up with Lethy, weren’t we?” He thumped the other boy again. “Weren’t we?”
Freddie clasped at his arm, weighing one fear against another.
“There’s something else.”
“What? You’re getting up my snout with your mithering.”
“There was another person as came.”
“What d’you mean?”
“I heard somebody else. A bit after.”
“Must have been that same woman come back.”
Freddie shook his head. “Seemed different. Mrs. Mother wasn’t fumy. They went into the parlour. They was talking soft. No row, not like the first one. Mrs. Mother laughed. You know how she did.”
He imitated a sort of mirthless cackle. George well knew what he meant. Such a laugh was always followed by some punishment, swift, capricious, and severe. He remembered and unconsciously touched a deep scar on his chin where Dolly’s ring had once caught him.
“George?”
“What? Spit it out for Christ’s sake.”
“Just after that I heard a big bump. Real loud like something fell.”
“You’re a dolt, my lad. We know she fell. That was the sound. Her idea pot kissing the fender.” He paused. “Did you hear the cove leave?”
Freddie nodded. “A bit after I heard footsteps in the hall and the front door opened.”
“How much after?”
“I don’t know.”
George raised his hand to slap the other boy. “Do I have to knock some sense into your thick head? How much after? An hour? Two minutes?”
“Don’t hit me. I’m trying to tell you, honest I am. It was soon.” He struggled to express the concept of time elapsing. “Five or ten minutes perhaps.”
“Was there a carriage outside?”
“Didn’t hear one.”
George rolled onto his back and laced his hands behind his head.
“Did you hear Missus after that?”
“Not a peep.” Freddie paused, trying to find his courage. “Do you think this cove did for her?”
“’Course not. How many times do I have to repeat it?” He punched the other boy with the knuckle of his forefinger. “She fell. The copper didn’t think she’d been done in, did he? We’d be sitting in the clink answering questions, wouldn’t we? Like happened to Lily.”
Freddie shivered. “I think we should tell them.”
“Tell them what?”
“That I heard somebody.”
“No.” For George, deceit was as instinctive as a blink. “It’s nothing to do with us,” he continued. “You was probably dreaming if truth be told. You know how you are. We won’t say nothing. No need. Let the bluebottles do their own work.” Suddenly, he squeezed Freddie’s chin in his hand. “Cheer up, you little gawdelpus. It’ll be all right. Look.” He slipped his hand into a hole in his pillow and fished around. “See.”
He pulled out a small bundle wrapped in newspaper. Inside were several bank notes, mostly one-dollar bills. He flapped them under the other boy’s nose.
“Smell good, don’t they.”
“Where’d you get those?”
George explored the pillow again and removed a leather thong that had a small brass key attached to it.
“Where’d you think?”
“You pinched her money?”
“Not pinched, took back. By rights this money is ours considering all the work we’ve done for her. I just claimed our just wages.” He fanned the bank notes. “There’s almost fifty dollars. We can live like kings.”
Freddie’s dark eyes widened and George smiled.
“Now come on give us a kiss and go to sleep.”
Such unencumbered friendliness was so rare that Freddie wanted to cry. George turned onto his side, pulling the boy close against his back.
“George?”
“What now?”
“Say it really was some cove who did for Mrs. Mother, what if they come after us?”
“Us? Don’t be so nocky. We’ve done nothing. Lots of coves have had quarrels with Missus, wanting the dosh they lent her. She never paid anybody back, remember? It’s nothing to do with us.”
“What if that cove thinks we know something?”
“But we don’t, do we? We don’t know anything.”
He made it clear the talk was over, and Freddie didn’t want to risk spoiling the momentary softness. George was probably right. Nobody had a reason to come after them. Nevertheless, he inched closer and lay with his eyes open for a long time, watching the candle flicker and finally go out.
Chapter Seven
Maud Pedlow woke with a start, the fear that sleep temporarily had held at bay broke through into consciousness. She lay unmoving, watching a patch of sunlight tremble on the ceiling. Walter was snuffing beside her and she didn’t want to wake him, didn’t want his intrusive curiosity. He’d complained several times in the last few days that she was in a pet, liverish, moody. None of this was spoken with sympathy or an invitation to unburden herself.
Carefully she got out of the bed, soft and stale from the night. She looked down at her husband. His mouth was slightly open, his hands folded across his chest, and he hardly seemed to breathe as if even in sleep he was wary of the world. She moved away and reached for her wrapper. The touch of the satin was a momentary comfort but she glimpsed her reflection in the standing mirror and the silver grey and lace gown seemed drab and ghostlike.
Maud had long given up regretting her marriage. She was thirty years of age when Walter proposed to her, and she was quite aware of her choices. There had been no other suitors willing to brave the bastion of her disfigurement, and her father was not wealthy enough to sweeten the lure. Walter was a widower, one year older than her own father, and she found him humourless and crotchety. However, he had social position and money, her father was ailing, and she knew that trying to live on pretensions and a tiny income with her mother was a bleak prospect. She accepted Walter’s offer of marriage at once.