Chapter 11

Wednesday October 14

The next day I felt the effects of archery practice on my limbs. My shoulders and arms ached as I moved, but it was the good kind of pain that let me know I was building muscle and demonstrating strength. I would need it for my ballooning adventure too. I had no new bodies to examine, so I was catching up again on the inevitable paper work and preparing testimony for upcoming inquests or court appearances. I was reviewing a set of reports when a large bang reverberated in the space, causing me to jump a little.

"Doctor, come quickly!" Constable Higgins called out from the morgue bay doors. I pivoted from my stool and stared at him. No one usually demands my attention to a crime scene as if it is a medical emergency and at first I was decidedly annoyed.

"What on earth?..." I thought the young Constable was being overexcited and started to put on my most forbidding face.

He then alarmed me by saying, "It's Detective Murdoch. His landlady's sent for us. There been a disturbance at her house and the detective has gotten himself in some sort of trouble. The Inspector and some of the lads are already on their way. We have a carriage here for you. Will you come?"

"Of course," I said. Without even asking for any details, I dropped what I was doing, and after washing my hands and getting my hat secured, got into the waiting carriage for another tension-filled ride to Ontario Street.

Once again my heart raced, and in my mind I commenced running over all the possible ways "some sort of trouble" could have played out. I used the trip in the carriage to try to think logically. It was not really working, and I despaired at my inability to arrange my thoughts and assume the necessary clinical detachment, whether it be for a medical emergency or to be in William's presence again. By the time I got to the detective's boarding house I spied the black police transportation wagon pulling off on its way to the jail, and inside the home, Mrs Kitchen was in her own parlour working on a restorative poured by Inspector Brackenreid.

The place was in disarray and Mrs Kitchen even more so, her grey hair completely escaping its pins. "What in Heaven's Name has happened here?" I asked. I came over to the poor distraught woman out of compassionate interest and courtesy to tend to her, but she waved me away and towards the stairs.

"Oh, no doctor. It's Mr Murdoch. God bless him. He was so clever and brave! But he over did it and passed out and fell over. It was quite terrifying…all I could do was pray…" She smiled at the inspector and gave his arm a squeeze, "…and wield the pry bar, of course." Her smile was abruptly replaced by a worried grimace and the inspector patted her arm and said, "There-there."

Inspector Brackenreid turned to me and said in a low voice: "We got Murdoch back upstairs, doctor. We'll let him tell you the whole story, but let's just say despite his limitations he still manage to save the day. Seems he was being poisoned by chloral hydrate if you can believe it. He fell pretty hard down here and it looks like there were other shenanigans going on, but we put him back into bed, er… none too gently I'm afraid." He also motioned me to the stairs and then gave a short grin. "We told him you were coming."

I wondered what Mrs Kitchen meant about a 'pry bar' but stifled my curiosity, thanked them and went up to his room, relieved because if it had been very bad then I would not have been greeted so casually or he would have been taken back to hospital. I gazed in from the hallway: he was propped in bed again—just as I had left him yesterday, but looking like he was in somewhat more pain. I made myself slow down and walk in measured steps to his bedside and sit while he followed me silently with his eyes.

I stared back at him for a long moment before speaking. "Really!" I exclaimed, putting my bag down and my hands on my hips. "Seems you have gotten yourself into a mess again. You can't manage even a day of doing what you are told, can you?" I chided as I looked carefully at his pupils and then took his pulse, which was steady.

His face was a bit sheepish and he shrugged. He did look like he was uncomfortable, and I was not sure of it was merely pain or my presence. Eventually he sighed and smiled up at me. "Mrs Burgess was a fake—she teamed up with a criminal to rob the house. I just got in the way, that's all." He tried to gesture to a contraption on his desk but stopped half way and groaned. Pain, it was definitely pain, I thought.

"I used my night-vision apparatus to blind her…" Even in his current state he had that delighted, boyish enthusiasm in his eyes and was eager to tell all, so I knew I was about to get a treatise on parabolic mirrors.

So I interrupted him. "That's all well and good, but you have set your recovery back a week at least. Let me finish my examination and then you can finish the story." He submitted to another round of a physical investigation of his injuries without objection other than some hissing between his teeth when it particularly hurt. I looked at his ankle and knee which were already swelling considerably, and knew that he needed some ice if some could be found this late in the year, and a packet of willow-bark extract I told him I would find and send up. I then looked at the stitches in his arm. The redness was less, there was no purulent drainage and the wound did not smell bad. He would be happy I did not think he needed another injection.

I reported my findings to him. "Well, the infection has receded. The choral hydrate they were feeding you was weakening your defenses. How do you feel?" I tested for fever again by putting my hand on his forehead and face.

"Better." He said and smiled a little. His hair was slightly mussed and it looked like he'd had one of the lads help him clean up a bit and scrape his face in hopes of being presentable. His pyjamas were buttoned up too. Where and when did he ever get them?…They looked new… I left that train of thought alone.

"Indeed. Your fever's gone. And the pain?" I asked. His eyes were clear and his color was good.

"I can bear it," he stated.

"Yes, I know you can." I could not help smiling but looked away. We chuckled together, faced each other and a shared small moment of connection and clarity…. This was almost the exact position we were in when we had our first kiss in the park—my hand on his face, sitting this close, sharing an intimacy. I had so much I wanted to say and I was almost certain he wanted to say something important to me too…

"Oh I just heard…" Mrs Jones drove in, looking at the ceiling and towards William. "Are you all right, William?"

He answered: "I'm fine," with a little more emphasis on "fine" than was actually true.

"Oh, what on earth happened?" She asked as she glanced at the huge hole in the ceiling again.

"It's a long story…" He smiled charmingly at her.

I knew I had no place there and needed to go. "Yes, well I should leave you to tell it."

"Thank you, Dr Ogden." He said this gently and affirmatively, asking for acknowledgement, I thought, of our new interpersonal status and to demonstrate for the benefit of Mrs Jones that there was only professional courtesy, perhaps with an allowance for camaraderie between us. I could swear he was thanking me for more than medical attention. And I think he was grateful I was getting out of the way at that moment…

"You're welcome, detective." I answered the way I knew I must. I had no real idea how the conversation might have gone if we had not been interrupted. I do not know if it could have or would have changed anything. But as I left the room and closed the door on them my heart sunk in a way I did not expect, with the realization that Mrs Jones and Detective Murdoch were already courting for all intents and purposes, and would have the next few weeks to solidify their new relationship.

As I descended the stairs I reminded myself: I told him in no uncertain terms that there was no hope for a personal or romantic relationship between us and I sent him away. He did as I asked and he has transferred his affections to another woman. And why not? I offered a sharp tongue and clinical prodding and pain, and she offers warm comfort. He has clearly been ready for a relationship again… so if not with me, then why not someone else?

Logic is a brutal companion, I thought.

I was sad and angry. Sad he was gone; angry that he could move on so quickly- the fact of which seemed to belie all his statements about loving only me and waiting for so long to tell me of his feelings due to a general reticence in his character. I remembered the inspector's assessment of William's so-called process… "Slow and dead slow," I believe he said…

With uncomfortable insight I told myself: What's done is done. I told him no, and it looks like a good thing I did. Then again, what if….

"Doctor, I said how is he?" Inspector Brackenreid and was in the front hall with Mrs Kitchen and I hadn't heard him, preoccupied as I was. I recalled myself and told them my assessment and asked for the ice and willow bark extract before leaving.

The real problem which I only understood now, of course, was that I did care for him. Slowly, oh- so- slowly, the realization pushed its way into my consciousness. For all I was angry again at him for appearing to be shallow in his affections… Or was it plain jealousy? I asked myself. It pained me to admit that however happy and thrilled I had been when he said he was in love with me, I never expressly told him how I felt about him… I never told him I loved him…

My vision or dream appeared to foretell that because I cared for him I had to release him to find his true happiness. Was what just passed between us, unspoken as we sat there together? I won't say he was asking for my blessing, but he seemed to be asking for-something. I just did not know exactly what. I gazed up at William's window from my position on the street. I did know one thing:

I would not be back.

To Be Continued….