Except the Dying

“Yes, I did. It was clear as a bell. I don’t know what he’s talking about.”

“Do you still have it?”

“I threw it in the fire. It didn’t seem important.”

Joe’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Tess didn’t run away ’cos she was homesick.”

Donalda nodded encouragingly. “Why did she, then?”

He cast a quick glance at Foy but returned to her at once. “It was ’cos of ’im. He was after Tess. He wanted to do it with her all the time.”

“You bloody little liar,” Foy yelled. Before Murdoch could prevent him, he had run at Joe and hit him hard across the face. The boy fell backwards, striking his head against the fireguard with a sickening bang. His eyes rolled up in his head and he lay still. Owen yelled and jumped up to help while Murdoch grabbed the butler’s arm, yanking him away, hard.

“Stop it. Behave or I’ll charge you with obstruction of justice.”

Foy kept on shouting. “That boy is wicked, Mrs. Rhodes. I knew we should never have got him. His kind never changes.”

Edith pulled at her husband. “Stop it, do you hear? Won’t do no good.”

Murdoch pointed to an empty chair. “Go and sit over there.” His voice topped the butler’s. “Don’t move again unless I tell you to.”

He half shoved Foy towards the chair. The butler seemed to have lost all control and he was shaking, his face crimson with rage. Edith gripped him by his shoulders.

“Try not to make more of a bloody fool of yourself than you’ve done already,” she hissed into his face.

Murdoch waited until Foy obeyed, keeping his eye on him.

“Is the boy all right?” he asked Owen, who had run over to help Joe.

“He lost consciousness for a moment but he’s not badly off now.” He slipped his arm around the boy’s shoulders. “Come on, Joe. Let’s get you up.”

He lifted him into a sitting position against the fender. Donalda, who had remained seated, spoke to Foy, her voice icy. “Is this true what Joe says?”

“No, madam, absolutely not,” he replied. But guilt was written all over his angry face.

Donalda addressed Edith. “How could you have found a letter written by a girl who was illiterate?”

“The boy probably forged it.”

“Joe? Can you speak?”

A red mark had appeared on his cheek and he was the colour of bread dough, but he met her eyes.

“I didn’t write no letter. But Missus Foy knew as what was happening. I saw ’er a-watching Tess all the time. She must of made her run off.”

“Madam, I hope you are not going to take the word of a boy like him against that of two respectable people like my husband and me?”

“Frankly, Edith, I don’t know what to believe. All I can say is that I am extremely upset at Foy’s behaviour. I will not tolerate it.” She turned to her son. “Owen, what do you say about all this?”

“I wouldn’t trust John Foy as far as I could throw him.”

Edith answered for her husband. “How easy for the mighty to accuse those of us who are not so fortunate. Far better the world think my husband was wicked, madam, than that your own son be accused.” She whirled to face Murdoch. “Why don’t you question him?” She pointed at Owen. “I saw him mooning over that girl all the time. That night she died he was probably with her.”

“According to Mr. Rhodes he was with Miss Shepcote all evening.”

Edith burst out, “That little mouse would make a pact with the Devil if Owen Rhodes asked her to.” She was reckless now, ready to burn her bridges. “He fancied the maid, I tell you. And that Saturday night he was out until the early hours too. Same with this Wednesday. He was probably with that doxie you found.”

“Edith, don’t be preposterous,” Donalda cried.

“Maybe he’s the one who did her in. It’d keep her quiet, wouldn’t it?”

Owen turned white and Donalda became even stiffer.

“Mrs. Foy, I will tolerate no more of this slander. You are discharged. Both of you. You will leave my employ immediately.”

“Don’t expect me to be silent, then. You can try to hide all you like but the truth is the truth. Your son was having connections with that girl and I will tell whoever asks.”

Murdoch stepped in. “Mr. Rhodes, do you deny this?”

“My God, yes. Of course I deny it.”

There was no stopping Edith. “He’s a young man, isn’t he? Anybody can see he fancies himself. He had his way with her, you can wager.”

“Mrs. Foy, will you stop. I had nothing whatsoever to do with Therese Laporte.”

“Why is it, then, I saw you coming out of her room? About a month ago it was–”

“That is a lie–”

“Edith, stop this.” Donalda tried to stop the spewing. “Mrs. Foy is lying to protect her husband,” she said to Murdoch. “She has already forged a letter. She has no compunction about where she flings her mud.”

“At the moment, ma’am, it is her word against Mr. Owen’s, however, and not much proof on either side.”

“I assure you he was not with a prostitute the other night, just as I assure you he was not the father of Theresa’s child.”