Bruce Alexander - The Price of Murder

The vicar, a man of sixty or more, went on in this vein for a bit longer, but my notice was just then diverted to Mr. Deuteronomy. ’Twas Clarissa who called my attention to him. She gave me a sharp nudge with her elbow in my side. Having thus signaled, she pointed across the rows that separated us and showed me how the vicar’s words had affected our friend. His head was bowed, and the line of his shoulders was irregularly visible only just above the pew, for those little shoulders of his heaved up and down quite uncontrollably. He was weeping forlorn and bitter tears.

Even the vicar seemed to notice. He hurried his remarks through to the end and called for the pallbearers. Two men-no more-appeared from some spot secluded from our sight. Placing themselves one on each side the small coffin, they lifted it, and, to some stirring anthem sung by the choir, followed the vicar to the side door of the church, which, as I knew, led out to the churchyard. Mr. Deuteronomy fell in behind the coffin, and we behind him.

One of the pallbearers looked remarkably familiar. Though I could not immediately place him, I was inescapably certain that I had not only seen but also talked with him most recent. Now, who was he? Then, soon as I had put the question to myself, I had the answer. ’Twas Walter Hogg, the fellow I had talked with before the race in Shepherd’s Bush. He it was had also removed his hat to the jockey the day before the race when we met by chance in Covent Garden. I’d no idea why he served as pallbearer. How strange that he should have popped up again this way. Had he volunteered for such duty? I resolved to speak with him at the earliest opportunity and find out.

The grave, newly dug beneath an oak tree, was easily detected as soon as we made our way through the entrance into the churchyard. It was a choice location. Deuteronomy Plummer must have paid a pretty penny for it, I reflected, for there’s naught that comes cheap in such a funeral as this one. And of course Mr. Deuteronomy would spare little or nothing in providing his niece with the finest for her final resting place. By and by we came to the spot. The pallbearers rested the coffin upon the cross bars above the grave and stepped aside. Then did the vicar begin his prayers at the graveside as Deuteronomy wept on ceaselessly. At the prayer (“Man, thou art dust”) the vicar indicated that Mr. Deuteronomy might toss a handful of dirt upon the coffin, but the offer was declined. At another signal, the two pallbearers picked up the ropes with which the coffin would be lowered into the open grave. Yet there was something still to be done. The vicar seemed to be looking at me and pointing down. At first, I had no notion of what he wished from me, yet a bit of gesturing made it all clear: I was to pull out the cross bars that supported the coffin. I scrambled to it, and as the pallbearers supported the box with the ropes, I whisked the wooden bars out from under it. And then slowly, little by little, it disappeared down into the darkness of the earth. “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. .”

Oddly, Mr. Deuteronomy seemed to regain his composure immediately after the graveside service. He went straight to the vicar and, after blowing his nose loudly into a silk kerchief and dabbing at his eyes to dry the tears, he pulled from his coat pocket a purse filled with coins and opened negotiations with the clergyman.

And, for my part, I sought out Walter Hogg that I might discover how he came to participate in these proceedings. As it happened, he was on the far side of the grave, working free one of the ropes on which the coffin had rested. He wound it swiftly and expertly round his arm. He seemed eager to be away. Clarissa followed me out of curiosity and listened in.

“May I have a word with you, Mr. Hogg?”

“Well, I haven’t much time now, have I? Must be on to another funeral,” said he.

“Have you something to do with the church here?”

“Naw, naw, ’tain’t like that at all.”

“But you’re not a friend of Mr. Plummer, are you? I seem to recall from our conversation that you. .”

“No, I told you I never had sand enough to walk up to him and meet myself up to him. Arthur and me”-he nodded at his companion-“we work for the embalmer. Learning the secrets of the trade, as you might say.”

“Surely not as an apprentice? You’re a good deal too old for that.”

“No, we just works for him. That’s all. Part of workin’ for him is we fill in as pallbearers when it’s necessary, as so it was today.”

“Well, all right,” said I, “but wouldn’t you like to meet Deuteronomy Plummer? I’d be happy to introduce you.”

“No time for that. Like I say, another funeral.”

With that, he turned his back on me and, having concluded his winding of the rope, he called quietly to his companion: “Arthur, you ready, are you?”

Arthur nodded, shouldered his coil of rope, and shuffled about, indicating his readiness to depart. Walter Hogg turned back to me.

“Now, if I understood a-right,” said he, “that little girl in the coffin, she was some relation to Mr. Deuteronomy, ain’t that so?”

“That’s so,” said I.

“Well, I wonder, will he be riding at Newmarket this Sunday? It’s a King’s Plate race-all the best from all the counties will be there. Didn’t mention anything about that to you, did he?”

“Not a thing.”

“Just as I feared. Well, I’ll go there and take me chances. Goodbye to you, young sir”-with a nod to Clarissa-“and to you, young lady.”

Then did he leave with Arthur in tow. The two men headed for the gate that led to Bedford Street. Their wagon was there in the alley, no doubt, and indeed, I vaguely recalled an embalmer’s shop in King Street, if I were not mistaken. But it was not the sort of thing that would stay in your head, was it?

“What was that all about?” Clarissa whispered.

“I’m not sure,” said I quite honestly. “Just someone popping up where he wasn’t expected. Probably just a coincidence.”

“Writers of romances know there is no such thing as ‘just a coincidence,’” said she smugly. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t like the looks of the fellow at all.”

“I’ll tell you all that I know about him later on.”

“See that you do.”

Having come at last to a figure that suited them both, Mr. Deuteronomy and the vicar clasped hands. Then did the jockey count out the sum into the clergyman’s hand. Though I had not a good view, judging from the time it took to count it out, it must have been a considerable amount. He turned round then and came toward us, casting not a downward glance as he passed beside the open grave. Looking from one of us to the other, he made it plain that he wished to be introduced to Clarissa. I did the formalities with dispatch and (I thought) a bit of style, as well.

“I wish to thank you both for coming to the service,” said Mr. Deuteronomy. “She got a proper sendoff, don’t you think?”

Clarissa seemed puzzled. “She?”

“Maggie, Margaret Mary-my niece.”

“Oh,” said she. “Oh, yes of course-the funeral. It was all quite grand. I. . I shall always remember it. The sermon!”

“The choir,” said I.

“Anyways,” said he, “it seemed like the least I could do for her.”

“You. .” I hesitated, not knowing quite how I might best frame the question. “You may not wish to go out today in search of your sister. I can well understand if you do not. Just say the word and-”

“Oh no! No indeed,” said he, interrupting. “I would not think of deserting the hunt. Not now, not ever! Just give me time to duck back to me ken to change me duds, and I’ll meet you at that same coffee house we met at yestermorn. That suit you?”

I nodded. “It suits me well.”