Here's To You
When Brackenreid came into Murdoch's office next morning he was carrying a bottle of chilled champagne, and with a grin he said, "Well?"
Murdoch looked up and with a deep sigh and sad eyes he replied, "She said no."
Brackenreid's jaw dropped. "Bloody hell! What do you mean, she said no?"
Murdoch just shrugged as he fell heavily into his chair, his eyes glistening, on the verge of spilling over. Choking back his tears he continued, "I thought she loved me. I don't understand."
Brackenreid didn't think he had ever seen anyone so forlorn before. He walked over to his sad detective, placing an arm around his shoulder as Murdoch's head dropped. Then he stepped into his own office, returning with his bottle of Scotch and two glasses. Pouring large helpings he handed one glass to Murdoch, who took it, looked at it, then drained it in one gulp.
"Come on, me ol' mucker. Let's get out of here."
He pulled Murdoch up from his chair and handed him his hat. Murdoch blindly followed him out the door.
They walked in silence a few blocks until Brackenreid directed Murdoch into a small, dark pub down a dead-end alley.
"I find this place is a good one to get away to when you just don't want to be around folks."
They took a table in a far corner. Brackenreid motioned to the bartender holding up two fingers. When he came to the table he had two glasses and left the nearly full bottle of Scotch. Apparently the inspector was known here.
"Drink up, son. Get this out of your system. She'll come around."
"I don't know. She seemed upset but...final."
Murdoch held his glass up to the light, turning it, staring at it's amber color. Then drank it all down.
"You seem to have no problem downing the sauce, me ol' mucker."
"When I left the Jesuits I found work in a lumber camp in Quebec. I was quite young and the older men took delight in introducing me to the ways of the lumberjack. I'm afraid I found drinking a way to fit in."
"But you stopped, right?"
"Eventually. I didn't like who I was becoming."
As he told his story, Brackenreid refilled their glasses. This time William did not hesitate, but gulped the liquor down. His head was abuzz now. His face felt numb. His whole mind felt numb.
Brackenreid told Murdoch about his first drink as a lad in England, followed by stories of brawls and adventures that made William smile at last. As they talked the inspector kept their glasses full. He watched the tension drain from the detective's body as liquor filled it. Soon they were both laughing. As the bottle's contents lowered, the inspector thought it was time to take the detective home. He was used to drinking but Murdoch was not. He looked at his watch...6 o'clock.
"Let's get you home, boyo."
Murdoch looked directly into the inspector's eyes.
"I...don't...want...to...go home." Then the tears that had been threatening to fall all day rolled down his cheeks.
Brackenreid pushed his chair back, and standing, took Murdoch's arm, helping him to stand. The detective swayed.
"Then come home with me, until you feel better."
Keeping a tight grip on him, Brackenreid steered Murdoch toward the door. Once outside the fresh air hit them and Murdoch nearly fell on his face, saved only by the inspector's hold. It was evident that the detective could only stagger, and that with help. When they reached the street, Brackenreid flagged down a cab. It took both the cabbie and the inspector to get Murdoch inside.
As the cab bumped along the color drained from William's face as he whispered, "Stop! Stop the carriage! Now!"
Brackenreid knew what was going on and thumped his stick on the cab's roof yelling for the driver to pull up. As they slowed, Murdoch threw open the door and threw up outside.
"That was close," remarked the inspector while he pulled Murdoch all the way back inside, handing him a handkerchief to wipe his mouth.
William laid his head back, breathing hard. "We're almost home, now. Try to relax."
"If I relax any more I'll fall on the floor," he slurred.
Soon they reached Brackenreid's house. He was grateful that the boys were away for the weekend. Dealing with Margaret would be bad enough. They stood on the walk looking up at the steps to the door.
"Come on, Murdoch. We can do this." He put the detective's arm around his shoulder and slowly pulled him up one step at a time.
As he opened the door he heard Margaret call, "You're late Thomas. Dinner is getting cold."
And then she entered the room. Her eyes widened when she saw the detective clinging to her husband. "Thomas...is the detective ill?" Then the distinct aroma of alcohol entered her nose.
"Oh no! Thomas! You didn't get that poor young man drunk, did you?"
"Margaret, there were extenuating circumstances. Help me here."
With her help Brackenreid lowered William to the sofa as the detective's head lolled back. His eyes were closed and his breathing heavy. When it looked like he would be alright for a minute, Brackenreid left him there and took Margaret's arm, leading her into the dining room.
"Let me explain."
"This better be good, Thomas."
"Murdoch proposed to Doctor Ogden...and she turned him down."
"Oh. I don't believe that. Why would she do that? You're serious aren't you?"
"I'm afraid so. Poor Murdoch here is a mess. I took him out to take his mind off things but I guess it got a little out of hand. He didn't want to go home, so I brought him here."
"Well Thomas, I hope you haven't started something that he'll regret."
"Let's just let him sleep it off."
They returned to the parlor. Margaret had brought a pail in case the detective felt sick. Thomas started undressing Murdoch, pulling his coat off, unbuttoning his vest, pulling down his suspenders, removing his tie. Next he removed his shoes. William's head lolled a bit as he began to laugh, first a chuckle, then hysterically. Margaret and Thomas looked at each other.
"Let's lie down now, me ol' mucker."
Murdoch got quiet at last. Margaret brought a pillow and blanket. When he was all tucked up they turned out the lights and left him to sleep.
Hours later Thomas awoke to find Margaret gone from their bed. He listened carefully and heard voices from the parlor. Murdoch must have wakened Margaret, who slept very lightly, always listening for the children. Tiptoeing to the top of the stairs he listened to the conversation below. Murdoch, still very drunk was no longer laughing but now melancholy.
"I'm so sorry to intrude on you, Mrs. Brackenreid," he slurred.
"Think nothing of it, William. May I call you William?"
"Yes."
"You'll get through this. And I'm sure Julia will reconsider. I know she loves you. Everyone knows she loves you."
Margaret smiled at him as the tears gathered in his eyes again. Then the dam broke and William began to sob as if his heart were breaking, which it was. Margaret pulled him to her as he cried into her shoulder, she patting his back. The liquor had magnified his emotions to where he no longer had any control. She held him tightly and let him cry himself out. When he was done and at last sniffling she lowered him back onto the couch.
"Sleep now, William. Tomorrow life won't be so bleak. You'll find a way to get her back. I promise."
"Thank you," he whispered.
She just smiled at him, brushing his hair back from his forehead, which she leaned over and kissed. He closed his eyes.
Margaret returned to bed. "I heard you with Murdoch. That was very nice of you, Margaret."
"He's a nice man. And I feel sorry for him. I hope he'll be alright."
"He's strong. He'll make it, that is if can get through his hangover tomorrow." They both smiled.
"We'll help him, Thomas. We'll help him."