Ch 21

Epilogue

"…Eternal God, our maker and redeemer, grant us our Brother Augustus and all the faithful departed
the sure benefits of your Son's saving passion and glorious resurrection: that, in the last day, when you gather up all things in Christ, we may with them enjoy the fullness of your promises; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who is alive and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen."

"Amen."

The grave-side service broke up and mourners filed solemnly across sparkling green grass toward waiting carriages. William and Julia passed close by a black horse-drawn hearse with its six finials, where several constables took the opportunity to shake the detective's hand in greeting or congratulate him on being exonerated. There had been only one or two angry looks his way; for the rest of them, the officers openly accepted William back into the fold, satisfied by the public explanation for what had transpired over the last two weeks and willing to put it all behind them, going so far as to offer congratulations for a job well done.

William swallowed, his mood queasy. If only I felt that way.

Julia had her hand on her husband's arm, feeling the tension in his muscles. Julia knew quite well how much her husband thought of the Constabulary as a place of belonging and hoped he was buoyed by the public affirmation. William usually slept very soundly after making love, and that, combined with a general depleting of resources should have kept him unconscious for at least eight hours. Not last night. Julia found him at their dining table amidst a litter of paper at three in the morning. He told her to go back to bed and he'd join her shortly, but it was clear by daylight that he'd been up all night. The complete contentment she felt after reuniting with William was, sadly, dissipating.

"Murdoch, Doctor," Inspector Brackenreid greeted as he and his wife approached. "Looks like the force turned out in their finest to lay Jackson to rest. I thought the bagpipes were a nice touch."

"Er…yes. Good afternoon inspector, Mrs. Brackenreid," William said distractedly. "I see that George and Henry were unable to make it to the service. Do you have any more updates?"

The inspector leaned in, the gravity of the situation lightened by a gleam in his eye. "Aye, there is. It appears that the both of them were completely crackers for a while, going on about some nonsense or other about space pirates, talking trees, women with green skin and a talking raccoon who kept yelling about breaking out the armory of all things! Kept their nurses in stitches they did, and don't remember a thing. Something tells me we'll have a good laugh about this," he frowned again, "at least eventually."

"Delirium and hallucinations are not uncommon if one is ill enough or taking certain medications, but it is good to know that the symptoms have passed," Julia commented to her husband.

William did not respond. He walked slowly, absorbed in his worried thoughts, nearly running into a passing hansom.

Brackenreid pulled him aside. "Oy, look out. What's got into you?"

"He thinks he found another problem with the case, Inspector," Julia sighed. "Something about Mr. Grier."

The two couples stood out of the flow of mourners under a broad copper beech tree. The inspector asked his wife for privacy, and despite being offended about being left out, she complied. Once they were alone, William continued.

"You saw that paper, sir?" William unfolded the late afternoon edition of the Gazette from his jacket. Two articles were circled in ink.

"CHIEF CONSTABLE DAVIS A HERO: SUCCUMBED TO WOUNDS SUFFERED WHILE PROTECTING CONSTABLES SHOT IN CHURCH." and "RIOGHNAN O'SULLIVAN APPOINTED TO BOARD OF CONTROL VACANCY: AGREES TO CONTINUE MELINDA STREET PROJECT WITH OWN FORTUNE."

"Sir, though I made the recording, Davis was alive when I left him in the warehouse, a warehouse owned by Mr. O'Sullivan. How did he die? Or am I supposed to accept that I'll never know that either?" William tersely asked.

"Yeah, damn shame about Davis, dying a hero and all. The bastard deserved a coward's sendoff, not a hero's farewell," Brackenreid commented.

"Sir," William snapped, probably with more vigor than he should have so he bit the rest of his opinion off with effort.

"You'll forgive me if I don't care, Murdoch. Meyers said something about him being killed in an escape attempt with the Dominion Police and to be honest, I wasn't inclined to ask too many questions, I can well imagine neither the Board of Control nor the Constabulary are going to be inclined to have their collective judgement about reinstating Davis exposed to public scrutiny. Maybe Davis did die in an escape attempt—I can certainly attest to his drive for self-preservation. Or perhaps someone decided that with all he knew, he was too big of a threat to have loose and they removed the 'troublesome' personage as Meyers has been wont to say. He was a bad bloke who did bad things, he made deals with the Devil and in the end, the Devil claimed him. He got the end he deserved, and Margaret knows he didn't die as a result of her shooting him. I don't give a toss about anything else," he snapped back.

Piggybacking off the Inspector, Julia continued their mutual viewpoint. "And as for the Melinda Street project, so what if Mr. O'Sullivan's gained an advantage as a result of this whole situation? He has been moving in political circles for years and he's a very savvy businessman who supports decent wages for workers. Did you know he started out as a mere child down on the docks, using a rowboat to move sailors back and forth from ship to shore, then making small deliveries? He built that into a huge enterprise by taking risks and looking for an opening to expand. That's what businessmen do, William: they seize opportunities!" She was exasperated. He had gone over this already with her and she thought it was settled.

William was unconvinced. "What if he and Meyers were working together, possibly using each other all along? Think of what Meyers said about threats to the Welland canal: any disruption in that could have ruined Mr. O'Sullivan, giving him have an interest in protecting his shipping and making him a natural ally of Mr. Meyers."

"And a natural enemy of the Americans and the Black Hand?" Brackenreid supplied.

"Precisely." William agreed. "Did it never occur you that the Black Hand, a notorious Italian-American crime family, emphasis on the word family, would hire Irish gang members like Fergus and McFadden? "

"The better to blend into Toronto, I suppose?" Brackenreid answered. "Ey-talians are far and few between, but Micks are a dime a dozen. "

"Er...exactly." William regretted the slurs but was intent on his message, gesturing agitatedly. "And we know Mr. O'Sullivan has been tied to Irish gang members." William persisted. "And what about Mr. Grier?"

Brackenreid rolled his eyes and shook his head, his patience clearly being tested. "What about Grier? He's Meyers' man and his testimony is key to the whole case. He was placed undercover with the Black Hand in order to get information on the American conspiracy to entice or suborn Canadians into betraying their country. He's given his depositions and has melted back into his hole. End of story."

"Yes," William answered. "But, sir-don't you think it was odd, suspicious even, that Mr. Grier set up recording devices and just happened to get them turned on at exactly the right time? That Mr. Grier, a shadowy third man, knew all about Julia's kidnapping but somehow did not really know who killed Miss Hall and Mr. Dobbs? Who just happened to call off Fergus and McFadden in perfect timing for you, Inspector, to enter that building and be confronted by Davis? Mr. Grier who took Franklin Williams away to an undisclosed location from where he was ultimately killed? How did Mr. Grier know everything he appeared to know? Such as the location of Mr. O'Sullivan's warehouse where Davis was stashed?"

"William! What are you saying?" Julia was astonished at the exchange she was hearing…this was beyond what he had discussed with her and she wondered where he was taking these ideas.

He nodded at his wife but kept his intentions on the Inspector. "Sir…what if O'Sullivan has been running the whole show from the background all along, has been behind this whole affair from the beginning, plotting, manipulating, for months perhaps years to get into this position where everything is upended and no one can predict the final outcome? What if he is not exploiting a sudden opportunity but created all the intervening chaos just to arrive at this end?"

"That's a little farfetched, isn't it Murdoch? What kind of madman would orchestrate all of this, especially if he could never in a million years have predicted exactly how it would all turn out?" Brackenreid was having trouble accepting that idea at the same time the hairs were standing out on his neck. "Poppycock," he said, hoping to convince the Detective.

"Think about it, Inspector: Mr. Graham was a powerful business rival and now he and his entire operation are in ruins. Alderman Hubbard is getting people to ask questions about those shady land deals you say are so common. Chief Davis is gone. The balance of power on the Board of Control has shifted towards O'Sullivan's interests-Mr. O'Sullivan is now viewed as a community savior. What if we were all unwitting pawns?" William's grievance with the outcome was plain. "I think Mr. Grier was in reality Mr. O'Sullivan's operative, on loan, perhaps to Mr. Meyers and placed inside the Black Hand, but having a separate agenda."

"I told you—leave it alone, Murdoch. Don't let perfect become the enemy of the good. We've had enough. Margaret and I are going home to enjoy a quiet afternoon in our own house. I suggest you do something similar. See you Monday, eight o'clock sharpish."

Walking towards the carriages, William saw Percival Giles clad in a plain, cheap, black suit that was unrecognizable from his Constabulary days. But his erect and proper bearing was not; William would recognize him anywhere.

Excusing himself from Julia for a moment, William walked over to the man.

"Mr. Giles, thank you for coming," William offered his hand, making sure anyone who was watching could see him doing so.

"It was the least I could do," the other man quietly said, returning the handshake. "Constable Jackson was a fine man, and one whose death is partly my fault."

"Your fault, sir?" William wondered.

"Yes, mine. If I didn't have my own secrets to keep hidden, I could have neutralized Davis and perhaps others as well. But alas, I was too concerned about what he might expose, and thus, I turned a blind eye to his misdeeds. As such, this mess fell to you to clean up, and it could have killed you or those you love. This is what I have always meant about secrets, Detective. It's best to live your life in a way where they can't have any hold over you." he explained.

"Yes, sir. I think I see what you're talking about now," William agreed.

"We all have our secrets, Detective. It's human. Just don't allow your life to become ruled by them, Murdoch." Giles straightened his shoulders, nodded once and turned to walk away.

Returning to Julia, William took her hand and boarded their carriage for the ride home. He jostled back and forth on the bench, feeling a churning in his guts. Giles statements on secrets collided with the disquiet that which permeated his awareness for days, that feeling that there was something darker, greater, somehow going on, larger than even Mr. Graham's foul deeds or Terrence Meyers' claims of national security, formed a lump in his throat he could not swallow down. It seemed to him that it was Mr. O'Sullivan's hand which was behind every move, wreaking havoc in the financial and political landscape of Toronto with the sole aim of turning over the key players. All he could do was ask himself: What is going to be the final price for all that chaos?

Picking up the newspaper, he glanced at it again before looking out the window.

Sighing heavily next to him, William both heard and felt his wife's displeasure in the small hansom cab.

"Julia, I can't just…" William began before Julia cut him off.

Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she shook her head vigorously, trying to hold her temper back. "Damn your stubbornness, William Murdoch! How many times does the Inspector have to tell you leave it alone? How many times have I said it for that matter? Do I mean nothing to you? Why can't you just go along with my wishes just this once and please let this matter drop?" she demanded.

"Yes, I asked myself that same question just a couple of nights ago. I begged you to remain in the hotel room until I returned, and you just couldn't do that, could you?" he groused.

"Someone had to rescue your obstinate ass." Her riposte was on target. "Besides, what if you're wrong, William. You don't have conclusive evidence that they're involved, please just leave it be, William," she pleaded tearfully.

Exhaling sharply, he glanced back out the window. He and Julia would be taking possession of their new suite this evening, and he didn't want to mar the fresh start with an old argument. They had agreed the move would be a way to abandon what had ailed them for much of the past year.

"William, how can I trust you to be a father and always be there for our hoped-for family if you're always chasing ghosts?" she asked after a few minutes of silence.

Exhaling loudly, he looked at the worn newspaper in his hand. He had no comeback for her excellent point, and perhaps it was time to ignore that insistent part of his mind and just heed Julia's and the Inspector's words for once and bring himself into a state of self-possession. He had plenty of issues to address closer to home.

"You're right, Julia. This afternoon, we're making a new start and working towards our future," he reassured her, tearing the paper in half.

Surprised, she stared at him, expecting this to be a much longer argument. "William? Just like that?" she wondered.

"Oh, I still have my misgivings, but it needn't always be me who fixes them," he quietly admitted, while painfully aware of his own errors which spring from his character. "Didn't I promise you that I would make you more of a priority? That I would be more attentive to you?"

Laying her head on his shoulder, she squeezed his thigh. "I'm proud of you William. Hopefully sometime soon, you're going to have a family that will also have to be your priority," she reminded him.

"Yes, and no time like the present to begin," he whispered, nipping her ear as he pulled her in closer.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Two Months Later

Through the help of Father Clemens, and the occasional reminder from both the Inspector and Julia to let things be, William had done just that. Though he couldn't be sure that O'Sullivan hadn't just masterminded the entire situation to gain power for himself, he ultimately remained uninvolved with any further investigation. He was a married man now, and his priority had to be his family. No child had been procured as of yet, but inquiries had been made with various orphanages and they were also searching for a new piece of land upon which to build their house.

But alas, those details were for the future. Tonight, he was putting his marriage first, and remembering that Julia loved her experiences (as did he for that matter), he had arranged a bit of a surprise for her.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Julia didn't know what William had planned for her, but whatever it was, it seemed big if his smile was anything to go by. At 7:30 p.m., he escorted her to the back entrance of the Star Room and knocked on the door. When the guard answered it, William thrust her forward and said that Miss Bloom was expecting her.

"William?" Julia asked hesitantly.

"I'll see you in a few minutes. I'll be at a table inside," he reassured her with a kiss.

Hurrying towards the dressing room, Julia quickly found Nina Bloom waiting for her. "Julia," she greeted her with a warm smile while ushering her towards her makeup table.

A short while later, Julia was once again disguised as her alter ego 'Ruby,' the party hostess with scandalous hair, cosmetics, and black dress with the plunging neckline and the shrinking hemline that fell above her knees. The same black mask was reapplied to hide her identity, and Julia smiled at the reflection. She looked nothing like her normal self.

"I don't suppose my husband has explained any of his plan to you, has he?" Julia asked.

"He may have mentioned something about you always having wanted to see the show, and since a respectable woman as yourself could never attend, a disguise was necessary," she explained with a knowing grin.

"Well yes, I suppose that's true. However, why couldn't I have gone in with him in a disguise of my own choosing?" Julia wondered aloud.

"Well, I'm no psychiatrist, but I suspect that's more for his benefit, actually," she giggled. "All I know is that I was instructed to give you this bottle of champagne and instruct you to find his table out there," she smiled.

"Ah yes, an experience for both of us, I see," Julia laughed. Knowing William, he'd wanted her to recreate her persona and role from the Bacchus Club. Shaking her head, she collected the bottle and strode out into the audience. Spotting him at one of the premium tables with a small red velvet loveseat, she made it a point to work the room and flirt with a few of the guests just so she could make him a bit jealous. Once she reached his table, she saw that he had mussed his hair (just as she liked it) and loosened his tie. Smiling at his rakish appearance, she held the bottle of champagne up, "Is this what you requested, sir?"

She couldn't help but react to the way he looked at her with unchecked passion as he took in her appearance. "It most certainly is," he rumbled lowly. "Pour two glasses, won't you?" he directed.

Obliging, she did as she asked and wondered if that was all.

Laughing, he shook his head. "Hardly," he snorted, abruptly pulling her into his lap and quickly kissing her.

"I dare say, William, this is quite the little experience you've planned." she giggled.

"That was the idea, Julia, mutual gratification. You can take in the show, and I can behave in a manner most unbecoming to a gentleman," he whispered into her ear as he traced her plunging neckline with his finger and kissed her again.

Looking around, Julia saw that they were somewhat hidden for the most part, and that the table obscured his hand having slipped up her skirt. Deciding to simply embrace the moment, Julia grabbed a glass of champagne and exposed her neck to him as he kissed it. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she spotted none other than Terrence Meyers and Riognhan O'Sullivan strolling into the room and taking another premium table even more hidden than theirs. Recognizing the both of them, Meyers stopped in surprise before he winked at her and O'Sullivan laughed heartily before disappearing into the alcove.

Julia immediately found her mind spinning. Strange that they should be together? Why is that? Had William been onto something with assertions that O'Sullivan was responsible for setting everything into motion?

"Julia?" William asked, sensing that something was amiss. "What is it?"

If William could leave something be as she had asked, she knew that she had better do the same. She shook her head and gulped the entire glass of champagne down before refilling it. Enough of the drink, and she believed that what she had just seen was a figment of her imagination.

"Nothing, William," she reassured him. "Just looking around and wondering if anyone else here has secrets much like we do," she replied before taking his mouth in a searing kiss.

"A wise and beautiful woman once told me that everyone has their secrets," he teased as he played with one of the garters on her stockings.

"Indeed, they must," she replied. The lighting was dark, she'd only seen the men for the briefest of moments; perhaps it really hadn't been them. Or so she convinced herself as she drank her champagne and gave into the sensations of William's fingers lightly tracing circles on her inner thigh as the music heralding the start of the show began.

-END-

Dear Reader: Fallenbelle and RuthieGreen wish to thank you for coming along for the ride. We have no idea how Peter Mitchell* will actually solve the mess he made at the end of S10, but this is our crack at it. We hope you liked our version and thank you to those who posted reviews and positive reinforcement for our work—it is very meaningful to us when you take the time to comment, and it is often a source of inspiration. Take a risk! Post a comment! It is easy to do!Keep those cards and letters coming!

*Any resemblance between Mr. Mitchell and the character of Mr. O'Sullivan in the piece might be really good insight on your part! -rg