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.
He’d been sitting for almost ten minutes when he was rewarded by a tiny sound, just the merest scrabble. Murdoch didn’t stir. The noise had come from down the hall and he saw there was a cupboard underneath the stairs, the door open the slightest crack. He heard the scratching sound again but it lasted longer this time. The cupboard door shifted an inch wider and Freddie’s dirty face appeared.
At first he didn’t see Murdoch because of the gloom in the hall and he came out, crawling on all fours. At that instant the front door opened and Annie Brogan entered. Murdoch could see Crabtree standing behind her.
Freddie saw them all, whimpered, and made a dash for the stairs. Murdoch jumped up.
“Freddie, stop! Freddie!”
He charged after the boy and got to the top of the stairs as the boy raced into the bedroom on the left, slamming the door behind him. Annie also ran up the stairs. She halted on the landing. “I had to come in,” she gasped. “I couldn’t bear the wait any longer.”
“Stay there,” he said and slowly opened the door. For a moment it seemed as if the boy had vanished into thin air. The tiny bare room seemed completely empty. Murdoch held his breath to listen, but Freddie was unable to control his own panting. He was under the bed. Murdoch crouched down and found himself staring into one of the most terrified faces he had ever seen.
He got low to the floor and lay on his side, propped on his elbow, the way he had when he’d watched a fox’s den.
“Don’t be afraid, lad. I’m here to help you.”
Freddie shrank back further against the wall. Suddenly there was a scuffling sound and Annie plunged to the floor as well, not caring about dirtying her dress or the inelegance of her position. She peered at the boy, winced, and said softly, very softly, “My God, it is him. He’s the spitting image.” She almost broke into a sob but she held it back. “Freddie, please come out. I’m Annie Brogan and I do believe we’ve met before, a long time ago.”
Murdoch was sitting on the chair by the door, while Annie, lying on her side, talked to Freddie. Her tone was as casual as if they were across a tablecloth at a picnic, although the boy was clad in only his nightshirt. Annie’s dress was dark from the rain and her hair was bedraggled and falling down at her neck.
“You must be starving,” she said. “I know what that’s like. I used to be hungry a lot when I was a nipper. Do you want to come out and we’ll get some good grub?” No answer. “I wouldn’t mind some sausages and mash. I know a nice eating house just down on Queen Street. Not too far away. What d’you say?” Silence. Murdoch began to wonder if they were going to have to drag him out. Then he remembered the Cupid’s Whispers he’d bought from Mr. Bright. He fished the tin out of his inside pocket, removed the lid, crouched down, and held them out to Annie. They were dipped in powdered sugar and smelled pleasantly fruity.
“Want one?”
She glanced at him in surprise, realized what he was doing, and smiled in delight.
“Sure would.” She popped one in her mouth and made a great show of enjoying it, licking her lips. Murdoch took one himself, got down to floor level and held out the tin to Freddie.
“Would you like one?”
Annie made more tasting sounds. “Can I have another?”
She took one. Murdoch waited. Then he put the tin on the floor and pushed it towards Freddie. He could see the boy’s wide staring eyes, how thin his face had become. Suddenly, Freddie grabbed a handful of the lozenges and stuffed them in his mouth. There wasn’t going to be a problem with unpleasant breath among any of them. The air beneath the bed was fragrant with the smell of raspberries.
“I know you’re frightened, lad,” said Murdoch. “But I promise we’ll listen to your story fair and square. If you haven’t done anything bad you won’t be punished.”
He saw the boy blink away a rush of tears. Then Freddie looked at Annie and said in a whisper, “What you mean you met me before?”
Annie slid further along the floor and stretched herself out. “I’m getting such a crick in my neck. Tell you what. If you come out from under there and sit on a chair beside me, I’ll explain. And it’s absolutely true what I said, on my honour. You look just like your father. And him and me knew each other well.”
It was clear that Freddie was figuring it out. “Mrs. Mother said my real ma died from drink. She was a tart.”
Annie swallowed hard. “She was lying, Freddie. On both counts. Listen, do you want to put your trousers on?”
He nodded and she got stiffly to her feet, grabbed the trousers, and pushed them towards the boy.
“I’m going to sit in this chair.”
Murdoch stood up too and leaned against the door frame, ready to catch Freddie if he bolted. He sucked loudly on his lozenge. There was a scrambling sound from underneath the bed as Freddie struggled to dress. Then there was a tentative scratching noise and the boy’s head emerged. He looked so worn and afraid that Murdoch wanted nothing more than to scoop him up and embrace him. However, he didn’t move and neither did Annie. The boy squeezed himself out from under the bed but remained on all fours ready to scurry back at the first sign of trouble.
“Let’s go down to the kitchen,” said Murdoch. “I’ll send Constable Crabtree off for some of those sausages and we can all have a talk.”
Mutely, Freddie shook his head and looked as if he was about to retreat again. Quickly, Murdoch moved over, squatted down, and grasped hold of the boy’s shoulder.
“You don’t have any choice, lad.”
Again Freddie shook his head. Annie spoke up.
“What I’m thinking, Mr. Murdoch, is that this house is a bad place to ask questions in. Is there anywhere else we can go to?”
Murdoch winced. Of course she was right. How could Freddie possibly sit in the kitchen where in all likelihood he’d last seen George bleeding away his life’s blood.
“I think that’s an excellent suggestion, Miss Brogan. Let’s go across the road to that nice neighbour lady. See if she’d let us use her front parlour. Does that suit you, Freddie?”
He nodded. Murdoch hoped Mrs. Golding was still willing to be a Good Samaritan.
Annie held out her hand, and hesitantly Freddie took it. His head was lowered, every muscle poised ready to flee. Murdoch led the way out of the bedroom and into the landing. Crabtree was standing at the bottom of the stairs but he didn’t speak. Freddie stopped in his tracks when he saw the uniform but Murdoch didn’t give him a chance to run away. Calmly, he said to Crabtree, “Just go across to Mrs. Golding’s, will you, Constable. Tell her we’re coming over. There’s three of us.”
“Yes, sir.”
At the bottom of the stairs they had to go past the kitchen, but Annie made sure she was between Freddie and the door and she kept on walking, holding his hand firmly in hers.
Three things stood out for Murdoch about the next hour. First was how politely Mrs. Golding hid her astonishment at the sight of Annie Brogan. Second was watching Freddie gulp down the cold roast beef and bread like a starving dog. Almost immediately, he vomited it back all over the Goldings’ best parlour rug. Mrs. Golding didn’t make a murmur of reproach and on Annie’s recommendation went to warm up some milk. The third memorable thing was Freddie’s reaction to Murdoch’s question.
“What happened, young lad? Who was it did in George? Can you tell me?”
Freddie was sitting close to Annie and he shuddered, put his head back, and wailed.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Once again, Lily had fled to her hiding place in the riverbank. Her dress had been splattered with George’s blood. Panting, she’d pulled off the garment, tearing the shoulder seam in her haste, and immersed it in the cool water. In the darkness, the stains were difficult to see, but she rubbed at them as best she could, over and over until her knuckles were raw and skinned. Finally she draped the dress on the branches to dry and crept into the cave. She was clad only in her chemise and drawers and she couldn’t stop the violent shivering. She curled up as tightly as she could and sat at the entrance, rocking back and forth. When the sun finally rose and brought a blessed warmth to the air, she stayed there, crying, but keeping the cries close to her.