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.
“Yes, sir. Like a tigress.” He stood up. “Do you mind?”
He picked up the flyswatter and before the inspector could reply, smacked two or three flies in quick succession. He laid the swatter down on the desk.
“Thank you, sir. The bloody things are enough to drive a man to drink.”
He left.
Mary Golding hadn’t seen George or Fred since yesterday morning, but she’d fried some chicken patties for herself and John to have at tea and she decided to take some over to the two boys. Poor mites, as she constantly referred to them. She put the food into a dish with some boiled potatoes, pinned on her shawl, and walked across the road to Dolly’s house. All the curtains were drawn, of course. She was glad she’d persuaded John to tack a black paper bow to the front door. Out of respect for Death, if not for Dolly Shaw.
She went up the steps, knocked on the door, and entered.
“Helloo! George! Freddie! It’s Mrs. Golding.”
There was no response at all. She called again, sniffing. There was a foul odour in the house. A smell she recognized from the time three years ago when she’d laid out her own mother. She assumed the rank stench lingered from Dolly. She really must help the boys clean up the place.
“Boys? Are you here? It’s Mrs. Golding. I’ve brought you something for your tea.”
The kitchen door was open. She was apprehensive now without quite knowing why. Cautiously, she entered the kitchen.
She was wrong about the origin of Death’s stink. It wasn’t from Dolly Shaw’s corpse. The new source was the body which lay in a pool of blood in the middle of the kitchen floor.
Murdoch combed some brilliantine into his hair, smoothing out the waves at the sides. He also dabbed some on his moustache so that the hair shone sleek and dark. His cheeks and jaw were as smooth as soap and sharp razor could make them. He tilted the mirror on the dresser and took another anxious scrutiny, holding up two of his silk four-in-hands. For the past ten minutes, he’d been vacillating between the brown check, which was conservative, and the olive with the Persian design, which was more flamboyant. He’d scattered all his ties on the bed and he dropped the two current favourites and picked up a black one with a yellow-and-red floral pattern. This was better, suggesting a man of basically sober character but not averse to adventure. Hurriedly, before he was again afflicted with indecision, he knotted the necktie around his high celluloid collar. He was going to be devilishly hot but it was worth it. Tonight he was off to attend Professor Otranto’s salon. Permitted for the first time to join in with the other students at a real dance. He would be holding a real woman in his arms instead of his portly teacher.
With a final glance in the mirror, he slipped on his jacket. In anticipation of this event he’d splurged on a new cotton jacket with black and white stripes. He’d also bought a boater with a black band. He paused, not sure if the flowers in the tie went with the stripes. Too late now. It was already a quarter to eight and he’d better hurry. He planned to walk there as he didn’t want to risk getting any bicycle grease on his white duck trousers. Also at the back of his mind, barely acknowledged, was the thought that he might escort one of the women students to her home afterwards. Easier to do that without a wheel.
He stuffed his patent leather dancing shoes into a brown paper bag and smoothed his hair one last time. That was a mistake because he now had grease on his fingers. He wiped them off on his handkerchief.
Outside in the hall, he paused at Enid’s open door. She was clacking away at the typewriting machine and the little boy was lying on the bed. At first he seemed asleep but he lifted his head and coughed hard. He had been feverish for the past two days and now the cough. Everybody was worried, especially Mrs. Kitchen, frightened lest the consumption be passed on.
Murdoch tapped gently on the door and Enid turned around, smiling with pleasure when she saw him.
“Mr. Murdoch. What a swell you look then.”
He felt a rush of warmth himself. And a twinge of guilt.
“Thank you. I’m off to my dancing class. It’s a special evening. All the pupils get to dance together.”
“I see.”
Was it his imagination or did she look a bit dashed?
“The professor has said we can bring a guest when we’re more practised. Perhaps you would join me?”
“Thank you, Mr. Murdoch, but I don’t dance.”
He felt foolish. Of course she didn’t dance. She was a staunch Baptist.
Then the boy coughed again, distracting them.
“How is he?” Murdoch asked.
“A little better. He hasn’t wanted to eat anything at all, but Mrs. Kitchen made some toast water and he liked that.”
“Good…well I’d better be off, I’m late as it is.”
She turned back to her work. “Good evening then.”
“Good evening. Nois da.”
That netted him such a lovely smile he hurried off, all aglow, down the stairs. Neither of the Kitchens was abroad and he was glad, too self-conscious about his nobby appearance to want comment.
Professor Otranto finished sorting out the music and clapped his hands. He was short and round, with soft cheeks that folded over his collar. His wife on the other hand was a good eight inches taller with a strong beaky nose and chin. Murdoch often speculated that the dance teacher took the woman’s part in more than just the waltz.
“Now then, ladies and gentlemen, we are about to begin. Our first dance will be a two-step. Not too difficult for all of you, I’m sure. Mr. Cockbourne, would you be so good as to escort Miss Dickenson to the floor. She is the charming young lady at the far end of the row.”
With alacrity Cockbourne went to claim his partner, who blushed as pink as the muslin carnations she’d fastened to her dress.
“Mr. Murdoch, your partner is Miss Kirkpatrick. She is seated next to Miss Dickenson.”
Murdoch walked across the slick dance floor toward the young woman, who was beaming at him happily, her head slightly cocked to one side. She was wearing a black taffeta skirt with a high-necked silk blouse of magenta and green stripes, and he was put to mind of a little parrot he’d seen once on a sailor’s shoulder. He offered her his arm.
“Miss Kirkpatrick, may I have the honour?”
She jumped up and he led her to the floor, where the others were getting in place.
“Isn’t this jolly?” she said, and Murdoch smiled in agreement.
She smelled overpoweringly of lavender and seemed to be caught in a fit of the giggles but he was charmed by her unaffected delight.
“Ladies and gentleman, are you ready?” Otranto called out to them. The students quieted down at once.
Madame Otranto, who was to play the piano for them, struck a couple of chords, glanced around, then plunged into a vigorous two-step. The professor started the call.
“Dud-duh, duh, duh, dud-duh, duh, duh; dud-duh, dud-duh, duh, duh. Kick. And slide, slide. Mr. Walker, lightly please! And back, slide, slide.”
Miss Kirkpatrick’s round cheeks were soon red with the exertion.
“Oh it’s so jolly.” She laughed. “My name’s Clarice, what’s yours?”
“Will,” he managed to gasp out.
“Waltz coming up,” shouted the professor. “And…one, two, three; one, two, three.”
Murdoch remembered to hold his partner in correct dance position, his right hand in the centre of her back. She was very pliable. Otranto continued to count out the beat, and the dancers whirled. He hadn’t made any mistakes so far, his partner’s slippers were pristine.
“Advance,” shouted Otranto, and while the women stayed in place, gracefully swaying with slightly lifted skirts, the men moved on around the circle. Murdoch executed that safely enough and skipped on to his next partner. She was short with abundant hair and for a moment made him think of Enid. She was too intent on dancing to smile, but he slipped his arm around her waist and went into the step.