Chapter Twenty-seven

MURDOCH HAD WALKED PAST ENID’S boardinghouse once already. He had arrived at least twenty minutes before the appointed time and not wishing to appear overly eager had gone on by. The wind was biting and a sleety snow was falling, every good reason to go and knock on the door, but he forced himself to trudge on. As he went by the corner of Queen and Parliament Streets for a second time, he passed young Constable Burley on his beat, who gave him a puzzled greeting.

“Cold night to be out, sir.”

Murdoch realised he had been walking as slowly as if he were enjoying a summer stroll in Allan Gardens. He raised his head and quickened his pace purposefully.

“Brisk, Constable. Good for the lungs!”

He inadvertently took in a gulp of air so cold he started to cough. Burley suppressed a grin, gave him a salute, and continued on his rounds. Murdoch walked back as far as Sackville Street where he turned, leaving the constable to his lonely job of checking the empty houses along the street to make sure no vagrants had broken in to shelter there. A few houses from where Enid was now boarding, Murdoch paused and fished out his watch from his inner pocket. Damnation, he was still ten minutes early. He didn’t want to encounter the constable again, so he stayed where he was, stamping his feet and blowing into his gloves to warm his hands. He’d forgotten his muffler, and his nose started to drip from the cold air. Damnation again, he didn’t have a handkerchief. He wiped the back of his hand across his nose and sniffed hard. To be visiting at this hour was quite unorthodox, and in spite of himself he was touched that Enid had issued her invitation. He’d better get inside, early or not.

The house was one half of a double and looked reasonably well cared for. There was a gaslight in the small front porch, and even though the blinds were all pulled down, bright cracks of light showed around the edges.

Murdoch walked up the flight of steps to the door. There were stained-glass panels on each side, and a soft amber light came from the hall. He gave the shiny brass bellpull a good tug and peered through the glass side panel. Almost immediately he saw Enid Jones coming down the stairs, and he jumped back and started to scrape his boots on the scraper fastened to the boards of the porch. She opened the door.

“Mr. Murdoch, how wonderfully punctual you are. Please to come in out of the chill.”

He took off his hat, knocked some more slush from his boots, and stepped into the hall.

“I’ll take your coat from you.”

He thought she was a little breathless too and was glad of the distraction of coat and hat divesting. Enid was wearing a silver grey taffeta gown that rustled as she moved. He didn’t remember having seen it before. Her dark hair was fastened with tortoiseshell combs but seemed looser, less severe than the way she usually wore it.

“This is a grand house,” he said, rubbing his hands together to warm them.

“So it is. I am lucky to have found such accommodations. Mrs. Barrett is a widow, and she wanted a companion more than anything.” She held out her hand. “I was so sorry to hear of your sister’s death, Will. It must be a great loss to you.”

He shrugged. “Frankly, I felt as if she died when she was professed as a nun sixteen years ago. That was the last time I saw her, and I mourned her then.”

Enid’s hand was warm in his, and as he looked at her, he felt his stomach turn into something fluid. Whatever it was he communicated, she lowered her eyes quickly.

“You’re quite chilled. Come and get warm. My sitting room is upstairs.”

There was gaslight in the sconces, and all the way up to the landing were hung large and sober oil paintings that, as far as he could tell, were biblical in nature. Mrs. Barrett was clearly a woman of great piety. Baptist piety for certain. Enid ushered him into a room off the right of the landing. There was a cheerful fire burning in the hearth, and the lamps were turned up high. The Turkish couch and matching chairs were of rich green-and-red plush; the dark mahogany furniture gleamed. It was markedly different from the relatively simple room that she had rented from Mrs. Kitchen. He was also conscious of the fact they were alone.

She had been observing his reaction, and she smiled with pleasure. “As you can see, this is a larger room than I had before, and I have been able to add some of my own furniture. That is my table and sideboard. I brought them all the way from Wales, but when we moved into Mrs. Kitchen’s house, I had to store them away.”

“Very fine.”

“My husband was handy. He made them.”

Unconsciously she touched the surface of the sideboard as if in a caress.

“Please to sit down by the fire.”

He did so while she went to the tea trolley, where a silver teapot was warming over a spirit lamp.

“As I remember you like plenty of sugar and milk.” “That’s right.”

She poured the tea and handed him the cup and saucer. He didn’t want to embarrass her by constantly commenting on the fine quality of her goods and chattels, but the china was particularly delicate. He was suddenly aware that his chequered brown wool suit was shabby and his boots thick. He had never felt this before with Enid, and he didn’t like it at all.

“Since you left us, the typewriting business must be going well,” he said, trying for a lighthearted note. He didn’t succeed, and Enid frowned.

“Mrs. Barrett has kindly let me have two rooms for the cost of one, and in return I sit with her on an evening and sometimes read to her.”

“The sermons of Mr. Wesley, I assume?”

“Not at all. She is quite fond of novels. We are presently reading Mr. Scott’s Heart of Midlothian.”

“I’d consider that rather on the pagan side, myself.” He was goading her cruelly, but he couldn’t stop himself.

She went over to the trolley and put one of the cakes from the two-tiered silver stand onto his plate. “It is a rousing story, and we both enjoy it.”

She handed him the Eccles cake, which meant he had to juggle cup and saucer in one hand and the plate in the other. That didn’t help his mood. He put the cup and saucer on the small table beside him. On it was a framed studio photograph. Clearly a family portrait of Enid, a man who he presumed was her late husband, and her son, Alwyn, at a younger age. The man had the physique of a Welshman, short and stocky with thick, dark hair. He looked confident. Enid was leaning her head backwards against his shoulder, and the boy was standing between them. Murdoch had not seen this picture before, but then he realised he had never stepped inside Enid’s room when she was living at the Kitchens’.

“How does Alwyn like his new digs?” he asked.

“Quite well indeed. Mrs. Barrett has let me use the old box room for his bedroom. He is very proud to be in a room of his own. He thinks he is quite grown up.” She paused and took a sip of her tea. “I didn’t tell him you might be coming by tonight. I wanted him to go to bed early because he seems a little feverish, and he would not have gone to bed until he saw you.”

“Fear or pleasure?” Murdoch asked wryly. Enid’s son had been decidedly ambivalent about him.

She looked uncomfortable. “He does like you, Will, it’s just that …”

“It’s just that he doesn’t want to share his mother’s attentions.”

“He’s still a boy.”

Murdoch shrugged. No matter what he said, they seemed to end up in a place that was stiff and uncomfortable. “Quite so,” he added lamely. “I can’t say that I blame him for that.”

Another silence that was broken by the sound of a piece of coal falling in the fire.

Murdoch got to his feet at once. “That fire needs building up,” he said, and knelt down to open the coal scuttle that was beside the fender. He picked up the tongs and dropped a couple of chunks of coal into the red maw. “There you go. I’m restored to manliness. Are there any other tasks I can do for you, ma’am?”

She smiled back at him. “You can eat another cake. I made them myself this afternoon, and it is affronted I’d be if they were left untouched.”

“Gladly.”

He walked over to the trolley and helped himself to a marzipan square and a scone thick with currants.

“I understand from Mrs. Kitchen you are on compassionate leave for the week.”

“Yes, and that has turned out to be quite convenient as I have another investigation.”

He sat down by the fire while Enid looked at him curiously.

“I would be honoured if you would share the details with me. But if you have no desire to do so, I quite understand.”

He had half decided not to say anything to her, not sure how it would reflect on him. Oh, by the way, Mrs. Jones, not only am I a papist, my father is probably a murderer! However, once again, something in the kindness of her expression affected him, and he wanted to tell her the whole story.

“My long-lost father has reappeared. In fact, he is in Don Jail, where he is waiting to be hung.” He raced on, glad she was controlled enough to sit and listen without exclamation while he gave her a summary of what had happened in August.

“I have agreed to do what I can,” he concluded.

“What does that mean?”

“It means I am doing what I would do in any investigation. I am examining the evidence as presented. I am asking questions of the people who were there at the time, and I am trying to see if I can sniff out lies or inconsistencies or unearth new evidence pertaining to the case.”

“And if you were to find such evidence, is it too late?”

“If I present a convincing-enough deposition to the prison warden, he has the power to stay the execution. If I am overwhelmingly convincing, there could be a new trial.”

“You say you doubt he is innocent?”

He shrugged. “I remember all too well what he was like when he was drinking. In the morning all was forgotten. Quite possibly what happened has been erased from his mind. I am going to see if there is any new proof, one way or the other, and that’s all I can do. If he goes to the gallows, so be it.”

“It must have been shocking to meet with him under these circumstances. And with your sister so newly gone.”

“I haven’t told him about that yet.”

Enid came over to him, crouching down so that they were at eye level. She touched his cheek, stroking him as if he were a child in need of comfort.

“I am sorry for you, Will.”

He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. Her skin was warm and soft, fragrant with something sweet and flowery. She didn’t move away, and it was so natural to put his other arm around her and pull her close. He kissed her. She raised her arms and enclosed him, pressing against his chest. Murdoch was having trouble breathing, and the position was awkward with Enid somehow half draped across his knees. He managed to part his legs, and she slipped in between them. He wanted to moan with pleasure, and his loins were desperate to take action on their own. He wasn’t sure if it was Enid or he that finally ended the kiss, but they stayed like that, clutched together, her cheek hard against his.

“You must be uncomfortable,” he whispered, as he kissed her face again and again.

“I am,” she said, and moved back to sit on her heels, although she was still between his knees. Her face was flushed, and her eyes shone.

“Mrs. Barrett is away at her sister’s until tomorrow night.”

He stared at her, wondering why she was telling him this right now. She laughed at him.

“We have complete privacy, Will. If you want it so, that is.”

He almost yelped. “Enid!”

She stood up and took his hand. “My bedroom is adjoining. Come.”

Stiffly, he got to his feet. She was in charge, and he was only too happy to surrender. If, in spite of everything, Mrs. Jones had determined they would become lovers this night, he would offer no objection. She picked up one of the lamps and pulled back the flowered velvet portieres that draped the door to the bedroom. She had lit a fire here also and already turned down the covers on the bed. The white plump pillows looked soft and welcoming. She smiled at him shyly and gave him another kiss, which lasted for a long time. Finally, she pulled away and indicated the screen in one corner.

“I’ll change. You can get undressed by the fire where it’s warmer.”

Murdoch wasn’t sure if he needed to be any warmer than he was, otherwise he’d conflagrate, but he nodded. He was glad he’d sponged down this morning and that his shirt was fresh on yesterday. Enid disappeared behind the screen, and he removed all his clothes. He hesitated at whether or not to take off his woollen combination underwear but decided it might be easier if he did. Naked as a jaybird, he hurried over to the bed and jumped in, pulling up the covers.

Enid emerged. She had wrapped herself in a paisley shawl, but she didn’t seem to have anything on either.

“Blow out the light, Will,” she said, and he obeyed at once. The flames in the fireplace made dancing shadows on the walls. She came over to the bed, and he made room for her to climb in. He was lying on his back, and she put her arm across his chest. Her skin had gone cool.

“You’re shivering,” he said. “Are you cold?”

“No. But it is a long time since I have lain with a man.”

He buried his face in her hair and spoke into her neck. “Enid, I must tell you I have not had connection with a woman before. I am not sure how to proceed.”

She leaned back so she could see into his eyes. “There is nothing to worry about.” She rolled away and pulled him on top of her. Her hand slid to his groin. “Trust this fellow; he knows what to do.”