Scandal on Rincon Hill (12 page)

My brother raised an eyebrow. “Are you implying that Mr. Hume might have been mistaken in his vocation?”

“No, no, not at all,” Mayfield replied, wincing a bit at Samuel's bluntness. He sipped his coffee, then added, “Naturally, no one can see into another man's soul, but Dieter performed his responsibilities well enough. In time, I'm confident he would have smoothed out the odd rough spot here and there and made an excellent career in the church.”

“I understand Mr. Hume attended university with Nigel Logan,” Samuel said.

Mayfield looked startled at the mention of the biologist. “Nigel Logan. Yes, I believe that is correct. Dieter and Mr. Logan had been friends for some time.”

He drained his coffee, then sat forward in his seat, regarding Samuel with grave eyes. “I am loath to speak ill of the dead, Mr. Woolson, but I feel obliged to admit that I did not consider Mr. Logan a suitable friend for Dieter. As a man of science, Mr. Logan held some rather unsettling, dare I say misguided, beliefs. Hardly the sort of ideas appropriate for a young church deacon to espouse. I attempted several times to explain this to Dieter, but he was loyal to his friend, and would allow no ill to be spoken against him.”

“By that I gather you mean that Mr. Hume shared Mr. Logan's enthusiasm for Charles Darwin's evolutionary theories?” I asked, entering the conversation.

The Reverend Mayfield darted a surprised look in my direction, as if he had forgotten I was in the room. “Whatever leads you to think that, Miss Woolson?”

I attempted to mimic my brother's well-rehearsed expression of innocence. I daresay, I was not as successful.

“My father happened to mention that you and Mr. Logan exchanged words last Saturday night—at the gathering Mr. and Mrs. Tremaine arranged in your honor. I assumed that must be what you were referring to when you mentioned Mr. Logan's inappropriate influence on Deacon Hume.”

The Reverend Mayfield's face flushed, and for a moment I feared he would deny the argument, or simply refuse to discuss the matter with us. After all, we had already overstepped social civility by bringing up what surely must be a sensitive subject. He took several moments to mull over his response, then sighed and sat back in his armchair.

“Yes, Miss Woolson, you are correct, I fear I did allow Mr. Logan to arouse my temper. More than some other of the man's . . . heterodox beliefs, his views concerning Darwin's misguided theory on the origin of species troubled me. I must agree with Adam Sedgwick who wisely maintained that “the Author of Nature will not permit His work to be spoiled by the wanton curiosity of Man.”

“Adam Sedgwick.” This name rang a distant bell in my memory. “Wasn't he a professor of geology at Cambridge some years ago?”

“Precisely the man, Miss Woolson,” Mayfield replied, appearing agreeably amazed that I was familiar with his source. “He was also president of the Geological Society and of the British Association of Geologists. A learned man, Professor Sedgwick, possessed of a keen mind which, I am pleased to say, saw right through Darwin's ungodly notions of evolution.”

“Am I to assume that, despite your efforts to dissuade Deacon Hume from this heresy, he persisted in supporting Mr. Darwin's theories?” Samuel asked.

Reverend Mayfield did not immediately answer, and once again I feared we were guilty of abusing his hospitality. However, he merely reached into a pocket for a large white handkerchief and gently mopped his brow.

“I am sorry to say that he remained entrenched in this profanation. Most unfortunate, especially as the angel of death was even
then setting out to reclaim his immortal soul. But as it reads in the Book of Common Prayer, ‘In the midst of life we are in death.’ We never know when, or from whence, it may come. It behooves us all to maintain constant vigilance.”

Samuel cleared his throat, then assumed the innocent expression I had tried, but failed, to imitate. “I understand that most of the guests present at the Tremaines' party Saturday night have been questioned about Mr. Logan's death. I know the police have visited our father. Have they, er, interviewed you, Reverend Mayfield?”

Again, the minister's face colored slightly, but after a moment he slowly nodded his head. “Yes, the police have been here to see me, although I fail to understand how they can suspect one of us of such a heinous crime. Obviously, those unfortunate young men were victims of robberies gone terribly awry. It is my understanding that gangs of Chinese highbinders have been known to roam the area surrounding the Cut. That is where the police should concentrate their search, instead of wasting their time on decent, law-abiding citizens. Particularly members of the clergy,” he added, looking affronted.

“Yes,” Samuel solemnly agreed, “I can understand your feelings. It is a great tragedy. Deacon Hume's death must have caused his fiancée great pain.”

“His fiancée?” Mayfield regarded my brother in surprise. “I know of no fiancée, Mr. Woolson. Indeed, I had long encouraged Dieter to find a nice young woman and settle down—it is by far the best situation for a young man entering the church. I myself was married for nearly thirty years when my poor wife, Ada, passed on. Unfortunately, Dieter did not appear interested.” He paused. “Although of late—”

“Yes, Reverend Mayfield?” Samuel prompted. “You felt he was revising his views on matrimony?”

“It was no more than a vague feeling,” the rector replied, looking uncomfortable. It was clear he felt that he had spoken out of turn. “I simply received the impression that Dieter was softening
in his views concerning the married state. I wondered if perhaps he had found some woman in particular.”

He placed his cup and saucer on the table and got to his feet. Judging by his weary expression, I was certain we had at last exhausted the man's patience. “I do not wish to appear rude, Mr. Woolson, Miss Woolson, but there are pressing matters which require my attention.”

Samuel and I immediately put down our own coffee cups and stood.

“Of course, Reverend Mayfield,” I said. “We have taken up entirely too much of your time as it is.”

“Yes, I apologize,” Samuel added, smiling a bit sheepishly. “I fear that we have presumed on your kind hospitality. It's just that Mr. Hume's tragic death—and Mr. Logan's, of course—have profoundly affected us all, especially those of us who reside on Rincon Hill.”

“They have, they have,” Mayfield said, nodding somberly. “It has been most distressing. I fear it will be difficult to calm my congregation. Mr. Logan's death was unfortunate, but their own deacon! That strikes all too close to home. Yes, the ladies will be most distraught. And fearful, of course. I will have to address the tragedy in Sunday's sermon, although what I can say to reassure my flock . . .” His voice trailed off and he once again used the handkerchief to mop his brow. “But then it is all in God's hands, we must remember that. Somehow we shall overcome.”

He led us to the rectory door. “Thank you for taking the time to visit this morning, Miss Woolson, Mr. Woolson. Let us pray that the police will quickly apprehend the villain who has committed these monstrous crimes.”

W
hat do you make of the Reverend Mayfield?” Samuel asked, as we headed back to the carriage.

“I can't imagine him as a murderer, if that's what you're thinking,” I replied. “Clearly he wasn't particularly fond of his deacon,
but I hardly think that would induce him to beat the young man over the head with a two-by-four.”

Samuel chuckled. “No, I have a hard time envisioning that as well. To be honest, George didn't seem overly taken with the idea, either. I suspect that police interest in the good rector indicates how desperate they are to make an arrest.”

“Very probably. But why suspect the Reverend Mayfield more than the other guests at the Tremaines' party? Any one of them could have killed Nigel Logan, and conceivably Deacon Hume.”

We had reached the brougham, only to find no sign of Eddie, either on the driver's seat or inside the carriage. As I looked up and down the block to see where he might have run off to, I spied a short, pudgy-looking man with a brown cap pulled low over his forehead, watching us from across the street.

“Samuel,” I said, keeping my voice quiet. “Don't look now, but isn't that Ozzie Foldger of the
Tattler
over there, half hidden by that tree?”

Making a show of searching for Eddie, Samuel darted a discreet peek at the man across the way. “That looks like him, all right. What do you suppose he's doing here?”

“More than likely, he's trying to scoop you on the Deacon Hume story.” I gave a low laugh. “He can't be happy to see that you beat him to it.”

“I doubt it will bother him one iota. When he can't get access to the facts, Ozzie has the habit of making his stories up out of whole cloth.”

Hearing the sound of running feet behind us, we turned to see Eddie all but flying across the lawn that divided the church from the rectory. He held his left hand behind his back, his eyes alight with excitement.

“I've been doin' some investigatin' on my own,” he announced proudly, if a bit out of breath.

Screwing his eyes into a suspicious squint, he melodramatically peered up one side of the street and down the other. My eyes immediately flew to where Ozzie Foldger had been standing only a
moment before, but to my surprise he was no longer there. Several carriages were passing by on Howard Street, but both sides of the block were devoid of foot traffic.

“Look what I found,” Eddie continued in an exaggerated whisper. Moving closer, he brought his left hand out from behind his back. Tightly clutched inside it were several dog-eared magazines, all of them bearing extremely lurid covers. “Don't this beat all?” He looked up at my brother as if he had discovered a secret treasure. “they're even better than the
Police Gazette
!”

“Eddie, where did you get these?” I demanded, averting my eyes from the sight of the scantily clad, and crudely posed, women.

The boy flushed, as he suddenly realized the inappropriateness of his plunder. “Oh, ah, sorry, Miss Sarah,” he stammered. “I didn't mean to—that is, I—”

“Never mind that, Eddie,” Samuel put in. “Where did you find these magazines?”

“That's just it,” the boy answered eagerly. “I found them in that feller's room what got himself bashed in. You know, the dealer bloke.”

“Do you mean Deacon Hume?” I asked, regarding the boy in disbelief. “How do you know it was his room? And what were you doing there?”

The lad had the good grace to look ashamed. “I seen his name in the newspaper, and there was some mail addressed to him lyin' on a table.” He shifted from one foot to another. “I didn't do nothin' wrong, at least I didn't mean to. I was waitin' with the carriage like you said, when I seen this dog chasin' a cat hell to split behind them trees over there. I thought I'd just take a look to see if the dog got the cat or not, when I heard this really pitiful cryin' comin' from inside a little house behind the church.” He paused in his narrative to give me a guilty look.

“Well?” Samuel prompted. “What did you do then?”

“I, ah, well, the door weren't locked, so I peeked inside, you know, just to see if someone was hurt and needed help. The noise was comin' from a box under the bed.” His face brightened. “It
was full of kittens, tiny little things all crawlin' over each other, and cryin' for their ma. I went to pick one up, and it was then I saw the magazines. I just took a few to show you, Mr. Samuel. There's a lot more under the bed if you want me to get 'em.”

“No, Eddie,” I said, before he could run off. I caught my brother's eye and knew we were both thinking the same thing. Pornography constituted strange reading material for a young man soon to be ordained a church minister.

“I should probably give these to George,” Samuel said, taking the magazines from Eddie, who reluctantly turned over his booty. “They may have nothing to do with the case, but he should be told.”

“Can I have 'em back when the copper is finished with them?” the boy asked hopefully.

“Certainly not!” I was so nonplussed by the lad's discovery that I forgot to remind Eddie to hand me properly into the brougham. Stepping in unaided, I directed the boy to drive us back to my office.

As we rode, Samuel and I discussed what we had learned about the late Dieter Hume.

“Considering his controversial beliefs and disgusting reading material, Hume appears to have been an unlikely candidate for the ministry,” I said, grasping hold of the seat as Eddie took a corner so fast that I was sure only two wheels were making contact with the ground. Samuel shouted for the boy to slow down, but if Eddie heard my brother, he paid him no mind. Perhaps, I thought, he was still disgruntled because Samuel had appropriated his pilfered reading material.

“I wonder if the Reverend Mayfield was aware of his deacon's interest in pornography?” Samuel asked.

After racing through the streets, our carriage had now come to a virtual standstill due to heavy lunch-hour traffic. Frankly, I did not mind. It was a relief to be able to catch our breaths, before Eddie once again gave vent to his passion for speed.

“I doubt it,” I said, trying not to look at the magazines my
brother was holding on his lap. “The Reverend Mayfield does not strike me as the sort of man who would ignore such a weakness in a young man under his supervision. If he did somehow find out, surely he would have confronted Hume and put an immediate stop to it, or else reported his findings to the bishop.”

Samuel nodded in silent agreement. We were once again moving, albeit slowly, and I very nearly slid into his lap as a coal-box buggy came precariously close to broadsiding us. The driver shook his fist and shouted out an obscenity, but was forced to take his place behind us when Eddie refused to give way.

“Traffic in this city is becoming downright hazardous,” my brother exclaimed. “Most of the streets are too narrow, and we could go swimming in some of these potholes. Yet City Hall refuses to allot any real money to rectify the situation.”

“I understand a citizens' committee has been formed to address the problem,” I said.

“That may be, but I give it little chance of success. Ah, well, I suppose we should look on the bright side. Eddie may drive like a speed demon, but he seems miraculously adept at avoiding pedestrians or colliding with other vehicles.”