Authors: Maureen Jennings
A prim clerk at the
Globe
newspaper office told him that they had no records of past transactions. If the account was paid that was an end to it. Why should they clutter the office with unnecessary pieces of paper? Murdoch had considered giving her an answer, but the question was rhetorical and the woman of middle age, so he swallowed his irritation and left.
Seymour had agreed to interview the people to whom the Dowdells had sent mourning cards and Murdoch went to check on the remaining photographic studios on his list. He offended several of them by asking about “naughty” pictures, but nobody admitted to having photographed such a thing, and they all seemed to be sincere. He made a brief stop at the Sackville Street School just as Miss Slade was entertaining the class by whistling a lively waltz that made him want to practise a few reverse turns in the hall. She came out to him right away. Neither Agnes nor Ben Fisher had been in school. Promising he would come to the boarding house that night, he left to seek out the final three studios on his list. By dusk and the lighting of the street lamps, he had checked off the last studio.
Briefly, he was undecided as to whether to go directly to the lodging house to see if Seymour had any luck, or to go after he had visited Enid. He’d promised her he would redeem himself and come for the supper he’d missed the day before. That promise won out and he trudged off to Mrs. Barrett’s house.
Enid opened the door and he knew without asking that this was another evening when the landlady was not at home. Enid was wearing her best blue silk taffeta dress and her hair was freshly and elaborately pinned. If he didn’t know better he’d think she had applied a touch of rouge.
“My you look lovely, Enid,” he exclaimed.
“This is in the way of a celebration. I received a banker’s draft in the amount of ten dollars today from the competition.” She lowered her voice. “And Mrs. Barrett is away to her sister’s for two days.”
Murdoch stepped into the hall, caught her in his arms, and gave her a hearty kiss.
“More cause for celebration.”
“She was in an uncommonly good humour and she has given me permission to use the dining room.” Enid smiled at him. “She got a notion in her head, how I don’t know, that I would be entertaining some of my fellow competitors and I did not disabuse her.”
He kissed her again. “Clever wench.”
She took his hand and began to lead him down the hall. “Alwyn is in bed. I’m afraid he might be sickening for something, he has been so low and quiet. Perhaps after we’ve had our meal you could go up and say goodnight to him. That might cheer him up.”
Murdoch thought that the only thing that would cheer up Enid’s son was if he gave up all claim to her affections. He flinched. That was coming soon.
Enid ushered him into a dining room crammed with heavy dark furniture. She had lit a good fire and all the lamps in an attempt to make the room bright and welcoming but nothing could overcome its ugliness. The tablecloth at least was a white damask and Enid had laid it with her own china.
“Sit down and I’ll bring in the dishes.”
He took his place at the table and she left with a slight swish of taffeta and a waft of essence of roses. Murdoch leaned his head in his hands. Enid was making it clear that she welcomed his love but she was leaving the country and he couldn’t see any future for them. And that was separate from the confusion of feelings he was having for her and Amy Slade. He grinned to himself. Maybe he was being entranced by the charms of the whistling waltzes, the way he’d heard Indian fakirs entranced snakes.
Enid opened the door carrying a tray loaded with covered dishes. “You’re looking quite peaked, Will. You’re not ill as well, I hope.”
“No, not at all. I’m just tired and cold and foot sore and I seem to have spent a wasted day. I’ve made no progress in the case I’m working on. Although I did deliver the letter to Mr. Callahan, and it did the trick. Thank you very much for your help.”
She smiled with pleasure. “I’m happy for that. Now, look you, I’ve made a roast of pork with boiled potatoes and cabbage, so I hope you have a hearty appetite.”
He clutched the knife and fork in his fists, held them upright, banged them on the table, and proclaimed, “I have stomach of lion.”
He tucked in to the meal and had eaten about two mouthfuls when Enid said, “I’ve never seen Alwyn so dispirited. I’m worried that something happened this afternoon.”
“Hmm?” said Murdoch, his mouth full of potato.
“One of the boys at school sometimes accompanies him home for me when I have to be out. I know you think I mollycoddle him, Will, but I feel more easy in myself if I know he is with somebody.”
Murdoch nodded. He did think that, but he wasn’t going to bring it up now.
“The other boy isn’t much older than he is really so they can play together. I give him five cents and something to eat and the poor chappie is always after asking me if I’ll be out.” She poked at a piece of cabbage on her plate. “According to Alwyn, instead of coming here as they usually do, Ben took him to a photography studio.” She stopped, seeing his expression. “Will, what’s the matter?”
“Did you say Ben?”
“Yes, Ben Fisher. He goes to the same school.”
“My God.” Murdoch pushed back his chair. “I have to talk to Alwyn.”
“He’s probably asleep by now. Please tell me what’s the matter, you’re frightening me.”
He stared at her. “Enid, did Alwyn mention the name of the studio?”
“No, he didn’t.”
“Where was it?”
“I, er, I don’t know. I wasn’t paying a lot of attention.”
She was preparing the meal in anticipation of his coming, Murdoch realized.
“What has happened? Did you receive a complaint? Did the boys break something?”
“No, nothing like that.” Murdoch leaned forward and touched her hand. “What did Alwyn tell you?”
“Nothing at all. I think he regretted even saying where he’d been. But when I pressed him, he said he’d promised not to talk about it. Heaven knows why. All he would say was that he was supposed to be a prince and he was to wear some nice clothes.”
She shook her hand free from Murdoch’s. “Will, you have a face like thunder. What is wrong?”
“Enid, a few days ago, a schoolteacher came to me because she found a photograph of one of her pupils hidden in a desk. It was vile. The girl is Agnes Fisher, Ben’s sister. She wouldn’t say a word to Miss Slade and now she has vanished. She could be in grave danger and I’ve been trying to track down the photographer.”
Enid’s hand was at her throat. “Are you trying to tell me that my son has been used in the same way?”
“Let’s talk to him.”
They hurried up the stairs to the little box room. There was a lamp turned low on the dresser.
“I’ll wake him,” said Enid. Gently, she called to her son and he stirred. She sat on the bed and said something to him in Welsh. He shifted to a sitting position, but seeing Murdoch, he shrank back into his pillow and spoke to his mother anxiously. She answered in English.
“Mr. Murdoch isn’t angry at you, Alwyn. He is troubled about a case he’s working on and he wants to ask you some questions.”
“What sort of questions?” The boy’s eyes were large and dark in the shadowy light.
Murdoch perched on the end of the bed and tried to make his face less frightening.
“Your mamma was telling me about you and Ben Fisher going to a photography studio this afternoon. Where was it, Alwyn?”
“I don’t know, Ben took me.”
“But you must know where you went. Was it north up to Gerrard Street? South to King Street? Where?”
Alwyn whimpered. “I don’t know. We were playing with the snow in the gutters and I was just following Ben.”
Murdoch stood up. “What is wrong with you? Surely you must know if you were going in a northerly direction or not…”
Alwyn yelped as if he had hit him and shrank into his mother’s arms.
“Will, please! He’s a child. He doesn’t have a good sense of direction.”
“Enid, there are very serious matters at stake here. I have not asked him a difficult question. He must answer it.”
Suddenly, Murdoch had an image of himself at Alwyn’s age cowering in his bed as his father shouted at him about some misdemeanour far more trivial than his fury warranted. Damn it anyway. He forced himself to calm down and he walked around to the other side of the bed.
Alwyn was sniffling against his mother’s chest and Murdoch bent over and stroked his hair. “I’m sorry, lad, the reason I am so upset is because there are other children involved whose safety I am concerned about. One of them is Ben’s sister, Agnes.”
Alwyn’s tear-stained face peeked out at him.
“Do you think you can talk to me now?”
A hardly perceptible nod.
“I’m not angry at Ben or Agnes. I want to help them. And I’m not angry with you either…but it would be a big help if you’d answer my questions.”
Enid spoke to her son and reluctantly he straightened up.
“That’s my brave lad,” said Murdoch. “Now, first question. Was Aggie at the studio as well?”
“No,” in a whisper.
“Was the person at the studio a man or a woman?”
“A lady.”
Damn, thought Murdoch. “What did she look like?”
“She was like Mamma.”
“In what way?”
“She was pretty and she had on a silk frock.”
Enid gave her son a quick kiss on his forehead.
Murdoch frowned. He couldn’t imagine even a small boy describing Georgina Crofton as pretty.
“Was there anybody else there?”
“Ben’s friend…”
“A grownup or another boy?”
“A grownup. He’s an actor.”
“Did he tell you his name?”
“They call him Renaldo for the stage. He was getting me some work so I could help Mamma.”
“What sort of work, son?”
“Being a prince in a photograph. I was going to get some sweeties and half a dollar. He was nice, but I didn’t like the other man.”
Murdoch couldn’t help himself. He snapped his fingers. “Name? They must have used names when they spoke to each other, what were they?”
Alwyn whimpered again. “I didn’t notice, but Ben told me the name of his friend but I forget what it was. He lives downstairs.”
“What! Downstairs from Ben?”
“Yes. They have twins and Ben said he hears them crying a lot.”
“Was his name Tibbett?”
“It could have been.”
Murdoch had an image of a young mother, kindly offering him a candle. Surely, she was what she appeared to be.
“Did Mr. Tibbett take the photograph or the lady?”
A shake of the head from Alwyn. “No. There was another man there. The lady took us to get the nice clothes. We were going to be young gentlemen.”
“Did you hear the name of this other man, Alwyn?”
Alwyn was still eyeing him nervously and he didn’t want him scurrying back to his burrow like a timid rabbit. Murdoch softened his voice again. “Well, did you?”
Another shrinking back and a quick warning glance from Enid.
“I didn’t hear it but I saw the sign on the door when we were leaving. His second name is Emperor. I could read it.”
Murdoch let out a rush of breath. So he had been right. It was hard to hold back his impulse to run out of the room down to the Emporium.
“Did this man take a photograph of you in the nice clothes?”
Alwyn shook his head. “We didn’t even have a chance to put them on. He said there was a gentleman coming who wanted to see what we looked like, to see if we’d do but he came before we were ready.” He gazed up at his mother. “He was so rude, Mamma, he didn’t knock or anything, he just walked in. Mr. Emperor was angry with him.”
“What happened then, Alwyn?” asked Enid.
“Mr. Emperor took him into the front room, but we could hear them shouting. Then he came back and was in a bad skin.” Tears started to roll from Alwyn’s eyes. “I was afraid, Mamma. He grabbed me so hard, it hurt.” He held up his arm and Murdoch could see the bruise near his wrist. Enid pulled her son close to her so she was speaking over his head.
“What does this mean, Will?”
Before he could answer, Alwyn burst out. “He said we wouldn’t do any pictures today and Ben had to take me home but I mustn’t say a word or I couldn’t come back and get my wages.” He was crying in earnest now. “I wanted to help with our passage to Wales, Mamma.”
“Hush, darling, hush.”
But nothing could stop the rush of words as the boy finally let go of his terror. Murdoch could only just make out what he was saying.
“The man that came was so ugly, Mamma. I tried to be a good boy but he frightened me so. And Ben too. I could tell. He was a monster, Mamma. Something had happened to him like the king in the fairy story. The one who’d been turned into a beast until the princess loved him.”
Murdoch stiffened. “What do you mean something had happened to him?” He had to wait until the racking sobs subsided sufficiently for him to be heard.
“Alwyn, describe this man to me.”
“Enough, Will. He’s had enough. Don’t be so cruel.”
“He must answer, Enid.”
“He didn’t have any hair…and his face was all white and wrinkled.” The boy held up his hand, squeezing the fingers together. “His hand had got melted so it was like a bird’s claw. And he couldn’t walk properly.”
Enid looked at Murdoch who had jerked back. “Do you know the man?”
All Murdoch could say was, “I bloody well do.”
CHAPTER
THIRTY-NINE
L
eaving Enid to minister to the boy, Murdoch hurried down the stairs and began to trot as fast as he could along River Street. Alwyn’s voice ran over and over in his head:
We were waiting for a gentleman who had to see if we would do
, and in had come Reordan. The boy said he had argued with Gregory. Had Reordan told him Murdoch was on his tail?
When he got to the lodging house he didn’t wait politely on the doorstep but went straight into the hall. He was heading for the Irishman’s room when Seymour came out of the kitchen, Amy Slade at his heels.