The Dalwich Desecration (16 page)

CHAPTER 15

I
t appeared, as with any pub in the whole of the British Isles, that Saturday night was the most popular time at the Pig and Pint. If the residents of Dalwich totaled five thousand, Raleigh Chesterton's establishment felt crowded enough to be hosting the vast majority of them. Colin, Doyle O'Dowd, and I were sitting at a table at the very back of the pub and there were enough people hovering about in clustered groups with schooners of ale that even the floor space was at a distinct premium. And given the high-spirited volume and revelry of the throngs of people, we were finding it necessary to speak at an elevated level in order to be heard.

“I appreciate ya buyin' me dinner after wot 'appened,” the young man said with a sloppy grin as he knocked back a slug of ale.

“I assure you that we all want the same conclusion,” Colin stated simply.

“Do either of ya 'ave a younger sister?” he asked.

“Neither of us,” Colin answered, leaving me both relieved and saddened that he had not mentioned my infant sister, Lily, whom I had lost so very long ago.

“Then ya can't really know what it's like,” he stated emphatically. “Mo was too trustin' of ever'body. I was always tellin' 'er 'ow most people ain't worth a fig and she shouldn't give a ruddy shite about any of 'em, but she wouldn't listen ta me. She thought she was clever and could take care a 'erself, but she couldn't. And ya know what?” He stared at us keenly, his dark brown eyes almost black in the flickering gaslight. “That's all I got left ta remember now. I shoulda made 'er come ta Mountfield so's I could keep a watch on 'er. Maybe married 'er off ta one a me miner blokes.” He took another pull of ale and dragged a sleeve across his lips. “ 'At's what I shoulda done.”

“Do you really believe you could have forced her to leave Dalwich?” I asked, eager to assuage his guilt just as I had so desperately needed someone to do for me after my mother's final rampage had left the entirety of my family dead.

He gave me a stiff shrug and stared off into the mass of people chattering and milling about, for whom this was just another Saturday eve. “I'd 'ave liked ta try,” he muttered after a minute.

I sipped at my soda water as I had not wanted to drink alcohol after having hurt my head, then downed a bit more of the willow bark powder Colin had gotten from the doctor to soothe my returning pain. For his part, Colin was nursing an ale with far less flourish than Doyle, which seemed not to make the least bit of difference to the young man as he waved our barmaid over to order his third pint. She was a pretty woman of middle years named Molly who had a soft, cherubic figure that assured her much notice amongst the men. Mr. Chesterton had told us she only worked Friday and Saturday nights, but I wondered if that wasn't about to change given the death of Miss O'Dowd.

“That Molly seems quite taken with you,” Colin remarked after she had left to fetch his order. “Has she been working with your sister for long?”

“Few years. But she's got five young kids, which is sayin' somethin' since 'er 'usband is at sea most a the year,” he answered cheekily.

“Oh . . .” Colin shook his head and chuckled. “I must be mistaken then.”

“You ain't,” Doyle answered with a proud sniff. “We 'ave it off every couple a months when I'm around. She gets lonely, ya know? So I do wot I can,” he laughed. “It's jest a spot a fun. It don't mean nothin'.”

“And your sister . . . ?” Colin asked quite suddenly, seemingly apropos of nothing. I cringed as I held my breath and waited to see whether Doyle was going to launch himself across the table at Colin.

True to form, Doyle's brow caved in. “Wot?”

“What did your sister do when she got lonely?” Colin pressed with sublime innocence.

“Wot kinda balmy question is that?”

“It is nothing of the kind!” Colin defended. “I am trying to ascertain the murderer of your sister, Doyle. In order to do so, I must learn everything I can about her in spite of your determination to continuously paint her with the brush of a vestal virgin. And while Edward Honeycutt appears to be the only man she was truly in love with, you seem prepared to disembowel him with your bare hands. Now why don't you start telling me the same truth about your sister that you are so willing to share about Molly.”

“Eh . . . ?” We all three turned to find Molly standing there, her brown hair curled up in a frazzled bun as she slammed another pint in front of Doyle. “Wot's 'at you're sharin' 'bout me?” she asked, her hackles raised as she stabbed her fists onto her hips.

“It weren't nothin'.” Doyle waved her off. “I'm tellin' 'em about your feckin' kids.”

She scowled at him as her name was hollered from somewhere off in the mêlée behind her. “That better be all you tell 'em. I ain't the one done nothin' here. I loved Mo. So don't you be sharin' shite about me.” She poked Doyle's shoulder with a finger before disappearing back into the crowd.

He snickered. “She's full a sport, 'at one.”

“I really don't care about her,” Colin said, his voice going flat as his gaze bore into the side of Doyle's face.

I could tell by the shadow that crossed behind Doyle's eyes that he not only understood what Colin was driving at, but didn't particularly appreciate it, either. “Mo were me only family, ya know,” he pointed out needlessly.

“Which is precisely why you need to start talking to us. Telling us the truth. Justice is the only vengeance you can bring to her death now.”

Doyle O'Dowd heaved a pained sigh and took a long pull of his ale before sweeping a hand through his wavy black hair. “She 'ad a big 'eart, ya know? She liked people. She liked ta 'ave a good time and laugh. Ain't nothin' wrong with that. Nothin' at all.” He gazed off a moment and I wondered if he was reconsidering the validity of his words. “After our mum brought us 'ere ta Dalwich, it weren't easy for Mo. She were barely more than a toddler, and our mum liked the inside of a whiskey bottle a 'ell of a lot more than she liked either one a us. After a couple a years I knew I 'ad ta get a job or we was gonna starve ta death. 'At's when I went ta Mountfield ta work at the mines. I did odd jobs fer a while, but soon's I was old enough they gave me a pick and sent me inside.” He shook his head as though trying to jostle the memories free. “ 'At's all I know. 'Cept leavin' Mo behind with our mum. . . .” His brow furrowed. “Didn't take 'er long ta start gettin' into trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Why's 'at matter?”

“It could matter a great deal,” Colin insisted.

Doyle glared off with an expression of pique, his lips pressed tightly together even as his eyebrows crumpled further. I thought it good fortune that Molly arrived at our table at just that moment with a dinner plate in each hand and a third balanced on her left forearm. “I got two fish and chips for the London chaps,” she announced as she set the plates in front of Colin and me. “And one shepherd's pie for the cheeky bugger from the ruddy mines,” she said as she swept the third plate from her arm and slid it in front of Doyle. “Now mind yer manners,” she said with a snort before heading away.

“Ya see 'ow it is with 'er?” Doyle said with great seriousness as he stared down at the perfectly bronzed swirl of potatoes atop his pie. “She pokes and teases and shakes her arse ta get me eye. And she gets it too. 'Cause 'at's wot she wants. Someone ta pay 'er a bit a mind. Make 'er feel like she's worth somethin' once in a while. And 'at's 'ow it was with Mo. Our mum didn't give two figs about us, so I went down inta the mines and Mo got 'erself inta trouble with some a the young blokes.” He dug into his dish, scooping out a massive forkful and stabbing it into his mouth with enough vigor to ensure we understood that he wouldn't be fielding any more questions at the moment.

“She started doin' some drinkin' of 'er own,” he continued when he was ready. “And why wouldn't she when our mum made such a sport of it?!” he grumbled. “But Mo got it wrong. She thought all them sods she was flirtin' with really cared about 'er. Ya know?” He took another bite of the dense mixture of beef, vegetables, and potato while we waited for him to start up again. I was certain I knew where this story was leading and found I could only poke at my fish and chips, though Colin didn't seem the least disturbed as he splashed on another layer of vinegar and tackled what remained on his plate.

“You
know
wot them arses cared about,” Doyle said after another minute. “It weren't long before she were carryin' a baby and couldn't even be sure who the wretched thing belonged to.”

“Your sister has a child?” Colin sputtered.

“She lost it!” he snapped back. “Thank the Lord,” he muttered as he quickly crossed himself, his fork bobbing through the air as he did so. “Our mum never knew, but Mo told me 'cause she 'ad ta tell someone.” He shook his head and slid the rest of his meal away, sinking back into his ale. “I tried ta tell 'er these guttersnipes didn't give two bloody shites about 'er, but she wouldn't listen ta me. She said they made 'er feel special.” He snorted derisively as he shoved his mug toward the end of the table next to his plate. “
Molly!
” he hollered to little effect across the din of the bar.

Colin poured the whole of his nearly untouched beer into Doyle's glass and slid it over to him. “I'm not much in the mood tonight,” he explained.

“Not in the mood?” Doyle laughed. “I ain't never 'eard a such a thing.” He snatched up the mug and took a slug with a cat's smile. “I do hate waste,” he said with a snort.

“I should think,” Colin spoke carefully as he pushed his plate away, “that given everything you've told us there must have been at least a few people in Dalwich who didn't approve of your sister's activities.”

Doyle's mouth curled acidly. “Who are any a them ta think the less a 'er? She were a good girl. She were—”

“I don't need to be convinced,” Colin interrupted. “I've already told you that I found her charming. What I'm trying to discover is who may
not
have thought her equally so? A spurned lover . . . ?” He eyed Doyle cautiously. “The wife of a spurned lover . . . ?”

“I don't know about any a that,” Doyle snarled.

“Then let me ask you something you
do
know about.” Colin continued to watch Doyle closely. “Edward Honeycutt tells us he was ready to make your sister his wife. Indeed, he appears quite distressed by her death. So why exactly is it that you find him so loathsome?”

Doyle's spine stiffened. “Ya think me sister couldn't a done better than the pissant son a some dairy farmer wot looks down on 'er? 'E thought 'e could 'ave 'er around whenever 'e wanted and when 'e got tired 'e'd jest push 'er away like an empty plate. I'd come back 'ere ta visit and she'd be all long faced and moonin' over the sod. Made me bloody brassed off. But every time 'e'd glance 'er way again, she'd go runnin'.” His face screwed up with displeasure. “She always went back.” His eyes appeared to almost blacken as he added, “And I know wot 'is da thought of 'er. I know wot 'e said about 'er.”

“So what?! She wasn't going to marry his father. She was betrothed to Edward.”

“Wot's a difference?” he sneered.

“Are you saying you're the same man your father was?” Colin pressed. “Because I can tell you that I am certainly very different from the man my father sought to raise.”

Doyle glared at Colin as though he thought himself on the verge of being tricked. “I don't remember me da',” he answered sourly, “so I really couldn't say. But if that old shite farmer 'ad anythin' ta do with Mo's death, I'll kill 'is whole bleedin' family.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Colin scowled, “should any of them turn up dead.”

Doyle's frown deepened. “I told ya what ya wanted ta know, so you had best get the bastard responsible right quick. I ain't sittin' around waitin' while you lot pussy around like a bunch a slags.”

Colin's expression fouled as he sat back and folded his arms across his chest, making me dread what he might be about to say. “We will ensure . . .” I quickly started talking before Colin could, “. . . that your sister's murderer faces the full wrath and judgment of the law. And if that doesn't suit you, then I would suggest you beware lest you end up facing the same fate yourself.”

“
Pish,
” Doyle waved me off. “Let 'em come down inta the mines and find me.”

“If I don't solve this case by week's end, you are free to do as you please,” Colin put in from out of nowhere, his demeanor clipped and impatient.

“Week's end? Today's Saturday,” Doyle said, his manner utterly wary. “Wot's week's end?”

“Friday,” Colin responded coolly. “The end of the week is Friday. By next Saturday Mr. Pruitt and I shall be on a train back to London. So tell me, was there anyone your sister complained to you about recently? Anyone she professed to being bothered by?”

“Nah.” He waved us off and slugged back more of his beer. “Mo didn't tell me shite like that. She knew I'd a torn anyone apart wot badgered 'er. Includin' that 'Oneycutt boy.” He leaned forward and stabbed a finger at Colin. “You be sure an' look at 'im real close. I bet 'e weren't so 'appy about Mo 'avin' 'is baby wot with 'is plans ta start some new life in London and all. I still ain't convinced 'e were really gonna take 'er anyhow. It's easy ta say now that she's gone. And 'is ruddy da' ain't one whit better.”