Thoreau at Devil's Perch

by B. B. Oak

  They did not appear so fresh to me. One had a waxy pallor, another a crooked nose that must have been fractured and not reset properly, and one poor thing had a shiner that had nearly closed her right eye. There were four parallel stripes of a mottled bluish hue on her upper arm that I surmised had been left by some brute’s gripping fingers. The other two also had marks on their limbs—purpureous spots of a livid color—but I did not think they were bruises. All three women seemed lethargic to the extreme, the result of drowsiness, drugs, or perhaps a medical condition.

  “Perk up, my flowers, or these gentlemen will not want to pluck you,” Mrs. Scudder urged them in a tone that meant business.

  Henry got right down to business too. He told Mrs. Scudder that we were neither customers nor police officers but had come to inquire about a man named Rufus Badger.

  Mrs. Scudder erupted in a tornado of expletives that would put a drunken drover to shame. “Look what the bastard did to poor Lottie,” she went on to say, pointing to the young woman with the black eye. “Smacked her before he even paid for her. Badger has got a mean streak running through him so deep it is unfathomable.”

  “When did Sergeant Badger hurt you, Lottie?” Henry asked the girl gently.

  “Last Sadday night,” she replied, giving him a trusting look. She was a plain enough lass who would have looked far more at home in a milkmaid’s poke bonnet than the false curls framing her broad, homely face. “His favorite gal ain’t here no more so he turned his attentions on me. I could not help but shrink away from him when he went to kiss me, he ascares me so. That got him all haired up, so he grabbed my arm and slugged me.” She began to sob.

  “Lottie is still green,” Mrs. Scudder said and smiled at Henry. “I venture she might well suit you, Mr. Green Coat.”

  Before he could reply, the girl with the crooked nose spoke up. “I ain’t ascared of that Badger,” she said in a boastful tone. “Afore he could slug Lottie again, I took him off to my room.”

  Lottie regarded her with admiration. “And again I thank you kindly for that, Dora.”

  Dora shrugged. “Never you mind, Lottie. Stinker though he is, Badger allus got plenty of money. Besides which, if he took a hand to me, I’d have stuck him with this.” She pulled out from the back of her corset a short dagger like an ice pick. “He didn’t give me no trouble though. The drunken sod went to snoring like a trumpet full of spit soon as his old long Tom shot off.”

  “We had to haul him out of Dora’s bed and into the back hall,” Mrs. Scudder said, “so’s he wouldn’t interfere with the trade. He slept there like the pile of trash he is all night.”

  “All night?” Henry said.

  “Well into it anyways. He waked up a little past four and took off. Good riddance to bad rubbish says I.”

  “Are you sure of the time he left, madam?” Henry asked her.

  “Sir, I am most sure of it. The night patrolman gets off duty at four and always comes directly here to collect his tribute. He was here when Badger woke up. I was mighty glad of it too. Lord only knows what further torment that beast would have brought upon us if an officer of the law had not been on the premises.”

  “On me, as it so happens,” boastful Dora said.

  My disappointment was great, for if Badger had not left the brothel until four, he could not have ridden back to Plumford before sunrise. Hence, he could not have killed Peck.

  Nevertheless, Henry plunged on with his inquiry. “Do you know a mulatto girl named Effie?” he asked Mrs. Scudder.

  She suddenly got wary. “Why should I?”

  “I was told she works here,” Henry said.

  “Well, she don’t anymore. Effie run off I know not where. Nor do I care. She was trouble.”

  “She had a friend by the name of Caleb,” Henry said.

  Mrs. Scudder shrugged. “Effie had a lot of friends.”

  The third girl came over to us, limping slightly. As she gave Henry a searching look I noticed she had a small ecchymosis in the inner angle of each watery eye. “Do you know where Caleb is, sir?” We have been sorely worried about him.”

  “I am sorry to tell you this,” Henry said, “but Caleb is dead.”

  The girl hung her head and limped away without further inquiry.

  Henry looked toward the other three women. “Why were you worried about him?’

  They darted glances back and forth but said nothing.

  “His death was deemed an accident,” Henry continued, “but we believe he was murdered.”

  “By that bastard Rufus Badger!” bold Dora said.

  “Shut up,” Mrs. Scudder ordered her between clenched teeth.

  “You can’t shut me up.”

  “Well, I can sure as hell shut you out, Dora dear. Would you rather be walking the streets again instead of doing business under my roof?”

  The two women glared at each other. They were of equal height but not of equal power, for Mrs. Scudder won out. Dora slunk back to her chair without another word, not so fierce after all.

  “Now, gentlemen, I request you very kindly to leave,” Mrs. Scudder told us in a mannerly tone.

  “As soon as we ask you a few more questions,” Henry said.

  “Get out now!” she shrieked, her veneer of politeness worn thin. “Else I’ll call the day patrolman and have you arrested for lewd and unlawful behavior. I pay him enough that he will be most happy to oblige me.”

  “Your threat does not persuade me to leave,” Henry told her, “but your contempt for truthfulness does. I would not believe another word that slithered out of your lips. Let us depart from this place, Adam.”

  “Allow me to talk to Mrs. Scudder first,” I said. Both she and Henry looked rather surprised for I had not said much (or indeed anything) till now. I had seen no reason to interfere with Henry’s inquiry and had been occupied with my own observations. “I would like to discuss the health of your workers with you, madam.”

  “Now why would you want to do that if you ain’t here to use them?”

  “Because I’m a doctor, and I believe they have land scurvy. That’s why they are so tired and bleak. No doubt their joints ache and they suffer from muscular and lumbar pains.”

  “Or they are just lazy.”

  “Scurvy would cause those purple blotches upon their limbs,” I added.

  “Is that so?” Mrs. Scudder showed me more interest. “Well, those damn spots are most unattractive. A few gentlemen callers have remarked upon them. I suppose you are going to suggest giving my girls a good bleeding to cure ’em, doctor. How much do you charge for your services?”

  “No bloodletting is necessary,” I said, although I know doctors who still swear by this misconceived treatment for scurvy. “The ailment is cured most speedily with wholesome victuals. Just feed them plenty of vegetables and fruits.”

  “Do you take me for a wealthy woman, sir?” Mrs. Scudder said. “I can barely afford to feed ’em bread and beer.”

  “You do not suffer from the disease yourself,” I pointed out. “Feed them what you eat.”

  She waved off that suggestion.

  “It will be good for your business,” I said to persuade her. “They will look and feel better. I beg you to follow my advice, madam. I am most concerned for the poor child who let us in. She has land scurvy to a severe degree.”

  Mrs. Scudder raised her double chin and stated most proudly, “I’ll have you know that I do not deal in child prostitution, doctor.”

  “I should hope not. I am only suggesting you feed the girl better.”

  “But I just got through telling you I got no use for her except as a slavey. No point in making her look more presentable.”

  Gave up on the woman. She had the soul of a weasel. Henry and I left the house and came upon the little girl outside, scrubbing the step-stone. She gave us a timid smile, and I observed that her gums were swollen and bleeding. I told her I was a doctor and asked her to stick out her tongue. She did so with a giggle. Her tongue was livid and had a blac
k fungus upon it. I took a closer look at the sores on her stick-like legs. They could become infected and vulnerable to gangrene if they did not heal. And heal they would not without proper diet. I gave the lass a few coins and enjoined her to buy some lemons or oranges. She promised me she would, but I am quite sure she bought sweets instead. She is, after all, just a child.

  As Henry and I walked away we heard the sharp tick of high heels behind us. We turned to see Dora the Dagger Girl coming toward us, wrapped in a long shawl.

  “Wait!” she said. The short walk had made her breathless, and she gasped a few times before speaking further. “I will tell you all I know and to hell with Scudder. If that old blowze darst try to kick me out of her house, I will kick her in her fat ass.”

  “What is it you know?” Henry asked her.

  “Badger killed Caleb for sure.”

  “Did he admit this to you?”

  “No, but I allus feared it. Last I seen the boy was about a fortnight ago, when he left to give Badger a message from that bitch hopper Effie. When Caleb didn’t come back with an answer, Effie took off for parts unknown. She musta figured it had all gone wrong.”

  “What had gone wrong?” Henry said.

  “Her scheme to get money outta Badger. She told me he left behind something in her room that she reckoned he would pay plenty to get back. I warned her he was too vicious to play with, but she had him pegged for a drunken gump.”

  “What did Badger leave behind?”

  “Don’t know. And neither did Effie.”

  “Then why did she think Badger valued it?”

  “Well, it musta been worth something. Else why was Badger carrying it in a leather satchel with a big brass lock?”

  “Did the satchel have any distinctive markings?”

  “It had some letters stamped on it. And it looked mighty shabby.”

  “What did the letters spell out?”

  She suddenly looked abashed. “I can’t recall.”

  Henry studied her a moment. “Can you read, Dora?”

  “No! And I ain’t proud of it neither.”

  “Nor should you be ashamed of it,” Henry said gently.

  “I know my numbers well enough,” she said, her braggadocio returning. “And I recall the number three on the satchel.”

  Henry nodded. “What did Effie do with satchel?”

  “She hid it of course. She sent Caleb to tell Badger that she was keeping it safe for him and would give it back for a price.”

  “Do you know where she sent Caleb?”

  “Some hick town called Plumford. Badger was allus bragging about living in a fine house there and working for a fine military gentleman. So Caleb took the cars there.”

  “And that was the last you saw of him?”

  She swallowed hard and nodded. “But we sure as hell saw Badger soon enough. He busted into the house screaming for Effie the very next day, but she had already lit out. So he turns his anger on Hag Scudder, bellowing about wanting his satchel back. She don’t know nothin’ about it and starts shaking and quaking so bad I near laughed out loud. But it weren’t so funny when he pulled a big knife outta his boot and threatened her with it. I don’t much like Scudder, but I couldn’t just stand by and see her get kilt. So I told Badger where his goddam satchel was. I’m the only one who knew Effie hid it under the floorboards ’neath her bed. Once Badger got it back and saw that the lock weren’t tampered with, he settled down some. I guess he figured he couldn’t kill us all like he done poor Caleb, so he just made us swear never to speak of the bag to anyone.” She took a breath. “That’s all I know. Now you tell me how Badger done in Caleb.”

  Henry explained where we had found Caleb’s body and how we thought he had been pushed over the cliff after being struck from behind with a blow to the head.

  “That is just like Badger to whack a man from behind,” she said. “He ain’t worth a pinch of shit. And Caleb was worth his weight in gold. Never mind he was a darky. He was a fine feller all the same. How he used to make us all hoot with his jokes and antics. Such a merry boy. He was but eighteen, you know. Oh, I cannot believe that he is dead!” She covered her face with her hands for a moment, but when she lowered them her eyes were dry and her expression cold. “Damn Badger to hell. I should stick him with my dagger and send him there myself.”

  “If you do, you will hang for it,” Henry told her. “And that would be unjust, for he is the one who should hang for Caleb’s murder.”

  “Oh, I would very much like to see Badger dance a horn pipe in the air,” she said.

  “If we collect enough evidence against him, we can bring him to trial,” Henry said. “Will you testify?”

  She gave out a bitter laugh. “Who would believe a whore?”

  “I do,” Henry said.

  “But how many other men think like you?”

  “I would no more wish them to think like me than I would wish to think like them. We need only to think for ourselves to do the right thing. It is the individual conscience that matters,” Henry told her. He is by nature incapable of talking down (or up for that matter) to anyone.

  If Dora understood the meaning of his words, she did not show it. I handed her some coins and told her to buy vegetables and fruit for herself and the others, taking care that the little girl got her full share. She promised me she would, but might have kept the money for herself. Or the child may be sucking on a juicy orange as I write this. That is what I hope, at any rate.

  Henry and I did not tarry further in the Black Sea district, for we had fished from it all the information we could.

  “It seems all we have proven for our trouble is that Badger was in Boston at the time of Peck’s death,” I stated glumly as we made our way back to the station. “This does not help Trump in the least.”

  “There are other suspects to consider,” Henry said. “Such as the guests who were staying at Peck’s house the night he was murdered. Do you know much about them?”

  “Next to nothing. I had only a brief conversation with Lieutenant Finch and barely exchanged a word with the little banker or his wife. And Justice Phyfe saw no need to interrogate them, so convinced was he that Trump had murdered Peck.” I stopped in my tracks. “I suggest we remain in town to interrogate them ourselves, Henry. I have lodgings in a house on Chestnut Street and invite you to be my guest there. My landlord and his family are spending the month at Cape Ann and have taken the maid along with them, but I am sure we can manage to fend for ourselves.”

  “What about Trump?”

  “This is about him,” I replied a bit impatiently. “The only way to prevent him from being sentenced to hang is to discover who really killed Peck.”

  “Yes, of course,” Henry said. “But do not forget that Trump is in more immediate danger, Adam. He could be hanged without so much as a trial if he remains vulnerable to foes like Badger. I must go back to Concord without delay and enlist the aid of my friends to get him removed to a safer jail.”

  “Of course. Do what you can to help Trump in Concord. I will remain in town and interview Vail and Finch.”

  “The soldier seems a more likely suspect than the banker,” Henry said. “I say this not because I think a banker would be too principled to commit murder. Indeed, I wager a soldier has a higher sense of honor than one who traffics in money. But soldiers sometime kill for honor, do they not? Take care, Adam. Lieutenant Finch could be dangerous.”

  Henry can act too much the big brother at times, but I promised I would keep up my guard. After assuring me he would inform Julia that I was staying the night in Boston, Henry continued on his way to the terminal, and I headed toward the Provident Bank on Tremont Street, where I recalled Mr. Vail had stated he was employed when he testified. Upon arriving at the bank I was informed Mr. Vail had left for the day. It was against bank policy to give out his home address, so I had little choice but to wait until the morrow to interview him at his office. I did not know where Lt. Finch resided either. My hope was that Mr. Vail might
.

  Rather than waste what little remained of the afternoon, I decided to go to my own office. Although Dr. Quincy had given me leave to stay in Plumford until my grandfather was fully recovered, he received me coolly. My extended absence as his assistant has clearly displeased him even though this is a slow time for the practice. Our patients, mostly ladies of the privileged class, have by and large left the city for the season. I confess I do not miss doctoring them. Their physical ailments are usually minor, brought on by assiduous dieting, tight lacing, lack of exercise, and genteel indolence. Or by sheer silliness. They swig vinegar and nibble chalk to give themselves a fashionable pallor, then come to us with stomach complaints. Dr. Quincy prescribes laudanum and morphine far too often in my opinion, and I have told him so. And he has told me that my simple prescription of robust walks in the fresh air demeans our profession. In truth, we were not getting on well before I left for Plumford.

  We got on well enough today, however. That another doctor was present during our brief meeting no doubt fostered our congeniality. Upon meeting Dr. Eames, I immediately felt at ease with him. He has an infectious amiability, although I suppose infectious is a poor choice of words when referring to a doctor who specializes in venereal disease. When Dr. Eames learned that I hailed from Plumford, he spontaneously mentioned that he had recently advised a patient from that very town. He said no more than that and might have felt he had said too much as it was. His specialty requires the utmost discretion. Hence I did not inquire further, assuming that it was Peck who consulted with him. Did not blame Peck for seeking a second opinion, for mine had been dire indeed.

  As I record this journal entry I can hear the city sounds of rattling carriage wheels, rumbling omnibuses, and shrill voices coming through my open window and miss the peaceful silence of Plumford at nightfall. Mostly, though, I miss Julia. Shall I write her a letter? It would be the next best thing to conversing with her. We have conversed very little since we kissed and perhaps, in this letter, I can set things right between us again.Yes, I shall write to her.

  JULIA’S NOTEBOOK

  Tuesday evening, 18 August