Chapter Nine

"This is too much," she yelled out loud. "Just too much!" Julia stood with her fists on her hips in outrage.

How is it that bodies in my care have a habit of vanishing!

This was supposed to have been a fun weekend with her friends, an opportunity to escape the demands of the city, their jobs, their responsibilities and expectations. Instead, she was stuck with yet another busman's holiday, and she'd had enough.

If we're successful in our endeavor for a child, is this what we can expect our family vacations to be like?

Grunting in exasperation, she set out to find her husband, fuming all the way.

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

William scratched the skin over his right eyebrow in consternation whilst surveying the room. This is rapidly getting out of hand.

Worse yet was the occasional glare he was received from Marcus Murray, which he presumed had something to do with the assignation planned by his wife, Philomena. Up to this point William had calculated that it was better for him to question Julia's friends to avoid putting her in an awkward position; so far the other house guests were rather disinclined to subject to themselves to his investigation, becoming more anxious as time dragged by.

Composures were starting to unravel.

"That's it! I am sorry but my nerves cannot take any more. Robert? I wish to leave, right now!" Leonetta was not the only one who was distraught. Rose Nottingham and Margaret Swift were beside Leonetta to calm her down, worry etching both their faces. "That woman cursed Samuel, and he is dead." Leonetta returned to this topic like a skip on a gramophone recording. Her husband just sat with his head in his hands.

"Oh for goodness sake! No one is going anywhere." Philomena threw out sharply. "A blind woman spouts vague nonsense and you go all aquiver. You are committing an error in logic. Post hoc ergo propter hoc – drawing cause and effect conclusions where none exist. Samuel suffered a tragic accident; that is all. Besides, that Gypsy pointed in Donald's direction just as surely as she pointed at Samuel—they sat right next to each other."

"Here now!" Donald complained as Dorcas gasped. Several others grumbled in agreement with Philomena. Clint Harrington sat consoling Caroline Balfour, who had only stopped trembling when Skidoo presented himself to be petted, his huge beige and black head resting in her lap.

"Phil is right, 'Netta," Clint said soothingly. "A tragic accident early this morning, nothing that anyone could have predicted. We all know how Samuel was; the water was his life and he was fearless, so I am sure he was trying to go for help."

His brother Clyde echoed the sentiment, which did not stop Donald Harvey from taking a verbal swipe at Samuel, violating the first rule of etiquette, to not speak ill of the dead.

Grant King slapped his drink down on the leather-inset table in protest. "Be quiet, you miserable bastard! Have you no decency?"

William was concerned it would come to blows when he spotted Julia standing in the hallway. She caught his eye and pointed "up."

Finally! Some I actually want to speak with!]=

He nodded at her with a small shrug to let her know he'd be along.

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

Making sure no one could observe her, Julia motioned to William to meet her in their room where she waited impatiently, her agitation building. Once her husband opened the door she collapsed in his arms in tears. Her anger had dissipated into a mixture of both ire and fear once she found the silent strength and love of her husband. Somewhere between sobs and exasperation, she managed to tell her husband that Samuel's body was missing.

"What?!" William was flummoxed. He'd been alarmed at Julia's emotional display, then it took a minute for him to register that she was serious. "Is this another of your friends' tasteless pranks? Rather morbid…"

William saw his wife's face fall. Oh, dear. That was not quite right… Recovering quickly he asked. "Julia, did you see any evidence of what happened to his body?"

Julia shook her head. "No, nothing obvious. The floors are wooden, so no drag marks over carpeting. The bedclothes are still there, I think. What on earth is going on?"

"Julia, I admit I believed all these odd events were merely pranks or some sort of hoax. Now I wonder if there has not been something more malevolent going on."

"Not you too! Believing in ghosts and spirits!" She sighed. "What do the others think killed Samuel? "

William flushed briefly. "The consensus is for a tragic accident."

"Well, I think our new development rules out accident, don't you?" She exhaled in exasperation.

"Agreed. I think it also rules out suicide as well." William was already thinking through the implications.

"The body did not get up and hide itself, um…this time." She had a memory flash of another corpse who got up off her gurney in the morgue. "The cook told me he passed her just before dawn on the way out of the kitchen door. Time of death is therefore between six thirty and ten."

"None of the other guests admitted to seeing him this morning, although no one was all that forthcoming."

"My thinking was that certain kinds of perimortem injuries or bruising would confirm an altercation which is why, I assume, the body was removed. Therefore, I am now leaning towards assault, meaning Samuel was murdered." She paced a bit. "What I want to know is where he was and what he was doing in the hour between when Grant said he left his room and Cook says he left the house."

William watched her stride back and forth like a clock pendulum. "Actually Julia, I think we have a more pertinent question: What are the odds the person who removed Samuel's remains was NOT involved in his demise?"

"Because no one would move him unless they wanted to obscure evidence. I hate it when that happens…" Julia muttered. "Who could have removed him on their own? You know how difficult dead weight is—literally. Clint is strong enough I suppose."

"And Donald Harvey?"

Julia did a clinical appraisal of the man's physique. "It is hard to know how much muscle is under all that excess padding. He would have had trouble maneuvering because of his own bulk…but I would not put it past him."

"We only have to pin down the time between when you left Samuel's body and when you discovered he was missing, then we look for who cannot be accounted for." It did not escape him that also meant he did not have to say anything about Philomena's early morning proposition.

They made their way to the other wing of the house. Julia and William knocked quietly on Thelma's door. Daphne answered, ushering them to chairs set beside the fire.

"What have you come up with, Julia?"

Thelma's question was direct, just as Julia expected. Her friend was red-eyed yet composed. Julia faltered a bit, having second thoughts about telling the two sisters about losing their brother's body.

"Mrs. White, Miss Wilmont, have either of you made any decision about Samuel's body?" William tried to ask matter-of-factly. "Had his…remains… moved to another part of the house, for instance…?"

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

Word quickly spread throughout the house that Samuel's body was missing, and unsurprisingly, what had once been a thick tension began to devolve into all hell breaking loose: With the causeway washed out and no telephones or electricity to call for help, they were all seemingly trapped with a killer.

Drinking some of Samuel's fine single malt scotch in the billiard room, Julia could hear Leonetta's shrieks from one floor and several rooms away, rolling her eyes so hard she was surprised her eyes hadn't stuck there as her nanny had been fond of telling her once upon a time.

Considering how foolish some of them are acting, it's going to be death by misadventure for a few of them at the rate they're going, she thought churlishly, finishing her drink and pouring herself another.

She and William continued to remain calm and quiet while the rest of the house panicked in one form or another. William is right, they had no jurisdiction at the house, and there was, now, nothing tangible about Samuel's death that could prove foul play other than his missing corpse.

Over on one wall, William was busy creating a grid on the game-room's score board to organize their information. He raised an eyebrow at her alcohol consumption but said nothing as she paced the room, looking out the window. Outside, Grant King and Bruce Nottingham could be heard discussing ways of making the old lighthouse operational once more and signaling for help that way.

William chose to remain in the billiard room, figuring that his presence would be unwelcome as he had alienated any good will with his earlier questioning. Besides, if they need any help, they know where to find me, he thought. He put the chalk down and dusted his hands.

"Julia? Come here, will you? What do you think?" William stood back from his work so he could view the whole picture better. "I can identify only four people who do not have an answer for where they were from approximately ten-forty until twelve noon: Bruce Nottingham, Donald Harvey, Caroline Balfour and Clint Harrington."

"Caroline? She and Clint were probably hoping for privacy," Julia observed.

"Perhaps, but they do not alibi each other."

"Could that be a ploy to divert suspicions of them working together?"

William thought that was a devious idea and told her so. "What I don't understand is who would have a motive for killing Samuel. There is nothing I learned about Clint Harrington to suggest a motive. Caroline Balfour was a last minute addition to the party to which Samuel objected for an unknown reason. Mr. Nottingham inherits the property, according to what Thelma White told us. Donald Harvey hoped to purchase the property, so his motive might also be financial gain, but by all accounts Samuel and he did not argue—it was Grant King and Samuel who actually had words."

"Honestly, William, you may as well look no further than Donald Harvey until you are 100% certain he isn't involved; but of course you won't have to, because that odious cretin is responsible," Julia erupted at the mention of Harvey's name.

William was shocked. "Julia, I understand Mr. Harvey was an obnoxious person at university who seems to have not improved over time. But why are you so certain that he is the culprit?"

"Because he's an evil man!" she snapped.

"Julia, I don't understand. It sounds like you are holding back. Speak plainly."

She was ambivalent. Having started the conversation she was uncertain she wanted to see it through; it felt too ugly. "Surely I'm not the only one with a difficult secret, you must have a couple yourself." Julia deflected from answering. "Don't you have a secret or two William? Things you have not ever shared with me, or your priest?"

He startled, feeling heat on his face, thoughts immediately going to Julia's first wedding day: his priest was the only human with whom he ever wanted to share that secret. He pressed his lips tightly: there were in fact more than a few things he'd never shared with his wife. Thankfully, Julia did not seem to notice his consternation as she rattled on…

"You cannot tell me other institutions, the constabulary or the Church for that matter, will not protect themselves with secrets and lies? William - surely this is not a new concept for you?"

"Julia," William said carefully, trying to get back to the problem at hand. "What about Donald Harvey?"

Eyes flashing in anger, she clenched her fists. "Women aren't allowed to tell him no," speaking through clenched teeth. Squeezing her eyes shut, she shook her head as though she were trying to rid herself of a bad memory. "I told you that he was my laboratory supervisor. He was a couple of years ahead of us and amongst the students who most vociferously objected to the addition of women at school. Then, once we were admitted, as an upper classman he enjoyed his position and the power it gave him over us. And believe me, he used it…"

William noted her odd tone of voice along with her enraged facial expression and felt his blood run cold. "Clearly something substantial has happened between the two of you that you have yet to tell me. Speak plainly, please," William asked, his own concern contributing to the escalating tension in the room.

"William…" she vacillated for a moment, trying to get a handle on her rage so that she could speak coherently. "As I said before, he doesn't take no for an answer." Julia said this in a rush, then rose to pace, talking furiously, control lost. "He forces himself on you whether you want his attentions or not… he doesn't think you should have a say in the matter because you're a woman and he's a man – it's your job to fulfill his wants and needs!" She inhaled a gulp of air to go on. "Initially he started out with inappropriate comments, but I had prepared myself for those, and when he saw that those had no effect on me, he began with inappropriate touches that grew bolder with my lack of capitulation or reaction. Finally, he exposed himself to me and pleasured himself, telling me that if I was going to be a doctor, I had best understand how the male body worked!" Julia turned to William and spat the last bit out.

William was appalled, taking a moment to absorb the full impact of her words. "I see. It seems to me that silence has protected men like Donald Harvey, so why keep it? That does not sound like the woman I know…" he wondered aloud.

Laughing sharply, Julia took another pull on her drink, the scotch fueling her righteous anger. "Haven't you listened to a damn thing I've said over the years, William? To anything that other women may have told you? I never came forward because it would have been used as an excuse to bar women from McGill and perhaps from higher education beyond a single school. That was a real possibility! Though I did nothing to invite it, it still would have been my fault; I would have been the distraction. Little to nothing would have happened to him, but I and the other women would have been ruined. We would have been sent home, and the great experiment called a failure," she snorted.

William thought he could appreciate that sort of prejudice and pressure. He looked at her critically, imagining those experiences explained her attitude towards certain male colleagues over the years. "How did you successfully manage him?"

Draining the contents of her glass, Julia continued. "Well…I remained stoic in front of him. I, um…may have made an offhand comment about his abnormally small genitalia…." She bared her teeth wickedly at the memory. "The next time we met, he told me that it was time that I learned how babies were made. But I was prepared for such an event, and I had asked Philomena to hide in a cabinet. She sprung out with a camera and snapped a photograph and ran out of the room before he could destroy the evidence. I told him that if he was ever untoward to me again, I would ruin and humiliate him. It worked, but he has hated me ever since." Julia calmly finished before standing up and walking over to the bar, pouring herself another drink. "I suppose I would be remiss if I did not state that letting the other women down was also a factor in how I chose to solve my …. untenable situation ." She looked at him and sighed. "My pregnancy would also have proven all of the naysayers right, and I would have hurt more than just myself," she whispered, looking down at her lap. "It was always more than just me," she whispered, looking down at her hands.

Exhaling, William nodded and stood, taking in the enormity of what he'd been told. "Julia, was he…" William fumbled, unsure of how to phrase the loaded, bitter tasting question. "Was Donald Harvey the man responsible for your untenable situation?" William asked, fearing the answer, but to desperate to know.

Julia, who had been taking a healthy swig of fine scotch at that moment, barely avoided spitting it out. She'd not been prepared for the question. But seeing the genuine concern on his face, she relented, making a point to remove all anger from her voice.

"No, William. Unfortunately, that was a mistake of my own choosing," she replied.

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

William went downstairs to round everyone up. Notwithstanding Julia's hatred for Mr. Harvey, and his own disgust, William was trying to keep an even hand and an open mind, with plans to focus on Clint Harrington, Caroline Balfour, and Bruce Nottingham as well as her nemesis, Donald Harvey.

Julia promised to follow in a minute with Thelma and Daphne. Meanwhile William was de facto presiding again in the drawing room where no one was willing to confess to having moved Samuel's body. Unfortunately, before he could make any headway on that, he had to make order out of the chaos.

"We must be allowed to leave!" This time it was Dorcas Harvey pleading her case, causing Leonetta to re-commence her weeping. Robert Fairweather kept patting his wife's hand in consolation, while Donald Harvey groused as he paced, adding to the tense atmosphere.

Bruce Nottingham tried to inject some logic into the room. "We cannot leave until the water level drops or a boat comes from the outside. I am very familiar with the way the water runs after a rain storm this heavy—there's flash flooding and the river runs high into the lake."

"What about the lighthouse in the tower? Is the lamp still there? Can it be lit and turned towards land?" Margaret asked. "Or can someone swim over?"

Grant King answered that. "No, to both questions. The visibility is too poor even if we could get the old light going. If someone swam over, it is miles of walking before getting to a boat or telephone, let alone get to town."

"Besides, Mr. Murdoch here thinks we are in a Dorcas Dene detective novel by Mr. George Sims or he is some sort of Sherlock Holmes about to announce who the killer is, eh Murdoch?" Donald Harvey's jibe got the whole room complaining again.

William extended his hands and coughed to get attention "Ladies, Gentleman. Mr. King and Mr. Nottingham are correct. The river is running high at the same time the waters of the lake are rebounding back this way. As you can see," he motioned out the window, "to make matters worse, weather is closing in on us again."

The noise abated slightly. "And what about you? Who are you to question us?" Donald Harvey stopped pacing long enough to throw out from the back of the room. "By the way….where were you early this morning?"

William saw Marcus Murray glower at his wife, while she gave him an innocent smile.

"Stop it, Donald. Not every man takes his vows as a mere clause in a business contract that can be buried in vague language and fine print." Thelma entered the room, taking command with her clear voice. She put her glasses in her left hand to rub the bridge of her nose with her right. "I trust him, Donald; that is enough. I asked him to help."

The room was silent except for the fire crackling and popping in the grate. All eyes eventually, if begrudgingly, migrated in William's direction. "I have no interest in anything that transpired last night or early his morning, nor do I imagine does anyone else." He cleared his throat again, wishing he was dressed in his usual work day suit to lend additional gravitas to his presence. "I'd like to speak with you, Mr. Harvey, also Clint Harrington, Mr. Nottingham and Miss Balfour, if I may? Starting with Miss Balfour."

He gestured to the hall as an invitation to some privacy. Caroline did not look towards Clint or anyone else, her eyes boring into William's. She rose gracefully and followed him out.

From Caroline he learned that she had initially thought it was another prank, angry about putting a dummy into the water dressed as Clint Harrington as another awful 'joke', then thought it actually was Clint who had drowned, which is why she had been so upset at the water's edge.

William visualized a comparison between the twins and Samuel Wilmont, seeing a general resemblance of height and colouring which survived the passage of twenty years.

"I am embarrassed to have been so beside myself…yet I am not sure I could have tolerated another such loss…" Caroline's face teared up as she accepted William's handkerchief. She had no witness for the time when Samuel's body went missing, having taken a brandy to her room and laid back down.

"I have no idea who would do such a thing, detective. Clint and Clyde were his great friends; they used to be called the 'triplets' or the 'Three Musketeers ' at McGill, pulling all sorts of mischief, roping in Grant as well. They treated each other like brothers. I cannot imagine any of them as capable of doing any actual harm, or disrespecting Samuel."

"Miss Balfour, do you know anyone who would wish harm to Samuel?"

She turned her large eyes beseechingly up at William, shaking her head. "You think one of us killed Samuel, don't you?" she stated, then Caroline stood abruptly at a commotion from the doorway, not waiting for an answer.

William swung around to the sight of Julia being helped in by Mr. Shaggis with Skidoo milling anxiously about.

"Julia?!" William went to her with his own anxiety mounting. She had a cloth held to her head with a tinge of blood showing.

"I …I am all right, truly." She sat heavily in a plush chair. "I was just frightened out of my wits for a moment…perhaps I had too much to drink earlier? Still, I think for now I just need a brandy to calm my nerves."

Caroline quickly fetched the drink and handed William a tumbler which he passed on to his wife, watching her take several shaky sips. "Mr. Shaggis, what happened here?" he asked, rather sharply.

"I found her sitting on the back stairs, well…actually Skidoo did." Mr. Shaggis patted the dog. "She's a little wobbly-like."

William knelt down and peeked under Julia's bandage. "Who did this to you?" he demanded.

Guests who followed Caroline pushed in, the Harringtons in the lead, followed by Josiah Atkinson, and Marcus and his wife.

"Another accident?" Marcus inquired.

"Accident my foot! This is no penny dreadful mystery, Marcus," Philomena hissed at her husband, clearly upset at Julia's injury. "This is serious. Someone has gone way too far! I am starting to agree with Leonetta—I want to leave. Now!"

"'Nostra Defendant Nos – We defend ourselves. That's what the entrance gate initials, NDN means; not the Nottingham family name. Rose told me." Dorcas' thin voice carried in the silence after Philomena's rant. Skidoo leaned against Dorcas' legs, nearly unbalancing her so she grabbed the dog's collar to keep herself upright. "The house takes care of itself."

William was not prone to swearing, but in his head he heard himself echo a 'Bloody Hell' as everyone began to fuss and complain, Skidoo's howl just adding to the din.

He sighed: Now what?