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Fiction Historical

Vices of My Blood

by (author) Maureen Jennings

Publisher
McClelland & Stewart
Initial publish date
Sep 2013
Category
Historical, Crime, Police Procedural
  • CD-Audio

    ISBN
    9781978681811
    Publish Date
    Feb 2020
    List Price
    $29.99
  • CD-Audio

    ISBN
    9781522605614
    Publish Date
    May 2016
    List Price
    $14.99
  • Paperback / softback

    ISBN
    9780771046780
    Publish Date
    Sep 2013
    List Price
    $19.95

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Description

The Reverend Charles Howard once sat in judgment of Toronto's poor and assessed their applications for the workhouse. Now he has been found dead: stabbed, beaten, and robbed of his watch and boots. Is it simply a case of burglary gone wrong, or has one of the unfortunates the reverend turned away taken their revenge on him?
Detective Murdoch's investigation takes him deep into the Dickensian world of Toronto's workhouses and the destitute souls who fill them as he sets out to discover who really murdered the reverend.

About the author

Maureen Jennings was born in the UK and now lives in Toronto. Best known for the Detective Murdoch books, which have been adapted into the long-running television series, Murdoch Mysteries; she is also the author of the Tom Tyler and Christine Morris books. Her books have been translated into other languages, including Polish, Korean, French, German, Italian, and Czech. Murdoch Mysteries has been aired in many countries, including the UK, the US, Poland, Hungary, Romania, Czech, Slovakia, Slovenia, Croatia, Serbia, Bulgaria, Greece, Ukraine, and the Baltics. Jennings was awarded a Certificate of Commendation from Heritage Toronto in 1998 and the Grant Allen award for on-going contribution to the genre in 2011. She has received a total of eight nominations from the Crime Writers of Canada, for best novel and best short story of the year. Jennings lives in Toronto with her husband, photographer Iden Ford, and her dog, Murdoch.

Maureen Jennings' profile page

Excerpt: Vices of My Blood (by (author) Maureen Jennings)

CHAPTER ONE
William Murdoch had recently been promoted from acting to full detective and given a raise in wages of three dollars a month. But his new status was not reflected by a better office, and from his desk he was contemplating the same old furnishings of a battered metal filing cabinet and a visitor’s chair that the rag-­and-­bones man would have rejected. The walls, he noticed, would benefit greatly from a fresh coat of paint, as he was wont to use the one wall as a blackboard and the chalk marks never quite rubbed off. He needed a new lamp, or at least some better oil, as the one on his desk was smoking badly.

Having made this gloomy assessment, he took a gulp of the hot strong tea that he’d brought in from the duty room and got back to his task. He dipped his pen into the inkwell. He had a fine working fountain pen in his pocket, but he ­couldn’t bring himself to write a letter to his absent mistress with a pen his beloved deceased fiancée had given him.
Dear Enid. I ­haven’t yet received a letter from you, but I hope that is only because of the bad weather and not because you ­don’t want to write to me. How is your father faring?

He paused. That last line seemed ridiculously stiff. But he’d have to leave it. This was the third draft he’d started. Oh just cross out faring, for Christ’s sake.
How is your father? I do hope his health is improving.

Of course, the reason she had not written could be because her father had died. If that was the case he wondered if she would return to Canada. And then he wondered how he would feel about that if she did. It had been almost two months since she had been summoned back to Wales to take care of her ailing parent. This had been the primary and acknowledged reason for her departure, but they both knew that sitting just behind it was Murdoch’s inability to make up his mind to marry her.

Another dip in the ink and he made a large blot on the page. Damn. These pens were police issue and leaked badly. His fingers were stained already.
Tell Alwyn I am thinking of him. I have still got his sled and . . .

He’d been going to write and I look forward to the time when he returns, but that was implying a promise he ­didn’t know if he could keep.

He looked at the letter. It was a mess with two crossing-­outs and three blots. He crumpled it up and threw it into the basket with the others. He’d write later at home, not here at the police station where there were distractions. He’d heard the clack of the telegram machine in the front hall and decided to get up and see if anything interesting had come over the wire. It had been a quiet day so far.

He swallowed the rest of his tea and went out into the main hall.

There were no miscreants or supplicants gracing the wooden bench that ran around the room and it ­wasn’t time for the shifts to change so the only two officers present were the stenographer, Callahan, and the duty sergeant, Gardiner, who was sitting at his high stool behind the desk. He grinned when he saw Murdoch and waved a piece of paper.

“We’ve got a telegram from Hamilton. Callahan just typed it up. You might want to have a look at it.” He handed Murdoch the wire.

be advised stop watch for queer plungers stop we suspect a supposed family of three stop woman mid age stop younger man stop one boy about eight to ten years old stop could be related to either stop probably in toronto and working the king street area stop aliases given as mrs wright and son bobbie stop no name for man stop very convincing stop

Murdoch saw that Callahan was watching him curiously, but he averted his eyes immediately when Murdoch glanced his way. The constable was almost obsequious in his dealings with the detective, whom he feared. With good reason. Murdoch ­couldn’t stand the fellow.

He walked over to him. “You’re no doubt wondering, young Liam, what a queer plunger is.”

Callahan nodded, apparently unsure how he was supposed to reply. Murdoch perched on the edge of the desk.

“Never be afraid to admit you ­don’t know something, young Liam. You ­don’t want to be a constable third class forever, do you?”

Callahan flushed. “No, sir.”

“Thought not. Our lad is ambitious, sergeant. ­Don’t let that fresh-­faced, just-­off-­the-­boat look fool you. Right, Liam?”

Murdoch was goading him to the point of eruption, but the stenographer swallowed hard. He smiled a snake smile but his eyes were dark with anger, and Murdoch could see that thoughts of revenge were churning in his mind. He ­didn’t care. He knew very well that Callahan was as two-­faced as the month of January.

He gestured at Gardiner, who looked puzzled by Murdoch’s uncharacteristic incivility. “Explain to the lad, sergeant.”

Gardiner pursed his lips, going along with it.

“Queer plungers is a cant term for folks who commit fraudulent acts upon the public. Typically, they work in groups of three or more. For instance, a favourite trick is for one of the group to pretend to be despondent, and in full view of a crowd, he will plunge into some water, the lake or a river like the Don. The second member of the gang will then effect a rescue. The half-­drowned one will be taken to the closest house. They always make sure it’s a tavern or failing that a church just emptying of the congregation. Then there is some cock-­and-­bull story about why the poor man wanted to commit self-­murder in the first place. Debts of honour, most like. A go-­around is suggested so he can redeem himself. Another go-­around for the rescuer. Get the picture?”

Editorial Reviews

"Exciting. . . . Full of passion about the seedy abuses of Victorian society. I couldn't put it down." Hamilton Spectator

"Mystery lovers can be assured that the culprit is plausible, the clues fair, the tea strong and the pace brisk." —Globe and Mail

"Jennings immerses her readers in the Toronto of the 1890s. The smells, sights, and sounds she describes ring as true as if she were recounting a trip she'd made there last week." —Quill & Quire

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