The Scandal of the New Century

"Crabtree!" Barked Inspector Brackenreid, "In my office! Now!"

"Sir! What can I do for you?" Constable Crabtree burst into his superior's office, glanced around for any emergency in progress, and then stood at attention to await further orders.

Brackenreid's arm swept over the open Toronto Gazette spread across his desk. "Has he seen this yet?"

Crabtree's eyes were inexorably drawn to the blaring headlines of the Society Column:

SCANDAL OF THE NEW CENTURY!
The Notorious Lady Doctor Julia Ogden Flaunts Affair With Detective After Leaving Her Husband, Respected Head of Victoria Hospital for Sick Children, Dr. Darcy Garland

Below the headline was a gigantic photograph of Detective William Murdoch embracing Dr. Ogden, pressing tightly against her as he kissed her, one hand woven into her disarranged coiffure, the other hand gripping the curve of her derriere-hardly a decent pose for public display.

"I'm afraid he has, Sir." Crabtree grimaced. "The lads, they...understand the gravity of the situation and have been giving Detective Murdoch's office a wide berth.

"Bloody Hell." Brackenreid poured an extra finger of Wiser's into his tea. "Did you check up on him?"

"I've been observing with my side eye."Crabtree tapped the side of his head for emphasis. "Ever since he picked up the newspaper from the Desk Sergeant, he's been sitting perfectly still at his desk. Looking down at the Gazette all day, though I doubt he's been reading it. He's just staring. I don't think he's so much as blinked."

"I see." The battle-worn Inspector steepled his hands and rested his chin on the tips of his fingers as he pondered the best course of action. "Leave him be for now. When he clocks out, trail him and make sure he gets home safely."

"What if he catches me lurking?" Crabtree quailed. "This is Detective Murdoch we're talking about."

"It would seem he has other things on his mind, bugalugs." The Inspector heaved a great sigh and waved Crabtree out of his office.

Murdoch, me old mucker. The Inspector forgot his tea and slugged back a gullet-full straight from the bottle of Wiser's. I love you like my own son, but I'll be damned if I ever know what you're thinking.

...

During the noon shift change, Detective Murdoch quietly slipped out of Station House 4. However, his departure had not escaped the notice of Constable Crabtree, who was exceedingly grateful the Detective preferred walking to traveling by hansom cab, since the exercise bolstered a vigorous constitution. He tailed the Detective from as great a distance as possible, using binoculars and other new-fangled equipment from the Detective's own criminal tracking kit.

First the Detective trudged to nearby Allan Gardens and dropped heavily onto a bench, sinking his head into his hands.

After a while, he hoisted himself up and schlepped a great many blocks to Chinatown. There Crabtree panicked because he lost Detective Murdoch in the crowd - but then he spotted the Detective as he emerged from an apothecary shop. clutching a bag to his chest with one hand. He was slightly hunched over with his other hand cradling his forehead as he walked rapidly, but unsteadily, away.

Making a quick decision, Crabtree stepped into the shop to inquire about the nature of the Detective's purchase. After he had all but shaken down the shop's wary owner for the information, he rushed out into the street, hailed down the first motor car he saw, and managed to beseech the driver to give him a ride with all speed to Dr. Ogden's house in Rosedale.

...

Constable Crabtree and Dr. Ogden did not tell Detective Murdoch's boarding house landlady that anything was amiss when they knocked on the door. They simply said they needed to contact Detective Murdoch about an urgent police matter. The landlady Mrs. Kitchen eyed them skeptically as any over-protective mother would-particularly since Dr. Ogden appeared to be wearing a rather suggestive oriental tea gown under her duster coat. But she was familiar with the both the Doctor and the Constable, so she let them in and went about her business in the parlor. Crabtree and Dr. Ogden hurried upstairs to where Detective Murdoch's rooms were located.

There was no answer to Crabtree's firm knock on Detective Murdoch's door and nor to the calling of his name. He tried the door handle. It wasn't locked.

Dr. Ogden gasped and dropped her medical bag as the door swung open. Detective Murdoch lay on his bed still dressed-having removed only his coat, hat, and tie, which were thrown haphazardly over a chair. The Detective was half-curled on his side, pale as death, one hand in a limp fist resting on a crumpled copy of the Toronto Gazette and its sordid Scandal of the Century.

Dr. Ogden hastened to her Detective, grabbed his hand away from the newspaper to take his pulse and half-sobbed her sigh of relief. She rubbed his hand swiftly, and he stirred slightly and moaned at her touch.

"William!" She commanded, sternly patting his hand. When he failed to wake, she checked the dilation of his pupils, put a hand to his cold, slick forehead, and then pushed a thermometer into his mouth and tried to hold it in position long enough to get an accurate reading.

Crabtree was still in the doorway, patting away sweat from his own forehead with a handkerchief. "Is he...will he..."

Then Dr. Ogden spied the brown vial tipped and spilling its white powdery contents beside the empty tea cup on the nightstand. She held the vial up to the light to examine the remaining powder, and compared her observations with the receipt Constable Crabtree had obtained.

"Oh-" She suddenly dissolved like jelly and her legs gave way, but Crabtree was suddenly there to support her.

"Thank you, Constable Crabtree." Dr. Ogden accepted his help shakily. "William-...Detective Murdoch, will be fine. He took a large dose of opium because he had a devil of a headache. But I-I should stay with him. That much can be dangerous if one is not used to opium. I'll inject him with a mild cocaine solution, and...I'll stay with him."

Crabtree took the hint. Heartily relieved that the Scandal of the Century hadn't driven his friend and mentor to take his own life, Crabtree left the matter in Dr. Ogden's capable hands. He returned to his own lodgings and telephoned the Inspector to report that Detective Murdoch had a headache, but Dr. Ogden had kindly offered to look after him.

...

William groaned and tossed a few times before he finally wedged open an eye. At first he was so groggy and disoriented that he had no idea where he was or how he had got there. But the world gradually came into focus. He realized someone was holding his hand. His eyes tracked the lacy ruffles of the cuff up the moss velvet arm. Fearfully he looked up and met Julia's worried eyes.

"Julia-" William pleaded as he shook the last of the cobwebs out of his head, "I'm so sorry. I don't know how you can ever forgive me. Please..."

William's eyes were glistening as he reached for her, hand shaking. In all the time she had known him, Julia had only seen William on the verge of crying twice. And both times he'd swiftly recovered himself and gone about the ever-pressing duties of his job.

"William, please believe me. It doesn't matter." Julia grabbed both of William's hands - first using them as leverage to pull him up so they could speak at eye level - and then held them to her heart."You gave me such a terrible scare. You must promise never to do that to me again."

William stared at her, confused."What are you doing here? The scandal -" His head drooped."I thought I'd lost you again."

He jerked his hands back and stared at them. Then he declared, "It was all my fault! All I could think of was touching you. When I saw you in such a red dress, your lips, the curves of your...FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! Why couldn't I keep my hands off of you, at least until I had escorted you to someplace private. I've ruined your reputation."

Julia recaptured William's hands and gathered him closer to let him rest his head on her shoulder. "William, you're not remembering things clearly. I was there, too. I hoped for this outcome - I prayed for it! I chose the dress, the earrings, the perfume-in the deliberate effort to win back your affections. "

"Wha-what are you saying?" William sniffled. Julia handed him a handkerchief and gently held him close as he wiped his eyes.

"I'm saying when I kissed you back, I was the one seducing you. I created this scandal. It was I who dragged you into it." Julia confessed, her tone becoming increasingly hushed and confidential as she over-compensated for her nervous tendency to become shrill, "I'm saying that Darcy is more likely to let me go if I'm tainted by scandal. He can be stubborn, possessive man.

"But the notoriety." William shuddered as he tried to wrap his mind around Julia's facility for stratagem. "You will be shunned throughout society. Everyone will regard you as a woman of loose morals. And we haven't even had the affair." He ended on a wounded note.

"Everything will work out for the best." Julia reassured him. "I will be on a ship to Vienna at the end of the week."

"Vienna!" William sat bolt upright, yanking Julia from her chair, into his embrace, "Julia, no!"

"I've made arrangements to study psychiatry at the Institut of Dr. Sigmund Freud - he's a radical pioneer in the analysis of dreams. The program takes 6 months. By the time I return, all those wagging tongues will have moved on to another target."

"No, no, no." William shook his head against her belly. "Julia, don't leave me. Please don't leave me again."

"This is the only way." Julia insisted, patting him on the back as he shivered. "It's not your fault, William. I want to be a free woman again. If Darcy will release me legally, we can be together one day."

"How can you be sure things will turn out that way?" William looked up at her, letting her see the tears finally trickling from the corners of his eyes. "After all this time, I finally have you back, I can't bear to lose you again. Please don't go, Julia..."

"It will only be for a few months." Julia promised, "Until the scandal wanes."

"How could I have done this..." William collapsed back on the bed, despondent.

Julia pulled William back up and took his face firmly in his hands, "We only have a week William. Do you want to spend it moping or do you want to spend it making sure I spend every second in Vienna thinking of you?"

Sighing, William closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against Julia's. "I love you. A part of me died when you married another man."

"I realized that too late." Julia kissed his forehead. "Clean yourself up. You need fresh air. Let me treat you to tea at that new patisserie at the pavilion by the lake."

William granted Julia a forlorn smile and let her pull him to a stand. Once on his feet, he stumbled into her, and suddenly fell to kissing her, shoving his hands into her hair to dislodge masses of gold curls from their pins and clips, so they sprang all around her face and spilt over her shoulders. No, he could not let her go again.

"William!" Julia pulled away first, but then softened her scolding tone with a wry smile. "I don't want to be parted from you either, but we must accept the consequences of our actions."

Julia handed William his hat.

...

After a stroll along the lake shore paths and the various concessions of the waterfront, they found the patisserie, Rêves d'Or, on the third terrace of the boardwalk pavilion. The tables by the ornamental guard rails provided a breathtaking view of the evening sunset.

They ordered a pot of Assam tea to share and a plate of avant-garde pastries that looked suspiciously like English crumpets with a pot of strawberry and currant jam.

William looked himself again with his homburg clamped down on his head, shadowing his eyes, and his tie fastened securely around his neck.. Not a hair out of place. Maintaining propriety almost to the point of ghoulishness.

If he noticed that Julia was still wearing nothing more than an afternoon tea gown sans corset beneath her duster coat, he hadn't said a thing. Perhaps he enjoyed the frisson of knowing that only barrier between his hands and her bare flesh was a flimsy piece of cloth. Of course, Julia had carefully re-arranged her hair before they left his boarding house, and she was wearing a smart little velvet hat with a feather.

Then William almost choked on a crumpet as Julia pulled the battered Gazette out of her bag. Apparently she still wanted to discuss the matter. He steadied himself by gripping the sides of his chair and tried to will away the headache that had suddenly returned.

Julia smoothed down the newspaper with the "Scandal of the New Century" laid out before him. Then she swiftly flipped the page so the newspaper was closed, and tapped the front page headline:

RENOWNED DETECTIVE WILLIAM MURDOCH SOLVES CRIME OF THE NEW CENTURY!

Leaning across the table, Julia took William by the chin, "I would say front page news reporting trumps the sleazy gossip column, wouldn't you, my Renowned Detective?"

Julia stretched out, leaving things unclear as to whether she was enjoying the evening breeze or William's great embarrassment. But she knew as much as William hated the vanity of the press, part of what had been crushing him was the unwritten slur behind the Society Column headline that the posh Dr. Julia Ogden had been brought down by an affair with a mere police detective. Surely the reminder that he was a renowned detective would lift some of the heaviness from his soul?

After the awkward silence had stretched on long enough, Julia offered William some relief by admiring how the clouds enhanced the colors of the sunset. This prompted William to hold forth on the rapid advancement of cloud classification and the recent designation of the cumulonimbus type, which might have a cirriform top as well as multiple accessory clouds, and could be distinguished by its ability to produce thunder...

"Look, William - there's a magnificent passenger ship!" Julia unbuttoned the top button of her blouse as she interrupted him, hoping the distraction would be complete.

"I tend toward sea sickness." William groused. "How long will the trip to Vienna take?"

"I've booked the transatlantic travel on a fast steamer - it will take less than a week. Imagine that." Julia immediately forgot her little stratagem had backfired as she started to envision the trip and became wrapped in the dream of it, "...and once I reach Paris I shall take the Orient Express to Vienna. The same train that Harker and Van Helsing took to overtake Count Dracula."

William's ears perked at that reference. Julia brought up that Dracula novel often and always seemed to become more sultry when she mentioned it. William had read it himself several years ago during a case where school girls claimed to have been bitten by vampires. He still wasn't sure why this glorified penny dreadful had such a seductive effect on Julia, and the curiosity ate away at him.

"What if I went with you?" He offered suddenly, hoping he didn't sound as desperate as he felt.

"Oh, William. You're so romantic." Julia shook her head. "But running off together? That would just heap more scandal onto the first. And what about your work-there's no guarantee my renowned detective would have a job at Station House 4 waiting after 6 months."

"I've wanted to travel in Europe." William looked vaguely out over the water, "That experience has been such a part of your life. Your diaries about your wanderings in Prague were so vivid, I almost felt as if I were there...

"You've been to Bristol!" Julia pointed out with a merry twinkle.

"Ah, yes." William blushed. "Well, that doesn't count. I didn't get to explore or imbibe the history of the place."

Julia reached across the table to take William's hands, "Let's go abroad...for our honeymoon." Her eyes were shining. Such a bold, presumptive statement. But she was now sure of him and could take liberties.

William kissed her hands without hesitation. "The Orient Express?"

"Perhaps. I know you want to acquire some European toff polish," Julia leaned in closer, "But how would you feel about somewhere more exotic. Perhaps Japan."

"I will be dreaming about our honeymoon until you return." William leaned in to meet her for a kiss, disregarding all possibility of public scandal.

...

A week later William stood alone on the train station platform and watched Julia's train depart. Then he plodded back to his small world of Toronto and Station House 4. For several weeks thereafter, he kept his head down, and his mouth grimly shut as "society" types whispered and pointed at the lowly Detective who had ruined the wife of the respectable Dr. Darcy Garland. But as Julia predicted, eventually the gossip and sneers subsided. Life went on.

At the train station Julia had untied her silk scarf and left it with William to remember her by. At night he slept with it wrapped around one wrist, and held close to his face where he could smell Julia's light orange blossom and jasmine perfume.

And he indeed dreamt of Julia every night, though he would not have liked to have divulged the content of those dreams even in the privacy of Confession. There was one that repeated so frequently that it almost seemed like a memory rather than a dream. William would find Julia reading Dracula in a sitting room, perhaps in their very own home after they were married. He would sneak up and take the book from her hands. Then, as she tried to get the book back, he would take her by the waist and kiss her so passionately that she utterly forgot about the book. As he nipped and nuzzled from her ear down her neck, drawing closer to her bosom, he simultaneously removed layers of clothing and released her from her corset. Then she was naked in his arms, and he pushed her down on the couch where he took her at last while she screamed his name.

Then he would wake up to painfully straining incidents of priapism that he had to take care of by hand. Technically it was a sin to waste seed that way, but after his third confession, the priest told him God understood his circumstances and gave him a blanket penance.

At the Station House, William had extracted the engagement ring he had bought for Julia so long ago from its little tin box hidden in his desk drawer in his office. He liked to feel the weight of it in his hand, to roll it between his fingers, to imagine the expression on Julia's face when he at last had the opportunity to kneel before her and propose like a proper gentleman should.

Playing around with the ring led to the other dream, or rather the nightmare, of the day when he would finally wed Julia. But then Darcy would burst into the church and forbid the wedding. Then William would wake up drenched in sweat.

The future was teeming with so many possibilities that might save or condemn him. But for now William could do nothing.

For now all William could do was wait patiently for Julia's return.