went on to describe the whole scene, which she and the children had witnessed from the start, first from a distance as they left the schoolhouse. The ladies had been doing their usual routine, singing and “carryin’ on,” as Jimmy Bartholomew would put it.
After a few moments, up had bumbled Augustus Purce.
“An exchange between him and the ladies was inevitable,” Miss Ophelia said. By this it was clear that she indicated two extremes in philosophy. Mr. Purce had obliged the nearby audience with an excellent performance.
“And then off he went, into the tavern, sniggering all the way.” Miss Ophelia concluded her account of the events with a chuckle of her own. Bill felt his moustache twitching. It was a bit funny, but those wretched women would be on him any moment now, like fleas on a hound. He looked round at the children.
“I do apologize, children, I must run along for a while. I’ve a feeling that I’m likely to be needed by Missus. Wright.” He moved swiftly through the small crowd, patting each child on the head or back, saying hello by name as quickly as he could. He’d made it to the door of the tavern, and was pulling it open when he heard the cry go up.
“Connnnstable Wright!!! We must have words!!!” He ignored this, thinking to himself, not yet, you bat, and darted inside. Even at forty-five, he was light on his feet. He allowed his eyes to adjust to the lower light of the dining room, soon spotting his wife standing over Augustus Purce, who was poured into a wing chair near the fireplace.
They were the only occupants of the room. Bill rolled his eyes good-naturedly. Celia was a soft touch for anyone who had enough foresight to resemble a drowned cat. Purce certainly fit that description with his moldering suit and bedraggled hat. He didn’t actually seem a bad sort, aside from the aura of dissipation and soddenness all the time.
“My dear,” Bill took his wife’s hand lovingly, “I do hope you are only asking what he might like to eat.” Celia straightened up from hovering over Purce and swatted at her husband with a flour sack cloth.
“William Wright, you behave. We don’t tell our paying customers how to spend their money.” She poked a slender finger toward the door. “Unless you’re taking their part now.”
“Now Celia, dear, you know better than to think I’d ever be like-minded with those harpies. But I did just heave Bartholomew out of the tank. And they are likely to lodge a complaint again, unless he’s of a sober state when I do deal with them.”
Through this whole exchange, Augustus had sat silently, observing the husband and wife. Admittedly, he’d been unaware that the constable and Celia were bound in a state of matrimony. If he had known, he’d not have been so incautious around her, not nearly so unguarded with his ramblings.
But in seeing them together at that moment, it was clear that Wright treasured his wife. It was a rarity, such that gave Augustus pause. Even though the constable was clearly irritated with the current state of affairs, he was smiling at her, smoothing down her hair with a tender hand.
Augustus came to a point of decision, and stood, stretching up to his true full height, no mean feat considering how many hours a day he spent slouched over. It took Bill Wright a few moments to entirely register what he was seeing out of his peripheral vision.
Over the course of those moments, Augustus took advantage of the calm before the storm to finish his tea. Andrews would have said that his employer was gilding the lily during this particular dropping of the façade. But it was entertaining, and Andrews could have his heart attack later. He smiled to himself when finally the constable and his wife turned as one to face him. They were a study in confusion.
“Mister Purce?” Celia was staring up at him, shock visibly rippling through her body. She was used to him being at her own eye level, and now, here he was, had to be over six feet and towering over her. How strange. Her mind was whirling, trying to think back to him as a young man, before the war. He’d been a child, really, but she never recalled him being nearly so tall. She looked down at Augustus’ shoes, to see if there was some trickery there.
“Constable, Missus Wright…allow me to, er, reintroduce myself. And to assure you that I am quite sober. I just happen to enjoy a good dose of mischief. My apologies to you, Constable, for making your afternoon rather more difficult than it needs to be. I simply cannot abide other folks forcing their moralities on me.”
They continued to stare at him, dumbstruck by the paradox between what they saw now, and what they’d thought they had known. Bill finally cleared his throat.
“But you’re…that is to say….” He trailed off uncomfortably.
“The town drunk, the village fool? Believe me, Constable, it is a deliberate construct, a ruse, if you will.”
“But why? Why would you desire the poor opinion of others?”
“To keep them well out of my business, to keep hold of my privacy. Means more to me than it does to the average person, I assure you.”
“Why are you telling us, then? How do you know we’re to be trusted?”
“Well, you see, Constable, I’ve had occasion to get to know your Celia, and all she ever does is praise her husband, though I grant you that I never knew she was speaking of you. It was always just ‘William’ this and that. And now, I see you together, and I begin to understand. You are the very embodiment of all that is good and fair in this world.” He collapsed back into his chair. “It would appear that this establishment is not going to keep out the ladies of the dry movement much longer.”
Bill frowned at the large stained glass windows in the front of the building. A large crowd did seem to be gathering without. He sighed heavily.
“Mister Purce, aside from this revelation of yours, which does baffle me no end, perhaps your own interests might be served best by you slipping out the back way?”
“Oh, I don’t mind if you’d care to arrest me. Where’s the fun in disappearing?”
“Oh, Mister Purce, I have to disagree. Bill, don’t take him in.”
“Please, call me Augustus.”
“Maybe someday. My point is, if you’re trying to escape undue attention, my husband’s plan is a notch above your own.” She twisted her cloth fretfully as she too frowned at the increasing noise outside the front windows. “I just wish I understood all this playacting of yours.”
“That, my dear Missus Wright, is a tale for another time. For now, I fear I must slip back into character, as the castle walls now appear to have been breached.”
The tavern door banged open, and they all jumped. Bright sunlight blinded them; Bill looked back at Purce for a moment. The other man had slipped away. Only his inebriated doppelganger remained. Bill shook his head and looked back at the dark figure in the doorway.
“This is a private place of business. We want no trouble.” Celia spoke in the firm tone she normally reserved for the serving staff. A disheveled blonde stepped hesitantly into the tavern, and the door swung shut behind her.
“Mary Whitehall? Is that you? If you’ve come to lodge a complaint about Mister Purce, I’ve already issued him a warning.”
“No, Constable Wright, I have no worries about Mister Purce. I’ve come….” She swayed a bit and began to sink to the floor. Bill and Augustus made haste to catch her before she fell, while Celia wisely moved to lock the door, and prevent any further surprises.
“Miss Mary, are you unwell? Shall we fetch the doctor?”
She blinked unseeingly at Bill.
“No. He’s already at our…my house.”
“Oh dear. Your mother? No wonder you’re in a state. Get her some tea, would you Celia, love?”
“If you please, just a small tot of sherry.” Everyone gawked at Mary. “I’ve quit the league. Old enough to decide for myself.” For some reason, this thought disturbed the calm that had briefly settled over her; she went pale and breathless.
“Your mother, she hasn’t already gone, has she? I am sorry if that’s the case; perhaps we ought to see about getting you back home.”
Mary shook her head violently.
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“Came to get you, Constable. Something terrible….” She sipped with noisy inexperience at the sherry glass Celia pressed to her lips, until a pink flush spread across her cheeks.
“Something terrible? What’s happened?”
“Murder. There’s been a murder.” At that simple statement, Celia cried out and dropped the tiny glass onto the floor. Bill sat with his mouth agape, unable to form a coherent thought. Grimly, Augustus sat back on his heels, running a hand through his limp hair. This was an unexpected turn of events in his day. Mary began to weep, fluttering her hands over her head. “I never should have…it’s all my fault!”
“I’ve got to get over there.” Bill stood up, beginning to feel a trickle of cold sweat run down his back.
“I’ll follow behind you. Heaven only knows what you’ll find, and believe it or not, I do have some experience with this sort of thing.”
Bill looked at Augustus with a mixture of incredulousness and relief.
“As you say. Celia, dear, will you stay with her? Or rather, keep her here until we know what in blazes has gone on?”
Celia nodded mutely and watched as her husband set forth into uncharted territories. Augustus waited five or so minutes and slipped out the rear, intending to unobtrusively shadow the constable to the Whitehall Estate. Neither of them knew what they might find there; Augustus wished he might have carried his revolver on him that day.
The Good Doctor
“But Doc,