Читать книгу The Klondike Mysteries 4-Book Bundle - Vicki Delany - Страница 22

Angus ran to fetch the Mounties, and I cracked open a bottle of whisky and poured myself a good shot. Then I helped our watchman out of his disgustingly filthy flannel overshirt and handed him a glass of whisky. He was highly embarrassed at vomiting in my presence, but I’d come close to losing the contents of my stomach myself—those tinned peas! The very thought of it was enough to have me choking it all back. At least I’d been forewarned that I was about to encounter something unpleasant.

I sat on the floor beside my employee with my legs stretched out in front of me, and we drank our whisky in companionable silence.

“Mrs. Saunderson will not be at all happy tomorrow morning,” I said at last.

“M’m?”

“To find such a mess. In here as well as…in there. She may even threaten to quit. Upon which I’ll offer her an extra twenty cents. And she’ll say that isn’t enough for all she has to put up with, so I’ll up my offer to twenty-five cents—and not a penny more—and with a great sigh, she’ll fetch her cloth and mop and bucket.”

“M’m?”

“Never mind.”

Angus burst through the doors, followed by Richard Sterling—is that man never off duty?—and Sergeant Lancaster. I struggled to my feet, using my Sunday watchman’s head as point of leverage.

“You wait here, Mrs. MacGillivray,” Lancaster said. He had the sour expression of one whose ambitions have not quite panned out and who never allowed himself to forget it. “Your son can show us.”

I ignored him. “Angus, go and get Ray.”

“But, Ma.”

“Now.”

He ran out the door.

The watchman gripped his empty glass and looked around for the bottle, which I’d closed and slipped under the counter before collapsing to the floor in a shocked stupor.

“Gentlemen, follow me.” I led the way through to the back room and its macabre still life.

“Jack Ireland,” Sterling said as the two Mounties approached the body. Despite my early outburst of bravado, I hung behind, back pressed against the wall.

“You know him, Constable?” Sergeant Lancaster asked.

“Yes, sir. American. Reporter. Only arrived in town day before yesterday. Saw him get off the boat myself.”

“Pretty quick to make enemies, even for Dawson.” The sergeant chuckled. “Don’t suppose this was an accident, do you? Or a suicide?” His tone turned wistful.

“’Fraid not.”

“Someone had best fetch the inspector, then.”

“Right.”

“Won’t be happy to be roused out from his after-supper pipe.”

“No, but he’ll be even less happy if we don’t call him.”

This was starting to sound like a comedy act so dreadful, I wouldn’t allow it anywhere near my stage. I abandoned my refuge against the wall and stepped forward. I opened my mouth, while the words took shape behind my tongue. Don’t stand here blabbing, you fool. Find the killer! Arrest him! And I would have said something, had not Sterling looked at me. His face was wooden and more impassive than I’d ever seen it, but his eyes were full of compassion.

“Someone has to go for the inspector,” Lancaster repeated.

“I’ll fetch him,” Sterling said. “You guard the body.”

The sergeant shivered at the thought. “No. I’ll go.”

He touched his hat as he passed me. “What a fool,” I mumbled, once Lancaster was out of earshot.

Sterling read my mind. Either that, or he has exceptionally good hearing. “He’s not a bad man, Sergeant Lancaster. They say he was headed for high rank, until he lost a company of new men, raw recruits, in a snowstorm.”

“The boys died?”

“No. Just fingers and toes lost to frostbite. But Lancaster blamed himself.” Sterling shrugged. “Killed his career all by himself, with regret and guilt. Or so they say. What do you make of this, Mrs. MacGillivray?”

“What? Oh, Ireland. He’s dead.”

“Thank you for that considered opinion.” Sterling knelt by the body. He didn’t touch anything, only looked.

Reluctantly, I walked over to stand at the foot of the stage. “He was not a nice man, Mr. Ireland.”

“You’re right about that. First, we’ll have to eliminate the handful of people who didn’t particularly want Ireland dead. Then we’ll be left with the majority of the population of Dawson.”

Sterling stood up at the moment I leaned over to take a closer look, my churning stomach having settled down and my pesky curiosity taking control. Sterling was on the stage, and I stood on the first step. He loomed over me. All the inquisitiveness of a police officer fled from his perfectly structured face, his expressive eyes softened, and the edges of his mouth turned down. He lifted one hand as if he were about to touch the top of my head, to run his fingers through my hair.

I had sworn that no one would ever again look down on me. My heart pounded, and I took a step backwards down the stairs.

Heavy boots sounded on the floorboards in the gambling room. Sterling and I were facing the door when the men arrived. Angus and Ray came first, with Lancaster and his inspector close on their heels. The watchman followed.

“Oh, for the love of God,” Ray said. “Jack Ireland, of all people.”

“You know this man, Mr. Walker?” the inspector asked.

“Jack Ireland, it is. He came in here for the first time only yesterday, maybe the day before. Spreading money around like he’d printed it himself.” Ray shook his head. “Fee, my dear, are you all right?”

The inspector’s attention shifted. He nodded to me, the greased edges of an enormous handlebar moustache curling heavenward. I hate a moustache that requires artificial embellishment. “Perhaps the lady would be more comfortable sitting outside?”

I peeked out from under my lashes. “I am feeling faint, sir.”

“Constable!” he barked. “Escort Mrs. MacGillivray and her son home.”

“If you don’t mind, Inspector,” I said, patting my chest to gather breath. “Perhaps Sergeant Lancaster would do me the courtesy. He has been so terribly gracious.” I smiled at them all.

Ray raised his eyes to the roof.

Lancaster tried not to look thrilled at being singled out and failed utterly.

Richard Sterling and Angus MacGillivray looked at the body, both of them avoiding my face.

“Very well.” The inspector was new in town, and I didn’t know his name—a substantial oversight on my part.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I do not believe we’ve met?” I offered a slightly strained smile, which contained a hint of distress beneath a lady’s natural desire to be polite.

“Inspector McKnight,” he said, with a smile almost as condescending as mine. And I knew that I’d best not play this man for a fool. “At your service, madam.” He was a scrawny fellow, about my height, with a pair of glasses so thick, he must be half-blind. But his eyes, enormous behind the lenses, were sharp and intelligent. “Who’s the fellow who found the body?”

The watchman stepped forward, wearing nothing above the waist but his dirty undershirt. “This were how I found him, sir. I didn’t touch nothin’. Then I went and fetched Mrs. MacGillivray right away, Mr. Walker not bein’ available like.”

“Mrs. MacGillivray?” Lancaster said, “shall we go?”

“Angus?”

“Please, can I stay, Ma? Mother, I mean. Ray might need me.” Angus looked around the room, seeking support. It came from an unexpected quarter.

“Let the boy stay, Mrs. MacGillivray,” Richard Sterling said. “If Walker wants to get a message to you, Angus’ll be needed.”

Angus beamed, looking more like an angel than the hard-hearted criminal investigator he probably thought himself to be.

I sighed heavily. “If you insist. Gentlemen, good night.” I picked up the skirts of my plain, but nonetheless flattering, green skirt and swept out of the room. Sergeant Lancaster tripped over his right boot, leapt into the air in an attempt to recover, blushed to the roots of his nonexistent hair, and stumbled after me. I stood by the door, patiently waiting for my escort, and favoured him with a grateful smile.

“Sergeant,” McKnight called after us, “fetch the doctor once you’ve seen Mrs. MacGillivray home.”

It wasn’t that I was uninterested in the remains of Jack Ireland, late of the San Francisco Standard. On the contrary, the demise of the unlamented Mr. Ireland might turn out to be of considerable importance to my business as well as my life. But it was necessary to leave the men to their work. I could count on Ray and Angus to report exactly what transpired. Ray would tell me the facts, and Angus would reveal every nuance that lay under the surface.

Sergeant Lancaster said not a word on the walk back to Mrs. Mann’s boarding house. The streets were deserted. A few rats scuttled about, seeking refuge in the gaping boards that were the feet of the hastily constructed dance halls, shops and homes. A wolf howled in the hills, sounding very close indeed. Dawson might try to pretend it was a cosmopolitan city, but I’d never heard the call of a wolf on the streets of London. Not even in Toronto.

“Here we are. This is my home. Thank you, Sergeant.” I smiled at my escort. My feet ached, my head throbbed, my ribs hurt from the pressure of my corset. I had no desire to linger in discomfort making polite conversation.

Lancaster touched his hat and shifted his feet. I hoped Mrs. Mann had the stove stoked and the kettle full.

“You’re a fine lady, Mrs. MacGillivray. You’ve raised a fine boy.” The words burst out of Lancaster like I hoped steam would shortly rise from Mrs. Mann’s kettle. “Good night.” He touched his hat and stumbled into the dusk.

How odd.