A Journeyman to Grief by Maureen Jennings

Author:Maureen Jennings
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
Publisher: McClelland & Stewart
Published: 2008-10-01T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Crabtree had written out a list of hotels and guest houses that were within comfortable walking distance of Cooke’s Livery, and Murdoch decided that the nearest of them would be his next call. Even though he knew Ferguson and Whatling had talked over the events of Wednesday night, and had probably influenced each other, he saw no reason to doubt Whatling’s statement. The negro messenger was likely the same man the coachman had seen heading up Mutual Street in the direction of the stables. As for the woman by the tree, whether she was connected with the case or just an innocent passerby, at this point, Murdoch couldn’t tell.

Also gnawing at the back of his mind was an incident that had shaken the city two years earlier. A young man from an affluent and respectable family had been shot on the threshold of his own home. The victim had not died immediately and was able to give a description of his assailant, but for a while the police went off on the wrong track, searching for a slim, dark-skinned male. Shortly afterwards, a mulatto woman confessed to the crime. She had been seen on several occasions dressed in men’s clothes, and it was difficult to know what had shocked the city more, the shooting or the masquerade.

That particular woman had passed easily as a man, and Murdoch wondered if Cooke’s messenger was in disguise. Both the messenger and the coloured woman who had inquired at the livery had been described as stocky, middle-aged, medium height. The raspy voice that Ferguson had mentioned was suspicious. But then, heaven forbid, it could be the other way around. The maid who had come to the stables might be a man, for all he knew.

He braked, stopped, and looked over his list. The closest hotel to the livery was the Elliott House, on the corner of Church and Shuter. It had the reputation for excellent service at a high price and for catering to American visitors, the proprietor being a Yankee himself. The widow that Green had mentioned seeking a cab could afford to keep her servant well dressed, and the maid had told Green they were American. He turned along Shuter and soon reached Church Street. To walk from there to Cooke’s Livery, he guessed, would take ten minutes at the most.

Elliott House was a large, gracious building, which sat in private grounds dotted with shrubs and well-placed benches, and he could see some of the guests walking on the sun-dappled lawn, enjoying the air. He parked his bike against the low iron fence that ringed the property and walked up the path to the door. A doorman, his back as straight as a sentry’s, was standing on the steps and he swept the door open for Murdoch to enter.

“Reception straight ahead, sir,” he said. Murdoch wondered if this little courtesy merited a tip but decided against it. Another young man with a ruler-straight parting in his black hair was standing behind the desk engaged in a telephone conversation.

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