A Dangerous Past

by Clare Jayne

  “I fired her on the spot and turned the matter over to the law.”

  “And after that?” Mr MacPherson said.

  “No idea. I never saw her again.”

  “Could we speak to the woman she stole from?”

  “She’s not here. Mrs Black left to raise a family a while ago.”

  “Do you remember anything more about what happened?” Ishbel asked.

  Mr McLain began to his head and then paused. “Wait now. It was Old Angus of the Town Guards who took her away. He’s still with them, although he must be five score years by now. Ask him.”

  “Thank you, we will,” Mr MacPherson said and they returned to his carriage.

  The Town Guards had their own homes but they reported to the Tollbooth Gaol in the heart of the city and an officer there told them how to find Old Angus – who was not to be confused with Young Angus or Gussie, who also worked there. Old Angus had his own carpentry business, which surprised Ishbel, but Mr MacPherson told her that most of the Town Guards had other jobs as well as that.

  “Morag Duncan was little more than a bairn when she took that money,” Old Angus told them, as he sat in his workshop, a half-made travelling chest in front of him. He was white-haired but his gaze was sharp and there was clearly nothing wrong with his memory. “Between her tears and her mother’s tears, it was never going to go court. Lord Tain isna a harsh man and he sorted it out to everyone’s satisfaction.”

  “Lord Tain? The solicitor?” Mr MacPherson asked.

  Ishbel had heard his name mentioned by Harriette but had not met him.

  “Aye, that’s right,” Old Angus confirmed.

  “Did you get the impression that Morag’s remorse was genuine?” Mr MacPherson asked.

  “Aye, I did. She came from a decent family – I could tell from their reaction that they were shocked by what she’d done. I woulda hoped she could put that behind her and make a good life for herself after that, so I’m sorry to hear that she’s dead.”

  They thanked him and left, the sound of hammer against wood following them into the street.

  “Should we see if Lord Tain knows anything of Morag’s life after the theft?” Ishbel said. “He might have checked up on how she was behaving after that.”

  “Certainly.”

  They drove to the law courts and found the offices where Lord Tain and his assistants worked. Lord Tain had streaks of silver in his hair but was still attractive and possessed of an air of vitality. His clothes were of the highest quality, but his strong local accent suggested that his peerage had been gained through his work, rather than being hereditary.

  He gave Ewan a searching look. “It’s, er, Mr MacPherson?”

  “You have an excellent memory, sir,” Ewan said and introduced Ishbel to him.

  Lord Tain smiled at them both in a genial manner and gestured for them to sit. As they all did so, he asked, “Does one of you have a legal problem?”

  “No,” Mr MacPherson said. “We actually have some experience of solving crimes. We are looking into the death of a young woman who was a client of yours some years ago. Her name was Morag Duncan.”

  “Yes, I recall the case.” His brow creased. “She’s dead?”

  “She was killed in what looks like a robbery, but her family asked us to find out more about it. We wondered if she was still involved in crimes or if she really had put such things behind her after this,” Mr MacPherson explained.

  “Aye, I see.”

  When he said nothing more, Ishbel prompted, “Old Angus of the Town Guards told us that the case never went to trial.”

  “No.” He paused again, presumably trying to recollect the details from so long ago. “Morag was a child and the money was returned to its owner, who was happy not to take the matter any further.”

  “Do you ever hear that she might be involved in other crimes?”

  “No. I honestly believed that the theft was a piece of childhood folly she hadna understood the consequences of. I hate to think that my leniency might have led her to think she could get away with more illegal activities.”

  “We do not know at this point that she had done anything else,” Mr MacPherson said since Lord Tain was looking regretful over the situation. “Her family did not know of any such thing and her death might well have been what it looked like: a violent robbery.”

  “Would you let me know the outcome of your enquiry?”

  “Yes, of course,” Mr MacPherson said.

  It as only when they got outside that Ishbel looked around and recognised where they were.

  “Morag was killed in one of the alleys near here,” she told Ewan. She had entered it from the street below and could not judge, from this direction, which one it was. “I believe it was either there or there.” She pointed to an alley behind the law courts and another one street over from them.

  “That is an odd coincidence. I suppose it is a place criminals would be forced to visit but I wonder what brought Morag near here.”

  “Perhaps her friends can tell us,” Ishbel said.

  Chapter Eleven

  AS LUCY helped Ishbel change into a more elegant afternoon dress to attend a select tea party at Mr Chiverton’s new home, she told her maid what she and Mr MacPherson had discovered so far.

  “Everyone we spoke to believed that Morag would learn from her mistake and commit no further crimes, but we do not yet know if that was true.”

  “I never even knew she’d lost her job at the factory,” Lucy said as she stood behind Ishbel, who was seated at dressing table, arranging her hair. “She must have been too embarrassed to talk about it. I was nervous when I came here and I was older than Morag and you were always kind to me; I’ve heard the noise and seen the mass of people that work in those factories and Morag was too young, at just ten years and two. It wasna fair sending her there at that age. I’m not excusing what she did...”

  “... I understand,” Ishbel said at once, “and I agree completely. The factory manager seemed like a callous man too – it is terrible to think of young children working long hours in such difficult surroundings.”

  “She had an adventurous spirit,” Lucy recalled with a smile as she teased curls into place. “She longed to see London and Paris and would create in her head the elaborate dresses she would wear. There was no harm in it: she just wanted more in her life than drudgery. If she coulda learnt to be a seamstress or something like that, working with pretty clothes, she woulda been happy but she never had the chance.”

  “Did she ever mention her father to you?”

  “Mrs Duncan’s first husband? Aye, she wished she coulda known him. I think she liked to imagine him as some fine gentleman, although she knew that wasna true. She got along well enough with Mr Duncan but they were different kinds of people and he never understood her need to dream.”

  “Did she ever mention anyone connected with her father that she might have tried to contact?”

  Lucy paused, a comb motionless in her hand, as she thought about it, then she resumed her occupation. “I think the lack of all other family and Mrs Duncan’s unwillingness to talk about him made Morag think there was some mystery surrounding him. I doubt it was true, though. I expect his death was a painful subject for Mrs Duncan and I know Mr Duncan had a jealous side – I dinna think he wanted to be reminded that Mrs Duncan had ever been close to another man.”

  “Did the family ever mention the name of Morag’s father?”

  “Not that I heard. Why are you interested in him?”

  “It was just that her brother said she mentioned him during her last visit to her family, but it was probably nothing.”

  Lucy finished arranging Ishbel’s hair in long fluffy curls, pinned over one shoulder. “There,” she said with satisfaction. “That looks just right.”

  Ishbel smiled in the mirror at her before turning and standing up. Lucy fetched a warm shawl and her hat and gloves.

  As Ishbel put them on, Lucy said, “I haven’t put you in a difficult situation
with this business, have I, Miss? I was thinking only about Morag when I asked you to help and now you’ve had to go to Mr MacPherson for help and look into another crime. Had you wanted to stop enquiring into such things?”

  “It was not so much a decision as a feeling that the work Mr MacPherson and I had done had not helped anyone. The court cases freed the Viscount Inderly, a cruel man who caused a young woman’s death, and Mr Fillinister is likely to be hanged for protecting his sister.”

  “It seems to me, Miss, that you shouldna take responsibility for actions that aren’t yours. Everyone knows what kind of man the Viscount is thanks to what you found out and Mr Fillinister chose to kill a man. It isna your fault that he has to pay the price for what he did.”

  Enough time had gone by that Ishbel could see the wisdom in these words. Perhaps she had judged both her own and Mr MacPherson’s actions too harshly. “I had never realised that I would miss looking into crimes.”

  “With Mr MacPherson?”

  “Yes,” she admitted with a smile. “I missed him the most. I was saddened over the results of the last two crimes but I never should have ended my acquaintanceship with Ewan. I thought at the time that I was not good enough for him but he never once seemed to think so.”

  “I should think not,” Lucy said in an indignant tone. “He would be fortunate to be married to you and he knows it.”

  Ishbel smiled at these words, but the expression quickly faded. “I do not know if he can ever forgive me for sending him away.”

  “If you love him, Miss, you have to find a way to convince him to.”

  Chapter Twelve

  MISS FIONA Chiverton kept a smile locked in place as she stood in her brother’s new house and greeted his guests. It was an unconventional mix of people, half aristocrats and half actors, but everyone seemed in good humour. All except her.

  She saw Miss Campbell arrive and her mood brightened. They curtsied to each other and she said, “I am so glad to have someone here I can talk about interesting subjects with.”

  “Are the rest of the guests so dull?” Miss Campbell asked with a smile.

  “The subjects discussed so far have been horses and plays. Not that I have any objection to either of those but I would much rather hear about the exciting people you meet at the university and during your enquiries about criminals.”

  “Mr MacPherson and I have, in fact, begun looking into a new matter.”

  “What is this?” Mr McDonald said, approaching them, a glass of wine in one hand. “You and MacPherson are not mixing with low-lifes again?”

  Fiona contained a sigh with difficulty. She had no idea why her brother, Eddie, would do all in his power to stay away from their brother, Henry, on the grounds that he was insufferably stuffy, and then choose to be friends with someone equally tedious. “Miss Campbell and Mr MacPherson do not mix with criminals,” she corrected him. “They catch them.”

  Eddie overheard some of their conversation and pulled Mr MacPherson with him to join them, Alex following. “So what scandals are you dealing with now?” he asked.

  “A young woman was murdered in what looks like a robbery,” Miss Campbell said.

  “It seems as if there may be some mysteries to uncover, though,” Mr MacPherson added. He smiled at Miss Campbell but Fiona noticed that the look never reached his eyes. A few months ago Fiona had been certain that an engagement would be announced between them and the idea had made her glad, if a touch wistful. When she was younger she had harboured some romantic feelings for Mr MacPherson – what young girl would not like a man who was so kind, handsome and good-natured? He had never treated her with anything except impersonal politeness, though, and she had learned how differently a man in love behaved after her coming out ball, when a number of men had tried to court her in a flatteringly ardent manner. And, when she had met Miss Campbell and seen her and Mr MacPherson together, it had been obvious how well suited they were, but then the crime enquiries had stopped and Mr MacPherson had inexplicably taken to spending more time with Eddie and his other friends.

  “If anyone can discover the truth, it is the two of you,” Eddie said to them.

  Another smile passed between the subjects of the conversation, but there was definite discomfort too. Fiona wondered what could have happened. Had one of them met someone else? If so, then why were they working together again now?

  “I thought you had decided to give up such dealings,” Mr McDonald said, an edge to his voice.

  “They apparently do not want to give us up,” Mr MacPherson said and Eddie laughed.

  “One cannot escape one’s fate,” Alex said in a deliberately theatrical tone.

  “Just so,” Mr MacPherson agreed and Miss Campbell shot him an unreadable glance.

  “So who is this relative of yours who left you this inheritance?” Mr McDonald asked Eddie in an unsubtle change of subject that was thoroughly exasperating to Fiona, who wanted to hear more from Miss Campbell and Mr MacPherson about their work.

  “My maternal grandfather was generous enough to leave me a considerable sum in his Will,” Eddie explained. “It has allowed me to leave my parents’ house...”

  “... Escape,” Fiona said with feeling, “and heartlessly leave me behind.”

  “That is not a very ladylike way to speak of your family,” McDonald said, sounding as judgemental as her father and older brother and, since it was none of his business, she glared at him.

  “I would gladly have brought you here to share this house,” Eddie said, which she could not entirely believe, since it would have made it far less convenient for him and Alex to spend time together, “but our parents would never agree.”

  So now she was stuck at home, under her family’s control, and she no longer had Eddie there to make it bearable. She was tempted to marry the next person who asked her so as to get away, but she was sadly too pragmatic to do any such thing.

  “Are you at least enjoying being more involved in society’s entertainments?” Miss Campbell asked, referring to the fact that now Fiona’s coming out ball had been held, she was invited to more events.

  “It is enjoyable in the way that a cream cake or a new dress is pleasing. They are all rather superficial.”

  Eddie put an arm round her waist. “Miss Campbell, have you been turning my sister into an intellectual?”

  “I can take no credit for her own good sense,” she responded.

  As she enjoyed the complement, Fiona caught Mr McDonald’s disgruntled expression. No doubt he would find himself a placid, conventional wife one day who loved nothing more than to attend balls and dinner parties. She shuddered inwardly at the thought.

  “You should attend more plays,” Alex said, smiling fondly at her. “Shakespeare is an expert at opening the mind to new philosophical ideas.”

  “I would enjoy that,” she said.

  “But nothing vulgar,” Mr McDonald interjected, once again attempting to spoil everyone’s good mood.

  Fiona turned away from him to face Miss Campbell. “Do tell us more about the new crime you are looking into.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “MORAG IS dead?” The young woman paled and Mr MacPherson quickly took her arm and helped her to a chair, which she sank into. Following the list of names Mrs Duncan had given them, she and Mr MacPherson were at the home of Betsy Dale, a working-class woman of around twenty whose cheeks and lips were stained with rouge.

  “I fear so,” Ishbel answered as she got out parchment, ink and a quill to write down anything useful that was said here. “I am sorry. We assumed that you would have already heard about it.”

  “No. I only saw her a week ago. What happened to Morag? When?”

  “She was killed several days ago in what looks like a robbery and her family asked us to find out what happened.”

  “But you’re aristocrats,” Miss Dale said, looking at their clothes with puzzlement and a touch of envy. Her own gown was brightly coloured and cut low at the chest, with no lace wrapped above to mak
e it more modest.

  “We have solved similar crimes. My lady’s maid, Lucy, was good friends with Morag when they were younger and asked me to help.”

  “Aye, Morag mentioned Lucy,” Miss Dale said.

  “Do you know if Morag was involved in anything that could have become dangerous to her?” Ishbel asked as Mr MacPherson took a seat on the chair beside hers, in the stark family parlour. His behaviour to her was more relaxed today, after the interlude at Mr Chiverton’s abode.

  Miss Dale hesitated before answering the question. “I dinna ken anything like that.”

  “How did you come to know her?”

  There was a slight relaxing in Miss Dale’s posture, as if the last question had worried her and this one did not. “I first saw her looking into the shop of a modiste, trying to get a glimpse of the dresses. Morag could obviously never afford to have clothes made in such a place, so she interested me. I walked over and we got talking about clothes and then about our ambitions. She was fun and smart, so I knew she’d get along well with the people I mix with. She was looking for somewhere to live, where her family wouldna be constantly checking what she was doing, and I had another friend with a spare room, so I introduced them.”

  “What is this friend’s name?”

  There was another pause but Miss Dale answered this time. “Nan Smith.”

  The name was one of the ones Morag’s mother had given them. “So Morag stayed there with Miss Smith?”

  “Aye, with Nan and George, Nan’s brother.”

  Shock rippled through Ishbel. No wonder Morag had refused to give the address of her lodgings to her parents.

  “There was nothing improper going on,” Miss Dale continued, seeing her reaction. “Nan and George needed the extra money from the rent and Morag needed a home with people her own age. It suited them all.”

  “How could Miss Duncan have paid rent?” Mr MacPherson enquired. “I understood that she was not employed at that time.”

  Miss Dale laced and unlaced her pale hands. “I dinna ken.”

  “Miss Dale,” Ishbel said, leaning towards her, “we have no interest in causing harm to anyone. We are here solely to find out how Morag died and you can rely on us to be discreet over anything in her past that was not entirely legal. We already know about the money she stole when she was working in a cloth factory.”