The Burying Ground (6 page)

“But …” Luke's protest was only a mild one. He was still shaken by his encounter with the thugs who had attacked Cherub, not to mention the riot that had erupted at the fire. The prospect of being jammed onto an omnibus was unappealing after so much excitement.

Mrs. Van Hansel patted the seat again.

“Much obliged.” Luke climbed up beside her.

She flicked the reins and the buggy started forward, but when they reached the next intersection, Luke realized that the mob had grown in size and had spilled farther along the street. Mrs. Van Hansel urged the horse through the crowd, but just as they reached the thickest part of the throng, a cheer went up and the horse shied a little. The woman beside Luke expertly tightened the reins and the animal steadied.

“They're throwing fire grenades,” she commented. “Much good that will do.”

Luke had to agree with her. The glass bottles filled with carbon tetrachloride had little effect on the flames that were consuming the building and did little more than fill the air with a noxious odour.

Just then a hook and ladder truck appeared at the head of the street. The driver of the wagon made little effort to avoid pedestrians as he barrelled through the crowd. Here and there people were knocked aside and Luke thought it fortunate that none of them ended up beneath the wheels of the wagon. Three policemen rushed forward, ordering the driver to halt. The driver ignored them, and one of constables leapt up onto the wagon to try to wrest the reins away. The driver launched a haymaker at the policeman, which missed the intended target of his face but landed squarely against his shoulder. The officer toppled backward onto the ground.

The rest of the police force abandoned their efforts to break up the original altercation and rushed to the aid of their colleague. Two of them ministered to the fallen policeman while the others scrambled onto the wagon, pushing the driver out of the way and grabbing at the reins. When the firefighters saw the driver being attacked, they dropped their axes and grenades and waded into the fray. Onlookers immediately joined in willy-nilly, seemingly unconcerned about whether their fists connected with constable or fireman. The scene was turning to riot, and Luke felt panic welling up in his chest. This was too much like what had happened in Montreal.

Mrs. Van Hansel managed to turn the buggy in spite of the numbers of people crowding against it, but now they were moving against the flow of traffic, as everyone not actively involved in fighting desperately tried to crowd closer so they could watch the unexpected entertainment. Either that, Luke thought, or to judge whether or not they should join in.

After several anxious minutes, the vehicle cleared the last of the crowd and the horse settled down to a steady pace. As they rode along, Luke searched for something to say to the finely dressed woman beside him.

“Cherub is an unusual name,” he ventured.

“Yes it is,” Mrs. Van Hansel agreed, “but it suits her perfectly. That's what she looked like when she was a child — like a little cherub fallen down out of the sky. She's become even more angelic-looking as she's grown older.”

“You've known her for a long time, then?”

“Oh yes. And her mother before her. She was a genius with a needle. Cherub grew up in my household. I'm very fond of her and she helps me in many ways.”

Luke assumed from this that Cherub occupied a servant's position. Or was an assistant of some description. Something in the nature of hired help, at any rate.

“And what do you do, Mr. Lewis?” Mrs. Van Hansel asked. She turned to him as she said it, and he was able for the first time to get a clear view of her face. To his surprise, she looked not at all like he had expected from the timbre of her voice. She was not nearly as old as she sounded, although there were a few fine lines beginning to gather at the edges of her full-lipped mouth and at the corners of her eyes. She could be no more than a few years older than Cherub, he judged. Her very round, very blue eyes dominated her heart-shaped face, and together with her porcelain-like skin gave her the look of one of the imported china dolls that he had often seen in shop windows.

“I'm a physician,” he responded in answer to her question.

Her eyebrows arched in something that was more like calculation than surprise, but the gesture still made her face seem more doll-like than before. “Oh really? You seem so young for such a responsible profession.”

“I'm just a junior partner, really,” he admitted. “I've been taken on to assist an older doctor in Yorkville.”

“How wonderful!”

“Yes, I was very lucky to find a position.”

“And why is that?” she asked.

“I didn't have the money to set up on my own, or the connections that would help establish me.”

“I see,” she said, but she made no further comment, turning her full attention once again to the horse.

Luke could think of nothing more to say and they trotted along in silence. He wondered who this woman was. She had to be the wife or daughter of someone important, he figured, judging by the quality of the horse and buggy she drove. And if the clothing she wore was anything to go by, she was well-acquainted with seamstresses — her skirts were made of a fine cloth, her hat fashioned in some new mode that featured lacquered straw and yards of ribbon. The wife of someone important, he decided. And quite probably rich. He wondered if this was the sort of “connection” that might do him some good in the future, but he had no idea what he should do or say in order to nurture it.

“It's just up here,” he said as they trotted past the Red Lion. He directed her to Christie's house and clambered down from the buggy as soon as they reached it.

“Thank you so much.” He held out his hand for her to shake, and shifted from foot to foot as he desperately tried to think of some way to turn the chance encounter into something more.

“But aren't you going to invite us in for a cup of tea, Dr. Lewis? It's a long, dusty drive back to the city.”

Tea. Of course.
Luke mentally kicked himself for overlooking the obvious. The rules of hospitality eased all difficulties. In all the years he was growing up, anyone who had ever shown up at the door had been invited in. And even when his mother's stores had been depleted, she would find something to offer, even if it was only chicory coffee or nettle tea. Guests must not be allowed to go thirsty.

“Yes, of course, please,” he stammered. “Won't you come in?”

He hoped that Dr. Christie would not mind, and that Mrs. Dunphy was up to the task of producing tea on such short notice. He helped both women down from the buggy, then ushered Mrs. Van Hansel to the front door while Cherub tethered the horse to the gate. He saw Mrs. Van Hansel into the hall, then turned to Cherub, who stood waiting, one hand stroking the horse's head.

Luke smiled and held the door open, gesturing her inside with one hand. She blinked a couple of times, then stepped along the short walk and into the front hall. He showed both women into the small, musty parlour at the front of the house.

“Please, sit down. I'll just be a moment.”

He knew there was no point in ringing the bell that connected the parlour with the kitchen. Mrs. Dunphy ignored bells and when reproached by Dr. Christie for her negligence retorted that she wasn't a trained circus animal and had no intention of jumping at bells or whistles.

Just as he reached the kitchen door, it flew open and there stood Dr. Christie in his blood-spattered apron.

“Oh! Luke! It's you!” he boomed. “I didn't expect you back quite so soon.”

“I got a ride,” Luke said. “And I've brought people home for tea. Do you think Mrs. Dunphy could provide a pot?”

Christie turned and bellowed over his shoulder. “Mrs. Dunphy! Tea! And cakes if you have 'em.”

“What? Tea at this hour? And cakes? Of course, I'll just conjure 'em out of thin air. It's the easiest thing in the world to come up with cakes when you're least expected to. I'll just wave my hand and —”

Christie slammed the door shut against the muttering and strode down the hall toward the parlour.

“Visitors, eh?” he said. “I must say, Luke, I hadn't thought that you'd be such a social creature. It might take me some time to get used to the notion of having company.”

Luke scrambled after him. “Don't you think you should take your apron off first?” he said. But Christie had already reached the parlour doorway.

“Hello! Hello! Welcome!” he boomed into the room, in spite of the remarks he had just made about sociability. “I'm Stewart Christie. How do you do.” And he strode forward, his hand out.

Luke had no idea what either of his guests made of the loud man with the filthy apron, for he could discern no astonishment on their faces. Christie, however, made no attempt to contain his surprise at the presence of Cherub.

“An Ethiopian! How do ye do, miss, how do ye do? Now there's something you'd never see in Edinburgh. An Ethiopian in the parlour. And a very pretty one at that! You would be an addition to any Scottish sitting room, I can tell you that!”

Luke thought he would die of embarrassment, but Cherub seemed to take Christie's remarks with good grace, and Mrs. Van Hansel positively beamed.

“It's true,” she said, “Cherub is an ornament wherever she finds herself. I'm Lavinia Van Hansel.”

Christie bent to take her hand, but at that moment must have realized what an impression he must be making. He stopped and peered down at his stained apron.

“Oh my goodness, you must excuse me,” he said. “I was working and I didn't realize that I was quite such a sight.” He ripped the apron off, balled it up, and then seemed at a loss as to what to do with it, opting finally to throw it behind the settee.

Luke was having severe second thoughts about his decision to invite guests home with him, but the women seemed to be taking the doctor's odd behaviour in stride.

“Now then, tell me, how did you make the acquaintance of my young assistant?” Christie said as he settled himself down on the settee beside Mrs. Van Hansel.

“He saved me,” Cherub said.

“Saved you? My goodness, from what? Cholera? A palsy? Relapsing fever? Details! You must give me details!”

It was Mrs. Van Hansel who answered. “Poor Cherub was set upon by a pair of Yankee catchers. Dr. Lewis manfully fought them off and delivered my friend safely back to my carriage.”

Luke felt himself blushing. “I didn't do much,” he said. “I really only surprised them. Miss Cherub seems quite able to look after herself if she's not woefully outnumbered.”

“Yankee catchers?” Christie said. “You mean they're snatching Africans off the streets in broad daylight?”

“I'm afraid so,” Cherub answered. “It's the second time I've been set upon in the last few weeks.”

“They were carrying knives, as well,” Luke said.

Christie shook his head. “It can't be countenanced. Did you find a constable and report the incident?”

“No,” Luke said. “There was a fire and the police were too busy fighting with the fire brigade.”

Christie snorted. “Sometimes I wonder whether this country will ever be civilized.” He turned to Cherub. “You are, I hope, recovered from your ordeal?”

“As well as can be expected, I suppose,” she replied. “I must say I appreciate the opportunity to sit and collect myself for a moment.” She turned and smiled at Luke. “I don't think I thanked you properly — not only for coming to my aid, but for the invitation to tea.”

The statement seemed to spur Christie to action. He leapt up and went to the doorway. “Mrs. Dunphy! Tea!”

There was a muttered reply, which, mercifully, Luke couldn't quite make out, and a few moments later Mrs. Dunphy trudged in with a tea tray containing not only a pot, cups, milk, and sugar, but also a plate of gingersnaps. She plunked it on the parlour table and promptly trudged out of the room again, leaving Christie to pour the tea and pass the cookies.

“You live in Toronto, do you, Mrs. Van Hansel?” he said, handing her a cup.

“Yes. On Shuter Street.”

Christie seemed impressed with this information and Luke guessed that it must be one of the city's better neighbourhoods.

“And you, sir, hail from Scotland, I take it?”

“Been here thirty years now. I've seen a lot of changes in the place in that time.” And with that he launched into a long description of what the colony had been like when he first arrived, and the progress that had taken place since, although, he pointed out, “there's plenty of room for improvement yet,” at which point he outlined the specific areas he judged still lacking and finally ended his discourse with a prediction that most of the politicians currently in office would end their days on a gibbet.

“Well,” Mrs. Van Hansel said when it appeared that Christie had finally subsided, “you must come and visit me in turn. By and large I find social occasions rather dreary. One sees the same old people time and time again. It would be pleasant to have an educated man like yourself to liven things up.”

“Oh no, oh no,” Christie protested, although Luke could see that he was flattered by the invitation. “I've long since forgotten how to behave in a drawing room. Dr. Lewis, on the other hand, would no doubt be a brilliant addition to any occasion.”

Mrs. Van Hansel turned her gaze to Luke. “Why yes, I do believe you're correct. An eligible young bachelor never comes amiss at any function. The unmarried ladies will be all aflutter. You are a bachelor, aren't you, Dr. Lewis?”

“But … I couldn't possibly,” Luke said. “I have so little free time. I'm needed here.”

“Nonsense, my lad,” Christie said. “After all, you're entitled to the occasional day off. I am still quite capable of seeing to patients, you know. I did for years before you arrived.”

“Then it's settled,” Mrs. Van Hansel said, setting her tea cup down on the table. “I'll send you an invitation.” She fished around in the bag she carried until she located a calling card, which she handed to Luke. “And now, Cherub,” she said, rising, “we've dallied long enough. We must be on our way.”