CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Sunday July 2nd
Queen's Hotel
He got his hat and silently opened Julia's apartment door, leaving her sleeping deeply after talking with him half the night and another entirely successful session in her bed. He knew it was a hackneyed trope, but he felt freshly pressed - 10, maybe 15 years younger. His suit, on the other hand, was decidedly rumpled. Murdoch tried to smooth his favourite deep blue silk tie for the last time, having finally admitted the poor thing was beyond help - especially as it encircled a shirt collar whose starch had all dissolved into Lake Ontario
He considered leaving a note, dismissing that as trite. His trench watch, which had survived worse than a dunk in a lake, told him he'd have just enough time to go home, shower, and change before dealing with one angry owner of a sunken rental boat and figure out how to interrupt his boss' Sunday to tell Brackenreid what happened.
He smiled to himself, closing the door softly behind him. If he wasn't so intent on being stealthy as he went down the hall towards the back stairs, he might have struck up a whistle. He also would have noticed Ruby Ogden opening the door of the corner apartment, four doors down from Julia's, before nearly running into her. He saw Ruby was dressed in evening clothes from the night before. She met him eye to eye, only pinking up slightly when he tipped his hat towards her and she swung her long silk scarf around her throat. She had a love-mark low on her neck she was trying to hide; even though she could not see it, under his shirt, he knew he sported one as well.
An understanding of mutual shared destruction, he hoped. "Miss Ogden."
"Detective Murdoch! Fancy meeting you here." She looked him up and down as well, questioning his clothing - wrinkles and all - while struggling with the key in her door.
"May I help you?" he asked. He accepted the key, opened her door and returned the key to her palm. Since there was nothing that was not awkward to say, he bade her good morning and made for the stairs, a tiny bit of smugness creeping into his step.
He was almost out of earshot when he could swear he heard Ruby Ogden say something like, 'I see my sister is a woman of her word…'
Julia wasn't sure how she felt about waking up alone. On one hand, the morning after could be incredibly awkward - especially if there were no plans to ever see one another again. Last night had been different. It had been more than an act of physical intimacy...there had been emotional intimacy as well, and Julia wondered if it would ever be a fling - for either one of them. There was a peace with him that she hadn't touched in years, and wondered if it wasn't just her getting older, or had she met someone who could understand her?
Getting ahead of yourself, Julia. His wedding ring is gone, but he never got around to actually telling you if he was still married - and you never asked. But the ring was gone, and she wondered if that was significant. She wondered if that had anything to do with her...
William Murdoch certainly didn't come across as the sort of man who would strut about town, but he had previously thought that he was incapable of pleasuring a woman, and he now knew that was untrue. What if he embraced his newly restored manhood?
She got up, wrapped herself in her silk robe and settled on her couch to call down for the papers, then toast and coffee, and read her mail from Saturday while she waited.
Murdoch sat for half an hour outside of St. Paul's rectory with his eye on the priest's quarters, a modest house to the rear of the church property. He watched as the priests made their way from the sanctuary to their residence, knowing it meant he lost his opportunity to catch Eddie Cullen in the church. Through the first-floor windows it was easy to see Eddie's shadow as the man moved around his office, disrobing after mass, accepting his midday meal. Father Eddie Cullen was not going to find it unusual if he knocked on the door to gain admission. God knew he should unburden himself of his recent mortal sins; considering his life had been threatened, absolution might be a good idea. Eddie would approve. A private confession, communion, often camaraderie awaited, if only he took the first step.
For confession, I only have to say I am sorry and promise I will not sin again.
In his leather satchel were the required papers to file for divorce from Liza. He brought them to talk over with Eddie. All he had to do was sign and submit them. She'd be free of me. As long as I do not remarry, there is no risk of excommunication for me. However, what happened last night with Julia left him torn. The impotence, dogging him for years was, miraculously, no more.
Can I win Liza back if we can have a true marriage? A family? Be her William again?
He imagined going after his wife, trying to woo her back, rekindle their love - or failing that, seducing her, demanding of her, begging her to return to him and start over.
Through the window, he saw Eddie pouring his tea. Probably waiting for me, he guessed. Eddie, who is going to wait patiently, for however long it takes, until I show up for the rituals and ceremonies.
Mrs. Kitchen, on the other hand, possessed much less patience. She was fixing his favourite meal for his birthday and he did not dare be late. After luncheon was going to be a ceremony for the twenty-seven men the Toronto Constabulary lost in the Great War and unveiling of a plaque to their bravery. It was a familiar complaint he had with himself: So many died in combat, so many more stupidly cut down by illness or disease. Men were maimed and disfigured by the thousands only to come back to civilian life, wishing they'd rather have died with a bullet through the helmet at the front, since once home they were shunned because Society was uncomfortable with, even revolted by, a man who was not a whole and hale and handsome.
He was deeply angry it was only dead soldiers who were honoured for their sacrifice. Sometimes I think the dead are the lucky ones.
However, he had no intention of missing this ceremony for the world.
He shifted the satchel's shoulder strap, putting his back to the rectory and his feet on the pavement to walk home to Ontario Street, deciding confession was not even remotely possible, and missing Mass was the least of his sins.
Because I am not sorry about what happened with Julia and I am not ready to promise anything to anyone…
