Chapter Two
On to Glacier House, west of Rogers Pass
"Marvelous. Absolutely marvelous!" William exclaimed his appreciation again, feeling supremely satisfied with his place in the world. This time he was not going west as a hollow, broken man, too distracted by loss, neglecting to even look out the window… This time he vowed to enjoy every mile and every sensation. His cheek felt cold, pressed against the window for an ever better vantage point. Each new vista captured his gaze: deep green firs and pines, grey mountain sides and glistening snow against impossibly blue heavens. It was a visual feast for his hungry eye. This time he was whole…
All the sweeter that this is with Julia. These days with her on the train, just the two of them, were almost a second honeymoon. No interruptions in the flow of their conversation, no physical separations. Except for the sleeping arrangements, he thought ruefully. Not having her in his arms at night, not making love with her was starting to be problematic…
He reached for her hand, pulling her closer and pointing to an interesting feature on the landscape. "Julia…no photograph, no poet, does it justice. Come here and see…" He could not help himself, wishing to share God's majesty. "Our country is unimaginably blessed and full of promise. Don't you think?"
Julia peered at the landscape rolling by at 40 miles an hour. "Yes, William. It is…"
The psychiatrist in her knew quite well her husband's enthusiasm and uncharacteristic hyperbole betrayed no awareness of an analogy between Canada and his own life. Since they first got on the train he had been constantly delighted by their travel, full of interesting facts and stories he had never shared before as the passing towns or countryside inspired him, such as what life was like as a lumberman, or working as a ranch hand. Her normally reticent husband was positively voluble about the Alberta Badlands.
I'd be jealous if I was not so impressed. She smiled fondly. When William was not glued to the window pontificating, he was speculating on improving the power of batteries by using chemical reactions, of all things. The depth and breadth of his knowledge never ceased to amaze her.
For her part, after the horizon-swallowing experience of grassland plains, then virgin forest, she was disoriented by the changes in geography. She had traveled in Europe, of course, experienced the Schwabian Mountain passes on foot and brushed by the Swiss Alps via train. Nothing prepared her for these mountains when they had first appeared in the clear, dry air like a great wall. Despite more miles and hours travelling towards sunset, these mountains did not seem to draw any nearer, testifying to how impossibly large they were and how deceptively far away. This morning the mountains finally presented themselves while dawn painted the entire range in an otherworldly light.
"…Breathtaking," she finished, feeling philosophical, adding a yet new adjective to William's list of 'amazing', 'awesome', through 'splendid' and 'stupendous', each expressed with boyish wonder. "I think once we are completely in the mountains themselves we shall feel small and insignificant indeed."
"Perhaps," he said in a low murmur. "But nothing, and no one, is as breathtaking as you." His hand slid behind her, gliding along her torso which was delightfully unencumbered by a corset. He inhaled her intoxicating scent and moved to kiss her lips, aware only of her, the glorious landscape forgotten.
Julia melted into him. William is full of public displays of affection as well. When she came up for air, Julia admired William's fine brown eyes, alive with golden flecks of reflected sun from the snowy peaks. He was oh, so handsome, especially with that huge, open smile on his face. She smiled back, feeling an inner glow of contentment, accepting an opportunity to linger a moment in his embrace.
His happiness is contagious, she mused, as she stroked his jacket lapel. This relaxed, intimate William is the best part of our trip so far.
She reveled in the warmth of his arms. When William had announced intentions for the two of them to visit his half-brother Jasper and Jasper's family for Christmas, she didn't know what to make of it. William had not once spoken of his brother to her in any depth, other than to relay an outlandish story about their improbable biological relationship. She knew of no meaningful correspondence between the brothers; he had not spoken Jasper's name in her hearing since before their wedding. More surprisingly, William Murdoch had never voluntarily been away from his job for more than a week, not even for their honeymoon…so proposing a month's - long sojourn was extraordinary. His explanation, by contrast, had been quaint: the hope of starting a family with her made him want to reconnect to his only living kin. She remembered the way he said it revealed such deep longing, she could not refuse.
A little cough interrupted her recollections. William let go of her waist reluctantly, slowly focusing on the newcomer who was gesturing to a chair across from them.
"Pardonnez-moi. May I?" A hearty-looking, bespectacled man with dark curly hair, a full beard and waxed mustaches stood in the aisle. William recognized him as one of the handful of passengers with whom they had been travelling since Toronto. He and Julia had, up to this point, been able to avoid scraping an acquaintance.
"There are no other seats," the man said apologetically.
"Of course. Of course, please, join us." William gave a polite head nod, then reached out a hand in greeting. "William Murdoch."
"Gaston Leroux." The man's handshake was firm. He bowed to Julia. "Madam," he guessed, by examining her left ring finger.
Julia graced him with a brilliant smile, letting her hand linger in his. "Doctor Julia Ogden."
"Enchanté. À votre service." He lowered his lips over her proffered hand. "It is the last chance for a meal before the train detaches our sleeping cars and this dining car. Myself, I am looking forward to the observation carriage for the mountain passageway."
"Are you going all the way to Vancouver, Monsieur?" Julia asked as William held her chair for her, and motioned for M. Leroux to sit.
"Merci. Oui, Madame. But I am remaining at Glacier House for a week. I am told the service there is excellent, much like this." The man circled his hand at their surroundings: an ornately decorated train car full of carved and polished wood, plush velvet-covered chairs and crisp white linens. The fresh flowers and gleaming silver were an elegant touch. Outside was barren and frozen, an apparent winter wasteland through which the train was hurtling. The juxtaposition could not be more startling.
Julia smiled pleasantly. "We are looking forward to our overnight stay there. Supposedly the views are like no other."
A waiter presented himself to take their orders for eggs, toast, salmon and ham. "Do you travel for business or pleasure, Monsieur?" William asked when the attendant left to fetch their tea. He was disappointed at having to share a table, however sharing was an inevitable part and parcel of train travel. Fortunately, travel itself was generally a neutral, safe topic with fellow passengers, which suited William just fine.
M. Leroux took it up politely. "The business. I am writing a story for my newspaper on your Canadian western mountains. It is a sabatique, I suppose, from my last assignment. By the time I am finished,I will have traveled from sea to sea the distance from Turkey to Portugal, all within the borders of your country; impressive land, even if it is not as vast as my last assignment in Russia." He paused briefly to gather himself. "These 'Rock-eez' are of interest to many on the Continent even in the, how do you say, death of winter? Skiing. Mountaineering. Or so says the railway company; my paper, Le Matin, wishes me to learn why." Leroux removed his pince-nez and winked. "If I may…I have been overhearing your narration as we have gone on, Monsieur Murdoch. You are well informed…."
William felt his face flush. "I…I apologize…" he stuttered. Several times he'd gathered an unwanted audience as he and Julia discussed their journey; in fact one whole afternoon Julia pointed out a collection of children who listened in rapt attention to his discourse on geological formations and archeological finds.
Leroux shrugged in that classic Gallic manner, his mustache twitching with humor. "Non, non, non…You have not been ostentatious or boring, but interesting. So many are ignorant of their own history, even a history so recent as Canada's..." The waiter reappeared, setting out individual pots of tea, and fine china so thin it was nearly transparent.
Julia saw the Frenchman check the color of his tea and pour, adding milk and sugar. "I enjoy this å la anglaise, which makes me unusual amongst my countrymen." Leroux saluted with his cup and drank, his mustache signaling approval at the first sip. "I imagine you two are travelling for the pleasure, are you not?"
"Indeed we are," Julia answered. "All the way to Victoria."
William tasted his own tea (plain, black). He doubted his domestic visit to a brother would be of any interest to an international journalist, so he foundered as a conversationalist. Julia, of course, rescued him nicely.
"Monsieur Leroux. As a journalist, I wondered what you thought of women's suffrage? Will votes for women come to La France?"
Leave it to Julia to launch into a controversial topic. What ensued was a spirited exchange between Julia and Leroux, who turned out to be a convivial table partner. From William's perceptive, he thought Julia's impassioned defense of enfranchisement, as well as her challenge to Leroux to publically support the vote, was brilliantly articulated, so much so the journalist found himself backpedaling under her intellectual assault. This time William felt it was necessary to do the rescuing during a natural break in the discourse as their meal arrived.
"Would you care to tell us about Russia? Were you there to report on the revolution?" William changed the subject, receiving a cocky glance from Julia, who clearly had won the argument.
"Oui." Another Gallic shudder. "Mais, non. Of that I will not speak. Not that. 'Bloody Sunday' is not something one would wish to revisit. I was there, you understand…" After a pause he brightened. "But I have a story regarding Monsieur Dreyfus. You know of him, yes? The press played its part. In my modest way, I helped overcome that travesty of justice…"
The Frenchman regaled them with his experience as the dishes came and went and the tea flowed. William and Julia were both enthralled with his investigative details, his finding of evidence, as well as Leroux's daring in the face of mortal peril. "The true facts were elusive, but we persisted, put it together and we prevailed!"
"That satisfaction I think we can both quite understand," Julia offered sincerely. "And, thank goodness you have come along to rescue us from the conversational doldrums of typical mass travel, Monsieur Leroux." Julia added. "The mind must have some sort of stimulation."
William gave her a sideways glance, hoping she was not indicating she was bored…or more particularly, bored with him. Julia put on an innocent-looking face, before engaging in a blush and girlish wriggle, a sure fire way to know she was going to be outrageous in some way. William was cautions about what was coming next.
"It has been, what six or seven whole days now since we encountered a disturbance, or excitement of any kind? Four of those days on this train and the ride has so far been completely safe and law-abiding. No murders, no kidnappings, not even a petty theft, dead moose, pick-pocket or random heart attack!" She tried to keep any disappointment out of her voice.
"This is exactly right, Madame. Danger puts the verve in life! The joie de vivre! One must have risk to really live! Do you not feel this as well, Monsieur Murdoch…?" Leroux's darkened eyes glittered as his colour pinked up.
William felt the hairs on the back of his head lift. Studying the other man, it seemed to William that Leroux was very serious about the allure of danger, perhaps so serious, that danger was nearly an aphrodisiac. Julia, I notice, is responding in kind. William merely shifted in his seat to answer indirectly. "I am a detective with the Toronto Constabulary. I can certainly appreciate how hard, yet rewarding, it can be to get to the truth."
"Un Gendarme! Bon! Then you must have quite your own tales to tell. What has been the most interesting, most baffling case you have ever resolved?" Gaston Leroux leaned casually away from the table, yet his face was alive and his look was penetrating. M. Leroux was no longer a mere fellow traveler; he had clearly morphed into a journalist, nosing for an entertaining story.
Shaking his head, William tried to demure. The most interesting cases he could think of, off the top of his head, all involved national security. He could just hear Terrence Meyers' intone a threat about treason, should a foreign national learn the Empire's dirty laundry. "I am sure there are more famous cases from Paris, considering France can boast of being at the forefront of forensic science."
Next to him, Julia stirred, her hand reaching across the table. "He is being modest, Monsieur. Detective Murdoch has been lead investigator on more than two hundred murder investigations and is an expert in those very same cutting edge scientific techniques. His approach to solving the puzzle of a crime has proven inspirational, even to Mr. Arthur Conan Doyle."
William was surprised at Julia's name dropping. "Julia, Mr. Doyle is quite capable of coming up with his own ideas…"
Leroux guffawed. "Encroyable! How small is our world?! I am acquainted with Monsieur Doyle as well. His character of Mister Sherlock Holmes is one of my favourites." He slapped his hands on the table. "Now I am overcome with curiosity, detective. Please indulge me…what case nearly escaped you, worked your mind the way Monsieur Doyle sets out the task for his Mister Holmes, but at the end you still prevailed?"
William was flustered, torn between pride and embarrassment…mostly embarrassment. He tried again to object, when his wife leaned towards him with a gleam in her eye.
"I am not sure even I know which case you found the most challenging. Toronto being held hostage? The bomber who demanded silence? The golden ladies?" Julia prompted with a quirk of her lips.
"Golden ladies? A city as hostage? You must tell me these stories." He hailed the water, asking for more tea.
"Please William. Indulge us both," she pleaded.
Looking from one to the other, William's resistance gave way. He did in fact have a case he found the most intellectually frustrating, and it was one Julia had had no part in, so as such it will be new to her as well. After the fruit and more tea was delivered, he began:
"I investigated a death where the victim was killed out in the open in a room full of witnesses, one of whom was myself. He was shot dead-center in his forehead. And yet there was no gunshot, no shooter. In fact there was no gunman at all. The room was immediately secured: no one entered or left. To solve the murder, I was required to crack a secret code thereby uncover five primary suspects and at one point I believed there was a conspiracy between them all to murder the victim out of revenge." William laid out his story step by step. "I even believed Mr. Alexander Graham Bell was involved." William was still embarrassed by that, and remained grateful the man did not hold it against him. He explained in broad terms how he discovered the weapon, how it was made, and the identity of the actual killer.
The journalist's mouth gaped. "The Devil! So, this man killed himself in a way that nearly guaranteed framing his perceived enemies for murder. Very clever!" Leroux was excited by the idea.
"Indeed. A homicide which was really a suicide. A situation where it looked like everyone did it, when actually no one did. The victim's desire was to cause maximum havoc and confusion, and maximum pain to the persons against whom he sought posthumous revenge," William answered.
Leroux looked impressed. "But, detective, how did you know?"
Julia herself was impressed. She was not involved in any way with the case. Back then, she was married to Darcy and out of William's orbit, out of the constabulary. It was still a period of time about which they did not really speak. "Yes, William. How extraordinary. How did you figure this one out?" She found herself sad and a little jealous that this case was solved without her.
He wrinkled the corner of his mouth. "I didn't. I came to several dead ends, followed several unproductive lines of inquiry. Eventually I eliminated all the other possibilities."
The dining car was empty now, except for the three of them. Leroux was quiet for a long minute. The tea was cold. Finally, when the journalist spoke, he was clearly in the midst of an epiphany of some kind. "A murder in a locked room… misdirection… everyone did it. A complex, seemingly impossible crime, an intellectual puzzle, the answer to which is not revealed until the very end." Leroux had a look of happy wonderment on his face. "Detective, I believe you have inspired yet another writer with your abilities."
William coloured. "Thank you. However, you must not give me sole credit. In this case, as in others, I rely heavily on my colleagues. In fact," he swelled a little in pride, putting his hand on Julia's, "Dr. Ogden has been invaluable for her insights in so many of my other investigations."
Julia saw another shift in the Frenchman. Leroux paused for a moment, looking critically across the table, then reacted immediately with more excitement, his eyes darting back and forth between her and William. She saw the man's eyebrows leap towards his hairline, followed by a broad smile, which lifted his mustaches in a maniacal way. What she initially took for the newspaperman's charm was now slightly alarming since the man positively thrummed with energy.
"Alors! It is so? You are theWilliam Murdoch? The detective? From Toronto? Of course! I have been blind…" He smacked his head with an open palm. "Too much the coincidence! We have another acquaintance in common I believe. Inspector Marcel Guillaume. Oui! He has in fact mentioned you to me." The mustaches twitched. "Both of you in fact…"
"He did?" Julia inquired skeptically, instantly remembering the good looking French policeman who had so gallantly kissed her hand.
Another mustache quiver. "Ah…Oui." Leroux leaned forward, sharing a wink. "Je comprende. I understand."
William did not like that, not one bit… Inspector Guillaume's point of view about… well about many things, was potentially dangerous. He was unable to utter a sound before being overridden.
"What exactly did he say…?" Julia was curious how some second-hand story about her from seven years ago stuck in this journalist's mind, particularly since William never said anything of note about Inspector Guillaume…and especially since he was bunching with tension next to her. There was a secret in there….She just had to know!
Leroux appeared to be very pleased to share. "Inspector Guillaume mentioned the clever Toronto Detective and the beautiful Toronto doctor." His smile widened as he gestured between William and Julia. "And here you are. On an anonymous train in the campagne. Ah, the oldest story, no?" He paused, blinking, dropping his voice. "Two lovers escaping the constraints of society? As a journalist I must be a keen observer of humanity; it does not take much to observe that between you is such passion…"
William held his hand up to correct Leroux's assumption, even more concerned about what opinions Guillaume might have shared, until Julia restrained him with a touch on his arm. She looked modestly down at her lap, then up from under her lashes. "Please, Monsieur. You are indeed astute. You will not give us away…or any more than we ourselves have already done?"
Julia wants people to think we are having an affair? For M. Leroux to believe she is my mistress?! William eyed his wife in uncomfortable surprise. Julia and her love of challenging social constraints… then he relented. He gave a tight smile at the Frenchman's conspiratorial laugh, grateful it was time to leave the dining car. He rose to pull out her chair.
"Monsieur Leroux, perhaps we shall be able to continue our discussion later, once we are in the mountains?" Julia begged with a flutter of her eye lashes.
Leroux's smile answered. "Bien sûr. Avec plaisir."
William let Julia get up from the table and begin down the aisle. M. Leroux also rose, catching William as he passed by, and whispered in William's ear. "Votre maîtresse est une femme séduisante. Je me demande si son époux sais la moitié de…?"
Initially William did not know how to react to that, then laughed, shaking his head, deciding no response was needed. William bade adieu then caught up with his wife, following her to the coach to claim their seats for the next part of the trip, while musing on Leroux's comment and Julia's antics at breakfast. He felt ambivalent about the whole thing.
Truth be told I really do not wish to have any further conversation with M. Leroux for the simple reason that it is disconcerting a complete stranger seemed to know so much about me and Julia. He glanced at his wife. And she is much too curious. I wonder how I can keep her occupied enough to put M. Leroux off? He barely noticed the train was indeed slowing down to shed excess cars and pick up a pusher engine to crest the Canadian Rockies at Rogers Pass, then on to Glacier House for the night. He must have been wool-gathering because Julia poked him firmly with her elbow to get his attention. "Ouch. Julia?"
"William! You look like there was too much lemon in your tea. Why such a sour face?" She smiled and took in a satisfied breath. "Your story was fascinating. Furthermore, I found M. Leroux all together charming. I do love the French accent, the French manners, the French…"
"…Ability to flatter or seduce?" He chuckled at her narrowed eyes and pouted lips. "I agree he certainly is an entertaining story teller; as a writer, of course, I should expect nothing less than that from him. I am afraid my concern is how dramatically he may embroider the tale. Miss Cherry comes to mind…or George for that matter." William tried his most disarming smile.
Julia knew his humour was an attempt to distract her. What is he so nervous about? she asked herself. Wanting to know was so very compelling. It itched at her to discover the reason. But how to get it out of him? She made her voice small and low so only he could hear. "William. You don't really mean to tell me that you are worried about a tale of fiction? It sounds rather to me you are worried he will tell the truth about something." She took his arm in hers and snuggled closer. "How is it, exactly, that M. Leroux would learn from Inspector Guillaume that you and I are lovers, hummm?" She teased. "Especially since we were not at the time. The most pious William Murdoch: the soul of discretion and epitome of propriety, being suspected of sinning. No wonder you are so cross."
"He knows nothing of the kind. And I am not cross." William gave her a sly smile while considering his options. "You are , at the moment, presenting yourself as a courtesan…" This rewarded him with a playful swat from her hand.
Do I tell her?... …Why not? he thought. She will love this.
He turned his attention to her face, searching her blue eyes. "Inspector Guillaume, and if I make a guess, M. Leroux as well, follow a particularly French custom of married men keeping paramours. Inspector Guillaume made a rather scandalous suggestion to me back then that I make you my mistress, since you were married to Darcy at the time, and in his opinion, married women make perfect paramours…" He was not going to tell her about Guillaume inviting additional women into his marriage bed. That idea was too far, even for her. "He thought wives were only for making babies…"
It was Julia's turn to gape. "William! What possibly gave him the idea I would sully my honour and be open to such a thing?"
William glanced about, satisfied their conversation was (mostly) still private. "Said the courtesean…" he stage-whispered. Another, harder, swat came his way. "I believe he was merely being provocative." He sighed, turning up the corner of his mouth. "I think he somehow knew my feelings for you; I suppose they were always obvious."
Julia had a clear picture of William's face on the receiving end of such a shocking proposition. Poor prim and proper William! Now it was Julia's turn, for a moment, to teeter between being irritated and amused, but the image in her head of a scandalized William was so priceless, she landed on amused. "If wives are only for breeding then I do not envy French marriages." She leaned towards him with a wicked grin. "Still. That was quite presumptions of Inspector Guillaume him to think of me that way. And perhaps over-confident in your ability to charm..?" She steadied her eyes on him. "And what, pray tell did Monsieur Leroux whisper to you?"
He was caught and he knew it. "Monsieur Leroux wondered if your husband enjoyed even half your charms." He took her hand to kiss it, fondling her wedding rings. "Indeed he does. All of them. Guillaume was wrong when he said wives and lovers were for different purposes. You are everything to me, Julia: you are wife and lover and friend, making me the most fortunate of men. And I could not be happier."
"Nor I William." Julia felt a great warmth on her heart, and an urge to giggle. She settled back next to him, just as the train shuddered slowly to a stop. "Except…"
Turning to look at her, he sensed she was happy and teasing again. "Except?" he asked with a grin.
"Except I believe that, wife or mistress, you have failed in your duty these last four nights. I think you should have to make it up to me tonight at the Glacier House."
The prospect of making love with her brought him intense joy. He stroked her hair. "Hmmm. They say that it gets dark early in the mountains…."
-END- .
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A/N: Dear Reader, thanx for coming along for the ride. Reviews welcome: put a few words in the box below and hit 'send' and then another story will play shortly….
Thank you to JuliaJoyBell for help with a critical translation. Merci! (Anything good is to her credit, anything not is my bad) & "Dutch" for a beta read -rg
Story background:
I wanted to tell a story where William encounters someone, by chance, from the appropriate timeline at the end of 1905/start of 1906 and I wanted William to have an impact on that man. There are all those days on that train to Victoria, so I thought that would be a perfect opportunity for some Murdoch-esque coincidences. Since I think of the "Invention Convention" to be one of the most interesting and complex mysteries (plot, characters, suspects, gadgets and crime solving) they have done, I wanted to use that as well.
The Internet is a wonderful thing. Inspector Marcel Guillaume was a real person. MM time - shifted him a bit to get him and William in Toronto at the same time all those years ago. Marcel Guillaume was in fact a real-life police chief in Paris, renowned as an ace investigator solving many high profile cases – cases such as the Bonnet Gange, the murderer Landru, Violette Noziere, the Mestorino murder and assassination of French President Paul Dormer.
Gaston Leroux was also a real person who worked as a journalist, did cover the Russian Revolution & Dreyfus matter & very likely could have known Inspector Guillaume as they were Parisian contemporaries and their professional lives overlapped. It is not beyond comprehension that Leroux, as a writer and traveler, might have also had an acquaintance with Conan Doyle & would have certainly known his work. Like Guillaume in the MM episode, Leroux did have a wife and mistress. The internet says that Leroux suddenly gave up journalism in 1907 for fiction writing and that he was the author of the first "locked-room" mystery, called "The Mystery of the Yellow Room." That story was, in turn, an inspiration for Agatha Christie's "Murder on the Orient Express." Leroux's contribution to French detective fiction is considered a parallel to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's in the United Kingdom and Edgar Allan Poe's in the United States. I wanted William to be the person who set Leroux off on that tangent—so I did! I also wanted William him to voice the Sherlockian Occam's Razor explanation, which fits the solution to the "Invention Convention" plot so well.