by Clare Jayne
He ran up the staircase to his bed chamber where Rabbie, who had been sitting polishing a pair of boots, legs sprawled in front of him in a relaxed pose, got abruptly to his feet. “Are you leaving already for the club, sir?”
“No.” He had forgotten that he had arranged to meet McDonald and Chiverton for luncheon. “I will have to get one of the footmen to let them know I cannot join them today. I have an urgent errand.”
Ewan donned his jacket, which made him realise he had not been wearing it when Miss Campbell visited. He doubted it would change her opinion of him either for good or ill, but he heartily disliked the thought that she had seen him in a half-dressed state. He belatedly noticed that Rabbie had been holding out a hat and gloves to him for some time and took them.
“When will you be returning, sir?”
“I am not sure. I need to see Miss Campbell.”
Rabbie gave a nod that had a hint of satisfaction to it. “Yes, sir.”
“It is not what you think. She called on me about a murder, not for any personal reason.”
“If she had something difficult to deal with and wanted your help, that sounds personal to me.”
As he walked out of the room and left his home, Ewan wished he felt so certain. In truth, he was still hurt and offended by all that had passed between them and he wanted to stay away from her. He was not the least bit certain that he could trust her not to break his heart again and, with his sister wanting him to lead a conventional life, he should stay out of the latest crime. He thought of Matilda’s letter and of the possibility that she and her husband might change their minds about moving to Edinburgh if they believed Ewan was involved in something scandalous that would affect their reputations. It was enough to give him pause, torn by his heart in two directions, but searching for a killer was not something his conscience would allow him to let Ishbel pursue alone. The thought of her getting into a dangerous situation without him there to help her was insupportable. The fact that she had chosen to take up the matter and force him into such a painful decision, after everything else she had done to him, was infuriating, though. He wondered how she had been persuaded to look into such crimes again when she had been so adamant before that she was finished with the work, and then he recalled her saying that the corpse had been a friend of her maid. Perhaps she had wanted this no more than he did.
His carriage was waiting outside and he told the driver where to go, the address a familiar one to the man by now. As the horses got moving he tried to decide what he would now tell his sister. His decisions had not affected his family while they were living in London, but if they were all living here that would change. On the other hand, he was doing nothing illegal or immoral; on the contrary, he was trying to help people who had no one else to turn to. Matilda had always been a caring person, so surely she would understand? It was not her he had to convince, though. Her husband was the one who would say yay or nay to moving here and, from what Ewan knew of him, Picton was a born politician, who cared more for appearances than the truth.
Ewan had found no good solution to the problem when the carriage halted outside the familiar elegant residence. He paused – this was his last chance to change his mind – but with Ishbel pursuing something risky, there had never really been a choice.
His tiger, an eager-to-please boy, held the carriage door open for him and Ewan descended and approached the house. Ewen used the door knocker to rap on the front door and the family butler immediately opened it.
“I am here to see Miss Campbell,” he said, although he was certain the man would have already guessed that much from his many previous visits.
There was a hesitation and then the butler asked him to wait and vanished into the drawing room. Ewan frowned, wondering what was going on. After a moment the butler returned and led Ewan into the room, which quickly explained the initial hesitation: Ishbel was not there.
“I fear that my cousin is not home.” Lady Huntly’s tone was unusually polite, which made him wonder uneasily what Ishbel had said about him. “Did she expect you? If she is at the university she could be gone all day.”
He had no idea where Ishbel was but it was certainly not the university. It sounded as if Lady Huntly was unaware of the new investigation, which put Ewan in an awkward position. He did not want to reveal something that would bring Lady Huntly’s ire down on Miss Campbell but he also knew that Lady Huntly was too astute to be fooled for long by evasions. “I was given to understand that Miss Campbell wished to speak to me but a time was not mentioned.”
“That is unusually thoughtless of her.” Lady Huntly frowned. “Will you wait or call again later?”
That was the pertinent question. Frustration tempted him to say that he would leave and not return, but it was not actually Ishbel’s fault that he had changed his mind. He would just have to engage Lady Huntly in safe conversations about social activities and acquaintances. “Unless it is inconvenient, I think I should remain here. It might be important.”
“Very well.”
They sat down and waited.
Chapter Five
“THIS IS where the dead girl’s body was, Miss,” the Town Guard told Ishbel and Lucy.
Ishbel had thought that she might have to resort to asking Jed, the caddy, to find the guard who had been called out to remove Morag’s body, but they had found him themselves immediately after asking someone at the Tolbooth Gaol where the officers worked. He was a broad, grey-haired man who, like many of his companions, wore the red uniform of a Highlands soldier and he looked down at the two women with clear disapproval when Ishbel explained that she was looking into the death.
He had agreed to bring them here, though, and Ishbel studied her surroundings. The streets at either end of the winding alley were in the centre of the city and teemed with people, but the alley itself was stained and foul-smelling and, therefore, mostly deserted. Ishbel assumed that was why Morag had been killed here.
“How was she murdered?” she asked.
“Her throat was slit,” the guard said shortly.
Lucy made a distressed sound and Ishbel put an arm round her while noting the discolouration on the ground that could be blood. The light rain of the last few days would have washed away some of it and spread the marks around but, standing here, it was easy to imagine how the events had happened.
The guard looked at them and said, “Perhaps it would be best to leave such violent matters for men to deal with, Miss.”
What men? He and his group, already known for their lack-lustre work, would not pursue this death further and, if she did not look into it, who would? “My friend is distraught because she was friends with Morag Duncan. That is why we wish to find out who killed her.”
“I’m sorry you’ve had a loss,” he said in a gentler tone, “but it’s obvious what happened. She was killed by some vagabond looking for coins.”
“Her mother said that she would have had no money.”
“She was mistaken. There was a guinea under the lassie’s body that must have been missed when she was robbed and, around this part of the city, cutthroats will murder someone without a second thought for even the hint of money.”
A guinea was a lot of money for a young woman without a job to have on her, another suggestion that Morag had been up to something illegal. “What time of day was this?”
“The body was found early afternoon and wouldna have been there for long.”
Ishbel looked up and down the alley. The far entrance was not visible from here but the other was, the sounds of horse hooves and the calls of street sellers clearly audible. “Why would she not have cried out for help if she was being attacked?”
“The killer would have murdered her first and then robbed her. I expect it was over before she even knew someone was behind her.”
Ishbel thought about this, picturing herself in Morag’s place, and then asked, “Who reported the murder to you?”
“A merchant with a milliners shop over there.” He pointed in a
northern direction.
“Do you know his name?” She did not have any paper or quill with her to write down the information but she could remember it.
“I know his shop.”
“Would you show it to me?” He hesitated and she added, “Please. The young woman’s family just want to know what happened.”
“Aye, all right.” He walked ahead of them and they followed.
“Did he or anyone else see the murder?”
“No. He said that a child found the body and told him about it.” He stopped walking and gestured to a small shop with a bony finger. “That’s the one.”
“Thank you. We appreciate your help.” She was not sure whether or not to offer him a coin for his assistance, not wanting to offend him since he was here as part of his job. She paused too long and he touched his cocked hat to her and strode away. Ishbel turned to Lucy, who still seemed shaken by finding out what had been done to her friend. “Would you prefer to wait in the carriage while I ask the merchant what he knows?”
“No, Miss. I’m well.”
They walked into the shop. A couple of women – working class but with enough money to dress smartly – were admiring hats. The seller, who had been trying to tempt one of them to try on a ribbon-covered bonnet, glanced round and, at the sight of Ishbel, left the women and hurried over.
He had striking grey eyes that looked almost white in the light from the window and wore a plain brown outfit. He bowed to Ishbel and said in an English accent, “Welcome, My Lady. As you can see, I have a fine stock of hats and ribbons for you to choose from.”
“I am not here to make a purchase.” She explained their purpose and saw his expression fall at the realisation that he was not about to gain a wealthy client.
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you much. A local boy ran through the alley as a shortcut, on an errand for his mother, who sells flowers on the street further up. He said he nearly fell over the body. The sight of her scared him and, not sure what to do, he came in here. I went and took a look and saw that the poor girl was definitely dead, so I did my duty and reported it.”
“Was there any sign of anyone who could have been the killer?”
“No, Miss, happily for me.” He pulled a face at the idea of such an encounter. “This must have been a while after she was killed as the blood had run everywhere. It was a mess.”
“Did it seem to you like the result of a robbery?”
“I couldn’t say, Miss. I know nothing of the criminals around here – I wouldn’t have anything to do with them.” He sounded offended.
“No. Of course. Thank you for answering my questions.” She looked about and gestured to the least extravagant of the hats in sight. “I would like to purchase that.”
He perked up as took down her address, so he could send the bill for payment.
Lucy took the hat box to carry it for her and they left the shop and returned to the carriage, where the driver was waiting – making conversation with a couple of the women selling food on the street – to take them home. There was a look of strain on Lucy’s features as the footman helped them into the carriage and Ishbel resolved not to bring her along when asking further questions, as hearing the full details of Morag’s death must be painful for someone who had been her friend. She should have thought of that before.
As the horses got the carriage moving, Ishbel said, “I will keep looking into this but it seems likely that the town guard was right about Morag being killed for money.”
“I wonder where the money came from,” Lucy said, echoing Ishbel’s thoughts. “Perhaps she had a new job that she hadna told her family about yet.”
“Maybe. I will find out.”
“Thank you for your help with this, Miss. At least I can tell Morag’s parents that she died quickly. She canna have felt much pain if she didna have time to call out, can she, Miss?”
“No. I think it would have been over before she knew what was happening.”
“Poor Morag. She never had a chance to make much of a life for herself.”
Ishbel pictured the woman, younger than herself, a living, vibrant version of the unearthly figure laid out in her family’s home, with mousy hair like her mother’s. She could almost believe that she could feel Morag’s spirit watching her progress and, even as she shivered, she harshly dismissed such a superstitious idea. The carriage came to a halt before Ishbel could think of a reply for her maid. There was another carriage in front of the house and, even through the mist of rain, Ishbel recognised it at once.
Ewan was here.
Chapter Six
LUCY TOOK the hat box upstairs along with the gloves, hat and caraco jacket Ishbel had been wearing, leaving Ishbel free to go and speak to Ewan.
She had never before felt so nervous about seeing him. His anger at her for approaching him about another murder had been palpable and she did not know what to say to change his attitude. She had treated him badly and she could not take it back. He was here, though. That suggested that he had, for some unknown reason, decided to make peace with her.
She glanced in the hall mirror with its frame of gold leaves and attempted to smooth down her damp, windswept curls then, knowing it was unfair to keep him waiting any longer, she straightened and walked into the drawing room.
Ewan was there sitting in a chair near the flickering orange glow of the fire, Harriette opposite him. The fact that they both held tea cups and that there were empty plates on the mahogany coffee table nearby suggested that Ewan had been here for a while.
He stood up to bow to her and, while she curtsied in response, Harriette, still relaxed on the chaise longue, said, “Finally! Isobel, you and I must have a long discussion later about good etiquette. It is hardly polite to invite someone to call on you and then vanish for hours at a time.”
Since she had not asked him to do so, the words made her falter, confused, before she realised Ewan had been protecting her by avoiding saying that she had come to his house. She had not been thinking but that had been a highly misguided thing to do. “Yes. That was extremely rude. I apologise, Mr MacPherson.”
His gaze was a touch wry. “I imagine you did not expect me so soon.”
“No.” She had not dared hope that she would ever see him again.
“I imagine Mr MacPherson wishes to know why he was summoned here,” Harriette prompted, clearly too curious about what was going on to leave them alone. Social convention would say that she must always be present while an unmarried man was visiting Ishbel, but Harriette had given up trying to chaperone them long ago. Ishbel suspected that her cousin liked Ewan, although that did not cause her to spare him her sharp tongue and sarcasm. No one escaped them.
She spoke as if to Ewan but, since he knew the basic facts already, they were aimed more at letting Harriette know what was going on. “My maid, Lucy, informed me today that her childhood friend, Morag, was killed. I have agreed to find out what happened and hoped to enlist Mr MacPherson’s assistance.”
“Not again!” Harriette glared at her. “Have we not had enough of murders and other equally disreputable subjects?”
“Lucy needed to know how her friend died. I could not refuse her.”
“And no doubt you will be equally unwilling to refuse the next person who asks.” Harriette picked up her fan and got to her feet, the layers of her long skirts swirling around her. “Since murder is not a topic I find in any way agreeable, you may continue your discussion without me.”
She left the room and Ishbel turned to face Ewan, her mouth suddenly dry. “I am so sorry I was not here and that I approached you for such a reason as this. I had wanted to speak to you many times – I should never have turned you away after the last murder. Can you forgive me?”
“I do not know.” The quietly spoken words sent a chill through her. “I am not happy to be here. It puts me in a more difficult position than you realise. However, it would not be gentlemanly of me to allow you to get into a potentially dangerous situation alone, so perhaps y
ou should tell me what you know about the murder.”
This was not how she wished to leave the conversation about their relationship, but his words made it clear that he had no interest in anything else she might say about it. He had never used this cool tone with her before and she could only hope his attitude would change in time. They sat down and she told him everything she and Lucy had discovered so far about Morag’s death. “There might be little left to find out,” she concluded, “but I would like to know where she got the money that she had on her. The guinea left behind is not a small sum for a working class woman. Her mother’s reactions also made me think that Morag could have been involved in something dishonest.”
“Then it is possible that robbery was not the motivation for her death. A thief would usually be more thorough than to leave a guinea behind, I should have thought, unless he feared that he was about to be discovered.”
“The streets at either end of the alley are busy, so he might have believed someone would see him. The merchant who saw the body said that there was a lot of blood...” She paused, considering it. “I think it likely that the killer would have got blood on his hands and probably his clothing. He could not have gone far without being noticed.”
“Then he either lived somewhere nearby or was not afraid of being seen.”
“A habitual criminal with a dangerous reputation?”
“Exactly,” he said. “Jed Cassell might be able to tell us if there is a known thief who has killed in that way before.”
“Surely such a person would have been hanged?”
“Not if he was not caught. What people know and what a barrister can prove are two different things.”
“Yes, that is true.” She had found out in the court case against Viscount Inderly that the truth could be manipulated, when his barrister had done his best to ruin Ishbel’s reputation to convince the jury her evidence could not be relied upon. She dismissed the sting of how he had treated her and remembered something else she had wanted to mention. “Also, the merchant thought that the crime had been committed some while before the body was discovered because of the amount of blood on the ground. From a medical point-of-view that is not necessarily true: if someone’s throat was slit open there would immediately be a great deal of blood. The murder might have only taken place minutes before Morag’s corpse was found, or it could have been a lot longer. The body was laid out at her parents’ home but she has been dead too long now for me to be able to give a better idea of exactly when she died.”