Don Gutteridge - The Bishop's Pawn

Chalmers gave Marc a shrewd, appraising look.“I did. About ten days ago.” He paused, not quite certain how heought to continue. “On a matter pertaining to a legal problem.”

Marc decided that a judicious lie was inorder. “I know something of the matter. We found references to itamong Dougherty’s papers.”

Chalmers sighed. “Then you’ll know that Mrs.Hungerford accused me of theft, and that Mr. Dougherty was the onlysolicitor who would agree to help me. You see, as a result of hercharge – made to the Archdeacon – my work as treasurer for theparish was audited. Well, I admitted up front that I was an inept,although diligent, accountant. Small discrepancies were discovered.I don’t think Dr. Strachan believed I was guilty of actual theft -he’s known me since I was ten – but he is sensitive to anywhiff of scandal concerning St. James – ”

“Especially with his elevation to bishopimminent.”

“That’s part of it, yes. He suggested I bemoved to a wilderness parish in the Huron Tract – till things blewover. I did not wish to go at all, but more important to me was myreputation in general. I had not been clearly exonerated of theaccusation of theft, and the odds were good that the news wouldleak out. And eventually ruin me.”

“I understand. Would you mind telling me howsuch an outlandish charge came to be made?”

“Not at all. Mrs. Hungerford is head of theLadies Auxiliary. A few weeks ago she organized a bazaar at theMarket to raise money for the Widows and Orphans Fund. I alwaysassist in these matters. At the time, Mrs. McDowell, the wife ofMowbray McDowell – ”

“The MLA from Kingston?”

“Yes. His wife, who has lived here on her ownsince October, is a parishioner of St. James, and was madetreasurer of the Ladies Auxiliary. But being new to the job, sheasked me to take custody of any cash we raised that day. Chits andreceipts were carefully kept on site for all goods sold. At the endof the day, I put all the proceeds and chits in a strongbox andcarried them here to my rooms. The next day, while I was out, the‘take’ was counted by Mrs. Hungerford and Mrs. McDowell. There wasa ten-dollar discrepancy between the total of the chits and theactual cash. And since I was the only one with access to thestrongbox overnight, it was I who was accused. I was, of course,stunned. Mrs. Hungerford has never liked me, but I found her chargeundignified, unchristian, and certainly untrue.”

“Could not any volunteer at the bazaar havesiphoned off the ten dollars? Or even lost it or mislaid it?”

“Not really. As they brought their cash tothe main counter, it was mentally noted before it was put into thestrongbox. We had all agreed that we had roughly seventy-twodollars in there. But Mrs. Hungerford wanted to make sure that allthe chits had been made out properly and retrieved, and thenmatched to the cash total. She suggested this final accounting beleft until the next day. As it turned out, we had less thansixty-two dollars in the kitty.”

“Was the box locked?”

“Yes. It sat here on my desk overnight.”

“And you had the key?”

“I did.”

“Could there be other keys?”

“I don’t know. Mrs. Hungerford said not. It’sher strongbox.”

Marc decided not to press the matter further.David Chalmers was obviously a trusting and honest man – for surelyit was Mrs. Hungerford, the senior vicar’s wife, who had bothmotive (Chalmers’ disgrace) and means (a duplicate key) to effectthe ‘theft’ herself and blame her husband’s rival. The fact that hedid not seem to suspect Mrs. Hungerford spoke volumes about theman’s character.

“So, where do things stand now – between youand Dr. Strachan?”

“Well, Mr. Dougherty did send him a letteroutlining my position, and although the Archdeacon has said nothingto me about it, his demeanour towards me has changed, and he hasdropped any idea of sending me to Coventry. I owe a great deal toMr. Dougherty. He was a courageous man. And his senseless death hassaddened me immeasurably.”

“As it has me,” Marc said. They shook hands.At the door, Marc said, “By the way, one of the clues we haveconcerns a rare and expensive brand of notepaper. What kind of bondis used here at St. James?”

“You mean, what am I writing on at themoment?” Chalmers smiled.

“I’m afraid I had to ask.”

Chalmers held up several sheets. “It’s Churchof England letterhead. We all use it. It comes straight fromLondon. And not even a rabid Anglican would call it expensive.”

Marc left, thinking that he had learned alittle more about Epp, a lot about the petty plots among theseclerics, and all he needed to know about David Chalmers. IfChalmers were a conspirator in murder, then Marc was FatherChristmas.

***

Cobb was not asked to sit down. He stood in themiddle of the vicar’s study with his helmet in his hands underHungerford’s withering stare.

“I do not appreciate being disturbed in themidst of my duties, constable. But Miss Welsh informs me that youare here at the behest of Sir George, and I am therefore happy todo what I can to be of assistance.” He did not look happy at all,nor did his vibrating mutton-chops.

“I’ll get right to the hub of the matter,”Cobb said. “We’re lookin’ fer an accomplice to the murder of Mr.Dougherty.”

“What on earth are you talking about? ReubenEpp killed the Yankee!”

“We got some clues that tell us he washelped.”

“And you expect to find the accomplice, asyou call him, in a vicarage? Have you and Sir George lost yourminds?”

While Hungerford’s face teemed with outrageand umbrage, Cobb suspected that some of it was of the manufacturedvariety worked up for the fire-and-brimstone of the Sabbath pulpit.“We need to know what Epp might’ve been doin’ after he left here atnoon on Sunday. We got reason to believe he could’ve met with his co-inspirer. ”

“Well, sir, if he left here – and Isaw him go – and I remained here, as I did, then how am Isupposed to know his whereabouts thereafter?”

“He coulda told ya,” Cobb spluttered.

“Yes, but he didn’t! I did everything I couldto help the poor devil: I tried to keep him out of Dr. Strachan’sway, I rang the church bell when he was absent with the drink. ButI knew nothing of his personal life or where he went after he leftthese precincts. Moreover, the wretch is dead and buried beyond thepale: it behooves us to speak of him as kindly as we can.”

“Do you know anybody who mighta wanted toharm Mr. Dougherty?”

“A hundred or more, I should think.”Hungerford’s contempt was palpable. “But no-one foolish enough toarrange for him to be stabbed in an alley. Why should they? Thedegenerate was eating himself to death as fast as he couldswallow!”

Cobb switched tack abruptly, as he had seenMarc do to catch a suspect by surprise. “Are you familiar with anotepaper called Melton Bond?”

“What the hell are you babbling about?”Hungerford looked more perplexed than surprised.

“One of the clues is about that kind ofpaper. Would you mind showin’ me what you got in that drawer overthere?”

“You’re damn right I mind! This is anoutrage! You are an impudent, unmannered scoundrel, and a disgraceto the constabulary. Sir George will certainly hear of youraudacious conduct!”

Oh, oh: there goes the investigation, Cobbthought. He had shifted tack straight into a gale!

Hungerford pushed past him to the door. “Youcan see yourself out. If you get lost, Miss Welsh will guide you.Good day!” And he stomped off.

Cobb took a deep breath, then slipped over tothe roll-top desk in the corner. Carefully he inspected thenumerous sheets of paper scattered there. Every one of them borethe letterhead of the Church. He peered into each drawer. Nospecial pens or brushes. No red ink. Too bad. He would have enjoyedarresting the senior vicar.