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.
She had returned to the house, circling back to what was familiar. She had entered through the back door into the kitchen, suddenly ravenous, searching for food. Saliva had filled her mouth and dribbled down the corner of her lips. There was a bag of buns on the table and she ate two immediately, almost choking on the dry, stale pastry. She sawed off a piece of bread from the loaf that the boys had left and chewed at the end of a piece of cheese. She had moved as carefully as she could but, without knowing it, she banged the pots on the stove as she looked for more food. The boys had awakened and George, with Freddie behind him, came down to the kitchen. He laughed when he saw her and immediately started to mock her, to jeer at her hunger. “You’re going to get it,” he mimed. “They’re going to throw you in jail for killing your mother. They’re looking for you. You’re in for it this time.”
He pretended to put a rope around his neck, pull it tight, and dropped his head to one side, broken. “And your shit comes out,” he said. He lifted his nightshirt and showed her how that happened, laughing all the time. Freddie had crouched in the corner of the room and he watched, frozen in dread, unable to help.
Perhaps none of that would have provoked her to murder, although she was so frightened. She would just have run away again. However, George knew what had happened before with the kidnapped baby, and eager for more cruelty he turned to that. He stuck his fingers in his mouth, pulling back his lips so they glistened raw and red. He held up his hand, the fingers glued together. He rocked the baby in his arms, making soothing gestures, but it was done to belittle her tenderness, to mock her love for the infant girl. Delighted at the reaction he had evoked in Lily, he pointed at her, cackling, tugging again at his mouth.
Then, sated in his fun, he turned to the cupboard, intending to get himself a mug or plate.
She seized the bread knife, ran around the table, and stabbed him. Once, twice, and again, while the hot blood shot out in an arc, drenching her.
She had lost any sense of how long she had been by the river. The way she had when she was in prison, she had taken herself into a trance, not moving, taking refuge in a world where she wasn’t cold, where her mother and George were still alive, and where she was holding the baby again, caressing it, basking in the perfect smiles, the flawless hands.
She might have stayed there until she was discovered, but on the third morning a heavy rain began to fall, pocking the river, penetrating the opening of her den. Finally, not even Lily could withstand the discomfort and cold. She uncurled herself. The pain in her limbs as the blood flowed again was excruciating. She had to stand up. She eased herself out of the cave and reluctantly stretched her arms. There was no colour in the world. The sky, the trees, the river were all leached of brightness. The rain was hitting her face and bare shoulders and arms, cold and punishing. She shook her head, trying to get away but she couldn’t. Close by was her dress. It was as soaked as the ground, but it offered some comfort. She reached for it and as she did, the soft, muddy earth gave way and she slipped. Unable to gain her balance she fell into the deep pool where the river was dammed. Her wide drawers twisted around her legs. Momentarily a primitive panic seized her, an instinct for life. She gasped for air but she swallowed water instead. Choking, she drew it up her nose, down her throat, into her lungs. She thrashed frantically but to no avail. The river was overpowering her. Perhaps another person would have fought harder, been able to free herself. Lily’s struggles were soon only halfhearted. She had so little to come back to life for.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Murdoch didn’t bother with even rudimentary politeness when Burns opened the door.
“Where is Mrs. Pedlow? I have to see her immediately.”
“She’s in the drawing room, but–”
Murdoch pushed by him, leaving the butler spluttering a protest.
Maud was seated at the piano but he’d heard no music. She turned as he entered and he saw the fear jump into her eyes.
“Mr. Murdoch! I–”
“Mrs. Pedlow, I must speak to you.”
“Please sit down.”
“No, thank you, ma’am.”
She stared at him. Her gown today was a plain grey silk with silver trims. The collar was white, stiff and high as a man’s. The severity of the dress was not complimentary to her pale skin and drab hair.
“Mrs. Pedlow, you have been less than honest with me.”
She was about to object but the words wilted in the heat of his anger.
“I have spoken with Annie Brogan. She tells me you did know Dolly Shaw, or rather Dolly Merishaw–”
“That is not the–”
“Ma’am, according to Miss Brogan you were one of Dolly’s customers eight years ago. She delivered you of a female child at her farm in Markham.”
“How can you believe this woman, Mr. Murdoch? She is nothing but a common stage performer. She is trying to blacken my name.”
Maud wouldn’t have persuaded a cat.
“I have also been informed that Mrs. Shaw’s foster son Freddie delivered a letter here on Thursday afternoon.”
“I received no such letter.”
“The boy swears he handed it to you personally. You wrote a letter in reply, which he gave to Mrs. Shaw.”
She turned away from him, studying the sheet of music propped on the piano as if she were about to give a recital.
“Please answer me, ma’am.”
Murdoch felt like grabbing her by the shoulders and spinning her around to face him.
“Mrs. Pedlow, I insist on your explanation.”
At last she turned.
“Mr. Murdoch, I am certain there is not a person in the world who does not have some part of their lives they do not wish to expose to the world.”
“Ma’am?”
“It is true, I did know the woman many years ago. I apologize for prevaricating but it was a most painful time for me. I preferred not to talk about it.”
“You knew I was investigating a murder, yet you lied to me.”
So much for fine vocabulary. He had the impulse to be obscene, rough-tongued. Anything to break through the woman’s stubbornness.
“My involvement was so long ago, it seemed unimportant.”
“That was for me to decide.”
She was squeezing and rubbing at her hands as if she were warming up her fingers. She sighed ostentatiously.
“Very well. What you are so insistent on winkling out of me, Mr. Murdoch, is perhaps not such a terrible thing. It is however a delicate matter and I ask for your complete discretion.”
“We’ll see. I may have no choice in the matter.”
Her little attempt at acting, which was laughable, fell away and when she spoke again, it was with more dignity.
“The fact is that rather late in my life, I conceived a child. My husband was away from home when I realized the happy news. I – I could not bear the scrutiny of my neighbours. I knew how they would gossip about a woman of my age being enceinte. Perhaps I was too sensitive but I craved privacy. I saw Mrs. Merishaw’s advertisement and went to her for my lying in.”
“And that’s where you first met Annie Brogan?”