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.
“No, sir. I’m going out tomorrow to look. They always needs bun boys down at the stables. I’ll try there.”
Again Murdoch wished he had taken more care. Freddie was a child and George not much more.
“Come and see me next week if you haven’t got anything.”
He went back to the front door. The constable had positioned himself at the bottom of the steps, in guard position.
“Start having a look around the front and back of the house, will you, Wiggin.”
“Yes, sir.” He hesitated. “What exactly am I looking for, sir? I haven’t been on this sort of investigation before.”
Murdoch waved him off. “Use your brain, Wiggin. Wake it up. Collect anything you think might have relevance.”
He went back into the dark hall and over to the parlour. A waft of rotten air hit him as he entered the room. Most of the odour came from the dishes that were still sitting where Dolly had left them, with leftover food on them. The boys were certainly telling the truth about not coming in here. It was untouched since he’d last been.
Given what he now knew, the Turkish couch took on a new and sinister aspect. There were two pillows, one brown, one emerald green. He picked up the green one, which was on the floor. The cover was knitted and the words Love Conquers All were oversewn in red. He replaced it gingerly. He’d take it in to Dr. Ogden to examine. The grimy sheet on the couch was rumpled and the sateen comforter was half off, dragging on the floor. He couldn’t tell if that was an indication of a struggle, however, or just of an untidy housekeeper. He began to inch slowly around the room, studying everything with new eyes.
The second Morris chair by the hearth had served as Dolly’s wardrobe. Her skirt, a black cotton lined with canvas, and her grey silk waist, very stained, were draped across the back of the chair. He moved them aside. Underneath were her undergarments. Somewhat squeamishly, he gave them a cursory examination. There was a pair of stays, most of the laces broken and knotted, a white underskirt, and a pair of dirty drawers. No stockings.
He tried the desk but it was locked and he left it for the moment. Next to it in the corner was a triangular glass-fronted hutch, and he opened it up. The shelves inside were bare, no display of fine china dishes or glass-ware here. The dust was thick enough to write a letter in, but nobody had been that helpful. He moved on. The window that faced River Street intervened. The flowered velvet curtain was closed and he lifted the corner to peek outside. The street was deserted, but he fancied that at the same time he had lifted his curtain a neighbour across the road had dropped hers. He returned to his task.
The top of the sideboard was covered with figurines of various sizes, all nestling in dust balls. At one end was a gilt birdcage, empty, at the other a pitcher and bowl. The pitcher was half-filled with water and inevitably was now the swimming hole for several flies, some still struggling. Next to it was a dish crusted with the remnants of what was once some kind of stew, and beside that two empty glasses. He opened the right-hand drawer of the sideboard. It was empty. So was the left drawer and the lower cupboards. Mrs. Shaw seemed to have preferred to have furniture for show rather than function. Given the poverty of the house itself, these pieces were quite swell.
The japanned side table by the couch told him nothing except that Dolly did not have a green thumb. The fern in its brass pot was wilting badly. He reached for the pitcher and watered the poor plant, flies and all. That left the desk. He went out to the hall.
“George!”
As fast as a jack-in-the-box, the boy’s head popped through the kitchen door.
“Yes, sir?”
“I want to have a look in the desk here but it’s locked. Any notion where the key is?”
George shook his head. “No, sir. We never went in Missus’s room. Weren’t allowed.”
Murdoch returned to the parlour, almost ready to retch at the foul air. He took out a clasp knife from his pocket, opened the blade, and pried open the lock. It yielded easily. He rolled back the curtain top. The inside was nearly bare: a blotting pad, well used, an inkwell with the top off, and a steel pen. Sitting on top of the blotter was an empty tin that had once held Frey’s Homeopathic Cocoa. There was no lid. At the rear of the desk was a large jar, containing what looked like herbs. There was a label, torn and faded, the writing almost illegible. He could just make out the word Comfrey. The cubbyholes were all empty, and all that was in the two drawers was a bag of boiled fruit candies that had melted together. He lifted the blotter and underneath was tucked a piece of notepaper. It was good quality, thick and creamy, but the edge was ragged as if it had been torn from a book.
There was no salutation, but in large letters was written,
I’m sure you remember the occasion of our first meeting. I have had some family troubles which has forced me into changing my name for reasons of privacy as I am sure you of all people can understand. I did as good by you as I could. Times are hard, my business has fallen off. A small gratuity would be kindly received. Or else
The letter stopped there. Murdoch read it through again. The threat of the last two words was intriguing. Had it been written recently or was it of the same vintage as the candies? He couldn’t tell. What was her business? The neighbour said she didn’t do anything and that her daughter supported them. What were her family troubles and did any of this have to do with her murder? The letter cast a different light on the money he’d found in Dolly’s pocket. Was she into blackmail? Maybe the five-hundred dollars was pay-off money? People with something to hide can get desperate if threatened with discovery.
There were two banks of drawers on each side of the desk and he pulled them open. Dolly had used this piece of furniture as her pantry. In every drawer was some food: stale bread, mouldy cake, a piece of black meat crawling with maggots.
He was just about to close up the bottom one when he glimpsed the end of a calling card sticking out from beneath a saucer that had found its way into the drawer. He plucked it out. In plain black lettering was the name Mrs. Walter Pedlow. The cardboard was bent and dirty but of good quality stock. He frowned. The name had unpleasant associations for him. Walter Pedlow was a judge, and Murdoch had been a witness in his court a few years ago. Pedlow had seemed harsh, erratic, and of great personal vanity, an unfortunate combination of qualities in a judge. What was Dolly Shaw doing with the calling card of his honour’s wife? He put both the letter and card in one of the envelopes he’d brought with him and stowed it in his pocket. On an impulse, he shook out some of the herbal mixture that was in the jar and also put that in an envelope. Finally, he pulled out some of the threads from the emerald pillow and saved them.
For the next several moments, he stood looking around the room, trying to read the story of what had happened. But there were still too many variables and he felt frustrated with them.
He went back to the kitchen.
George and Freddie were at the table, not doing anything that he could see, except waiting.
“Come on, boys. I have to look upstairs and you might as well come with me.”
Mutely, they followed him up the stairs to the landing. There were two doors, both closed.
“Whose is whose?”
“That’s ours,” said George, pointing to the one on the left.
“Come on then, open up.”
George opened the door and Murdoch stepped into the small bare room. There was a narrow bed against the wall, a washstand, and a chair. Nothing else.
“Excuse me, sir,” Freddie said timidly. “But could I ask you what you’re looking for?”
Murdoch grinned and ruffled the boy’s hair.