Grace and Disgrace (25 page)

“I get your point,” Frost snapped. He swore under his breath. “I know I shouldn’t do this… but get goin’, already. And Tuohay—we never had this conversation.” He turned and shouted into the darkness, his call met by another. With a quick pace he headed back in the direction of Father Abrams’s grave.

The darkness poured over Tuohay, bringing with it a blanket of silence.

“Lucky thing for him he left when he did.” Eliza’s voice came from the branches above. “I was ready to drop on him like a stone.”

Tuohay wheezed in surprise, a tinge of humor on his lips. “How the blazes did you get up
there
?”

“Beats me,” was the shaky reply.

“Can you get down?”

“I’ll figure it out.” The branches rattled precariously. “That was quick thinking, Jack. But that Frost fella… he’s a blackheart. I don’t trust him.”

“He’s got motivations of his own,” Tuohay allowed, “and I played off those. It bought us a little time, in any case.” His voice softened. “Eliza, things are going to get… more dangerous from here on out. After this incident—I have a bad feeling. You have a career…a good career. An actual
life
outside of this madness I’ve lured you into.”

“
Je-sus
, Jack. You’re going to do this
now
?”

“Well—”

“Spare me the sob story, alright? I gotta concentrate on getting down without breaking my neck.”

“No, listen for a moment. The danger, the implications. They are real. Very real. You can walk away, and be free of this mess. And I would understand. I’m already eternally grateful for the assistance you have provided.”

“Maybe I should drop on
you
,” Eliza scolded. “Knock some sense into that head of yours. I sure as
hell
am not walking away now. Especially considering my position in this tree.”

There was a sigh from Tuohay, filled by a series of exasperated coughs and then a long silence.

“You still alive down there?”

“Do you own a gun, Eliza?”

There was a pause. “Why? Will it help get me out of this tree?”

“I’m being serious.”

Another pause followed.

“I thought as much,” Tuohay continued. “When we get to Boston, I want you to get yourself one. Nothing second hand. Riley’s is the place. I am sure you know where it is.”

“No more trying to talk me into deserting you?”

“You seem quite resolute, so no.”

“But do I—do I really need a
gun
?”

“Yes, Eliza. Unfortunately,
now
would have been a preferable time to have it.”

“
Now
? I was kidding about needing one to get out of the tree, you know.”

Tuohay’s voice was solemn. “Not for that. We’re breaking into Father Donnelly’s study—as soon as you get yourself down.”

The pervading gloom surrendered to the wind along the shoreline, beneath which a barricade of black clouds momentarily locked away the eye of the moon. The sharp scent of the sea permeated the courtyard, the garden so inundated with the smell of brine it seemed to be drowning in the roiling waters. But the sea was distant, the thudding of the waves an echo in the waning night.

The rectory rose before Tuohay and Eliza like an old acquaintance, familiar yet harboring its own confidences. It seemed to whisper into the silence, to breathe its knowledge of secrets and dark deeds, but in a language that only the wind and memories understood. Eliza’s boots clicked softly off the courtyard as she approached the rectory wall directly beneath the fateful balcony. The crimson stains on the rocks were invisible in the darkness, but the presence of the dried blood was as tangible as the rectory itself. 

She stopped halfway along the courtyard, Tuohay joining her with the click of his cane. A rectangular wooden trellis was propped against the rectory wall, shadowed ivy climbing up the wooden framework like a fountain of twisting snakes. It rose to the height of the balcony, providing possible access to the study. Eliza studied the wooden lattice with grim determination.

“Think that thing will hold my weight?” She immediately reconsidered her question and turned abruptly to face Tuohay. “Actually, don’t answer that.”

“We can find another way.”

“So are you actually saying that it won’t hold my weight?” Eliza put her hands on her hips, pressing her sullied dress close to her figure.

“No, I am not saying that at all.” Tuohay sensed that he was drifting into no-man’s land, and spoke softly. “I am simply saying that if you have any doubts about this mode of ingress, there are other options to explore.”

“If
I
have doubts?”

“You misunderstand.” Tuohay tried to remove the tired strain from his voice. “Simply put, I don’t want to place you in danger.”

“It’s a little late for that, Jack.” She narrowed her gaze at Tuohay. “And I appreciate your concern, but let’s face it—we don’t have time for gentlemanly manners. It’s only a few hours before dawn, and we’re both on the brink of utter exhaustion.”

“I am in earnest. There may be other ways inside that are less fantastic.”

Eliza shook her head. “We need access to Father Donnelly’s study, and those balcony doors are a direct entry. The climb looks simple enough, and the lock was a flimsy thing, remember? Assuming the doors up there are locked at all.”

“But
I
still need to get in there,” Tuohay argued, his voice a harsh whisper. “I can’t climb, so you’ll be forced to navigate your way through the darkness. There is no telling if there are residents within, or what else you may run into.”

“What, like goblins?”

“I was leaning towards something real.”

“Look, it’s simple enough. Tell me what we are searching for. I have sharp eyes and can cover ground quickly. I’ll find it if it’s there to be found.”

Tuohay glared at his cane as if it were an enemy to be loathed. “Cursed thing. If I was not a shambles of a man—”

Eliza cupped Tuohay’s chin in her hand, taking him by surprise. Her palm was wet and warm, and smelled faintly of earth. Her fingers pressed gently. “Stop being a ninny, Jack.”

“Ninny?”

“Act like a child, get talked to like a child.” Eliza smiled and slid her hand from his chin.

“You are right,” Tuohay admitted. He took a moment to gather himself. “But there is still a complication. The issue at hand is that I do not know exactly how Father Donnelly would have documented what I am looking for.”

“Try.”

The moon broke from the clouds, its pale light reflecting off the surviving vestiges of the misty night. Tuohay led Eliza from the silvery eddies to the shadowed wall beneath the balcony. “Do you remember the medical journals?”

“Yes. There was a collection of thirty-four, and you said one of the journals was missing. Number… twenty-eight, I believe.”

“Yes, the journal from 1896. The same year the diamond was stolen, and the year Father Abrams Valentine sailed to Plymouth to die in the care of his uncle, Father Donnelly.”

“So….the medical journal contains some kind of clue? And that is why it is missing?”

“I believe so.”

“And you think I can find that journal?”

“No, I think it is gone,” said Tuohay.

“Alright…so then?”

“It is possible what the journal contained may also be detailed in one of the other journals.”

Eliza suddenly seemed tired. “In one of the other
thirty-three
journals.”

“You said you have sharp eyes.”

“Sure. But I didn’t think I would need them to sift through thirty years worth of medical jargon while crouched in the dark. That sounds like a job for Johnny.”

Tuohay chuckled. “Crouching in any form is not a job for Eldredge, never mind breaking into a rectory in the wee hours of the night.”

“It’s not exactly my cup of tea, either.” Eliza was quiet for a moment. “How sure are you that this information will be in one of Donnelly’s remaining journals?”

“A hunch, that is all.”

“I figured.” The lattice trembled as she tugged on it with her hands. “Seems sturdy enough. Well, no time like the present. What exactly will I be looking for?”

“Are you sure you want to do this on your own?”

Eliza let out a sigh of frustration. “Jack, we’ll be arguing until morning if we keep this up. Just tell me the exact details, already.”

“As you say,” Tuohay relented. “Look for references to research on neurotoxins, especially in any of Donnelly’s journals dating thirty years ago or so. Consider citations or inferences to research performed in Haiti as strong indicators that you are on the right track.”

“Haiti?” Eliza sounded skeptical. “And neurotoxins. Yeah, that… makes sense.”

“It will, in time. There is another term you should look for that will be a telltale clue—if you see the word in any of the journals, take the sources in hand.”

“Sure thing. What’s the term?”

Silence filled the night, broken only by the distant crash of the waves.

“Jack?”

“Zombi.”

Eliza chuckled. “
Zombi
? Sounds like a phony word. What does it mean?”

Tuohay’s voice was eerily soft, his tone matching the blackness surrounding them. “It means bringing back the dead from the grave.”

*

The ticking of Tuohay’s pocket watch stabbed into his ears. It had become the only relevant sound in the still night as he stood alone, the span between one click and the next excruciating. He closed his hand around the metallic counter, but muffling the sound brought no comfort.

Before him, the broken moonlight dappled the courtyard in a drifting white light, mirroring the gaps between the hazy clouds overhead that otherwise thwarted much of the moon’s pale glow. The night’s shadow, given life by the dance of the moonlight, stretched up the side of the rectory like a twisted hand, clawing its way into windows and the balcony doors.

Tuohay’s attention was never parted from the presence of the dark stains that had seeped into the cobblestones, the blood of Father Donnelly black under the glimmer of moonlight.

“Come on, Eliza.” It had been over fifteen minutes since she had climbed up the lattice-work onto the balcony and slipped into the study through the unlocked balcony doors. The curtains were drawn save a small crevice she had left open, but even that provided nothing but the darkness of the void.

A light appeared within.

It was dim, the flicker of a candle silhouetted against the heavy curtains. Tuohay caught his breath. He watched with rapt attention as the light floated away from him, carried by the apparition beyond his vision.

“Damn it,” he cursed. Indecision wracked his brain as his gaze bore into the balcony doors and the barrier of blackness they represented. The light had diminished into the room, and had almost disappeared, when it came back closer to the doors again. It suddenly stilled, apparently set in one spot.

The curtains were thrust closed. Eliza’s sign for trouble.

Tuohay’s heart thudded in his chest as he limped with great effort across the courtyard, his cane smacking against the bloodstained stones. Knowing the front door was locked, he headed for a garden path through the hedges that led to a side door. Finding the knob with a trembling hand, he discovered it was locked. Swinging his bad leg in time with the cane, he limped furiously along the perimeter, investigating two more doors until finding a servants entrance that had been forced open.

The mere breath of a moment revealed the unimaginative use of a crowbar to gain entrance. Shouldering his way inside, Tuohay was greeted by a cramped cloakroom as black as the night outside. 

The way led into a back pantry and the kitchen, but in the darkness little was discernable except the strange patterns and living forms the motionless objects surrounding him took. He stumbled into something—a chair—and it topped to the floor with a crash. His cane nearly slipped from his grasp as his palms grew slick with nervous sweat.

Somehow he reached a set of narrow stairs. Despite the racket he had created, he was careful in his approach. His leg was dead weight on the narrow steps, and he pulled it up behind him like a sack better left behind. Reaching the top, he tried to gather his bearings as he stared at the dark passageways opening before him.

A ghost flitted past his vision, nearly causing him to cry out. He realized with alarm that it was the candle that had caught his attention. Reaching into his jacket pocket, Tuohay quietly extracted his revolver and began the long approach towards where the light had been.

The candle itself was not visible, but the globe of light slowly materialized like a floating bauble in a black mire. Suddenly his cane clanged against something metal, the sound louder in his ears than any chorus of cathedral bells had ever been.

Knowing his cover was blown, Tuohay used the wall to lead him straight, the crack of his cane against the wooden floorboards an unwanted introduction.

And then he was in the study, crossing the threshold through a narrow doorway near the hearth. The room was large and dark and as quiet as the grave, except for the ticking of the grandfather clock from somewhere across the room.

The grandfather clock that once had been fifteen minutes fast.

“Eliza?” Tuohay’s voice sounded like a harbinger in his own ears, an utterance of things gone wrong, of checkmate in three.

“I’m over here.” Her voice was meek, strained. It came from a corner of the room.

Relief and dread poured over Tuohay in a toxic combination, causing his breaths to come in rapid bursts. Despite his efforts to prevent it, a wracking cough tore through his lungs and throat.

“Move to the balcony doors and move the curtain aside,” a man’s voice commanded.

“Who are you?” Tuohay demanded, pressing himself against the wall. His pistol felt heavy in his free hand.

“Get in front of the curtain and pull it open so I can see you!”

“Eliza—”

“It’s Thayer,” Eliza replied. She tried to sound brave, but there was a tremor in her voice. “He’s got a gun, and it’s pointed at me.”

“I don’t want anyone to get hurt,” Thayer interjected. “Not you, not her, not me. So just do what I say.”

Tuohay complied, walking to balcony doors behind the large mahogany desk and pulling the curtain aside. Moonlight spilled in, silhouetting Tuohay against the shimmering backdrop. There was movement from the darkness in front of him, and Eliza appeared, walking slowly in his direction. She looked disheveled but otherwise healthy. The ticking of the grandfather clock made time with her pace.

“Alright, now just put down that gun,” Thayer said.

Tuohay rested his pistol on the desk. “Alright, Vestor. We are all reasonable people.” 

Thayer appeared on the fringe of the moonlight, his rugged face lined with worry. Wisps of blonde hair fell past his eyes, which were filled with suspicion.

“What are you doing here?” Thayer demanded. A small, snub nosed pistol was in his hand, the metal gleaming in the new light.

Tuohay met his gaze squarely. “I would ask the same of you.”

“I’m looking for the affidavits. I’m supposing you may be doing the same.”

“Nothing of the kind,” Tuohay replied.

Thayer wiped his forehead with a sleeve. He was cloaked in a heavy, black trench coat. A crowbar was clutched in his opposite hand. He used it to point accusingly at Tuohay and Eliza.

“It’s been you all along, hasn’t it?” The crowbar shook in Thayer’s hand. He let the pistol drift down in his other hand, where it pointed at the floor. “Inspector Tuohay. I thought you were one of us. One the good guys.”

“I never claimed to be a good man, but my intentions are not criminal.”

“Really.” Thayer swallowed hard, trying to compose himself. “You are a suspect in the crime. I overheard officers talking about it. So what was it—you, Kip Crippen, and Father Donnelly?”