CHAPTER FIVE
By early evening, Julia was comfortably disguised as a man, enjoying the freedom of being out in public, sans corset, in trousers, and on a train bound for Montreal. She picked the same suit and blond wig she wore to visit William in jail, pretending to be his solicitor. The Inspector had shaved his mustache and slipped on a pair of eyeglasses to obfuscate his features while donning a more modern suit cut like William's and her own. It wasn't a drastic change, but it was sufficient enough to cause doubt in anyone trying to follow them.
Taking Tom's advice to rest while she could, she had napped-away a good bit of the journey. As evening approached, the tiny bit of toast this morning wasn't enough to stave off hunger pangs. Though she hadn't complained, her stomach rumbled loudly enough to catch Tom's attention.
"I could do with a small bite myself. We'll catch an early dinner before meeting Murdoch at 8:00 pm," he advised.
"Will you tell me where we'll be meeting him now?" Julia whispered, low enough to not inform anyone who might be trailing them.
"Let me have my fun. The surprise on both your faces will be worth all this trouble," he said with a wry laugh.
She was grateful for his help, but it disturbed her that he seemed so jolly, considering his family woes. "Tom, I know you have other things to be worrying about right now, such as your son and his troubles. You don't have to do this."
"It's best I'm busy and not getting involved. Margaret and I hired a private detective to look into a few things, and I'd likely just get myself in trouble if I were waiting at home," he shrugged. "Officially, I am on leave from the Constabulary to search for Bobby, which excuses my absence in Toronto for now."
"And Margaret? How is she handling this?"
"She's upset, but more wondering what she did wrong for Bobby to become the man he's become. John's with her, and that's fine. When Bobby gets home, I'm going to suggest the Army for him... it's what saved me," he added before lapsing into silence. "I hadn't wanted that life for either of my children, I endured that burden so that they wouldn't have to, but in Bobby's case, it may be necessary."
Staring out the window, Julia couldn't help but think of Harry, William's son who had lived quite a life for his eight years, and she wondered what kind of man he would become. No doubt Anna had loved the boy, but a life on the run had given the child a precociousness beyond his years. Try as she might, she couldn't fathom a life with the three of them under one roof. She believed the boy would never view her as his mother, thus making her the odd one out in her own home, which was the reason why she had packed to leave …
Exhaling sharply as though to expel the problem from her mind, she instead focused on what needed to be done to save Anna's and William's lives (again). She'd worry about the implications Harry had on their marriage once she'd had a chance to talk to William about it before making any decisions-she owed him that much.
Thus, after they had checked into a comfortable but not too plush of a hotel in the city center along Sherbrooke street, they had a quiet dinner in their rooms and rested. Later, she and Tom walked a few blocks to the city's Red Light district, where they came to a nondescript black door. After knocking, they gained admittance to a smoky room full of loud, raucous piano music, and paid an admission charge for the privilege.
Adjusting to the dim lighting and haze, Julia quickly saw that this was no bar, but one of the city's burlesque houses she'd heard about in hushed whispers - hardly fit for polite company. This was no Star Room. The small stage with potted plants was large enough for one performer, and above it was a swing that some comely girl would no doubt soon appear upon.
Wonder how 'polite' I would be viewed by Society now?
Eager to see William, she scanned the room. Even in his disguise, she spotted him by the set of his shoulders and the architecture of his hands which toyed with a shot glass on the table in front of him. That man just doesn't know how to slouch, she thought with a warm feeling in the center of her being. Hastening her step, Tom caught her arm and put his face right to her ear. "Remember, you're not Julia Ogden here. He's not your husband, got it?" he hissed.
Nodding, Julia slowed down to light a cigarette and order a drink at the bar with Tom, blending in with the raucous crowd. That gave her a fine view of a young woman in a bright pink dress making obvious advances towards her husband. Disguised or not, even at his age with his hair slicked back and two day's worth of beard, he was terribly good looking. Fortunately (for him, she thought), he was making a good show of being entertained while putting the woman off. One less thing she needed to confront him about.
Julia made her way over to his table as casually as possible, watching William's face as he took in her appearance, furrowing his brow. As realization dawned, she watched his jaw drop and eyes flash, then shoot a look at the inspector.
Julia had to remind herself not to show any outward signs of recognizing him - let alone kiss him or show affection. Sensing there was potential for a problem, Tom inserted himself between them. Which was probably for the best lest she forget who she and Tom were supposed to be: two men from Toronto out for a few days of fun in Montreal, away from their responsibilities.
"Do y'mind if'n we be joining you, sir? You have seats enough. And who are you, Lassie?" Tom larded on an excessive Scot's accent, taking the young woman's hand away from William and offering his own lap, which she reluctantly accepted with a saucy pout.
"Non… Avec plaisir..." William said. "Rejoignez moi, s'il vous plaît. It will pass the time better, n'est-ce pas?"
She adored it when he spoke French. "John Ross," Julia said, holding out her hand, then pointed at Tom. "This here is Mr. Sandy McTavish."
"Martin Tremblay." William introduced himself, taking her hand in a hard squeeze and gesturing to the remaining chair. Beside them, Tom, who spoke no French, had the young woman, who clearly spoke no English, giggling already. William gave a very gallic shrug to Julia's questioning expression. "What brings you to Montreal?"
"Mr. McTavish is an architect. I'm his draftsman. We are here on some contracts for housing. Your city is bursting with new immigrants who need a place to stay." Julia held up her drink and cigarette in a sweeping arc. "And you, monsieur?"
"Not my city. I am merely traveling through." William kept a relaxed smile on his face, and his eyes fixed on the stage as the performers assembled and the music changed. "I hope you enjoy the show. Mademoiselle Charminon is known for her impressive musculature and flexibility."
Julia watched as a soberly dressed woman approached the swing and seated herself, then the contraption was hoisted towards the rafters. The music shifted to an upbeat tempo, and the woman got the seat moving in time with the tune. All around her, the audience started with applause and whistles, including Tom and, to her shock, William. She had no idea what the fuss was going to be about, and it took her a moment to understand she needed to be cheering too. Her whistle startled William.
"Is she just going to swing there, offering the occasional glimpse of her ankles?" she asked with a sly grin.
"Mais non, Mr. Ross. From her perch, Mlle. Charminon is an artiste, an aerialist who will be doing several loops and somersaults." William paused for effect. "While taking her clothes off," he said with his eyebrows up as high as she'd ever seen them.
William had to admit to himself the look on his wife's face was almost worth the danger they faced. If she weren't so insecure about their current situation, he might have had fun teasing her and vice versa. But alas, this was not the time - especially since Mlle. Charminon was starting her routine, which (he was assured) left much less to the imagination than Mr. Edison's moving picture version George had insisted on dragging him to.
Instead of scandalized, Julia sent a cat-call to the performer, looking every inch a small-town young man being taken to the big city by his older, indulgent, employer. The act lasted a full ten minutes of teasing until there was nothing left but bloomers and corset. Even the stockings and garter had made sinuous drops. Mlle. Charminon stood on the swing in a bright spotlight, blowing kisses when the lights suddenly went dark and applause started. William thought that was the end of the show when the spotlight reappeared on the stage floor under the swing - illuminating the very corset and bloomers she had just presumably been wearing.
The room erupted in approbation, yelling for an encore. William took the opportunity to rise from the table and clap - Julia and the inspector right along with him. The room lights came up, and the music stopped, signaling time to empty the hall and fill it again with new patrons - unless one wanted to pay the fee again and keep ordering drinks.
There had been no time to talk over their next move, and William was concerned about the three of them being seen together or behaving familiarly. Brackenreid was undoubtedly throwing himself into his role as bon vivant with gusto and had a blush on his face due to more than whiskey. Too many eyes and ears here, he thought. William signaled to the woman on the inspector's lap.
"Ma belle. Nous devons partir maintenant." William accepted her hand and let her kiss his cheek. "Désolé de ne pas parler beaucoup. Rosa? Donnez eux une carte, voulez-vous ma douce?" He turned to Julia and Brackenreid with a small bow. This is Rosa. I have engaged her for the evening, but if you gentlemen desire companionship, you may inquire with her employer. Profite du spectacle." Rosa plucked a card from her bosom and passed it to Brackenreid while making eyes at Julia and offering a little wave.
With that, William retrieved his hat and left with the other patrons streaming out, trusting to get lost in the crowd. He didn't think anyone was following him, but it couldn't hurt to be careful.
As they stumbled out of the club, Julia breathed in the clean air, relieved to escape the smoky confines and more than a little miffed at William. Tom, on the other hand, looked positively elated.
"Well! The old boy works fast," he said with a wink before realizing she was fuming. "Sorry, doc- er...Ross." He grabbed her arm firmly and steered her down the street towards a hansom that was dropping off passengers. She just caught a flash of pink satin down the road she thought was Mademoiselle Rosa getting into a different cab.
"I assumed we'd get instructions! This was a waste of an opportunity," she complained. "We were supposed to bring him back to our hotel."
"Seems he had a better idea." Tom flicked the card which Rosa produced and smelled it with a deep inhale before turning it over.
"Le jardin des délices." Julia accepted the card, feeling the irritation steam in her ears. "A brothel?!" she guessed. "You have got to be kidding me!"
Tom pulled her aside after hailing the taxi. "Don't get your tie in a knot. Think about it. What is generally known about William Murdoch? Teetotaller, Catholic, and the most married of men. And what do you psychiatric-types know about finding a man who wants to hide?"
She just stared at him in outrage for a few seconds before answering. "They change their appearance, their residence...but seldom their habits, which always give them away, eventually." Julia took a moment to appreciate how clever it was her husband not only knew that but was using it in his favour. "Humph. They'll be looking for him to check in with the local police. To stay in a clean, inexpensive hotel and have his meals sent in. To go to Mass." She laughed. "I still don't like it."
"They probably have no idea he is fluent in French, either. Why would they?" he added, pointing to the card in her hands and the cab waiting for them. "Do you want to keep tabs on him or not?"