The Burying Ground (18 page)

“Not that I can see. You and I both know who doubled up the coffin, but that doesn't mean the same person dug it up. Besides, someone tried to break into the lodge last night.”

“A thief?”

“There's nothing worth taking. I think they were after the cemetery records.” Thaddeus shrugged. “Or maybe I'd just like to think that. It still doesn't get us any closer to finding out who the culprits are.” He glanced at the front gates. “Here they come.”

A cart turned in at the cemetery and rolled slowly along the laneway until it pulled level to where Luke and Thaddeus were standing. This was no black hearse with fine horses and drapings of crepe, but a plain wagon that would have served as well to haul water or hay. Nor was there a cortege of mourners in funeral finery trailing behind it, just a preacher and a straggle of neighbours. Two of the men in this group stopped to comfort the weeping mother. She said something to them. They nodded and went to the back of the wagon.

“Perhaps we should make ourselves useful,” Thaddeus said. “I don't think there are enough able-bodied men in the group to act as pallbearers.”

“You're right,” Luke said. “One of them is Andrew Holden. He has a bad foot.”

Morgan joined them as they walked to the wagon and helped to slide the coffin from the bed, then shouldered it for the measured walk to the grave.

After they had helped lower the coffin into the ground, all three of them stepped back behind the mourners. They were there out of respect, and would give room to those who truly grieved.

The minister was a little long-winded, Thaddeus thought. He had always tried to keep the graveside committals short, so it wasn't too hard on the family. Certainly the mother looked as though she could stand little more, but then Luke had told him that she was ill as well. As the service dragged on, Thaddeus realized that he would not now have time to walk down to St. Paul's cemetery as he had intended. And he would be leaving in the morning to meet his appointments. His questions would have to wait until his return.

He wasn't sure that there would be any answers then, either. The coffin at St. James pointed in Phillip Van Hansel's direction, but little else did. It wouldn't surprise Thaddeus in the least if Hands turned out to be the culprit, but then he stopped to remind himself that he had a long history of believing in the guilt of people he didn't like.

Luke needed an excuse to go into the city so that he could meet Perry. Three days of heavy rain had cleansed the air, and the epidemic that kept the practice busy finally burnt itself out. There were no new outbreaks, no more deaths, and now only a dozen or so convalescent patients still needed to be seen. Dr. Christie pronounced most of his patients cured, and with a sigh of relief, handed whoever remained over to Luke, who even then found that their care occupied only a part of his day. He had time on his hands again.

Even though Christie once again disappeared into the back part of the house for most of the day, Luke was sure that he would be happy enough to cover the practice for an evening, especially if it was for a social occasion that involved a member of the Biddulph family. But Luke wanted to find an activity that would provide a reasonable explanation for Perry's presence, just in case anyone asked questions about how they happened to be together. And, if Luke was honest with himself, one that would provide him with a graceful exit if he changed his mind at the last moment.

The St. Lawrence Hall, beside the new Toronto City Hall, was proving to be a popular place for entertainment, offering everything from concerts and anti-slavery lectures to accounts from travellers who had successfully returned from exotic excursions. Three days after Thaddeus left to plod back up Yonge Street, Luke saw that the newspapers were advertising a lecture by a Mr. Horace Winthrop, a British gentleman who had recently completed a journey through Egypt and the Middle East. It was scheduled for the following evening.

Surely no one would think anything of it if he attended such an educational offering. And the timing was perfect. Thaddeus was safely away from Yorkville. Otherwise, Luke knew, his father would want to go with him.

He dashed off a short note and put it in the morning mail:
Travel lecture at St. Lawrence Hall 7 p.m. Friday even­ing? Meet you at the door. Luke —
and was rewarded with an answer by return post:
See you there. Perry

On the day of the lecture Luke was distracted and unfocused, still uncertain of the wisdom of his decision. Never-theless, he waited until late in the afternoon to go to the barber's for a shave, and after supper he went upstairs to brush his coat and his shoes. Mrs. Dunphy had laundered and starched a fresh collar for him and he fastened it carefully to his best shirt. He brushed his hair back on both sides and wondered if he should have asked the barber for some pomade to stick it down with, then decided that it would have made him look too eager. Once dressed, he inspected himself in the mirror and came to the conclusion that he looked as presentable as it was possible for him to be. Then, hands shaking, he left the house and walked as far as Tollgate Road. Just as he reached the corner, a horse taxi trotted by. Luke flagged it down. Tonight he would treat himself to a private ride.

When he arrived at the entrance to the St. Lawrence Hall, Perry was waiting in front of the building, leaning nonchalantly against the post of a gas lamp, looking polished and dapper. He broke into a lopsided grin when he saw Luke.

“Wasn't sure you really meant it.”

“Neither was I,” Luke replied.

“Did you want to go inside?”

“I should for a while. Just so I can report on the lecture tomorrow.”

They joined the line of people waiting to be admitted to the assembly hall. They were a fashionable group, the women's skirts wide and billowing, and despite the heat some of them wore brightly coloured Indian shawls wrapped around their shoulders. The men nearly all sported colourful waistcoats and extravagant cravats. Luke felt grey and nondescript in the midst of so much finery. Perhaps he should have asked for pomade after all.

The auditorium seemed a perfect complement for the elegance of its audience. A massive chandelier hung from a plastered medallion in the centre of the ceiling. Corniced windows and doors and pilasters lent a classical air to the space, while the raked gallery and the stage that thrust out into the room afforded an excellent view from any seat in the house.

They took chairs near the back and on the aisle. Luke was relieved to see that, although the hall was reasonably full, it was by no means sold out. He could see empty chairs scattered here and there throughout the rows. Their own empty seats would not be glaringly noticeable when they left.

The audience applauded when a bewhiskered gentleman walked up onto the stage and introduced himself as Mr. Winthrop. He carefully laid his notes on the lectern and then he began: “Your eyes, accustomed perhaps to the soothing green of field and wood, are dazzled by the intense rays of the sun, the horizon shimmering in the distance, and by the suffocating heat that envelops you like a shroud. Every movement is an effort, every breath a triumph wrested from the dry and desiccated air that insidiously siphons away the moisture in your nose and lungs. More than anything, this is the reality of Egypt.”

The man had travelled from England, he said, in order to view the astounding pyramidal structures that thrust skyward from the Egyptian desert. These masses of chiselled rock were tombs for the pharaohs of Egypt, ancient rulers who raised monuments as a testament to their own greatness.

Luke was excruciatingly aware of Perry in the chair beside him, the scent of his hair oil, their elbows brushing on occasion as he shifted in his seat. He forced himself not to sneak sideways glances at the pointed profile, and to concentrate on the speaker's words, as Christie was sure to question him about the lecture at breakfast the next morning.

“We made our way to the site by riding on a camel, an uncommonly uncomfortable mode of travel. These ships of the desert are irritable creatures, and had we not had the assistance of the local Egyptian herders, I doubt that we should have been able to mount them. Mrs. Winthrop, in particular, suffered greatly.”

The lecturer's wife had, apparently, travelled with her husband, and it was promised that later in the program this redoubtable lady would regale the audience with the difficulties of travelling in a foreign country in the genteel manner to which she was accustomed.

Sphinxes and sheiks, dunes and dhows. Luke sat impatiently through the next half-hour. Finally Mr. Winthrop announced a short break so that the good ladies and gentlemen in the audience might partake of refreshments, which were being served in an adjacent salon. Luke and Perry exited the hall.

“A drink?” Perry said when they reached the street. “I'm parched after all that talk about heat and sand.”

Luke nodded. “A drink.” If he was going to so cavalierly cast aside his previous resolutions he might just as well make it a good throw, he decided. Perhaps a glass of gin would steady his nerves. He followed as Perry walked north.

Again, they dodged down a small street off Yonge and twisted and turned through a warren of alleys until they reached a building with a scarred wooden door. One side of the frame showed the same peculiar scratching that Luke had noticed before.

Perry pointed to a mark. “That's the sign that you're safe. You won't run into trouble here.”

“Are there many of these places?”

“Only a few. But enough.”

Perry held open the door and beckoned him into the tavern where they found a table in a dark corner.

“Beer?”

“No,” Luke said. “I think I'd like something stronger.”

“Whisky's the stuff, then.” He asked the tavern keeper for two whiskies and brought them back to the table.

Luke sipped his tentatively, wrinkling his nose at the smell and almost gagging at the strong, burning taste, but when he swallowed it down it made his insides feel warm. Another sip and he could feel himself relaxing.

Perry was uncharacteristically quiet. Luke cast about for something to say that would ease the tension that had built between them.

“So what does the sign mean? The one on the door?”

“It's a reference to the classical Greek story of Orestes and Pylades.”

“I'm afraid I'm not familiar with it,” Luke confessed.

“They were raised as brothers, but became much more, if you know what I mean. The sign is an “O” and a “P intertwined.” With a finger he traced the shape on the scarred surface of the table, then narrowed his eyes and began speaking what Luke understood was a quotation from somewhere.

“And while the barbarians were standing round in a circle Orestes fell down and lay on the ground, seized by his usual mania, while Pylades wiped away the foam, tended his body and covered him with his well-woven cloak acting not only like a lover but like a father. For when from boyhood a serious love has grown up and it becomes adult at the age of reason, the long-loved object returns reciprocal affection, and it is hard to determine which is the lover of which. For as from a mirror the affection of the lover is reflected in the beloved.”

Perry's mouth twisted into a wry smile. “One of the few things I remember from a mythology class taught by a particularly sadistic schoolmaster. He was supposed to have been teaching us about Odysseus and the Trojan War, but decided to depart from the curriculum. It was only after he tried to bugger my brother Theo that I realized why.”

“What happened to him? Did your brother report him?”

Perry looked surprised. “Of course not. Theo was far too embarrassed to breathe a word to anyone but me. But I followed the old bastard one day. That's how I discovered this place. I didn't know then how useful the information would be.”

“So the schoolmaster scratched the sign on the door?”

“It must have been him. It's a pretty obscure story, and those particular details are usually glossed over in favour of a description of how Orestes killed his mother, which is apparently a far more acceptable tale for impressionable young minds. I doubt that many of the men who frequent these places know what the symbol really stands for, but they've come to recognize what it means. Around here, at any rate, it means that you're in snug company.”

Luke's knowledge of the history of Greece and Rome was non-existent. Mythology was the stuff of private boarding schools, of money and grand homes. His education had consisted of reading, writing, and arithmetic until he'd decided to go to medical school, where the emphasis was on memorizing anatomical names and pharmaceutical applications. He was suddenly aware of what a different world Perry Biddulph came from, and it made him feel shy and gauche. He groped for an intelligent comment and finally decided on a subject he was familiar with.

“So this Orestes — why did he ‘fall down to the ground with his usual mania'? Did he have epilepsy?”

Perry threw back his head and laughed. “Trust a physician to zero in on clinical description and ignore the moral innuendo. It does sound like epilepsy, doesn't it? Julius Caesar had it, too.” He took a long sip from the glass in front of him, then looked up, his face serious, his black eyes fixed on Luke's face. “It doesn't have to be me, you know, although I'd like that. I could show you how to meet someone else.”

With this humble and generous offering, and the effects of another sip of whisky, Luke finally made up his mind to forge ahead. He looked across the table at Perry and smiled.

“No, I want it to be you. You've been nothing but kind to me since I met you, and …” He was so unfamiliar with the language of courtship that he was having difficulty finding the words he wanted. Kindness wasn't what he meant. “And I like you very much. I'd like to know you better. I think I can trust you …” Again he fumbled over the sentence. This wasn't a piece of horse-trading, he thought, the deal to be sealed with a handshake. Why couldn't he say what he meant?

Perry galloped to his rescue. “Trust? I'm not sure I've ever been the recipient of anyone's trust before. But don't worry; I'll do my best to be worthy. I do understand what's at stake. And I like you, too, Luke.”

They downed their drinks and Perry rose from his chair. Luke was entirely unsure what was expected next, but he followed Perry back out to the warren of alleys.

“It's a lovely evening,” Perry said, “C'mon. I'll show you the sights.” And then he led the way across a handful of streets until they reached Molly Wood's Bush.