Grace and Disgrace (6 page)

“They call him Imhotep,” Mary said, “after the ancient high priest of Egypt.”

“Yes, Imhotep was a fabled expert in several fields of study,” acknowledged Eldredge. “Fitting name. He even has a rather successful medicinal product, I believe.
Father Robert’s Cough Elixir
. A likeness of his face is on the bottle, in fact.”

“You speak of him as if his genius is an excuse for his vice,” the doctor countered with a growl. “He works with as many poisons as he does antidotes, I would bet.”

“All the more reason that Eldredge’s concern is understandable,” Mary said. Her voice held a note of fresh sorrow. “Robert is a powerful and important man. And it was more than relations that we shared, you see. We were…together.”

Tuohay looked doubtful. “He was your
beau
. A priest. Excuse me, a
Renaissance Man
, who happens to be a priest.”

“I told you there was more to this affair than you are aware, inspector,” replied the doctor, tapping the table for emphasis.

“I have yet to see any sort of connection, however.”

“You will.” Mary took a sip of her gin. “In 1894 the late Father Aiden Kearney— the good doctor’s brother—was assigned to Robert’s, that is Father Donnelly’s, parish in Plymouth. Aiden was rumored to be an agitator of sorts, a muckraker. A ‘journalist priest’, Robert called him, and not in a kindly manner.” She ran her finger along the brim of her glass. “And my Robert had reason to be concerned. Before long, Father Aiden had found out about Robert’s and my relationship. Aiden Kearney was always sticking his nose where it didn’t belong.”

“You cannot blame Aiden. It was
Father Donnelly
that was not playing by the rules,” Eldredge pointed out.

“Sticking
his
nose where it didn’t belong, you mean?” Mary winked at Eldredge. Eldredge reddened like a beet as the doctor’s frown deepened.

“So—Father Kearney confronted Father Donnelly about the relationship?” Tuohay asked, edging the conversation along.

“He did, after collecting sufficient evidence,” the doctor answered. “It was two years later, in 1896, when Aiden challenged Father Donnelly with his findings. The beginning of the end, as I have come to remember that time. You see, my brother did not look the other way when it came to dealing with impropriety. He
was
a journalist priest in that sense, but in the best sense of the meaning. Aiden opposed Father Donnelly’s inexcusable practices, but it led to his
own
undoing.”

“In what manner?” Tuohay asked.

“Unfortunately, the archdiocese, including the archbishop himself, did not take kindly to my brother’s findings,” said the doctor. “It was politically… troublesome for the church in Boston to have the reputation of a prominent priest like Father Donnelly tarnished. There were ways dealing with such indiscretions
internally
. Sweep them under the rug, as it were. But my brother would have none of it, and his persistence led to his persecution from within the confines of the Boston diocese itself.”

“He would simply not shut his mouth,” Mary said plainly, “so they figured out a way to shut it for him. Or thought they did.”

Tuohay nodded in understanding. “Father Aiden Kearney’s discoveries, if proved valid, would expose certain weaknesses in the leadership of the emerging Catholic church in Boston. Which would have not looked good to Rome.”

“Yes,” the doctor replied. “And
just
at the time that the Boston archbishop was under consideration for promotion by the pope. He would be the first man to be elevated to cardinalship in Boston, a great honor.”

“And one of the first cardinals in America,” Eldredge recalled. “The winter of 1897, I believe. The papers drummed up all kinds of excitement in the city about it. But the news was interrupted by even bigger news…news that the same archbishop was being taken to public court by a fallen priest—the very trial Sara told us about.”

“Correct,” confirmed the doctor. “My brother Aiden took Archbishop Walsh to trial, and the timing was no mistake. Shortly after the trial ended the cardinalship decision came from Rome.”

“Of course,” said Eldredge, “the timing makes sense. Archbishop Walsh was passed over by Rome—even though he was found innocent. Rome chose an archbishop in Baltimore for the cardinalship. Embarrassing for Boston.”

“Father Kearney, rest his soul, caused mayhem with his claims, enough to tarnish the archbishop, enough to stop from him from attaining his highest aspiration,” said Mary with sudden fervor. “Aiden Kearney was a driven man, a man of passion and virtue. A man who saw only right and wrong, despite the circumstances. He would not walk away from a fight, and it was a fight he made. It was about the church, sure. But it was about
him
as well. And because of him and his so-called noble actions, my Robert—Father Donnelly—pushed me away forever.” She stared at the table as if ashamed to look up. “He was involved in the trial, and scarred by it. He was therefore part of the archbishop’s embarrassment. The good doctor called that year the ‘beginning of the end’ for his brother….so it was the end for me and Father Donnelly.”

The doctor did not challenge Mary’s heartfelt comment, and Tuohay looked on in silent contemplation.

Eldredge cleared his throat. “I do apologize, Miss Hart, but I must ask: you had every reason to despise Father Aiden Kearney, did you not? He exposed your relationship with Father Robert Donnelly, which ended as a result, per your remark.”

“Yes,” said Mary. “You are right on both counts, Mr. Eldredge. I despised Father Kearney. And I am usually a fast learner, only…”

“Only what, Miss Hart?” Tuohay prompted.

“Only, my anger against Aiden Kearney blinded me to my Robert’s shortcomings. I was not aware of the type of man ‘the great’ Imhotep, my Robert, really was, and how far he would be willing to go to save himself, and perhaps the archbishop, from further embarrassment.” Her voice faltered. “He was a teacher to me, a companion, a lover. Yes, he always had the promise of severity about him, but never—never of menace.”

Tuohay pressed gently. “What do you mean?”

“I…”

“What she means…,” the doctor interrupted, but Mary quieted him with a gentle touch of her hand. She looked up with a firm gaze.

“What I mean, Mr. Tuohay, is that four years ago my beloved Robert…the acclaimed Father Donnelly…had me committed to a lunatic asylum.”

An uneasy silence fell across the table.

“It was to keep me quiet,” Mary continued. “I was committed shortly after the trial between Father Kearney and the archbishop ended. Directly after my testimony against Father Kearney, in fact.” She laughed at the irony. “And there I languished, bound like an animal to my bed, probed and prodded like some kind of experiment. All the while I did exactly as they had asked all along.” Mary’s voice grew thick with emotion. “I would have gone mad if the good doctor did not get me out when he did.” She closed her eyes as if to shut out the memories themselves.  

“Egads,” Eldredge whispered, his hand frozen above his drying ascot.

“What prompted you to get Miss Hart out of the asylum?” Tuohay asked the doctor.

“Not out,
transferred
,” corrected Doctor Kearney. “I moved her from the asylum in Danvers to the hospital in Medfield, where I have some jurisdiction, and where Mary would receive proper care. They had her on crude preparations of morphine and heroin, and on additional nerve-seizing drugs. Hallucinates. Her recovery has been slow. Currently I have her on
Doctor Leven’s Anti-Anxiety Number 9
and laudanum.”

Mary extracted a small glass bottle of pills and a vial of crimson liquid from her purse. She rattled the pills with a remorseful smile. “I have them wherever I go. Whenever a bad dream threatens, I just swallow a pill and wash it down with a tincture of opium. Good night, Mary.”

“The experience sounds dreadful,” said Tuohay. “But certainly Mary is not the only patient to have ever been exposed to such medical practices. Why did you specifically move
her
from the hospital?”

Doctor Kearney leaned both elbows on the table and looked as if he was about make a very grave statement. “Miss Hart was a concubine for Father Donnelly, the very man, who along with the archbishop, destroyed my brother. And then Father Donnelly attempted to destroy
her
because she was proof of his transgressions. She had been his lover, and she knew the truth about how the trial was staged, of how she was forced to bear false witness against Aiden.” Doctor Kearney’s voice was as solemn as his graying temples. “I discovered through Aiden, before his untimely death, that Mary was a witness with information that could dismantle the leadership of the archdiocese of Boston. That she had been put into a lunacy asylum because her truths could destroy the very fabric of the men who had unjustly torn my brother Aiden’s life to shreds. And that, Inspector Tuohay, was not an opportunity I was not about to pass up.”

Tuohay nodded in understanding, but his expression was still one of perplexity. “Fine, yes. But I must ask the plain question. How, in any way, is this connected to the Templar Diamond?”

Mary expressed a nervous grin. “I can answer that.”

All eyes turned to her as she continued in a wavering voice, “The information that you received from Father Kearney by telegram, before he died. The information that he said he had about the Templar Diamond…”

“Yes?” Tuohay prompted.

“And the codebook and the letter given to you by Sara...”

“Yes, yes. What of them?”

“Well, that information… the information about the stolen diamond… That’s the information the doctor is referring to. That information came from me.”

A man in a gray trench coat appeared in the doorway of the hotel parlor. His frown was discernable under his heavy moustache as he scanned the room.

“It is Inspector Frost,” murmured Tuohay, eyeing the gray-clad observer. “With blunt news on his tongue, I do not doubt.”

All eyes turned from the table to the man in the doorway. It was silent for several moments until Mary’s pills spilled on the table. “Sorry,” she said, her cheeks flushing as she picked them up with a trembling hand.

The doctor turned to Tuohay, fire in his eyes. “Is he looking for you, inspector?” Even as the doctor asked, Inspector Frost caught sight of them among the forest of newspapers and strode in.

“Mary, are you alright?” Eldredge noticed her eyes widen. She was as pale as new fallen snow.

“I am fine.” She raised the gin to her lips with a trembling hand.

Eldredge was incredulous. “Fine? You don’t look fine—”

“Inspector Tuohay.” Frost arrived at the table like a dark thundercloud, his presence looming over them. The scent of tobacco and rain followed him in. “Can we talk?”

“We will give you some privacy.” The doctor’s voice was as stiff as his movement as he helped Mary up and led her from the parlor. Frost watched them go before taking a seat.

“That was Mary Hart,” he said in a gruff voice.

“You know her?”

“Right as rain I do. Tracked her down a few years back when investigating Father Aiden Kearney’s affinity for streetwalkers. Discovered she was having relations with him. The prosecution put her on the stand against Kearney during the trial, along with two other harlots. Did him in at the trial, they did.”

“Excuse me—you said she was having relations with Father Kearney. Did you mean to say Father Donnelly?”

“Kearney,” Frost growled. “Don’t you think I know what I’m talkin’ about?
Kearney’s
the one she was in bed with.”

“I see. I must say, your presence seemed to put her ill at ease.”

Frost shrugged. “I have that effect on people. What are you doing with her?”

“I am asking her and the doctor questions about Father Aiden Kearney as part of the investigation of the Templar diamond.”

“I just told you what you need to know,” said Frost. “Could have saved you time.”

There was no further offer from Tuohay. Instead, he changed the subject. “You bring unpleasant tidings, I fear.”

“Depends on your point of view.”

“My point of view is that Kip Crippen needs to be healthy and alert so that I may interview him. I came a long way to see what he knows about the diamond.”

“Then you are right, Inspector Tuohay. I bring unpleasant tidings. Mr. Crippen is dead.”

Eldredge gasped. “Dead?”

“Still searching for the body, but there is no doubt on the issue. I’m a crack-shot, but even a blind man could have hit Crippen from where as I was standing. The bastard never came back up, and coppers were everywhere. No chance of him surfacing without notice. Won’t be too long before we find the body.”

“Bly me.” Eldredge wiped his forehead with a cloth napkin.

“He had a gun, Tuohay. You saw it.”

“I did,” Tuohay confirmed. His voice was measured. “I assume there will be a full report?”

Frost chuckled. “Scream the house down, is that it? Send another dozen Cockney’s from London to meddle in our affairs? Or is it the RIC?”

“The RIC has jurisdiction, though Scotland Yard is…present. Officially, the RIC must be included on all relevant updates to the case. Nothing more.” Tuohay took a sip of his drink and frowned.

“What is it?” Frost demanded.

“Nothing.” Tuohay took another long sip before putting the drink down. “Just
thinking
, inspector.”

“Thinking? Action, Tuohay. That’s how you get things done.” Frost absently scratched at one of his muttonchops. “Will your boys back in Belfast be upset?”

“They will review the full report and make a recommendation from there. You were just doing your job, Inspector Frost.”

Frost’s eyes narrowed. “I never said I wasn’t. Kip Crippen weren’t no French pigeon.”

“No, he was not.” Tuohay pulled a silver flask from his coat pocket and poured some brandy into his glass. The scent was woody and sweet. “Is that all?”

“What are you up to here?”

“An interview, like I said.”

Frost grunted. “And after this?”

“I plan on visiting Father Robert Donnelly in Plymouth. I have a few questions for him relating to the case.” Tuohay smiled thinly. “I have nothing to hide, Inspector Frost. As the RIC promised the Boston brass, my whereabouts and a full report thereafter will be available.”

“If you say so.” Frost stood, his chair scraping against the floorboards. “I am sure we will see each other soon.” He tipped his hat and exited the way he had come, his hands thrust in his pockets.

“Jack—” Eldredge began, but Tuohay held up his hand.

“Later.” He swallowed the contents of his glass in one swig. A long silence followed until one of the newspapers nearby crackled audibly.

“Frost wants in on the Templar Diamond.” The woman’s voice, aimed at Tuohay, came from behind the previously raucous newspaper a table away.

“This is not the best time to discuss case details, Eliza,” Tuohay replied. “The doctor and Miss Hart will be returning any moment.”

Eliza set her paper on the table. “Inspector Frost is a hard-boiled case, and he’s worming his way into this one.”

“I am sure we have not seen the last of him,” Tuohay agreed, drumming his fingers on the table. “It’s to be expected, of course. We are on his turf.”

Eliza scooted over to their table and leaned next to Eldredge. “Johnny, here’s the codex back.” She slipped a small, hardbound book with the title of ‘Goldman’s Cable Codex’ in gold lettering to Eldredge. A pile of notes sat atop it.

“But I just gave it to you,” Eldredge protested, a confused look on his face. “Did you have time to look at my analysis?”

“Hold a moment,” said Tuohay, critically eyeing his two partners. “What is Eliza doing with the codebook?”

Eldredge shrugged. “I wanted her to review my analysis of it.”

“Explain, please.”

“I was eager to get to work after we got the codex from Sara at the interview, and I did some analysis on it and the letter late last night.” Eldredge voice brimmed with excitement as he leaned forward. “As you know, there are many ways to encrypt or encode a letter.”

“Of course,” said Tuohay. “Book ciphers, running ciphers, code books.”

“And the like, yes. Before us, we have a presumably encoded letter—an invitation, to be specific—and the means to decipher it, i.e. the code book. The assumption is that they are linked, as we were also shown Father Aiden Kearney’s and Sara’s invitations by Sara, and the priest’s invitation mentioned a codex.”

“Yes,” said Tuohay impatiently.

Eldredge positioned the letter on the table. “So there is the letter.”

AN INVITATION TO THE CHASE

February, 1896

Dear Mr. Jack Tuohay…

“And the codebook. First, look here.” Eldredge opened the Codex to a random page and pressed his pudgy finger against the top portion.

THE GOLDMANS CABLE CODEX.

Published by F.O. HOUGHTON & CO., Boston, U.S.A.

“In a case such as this, each word represents a corresponding meaning. Either a phrase, as in the examples seen here, or a number, or even another word, as defined by the codex.”

Tuohay nodded. “Yes, I know how codebooks work, John.”

“Last night I spent nearly four hours analyzing each word in the letter as it corresponds to its analogous phrase, word, or number in the Goldman’s Codex, and summarized them as best I could. There are three hundred and forty-two words in the letter. Fifty-five of those letters appear in the codex, with a corresponding partner. Those partners were made up of forty phrases, nine words, and six quantities. I was exhausted by the time I completed it, and could not locate a common theme among them.

“For example,” he continued, unfolding one of the pages of parchment thrust into the codex, “here is the analysis I performed on the first paragraph of the letter. Each underlined term has an associate in the codex.”

Dear Mr.
Jack
Tuohay,

I hope you will allow this unforeseen
intrusion
on your
time
. This
correspondence
is presented with
humility
and no
intention
to
mislead
. It is, plainly stated, an
INVITATION
.

Eldredge shrugged. “There was no common theme in my tired eyes, so I gave my full analysis and a copy of the letter to Eliza, along with the codex.”

“Because John knows how observant we Radcliffe girls are,” said Eliza with a smile. “He passed it to me after the shenanigans with Crippen.”

“Just for a glance. Eliza
is
very observant.” Eldredge returned her grin.

Eliza pointed at the letter.

“First question. Does this appear to either of you like the sort of letter that would be encoded with a codex?”

“No,” Eldredge admitted. “Not without a double encryption or initial code, perhaps. It does not create a clear message for the receiver after decoding.”

“How exactly did you obtain the letter?” Eliza asked Tuohay.

“I picked it up at the post in Belfast,” said Tuohay. “The same way the others received theirs, as I understand it.”

“Sure,” said Eliza. “Nothing special there. So let’s change our perspective for a minute. Goldman’s Cable Codex is as common as dirt. It can be purchased for ten cents at any variety store. Even this older version is still available. So what makes this particular copy special?”

Both men shrugged.

“Well, there is the fact that there is a highly starched and folded handkerchief being used as a bookmark.” Eliza opened the book to where a thin, white handkerchief was inserted.

“Yes, of course,” Eldredge sighed. “I did not move it in case the location was meaningful.”

“Page fifty-two and fifty-three,” said Eliza. “There are markings on each page—a bordering sketch of strawberries. The handkerchief itself is Irish-linen, and so heavily starched that it’s nearly as stiff as a board. And there are small designs of strawberries along its fringe as well.”

“Useful for a book marker at first glance,” remarked Eldredge, “but I did not pick up on the strawberries on the border of the page
and
the handkerchief.”

“You must have been tired to miss that,” Eliza teased. “Even so, there are no
obvious
clues. Strawberries, a handkerchief starched to the stiffness of a bookmark, and the pages it is marking.”

“One of those
could
be a differentiator between this specific codex and one bought off the shelf,” said Tuohay. “It that your thought?”

“Yes, there is that,” said Eliza. “But the letter may include a clue as well.”

Eldredge’s eyebrows raised. “So the letter plays a role in finding the secret message, assuming there is one?”

“Yes.” Eliza pointed at the letter. “Look there.”

Tuohay and Eldredge peered closely to where Eliza’s red nail pressed against the soft paper.

“
Your Friend in Sympathy
,” Eldredge read. “It did strike me as an odd phrase.”

Tuohay did not appear to be listening as he murmured to himself. “Sympathy… Could it be that simple?”