Murder As A Fine Art Part 34

"Mr. Marr always kept his shop open until eleven on Sat.u.r.day." Margaret looked at the teacup in her hands but didn't raise it to her lips. "That night... when Mr. Marr was ready to close, he told James-"

"James?" Becker asked.

"The shop boy. He told James to help him put up the shutters. He told me to go out and pay a bill at the baker's and then buy oysters for a late supper."

Margaret hesitated painfully.

"I always felt nervous being on the street that late, but Mr. Marr got angry over the slightest things, and I didn't dare refuse his orders without being dismissed. So in the dark I hurried to the oyster shop, but it was closed. Then I hurried to the baker's shop, and it was closed. I kept thinking how angry Mr. Marr was going to be. When I finally returned, I found the door locked. That proved to me how angry Mr. Marr was for me taking so long. But as much as I was afraid of him, I was more afraid of being robbed or worse on the dark street, so I knocked on the door. When that didn't bring him, I pounded. Soon I kicked it, shouting, 'Mr. Marr, let me in!'

"I put my ear against the door and heard footsteps. They stopped on the other side. Someone breathed.

" 'Mr. Marr, I'm scared out here!' I shouted. But the door didn't open. Instead the footsteps went away, and suddenly I had a feeling like a black cat had walked in front of me. It made me more afraid of what might be in the house than anybody on the street robbing me. I can't tell you how relieved I felt to see the lantern of a night watchman. He asked me what the trouble was, and then he pounded on the door, shouting Mr. Marr's name. The noise disturbed a neighbor, who crawled over the fence in back, saw the door was open, and went in to find..."

The pause lengthened.

"Drink your tea," Emily encouraged her.

"The neighbor unlocked the front door. I never saw a man look more pale. By then a crowd was behind me. Everybody rushed in, taking me with them. I saw Mrs. Marr on the floor. Farther away, I saw James, the shop boy. Something wet dropped on me. I looked up and saw blood on the ceiling." Margaret shuddered. "Then the crowd pushed me past the entrance to the back of the counter, and that's where I saw Mr. Marr on the floor. Blood was on the shelves. The baby, I kept thinking. The Marrs had a three-month-old son. I prayed that he was all right, but then someone found the baby in a back room. The cradle was broken into pieces. The child's throat was..."

Margaret's hands shook, spilling tea.

Emily took the cup from her.

"That's something n.o.body's been able to understand," Becker said, "why the murderer killed the baby. Three adults would have been a threat to someone who tried to rob the shop. But a baby... from what I was told, the killer didn't steal anything."

"That wasn't why he did it."

"Excuse me?"

"He wasn't there to steal."

"You sound as if you know."

Margaret nodded.

"What did he want? Why did he kill everyone? You told the constable at the desk that this had something to do with the recent killings," Ryan said.

Margaret nodded again, her face revealing her torment.

"Tell us, Margaret."

"Not to a man." Margaret turned toward Emily, her left cheek revealing her scar. "Maybe I can tell a woman."

"I believe I would understand," Emily a.s.sured her.

"So ashamed."

"If you finally talk about it, maybe you'll feel..."

"Better?" Margaret exhaled deeply, painfully. "I'll never feel better."

"We'll leave the two of you alone," Becker said.

He and Ryan stepped from the room, closing the door.

Emily pulled a chair next to Margaret. She put her hands on each side of Margaret's wrinkled face. She kissed Margaret's troubled forehead.

"My father says there is no such thing as forgetting," Emily said.

Margaret wiped at her eyes. "Your father is right."

"And yet my father writes compulsively about his memories, as if by putting them into words, he can dull them, no matter how sharply painful they are. Margaret, free yourself."

Even tears couldn't hold back Margaret's words.

A HALF HOUR LATER, Emily kissed Margaret's brow again. Shaken by what she had heard, she walked to the door and opened it.

Ryan and Becker waited on the bench in the corridor. The building was now full of sounds as constables arrived, the terrors of the previous night showing on their faces.

Emily recalled something her father had written. The horrors that madden the grief that gnaws at the heart.

Ryan and Becker stood.

"Emily, your father escaped," Ryan said.

"Escaped?"

"The news reached Scotland Yard while you were talking to Margaret. Your father jumped from Brookline's coach. Everyone's been ordered to search for him."

After what Emily had learned from Margaret, this further revelation made her reach for the wall to steady herself.

"We need to find him," Becker said. "Do you have any idea where your father might have gone?"

Emily continued to feel off-balance.

"Last night, when he was being taken away, your father shouted, 'You know where I'll be. Where I listened to the music.' Do you know what he meant?" Ryan asked.

"No."

"A concert hall perhaps."

"Father never mentioned one." Emily drew a breath, trying to clear her thoughts. "Thank heaven he escaped."

Where he listened to the music? Something stirred in a chamber of her memory, but although she did her best to bring it forward, it wouldn't come.

"Did Margaret tell you anything?"

"A great deal. Is there a church in the area?"

"She needs a church?"

"Very much so."

"Ten minutes away," Ryan said. "But it's a lot bigger than a church."

AN EARLY-MORNING SERVICE WAS IN PROGRESS. Under other circ.u.mstances, Emily would have marveled at the soaring vastness of Westminster Abbey, its columns and stained-gla.s.s windows, but all she could think about was that her father had escaped and what she'd learned from Margaret.

She placed Margaret in a pew. Tears continued to trickle down the old woman's face, wetting the scar on her left cheek as she knelt and prayed.

A surprising number of people were at the service, fear having brought them to beseech G.o.d for their safety amid the violence that gripped the city. Their slightest movement echoed in the cathedral's immensity.

A reverend began a sermon, the theme of which Emily imagined was the same as many sermons forty-three years earlier.

"The Lord is our shepherd." The reverend's voice reverberated. "The devil, like a wolf attacking us, is the Lord's enemy. If we have faith, the Lord will protect us."

Emily whispered to Margaret, "You did the right thing by telling me. Listen to what the reverend says. The Lord will not abandon you."

The sermon boomed in the ma.s.sive structure as Emily led Ryan and Becker outside. Beyond the huge front doors, she barely noticed the abbey's dramatic forecourt.

"Until now, I have never spoken this way in front of men who are not members of my family," Emily said.

"That probably applies the other way around," Ryan told her. "It may be that we've never heard a woman speak the way I have the feeling that you are about to."

"Fair enough." Nonetheless, Emily hesitated, as Margaret had hesitated. "If I rush on, perhaps I can force myself to say it. Margaret was with child and without a husband."

The men weren't able to speak for a moment.

"Now I understand why she didn't want to talk about it," Becker said.

"You don't understand. Not yet. The father was John Williams."

"John Williams?"

"Margaret's parents died from typhoid fever when she was twelve. She worked in a number of factories and finally decided to look for a servant's position. Marr already had a shop boy, but now he needed a woman to help his wife while she was in a family condition and later after the baby was born. The pay was ten pounds a year, meals and a cot included. Margaret was allowed to leave the shop one night a week, a half day on Sunday, and a full day every month. She was seventeen.

"Marr was a bitter, angry man, always finding fault and shouting. Worse, he always complained when Margaret wanted her weekly night off or when she took her half day on Sunday. As far as her full day once a month was concerned, Marr threatened to put her on the street if she was absent for the entire day.

"Margaret met John Williams at a street festival on one of the rare occasions she was off duty. A merchant sailor, Williams was ten years older than Margaret, good-looking, with yellowish curly hair and an entertaining manner. He took a liking to her."

Emily paused, the shadow of Westminster Abbey weighing upon her.

"Then he took advantage of her," Becker suggested, trying to ease Emily's discomfort by saying it for her.

Emily nodded. "It appears that Williams wasn't merely trifling with her affections, although the consequence was the same. They spent company with each other whenever she could get away. Sometimes Williams was gone on a merchant s.h.i.+p for months. Early in October of eighteen eleven, he returned from a voyage to India. They were desperate to see each other."

Emily's face was red with embarra.s.sment. She rushed on. "That's when the event occurred. Two and a half months later, Margaret finally had to admit that she was with child. She was sick every morning, and Marr recognized the symptom from when his wife had experienced similar sickness early in her condition. Marr challenged her with his suspicions. When Margaret admitted their truth, he was furious, saying that she'd signed a contract with him and he had relied on her to help his wife with the baby and now Margaret was unable to fulfill her obligations.

" 'I can work for many more months,' Margaret tried to a.s.sure him, but Marr shouted that he wouldn't tolerate a sinner in his home. He intended to look for another servant immediately, and as soon as he could find one, he would put her on the street with the rest of her kind."

Emily hesitated, trying to find the words to continue.

"John Williams was known for his temper. When Margaret told him about Marr's reaction, he became more furious than Marr was. She and Williams had planned to live together. Williams was scheduled to go on one more voyage to try to earn enough money for their lodging. The longer Marr kept her as a servant, the more time Williams and Margaret had to prepare. Now their prospects were ruined."

"Williams went to see Marr?" Ryan asked.

"Yes. The intent was to persuade Marr to keep Margaret working until Williams returned from his voyage. But you can imagine how two angry men handled the conversation. After they nearly came to blows, Marr swore that the next day, Sunday, could definitely be Margaret's half day off. The entire day, in fact. And every day thereafter because Marr didn't want her to return.

"This happened on Sat.u.r.day afternoon. In a back room, Margaret heard the argument, but she was too afraid to intervene. She heard Williams storm from the shop. Then Marr made her do heavy work for the rest of the day. The reason he sent Margaret out near midnight supposedly to pay the baker's bill and buy oysters was to punish her because he knew how afraid Margaret was of the dark. She lied at the inquest."

"What?"

"The reason she failed to pay the baker and buy the oysters was that she had a premonition and was trying to find John Williams."

Numerous wors.h.i.+ppers entered the church, the tension on their faces indicating that they were here to pray for their safety. The street in front of the abbey had little traffic. At eight in the morning, it should have been crammed as black-coated government clerks came to their offices, but many had apparently decided to remain home because of the crisis.

"The b.l.o.o.d.y government's not doing enough," a severe-looking man murmured to a companion as he entered the abbey.

Another man approached, telling a woman, "The peerage abandoned the city and fled to their country houses. They're so rich they can hire protection. But they don't dare rely on constables. A constable killed all those people last night."

"And sailors," the woman said. "Can't trust anybody. A man broke into Coldbath Fields Prison last night, killed the governor, and released a thousand prisoners. Heaven help us, they'll murder us in our sleep."

"For sure, the government won't help us."

"Lord Palmerston has reason to be worried," Becker observed as the man and woman took refuge in the abbey.

"Even more than he realizes," Emily replied.

"What do you mean?"

"You'll understand in a moment. Margaret couldn't find Williams because he'd been watching the shop. When he saw Margaret leave, he went in to confront Marr again. He'd been drinking. He had a s.h.i.+p carpenter's mallet that a sailor had left at his boardinghouse. Margaret believes that he only meant to frighten Marr."

"But the argument got out of control," Ryan concluded. "After Williams killed Marr, he needed to eliminate anybody who'd heard the argument and could identify him. But why the baby? The baby wasn't a threat to him. Why did he kill the baby?"

"In his drunken rage," Emily replied, "Williams decided that if Marr was determined to punish Margaret because of the baby she was going to have, then Williams was going to punish Marr's baby."

The abbey's bells rang, making the air tremble.

"Three days ago, that thought would have been impossible for me to consider," Ryan said.

"Margaret suspected that Williams was responsible," Emily continued. "The next morning, after the authorities questioned her, she found Williams at his boardinghouse. She asked him, but he denied it. She asked him again, this time strongly, and again he denied it. But she could see it in his eyes. What was she going to do? She couldn't tell everyone that she was with child and without a husband and that the man who fathered the child was the man who slaughtered the Marr family. Her future as anything except a woman of the streets would be ruined if she told the truth."

"So she didn't reveal her suspicions," Ryan murmured.

"She says, if only she hadn't met Williams, if only the event between them hadn't occurred, if only she hadn't been weak..."

"Yes, all those people would not have died."

"All these years, guilt tortured her," Emily told them.