Dear Reader:
What would happen if William, Julia, George and Thomas (and other characters) each made just one significant choice that altered the stream of their life ~ but Fate would still inevitably, inexorably bring them together anyway? How would they be different and how would they still be the same? Set in the same turn-of-the-century Toronto, but a slightly different timeline/universe…. (FYI: I have taken many liberties with dialogue directly from the show.)
What if: William attends Seminary after all, but leaves before taking vows?
What if: Julia drops out of medical school and marries the man who impregnates her?
What if: Thomas is persuaded to leave the constabulary and join Margaret's father's plumbing business?
What if: George gives up being a chimney sweep and follows one of his aunties to Toronto and opens an Inn?
How will our heroes fare?
Thank you Lovemondays for 'your' character-You'd make anyone a great best friend! Thanx to "Dutch" for the beta-read and IdBeDelighted for getting me unstuck. Thank you also Maureen Jennings and the show writers for letting us play in their world and with these remarkable characters.
Enjoy the mystery and the twist.
"As Fate Would Have It"
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Fate: noun. 1) the ultimate agency that predetermines the course of events; 2) the inevitable fortune that befalls a person or thing; destiny; 3) the end or final result; 4) a calamitous or unfavourable outcome or result; death, destruction or downfall.
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The story is for Voltaire63—because she asked for it. Rest in Peace.
Author's Note: This is a prequel to "Mystery at Flower Inn."
-Chapter 0ne-
Friday June 30, 1899
~ Cabbagetown
Even her muffled sobs could be heard through the thin walls…
"Now, Mrs. Tough, you just have a good cry, then let me see what is going on, if that is all right with you?" Julia used her most tender and no-nonsense voice to soothe the tearful woman sitting with her on a narrow bed. She noticed the fading red marks on her patient's face and a purpling under one eye, however she was more concerned about the blows to the woman's abdomen and the fever in her pock-marked face.
As with any call where all she got was an urgent message to "come quickly," Julia had raced over to this cramped, airless set of rooms not knowing exactly what she was going to find, but prepared to do her best. Usually it was to help a woman in childbirth, sometimes a sick child. Every once in a while she was asked to tend a woman who was experiencing a miscarriage; Julia knew quite well a portion of those women were suffering from the effects of abortion, but she did not judge, only helped. She handled all of them professionally, with patience and tender care whether the outcome was joy or sorrow. The worst ones were like this: It was awfully hard to refrain from showing anger towards the man responsible, knowing it would only add to the woman's burden. Mastering her rage, Julia only asked: "When did you say your husband did this?"
"Wednesday," Katie sniffed. "He comes home in a rage, arguin' about having relations with me an' about my leaflettin' for the women's union. I argued back an' he starts punchin' me, kicked me hard. I tells him to stop because I thought I might be carryin' again." Julia saw her tear up, the red marks on her face getting darker. "Then he calls me a slut because I'd been wantin' a break from him. That's when I told him that's OK, I never want another of your whelps again an' I throws him out!"
Julia gently felt the woman's belly and asked about the cramping and the clotted blood. During the first trimester miscarriages were not uncommon, but because of the bony protection of a woman's pelvis, the womb was not as exposed to blows from the outside. Miscarriages at this stage can easily go unremarked. In the second trimmester however, a fall or an assault risked causing a spontaneous abortion. The real danger is when there was an incomplete expelling of the fetus and placenta, resulting in infection. "What happened today, then?"
"I felt in a bad way an' got scared when I sees all that blood, so time comes I sends a boy to the exchange to call and fetch you." She grabbed Julia's hand in a tight grip. "You was so good to me when he went after me, all drunk after Dominion Day last year, me still nursin' my Sarah - I just knew you'd come. After I calls you, my husband, he come by again, all sayin' he's sorry an' he sees what a state I'm in. The bastard gots even angrier, accusin' me of all sorts, mad at the world he were! I tells him this is all his fault for hittin' me an' instead of helpin' me, he shoves me down again and took off, leavin' me moanin' in pain." She sniffed again, dragging her sleeve over red eyes and under her nose. "Will I lose this 'un?"
Julia could not decide if Mrs. Tough wanted a baby under these circumstances or not, considering that Katie reliably produced a healthy child for her common-law husband nearly every year of their 'marriage,' wearing the woman out by birthing five children since the age of seventeen. She looked hard at her patient: Katie was only twenty three but differences their lives added two decades to the other woman's appearance with deep lines bracketing her eyes and mouth. Julia was painfully reminded how frustrating it was that all she could legally suggest to prevent pregnancy were useless iron tinctures, breastfeeding as long as possible and timing relations to when a woman was thought to be less fertile. As if her 'husband' would refrain.
How ironic it is to be having such a conversation with one of my patients. She bit her lip. Quite the opposite problem from mine.
Mrs. Tough was holding her breath, waiting for an answer. Julia searched her patient's frightened face and considered the evidence collected in bloody sheets and a chamber pot, her own womb wrenching in sympathy. With compassion, she took the woman's damp hand: "Katie…I think you already have…"
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Rosedale
~ Ogden Residence
Acting Detective Hamish Slorach entered the stately Ogden residence through tall, white-painted front doors. Removing his hat, he glanced nervously into a fine mirror hanging by the opening, slicked down the center part in his hair and frowned benignly at what he saw: heavy jowls and a slightly rumpled suit.
He was only three months on the job and this was his first murder case, acutely aware he suffered the scrutiny of not just his new boss but of Chief Constable Giles, since Giles took an interest in the legacy of station four. He greeted Constable John Hodge who was already on site organizing the lads. Initially Slorach chaffed at Inspector Lamb not so subtly assigning the grey-haired Hodge as a 'minder,' however today he was grateful for the older man's steadiness and wisdom.
Hodge motioned him into a wide light-filled central hall, pointing to a door on the right which held the deceased. The birds-eye maple foyer contained an upholstered bench beneath a lively sea-scape, and across from it was a framed photograph of three people, hung over a table with a telephone on it. Inspector Lamb had cautioned him to be diplomatic, considering the social standing of the victim and family, so the impressive house was not a surprise.
To his left in a small reception room, were a pair of women in contrasting emotional states: the older plump one, perhaps in her sixties, was white-faced with tears still forming in her eyes. The other woman, a much younger, bird-like creature, was red-faced and muttering agitatedly.
Constable Hodge began in a soothing, yet firm voice: "Ladies, this is Acting Detective Slorach. Detective, this is Mrs. Davis Roundtree, a patient, and this Mrs. Olave Hastings, the Ogden's housekeeper. Mrs. Roundtree found the body when she entered the consultation room across the hall, about ten past two. She then roused the housekeeper, Mrs. Hastings, by knocking on the door separating the offices from the residence and together they rang the constabulary on the house's private line. The call came in at quarter after. Neither lady says she heard anything." Constable Hodge would have continued except Mrs. Roundtree interrupted.
"My appointment was at two o'clock and I am not used to being kept waiting! I told your constable all I know of this disgusting matter. Now, detective, please, allow me to go home. My carriage is waiting. This has all been too terrible!" She thrust her narrow chin up defiantly and her eyes were wide with too much of the whites showing.
Slorach could not decide if the woman was truly offended or just in shock—perhaps a little of both. He gave her the once-over the way he'd size up a hound: A lady like this was unlikely to have ever spoken with a police officer before in her entire life, let alone found a dead body with its attendant physical mess. Securing her particulars, she was sent on her way with a request to be available for follow up questions. Since the housekeeper was reasonably well-composed and content to remain, he shrugged then took himself to the scene of the crime.
The detective saw a simple set up in the consultation room: a desk placed in front of open lace-curtained French windows, two chairs, and behind a privacy screen were an examination table and wash stand. Several filing cabinets lined one wall. Closed pocket doors opposite the windows appeared to divide this room from another. The white curtains barely moved whilst the detective took in a deep breath—a faint scent of tar from outside was carried in to disturb the unmistakable smells of carbolic mixed with lemon furniture wax. Constable Hodge appeared at his elbow to take notes.
A dark-haired man, dressed in a long white coat over a light grey suit, was lying on the floor in front of an oak desk. A stethoscope was beside him. This time the detective was surprised. Instead of a blood-spattered tableau, the thin body was nearly pristine- only a small hole in the forehead and some blood, not the bits of brain and bone he expected. He made a note of the position of the body then turned the corpse's head slightly and determined there was no exit wound.
Slorach rose to come 'round the desk to check out the angles and examine the appointment calendar. He did not see Mrs. Roundtree's name listed. "Not a suicide, then. No weapon by the body, but we need to make sure no one tidied up in an effort to protect the doctor's reputation," he offered somewhat sarcastically, surveying the room. "No signs of forced entry."
Hodge agreed, sharing his own observations. "No sir, but since the doors were unlocked that does not mean much; the windows are open and the sash-plate unmarred and I'd say perhaps six feet from the ground. No obvious disarray in this room."
Slorach formed his fingers into the shape of a gun, pointing across the desk. "Not much of a shot to hit someone from this close up. I know my bullets: that looks like a .22 calibre from the size of that entry hole there, wouldn't you say? I wonder why no exit wound. Did you find any shell casings, or the murder weapon, by any chance?"
Hodge smiled. "No, sir. The housekeeper says she was just coming up from the cellar when she heard pounding on the door and found Dr. Walters dead. She says she touched nothing, says she knew better than to disturb anything after working for Dr. Ogden so many years; also knew Dr. Walters was dead for the same reason."
"Anyone else in the house?" he asked, wondering exactly what all Mrs. Hastings knew.
"No sir. Not as either of the ladies was aware. Mrs. Roundtree says there were no other patients when she got here and Constable Higgins and the men searched the house and grounds for anyone who might be hiding."
"What additional information did you get? Is this a big medical practice the doctor was a part of?" Slorach wondered aloud.
"The Ogden Wellness Center consists of Dr. Lionel Ogden and the deceased, his son in law Dr. Joseph Walters. Dr. Ogden's daughter, Mrs. Julia Walters, functions as a nurse and mid-wife for the practice." Hodge flipped through his notebook. "Dr. Walters' calendar is in the adjoining office. It says he was to see a Mr. Redhook at one o'clock. Mrs. Roundtree was Dr. Walters' last patient of the day."
Slorach gestured at the corpse. "Hodge, how long do you think he's been dead?"
Hodge had no timetable in his mind, but he knew what death looked like after all these years. "I'd say at least a couple hours since he's just getting stiff in his jaw and neck, but the heat may be playing havoc with that."
"Thank God I'm not a coroner," Slorach joked while pulling at his collar, getting a knowing laugh from Hodge. He consulted a wall clock and lowered his voice. "It's three-thirty now. Constable Hodge, er…what do you suppose we should do next?"
Hodge lowered his voice as well, aiming for discretion. "Sir, we should conduct a thorough search of Dr. Ogden's house, interior and exterior. We are looking for the murder weapon and any other evidence pertaining to the case. Next I think we locate Mr. Redhook then send the lads around to take witness statements from the neighbors—see if anyone heard or saw anything amiss, perhaps someone fleeing the area?"
"Yes. And search the grounds for any evidence, foot prints, or a discarded weapon etcetera. I am thinking small hand gun, something easily concealed. And if you think we have the trail of a fleeing assailant y'know my dog 'Betty' and I can track 'em!" The detective found himself rather hoping that was the case—he often preferred the investigative company of his canine to his human co-workers. "We will have to interview the family of course and find out who had a grudge against the doctor."
"Yes, sir. Mrs. Hastings says Dr. Ogden is expected back for the evening meal. She is not exactly sure where Mrs. Walters is, only that she received an urgent call, took the pony trap and is expected home after a house visit at four this afternoon on a patient at the Flower Inn. Shall we wait for Mrs. Walters here?" Hodge asked.
Detective Slorach thought about it then shook his head. This was part of the job he hated, but it went with his new position. "No. I think I will pass the rest of the work here off to you, constable, but I will finish interviewing the housekeeper myself. Then I will go greet the widow and give her the bad news." He clapped his hands, unconsciously rubbing them together. "We are looking for someone who is particularly bloody-minded even if they left no mess, eh Hodge?"
Hodge nodded, then called out to Constable Burke and the other lads. "Oy! I want you to look in every shrub, and under every stone. We need to find the murder weapon."
Slorach was getting excited…The hunt is on!
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Author's Note: Hi there! Hope you like the story so far. When I first started reading these I had no idea how it all worked—I had to be bold enough to ask a lot of questions and fortunately very kind people helped me out. So for my story or any other one you read, if you "Like" the story…you can show that by "Following the story"—you will get alerts when additional chapters are posted—or "Favoriting" the story. It is rather the equivalent of "liking" a Facebook post and is very encouraging to me and other writers, especially if you are not yet inclined (yet!) to type a "Review." So—to "Like" a story, go to the top right of the page where you will see a "heart" and it says "Follow/Fav" Click on that and you will get a box to choose from. It is easy to do and I know I truly appreciate any feedback on my stories. It always helps me do better the next time. -rg