Читать книгу The Barkerville Mysteries 3-Book Bundle - Ann Walsh - Страница 7

The wind was still blowing, lifting the morning’s new snow from the ground and tossing it into my face. I pulled my scarf tighter as I walked to Wake Up Jake’s. I would have something to eat, I thought, perhaps even a cup of coffee— though I didn’t usually care for that bitter beverage—before I returned to Pa’s carpentry shop. I was cold again, as cold as I had been earlier that day on the Richfield road.

As I pushed through the restaurant’s door, the rich smell of freshly baked bread made me realize I was truly hungry. I had only eaten a biscuit in the morning before leaving home, and it was now well past two o’clock.

Hanging my hat and scarf on the stand, I found an empty table close to the wood stove. I was about to sit when a cheerful voice from behind me called out, “Ted, Ted, over here. Come and sit with us. I have someone I want you to meet.”

I didn’t see who it was who called to me, but I didn’t have to. I knew that voice. It was Bridget’s. I strongly suspected that I didn’t want to meet the “someone” she had with her. Reluctantly I turned and slowly began to make my way to the back of the restaurant where two women sat at a small table.

“It’s good to see you, Bridget,” I said. “And to meet you again, Miss Jenny.”

“You two have met?” Bridget asked, puzzled. “Jenny, you didn’t tell me you’d already been introduced to Ted Maclntosh.”

Jenny’s face turned very red. “Nae, we haven’t been properly introduced, Cousin. Though if this young man had had the courtesy to identify himself when we spoke earlier today, I would have been saved much embarrassment.”

“Forgive me,” I said. “But there wasn’t time to—”

“You had more than enough time to tell me who you were. There I was, blethering on about your brave deeds and you just standing there not letting on that you were you.”

“But I-”

“I don’t understand how—” Bridget said at the same time. But even the two of us speaking together were no match for Jenny. She went on talking as if she hadn’t heard us.

“Had you but told me he had such red hair, then this wouldn’t have happened,” she said angrily to her cousin. “Of all the things you wrote to me in your letters, couldn’t you have mentioned, even once, his hair?”

Bridget frowned. “His hair?”

“Yes, his hair. Surely you could have told me that.”

“But I don’t understand why the colour—”

“Oh,” Jenny said impatiently, “you don’t understand, not at all. If I knew he had red hair, then I would have known that he was he. I mean, that he was him, that he was...” She turned to me. “It was rude of you nae to identify yourself, sir. Very rude.”

I bowed. “I apologize, Miss Jenny. I didn’t mean to be discourteous. But you talked so...quickly—” and so much, I thought“—that I didn’t have time to introduce myself.”

“Churlish. That’s what it was. Churlish and rude and behaviour not suitable for a gentleman, though it’s no wonder there are no gentlemen here in this terrible cold town with its horrid streets and all this wretched snow.”

“Jenny, do tell me what Ted has—”

“In truth, Bridget, it will be a pleasure to deal only with bairns rather than with what passes for ‘gentlemen’ here in the gold fields.”

Bairns? I knew that word. It was Scottish for small children, infants. I hadn’t realized that Jenny was married, was a mother. She was so young, and I had thought... bairns? She had more than one child?

I wanted to ask about those children, to find out if I had misunderstood, but I couldn’t form the words. How did I ask such a thing? I stared at Bridget and her cousin, wondering why I felt so unsettled by the news of Jenny’s married state. And of her babies.

Jenny continued talking, but I wasn’t listening, even though it was hard not to listen, for she talked loudly. She was still angry at me, and now everyone in the restaurant knew just how much.

Bridget sighed, then reached across the table to take her cousin’s hand. “Jenny, Jenny, dear, do be quiet for one moment and let Ted explain. You’re as cross as a hen who has lost her only egg to the farmer’s wife, and your face is almost the same colour as Ted’s hair. It’s not ladylike.”

“I have every right to be crabbit, Bridget,” she said. “I shall also be angry if I wish to be. Besides, I don’t care to behave like a proper lady in front of him!” She turned her attention to her bowl of baked beans, ignoring both me and Bridget. In the silent restaurant I could hear the clank of dishes, the scrape of spoons across bowls. No one spoke, and I wondered if everyone had been listening to our conversation.

“Ted,” Bridget asked, “what on earth have you done to upset my little cousin so badly? To make her so ‘crabbit’ as she says?”

“Nothing at all,” I said.

“Nothing? Nothing? How can you say that when you—” Her food forgotten, Jenny stood and pushed her chair back so vigorously that it nearly fell over. Her head tossed in agitation so much that her curls bounced. I took a step backward for, though she was shorter than I was and was of slight build, she seemed incensed enough to throw a punch or two in my direction. This small young lady appeared more dangerous than any other woman I had ever met. Not that I was afraid of her, not at all. It was just that I didn’t know what I would do if she attacked me. It would be most awkward to run away, but...

I took a few more steps backward, but now Bridget, too, stood. She put her arms around her younger cousin and held her close. “Hush now, little Jenny. Whatever’s happened, I’m sure Ted can put it right. You know you’re quick to fly into a rage, sometimes with no good reason. Ted is a close friend of mine. For my sake, please, sit down, be calm, and tell me what’s upset you so. I’m sure Ted will explain if you quiet yourself long enough to listen. Please, Jenny. For me? I’m afraid that today I have little patience with your temper.” Her voice trailed away, and the two cousins embraced, neither one speaking.

After what seemed to me to be a long time, Jenny slowly nodded. Then, in a small voice, most unlike the one she had been using, she said, “Perhaps I was too quick to anger, Bridget. Forgive me, for I know how much you grieve, how much you miss your friend, the doctor.”

Both women continued to hold each other, and when they separated, I saw that Jenny’s face was no longer red and that there were tears on her cousin’s cheeks.

Bridget’s voice was low when she spoke. “Please, Ted, sit down, join us. It’s difficult to believe it’s been a year since Dr. Wilkinson died.”

“Very hard to believe,” I said. “I think of him so often. I went to the cemetery this morning.”

“Ah,” Jenny said softly to me. “Now I understand your tears.”

This time I did not deny them.

“I will go to visit his grave this afternoon,” Bridget said. “I only wish there were flowers, something I could take.”

“I shall come with you, Cousin, if I may,” Jenny said. “You wrote to me so often of Dr. Wilkinson that I feel as if I, too, knew him.”

“And in my letters did I tell you the colour of his hair?” asked Bridget, trying to smile.

“Nae, I don’t think so. But you did tell me of his peculiar manner of speaking and how you and he would go dancing. And how much he loved your buttermilk biscuits. Oh, I wish I could have met him, Bridget.”

“So do I,” Bridget said. “But that can’t be. However, allow me to introduce you to another good friend, Ted Maclntosh. Perhaps we can pretend this is the first time the two of you have met, and you can begin all over. Ted, this is my little cousin Jenny. She recently arrived from Inverness, travelling with Mrs. Fraser’s mother who has come to visit her first grandchildren. Jenny is to be nursemaid to Mrs. Fraser’s twins.”

“A nursemaid?” I said. “So you don’t have infants of your own?:

“Of course not! Although it seems foolish to pretend that we have never met, I’ll play the game to please my cousin. I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. MacIntosh, but yours is a ridiculous suggestion. I am far too young to have children. Indeed I’m not even married—or affianced.”

“Please, don’t take offence, Miss Jenny,” I said quickly. Please do not take offence again was what I meant, though.

“Nae, I shall not. But should you not also say that you’re pleased to make my acquaintance?”

“Of course. I’m very pleased to meet you.”

“Good,” Bridget said. “That’s settled, and your disagreement forgotten. Now, Ted, sit with us and have something to eat.”

“I am hungry,” I said.

“Ted is often hungry, Jenny, as you’ll learn if you spend more time in his company,” Bridget explained with a smile in my direction.

“Actually I’m ravenous,” I said, pulling out a chair and sitting. “Though earlier today I didn’t have much of an appetite.”

“You not hungry?” Bridget said. “What on earth could have caused that unusual occurrence?”

“A small matter of a murder, I imagine,” a voice behind me said.

We all jumped, and I rose hastily to my feet. Mr. Walkem and Henri Tremblay had come into Wake Up Jake’s, unnoticed by the three of us. Now they stood close to our table. It was Mr. Walkem, the lawyer, who had spoken. He bowed toward Bridget and Jenny. “Excuse me, ladies, for speaking of such distasteful matters, but you’ve no doubt heard of the morning’s events.”

“Yes,” Bridget said. “Yes, we’ve heard.”

The lawyer bowed again. “Distressing for all concerned. Your young friend, Ted Maclntosh, found himself in the middle of an unpleasant scene. No wonder he couldn’t eat.”

“But the boy has found his appetite again,” Henri Tremblay said, staring at me. “The stupid thing he did—taking the side of the Chinamen against me, a white man—is perhaps how he worked up an appetite.”

Once more the restaurant fell silent. Not even the clink of a glass disturbed the hush. I didn’t know how to answer the Frenchman, or if I should reply at all. I sat down again, praying Mr. Tremblay and his lawyer would leave us alone. But that didn’t happen.

“Have you no tongue?” Mr. Tremblay asked. “I remember you speaking freely to your Chinese friends.”

“I took no sides,” I said. “And now I want to order some food. I don’t think I have anything to say to you, sir.” My hands were shaking, but my voice stayed calm. I thrust my hands into my pockets, hoping no one would notice the tremors.

“Mr. Walkem,” Bridget said, “I believe this man is your client. Was he not just accused of murder?”

Both men nodded. “Ah, the coroner’s jury did find that Ah Mow met his death at the hands of a person or persons unknown,” said Mr. Walkem. “But though it’s unfortunate that my client is to be tried for that deed, it’s well-known he’s of good character and could never have harmed anyone. It’s a terrible mistake, and the stories of those Chinamen who claim to have seen what happened will soon be proved to be blatant lies. Mr. Tremblay is innocent.”

“That remains to be seen,” I said boldly. Both men glared at me.

“Indeed it does,” Mr. Walkem said. “After the inquest, the magistrate said publicly that he regretted the painful duty he had to perform, that of committing Mr. Tremblay for trial at the next sitting of the Supreme Court.”

“But there won’t be a trial for months, not until a Supreme Court circuit judge comes here again,” Bridget said. “So why is a man who is charged with murder allowed to wander the streets? Why isn’t he in jail?”

I had wondered the same thing. From the little I knew of the workings of the courts, anyone charged with such a serious offence was usually kept in prison until his trial.

“The magistrate was agreeable to Mr. Tremblay being released on bail,” Mr. Walkem said. “I didn’t even have to present any character witnesses, as the magistrate himself is well acquainted with Henri and said that he felt it would be a travesty if such an upstanding citizen were to spend months in jail awaiting trial.”

“Innocent men shouldn’t be locked up,” Henri Tremblay muttered. “And I am innocent.”

“Of course you are,” Mr. Walkem said. “Even the chief constable and the magistrate know that.”

“Oui. Je suis innocent,” repeated Henri Tremblay. “It matters little what the heathens say. Or what a hungry boy who is almost monsieur le docteur says.” Then he looked directly at me and laughed.