A Journeyman to Grief, page 23
The bell clanged and the crowd quieted down. Both men came out slowly, but Lincoln pounced first.
“One to the snorter, the ruby flows,” said Charlesworth as he scribbled frantically in his notebook. “Oh, the African has got this round easy. The Chopper is staggering.”
Staggering he might be, but the round continued for almost thirty minutes, neither man giving quarter until the Chopper took a fall and the two men walked wearily to their corners.
The next two rounds were shorter, the Chopper taking both falls. It was now obvious that both men had taken dreadful punishment. Their hands were swollen and Lincoln’s right arm seemed almost useless.
“He could have broken it on that last parry,” said Charlesworth.
Round five had hardly begun when the Chopper threw out a swing, all the weight of his body behind it. He caught Lincoln high on the temple and he dropped like a felled ox and lay unmoving. The crowd was shrieking and calling at him, but Elijah and both seconds had to pull him by his feet to the corner.
“He’s done,” said the reporter, and Murdoch had to agree. Lincoln could hardly sit on his second’s knee. His brother was holding him upright. One of his eyes was completely closed, the other almost so. The bell rang to mark the end of the round, and the Chopper advanced to the scratch line and took up his stance. Lincoln struggled to his feet, took one step forward, waving his arms in front of him as if trying to find his opponent. He staggered backward and leaned against the ropes, panting and spitting blood.
“Mr. Green,” called the referee, “is your man up to scratch or not?”
Elijah spoke urgently to his brother, who shook his head and feebly pushed him away. He tried again to get to the line, but he was swaying too much. The Chopper walked toward him, his clenched fist at the ready, but before he could go any farther, Elijah grabbed the towel from the ropes and threw it down. They had forfeited the fight. The spectators began to shout, a mixture of cheers and catcalls. Murdoch could hear cries of “coward, cheaters.” They wanted the fight to continue. The mood was ugly, and Murdoch felt alarm for the Green brothers and their entourage. All together, the fight had lasted about an hour and ten minutes. Not long enough, obviously.
“Damnation,” said Charlesworth. “There goes my five dollars.”
An ill-kempt, odorous man standing next to him said angrily, “That bloody darkie’s a Miss Molly if you ask me. He didn’t hardly put up a fight at all.”
“I don’t know about that,” answered Murdoch. “He caught a good one from the Chopper. You could stop a train with a blow like that.”
Another man beside him chimed in. “That’s all right by me. I had a wager on the Chopper to win. Mind you, a scrap that don’t last ain’t worth a candle if you ask me.”
“I thought you weren’t supposed to bet. Didn’t the referee say it’s against the law?” said Murdoch.
The man released a spurt of tobacco on the grass. “I don’t give a fart about that. I just hope my tout is going to pay up promptly. Everybody was betting against the African so he’ll have to shell out a lot of dosh.”
Musgrave tapped Murdoch on the arm. “I’ve got to have a quick chin with a pal of mine, I’ll be right back. Excuse me, Mrs. Cooke, I’ll escort you back to the carriage first. You have been a complete soldier, if I may put it that way, a complete soldier, but the situation might not be safe.”
“Not at all.”
To her credit, Mrs. Cooke didn’t even pretend to be of a delicate sensibility. She had enjoyed herself.
Murdoch could see two men shoving at each other on the far side of the ring. Around them, angry men were waving their fists. It wouldn’t take much to turn the whole event into a full-scale riot, he thought. Charlesworth had vanished into the fray. The Green brothers had left the ring, and Murdoch could see them forcing their way through the crowd toward the barn. Lincoln was still unsteady on his feet and the cloth he was holding to his eye was soaked with blood. The knot of negro men Murdoch had noticed earlier also shoved through and he saw them all disappear into the barn. The Chopper was submerged in a sea of well-wishers but he, too, looked groggy.
“Mr. Murdoch, I’ve changed my mind,” said Mrs. Cooke. “I need time to consider what to do about Green. We can’t throw out an unjustified accusation. I would prefer you didn’t charge him at the moment.”
“I’m not officially on duty, ma’am, and I’d be insane to try to make an arrest for illicit gambling in this crowd, and as for stealing one of your horses and a carriage, I don’t have any evidence at the moment. I will go and have a word with Green, however. Please don’t wait for me, ma’am. I’ll find my own way back.”
“Very well. Come and see me tomorrow and we can discuss how to proceed. No sense in being hasty, is there? We must forgive those who trespass against us, after all.”
She was singing a different tune now. Whatever had caused her to change her mind and had given her such a lively air, Murdoch suspected had little to do with Christian charity.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
As he pushed through the crowd, Murdoch had to sidestep a man who had lifted a boy, presumably his son, onto his shoulders. The lad could have been no more than seven or eight and his face was alive with excitement as he swung his fists in mock battle, his father urging him on. Murdoch had a sudden memory of his own father taking him to see a prize fight when he was about eleven. It was a paltry affair compared with this one and took place in a local farmer’s field. Even to a young boy’s eyes, the two fighters seemed ridiculously mismatched, one of them a strapping blacksmith’s apprentice, the other a flabby, older man who had once been a champion. Harry had got them a place close to the ring, no beaters needed at this match. The ex-champion was canny and seasoned and at first that stood him in good stead, but after less than half an hour, the younger man’s better conditioning began to show. He landed blow after blow on his opponent’s face, closing both his eyes and causing his lips to puff out to twice their size. One blow landed square on the older man’s nose and as his head jerked backward, the blood spattered over young Will’s shoulders. Harry had laughed. “Got baptized, did you, son?” Murdoch couldn’t bear to let his father see how close he was to retching and he wiped off the blood as stoically as he could. The old champion’s seconds didn’t throw in the towel for another four or five rounds until the brawler’s face was no longer recognizably human. Later, Murdoch asked his father if the man had died. “No, but the poor bastard won’t be able to recognize his wife again,” was the reply.
The bruiser who had served as Lincoln’s other second blocked Murdoch’s entrance to the barn.
“No visitors. Sorry, mister.”
“I’m an acquaintance of Mr. Elijah Green. Tell him William Murdoch would like a word with him. He knows me.”
The man eyed him suspiciously, but he backed off.
“Wait here.”
In a few minutes, Green himself came to the entrance and stopped abruptly when he saw Murdoch. A few paces behind him was one of the young coloured men who had been standing aloof from the match, watching.
“Don’t worry, Green. I’m not going to arrest you, I wouldn’t be so foolish. I’m here unofficially.”
Green grimaced. “I didn’t think coppers were ever off duty if it suited them.”
“Well, this one is. Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”
“I suppose so.”
Green jerked his head in the direction of the man in his wake. “Jim, you stay on the gate. I’ll be back in a minute. Follow me, Mr. Murdoch.”
He led the way down the path. Fortunately, the crowd was drifting across the fields toward the carriages calmed by the fact that most of them had bet against Lincoln and had won their wager. A couple of men were taking down the chandelier and others were dismantling the ring.
They’d only gone a few feet when a man, thick-set, drunk and dirty, got in their path.
“Why’d you throw in the towel, Green? He could have gone on.”
“Not in my opinion,” said Green calmly. “He didn’t hardly know his name.”
“Lost me a lot of money.”
“That ain’t my fault, O’Rourke. It was a fair fight.”
The fellow didn’t budge. “So you say.”
He was shorter than Green but much heavier and there was a menace to him that Murdoch didn’t like. He’d met the man before. He stepped forward.
“You heard him. I saw it too. The Chopper landed a good one.”
Murdoch still had his muffler around his face so maybe his voice didn’t come out as strongly as it might have. The Irishman glared at him.
“I’m talking to this nigra, not you, whoever you are. Keep your nose out of it.”
Murdoch pulled away the scarf. “As a matter of fact, I have a very long nose. And I’m sticking it into your business. As I recall, Judge Robinson said the next time you were booked for taking wagers he’d make sure you were given the opportunity to visit Kingston.”
O’Rourke stared at him, the light was dim, only one lamp was left hanging on the nearby post.
“You’re a copper, ain’t you?”
“That’s right. Murdoch’s the name. Now like I just said to Mr. Green, I’m here unofficially so I can’t take you into custody for uttering threats or for taking wagers illegally, much as I would like to. But if you don’t bugger off I might suddenly find my badge.”
The Irishman muttered under his breath, looked as if he was considering defiance, then retreated.
“I thank you, Mr. Murdoch,” said Green. “I’m not in any mood to deal with the likes of him.”
They continued on the path that led to the rear of the barn. Here was another lantern and Murdoch could see a tethered horse and a carriage with the familiar yellow C painted on the side.
Green opened the door. “Come into my office.”
He climbed in and took a seat. Murdoch followed and sat across from him.
“What do you want to talk about, Mr. Murdoch? I can’t stay long. I’ve got to get Linc home.”
“I understand you’re managing prize fighters.”
Green looked weary. “I wonder who told you that? At a guess, I’d say it was Musgrave.”
“Is that what you do in the barn when nobody’s there? With the skipping rope? Very good exercise, that. And the Indian clubs.”
“You’ve got to keep yourself fit in my line of work. Training’s not illegal.”
“But taking a horse and carriage without permission is. It’s called theft.”
Green smiled. “I had permission. Daniel Cooke gave that to me a couple of years ago. ‘Take the carriage whenever you need, Elijah,’ were his very words. Let’s say it was a barter. He paid me next to nothing and in return I could have use of the horses as I needed. I have to travel around to find good venues and to see other fighters. I saw no reason not to pass on my opinions as to who might win to Mr. Cooke.”
“Do you have that agreement in writing?”
“No. It was a gentleman’s agreement.”
“Did he come to the fights with you?”
Green sat back so that Murdoch could hardly make out his face. “Sometimes.”
“Musgrave says he heard you quarrelling about one of the fights. Cooke wanted you to fix it so that your brother lost. Is that true?”
“If I say yes, I can be charged with running an illegal game. You might put your badge on. As it is, I’m claiming what you’ve seen is just one of many sports that gentlemen come to for pleasure. Nobody can say one way or the other, now can they?”
“Cooke’s death could be convenient for you.”
“The opposite, Mr. Murdoch,” Green answered sharply. “First of all, who will believe he had given me permission about the carriages? Not his wife, I’m sure. If she knew I was here, she’d probably have me arrested.”
“She does know. Musgrave brought her.”
Green’s shoulders sagged. “Is she charging me with theft?”
“Frankly, I don’t know what she’s going to do. She said she wanted to consider the matter.”
Green stared at Murdoch. “Did she now? I wonder what that means? From what I know about the lady, it won’t be good.” He peered out of the window at the now-empty field.
“You can always leave,” said Murdoch.
“Not now. She’ll make sure I never work anywhere else. She’s got me fast.”
“It’s my impression she won’t stop you from the fights. Perhaps the opposite.”
Green digested that. Neither possibility was a good one.
Murdoch didn’t know if there was anything he could do about it. On the other hand, he might have a little leverage over Mrs. Cooke himself.
“Is that everything? I should see to Lincoln.”
“In a minute. I’m curious about that paper Crabtree found in your box. The words have a different look to them now I’ve seen this fight. Were they really copy for your son?”
“Just that. I took some words from Mendoza’s papers. He was a celebrated man of the ring, an excellent fighter. Lincoln and I have been studying him. My Donnie is interested in the old sport, so I thought I’d give him the words to learn. Believe me, it had nothing to do with plotting Mr. Cooke’s death, as your constable suspected.”
“And the bloody sacking?”
“Just what I said. I had to bleed Bendigo’s abscess. Why waste good sacking?”
Gingerly, he touched the bump on his forehead. “Now this I was fabricating just a bit. The beam I said I walked into was Lincoln’s fist when we were sparring.” He shifted. “I must go now.”
“Sorry, I’m not quite done. First, I wanted to let you know I was sorry about what happened to Thomas Talbert.”
Green rubbed his hand over his face. “I’d almost put that out of mind with the fight happening, but I must say I was mighty shocked when I heard. Thom was nobody’s enemy.”
“At least one person’s, I’m afraid.”
“But he didn’t have much money, I’m sure.”
“It wasn’t a robbery. There were banknotes dropped on his body, obviously deliberately. All small denominations amounting to forty dollars.”
Murdoch was watching Green, but the man seemed genuinely bewildered. “What was the point of that? Oh no, don’t tell me you’re connecting it with some kind of wager?”
“Judas betrayed our Lord for forty pieces of silver. I was wondering if there was a message in that money. An indication of betrayal.”
“You’ve lost me, detective. What sort of betrayal?”
“I don’t know.” Murdoch took his sketch out of his pocket and held it in front of the lantern. “After death, Mr. Talbert was tied into this position.”
Green studied the drawing and Murdoch saw that tears had sprung to his eyes. “Was he, indeed? Such desecration to an innocent old man, I don’t understand.”
Murdoch replaced the sketch in his pocket. “Nor do I, at the moment. Was Mr. Talbert ever mixed up in placing bets on the fights?”
“No. He came to one about a year ago and said it made no sense to him to see two sane, healthy men who had no grudge with each other try to batter the other into raw meat.”
Murdoch was of much the same opinion, but he didn’t comment.
“I know Constable Burley already asked you this, but since you talked to him, has anything come to you? Any suspicions? Anything at all?”
Green shrugged. “If Cooke hadn’t been done in first, I might have pointed the finger at him. There was some enmity between them. They didn’t hardly see each other, mind, but sometimes Thom would drop a comment about Mr. Cooke that would have set light to straw and Mr. Cooke never seemed comfortable around him. I couldn’t understand it. Another owner would have got rid of Thom, I suppose, but Mr. Cooke kept him on. He wasn’t even that good a worker any more. I often had to do his job over again.”
They heard somebody calling. “Murdoch, where the hell are you?”
Murdoch looked out of the window. Musgrave, swinging a lamp, was walking around the field.
“You’d better see to your brother,” he said to Green. “If he’s not back to his normal self tomorrow, I want you to take him to a physician I know, a Dr. Ogden on Gerrard Street. I’ll speak to her. She won’t ask difficult questions.”
“Thanks, but he’ll be all right. He’s tough as shoe leather. It’s all part of the game. Next time, he’ll learn to be more careful. The Chopper just got in a lucky blow.” He hesitated. “What are you going to do? Are you going to arrest me?”
“That’s the second time you’ve asked me that. I’m starting to think you’re hankering after the good cooking in the Don Jail.”
Green managed a grin. “Not likely.”
“No, I’m not going to arrest you. I’m not here officially, as I said. It all looked like good clean fun for gentlemen to enjoy to me. I didn’t see any money changing hands.”
Green offered his hand. “Thank you. If I can return the favour sometime I will.”
“You can help me get back to the city. I don’t fancy an hour in the carriage with Mrs. Cooke.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The small church was filled to capacity, but there were only two white people in the congregation, Mrs. Stokely and Murdoch. For the first time in his life, Murdoch was conscious of being physically different from everybody around him. Growing up as a Catholic in a Nova Scotian village that was overwhelmingly Methodist had introduced him early on to prejudice and discrimination, but until somebody knew about his faith, he at least appeared to be like everybody else he met and was treated accordingly.
He had decided to go to the Sunday service at the Baptist Church on Queen Street, and on the way he had met Mrs. Stokely. She was touchingly glad to see him, but she looked wretched, wrung out by grief.
“We can’t have a funeral until after the inquest, but Pastor Laing will say some words of tribute today,” she said. “I’m sure Thom would have appreciated you coming, Mr. Murdoch.”
Murdoch felt uncomfortable. He hadn’t come from any fondness for Talbert, although he’d liked him. He came because he wanted to know more about the coloured residents of the city and he knew this was where most of them came to worship. He offered Mrs. Stokely his arm and they entered the church together. They were met at the door by Elijah Green, who was acting as an usher. He greeted Mrs. Stokely warmly and nodded at Murdoch in a cool, polite way. What had happened last night was in another life.
