Then, as the moon rose a little higher in the sky, Luke saw someone climb over the fence that separated the cemetery from the Tollgate Road. He shot a glance at the intruders. Only the head and shoulders of one of them was visible. He was well down in the hole he’d dug. The other stood over him, but his attention was fixed on the metal box that his accomplice was handing up to him and he didn’t notice that someone was creeping toward him through the shadows cast by the stone monuments.
It was Morgan Spicer. Thaddeus must have sent him out the front door of the lodge to make his way along the front of the Burying Ground. As Luke watched, Morgan snaked stealthily closer, until he was no more than twenty feet from the grave. Suddenly he jumped up and shouted. The man holding the lantern dropped it and ran toward the back fence, the other scrambling out of the grave to follow him. Luke broke into a barreling sprint across the graveyard, vaulting headstones as he ran. When he shouted, the intruders realized he was on a course to intercept them and they abruptly changed direction, running for the west corner of the grounds. Morgan anticipated this move and was there to cut them off. And then suddenly Thaddeus appeared from behind the chapel, blocking their exit to the south.
The men circled around Morgan, hoping still to reach the western fence, but in the dark and their hurry, they failed to see the mound of earth that was heaped up over Caleb Johnson’s grave. One of them tripped over the end of it and tumbled to the ground. The other stopped to help him to his feet.
The man’s head was down, focused on lifting his partner, and he didn’t see Thaddeus running at him from one side, or anticipate the bone-jarring tackle that knocked him flying. Luke ran forward, too, ready to jump on either of the culprits should they attempt to rise.
But the men lay there, blinking and confused by the sudden ambush.
“Who are you?” Morgan demanded. “Why are you digging up my graves?”
Thaddeus grabbed the lantern, unshuttering it to cast full light on the men’s faces. One of them was Hands, just as Luke expected, but he was taken aback to realize that he knew the other as well. It was the same man who had been in the cabinet-maker’s yard the night Hands was shot, the same man who had chased the Lewises halfway across Toronto. The man on whom Luke sicced a guard dog so they could get away. The scars were still there on his face — ugly, sunken welts that had healed badly over the flesh that had been ripped away. Hands would not be the only one wanting revenge on the Lewises.
Hands looked in bewilderment from Thaddeus to Luke. It was Cuddy who recognized them. “I know you. I know you both!” His face settled into an angry sneer. “You’re the two who set the dog on me. Hands and I have been looking for you. And here you are, fallen right into our laps.”
“I think you’ve fallen into ours,” Thaddeus pointed out. “We’ll be sending for the constable now.”
“I don’t think so,” Cuddy said. And then, before anyone could step forward to grab his arm, he pulled out a gun and waved it menacingly at Luke and Thaddeus. He scrambled to his feet, and then, still pointing the gun, reached down with one hand to pull his boss upright.
Van Hansel retrieved his hat and brushed the mud from his trousers before he fixed Thaddeus with an appraising stare. “It is you. Well, well, well. Where’s the girl? The one who shot me?”
“Long gone,” Thaddeus said. “I have no idea what happened to her.”
She had fled across the border, Luke knew. Surely she was safe now, or was Hands’s reach that long? He didn’t know, but he would follow his father’s lead and claim ignorance of her fate.
“We’ll have to see if we can help your memory along a little,” Hands said. “And I expect Cuddy wouldn’t mind some time alone with the pair of you, as well. You quite ruined his good looks when you sicced that dog on him, you know. He may want a little revenge of his own. Turn around and walk slowly toward the gate.”
Thaddeus appeared to stumble a little as he turned, and Luke reached out to steady him. Morgan had been standing to one side, seemingly forgotten, and as soon as Cuddy’s attention was drawn by Thaddeus’s movement, he rushed forward. But he was a little too far away to take Cuddy by surprise, and too small to knock him down. Hands caught at Morgan’s jacket as he flew by. It was enough to send Spicer tumbling to the ground. Hands dropped on top of him, dug his knee into Morgan’s stomach, and transferred the grip of his good hand to Morgan’s throat.
“I’ve got him, Cuddy,” Hands said. “You take care of the other two.”
Cuddy waved the gun. “Start walking, and no funny business this time” he said. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”
They had taken only a step or two when the night erupted with shouts. Luke heard Sally yell, “Get back here!” He heard the shrieks of small children. He heard Cuddy yell, “What the …” And he heard Hands’s roar at Morgan to hold still. After that everything seemed to happen at once. Four small children shot past the chapel, their white nightgowns billowing out behind them. They looked rather like angels, Luke thought, identical freckled angels spilling out from the tiny church to exact their vengeance on the mortals before them. Or demons, maybe, risen up from the depths of the graves. Either way, they presented an unsettling spectacle.
They ran past Thaddeus and barreled into Hands, their combined weight and the force of their attack nearly knocking him over. With only one functional arm, Van Hansel was finding it difficult to subdue the struggling Morgan, and had no hand free to counter the twins’ attack. He kicked at them awkwardly, and one of them — Luke wasn’t entirely sure which, but he thought it might have been one of the girls — grabbed Hands’s leg below the knee, then lowered her head and sunk her teeth into his leg.
Cuddy shouted and pointed his gun in the direction of the melee. “Get away! Now!”
The double set of twins ignored him, intent on saving their father. Hands yelled and kicked again. This time his foot connected solidly with one of the boys. Sally shrieked and the boy howled, adding to the pandemonium.
And then, behind Van Hansel, Luke saw a slim figure slide out of the shadows and snatch the metal box that was lying unguarded on the grass: Cherub, who must have been watching from the edge of the cemetery. Hands turned and saw her, too, but he was off-balance from the twins’ assault, and she raced over the short distance to the fence before he could regain his feet and give chase. She had to slow down in order to scale the barrier though, and this gave Hands time to reach her, with Cuddy not more than ten feet behind.
Van Hansel was just reaching for Cherub’s foot when a shot rang out. Luke gasped. But it was not Cherub who fell to the ground. It was Hands.
Luke ran to the fallen body while Cuddy stood open-mouthed. Cherub dropped to the ground on the other side of the fence and stopped to look at the fallen man, but only for a moment. Then she fled down the street.
The bullet had struck Van Hansel in the back, and blood was spreading across his jacket from an ugly, ragged hole. Luke pulled out his handkerchief and wadded it into the wound to try to stop the bleeding. The shot had entered the body between two ribs, and was fired at such close range that he judged it had carried enough force to pierce the lung. He rolled Hands over onto his side and lifted him to a half-sitting position. As Luke feared, blood spewed from the man’s mouth when he attempted to speak and his breath was shallow.
Cuddy seemed to recover his senses and raised his pistol again.
“Get a doctor, quick,” he barked.
“I am a doctor,” Luke said. “Don’t point that thing at me.”
Cuddy hesitated for a moment, uncertainty on his face, and let his arm fall to his side. Thaddeus made his move then. He leapt at Cuddy and grabbed his arm from behind, groping wildly for the gun as Cuddy raised it in a futile effort to aim it at his attacker.
Before either Morgan or Luke could scramble to his aid, Sally raced through the graveyard to the struggling pair, shovel in hand. She took a great sweeping swing at Cuddy’s outstretched hand. The shovel connected solidly with his wrist, knocking
the gun to the ground. It fired on impact. Luke reflexively ducked behind Hands, but the bullet ricocheted harmlessly off a gravestone and embedded itself in the ground.
“Don’t you ever, ever point a gun at my children again,” Sally spat into Cuddy’s confused face. Thaddeus managed to grab Cuddy’s free hand and wrenched both of his arms behind him while Morgan shook off the profusion of children in his arms and ran to scoop up the fallen weapon.
“I’ve got him,” Thaddeus said. “Morgan, go get the constable.”
Morgan nodded and disappeared toward the front gates.
Luke returned his attention to the wounded man he held.
A gush of foamy blood spewed from Hands’ mouth as he croaked out the words “My … money.” He glared at Luke, took a long, shuddering breath, and then said, quite clearly, “You’ll pay for this.” The issuing of this threat apparently exhausted him. His eyes rolled back in his head, and his breathing became even more laboured. And then, with a last effort at speech that came out as nothing more than a gurgle, Phillip Van Hansel ceased to breathe entirely.
Chapter 21
Thaddeus took charge of the subsequent investigation by the befuddled local constable, who seemed to have difficulty grasping the details of what had occurred in the graveyard. The sound of gunfire had roused the people in the neighbouring houses, and several of the men, seeing Thaddeus’s firm grip on Cuddy and the bloodied corpse in Luke’s arms, jumped the fence to offer their assistance. They cheerfully, and none too gently, took charge of Cuddy, who hysterically protested his innocence.
“It was an accident! I swear! The gun went off by itself!”
The men paid no attention to him, other than to jerk his arm now and again when he grew too loud.
The constable arrived, red-faced and gasping, with his nightshirt trailing out of his trousers and his shoes untied, disturbed, no doubt, from a deep and complacent sleep. He surveyed the havoc in the graveyard with dismay.
“Just what the devil happened here?” he demanded.
“It was grave robbers,” Morgan said, giving Thaddeus an opening to provide an uncomplicated version of the evening’s events. He wasn’t entirely sure he understood what had happened himself. Best to keep it simple, so the constable didn’t get confused.
“I believe Mr. Spicer reported a similar occurrence a few weeks ago,” Thaddeus said.
“Well, yes he did,” the constable sputtered. “But my goodness, there’s a man dead here. Do you want to tell me how that happened?”
The constable addressed this to Thaddeus, rather than Morgan, so Thaddeus quickly outlined what had happened as he understood it.
“After the first disturbance, which you, of course, know all about.” The constable nodded. “Mr. Spicer began keeping watch at night hoping he could circumvent any further damage to the graves. Tonight I was keeping him company, as I have done on previous evenings. His vigilance paid off, as we noticed two men with shovels enter the graveyard, and as you can see,” here Thaddeus pointed at the disinterred body that lay in the opened grave, “they were in the process of unearthing another corpse.”
The constable took a step or two toward the body for a closer look, but quickly retreated when he detected the smell coming from it.
“We accosted the men, who attempted to run off,” Thaddeus went on. “Unfortunately, one of them had a gun, which must have gone off while they ran. The second man was hit. I’m sure it was an accident.”
“That’s right,” Cuddy growled. “It was an accident.”
An accident that he hit his boss, Thaddeus thought. He had been aiming for whoever it was that had snatched the metal box and climbed over the fence. Thaddeus had no idea who this might be, and, until he knew more, he judged that it was best to omit this part of the story. He had no explanation for the presence of the third intruder. The important thing was to have Cuddy firmly in custody, and Thaddeus was reluctant to volunteer any information that might send the constable down any path other than the one he had been directed to.
“And who might you be, sir?” the constable asked, squinting up at him.
Thaddeus marshalled all the ministerial authority he could muster. “My name is Thaddeus Lewis. I am a minister for the Methodist Episcopal Church, currently assigned to the Yonge Street Circuit. Mr. Spicer is an old friend.”
“I see,” the constable said, and turned his doubtful gaze toward Luke. “And who might this be?”
“I’m a physician,” Luke said.
The constable seemed content with this answer, assuming that Luke was there to attend to the wounded man and had not played an integral part in events. Thaddeus let the assumption stand. He would keep Luke out this, if he could. Hands was no longer a threat to the Lewises, but Cuddy had been looking for them, too. Thaddeus had no way of knowing if Cuddy had friends who would be willing to carry out a directive for revenge.
“Well,” the constable said finally, “it’ll be up to the coroner to sort it all out. And the magistrate after that.” He turned to the men who held Cuddy. “Can you boys help get him to the jail?” and when they nodded, he led the way out of the graveyard, Cuddy struggling and protesting the whole way.
“It was an accident!” he cried. “I didn’t mean to!”
“Doesn’t matter whether you meant to or not,” the constable said. “A man’s dead, regardless. If you’re lucky, you’re on your way to jail. If you’re not, it’ll be the gibbet.”
Morgan found two pieces of canvas, one to cover Van Hansel’s body, the other for the corpse that had been exposed.
“Do you think they’ll be all right for tonight?” he asked anxiously.
“I’m sure they will,” Thaddeus said. “The coroner will be along soon to look at Hands’s body. We’ll keep an eye on them both until then, but we can do that from the cottage. I, for one, need to sit down. And Luke needs to clean himself up. Come on in.”
“Hands?” Morgan asked. “Is that the gentleman you told me about? The one who was shot?”
“Yes.”
Morgan nodded. “He was luckier the first time, wasn’t he?”
When they entered the Spicer kitchen, Sally was heating milk on the stove. “I’ll never get this crowd to bed again if they don’t calm down,” she said. “I’ll make some tea, as well.”
“I’d just as soon have some milk,” Thaddeus said. “I need to calm down, too.”
He sat at the table and one of the twins scrambled up into his lap while another leaned up against him. The remaining two climbed up onto their father.
Luke went to the kitchen pump and began sluicing Van Hansel’s blood from his hands.
Thaddeus watched him for a few moments and then he said, “You know, every time I go anywhere with you, you end up covered in blood.”
“And every time I go anywhere with you, you tackle someone to the ground. Are you all right? You were crippled for days after the last time.”
Thaddeus seemed surprised, not so much by the question as by his own answer. “Yes, I’m fine. Even my knee is sound.” And then he looked sheepish. “I’m not sure why, except that I’ve felt wonderful ever since I started drinking from Holy Ann’s well. It seems clear to me that there’s something special about the water, but I’m not sure I want to credit it.”
“Holy Ann’s well in Thorne’s Hill?” Luke said, daubing at his coat with a cloth. “I doubt that has anything to do with it. A far better explanation is that you’ve also been drinking water from Daniel Cummer’s well.”
“I don’t follow,” Thaddeus said. “There’s nothing special about Cummer’s well except that it’s spring-fed and never goes dry. And there’s a grove of willows around it.” His eyes widened as he grasped what Luke was implying. “It’s the willow trees, isn’t it? Their roots go down into the water table.”
“It could have an effect,” Luke said. “Although it’s more likely that water has trickled through the leaves and branches into the well below. We have no idea, really, what lies in the ground.”
“I can’t believe you were so foolish as to grapple with a man half your age. You’re way too old for that kind of nonsense, you know.”
Thaddeus was about to take offence when he realized that he was being teased.
“Oh, you,” Sally said, slapping at Luke’s shoulder. “You shouldn’t talk to your father that way.”
Luke grinned. “In any event, there are far easier ways to get willow tea. If you find it helps, I’d be happy to get some for you.”
“Only old folks drink willow tea.”
“My point exactly,” Luke said.
In spite of his grumbling, Thaddeus welcomed the diversion in conversation. He didn’t want to talk about what had happened in the Burying Ground until he had a chance to review the incident and try to fit all the pieces of the puzzle together. As he thought about it, though, he realized that he was still missing too many of them. There were many questions he wanted to ask, but they were better left until the children drank their possets and were herded back to bed. He wondered if they realized what they had witnessed. He hoped not. And then he felt a surge of admiration for the way they had rushed to their father’s defence, as dangerous a thing as that was for them to do. He hoped that Sally would scold them mightily and then tell them how brave they had been.
The twin on his lap had finished only half of her mug of milk when her eyes started to droop. Sally picked her up and took the other by the hand to lead him upstairs. The remaining two followed, rubbing their eyes and yawning.
“Well,” Thaddeus said when they had left the room, “that was an interesting evening. I’m still not sure what it was all about.”
The Burying Ground Page 24