"It's for you," Alice said, her tone indicating her annoyance. Lucien's reluctance to answer the morgue's telephone irritated her, seeing that the caller invariably wanted to speak with him. It was as though he didn't realize it was ringing, so involved was he in whatever had caught his attention at the moment. Or else he thought she was his secretary...
He did manage to nod his thanks as he took the receiver from her. "Doctor Lucien Blake… Yes, Matthew, I see. I'll be right there."
He hung up the telephone, a puzzled look on his face. "A body has been found in the cemetery," he advised her.
"Only one? I'd have thought a cemetery would have plenty of bodies," she said drily.
"What? Oh, yes, indeed. This one happens to be above ground."
"Well, then, you'd better have a look, hadn't you?"
Lucien was already removing his white lab coat. "On my way. We seem to be finished here anyway."
"Yes, I'll notify the Superintendent that Mrs. Coates died of natural causes." Alice sniffed. His secretary, indeed.
"Thank you, Alice."
Upon arriving at the cemetery car park, Lucien saw the knot of police personnel and hurried over. "What have we got, Bill?" he asked, indicating the body lying prone in the grass.
"No idea, Doc," said Sergeant Hobart. "The gardener found him just like this. We haven't touched him yet, waiting for you."
"Thanks, Bill." He removed his hat and crouched next to the body for a closer look. A male, well-dressed, with a full head of grey hair. "Elderly, by the look of him. Late 70's perhaps? No obvious signs of trauma. Let's roll him over, shall we? Get a better look at him."
Gently, with Bill's assistance, they moved the man to lie on his back. One look at his features, though, sent Lucien reeling. He stumbled backwards, falling onto his backside, all color drained from his face.
Puzzled, Bill reached out a hand to help him up. "Doc? You all right?" He looked down at the body and immediately understood. "Bloody Hell! He looks just like your father!"
Matthew and Alice were waiting for Lucien when he arrived at the morgue. "Not a chance, Blake," said Matthew, positioning himself between his police surgeon and the body on the table.
"I can handle this one," Alice insisted gently. "You need to leave."
Matthew took him by the arm and guided him outside the room. "Any idea who he might be?"
Lucien ran a hand through the hair at the back of his head. "I seem to recall my mother mentioning an uncle. William, I believe his name was. Left town due to some kind of scandal." He paused, remembering. "I wasn't to mention him to my father. Ever. She was quite emphatic. I never met the man, myself."
"So, your father's brother. Makes sense. And you don't know where he went, or what happened to make him leave?"
"No idea. The subject seemed to be painful for both of them, so I never pushed for more information from my parents."
"Right. We'll take it from here. You go home to your wife. When we know more I'll pass it along. Officially, you're off this case, understood?"
Lucien nodded, still too shaken to protest.
Jean heard the front door open, then close. "Perfect timing," she called out. "I've just put the kettle on." She turned to greet him with a smile, that quickly turned to a frown when she saw his face. "What is it, Lucien? What happened?" She guided him into a chair at the kitchen table and sat down beside him, taking his hands into her own.
"A body was found at the cemetery. I can only assume the man was my uncle. He looks exactly like my father."
"Oh, Lucien," she moved her chair closer so she could put her arms around him. He leaned into her touch, taking comfort, as he always did from her touch.
"I didn't know you had an uncle…" she began, then stiffened and gasped. "Oh!"
He pulled back to see her face. "Jean?"
Her eyes filled with tears. "I'm so sorry, Lucien. I didn't know. He called here a few days ago, asking for your father or mother. At least, I assume it was the same man."
"Tell me, my dear," he urged.
She took a deep breath to control her anguish. "I am sorry. He called while you were out, at the police station, I think. He asked to speak to your father, said he was his brother. And if he wasn't available, then your mother."
Looking into his eyes, she explained, "All the years I worked for your father, the only relatives he ever mentioned were your mother and you. Oh, one time I even remember when I asked about siblings he said there was a younger sister that died of smallpox as a child. Honestly, I thought there was no one else."
"Me, too," Lucien assured her.
"Anyway, I assumed the caller must be some kind of confidence man, looking for money. I mean your father was well-known and respected."
Lucien nodded his understanding.
"Oh, Lucien, I ruined your chance to get to know your uncle. He may have been in some kind of trouble, and we could have helped him!"
It was his turn to hug her. "It's all right, Jean. Truly. You were trying to protect me. As you always do. Usually from myself," he added, with a somewhat watery smile.
She returned the hug, grateful for his understanding, but it did little to lessen the guilt she felt.
"Now, then," he continued, "his death may well have been from natural causes. Let's wait to see what Alice's autopsy says, shall we?"
Dinner was a quiet affair, with Lucien still shaken by the sudden appearance of his late uncle and Jean not over the guilt she felt for Lucien never getting a chance to meet the man.
"I can't help wondering why he returned to Ballarat after all these years," he mused. "And did it have any connection to how he died? Surely the autopsy will provide some answers."
"So you don't know anything about the man?"
Lucien shook his head. "All I know is that he and my father had a falling out over some type of scandal. Apparently the whole matter caused my parents a great deal of pain so it was never to be mentioned."
"When did this happen? The scandal, I mean," Jean said.
"I'm not really sure. I always had the idea that it was all before I was even born."
"Do you think Agnes Clasby might know anything about it?"
Lucien looked up sharply. "That's a good thought. I'll go to see her in the morning."
"Or you could wait for her to come for her appointment tomorrow afternoon, first thing. We could even invite her to lunch with us beforehand."
He reached over to kiss her cheek. "Thank you, Jean."
Agnes shook her head. "I'm sorry, Lucien. Whatever it was, it happened while I was traveling abroad."
"My mother never spoke about it with you?" Lucien's disappointment was obvious, and Jean's heart ached for his distress.
"Well, we were corresponding," Agnes said. "Each time I arrived in a new city there would be a letter from Genevieve waiting for me."
"And she never mentioned this so-called scandal?"
"Only very briefly. Something about infidelity, I believe it was. I don't remember her exact words." She frowned. "It was a very long time ago, Lucien."
"Quite," he conceded. "I don't suppose you'd care to speculate about the nature of the infidelity?"
Agnes glared at him, but softened when she remembered this was his family. "They're all dead now, Lucien," she reminded him. "What good does it do to cast aspersions on anyone's character after all this time?"
"But she used the word 'infidelity'."
"As far as I recall. But the next letter I received had the news that she was pregnant, with you, so I figured that whatever it was, it had been resolved. She was so excited. And she never mentioned the trouble again. By the time I finally got home, you had arrived and that's all she wanted to talk about. And William was long gone from Ballarat by then."
"I see. Thank you, Agnes."
She leaned toward him and fixed him with her steely gaze. "If you want my advice, Lucien, I say to let it go. Whatever happened, it's going to colour your memories of them, no matter what it was."
Lucien's pallor suddenly turned grey. Jean reached out a hand to him. "What is it?"
He swallowed. "Agnes, you don't suppose…"
"Suppose what? Out with whatever it is you're afraid to ask."
"You don't suppose that William was actually my father?"
"You see?" Agnes harrumphed. "That's why you need to drop the whole matter. It will only cause you pain."
"No," he insisted. "It makes a kind of sense. Perhaps he was in the cemetery to visit my mother's grave."
Agnes shook her head emphatically. "Genevieve was my closest friend. She would not have been able to keep a secret like that from me, even if she only suspected that it might be the case."
He was not convinced. He remembered when he learned of the affair Mei Lin had with Derek Alderton. They had both vowed never to speak of it again, to put it out of their minds as the only way to preserve their marriage.
Jean could see that it was going to remain a thing for Lucien. She squeezed his hand until he looked at her, and she gave him a reassuring smile that she would help him deal with this, no matter what.
Lucien nodded his thanks and quickly changed the subject. "Now, my dear Agnes, how are you getting on with that new medication I prescribed?"
At the police station there was very little to report. They had found next to no information regarding the dead man. His driving license confirmed that he was indeed William Blake, but it had expired some time earlier, having been issued originally in Sydney. The address for it there was long out of date, the current occupant living at that residence for several years.
The report of Alice's preliminary autopsy findings confirmed Lucien's supposition of natural causes. The man had apparently died of cardiac arrest. Given that there was no reason to believe a crime had been committed, Matthew couldn't justify devoting more police resources to the case, but if he could be any of help personally, Lucien had only to ask.
Frustrated, Lucien went to see Alice in the morgue.
"I'm sorry, I wish I could be more help," she told him. "Nothing in the personal effects to indicate where he's been living, or indeed, anything about the man. A wallet with just over 15 pounds and the expired driving license. No other identification. No photos. Not even any receipts that could be traced. The only thing we know is that he had advanced coronary disease. The pulmonary arteries were almost completely blocked. If I had to guess, I'd say he knew he was dying. Perhaps he came back home for that reason."
"Perhaps," Lucien agreed, but he still looked hesitant.
"What is it? What aren't you telling me?" asked Alice, frowning at him.
"Would you mind awfully running some blood tests?"
"On?"
Lucien waved his hand between the body storage area and himself. "On the both of us. I have reason to believe there's a possibility that man is actually my biological father."
Alice gasped, but Lucien merely said, "It's a long story. Would you mind?"
"If that's what you want," she said, frowning. "You know it won't prove that man is your father."
"Of course. But it may prove he couldn't be." Lucien nodded. "I realize it's a long shot, but I'm grasping at straws here."
"Well, then." She reached for the equipment she needed.
Lucien wondered why William would have come home to die. Had he come back to reconcile with his brother? To say good-bye to his long-ago love?
With a shortage of clues, he went back to the cemetery, to the place where the body had been found, to see if he could discover anything that might show him where to look next. As he went toward the spot, he realized he had to walk some way past his mother's grave to get there. In fact, it was practically the other side of the graveyard. If he had in fact come back to say goodbye to Genevieve, why was he over here?
Puzzled, he looked all around the spot. He peered closely at the names on the graves nearby. None of them rang a bell, except as family names of those who'd been in Ballarat for generations. Tyneman, Trevorrow, Drury, Hazelton, Beckwith, Goodman…
He recognized the surnames, but knew of no connection with his own family. This wasn't getting him anywhere, and Jean would be waiting for him.
It was well nearly dinnertime when Lucien arrived home. He looked so defeated as he turned from placing his hat on the hallway peg that Jean just held her arms out to him. Gratefully, he walked into her embrace. They stood like that for several minutes, with Jean rubbing her hands along his back, trying to sooth him. He finally pulled away just far enough to kiss her. No matter what storms swirled around him, he would always have this haven of calm to center him.
"Thank you, my dear," he whispered in her ear.
Jean smiled softly at him. "For what?"
"For loving me. It can't always be easy," he admitted.
She kissed him back. "Easiest thing in the world," she assured him. "As easy as breathing. And just as necessary to me, my love."
They deepened the kiss for a few moments before Jean patted his cheek gently and stepped back. "Now, your dinner is just about ready. I'll pour you a drink to go with it - you certainly look like you need it. And while we eat, you can bring me up to date on what you've discovered."
She took his hand and led him toward the kitchen.
"So the blood tests were inconclusive?" she asked as she sipped her sherry and watched him rearrange the food on his plate. Even the lamb chop didn't seem to interest him this evening.
"It was a long shot at best, especially with him and Dad being brothers. Nothing there to rule him out as my father."
"Oh, Lucien," she sighed. "I know how much you've always adored your mother. To think that she might have been unfaithful, with your father's brother, no less… Do you really think she could have?"
He set down the silverware, leaning his elbows on the table. "I don't know. She died such a long time ago, and I was too young to even think about things like that. But if it's true, a lot of other things make more sense, honestly."
"Such as?" Jean prodded.
"Such as Dad shipping me off to boarding school as soon as she died. As if he need no longer endure the sight of me, with her gone."
"He was grieving," Jean reminded Lucien. "It makes just as much sense that he wanted to protect you from that grief. He may have been wrong, since you needed to grieve too, but getting you away from the gloomy atmosphere could just as well have been an act of love on his part."
Lucien continued as though he had not heard her explanation, but she knew he had. "It also explains why he recommended against bringing my wife and baby daughter home for a visit."
Jean's eyes widened. She hadn't known that. "Did he really?"
He nodded. "Didn't you ever wonder why I never returned to Ballarat until he was dying?"
"I just thought, well, with what you went through in the war, coming home as though it had never happened would be like... like dismissing it. And you were still searching for Mei Lin and Li then. It had to be somewhat easier in a place like Singapore than here."
Lucien shook his head. "I felt if my wife and daughter weren't welcome here, then neither was I, even after I lost them."
"Don't you think he might have been trying to protect them, and you, my darling? You know what the people of Ballarat are like about Asians, especially then, with the war about to break out. You all would have faced a great deal of resentment. Your father wouldn't want any of you to have to deal with that."
Lucien smiled wryly, then kissed her cheek. "You have an entirely different view of my father than I ever had. I hope he deserved your loyalty."
In return, Jean patted his cheek. "Surely you loved him, in spite of everything. You came home to say goodbye when he asked. And you even stayed on to continue his practice, as he asked."
He smiled wryly. "I could hardly bugger off and ignore his dying request. But, yes, I did love the man, even while always feeling like I was a massive disappointment to him."
"Lucien." Jean put a hand under his jaw so she could look him straight in the eye. "Your father would be very proud of you. Caring physician, decorated war hero, respected police surgeon, and loving husband. What man wouldn't be proud to have a son like that?"
She kissed him before he could think of protesting her assessment. She still wondered how she could have thought him egotistical at first when it was so easy to see that it was just a cover for all his insecurities.
"And now, my dear, you need to get to work on this case," she told him. "Find the truth."
"Suggestions?"
"Let me think… In all those books and papers of your father's that we had to relocate when Charlie moved in, did you ever come across a journal?"
Lucien shook his head. "My father was never very self-reflective. As far as I knew he never kept a journal. Those books were mostly ledgers and patient records."
"I can go through the ledgers for the period we're talking about," Jean offered. "See if there was anything out of the ordinary. Now, aside from Agnes, who else would still be in town that knew both of your parents?"
His eyes lit up. "Of course! Cec Drury."
"Good idea. You can go to the club while I get started on those ledgers. We'll get to the bottom of this."
At the Colonists' Club Lucien was surprised to see the backup bartender, Albert, on duty. He nodded to the man and accepted the whiskey offered. "Thank you, Albert. No Cec tonight?"
"No, sir. He's on holiday."
"Is he?" Lucien took a sip. "I don't think I've ever known Cec to take a holiday."
"First one in years. He should be back at the weekend."
"I see." At a loss Lucien slowly turned the glass around in his hands. "Albert, how long have you lived in Ballarat?"
"Me?" Albert scratched his head. "I moved here about a year after the war. Why do you ask?"
"Oh, no reason really." Lucien shrugged it off. His questions would have to wait until Cec returned. He downed the rest of his drink. "A pleasure, Albert."
He turned to go, only to find Patrick Tyneman blocking the way.
"Lucien."
"Good evening, Patrick."
Patrick nodded. "My condolences on the loss of your uncle."
"Thank you, Patrick, but I must admit I never even met the man, or know much of anything about him, for that matter."
"I vaguely recall my parents mentioning him," said Patrick. "Something about a scandal before he left town. They seemed to feel sorry for him."
"For William? They felt sorry for William?"
"That's right," Patrick confirmed. "I don't know any of the details, but I remember that clearly."
"I see," said Lucien, although he really didn't. "Have a good evening, Patrick."
Jean was surrounded by ledgers when Lucien walked in. With a smile, he picked his way through them and kissed her cheek.
She smiled up at him. "Did you have any luck with Cec?"
"i'm afraid not. He's away for a few days. Holiday, if you can believe it." He cleared a space to sit beside her. "How about you and all this?"
"Sorry, sweetheart." She swept her hand around her. "I'm almost finished with these, and frankly I haven't found anything but business expenses. Oh, except the flowers. That's just sweet."
"Flowers? My father?" He had never struck Lucien as being particularly romantic.
"Look here." She pointed at an entry. "'Flowers for MB.' I thought it was quaint and old-fashioned the way he always referred to your mother as Mrs. Blake."
"Quite," said Lucien. "How many of these 'flowers' entries are there?"
"Oh, a dozen or so. It seems to be around the time she became pregnant with you. I wonder if this was his way of showing her the affair was behind them. Or just to tell her how happy he was about her being with child."
Lucien looked over her shoulder as she pointed out the entries.
"You see?" Jean said. "Would he really have been sending her flowers like this if he even suspected the baby wasn't his?"
"It doesn't seem likely," he conceded. He kept to himself the fact that it could also have been just his father's way of telling her she was forgiven, that he was determined to save the marriage.
He moved closer and put an arm around her shoulders. "Thank you, my dear, for all this."
"My pleasure, Lucien. I just want to give you a little peace of mind, darling. I know this has been eating you up."
He smiled and squeezed her shoulder. "You should also know by now, I'm never happy until I've put all the pieces together."
"Yes, and that's what worries me."
"I know a way you could distract me," he whispered.
"Oh, really?" she purred.
"Yes, really." He stood and reached a hand to help her up as he inclined his head in the direction of their bedroom.
Several hours later, Jean rolled over, missing the warm comfort of her husband's arms. She wasn't really surprised to find his side of the bed empty. With a heavy heart, she reached for her robe and went to find him.
Find him she did, lying on the floor in his mother's studio, staring up at the gold-leaf "stars" on the ceiling. When he saw her, he grimaced and moved up to sit on the couch. "I'm sorry," he whispered when she sat down next to him.
"I just wish I could be more help to you," she told him, rubbing his arm soothingly.
"You are, my dear. Every moment of every day. Without you I would be lost, truly, wandering the earth until I fell off the edge of it."
"Well, we can't have that," she said, smiling gently. After a moment, she said, "Do you want to talk about it?"
He was silent for so long that she thought he couldn't tell her. But finally he spoke, his voice so low she had to strain to catch it even from right beside him.
"When I was in the camp and they would beat me or lock me away in tiny, cramped spaces, the only way to keep my sanity was to leave my body behind. My mind would go somewhere else. Usually I came here, to be with my mother. To watch her paint or listen to her read to me or sing to me in French. I think it was the only place I had been truly happy up to that point."
Jean was surprised. "Really? Not with Mei Lin and Li?"
Lucien shook his head. "We tried to be happy, but even before we were married, we knew war was coming, so that cloud always hung over us. It was only a matter of time until it ended everything we had." He waved his hand around at the studio. "Of course, this all would end too soon as well, but I didn't know that when we were together here."
He sat up straighter and turned to her. "And now, it turns out it might all have been a sham after all."
"No, Lucien," she said sharply. "No matter what the truth turns out to be, it doesn't change the fact that your mother loved you so very much. And we will get to the truth, no matter what it takes. It's somewhere in this town, and we'll find it."
He managed a smile for her, and a kiss. Her fierceness was one of the things he loved most about his wife.
"And now, back to bed," she announced. "The funeral is tomorrow afternoon, you remember. I was thinking maybe we could go to the library in the morning and look through back issues of the Courier from that time. If I'm not mistaken, the local gossip column was running even then. And if nothing else, it can tell us who might have been around at that time that you could talk with about what happened."
They arrived at the public library moments after it opened. Lucien knew his way around the microfiche viewers from research he'd done on previous cases. A helpful clerk brought them half a year's worth of film from the Courier.
Working backwards from six months before Lucien was born, the few entries regarding the Blake family were mostly accounts of social events they had attended. There were a handful of grainy photos of the doctor and his wife in which they appeared to be a typical happy couple. Nothing to suggest they had just come through a scandal.
They had only a few more issues to get through when Jean came across the first reference to William. "Look at this," she gasped. "Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Beckwith announce the engagement of their daughter Margaret to Mr. William Blake."
Lucien's mind put the pieces together quickly. "Margaret Beckwith. 'M.B.' And his body was found right beside her grave."
Jean glanced up at the clock. "I'm sorry, Lucien, but we have to go or we'll be late to the funeral. We can come back afterwards, see what else is in here."
He still seemed lost in thought, which Jean surmised was the only reason he allowed her to guide him out of the library and back to the car.
He was still somewhat distracted when they reached the church. Therefore, it was Jean that spotted Cec Drury going up the steps. She waved, and he made his way over to them. The two men shook hands.
"I'm sorry for your loss, Lucien," the older man said quietly.
"Thank you, Cec, but I'm afraid I didn't even know the man. And I thought you were away on holiday."
"I came back early when I heard of his passing. I always had great respect for your uncle," Cec explained.
"Then you knew him quite well," said Lucien. "What can you tell me about him, and why he left Ballarat?"
Cec hesitated. "Are you certain you want to hear this?"
"Yes, of course. I need to know the truth, whatever it was. All we know is that he was engaged to marry Margaret Beckwith before he left."
"Oh, yes. He was completely besotted with Miss Beckwith," Cec confirmed.
"But they never married," Lucien observed. "Why not? What happened between them?"
"I'm afraid it was your father, sir," Cec said quietly.
Jean could see Lucien figuring it out for himself, but she was completely lost. "Doctor Blake halted the marriage?"
"In a way. I'm sorry to say, he and Miss Beckwith had a brief affair shortly after the engagement was announced. Mrs. Blake caught them together, as I understood it."
"Yes, that makes sense," said Lucien, wincing. "Go on, please, Cec."
He was obviously reluctant, but followed the request. "Your mother seemed to forgive your father, and they put it behind them. And shortly afterwards came the news that she was with child."
"And what happened to William and Miss Beckwith?" asked Jean.
"William was devastated."
"Not surprising, if he loved her so deeply," Lucien observed.
"Indeed not. And Miss Beckwith was so ashamed of what she had done that she broke off the engagement. That's when William left town, but he never stopped loving her. It was perhaps a month later that he returned to Ballarat hoping to reconcile with her."
"And did they?" asked Jean.
Cec shook his head. "It was very sad. He was too late. She had died a week before. The influenza epidemic. William visited her grave at the cemetery several days in a row, then left town. He never returned again. Until now, it seems."
Jean had tears in her eyes, and Lucien was not much more composed. "Thank you, Cec," he said softly. "It means the world to me to know the truth."
They entered the church for the start of the funeral service.
Lucien made a sudden decision to deliver a eulogy for the uncle he had never met but now felt that he knew. He began, "Let me tell you about this man who, quite literally, died of a broken heart."
It was late evening when they finally arrived home, worn out from the emotions of the day. Lucien poured drinks for them both, then sat beside her on the couch.
"Are you all right?" she asked, smoothing a hand over his lapel.
"Yes, I'm fine, love. I just needed to know what really happened. I suppose if my mother could forgive my father, then so can I."
He took a sip of his whiskey. "What about you, my dear? You always held him in such high regard. I know how much his reputation meant to you."
She smiled softly and rested her head on his shoulder. "When you first came back to Ballarat, I used to compare you to him all the time."
He chuckled. "Yes, I recall. I always came up wanting."
"He was very kind to me," she conceded to Lucien. "But as I got to know you, I realized how exceptional you are in so many ways, your own kindness being just a small part of it. My dear, I was fond of your father, no matter his faults, but you are the most remarkable man I've ever known, and I can't tell you how proud I am to be your wife."
He smiled. "Perhaps you could show me, instead…"
And he tilted his head to capture her lips.