Don Gutteridge - The Bishop's Pawn

Beth smiled grimly. “Them tears just have toflow,” she said by way of explanation. And she knew so from her ownbitter experience with sudden death.

Later, when Marc and Brodie were seated alonein the parlour, Brodie said, “Do you think it has anything to dowith Uncle’s murder?”

“It doesn’t seem likely,” Marc said. “Tallmanand Brenner visited Strachan after they left your cottage. AtStrachan’s they indicated that they had accepted an invitation totestify before the Benchers on behalf of your uncle.” Marc had nointention of telling Brodie the possible nature of their testimony:the stoic young man had enough on his plate.

“So it’s logical to assume that they werediscussing Uncle’s petition with him before they had to go beforethe Law Society?”

“That’s what I tend to think.” Though thepresence of American money hidden away in Epp’s shack and the factthat, according to Robert, the visiting lawyers had not been seenback at their hotel on Sunday until dinner at six – wereworrisome.

“But these men are barristers,” Brodie said,echoing another of Marc’s concerns. “They are supreme pokerplayers. They could make a living on the stage. If they did comehere to physically harm Uncle, they could have been taking pains tohave their movements appear to be ones expected of two mencome to town merely to help the Law Society do its duty.”

“Smiling villains, you mean. Like KingClaudius in Hamlet ?”

“And they sure left town in an awfulhurry.”

“True. But, then, they did hear of Dick’sdeath that morning, and probably just didn’t want to be involved,”Marc pointed out, though such behaviour didn’t seem compatible withthe claim of friendship they had made at the Palace.

“Anyway, they’re halfway to New York by now,”Brodie sighed.

“Just to make sure, though,” Marc said,yawning, “I’ll ask Cobb to have his snitches try to trace theirmovements during Sunday afternoon.” What he couldn’t tell Brodie,who looked as if he didn’t need any more discouraging news, wasthat that afternoon provided the only window of opportunity forTallman and Brenner to have contacted Epp – if in fact they hadbeen intent on malice. But how they would have initially got holdof the illiterate Epp was not easily imagined. Unless, of course,they were acting in concert with someone in the city, someone whoalso wished Dick dead. Marc’s head began to spin. This case wasbecoming hydra-like. Each probe produced two new possibilities toconsider.

Brodie said goodnight and left for home. Marcslipped into bed and gently stroked his wife’s knotted calves.

***

More than a hundred mourners crowded into the modestwooden building on Hospital Street that normally served the severaldozen Congregational adherents of the city – for the funeral ofRichard Dougherty. Besides those few but loyal acquaintances Dickhad made since his emergence from hibernation in January, therewere those ordinary folk who had grown to admire him for the efforthe had made in defense of Sergeant Billy McNair, one of the heroesof the “patriot wars.” Billy himself was present, with his pregnantwife Dolly, who had worked in Beth’s shop until marrying Billyafter the trial. But the biggest surprise of all was the arrival ofKingsley Thornton, the crown prosecutor whom Doubtful Dick hadbested in the Court of Queen’s Bench.

Robert offered to hold the receptionfollowing the service at Baldwin House. Beth was too tired to go,but Marc and Cobb put in a token appearance before setting out tobegin their investigation. Marc decided that they would start atthe vicarage. Because Cobb had already met Quentin Hungerford, hevolunteered to have another run at him. Meanwhile, Marc would seekout David Chalmers.

“Let’s focus on Epp,” Marc suggested. “Weneed to know how close he might have been to either man.”

“An’ we need to snoop about to see if we canfind any of that fancy paper,” Cobb added as they walked up thepath to the rear door of the vicarage.

“We’ll need to find the housemaids, too,”Marc said. “They’re never as invisible as their employersthink.”

“There’s two of ‘em,” Cobb said. “Young MissyPrue and a gnarly older gal called Myrtle Welsh.”

It was the latter – middle-aged,scrub-toughened, and sceptical – who answered Cobb’s knock. Sherecognized the constable immediately.

“The Reverend’s busy,” she said. “He ain’tseein’ nobody today.”

“I’m afraid he’ll have to,” Marc saidpolitely. “We’ve been officially assigned to investigate the murderof Richard Dougherty. I wish to interview Reverend Chalmers and Mr.Cobb would like to see Reverend Hungerford.”

Myrtle Welsh appraised Marc’s clothing with akeen eye, and said, “Well, seein’ as you’re a gentleman, I guessit’ll be alright.”

She let them in, after instructing them towipe their boots on the mat. “Mr. Chalmers is in his little study,right here,” she said, indicating a door just inside the narrowhallway. Opposite it was the door that must open onto the coveredwalkway to the church itself. “Just knock an’ go on in. He won’tbite ya.”

She led Cobb to the end of the hall and theydisappeared into the main section of the vicarage, which housed theHungerfords.

“Come on in!”

Marc hadn’t yet knocked, but did as he wasbid.

In a cramped little room, crowded with booksand papers, sat David Chalmers, junior vicar of St. James -writing. He was a cherubic man, no longer able to call himselfyoung, with bright green eyes and a genuine smile. His clericalcollar was askew, and his chin and vest were blotched withink-smudges. Despite the smile he gave Marc as he introducedhimself, he looked like a worried man.

“I take it you’ve come about that dreadfulbusiness with Mr. Dougherty,” Chalmers said. “Your reputation as aninvestigator precedes you.”

“I have, and I apologize for barging in likethis, but time is of the essence in this case.”

Marc was not surprised, given the obviousintelligence in Chalmers’ face, when the vicar said, “You believethat someone else was involved with Reuben in the murder?”

“I do. I’m not at liberty to say exactly whatevidence we have to that effect, but it is compelling. Sir GeorgeArthur has given us ten days to see if we can find the accomplice,who may turn out to be the instigator as well.”

Chalmers looked thoughtful. “Reuben Epp was aman with many fine qualities, but he was also deeply troubled andunstable. We did our best here to make his life tolerable.”

“We know about his drinking binges and hisreligious zeal.”

“Aah. And you assume like many others thatthat zeal drove him to slaughter a man he didn’t know?”

“It looks that way, given the note we foundat the scene and the gouged-out eye.”

Chalmers nodded to indicate he was aware ofthe veiled reference to the Archdeacon’s sermon. “Still, I wasshocked to learn that Reuben did it, but his hanging himselfconfirms the fact, doesn’t it? You see, he had no family thatanyone knows about, but his loneliness and his not being able toread the Bible in whose parables and commandments he foundhis only comfort – well, they often sent him to the bootlegger’s.The poor chap drank alone or else with strangers in ablind-pig.”

“He didn’t gamble, then? Or havecronies?”

“No. Definitely not. As I say, he wasunstable. He often came late for work or not at all. Quentin, blesshim, covered up these peccadilloes as best he could, not wantingthe Archdeacon to get wind of them.”

“Dr. Strachan would have sacked him?”

“Possibly, though the Archdeacon is lenientwith drinkers, enjoying a tot now and then himself. But not withshirkers.”

“Did you yourself ever meet Mr. Dougherty?”Marc said disingenuously.