Free Vices of My Blood by Maureen Jennings Page A

affluence had black clothes in her wardrobe on the ready for such an eventuality as widowhood.
    Reverend Swanzey hovered uncertainly between them. He had a long neck and his prominent Adam’s apple bobbed visibly.
    “I’m sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Howard,” said Murdoch, “but as I’m sure you can understand, I am anxious to find your husband’s murderer as soon as possible.”
    There was no other word he could use other than killer but even at the word murderer he saw her flinch. She turned to face him. Her voice lacked energy and her breath rippled her crepe veil as she spoke.
    “I do understand, Mr. Murdoch. And since last night, all I have been able to think about is your question whether Charles had any enemies.”
    Swanzey interjected. “Mrs. Howard and I have been discussing this very matter this morning, detective. At first we both as with one voice said no. Charles was a good man, beloved by all he came in contact with.” He paused and glanced anxiously at Louisa. She remained steady for the moment. “However, in the course of his work, he had occasion to do things, to make decisions that for the people involved might have seemed harsh. They were not likely to step back and say, ‘This good man is merely doing his duty. I have no right to hate him for it.’” Again he paused and looked at Murdoch expectantly.
    “I’m afraid I don’t know what you are referring to, sir.”
    Mrs. Howard explained. “My husband was a Visitor for the House of Industry. It was his job to visit the homes of the people who had applied for charitable relief and decide whether they were deserving.”
    “It is something I do myself,” said Swanzey, “and believe me, Mr. Murdoch, not all the cases that come before us deserve help. But these tend to be the kind of people who will rail against the Visitor himself rather than look to their own shortcomings that have brought them to their predicament. And there is only so much the city can do. I myself have agonized over whether I can grant a coal allowance or food to a poor woman who has neither heat nor sustenance but whose husband I know has succumbed to bad habits.”
    He meant he was a drinker.
    “That must be difficult, Reverend. Especially as it is not the woman herself who is to blame.”
    Swanzey swayed on his tiptoes. “Ah yes, but we encounter many tricksters. The women come to the House to apply because they think we will be more indulgent of them, but they know perfectly well that the husband at home is a drunkard and should be working. And sometimes, I regret to say, they join him in his habit.”
    “Quite so. But to return to Mr. Howard for a moment, are you saying, ma’am, sir, that through this work, it is possible he made an enemy, angry enough to kill him?”
    “Yes,” whispered Mrs. Howard.
    “Did he ever mention such an encounter to you, ma’am?”
    “No. He did not. But he never brought the burdens of his work to me. I wanted it that way. I strove to make our home a haven for him, where all those cares could be put aside.”
    Murdoch thought of the comfort he himself found from talking over his cases with first the Kitchens, now with Seymour and Amy Slade. He wondered if there had been some place else where Reverend Howard had unburdened himself.
    “Where can I get a list of the homes he inspected?”
    “The House of Industry would have that,” said Swanzey. “And I should add that his territory was in this area. We are all assigned places that are easily accessible –”
    Mrs. Howard interrupted him. “The work is voluntary, detective. It is in addition to all the other duties that a minister in a large parish has to execute.”
    And she didn’t approve of her husband doing that unpaid work, thought Murdoch.
    “As you say, Mrs. Howard, being a Visitor is voluntary, but I myself consider it my civic duty,” interjected Swanzey. “But more to the point, detective, if Reverend Howard had antagonized somebody, that person most likely lives