“I hope so. That’s why I’m here.” He glanced down, apparently abashed, but looked up quickly to catch Robert’s response.
“You say your wife asked the girl for the man’s name. I’m assuming she gave you some sort of answer.”
“That she did.” Thurgood cleared his throat and stared at Robert. “She told us with her dyin’ breath it was Mr. Seamus Baldwin.”
Robert rocked back in his chair, then stared sternly at the mill-hand. “You must have misheard. That notion is preposterous.”
Thurgood didn’t flinch. “I’d’ve thought so too. But we gotta take a dyin’ person’s last words as gospel, don’t we? You’re a lawyer. You know that.”
“But Mrs. Cobb testified that Betsy was almost in a coma she was so delirious with pain and fever. And you and Auleen were distraught. How can you be sure what she said or what she heard?”
Thurgood almost smirked. “Like I said, you’re the lawyer, ain’t ya!”
Against his better judgement, Robert bridled at the insinuation. “I’m not playing a lawyer’s trick, sir. You have just accused my uncle of seducing your daughter, getting her pregnant, and indirectly causing her death. I’m asking you how you can be sure of what you heard – plain and simple.”
A sly smile crept across Thurgood’s weather-roughened features, worthy of the best defense attorney. “We got a witness. An unimpeccable witness.”
Despite his growing anger, Robert now saw what Thurgood had been leading him towards. “Mrs. Cobb was there,” he said quietly.
“She was. And she heard the name. And she discussed it with us.”
“But neither you, your wife nor Mrs. Cobb mentioned this incredible fact at the inquest.”
“We wasn’t asked, was we? And I figure Mrs. Cobb, bein’ friendly-like with you people, decided to let sleepin’ dogs lie. But she heard the name all right.”
“You’re probably right about her motive, considering the absurdity of the claim. But there was no reason why, if you actually put credence in poor Betsy’s words, you yourself should not have informed the coroner, or the police. On the other hand, without more evidence than the girl’s statement, you had no chance of doing anything other than slandering a respectable gentleman’s name.”
“You’re forgettin’ the five-pound note to pay fer gettin’ rid of his babe. The likes of me never got within a barge-pole of bills like that.”
“But Betsy took the lunch Mrs. Morrisey made down to you at the mill every noon hour from Monday to Saturday,” Robert said, his mood swinging between anger and pity for this suffering, aggrieved father who was merely lashing out at the world for its unalterable injustices. There was also a frisson of anxiety pricking away somewhere inside him. “There were young mill-hands all about.”
“She left it with me in the office – every time! And went on her way!” Thurgood’s eyes widened and his face grew redder. “She wasn’t the kind of girl to dally with lads or lecherous mill-hands!”
“I know, I know, Mr. Thurgood. Try to calm yourself. You’re upset. Your precious girl is dead. And you and I know she was essentially a good girl. But someone got her pregnant, by seduction or rape. She died an innocent. And I’d like to see Elsie Trigger swing from a gibbet.. But I can assure you that my Uncle Seamus was not a man to seduce young housemaids. And right now he is too ill for me even to relay your preposterous claim to him so that he might deny it. After which, of course, your case will be closed.”
During Robert’s heated reply, Thurgood had grown eerily calm. His own reply was delivered with cold menace. “There’s no need for you to disturb Mr. Baldwin. I didn’t come here to upset yer family. But I think you oughta sit and listen to why I did come.”
All of Robert’s sympathy died instantly. He was pretty certain of what was to come. “Go ahead,” he said icily.
“Ya see, I got no kids left at home. Tim run off to get married last summer. And we ain’t seen hide nor hair of Loretta since she left years ago. We was countin’ on Betsy bein’ the prop and comfort of our old age. Here she was but fifteen and earnin’ five shillin’s a week. We figure she would’ve worked another four or five years before gettin’ married and providin’ us with grandsons. Now we got nothin’. No kids and no money.”
Robert sighed and tried to remain calm. “So you expect Dr. Baldwin to keep on paying Betsy’s monthly wage for the next four or five years, in exchange for which you will promise not to blacken my uncle’s name all over Toronto and beyond?”
“I ain’t made any threats!” Thurgood cried, giving his cap a sharp tug. “I’m not a blackmailer. I’ve just come to talk to you man to man. And to get some justice fer my dear dead girl.” All the implied threat had vanished from his voice and manner, replaced immediately by a pitiable abjection and several hard-won tears. “I’m only a poor mill-hand.” Once again the eyes dropped and the cap twitched.
“So, in your view we would merely be exchanging courtesies. A clever ploy, I must say, to avoid outright extortion. But there is a threat in it, sir, and I do not acquiesce to threat. I will arrange for a suitable one-time gift of twenty-five dollars because I did care for your daughter and respected her character, and because, despite your churlish and foolhardy behaviour in coming here with this nonsense today, I still feel deeply sorry for you and your wife. Now please leave, and do not return.”
“Oh, I’ll leave all right. But you mistake me if you think I came here just fer money. My girl was murdered – by two people, a man and a woman. And I want justice. I hunger fer it.” Thurgood was standing now, and outrage had stripped him of both cunning and fear.
“And I do also,” Robert said. “I am an officer of the court, and when the time is right, I intend to convey your charge to my uncle. I do not wish him to hear of it first from any other source. And I swear to you now, if by any chance he should not deny it, I will personally convey him to the police myself.”
“Then you better do it soon, mister, because I’m gonna go to the police station as soon as I can get leave from the mill. I’ll make Mrs. Cobb admit what she heard. We’ll see whether I got any evidence or not!”
“Do what you have to, Thurgood, but please leave my house. I’ll send you the money later today.”
At the front door, Thurgood turned and raised his fist. “I’ll take yer blood-money, sir, but it won’t change my mind. We’ll soon see, won’t we, whether the poor c’n get justice in this province!” And with that, he left.
Robert took several deep breaths. He felt the ironies of the situation bitterly. Justice for the ordinary man had been the theme of his life. His heart ached for people like the Thurgoods and the blows that Fate had dealt them, yet he despised the low cunning they often of necessity resorted to. He knew Uncle Seamus was not guilty of raping a young woman he had loved like a granddaughter. Still, he would have to be informed of the situation as soon as possible.
From the library came a ripple of girlish laughter and a guffaw bigger than most sneezes. Edie Barr had already begun working miracles with Uncle Seamus.
But would they last?
FIVE
Cobb was in the constables’ room dictating notes to Gussie French, the clerk, about a pair of thieves he and Wilkie had caught drunk and disoriented in a dry goods store early Thursday morning. He was just getting started, and beginning to enjoy Gussie’s increasing anxiety as his pen failed to keep up with the pace of dictating, when he and Gussie’s pen were interrupted by a clump of heavy feet in the reception area. This impoliteness was followed closely by a grunted demand of some sort and then the Chief’s voice inviting the intruder into his office. Ten minutes later, Cobb was just finishing his report when he heard the outer door slam. He poked his head out. Chief Sturges was standing in the doorway of his office, and when he spied Cobb, he said:
“Cobb, I think you’d better come in and hear the story that rude fellow had to tell.”
Cobb trailed him inside. Sturges eased his gouty foot onto a padded stool and motioned for Cobb to sit down.
“Long story, is it, sir?”
“Long and upsetting, I’m afraid. I just had Burton Thurgood in here. He’s a mill-hand from up Trout Creek way, the one whose daughter died.”
“Whittle’s mill, ya mean? The one on the Baldwin property? Dora told me about that business.”
“He leases the land from Dr. Baldwin.”
“This have to do with the Baldwins, then?”
“It looks that way,” Sturges sighed.
“But if it’s about the daughter, we’ve already had an inquest. Dora give me chapter and verse.”
“It is about the girl. And the inquest may not be the last of it.” He went on to repeat to Cobb the tale that Thurgood had told him and the charge he was making.
“Jesus Murphy,” Cobb whistled. “Old Seamus Baldwin, you say? That’s pretty hard to swallow, ain’t it?”
“I agree. But he’s usin’ yer Dora as his chief witness. Did she say anythin’ about any death-bed claim made by the poor girl out there last Friday night?”
Cobb shook his head. “No, she didn’t. But that’s not unusual. We have a sort of pact not to gabble on or complain about each other’s work. But she has complained bitterly about that quack, Mrs. Trigger, and she did go on about what the old bird might’ve done to kill Betsy Thurgood, but she said she only had the parents’ word on that score.”
“And Trigger’s hat, which she testified she found in their kitchen. Enough to get a warrant out fer Trigger’s arrest. But I was at the inquest, and no mention was made by anybody of Seamus Baldwin bein’ accused of bein’ the babe’s father. And, of course, bein’ guilty of seduction and rape of a minor.”
“What did Thurgood have to say about that?”
“He said he thought tellin’ the police was the right way to go.”
Cobb sighed. “Betsy wouldna been the first housemaid put in the family way by a lecher-roused lord of the manor. Usually them matters is hushed up and taken care of by the swells themselves.”
“Not when the girl dies horribly and accuses the perpetrator before witnesses.”
“You want me to talk to Dora?”
“I do, Cobb. And mister and missus as well. Thurgood’s got a big chip on his shoulder. He more or less claimed we wouldn’t take his charge seriously because the accused was a bigwig Baldwin. I assured him it would be looked into by my top investigator, with a written report he would be allowed to read – if he can.”
“Top investigator?”
“That’s right, Cobb. Remember, I’m goin’ to the Council next month with that proposal we talked about. I want you to get off yer patrol. I’ll have Sweeney cover for you. Take all the time you need.”
“You want me in my Sunday suit?”
Sturges laughed. “Not yet. Not yet.”
***
Cobb found Dora in the parlour with her feet up and a cup of tea in her hand.
“What’re ya doin’ home now, Mr. Cobb?” she greeted him, as if he were some burglar who forgot it was daylight.
“Good mornin’ to you, too.”
She spied the serious look on his face, and said, “What is it?”
And he told her.
“I was just surprised he never said anythin’ about Seamus Baldwin at the inquest,” was Dora’s initial response to Cobb’s account of Thurgood’s visit.
“But you didn’t either,” Cobb said cautiously.
“Nobody asked,” she snapped. “And I had my doubts about the business anyway. Why smear a man’s character when you don’t have to?”
“It’s yer doubts I come to talk to you about. The Sarge has asked me to investigate the charge.”
“So I’m bein’ in-terror-grated, am I?”
“You are.”
Dora smiled as best she could. The grim events of Friday evening still weighed heavily upon her. “Shoot, then.”
“First off, did young Betsy call out the gent’s name when her mother asked her who the father of the babe was?”
Dora paused, and choosing her words carefully, she said, “Auleen did ask that question. But the girl was fevered and delirious. She’d been mutterin’ and murmurin’ in her fever all along, mostly gibberish as far as I could make out.”
“But the name Seamus did come out?”
“It did. Right after Auleen’s question. But I was nearest to the poor thing. Her tone was much closer to beggin’ than accusin’. I think she wanted someone to fetch Seamus, or Uncle Seamus as everybody out there calls him.”
“If he was her lover, though, she could’ve been askin’ fer him, eh?”
“It’s possible, but it sounded more like a child callin’ out fer an adult to come an’ comfort her.”
“Either way, that don’t sound too good, does it? The girl’s with child and she don’t call fer her mom or dad but fer Uncle Seamus.”
“She was dyin’, not birthin’. And she’d probably grown fond of the old gent, eh?”
“Not too fond, I hope.”
“Besides, Baldwin ain’t the only Seamus in the county. We can’t go accusin’ a man of a hyena’s crime just because a girl called out his Christian name?”
“That right. And that’s why the Chief’s sent me out to see if there is anythin’ that looks like real evidence.”
“If we c’n believe the Thurgoods, there was a five-pound note passed from the girl to Mrs. Trigger.”
“Who’s skedadelled off to Buffalo or Detroit with it, and with the murder weapon.”
“So what’re you gonna do?”
“I’m goin’ out to Trout Creek. Thurgood’ll be at work. I want to catch Auleen Thurgood by herself. The Major always says it’s best to question suspects alone and separate. You never know when or where their stories won’t match.”
“What about Seamus Baldwin?”
“I’ll go see him – dependin’ on what I find at the Thurgoods.”
“That won’t be easy.”
“I know. I ain’t lookin’ forward to it. The Baldwins are bigwigs. And they’re all good friends of the Edwards.”
“And they been good to us, too. Invitin’ Fabian out there fer the birthday party and the like.”
“Don’t make it worse, Missus Cobb. You remember what Fabian told us about the old gent’s antics after he come home – foolin’ about like a clown with the children and makin’ goo-goo eyes at the little girls.”
“Don’t talk nonsense! I’ve seen you cavortin’ about in yer Shakespearean costumes playin’ the jester with the neighbourhood kids.”
Cobb grunted and rose to go. “I hope there’s nothin’ to all this,” he said.
***
Once again in the morning Edie Barr was ordered into the library to play dominoes with Uncle Seamus. He had had a promising evening, sitting with Robert and Dr. and Mrs. Baldwin in the parlour and appearing to follow the conversation even if he were not contributing to it. But the night had seen a relapse into nightmare, wakefulness, and crying jags – and a lot of concerned care on the part of the servants. He had refused breakfast, but at the mention of Edie and dominoes in the library, he had agreed to come downstairs. Robert waited outside until he heard the exchange of giggles and guffaws. Then he tapped gently on the door. He was not looking forward to what lay ahead.
***
At the Chief’s suggestion, Cobb rented a buggy and drove up Brock Street to the Spadina road. There were now several taxicabs in Toronto, but they were notoriously unreliable, and could usually not be persuaded (without a suitable bribe) to go beyond the city limits. So only twenty minutes had passed before he turned onto the rugged bush-path that led to Whittle’s mill. The road improved as he approached the mill itself, its huge wheel turning ponderously in the race that ran down from the mill-pond and Trout Creek. He passed a small partially cleared farm on his left, crossed a rickety log bridge over the creek, and soon came to a clutch of log shanties set willy nilly along a rutted path. Dora had told him that the Thurgoods occupied the first one.
Auleen Thurgood must have he
ard the horse and buggy approach, for she popped her head out the front door, spotted the stranger in uniform, and ducked back inside, slamming the door.
Cobb tethered the horse and walked up to the house.
“Let me in, Mrs. Thurgood. I’m Constable Cobb, and I just wanta ask you a question or two: there’s nothin’ to be scared of.”
Ten minutes later Cobb was sitting with a mug of tea at the kitchen table, and Auleen Thurgood had finally stopped fluttering about like a lop-sided butterfly. She sat opposite him, thin-faced and large-eyed, with her fingers clenched.
“You want know more about what happened last Friday?”
“I don’t need to go over what you told the coroner, ma’am. I know how painful that must’ve been. But yer husband’s made a serious charge against Mr. Seamus Baldwin.”
“I know, he told me. I begged him to leave things be, but he never listens to me – or anybody else. He’ll get us all ruined.”
“Only if he ain’t tellin’ the truth. Which is why I’m here. I need you to tell me what happened in the minute or so before yer daughter . . . uh, passed on.”
Auleen’s lower lip began to quiver, but she took a deep breath and said bravely, “After Mrs. Trigger walked outta here floutin’ her five pounds, we run inta Betsy’s room and right away we saw what she’d done . . . what the two of ‘em had cooked up together. But Betsy was just a child, so she didn’t know what she was doin’, it was that dreadful – ”
“Yes, yes,” Cobb said. “And we’ll catch up with her. It’s what happened after Mrs. Cobb arrived that I need to know about.”
“And a wonderful woman yer wife is, sir. She done all she could fer Betsy, but the . . . the thing’d come outta her before she got here, and the fever was already terrible. We got hot water and cold cloths, but we could all see she was slippin’ away from us . . .”
Cobb pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket and waited until Auleen had finished sobbing into it. “Take yer time, missus.”
“I thought I was all cried out, but I was wrong.”
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