Maureen JENNINGS - Under the Dragon’s Tail

Annie stared into her tea cup as if she could read her own fortune in the dregs. “I mentioned this to Dolly and asked her if I could have the name of the family that took him. She sneered at me. ‘Oh dear,’ said she. ‘Didn’t I tell you? He’s dead and gone to heaven. Sickly little thing he was, didn’t live out the winter.’ Well that was a shocker, I tell you. ‘What about the money?’ I said. ‘What money? You haven’t been sending any money.’ ‘Yes, I have.’ ‘Prove it,’ she said. ‘There’s no record.’ I knew she wrote everything down in that album because I’d seen her do it when I was at the farm. She took it out of the desk and waved it under my nose. ‘I owe you four dollars,’ she said. ‘I’ll take it off your bill.’

“I was in a rage, Mr. Murdoch. That she’d cheated me for all these years. Once she’d even asked for extra because she said the boy had the measles and needed to see a doctor. I went without and sent the money. Always thinking I was helping. You see, I hoped one day he’d know that his…that his mother had cared. That I’d done my best. Dolly was chortling away. I screamed at her and snatched up the bloody album. I dunno, I wanted to see for myself if it was true. I wanted names.” She twisted the handkerchief into a knot. “When I got home I was like a frigging green girl. I got all trembly, couldn’t bear to open the shicey thing. I stuffed it in the drawer…and now I’ll never know for sure if my boy is alive.”

Murdoch felt compassion for her but he had to tighten the line, bring her in. He opened his file and showed her the calling card and the piece of newspaper.

“Tell me the truth, Annie. Was Mrs. Pedlow a customer of Dolly’s?”

She took the card, staring at it. At the neat black script. The respectable name.

“That wasn’t what she called herself then. She was known as Mrs. Brown. But she was there at the same time as me. She delivered two weeks before I did.”

“What happened to her baby? Was it adopted?”

“Not as far as I know. But everything to do with Mrs. Brown was so hush-hush. There was a wet-nurse came in from the village for a few days and Missus left soon after with her infant. A girl it was.”

“There’s a child living with her now but she’s supposedly the Pedlows’ ward.”

Annie nodded. “I know. When I went up there, I asked her and she told me the first infant died.”

“Do you believe her?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s true.”

“She was a respectable married woman, why would she have to hide her pregnancy?”

“Come on, Mr. Murdoch. Don’t be nocky. People can count, you know. Maybe her husband was away at an inconvenient time. Or maybe he couldn’t get his pecker up. He’d know whether he was the baker or not.”

“If he wasn’t the father she’d have to make up some story as to why she had an infant in tow.”

“That’s it.”

“Did Maud Pedlow know you’d been to see Dolly?”

“Yes, I told her.”

Agitated, Annie stood up although there was nowhere to pace in the tiny office. “I told her everything. Not about taking the album but what Dolly had said about my boy being dead. I needed to tell somebody. There wasn’t anybody else to talk to. Even Millie doesn’t know.”

Murdoch hesitated, almost afraid of what he had to say.

“Annie, when I went to interview Mrs. Pedlow yesterday, I told her that Dolly’s record book was missing. Her husband and her nephew were both present.”

“I see.” Unexpectedly, she touched his arm. “Wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know. But it must have been one of them, or a messenger for one of them.”

“Looks that way.”

She slammed her fist on his desk.

“This cull, the nephew? The one who’s been licking his chops around my diddies – is he the one who came after Millie?”

“It’s possible.”

“That’s a big favour to do for your auntie. Almost murder somebody so she can sleep at night. You know what I think, Mr. Murdoch? I’m thinking the frigging nephew is the real baker. The one who stuck my lady high and mighty. She wouldn’t want that little secret in the papers, would she?”

Murdoch remembered the scene at the Pedlows’. The intensity of Henry’s response. He had the feeling Annie was right. And if Henry had chloroformed Millie, he might have gone for Dolly. Same reason.

“If it’s true, would Dolly have known it?”

“She knew everything. Most of the girls lied, about being married mostly. Whenever one of them went into the village, she’d go through their belongings. I caught her red-handed one day. She didn’t care. ‘I have to protect myself,’ she said. I’d bet my life she did the same for Missus.”

Again Murdoch hesitated. She was eyeing him curiously.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“Why did you say the child you bore was hard to place?”

“What?”

He repeated the question.

She looked defiant. “He wasn’t deformed or sick or anything like that. I was clean.”

“Why then?”

“Dolly hammered it home to me. Nobody’s going to want this by-blow unless you pay. Then they might.”

She raised her head and smiled. There was fondness in the smile. “His father was strong and handsome as ever you saw, but he was a coloured man.”

Before he could continue, they heard Crabtree hurrying down the hall. He parted the reed strips.

“There’s a lad out here, sir. Says he saw young Freddie going into the Shaw house.”

“When?”

“Just now. He knew as we were looking for the laddie and he ran right here.”

Murdoch pushed back his chair. “I’ve got to leave. Crabtree, go make sure the messenger doesn’t escape.”

Murdoch waited until the constable was out of earshot.

“Miss Brogan, I’d like you to come with me.”

“Me? Why?”

“I don’t want to raise false hopes but I believe Dolly was lying to you.”

“How d’you mean?”

“There’s a foster son who’s been living with her. He’s about eight years of age and he’s part coloured.”

She gasped and a look of such joy came into her face that he could have wept.

“Do you want to come with me? If he is your son, he needs your help bad.”

All she could do was to nod her agreement.

Agangly youth was out in the public area. He was wearing a tight navy sweater and check bicycle trousers, nipped at the knee. A scorcher if ever there was one. His face was streaked with rain, and he smelled of damp wool.

“You told the constable you’ve seen the boy we’re looking for. Tell me,” said Murdoch but Annie Brogan was at his elbow and, seeing her, the young man looked as if he wasn’t going to utter words again.

“What’s your name, son?” Murdoch asked him.

“Jim McEvoy, Junior, sir. I live at number one-twenty-eight, just down the road from Mrs. Shaw.” He paused. “Er, the late Mrs. Shaw that is – you know the one who–”

“Yes, I know. Pay attention to the business at hand, Mr. McEvoy. Where did you see him?”

“He was sneaking into his house. I was out on my wheel. I deliver things about town, you see, sir. They’ve got a bit of a garden out back. For a minute I thought it was a lost dog or something like that, ’cos he was creeping close to the fence. I took a study because if it was there, might be a reward involved–”

“Get on with it, lad, you’re trying my patience.”

The youth flushed and Murdoch felt sorry he’d been so abrupt with him.

“When I realized it was Fred I just jumped on my wheel and came here as fast as I could.”

Murdoch turned to the constable.

“Crabtree, I’m going right over there. I’ll use my bicycle. Miss Brogan is coming too. Bring her along with you.”