what he is.
And Digby was a magistrate, Julian recalled. He might have a duty to come forward with the letter, but surely he could choose which of the authorities he would approach. He had a good idea now who his choice would be.
CHAPTER
8
The Waters Stirred Up Again
W hat he needed above all, Julian thought, was to talk this whole business over with Dr. MacGregor. That evening, he called on MacGregor at Dr. Greeley’s and gave him an account of Mary’s death and the inquest. Dr. Greeley was settled for the night, leaving MacGregor free to talk with Julian in the snug, dark-panelled library.
“The verdict was a foregone conclusion,” Julian finished. “The coroner summed up briefly to the jury, making it clear what he thought had happened. An almost empty laudanum bottle was found by Mary’s bed, next to the glass that had contained her dose of cordial. Traces of cordial, laudanum, and water were found in the glass, ergo , she must have poured the laudanum from the bottle into the glass, diluted it with water from her water jug, and drunk it. The doctor’s evidence ruled out accidental death, but it didn’t necessarily follow that Mary was rational enough to be held accountable for her act. The jury understood what was expected of them and obligingly brought in a verdict of suicide while the balance of her mind was disturbed. So the enquiry is over, Mary can be buried in sanctified ground, and Harcourt left the inquest with a few more strands of gold added to his halo.”
MacGregor shook his head sadly. “Poor little soul. This city’s got a good deal to answer for—taking a nice, respectable girl and turning her into the most abandoned thing in nature. You can’t wonder she couldn’t live with the idea of what she’d been once, and what she’d sunk to now. But it’s a terrible thing she did, to put herself beyond hope or help that way. I won’t believe there’s a human soul that can’t be saved, if you can just bring to bear the right influence at the right time. Those Reclamation Society people were too harsh with her, that’s all. No point in beating a broken reed. Of course she was a sinner, but I wouldn’t punish a soul as frail and tender as hers, any more than I’d bleed and purge a body that’s weak with disease—though I know there’s many a medical man who’d disagree with me about that! Oh, well, it’s a pity you didn’t reach her in time. Something might have been done to help her.”
“Yes, it is a pity,” said Julian quietly.
MacGregor looked at him very hard, then exclaimed, “I see why you’re in such a fret about this! You young lunatic, you think it’s your fault she’s dead!”
“I don’t think it’s my fault, exactly. I didn’t pour the laudanum down her throat. But still—I can’t forget that Sally wanted to go to the refuge yesterday, and I told her there was no hurry. A day can’t make any difference, I said—”
“For God’s sake, man, you couldn’t have known! You had every right to assume that, of all places the girl could be, a refuge run by a clergyman would be the safest. And who would have thought she’d put hands on herself just now? She’d only just written that letter—it was dated this past Saturday evening, wasn’t it? So she couldn’t have sent it more than three days ago. You’d think she’d have waited long enough to give whomever she wrote to a fair chance to come and find her—”
He broke off. Julian was leaning toward him, his greenish eyes strangely alight. “So that’s struck you, too?”
“What are you getting at? Dash it, man, what’s this all about?”
“You’re exactly right: why should she kill herself when she’d only just sent her letter? It may have miscarried somehow—it’s hard to believe she intended it for any of those three men. But she must have thought she’d posted it successfully: Florrie Ames told Sally she’d been in better spirits the past few days. This was no time to kill herself. If
And Digby was a magistrate, Julian recalled. He might have a duty to come forward with the letter, but surely he could choose which of the authorities he would approach. He had a good idea now who his choice would be.
CHAPTER
8
The Waters Stirred Up Again
W hat he needed above all, Julian thought, was to talk this whole business over with Dr. MacGregor. That evening, he called on MacGregor at Dr. Greeley’s and gave him an account of Mary’s death and the inquest. Dr. Greeley was settled for the night, leaving MacGregor free to talk with Julian in the snug, dark-panelled library.
“The verdict was a foregone conclusion,” Julian finished. “The coroner summed up briefly to the jury, making it clear what he thought had happened. An almost empty laudanum bottle was found by Mary’s bed, next to the glass that had contained her dose of cordial. Traces of cordial, laudanum, and water were found in the glass, ergo , she must have poured the laudanum from the bottle into the glass, diluted it with water from her water jug, and drunk it. The doctor’s evidence ruled out accidental death, but it didn’t necessarily follow that Mary was rational enough to be held accountable for her act. The jury understood what was expected of them and obligingly brought in a verdict of suicide while the balance of her mind was disturbed. So the enquiry is over, Mary can be buried in sanctified ground, and Harcourt left the inquest with a few more strands of gold added to his halo.”
MacGregor shook his head sadly. “Poor little soul. This city’s got a good deal to answer for—taking a nice, respectable girl and turning her into the most abandoned thing in nature. You can’t wonder she couldn’t live with the idea of what she’d been once, and what she’d sunk to now. But it’s a terrible thing she did, to put herself beyond hope or help that way. I won’t believe there’s a human soul that can’t be saved, if you can just bring to bear the right influence at the right time. Those Reclamation Society people were too harsh with her, that’s all. No point in beating a broken reed. Of course she was a sinner, but I wouldn’t punish a soul as frail and tender as hers, any more than I’d bleed and purge a body that’s weak with disease—though I know there’s many a medical man who’d disagree with me about that! Oh, well, it’s a pity you didn’t reach her in time. Something might have been done to help her.”
“Yes, it is a pity,” said Julian quietly.
MacGregor looked at him very hard, then exclaimed, “I see why you’re in such a fret about this! You young lunatic, you think it’s your fault she’s dead!”
“I don’t think it’s my fault, exactly. I didn’t pour the laudanum down her throat. But still—I can’t forget that Sally wanted to go to the refuge yesterday, and I told her there was no hurry. A day can’t make any difference, I said—”
“For God’s sake, man, you couldn’t have known! You had every right to assume that, of all places the girl could be, a refuge run by a clergyman would be the safest. And who would have thought she’d put hands on herself just now? She’d only just written that letter—it was dated this past Saturday evening, wasn’t it? So she couldn’t have sent it more than three days ago. You’d think she’d have waited long enough to give whomever she wrote to a fair chance to come and find her—”
He broke off. Julian was leaning toward him, his greenish eyes strangely alight. “So that’s struck you, too?”
“What are you getting at? Dash it, man, what’s this all about?”
“You’re exactly right: why should she kill herself when she’d only just sent her letter? It may have miscarried somehow—it’s hard to believe she intended it for any of those three men. But she must have thought she’d posted it successfully: Florrie Ames told Sally she’d been in better spirits the past few days. This was no time to kill herself. If
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