Grace and Disgrace (5 page)

“And Father Kearney is now dead under mysterious circumstances,” added Eliza.

Tuohay took a drag of the clove cigarette. “It was enough of a concurrence for the RIC to give me leave to follow Crippen—on a faster ship than his, of course—to America. And for Scotland Yard to pay attention,
and
for the Boston authorities to cooperate. All in the hopes that if Crippen knows something about the diamond, he will sing.”

“And now we wait?” Eliza eyed Tuohay’s cigarette. “Those cloves are a horrid habit, Jack.”

“And now,” Tuohay paused, handing the cigarette back to Eliza, “we wait.”             

A shout in the distance grabbed their attention. It was followed by several others, echoing from the various mist-soaked alleyways. There was a sudden, sharp
crack
. 

Eldredge’s eyes widened. “Was that a gunshot?”

“Well, that was quick,” Eliza quipped.

“Stay here,” Tuohay ordered as he strode onto the road towards the sounds, his cane striking the ground with force.

“Like hell,” said Eliza, jogging up next to him.

“Eliza, this could be dangerous.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

Eldredge appeared beside them. “We are coming along, old friend.” The tremor in his voice was less than convincing, but he put on a brave smile.

“Come on, then.” Tuohay led them to a narrow alley crowded with discolored boxes and crates. The scent of the sea washed over them as the alley opened onto a seaside wharf, a pair of thirty-foot cutters lashed along its length. Iron rings and multi-hued buoys lay scattered on the jagged deck, joined by foot-snaring seaweed, rope, and the occasional moldy oar.

“Thick as pea soup,” Eldredge commented, the renewed blanket of gray fog smothering the quay before them.             

“Where’re we going, Jack?” Eliza asked, stumbling as a rope squelched under her boot.

As if in response, a gigantic dual-stacked steamship emerged from the fog, gray vapors spilling down its barnacle-encrusted bow like the strands of a hag’s mane. The massive ship rested between the tight confines of two protruding piers, the image not unlike a stiffened body trapped in an unyielding coffin. The deep clang of a bell broke from above the bow like a warning.

“Is that the ship Crippen was on?” Eldredge asked. “We cannot reach it from here.” Isolated shouts rang out from the far wharf.

Tuohay stopped his advance. “Damn. Yes, it’s the ship. We are on the wrong side of the waterway. How do we get over there?”

“Backtrack,” said Eldredge.

“Give me a boost,” Eliza demanded, stepping onto a rickety crate. The two men looked at her in confusion. “A boost up to the roof. Quickly.”

“Right.” Tuohay moved into position, and Eliza used the crook of his shoulder to step within reach of the warehouse crown. The roof was gently sloped and ran the full gamut of the wharf, stretching into the mist in either direction. Scrabbling with her hands and elbows, Eliza unceremoniously twisted up and over the ridge. On all fours, she peered back down at her partners. “I’ll go to the other side. The piers bend around, and I should be able to see where they link up. Back in a jiff.”

She stood and raced up the roof, the thump of her boots on the wood slates subsiding quickly. Tuohay and Eldredge stared up into the silent gray after her. Suddenly, a loud clap reverberated off the walls of the surrounding warehouses, followed by more shouts.

“Another shot! And it sounded close,” Eldredge breathed, looking about in alarm. “In the same direction Eliza just went.”

Tuohay swore under his breath. “Eliza!”

Silence persisted.

“Come on, John—” Tuohay was cut short by the sound of tramping feet from above. Eliza appeared and crouched at the edge of the roof.

“Quickly, head through there,” she said, pointing to an adjacent warehouse with a faded sign reading
Agricultural Warehouse
. “It connects through an old merchant house, and there’s an exit on the other side.”

“Away from the steamship?” Tuohay asked.

“Yes, away from the steamship! He’s on the run.”

Tuohay broke into a limping stride down the wharf, reaching the dark entrance of the heavy brick warehouse referred by Eliza. A stout brass plate and its inscription of welcome were ignored as Tuohay limped past, his cane echoing off the wooden floor within. The interior was barn-like, intensified by the scent of stale hay, vegetables and horse dung. Tuohay and Eldredge entered a low row of make-shift hallways.

“Look there—banana crates!” Eldredge declared as he jogged beside Tuohay. He was pointing over the low wall to a pillar of crates nearly two stories high. “It reminds me of the statistics I ran on trade revenue in Boston last autumn. Technical abstracts from the import department were lacking, revealing an imperfection among the previous studies, including agriculture—”

“John.”

Eldredge bit his tongue. “Right. I do tend to ramble when I am nervous.”

“It would be something if your rambling at least made sense, old boy.”

Tuohay shouldered a small door open and the pair stepped into an abandoned tea shop, facing the opposite side of the large warehouse. A small bar, rotting and covered in dust, was the only reminder of the once cozy affair. Tuohay clattered over to the heavy oak door and peered out its smudged window. Cursing, he rubbed the grit clear with his sleeve.

“What do you see?”

Tuohay pushed the door open with a grunt, a surge of seaside air greeting his effort. The two men exited onto an enclosed patio comprising the southeast corner of the building; above their heads the courtyard ceiling supported the upper stories; the adjacent walls were non-existent except for a few faded pillars supporting the ceiling, leading to the harbor. Directly ahead the water channel was clogged with three-mast schooners, their sails furled and anchors dropped. The unadorned masts appeared like a forest of winter pines rising from the mist.

Tuohay turned left. The deck stopped abruptly, dropping three feet into the harbor. A thicket of wood pilings protruded from the water like gravestones, the pier they once supported having long rotted away.  

“There is a man out there!” Eldredge gasped.

“Kip Crippen,” Tuohay breathed with a curse.

Crippen, a grizzled man in a short frock coat and wool hat, was crouched precariously on one of the wood posts protruding a foot above the brackish water. His shoulders hunched, he held a small object in his hand. Suddenly, he leapt to an adjacent piling, one foot catching the water and nearly toppling him into the harbor.

Eldredge shook his head in wonder. “How did he get out there?”

“More pertinent to us is where he is going,” said Tuohay, pointing to a single-mast dinghy at the far end of the drowned coppice. Tuohay’s brow furrowed with concern. “The posts make a path of stepping stones leading right to that boat.”

“What do we do?”

Tuohay stepped to the edge of the platform just beyond the roof and peered up. Above him Eliza crouched on the roof, watching Crippen dance from one slick piling to the next.

“Do you see anything from up there?”

“Sure as night follows day,” Eliza called down, pointing in the direction of Crippen. “Looks like your pal Inspector Frost is Johnny-on-the-spot.”

A rowboat emerged onto the scene from beneath a nearby pier, a uniformed officer rowing from the center with undisciplined fury. At the bow of the rocking boat the bulky form of Frost loomed precariously in his trench coat.

“I do not recommend it, Mr. Crippen!” Frost’s voice carried the length of the water to the onlookers. “You are outnumbered and outmatched.”

“I have done nothing wrong!” Crippen shouted back, a thin cockney accent marking his words.

“You were told to stay put,” Frost returned. “Do so now, and all will be well! We’ll swing by nice an’ easy.”

“You are surrounded, Mr. Crippen,” Tuohay joined in, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Do as the inspector says!”

“And who might
we
be?” Crippen shouted back, the growl in his voice as clear as if he had been standing right beside them.

“The RIC.”

Crippen muttered something unintelligible at that and spun around to face the oncoming rowboat. It was less than thirty feet away in the water, but could not proceed into the maze of pilings. It careened into the obstacles like a cavalry charge converging onto pikes, nearly flinging Frost from the boat.

“Steady!” he roared back at the officer.

“You won’t have me!” Crippen cried, aiming his pistol at Frost.

Tuohay pulled a Colt Derringer from his pocket, the metal slick with perspiration. Eldredge gasped as Tuohay’s arm stretched full length, but Frost was faster. Despite his uncooperative position in the bow of the heaving boat, the Boston inspector was quick to draw. A single flare and ensuing crack from his pistol indicated the shot.

Crippen froze as if something had startled him. And then, as if contemplating the watery grave below, he crumpled forward and pitched headlong into the depths.

A heavy silence fell.

“Was he hit?” Eldredge cried out, his voice dry. “Oh God, was he hit?”

“Either that or he’s a terrible diver,” Eliza called back.

A thunder of commands issued forth from Frost. More officers appeared from the fringes of the piers, picking their way through various obstacles to get into available watercraft. Frost shouted at them to get over to his location as he tried to pull the boat through the pilings with his hands.

“Gads,” Eldredge breathed, eyeing the rippling surface of the water Crippen had disappeared into. “Where did he go?”

“Down,” said Tuohay.

“Jack.” It was Eliza. She was pointing at a nearby dock running parallel to their own. “Rag men on the loose.”

Tuohay turned to where she was pointing. A handful of eager, feral-looking men raced down the pier towards the officers, notepads in hand.

“Journalists,” Eldredge groaned. “And I recognize that man Mountain among them. The visitor from the interview at Sara’s house. He’s there—the gaunt man in the olive trench coat.”

Tuohay’s frown deepened into a scowl. “Did you set up that interview with Sara Conall’s uncle?” He returned his gun to the inside of his coat.

Eldredge blinked.

“Well, man? The doctor, Sean Kearney. Sara Conall’s last living uncle, brother to the two dead men.”

“Eliza set it up. She’s the smooth talker, remember? This evening, at your hotel.” Eldredge’s bewilderment was etched across his face. “But… but what about Crippen? Is he not your main concern?”

“
Was
, old boy.” Tuohay took a long, last gaze at the water where Frost and his officers were stumbling along the pilings. “Get working on that code book, Eldredge. It appears Mr. Kip Crippen will be of far less use than I had anticipated.”

The bells of Notre Dame Academy rang through Copley Square, proclaiming the hour with harmonious authority. Tuohay looked up from his newspaper and frowned, his lips curling around his diminishing cigarette. The scent of clove lingered close. He reached into his pocket, extracted his silver watch, and flipped open the lid with his thumb.

“Seven o’clock,” he murmured. He leaned back and finished his cigarette with a protracted draw, his eyes returning to the evening edition’s headline.

Templar Diamond

HIDDEN AWAY
in Boston

Died with his boots on. Grim fate for Irish jewel thief on the run. Boston authorities gun him down in cold blood as he disembarks from steam liner.

Tuohay tossed the paper onto the table with a sigh.

It had been a long day, and with nothing good to show for it. Crippen—or his body—had not been discovered as of an hour ago, mystifying the police. Either he had escaped clean, or had sunk into the mire. It was anyone’s guess which was the case.

The remaining time with Inspector Frost had been distasteful. Tuohay had received the report that Kip Crippen somehow knew of their trap, and sprung a surprise of his own by grabbing a nearby passenger and holding her hostage until he could break free.

One rumor was that he had received a message via Morse code aboard the steamship by a member of the press asking for an interview.

All in all, it was a messy affair. And more likely than not, the press would continue to dig, diverting precious resources from the imperative elements of the case. That would only complicate matters.

Tuohay exhaled softly. “Focus on the present endeavor,” he reminded himself, gathering his thoughts.

The parlor of the Harrington Hotel was too bright for his liking, the furniture overly tasteful and rich. Tuohay had been forced to claim a table on the west side of the room where the electric lightning was less prevalent. A broken wall of newspapers obscured the evening readers, creating a virtual maze of paper and ink. Every paper carried a version of the Templar Diamond story.

“Well, Dr. Kearney, let us see what you have to offer,” Tuohay murmured. He called for the waiter, a gangly youth who appeared more fit for the docks than a high-end hotel.

“Yes, sir?”

“There should be a gentleman by the name of Dr. Sean Kearney waiting in the lobby with an associate of mine. If you would be so kind as to show them to my table?”

“Of course. Is there anything else?”

“No.” Tuohay waved the boy away and waited.

A nearby newspaper rustled as a reader at an adjacent table flipped through the pages. A moment later, a question emitted from behind the paper veil. “What do you intend to learn from Doctor Kearney?” Soft like velvet, Eliza’s voice was a welcome reprieve for Tuohay from his thoughts. Hands gloved in white-lace held her paper in a relaxed manner.

“Doctor Sean Kearney is the sole surviving Kearney brother. He must know something.” Tuohay took a draw of his cigarette. “Perhaps Aiden Kearney confided in Sean Kearney about his discoveries, or of danger afoot.” He slipped his watch back into his pocket. “Keep an eye open for anything unusual during the interview.”

“Not a problem,” she replied, a smile in her voice. “I am ever the observer, especially when I am out of the way.”

“To be continued,” Tuohay murmured. His gaze had fallen to the approaching waiter with three individuals in tow. “Eldredge and the good doctor, but who is the young woman with them?” Tuohay stood as they reached the table.

The doctor was the first there. He had a robust face, merry-red and solid. It was draped by a curling silver beard and finely curved moustache, a strong argument for gentleman status. He waited, regarding Tuohay with intelligent eyes of faded green. His left hand rested at the upper left breast pocket of his tweed coat where an ebony pipe protruded with promised comfort.

The young woman took her seat gingerly, her large chestnut eyes absorbing the room like that of a curious child. In her middling twenties, she had an imperious face with high cheekbones and thin nose, the edges touched with red from the cold outside. Her lips were rouge, a deep crimson against the soft paleness of her skin, and her raven-black hair was gently pulled back into an intricate braid
.
Her fur-lined coat was a simple, faded affair, and did not match the regality of her natural appearance. She kept within its confines as if still warding off the cold.

Eldredge nodded to Tuohay in greeting as the men took their places at the table. Eldredge had a striped blue ascot on for the event, matched by a dark-hued blazer with a spot of dried mustard near the collar. “Jack, I would like to present Miss Mary Hart and Dr. Sean Kearney. The doctor is the brother of the late Father Aiden Kearney and of the late Rian Kearney.” Turning, Eldredge reversed the introduction across the table. “This is Jack Tuohay, District Inspector 2nd Class of the Royal Irish Constabulary.”

“Royal Irish Constabulary.” Mary raised a thoughtful brow.

“Never heard of it,” the doctor remarked.

Tuohay motioned to the waiter. “Whiskey and branch water, if you please. Mr. Kearney, Miss Hart?”

Kearney seemed to disapprove. “None for me, especially in the middling hours before dinner.”

“I did not realize the time of day affected the taste of whiskey.” Tuohay stretched his leg as his new companions watched him curiously. The pain had diminished with the administration of the cloves, but sitting for too long stiffened the joints, especially after the earlier activities that day.

“Gin,” said Mary Hart, to the evident surprise of the doctor. She took no notice, her eyes resting upon Tuohay with curious defiance.

“She has been through quite a fix,” the doctor offered, as if in explanation.

“We all have been,” Mary replied softly, the challenge in her gaze fading.

Eldredge declined a drink and turned to Tuohay as the waiter departed with the orders. “As you are aware, Dr. Kearney has agreed to speak to us on behalf of his two deceased brothers.”

“The evening headlines have me concerned,” Dr. Kearney said pointedly. “We are not interested in publicity, inspector.”

“Understood,” said Tuohay. “Anything you tell us will be in the strictest of confidence. Now, if I may inquire about your professional life. Just a few details will suffice.”

“I am a senior physician at the Boston City Hospital, where I specialize in the new field of prostatectomy surgery. I also practice asylum psychiatry in several of the lunacy wards near Boston, and I lead a small research lab utilizing fluoroscopy to research the capabilities of x-rays—it is quite the sensation in the medical field. I envision it telling us more about not just the inner workings of the body, but also of the mind.”

“Fascinating,” said Eldredge.

“Enough?” Doctor Kearney addressed Tuohay.

“Yes. I am a medical school dropout, myself.”

“Is that so? Harvard? They have raised the admissions standards in the last twenty years, and done away with the apprenticeships.”

Tuohay nodded. “I made it part of the way through the first year of the program, but it was not to be.” He shrugged. “In any case—”

“Yes, yes. I would like to get to the point of this meeting.”

“I am not too fond of formalities myself,” said Tuohay, “and I appreciate your candid approach. But if I may—Miss Hart, would you care to tell me your connection to this affair? I admit, your name sounds vaguely familiar to me.”

“There is more to this “affair”, as you call it, than you realize,” the doctor replied for her.

“That does not surprise me,” said Tuohay. “Miss Hart?”

Further communication was held up by the appearance of the waiter with the drinks. An array of clinking glassware marked the transfer, after which the waiter removed himself from their vicinity.

Mary took a sip of her gin. “I am a streetwalker, Mr. Tuohay. A concubine, if you will.”

Tuohay’s gaze swept from Mary to the doctor.

“A prostitute, Jack,” Eldredge said.

Tuohay cast a sidelong glance at his partner. “I am well aware of what a streetwalker is.”

“Not…
too
familiar, though,” Eldredge added tentatively.

Mary suppressed a smile at the exchange, but the doctor’s frown deepened. “I was assured by my niece Sara that you and your staff are of the highest caliber, Inspector Tuohay. This is sensitive business we are here to discuss, and should not be trivialized with such…banter.”

“Of course,” said Tuohay, casting one last glance at Eldredge before continuing. “And you can be fully confident in our capabilities. Now, Miss Hart— ”

“Mary, if it pleases you.”

“Of course. Mary.”

“Miss Hart is the more appropriate designation for the present,” Dr. Kearney interrupted. “We must maintain a certain level of formality during the course of this interview.”

Tuohay took an excruciatingly long sip of his whiskey before continuing. “Fine, then. As I was saying, Miss Hart—”

“Mary,” the former concubine repeated, avoiding the doctor’s gaze. A long silence lingered, and Tuohay made no motion to dispel the evident tension between the two newcomers.

Eldredge put on a brave smile. “Shall we just go with first names then? What do you say, Sean?” The doctor glared at Eldredge, who smoothed his ascot nervously in response. “Doctor Kearney it is. But you can call
me
John, if it pleases you.” Another glower from the doctor had Eldredge clearing his throat. “Or simply Eldredge to keep it proper.
Mr.
Eldredge, I mean.” Eldredge coughed. “Yes, yes. Mr. Eldredge is spot-on.” His last words were a jumbled, trailing affair, matched by the overlapping creases his fingers made of his scrunched ascot.

Mary raised a delicate hand to her mouth and laughed. It was short and musical, shattering the nervous tension from her demeanor. She wiped her eyes once, her cheeks flushing. “I am sorry for the outburst,” she said. “It is just that my emotions are… I am not quite myself at the moment. And the good doctor here is really just being noble. A protector of sorts.” She looked down her glass. 

Tuohay leaned back, new interest in his voice. “It is quite alright, Mary.”

“Yes, to be expected,” Eldredge added. “Such conversations have a way of pulling at the emotional strings, so to speak.” Another long pause followed, and Eldredge waved the waiter down. “A tonic, if you would be so kind.”

“You may as well get one for me as well,” the doctor barked, tugging at his moustache. “And add some gin to that. When in Rome, as they say. Though we are far from such greatness here.”

Mary set her hand gently on the doctor’s arm. “Dr. Kearney, please. It is extraordinary, meeting here with these men, and exposing our truths. But the events we have been through are even more extraordinary, are they not? And Sara trusts these good gentlemen. She is a fine judge of character, after all.”

“
I
will be the judge of character in this matter,” the doctor replied, but his stance had visibly softened. He gave Tuohay a grudging nod. “Of course, I am aware that you knew my brother Aiden. That is the
only
reason we are here.” Further speech was interrupted as the waiter delivered the drinks. Once the transaction was complete, the doctor pressed forward. “Sara gave you something last night? A book?”

“She did. A Goldman’s Codex.”

This seemed to comfort the doctor. “She trusts you, just as Aiden did.”

“As she should,” said Tuohay, but a sudden stiffness in his leg caused him to grit his teeth.

Kearney frowned. “Are you in pain, inspector? Is it your leg?” He peered under the table. “Perhaps you should have it examined.”

“I am not in need of medical assistance at the moment,” grimaced Tuohay, “so if we could just
move on
.” He turned to Mary as the pain subsided. “Please, Mary, as swiftly as you can, tell Mr. Eldredge and myself why you are here with the good doctor.”

“As I said, I am a streetwalker.” She smiled to herself as if at some hidden secret, and seemed to be waiting for a second interruption, but none was forthcoming. Satisfied, she continued. “Nearly ten years ago, when I was seventeen, I began relations with a well-known priest named Father Robert Donnelly. It was the spring of 1892.
The spring of my content
, as I called it then.” She smiled sadly. “He was my beau.”

Eldredge coughed up a mouthful of tonic water, his eyes wide with surprise. “Excuse me,” he dabbed at his ascot. “Are you referring to
the
Father Robert C. Donnelly of Plymouth? The polymath?”

“
The
Father Robert C. Donnelly,” Mary confirmed.

“Take a hold of your senses,” the doctor warned, watching Eldredge fidget with his collar.

“The man is a priest, a practicing physician, an expert herbalist, an accomplished architect, a well-known writer…” Eldredge shook his head. “I had the honor to attend a series of seminars he led on general astronomy, spectroscopy, and star mapping. He made the complex look simple. It was truly elegant.”