Don Gutteridge - Minor Corruption

“Well, somebody did more’n flirt with her,that’s fer sure.”

“And I’d strangle the bugger with my ownhands, I would.”

“This may seem strange,” Cobb said after apause, “but there was an incident that happened last August thethird – that’s the day after the tornado blew through thearea.”

“Yes, I recall the tornado. I was out hereclearin’ brush the next mornin’. And fer three days afterwards. Butwhat sort of incident?”

“Can’t tell you just yet, but what I need tofind out is whether you saw anyone leavin’ here and goin’ towardsthe path that takes ya through the bush to Whittle’s mill.”

“The one over there past the cucumberbeds?”

Cobb nodded. “About the noon hour.”

“Well, I was nearby most of the day. I’m surethe only person I would’ve seen was Betsy takin’ her father hislunch. She come back, I think, later’n usual. Sick, I recollect,‘cause she was in bed with the grippe fer a few days after. We wereworried about her.”

“You saw nobody else?”

“Come to think of it now, I probably sawUncle Seamus headin’ over to one of his fishin’ spots on TroutCreek.”

“What time?”

“Couldn’t really say. Usually he went in themornin’ or later in the afternoon. I just don’t remember the timethat day.”

“Did he have his fishin’ pole?”

“I guess so. Why else would he go thatway?”

Why indeed, Cobb thought. “Where are themfishin’ spots, by the way?”

“There’s two of ‘em. One is in the bush abovethe milldam. The other’s in a little ravine just below themill-buildin’.”

“Did Uncle Seamus go there often?”

“Three or four times a week, I reckon. He’s afanatical angler. Caused a bit of a ruckus when he first comebecause nobody in Spadina had bothered fishin’ fer trout until hearrived.”

“What sort of ruckus?”

“Seems like Seth Whittle liked to do the samething. Dr. Baldwin, he never cared that the fella was poachin’. ButUncle Seamus liked to be alone down there, so the doctor told themiller to stop anglin’ fer a while.”

“And the miller wasn’t pleased?”

“Not in the least. He kicked up a terriblefuss and the Baldwins had to threaten to break his lease unless hequit. That did the trick.”

“I bet it would.”

Cobb thanked Morrisey and headed up to theback porch. Through the netting he could see Mrs. Morrisey in thesummer kitchen. He rapped and walked in. The cook, a plump, amiablewoman with eyes as dark as blueberries, was sitting on a benchpeeling potatoes. Beside her, doing likewise, was Miss Partridge,the middle-aged housemaid. Cobb was not displeased to see themtogether, but he still wasn’t sure how he could approach thesubject of Uncle Seamus and the case for rape that was inexorablybuilding against him.

“Well, if it ain’t Mr. Cobb,” said Mrs.Morrisey with a big smile. “What brings a Toronto bobby way outhere on such a fine day?”

“Business, I’m afraid, Mrs. Morrisey. The sadbusiness of Betsy’s death.”

“I thought that’d been all settled at theinquest.”

“We’re lookin’ fer Elsie Trigger all right,but we’re also hopin’ to locate the father of the babe. Betsy wasunder age.”

“Then you oughta go lookin’ at the mill-handsand them families that live beside the Thurgoods. There’s half adozen fellas coulda done it to her before she come here at the endof July. Aren’t I right, Faye?”

Faye Partridge nodded. “She was safe once shegot here , but God knows what the wee dear thing had to putup with over there.”

“I been over there,” Cobb said, “but not asfar as the mill-houses.” He was hoping against hope, however, thathe would have to look there after his mission here turnedout to be without merit.

“Well, then, I’ll give you a cup of tea and abiscuit before you go all that way.”

“That’s kind of you, ma’am, but there is oneor two questions I’d like to ask before I go.”

“Go ahead. Faye, put the kettle on,please.”

Faye got up, complaining about her bad hip,and limped over to the stove. She had to stir the ashes to get thefire going, complaining yet again.

“I gotta ask this question, Mrs. Morrisey, soplease don’t take offence. If we’re gonna find out who the fatheris, we may haveta do it by elimination, as the culprit ain’t likelyto fall on my boots and confess.”

“You’re referrin’ to the men in thishousehold?” she said shrewdly.

“Not necessarily.”

“That’s poppycock!” Faye Partridge holleredover from the stove. “Nobody in this house would harm a hair onthat girl’s head.”

“The constable ain’t sayin’ that, Faye. Areya?”

“No, ma’am. But we know servants see and hearthings other people don’t think they do. You have lots of visitorshere. And it’s pretty well all over town that Mr. Seamus Baldwin’sbeen seen teasin’ and flirtin’ with the children – and thehousemaids.”

“He ain’t ever flirted with me!” cried MissPartridge, and her thin, homely face indicated that her denial mayhave been equally a complaint.

“Course not, sweet,” Mrs Morrisey soothed.“And there was nothin’ improper about the way he teased and had funwith Betsy and Edie.”

“It was mainly with that Edie, though!” MissPartridge slammed the kettle down on one of the stove-lids. “Thelittle minx.”

“Uncle Seamus is like a big kid much of thetime,” Mrs. Morrisey said. “He’s goin’ through his secondchildhood, in my opinion. But he’s also like an elderly uncle tothe girls. He helps them with their readin’ an’ writin’ – Dr.Baldwin always insists his staff get on with their schoolin’ here -and Uncle Seamus and Betsy read books together.”

“And he wasn’t above slippin’ ‘em pocketmoney or a pound or two fer their graspin’ families,” Faye snappedas she flung a handful of tea into a crockery pot. “Against theexpress wishes of Dr. Baldwin.”

“Now, now, Faye. Them families is all dirtpoor. Seth Whittle may be an easygoing boss, but he pays apittance.”

When asked whether they had seen anythinguntoward between Betsy and any male, they both shook theirheads. Cobb now mentioned that there had been an incident on Augustthe third. Mrs. Morrisey looked as if she readily understood whatkind of incident he was referring to. Faye looked merelypuzzled.

“Did you serve Mr. Seamus his luncheon onthat day?” Cobb said to Mrs. Morrisey. “I know it’s a while ago,but it’d help if you could recollect.” He mentioned the tornado tohelp her out.

“I usually do, and Faye here takes it up tohim.”

“I do recall,” the senior maid said, plunkingseveral tea-biscuits on a plate and still in her complaining mode.“I took him up a hot meat pie and the glass of claret he ordered inthe mornin’, but he wasn’t in his room or anywhere else I couldfind. A wasted effort all ‘round.”

Cobb was sure the old gent hadn’t beenanywhere near Spadina, but he felt obligated to test the waters foran alibi. It looked like the only thing that might get him off thehook.

“He probably went fishin’,” Mrs. Morriseysaid.

Cobb was beginning to get a more completepicture of Uncle Seamus, but it was not necessarily a clear one.The man had been a respectable lawyer for decades, had retired andbecome depressed, had pulled up stakes and moved to Upper Canada,where his childish proclivities were suddenly given full rein. Onone hand he played the fool and dallied with children, andespecially girls. On the other he played an avuncular role in thelives of the two young housemaids. He was giddy and solemn byturns. And his giddiness may have got him into serious trouble.

Cobb sipped his tea and nibbled his biscuit,while Mrs. Morrisey talked about flowers and contraband sweets andneighbourly doings. Cobb nodded politely, but he was thinking hardall the while.