CHAPTER SIX

Le Jardin des Délices was a grand white stone house set on a gracious lawn. This time it was Julia who knocked on the door for admittance, proffering the card Rosa had given them. Julia had gone to medical school in Montreal (although comfortably ensconced in the English-speaking environs.) Her French was serviceable enough to read a menu and understand ballet. Still, but she could not follow the rapid questions from the doorman. Tom shouldered past her, opened his wallet, and pointed to the lounge. Satisfied, the doorman let them pass into a richly appointed room adorned with coloured silks. Several men enjoyed drinks and cards accompanied by ladies who were enrobed in jewel-tone fabric dressing gowns revealing deep décolletage.

Julia accepted a card from a man who she took to be a waiter. This time, it was a menu - for drinks and companionship. Each prostitute was given a colour pseudonym - 'Rosa', 'Carmine', 'Blanche', 'Violette', etc., with a list of prices of what she thought were euphemisms for the sexual acts available, she assumed. Colloquial French was not her strong suit.

The establishment's Madam, Julia guessed, approached wearing iridescent ruby and blue shot silk. Julia thought the prostitution business must pay well, considering the cost of that dress. "Bienvenue, Messieurs. Je suis Madame Aubergine. Comment puis-je faciliter votre plaisir?" the woman said in a pleasant alto.

Before either Julia or Tom could answer, the Madam's eyes went wide, and she switched to unaccented English. "Ah, yes! Rosa hoped you two might be dropping by. This way, please, gentlemen."

Wordlessly, Julia followed with Tom right behind her. The Madam looked so familiar to Julia - out of context, yet somehow... not. Instead of stopping on the second floor, they continued to the third floor, where the woman paused at a door, knocked, and then turned the knob. "Rosa? Vos autres clients sont ici."

Inside the door, William stood with his hands in his pocket, with Rosa playing solitaire on the bed, her pink silk dress spread like flower petals around her. Julia noticed with satisfaction the dress seemed to have remained still tightly laced and fastened. Rosa looked up, pouting, and complained in rapid French, before brightening at the sight of Tom.

Mme. Aubergine pulled the girl up and patted her hand. "Nous ne pouvons pas toujours avoir ce que nous voulons. Venez." She turned to Tom, giving the girl over to him. "Rosa, will escort you back to the parlour."

Rosa took Tom's arm and whisked him away, then the Madam closed the door behind them, leaving her with William. Julia put her hand on her hips and confronted him. "That is Ettie Weston, isn't it?" she asked, already knowing the answer. "William Henry Murdoch. You are traipsing after an ex-lover into the arms of another paramour? I should just shoot you now and get it over with!"

"N..no..No! Julia...I-"

He looked so aghast and stricken, his face terrified.

Good, she thought as she stared at him. But in typical William fashion, he had nothing else to say, his words failing her as he stood there staring at her.

Sighing in relief, Julia slipped off her mustache and wig, and immediately shed the wool suit while William silently watched, his expression changing as she worked. If he didn't want to talk, she knew another way to get him to communicate. By the time she was down to the undershirt and a pair of his drawers, his breaths were rapid and his eyes dark.

"I'd say we have half an hour. What do you want to do with that time?" She approached him, running her hands along his chest and down his thigh. "It's not just Mlle. Charminon who can demonstrate muscular flexibility, hmmm?"

Groaning, he pulled her towards him and kissed her.

It was a full hour before 'Mr. John Ross' went down, and ten minutes after that when 'Monsieur Martin Tremblay' joined' Mr. Sandy McTavish' in the bordello's parlour where the party remained in full swing. William experienced only the tiniest stab of shame abandoning Brackenreid in order to have enjoyed his wife so thoroughly. He thought Brackenreid looked pretty drunk before deciding it was a ruse to avoid accepting Rosa's ministrations.

Poor Rosa - Etiie had been right that not everyone gets what they want...

"Johnny, me' laddie!" Brackenreid lurched upright towards Julia. "Wha' d'you say you get me back to our hotel afore I embarrass meself?"

"Of course, sir." She grabbed a waiter while trying to support Tom. "Can you get us a cab? Unh... prendre un taxi?"

"Laissez-moi. Allow me," William said. "I will help get your drunk friend in the carriage." He took one of Brackenreid's arms, and Julia took the other as they headed for the door. "I pity you, young man, for having a drunkard as a boss. Quel dommage. What a burden that must be for you…"

"Watch it," Brackenreid growled under his breath. "I'm here saving your ass…" as Julia tried her best not to laugh.

After getting them to a carriage, William bade them farewell and returned to the brothel, chuckling under his breath. He needed to fix this mess to reassure Julia with his continued presence and not just an occasional demonstration of his affections.

Julia could barely contain herself until she and Tom were back at their hotel and safely behind closed doors.

"That was a bloody long conference with Murdoch. No doubt you did more than talk," Tom launched at her before she could speak. "I nearly sacrificed my honour for the cause."

Julia blushed but smiled. "Well, Tom, it was a brothel; what did you expect?" she asked with a grin and was rewarded with a blush in return.

Taking pity and deciding they were even, she continued. "I have the plan, or what William hopes is the plan. Do you want it now, or do you need some coffee first?" she asked.

"I hate the bloody stuff, and I am as sober as a judge. What's he got in mind?"

The two of them huddled at Tom's small hotel room table. "Nothing good, I'm afraid. William's deal with Terrence Meyers is for him to be bait - get the Black Hand to approach him or think they are using him to get close to Anna. Meyers wants to insert a spy in their organization in the process. Mr. Meyers thinks Mr. Falcone himself will be here in Montreal by tonight, either in pursuit of William, Anna, and Harry, or to make a criminal deal of some kind. Or both. Leave it to Terrence Meyers to put William in the worst sort of danger. Mr. Meyers isn't even providing protection or watching his back!"

"Bastard!" Tom scoffed and nodded. "Unfortunately, that tracks. Where is the boy?"

"I don't know. William says Harry is safe but doesn't even know where he is - to keep it that way. He checked into the address Harry took from Anna's journal. I know exactly where it is - an entrance to the Sisters of Charity of Montreal complex - it houses an orphanage, infirmary, and soldiers' home. He thinks Anna chose it as a place of refuge. She'd hide there as a nun or postulant, or a nurse perhaps? And get Harry housed there as an orphan?"

"Miss Fulford is safe now?"

Julia had gone from the last shreds of jealousy and despair over William having had a lover - one who produced a son of all things - to outrage after William told her what Meyers had done. "Mr. Meyers is essentially holding her hostage to get William to do his dirty work for him!"

"I'm still not hearing a plan," Tom pointed out.

Julia sighed. She'd argued with William against it as hard as she'd rode him when they were in bed. Only one of those actions produced satisfactory results…

"Tomorrow or the day after, he will reveal himself, make it look like he slipped up his disguise so that Falcone or his men will be able to locate and follow him," she said. "He will lure them to someplace, alert Meyers, then wait to confront Mr. Falcone, who will think he is meeting Anna."

"And if I get the chance to shoot that wretched Frank Rhodes, or Falcone himself, who is to say one or the other doesn't end up in a barrel of lye himself? Hell, why not both?"

Tom's words truly shocked her. "You're not serious?"

"Listen, doctor. War is a bloody business. And this is one - it's just one that's played out in our own cities over many years instead of brief bursts on a battlefield. The only reason Miss Fulford is alive is because Murdoch tricked an evil, dangerous man, rather than compromise himself or the law. Wars have started over less betrayal than that. Besides, there is a stink around this whole thing. Ever wonder how Jake Matthews had a clue where Miss Fulford was? How would he know, after all this time? When she was living an anonymous life in Cleveland, of all places? What kind of trouble did she get in there? And why does she flee to Toronto and then not contact Murdoch? Or make for Montreal? Makes no sense."

Julia felt some of her unease give way. "William says the same thing - not about war - but thinks those are valid questions too." In her hurt and haste of the last few days, she hadn't thought through the chain of events. William was right - some things didn't add up. He'd managed to convince her that while he had affection for Anna, his life was with her, his wife. She thought William was less convincing about Harry - but her training as a psychiatrist told her to pay more attention to what someone does than what they say…

Time will tell, she reminded herself.