Don Gutteridge - Bloody Relations

“You know nothing about love.”

“Imagine, though, his anguish when, lurking somewhere in the vicinity Tuesday morning, he learns Sarah has been murdered. All his hopes are crushed at once. Then he discovers he is a fugitive from the law as well as the dicers. Nowhere is he safe. Somehow he manages to find refuge for another day or two. He gets his own savings from Hepburn on Tuesday afternoon, using a prearranged protocol. Then he heads for cover. Why doesn’t he leave town? Well, there are troops everywhere in the townships. Roads are being watched. There is also Sarah’s funeral on Thursday. And perhaps he has his own suspicions of who killed his beloved.”

Cobb glanced over at the clock. It was past seven. They had less than an hour.

“While you were angry with Badger, you at least had the satisfaction of dismissing him. Moreover, you knew men well, and it must have occurred to you that Badger could easily have been exaggerating in order to hurt you for spurning his facile charm. Then Sarah comes home from the ceremonies on the wharf and, when you finally get her alone, you confront her with Badger’s claims. Or perhaps you let them sit festering while you watch Sarah for signs. You have made yourself the master of the poker face and the ready-made smile. Sarah is worried, of course, because Badger was truant on the weekend and she knows his weaknesses. Whatever happened, by evening matters on the surface appeared normal. A few regulars come and go. You close up. And then Handford Ellice arrives.”

Norah Burgess was beginning to flag. Only her dark, discerning eyes seemed still to be alive and sentient.

“I cannot believe you intended to murder a young woman you had grown to love and dream a future for. All day you brooded silently about whether she had really betrayed your trust and, if so, whether Badger was a passing fancy and whether, once he was gone, things would be as they had been. I think you entered her room intending to check on her well-being as you usually would. But the sight of her there naked beside an inebriated scion of someone rich and famous and lucky by birth-something caused you to snap. Possibly you knew deep down that Sarah was already lost to you. You grabbed the dagger and killed her before she could offer up another excuse for her betrayal. Love turned to loathing in a blink. And in a blink the deed was done.”

“It’s seven-thirty, Major.”

“But I’m still not sure why you had to shoot Badger. Unless you concluded that he might finger you for the murder or, worse, take personal revenge on you or your girls. Perhaps you waited for two days, hoping to hear that one of his cronies had slit his throat. When that didn’t happen, and the troops were called out to hunt him down, you decided to act. No doubt you keep a lady’s pistol somewhere in here to protect yourself in extremis. You took it and somehow lured Badger to a rendezvous off Jarvis Street. You approached him as a friend and shot him through the heart.”

“Please, no more.”

“You’re ready to confess your crimes?”

With great effort she raised her face high enough to look Marc directly in the eye. “You got most of it right.” She sighed. “Michael never got in here Monday night. I was awake the whole time. There was only me.” A fierce but momentary look of anger seized her. “But he did have that key. When you found it was missing on Tuesday morning, I knew for sure what it was those two had been up to.”

“How did you get in touch with Badger when nobody else could-not the gamblers, the police, or his own sister?”

“He used to hide out in a duck blind along the marsh above the end of Jarvis. I sent Peter there with a note. The boy had no idea what he was delivering and, of course, Michael would spot him coming a mile off.”

That would account for the straw and grass on Badger’s clothing. “But he got the message?”

“Yes. I told him I had nothing to do with Sarah’s death and that I’d tell him exactly how she died. Then I offered him money. That he could never resist.”

“So you killed the only person who might be able to implicate you while avenging yourself for his affair with Sarah.”

“Something like that.”

Norah Burgess moaned and tried to rise up in her chair, pushing with all her might on its arms but falling back with a resigned sigh. Still there was fire in her eyes and she emitted a dry, throaty, ragged laugh.

“But you got the only important point completely wrong,” she cried, with a scathing contempt that was aimed at herself as much as her inquisitor. “Yes, I liked Sarah and I treated her like a daughter. But I didn’t love her. I loved him!”

Norah Burgess finally agreed to accompany Cobb to the station and sign a deposition admitting that she had murdered Sarah McConkey and Michael Badger. When Marc had first proposed it, Norah had complained that she was too tired to move-or think or feel. In fact, during the course of their conversation, she had visibly shrunk into herself and was now as withered and bent as a crone.

“I just wanta curl up here and shrivel away,” she said.

“But innocent lives and reputations are at stake,” Marc said. “The police are declaring Michael Badger a murderer-a dead man who cannot confess or be tried, and who will appear to many to be an official scapegoat. Handford Ellice’s reputation will be ruined by innuendo and gossip unless a public confession is forthcoming.”

“Why should I care about Ellice?”

“The future of the province and the Canadas may depend on Mr. Ellice’s being disentangled from this affair. You better than anyone know he was a blameless bystander.”

“You mean that old Wakefield business?”

“Yes.” Not much had escaped Madame Renée.

“I’m too weary to walk,” she sighed, but her eyes indicated she would make the effort.

Cobb came back into the room from the other part of the house. He had a small pistol in his hand. “Ya got fifteen minutes to get to Government House.”

“Mr. Cobb here is going on ahead and will bring a cab up Lot Street; I’ll help you to the buggy.”

“But you’ll be late fer yer meetin’!” Cobb exclaimed.

“Send a message to Lord Durham that I’ll be half an hour late. Let Sarge know that he should stay any declarations against Badger.”

“Okay, Major.” He grinned broadly. “You sure like to cut yer meat close to the bone.” Then he was gone.

Marc helped Norah to her feet.

“I’m all right now,” she said, pushing away his steadying arm. “I’ll sign the necessary papers.” Clearly she was drawing on the last reserves of her strength. She had lost everything that mattered: her business, her surrogate daughter, the man she had loved. Somehow, she maintained her dignity.

She headed not for the scarlet door but her own quarters.

“It’s this way, ma’am.”

“I’ll need to get my bonnet,” she said. “We’re going to town, aren’t we?”

Darkness was approaching when Marc arrived at Government House, almost an hour late for his appointment. He was shown immediately into the drawing room, where Lord and Lady Durham rose to greet him. If they were anxious, and surely they had reason to be, they were too well schooled in the social graces to let their manners slip. Lord Durham asked Marc if he would like a whiskey or a coffee, and Lady Durham inquired after the health of Mrs. Edwards. Durham then directed Marc to a chair, seated his wife nearby, and sat down himself. It was only then that Marc noticed, in a shadowy corner of the room, the presence of Handford Ellice. He was wrapped in a heavy robe even though the evening was warm.

“Mr. Ellice is feeling well enough to be party to our conversation, Marc, thanks to the ministrations of Mrs. Edwards and my lady.” Durham nodded to his wife and she smiled faintly in acknowledgement. “He is still too weak to join us in discussion, but we felt that he had a right to be here.”