Mrs. Burgess shook her head, discreet as ever.
“I accept your account of what happened next. As it was Sarah’s turn, she led the pathetic and near-comatose fellow into her room, where, in all probability, he fell deeply asleep without doing a thing he had paid for.”
“He paid for her time. The performance was up to him.”
Marc was encouraged that his comments provoked some of Mrs. Burgess’s familiar feistiness.
“Meanwhile, you and the girls went to your own bedrooms. When Molly fell asleep beside you, you got up-ostensibly to check on Sarah, if anybody asked-and padded into her chamber. As you expected, Sarah was slumbering and her gentleman caller snoring like an exhausted hog.”
“And?”
“And you slipped to the bedside, slid a hand under Sarah’s pillow, pulled out her dagger, and stabbed her once-viciously-in the throat.” Marc delivered these words with an emphatic hiss.
Mrs. Burgess’s response was almost plaintive: “Why would I want to kill dear, sweet Sarah?”
“That is a question I asked myself on Tuesday and in every hour since, but I found no answer convincing enough to accuse you or your girls of murder. But I’ll come back to that in a moment.”
Mrs. Burgess took another swallow of brandy. She was now watching Marc with a mixture of wariness and defiance.
“As Sarah’s lifeblood spouted from her body, you scuttled back to bed and lay down beside Molly. A little while later, probably while your heart was still pounding with the enormity of what you had done, the wretched Ellice-awakened but groggy with drink or worse-discovered the horror beside him, cried out, instinctively pulled the knife from Sarah’s throat, then fainted dead away. When you and Molly reached the room, you found Sarah dead and her caller unconscious with the knife in his hand.
“How convenient, eh? Here was a way out: fetch the police and put the blame on the pale gentleman with the murder weapon still in his grip. The lack of bloody footprints in the room was enough to give credence to your story. For the first time since your impulsive slaying of the girl, you began to hope there was a way to salvage the situation. By the time Cobb arrived, your natural intelligence had started functioning again. Your ruse worked and you were prepared to let the chips fall where they would.”
“But my business was ruined. Why would I destroy what I’d taken years to create?”
Norah Burgess, it seemed, had decided to play out this game to the end, as if the sport of it was all that was left to her.
“That’s what kept me from pursuing you or your girls. I observed you here and at the funeral service. The affection that obviously bound you all, extending even to your competitor in the profession, were not faked for public consumption. They were real and deep. I was sincerely touched by them, as I was by Sarah’s undeserved death.”
“You had no business coming to the service.”
“What you didn’t know until Monday morning, and what Cobb didn’t learn until an hour ago, was that Sarah and Michael Badger were lovers. The child that you and your girls eagerly anticipated throughout Sarah’s pregnancy was fathered not by some randy employer or anonymous sailor up at Madame Charlotte’s, but by Badger himself.”
Norah’s gaze hardened.
“I’ve been reminded that betrayal can be the motive for murder among friends and lovers, or parents and children-turning love into searing hate in an instant. And here was a classic example. Sarah had become, by your own admission, a surrogate daughter. The girls pampered her like a younger and still innocent sister. As you intimated to Cobb, you harboured hopes that it was not too late to rehabilitate Sarah, to save her from the awful business that was your only choice after a failed marriage. I suspect you had too much schooling or were too independent a spirit to become a housekeeper or governess under the thumb of some doltish squire.”
“I never found one who wasn’t.”
“But all the while, Sarah was leading a clandestine life of her own. I’m not sure how much of their relationship Badger revealed to you on Monday morning, to spite you after you refused to advance him any more money, but it was enough. In this house, they had given no sign of their liaison, and that must have taken much skill and subterfuge. They met when they could in a stable at the back of a property on Hospital Street. Badger may not have told you that they had met and become lovers just days after Sarah’s arrival at the Reverend Finney’s home last September. I imagine Badger was doing some work for Finney at the time. However, their shenanigans were seen or suspected by Mrs. Finney, who had Sarah abruptly dismissed. Days later, Sarah was found destitute on Lot Street and conscripted by the opportunistic Madame Charlotte.”
“Some lover.”
“Oh, I think Michael was hopelessly in love with the sweet and alluring Sarah. But according to his sister, he often had to leave town in a hurry when his gambling pals came looking for their money. Usually he fled to Port Sarnia, where he’d hole up until he’d scavenged sufficient funds to buy his way back to safety. That’s undoubtedly where he was when Sarah got thrown out. She didn’t know where he was and he had no inkling that she was pregnant-and alone.”
“Like we all are, in the end.”
“He must have been frantic when he got back. But she had disappeared off the face of the earth. Then, in the market for a bruiser, you somehow got a lead on this giant of a fellow and invited him to take the job. Imagine his surprise when he arrives for work and discovers Sarah, big with a child she assures him is his, and safe and sound in a gentlemen’s brothel.”
Cobb indicated the brandy bottle to Norah, but she shook her head.
“I can guess what a pleasant winter you all must have passed in this very parlour or in the cozy kitchen in your own quarters. Yours is a hard business, and though I suspect you are a kind person at heart, you had steeled yourself first to survive and ultimately to thrive. Suddenly you have in your midst a young woman who seems to have had little trouble attracting and holding the attention of all those around her: sweet yet earthy, compliant, genuinely affectionate, and yet coldly deceiving when necessary. Then arrives a gentle bear of a man, a bruiser who plays topsy-turvy with obstreperous clients, who makes everybody laugh, and who, incredibly, does not lust after your girls or rouse barbs of jealousy among them. The only blot on this happy landscape is Sarah’s loss of the child in early April.”
“We would’ve kept it.”
“I don’t doubt it. But at least the calamity happened away from here. You only learned of it a few days later when Sarah returned with her tale about the stillbirth.”
Norah’s eyes widened, bleary but suddenly alert.
“Yes, it was stillborn, whatever taunts Badger may have tossed at you Monday morning. After her return, I’ll wager you tried to talk her out of joining the business. But little Sarah was very persuasive. What is more, you didn’t know that she had a powerful incentive to earn money, which she soon did by becoming a favourite with your customers. She and Badger were planning to leave the country and start a new life in the United States. They were also likely scheming to leave behind her lover’s gambling debts and the advanced wages he owed to you.”
“It’s only money.”
“Maybe so, but the heat was being turned up on Badger. After a binge of gambling on the weekend, he and Sarah had to leave soon if they were ever going to leave at all. He came looking for her that morning, most likely to suggest that she secretly withdraw all her savings and meet him at some prearranged spot. Instead, he found the girls in the city at the ceremonies and you here alone. Ever the charming improviser, he decided to see if he could wheedle a final chunk of cash from his best and most gullible source.”