Murder in the North End (6 page)

The woman in the painting had raven hair and delicate, Oriental features. “I can’t say there’s much of a resemblance,” Nell said.

“The Guanyin is the goddess of mercy and compassion,” he said. “She exists to free others from their suffering and help them overcome their obstacles. I’d say there’s a very strong resemblance.”

Nell looked up to find Will regarding her in that quietly intent way of his. The candlelight softened his sharply carved, world-weary features—the shadowed eyes and hard jaw—making him look younger than his thirty-five years. There was a suggestion of something in his eyes, a vulnerability, a quiet yearning.

“If it weren’t for you,” he said quietly, “I would have long since succumbed to my demons. I’d have died at the end of a noose, or with a needle in my arm. You drained the poison from me. You turned me back into some semblance of the man I was before...the war, and all that. I owe you more than I could possibly repay. You must know that.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Will.”

“Regardless, it would ill repay you for all your kindness to allow you to remain here alone and vulnerable. I’m going to stay here with you. I’ll sleep next door, in the nursery.”

“What?” She got off the bed and crossed to him, frowning in bewilderment. “But, Will...”

“It isn’t safe, you staying here alone.”

“Will, you just said you were concerned about my reputation. If that’s the case, how could you even think about sharing this house with me?”

“No one will know. I’ll use the back entrance. The windows are all curtained. I won’t be seen.”

“But...what if someone
does
see you? What if—?”

“What if Skinner finds out you’re here and breaks in some night to teach you a lesson?” He closed his hands over her shoulders and ducked his head toward hers, gentling his voice. “Look, Nell, I understand why you’re staying behind to help Cook. I admire your loyalty to your friends and your willingness to stick your neck out, I always have. But I can’t and won’t let you make a sitting duck of yourself. Make no mistake. I’m not asking if I can stay here. I’m telling you.”

“When did you become so...so
damned
dictatorial?”

“And when did you start cursing like a sailor?” he asked with a chuckle. “Not that I don’t approve. I do—heartily. Your lofty character has always been a bit too overplayed for my taste.”

“It’s good to see you laugh,” Nell said. “I’ve missed you, Will. I’m...” She swallowed to ease the tightness in her throat. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Will nodded, his smile fading. He leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “Good night, Nell,” he said, and retired to the nursery.

“What a charming area,” Nell said as Will knocked on the front door of the three-story redbrick townhouse to which the Cooks’ Fayette Street neighbors had directed them. Through the lace-swagged, glass-paned door could be seen a small entrance hall with a curved stairway, and beyond it, a corridor terminating in a pair of glass doors. “Reminds me of Beacon Hill.”

Will said, “That’s because most of these houses were built by the same carpenters and masons, for their own families.”

Shielding her eyes against the late morning sun to peer up at the house, Nell said, “Cook must be making good money as a state constable, to be able to afford a place like this.”

“Cops have ways of supplementing their incomes,” Will said dryly.

“I doubt he’s taking payoffs,” Nell said. “I know he did at one time, on a small scale, but after the hearings and all that, I would imagine he’s toeing the line. I know
I
would.”

“You’re the type who learns from the past. Most people can’t be bothered to examine their own lives or question their actions. They operate more on dumb instinct than self-reflection.”

“Feeling a bit more pedantic than usual this morning?”

Nell had expected some flippant reply to match her teasing tone—
Cheeky vixen,
something of that nature. Instead, Will merely said, “I suppose.”

It had felt strange, last night, sleeping so near to Will, their beds aligned headboard to headboard on either side of the wall separating her bedroom from the nursery. He’d insisted on leaving the connecting door open during the night, reasoning that he could hardly protect her if he couldn’t hear the sounds of an intruder in her room. She’d lain awake for some time, listening to the restless creaks of Gracie’s bed and wondering if the situation felt as oddly intimate to him as it did to her.

She awoke this morning to the sound of her name on Will’s lips. Squinting against a searing haze of morning sunlight, she saw him standing at the foot of her bed. He was in his shirtsleeves, and leaning against the bedpost with his arms crossed. How long had he been there, she wondered, watching her sleep.

“My word,” she muttered groggily when she managed to focus on the mantel clock. “Is it really almost nine o’clock?” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept so late.

“I’ve got coffee on,” he said as he turned and crossed to the door, “and it’s not half bad. It’s the one thing I know how to do in a kitchen. But it’ll burn if it sits on the stove much longer, so don’t tarry.”

Just as Will lifted his hand to knock again on the Cooks’ front door, there came a flicker of movement from within the house. The doors at the far end of the corridor opened and a petite, dark-haired woman walked toward them. She wore a brown paisley frock and a bib apron, with a wide-brimmed straw hat clutched in front of her like a shield. As she got closer, Nell saw that she was little older than herself, thirty at most.

 The young woman cracked the door open just enough to peer out warily at Nell and Will. Her eyes, Nell saw, were puffy, her nose shiny-red; nevertheless, she was strikingly pretty, with creamy skin and dainty features. “Yes?”

“We’re here to see Mrs. Cook,” Will said, reaching into his coat for his calling card.

In a rusty-damp voice inflected with a subtle Irish brogue, she said, “I’m Chloe Cook.”

“Ah.” Will handed her his card, saying, “I’m Dr. Hewitt, and this is Miss Sweeney. I know this is a difficult time for you, Mrs. Cook, but I wonder if we might impose upon you for a—”

“Sweeney?” Chloe Cook looked up from the card to meet Nell’s gaze. “Would you be
Nell
Sweeney, then?”

“That’s right,” Nell said. “Your husband has mentioned me, I take it.”

“Yes, of course, of course. Do come in,” Chloe said, opening the door wider and gesturing them inside. “It’s so good to meet you at last, Miss Sweeney, even if...well, even under these...” Her chin quivered; she pulled a handkerchief from her apron pocket.

Nell said, “I truly
am
sorry to disturb you at such a time, Mrs. Cook. We...we’re here because...well, we thought perhaps we might be of some help in sorting through—”

“They think he—” A sob rose in Chloe’s throat. She pressed the handkerchief to her mouth. “They think...they think...”

“I know.” Nell said soothingly.

“He’s in terrible trouble.”

“I know. We know.”

“I’ve been trying to be strong for Colin’s sake,” Chloe managed as she wiped her face, “but it’s just...it’s so hard. I don’t know what to do. I’m...I’m so bewildered.”

“So are we,” Will said. “But we want to help. We find it difficult to believe that he did what they’re saying he did. That’s why we’re here. Perhaps there’s someplace we can talk?”

“Yes, of course. Um, yes. Please.” Turning, Chloe ushered them down the corridor, which smelled of fresh paint, and through the open glass doors, which led to a sunny little garden out back. “W-would you like some tea, or...”

“No, really,” Nell said. “We don’t want to impose.”

“It’s already made,” Chloe said, indicating a porcelain teapot sitting on an iron table next to a half-empty cup. “Make yourselves at home—please. I’ll be right back.” She turned and disappeared into the house.

“She’s so young,” Nell whispered to Will as he held a chair out for her. “Somehow I thought she’d be older.”

“Cook is about forty, I would think,” Will said as he seated himself. “There’d be about a ten or twelve year difference in their ages, not so much. Do you know how long they’ve been married?”

Nell shook her head. “He’s never talked very much about his personal life.”

“Hopefully his wife will be more forthcoming. She’s very well spoken, don’t you think?”

In an exaggerated Irish brogue, Nell asked, “More so than most of us ignorant paddywhacks, d’ye mean?”

Casting a baleful look in her direction, Will said, “I mean she sounds like someone with a good upbringing, perhaps even an education. That
is
rare among Irish immigrants, as you’re very well aware. Just makes me curious, that’s all.”

Chloe returned carrying a tray laden with two cups, a sugar bowl, a creamer, and a plate of prettily molded cookies. “These are from yesterday, but they’re still good.” She set the tray on the table, untied her apron, and draped it over the empty fourth chair. It was only then that Nell noticed the styling of Chloe’s frock, a loose, wrapper-like garment with a wide double panel down the front secured with frogs over the young woman’s rounded belly.

Observing the direction of Nell’s gaze, Chloe rested a hand on her stomach and said, with a watery little smile, “Colin and I are expecting a blessed event in October. Our first.”

“Oh. I...I didn’t realize,” Nell said. “That’s... that’s wonderful.”

“Congratulations,” Will said.

Chloe glanced up at Nell as she poured the tea. “You’re wondering why he didn’t tell you.”

“Well...”

Setting the cups in front of her guests, Chloe said, “It’s not the first time I’ve been in the family way. We’ve lost three wee ones, Colin and I. Our first was stillborn, a little boy we named Patrick, and the other two never even made it this far.”

“I’m so sorry,” Nell said. “That must be incredibly painful.” It was a pain Nell knew all too well, having suffered, after Duncan’s final, savage beating, a miscarriage that had more than likely left her sterile.

“I trust you’re seeing a physician,” said Will as he pulled Chloe’s chair out for her. 

“Yes, indeed, Dr. Mathers.”

“I know of him,” Will said. “He’s very well thought of.”

“He’s given me a list of rules meant to keep this babe tight in the womb. No strenuous activity—I can’t even weed this disastrous garden. No... restrictive garments.”

“Good for Mathers,” Will said. “Whenever I see a pregnant woman in a corset, I want to throttle her.”

“Dr. Hewitt is a physician,” Nell said, by way of explaining his frankness.

“Non-practicing,” he said. “My only experience with expectant mothers was during medical school at Edinburgh, back before the war.”

“Is it true,” Chloe asked, “what Dr. Mathers says, that there’s no way to stop a...mishap, if you feel one coming on? He...he said it was God’s will, that all I could do is lie down and ‘let nature take its course,’ but he’s so old, you know. You’re younger. You were trained so recently. Is there something new? Some tonic, or...?”

With an apologetic little shrug, Will said, “Bed rest is what we were taught to prescribe. Miss Sweeney actually has a good deal more experience with such matters than I do.”

“I served as nurse to a doctor on Cape Cod for four years,” Nell explained. “There are some herbs native to this country that the Indians use for that purpose, but no tonic per se. The best thing you can do is to try to prevent such a mishap by not over-exerting yourself.”

“Oh, I’ve been pretty much staying at home,” Chloe said, “reading, doing embroidery and watercolors... I’m bored out of my wits, but I don’t mind. I don’t mind looking this way, I don’t mind any of it. I want this baby so badly—Colin, too. He hired a girl to come in at noon for the cooking and cleaning. I asked him not to tell people I’m expecting. He thinks I’m being superstitious, but that’s really not it. There’s just so much pity I can bear, and if...if anything were to happen to this baby...”

“Surely you’ve told your family,” Nell said as she stirred sugar and milk into her tea.

“My parents are gone. I’ve just got the one older brother, James—he lives in New York. He’s a constable, too. Colin has no kin at all in the States. He came over alone. I have a friend, Lily Booth, who lives around the corner. She’s the only person I’ve told. She spent most of yesterday with me, trying to keep me calm for the sake of the baby.”

“She was right to do so,” Will said. “Given your condition, and your past history, it’s best that you not allow yourself to become too overwrought.”

“Your advice is well taken, Doctor,” Chloe said, “but given what’s happened...” She sat back wearily. “What they’re saying Colin did...”

“We actually know very little about the circumstances,” Nell said. “Detective Skinner paid a call on me yesterday afternoon, but he didn’t tell me much.”

Chloe grimaced. “He came to see me, too. Loathsome man. Colin can’t bear him.”

“All we know,” Nell said, “is that Detective Cook is supposed to have shot someone named Johnny Cassidy at a place called Nabby’s Inferno Tuesday night.”