A Dangerous Past

by Clare Jayne

  “George got her doing the odd job for him, but you canna tell him I told you.”

  “We will not,” Ishbel promised.

  “She wasna stealing or anything like that. She just took certain items to where she was told to and everyone made a bit of money from it. It wasna exactly illegal.”

  If Ishbel understood the young woman correctly, Morag had sold stolen items to the kinds of people who did not care where those articles were obtained, which was extremely illegal. Mr Duncan had been right in saying that Morag had mixed with the wrong people, ones who had got her heavily involved in the criminal world.

  “I wouldna have introduced Morag to them if I thought it would get her into any trouble,” Miss Dale went on. “I just wanted to help her.”

  The fact that she meant this was written across her features.

  “I hope you will never get involved in such activities,” Ishbel said and saw Miss Dale give a guilty start, “because they are very likely what led to her death.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  NAN AND George Smith proved far more circumspect about their criminal endeavours than Betsy Dale had been. Their home was a flat within a four-storey house that had rats running along the corridors. Given the slovenly state of the rooms, with food and clothes on the surfaces and floors, it was not surprising that rodents were drawn to the building. Nan Smith had the same gaudy style of dress as Miss Dale, but was far more forward in manner, making eyes at Ewan and brushing against him as she showed them the room Morag had rented from them.

  “How did Morag pay you for the room?” Miss Campbell asked in an innocent tone. “We understood that she had not had a job for some time.”

  “We didna ask her private business,” George Smith said from behind them. He was a tall, lanky man with suspicious eyes in a handsome face. If he had switched on a more charming manner, Ewan suspected that Smith would not have had any difficulty in persuading Morag back into criminal behaviour, probably convincing her, as he had clearly done with Betsy Dale, that there was nothing really illegal in the jobs he got the young women to do for him.

  “We weren’t greedy,” Nan added, sitting down on the windowsill and looking up at him in what was probably meant to be a winsome manner, that had no effect on him. “We liked Morag and if she couldna always pay us, we didna worry.”

  “How kind of you,” Miss Campbell said with a fair imitation of sincerity. “You must have spent a lot of time with Morag, so was she in any trouble that you knew about?”

  Nan Smith looked at her brother, who answered, “She’d been a bit moody for the last week, as if something was on her mind, but she didna tell us what it was.”

  “We were really upset to hear that she was dead, weren’t we?” Miss Smith said and her brother made a sound of agreement. Neither of them looked particularly grief-stricken. “We were told it was a robbery. Morag was a good-natured lass – she wouldna have done anything that would make anyone want her dead.”

  “No, that’s right,” Smith agreed. The two of them were far more careful of what they said than Betsy Dale had been and so they asked no more questions, Ewan glad to remove Miss Campbell from such a disreputable place.

  Having had dry weather when they entered the building, a deluge of rain was now pouring from the slate grey sky as they left. Ewan’s driver jumped down from the carriage and held the near-side door open as soon as he saw them, holding out a gloved hand to help Miss Campbell climb up. She hurried to take it and, once she was seated, the driver closed the door and hastened round to open the far-door for Ewan, who also wasted no time in getting into the dry interior.

  “Where to next, sir?” his driver checked.

  “To Miss Campbell’s house,” Ewan said and the driver nodded and closed the door, giving the two of them privacy. Ewan attempted to brush some of the excess water off his jacket but did little more than smear it about.

  The horses got moving, pulling the carriage smoothly along, and Miss Campbell said, “Do you think we should believe what Mr Smith said about Morag being concerned about something before her death, or is it more likely that he was just trying to divert us from the fact that he and his sister had got Morag mixed up in criminal work?”

  “It was difficult to tell,” Ewan said, trying to ignore the dampness seeping through his clothes. “I feel some sympathy for Morag, though. She had no chance of keeping her behaviour honest after meeting those two and it was always going to cause her misfortune.”

  “I agree.” Miss Campbell’s expression was pensive.

  “Perhaps we should tell Morag’s parents and your maid that she had been involved with dangerous people and leave the matter there. I fear that anything more we discover will just distress them.”

  He was not surprised when Miss Campbell shook her head. He knew her well enough by now to understand that her conscience would not permit her to leave such a matter only half resolved. “No. We have found out nothing about her actual death and, given what we have learned, it is possible that we might be able to uncover the identity of her killer. It no longer seems likely that she was just murdered in a robbery attempt.” She looked across at him. “Unless you do not wish to be further involved in this?”

  The idea clearly bothered her, so he said, “I am content to see this matter through to its conclusion.”

  “Thank you. Mr MacPherson... If you do not wish to discuss this I will respect your decision, but I would like to try to explain why I previously ended our association.”

  He had regretted not giving her a chance to speak on the subject before as he very much wanted to understand why she had acted as she had. “I would be glad to hear you.”

  “You know that my family’s past is not without stain and that my own behaviour is viewed harshly by the ton.”

  “I never cared about that,” he said, wondering how she could think otherwise after knowing him all this time.

  “I know.” She gave a nervous smile. “You have always been extremely considerate and understanding. However, I feared that you might one day regret your association with me and that you might come to wish that you had a wife who would increase your social standing, rather than lessening it.” Before he could deny this, she continued, “While we worked together and I felt that we were helping others, I could tell myself that our relationship was a positive one. I reacted badly to the results of the last two crimes we looked into, feeling at the time that our actions had caused suffering to innocent people. It made me feel that I was harming your life too and, irrational as that decision was, I honestly believed that your life would be better without me in it.” Having expressed what she needed to, Ishbel let out a shaky breath and awaited his reaction.

  She deserved equal honesty so he paused to collect his thoughts before replying. “When I met you I had decided that I wished to marry. There was something lacking in my life that I thought I could fill with a wife and children. I was wrong. I needed to feel I was doing something useful with my life and not just living a frivolous existence. I have found that by looking into crimes – no matter that the outcomes have not always been what we hoped, it has been work that I could be proud of, that challenged my abilities and knowledge. If such endeavours negatively affect the way society sees me, I do not care. If my association with you harms my standing in the ton, I will never object. This is a life that I choose, regardless of your own decision in the matter. My feelings for you are something separate.” He was still unsure of her feelings for him so he resisted the desire to express his love and ask her to marry him again. He could not bear another rejection that would damage what relationship they currently had. “I would ask that you banish thoughts of society’s opinions of you and your family from your mind and know that they have no effect on me.”

  “Then we are...” She hesitated. “... friends?”

  “I sincerely hope so.” And perhaps, in time, she would want a closer relationship with him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  MR MACPHERSON came into her house
to discuss Morag’s death further and they discovered Jed Cassell, the caddy, standing dripping in the hallway.

  “Please join us in the library, Mr Cassell,” she said and ordered refreshments be brought to them and the fire be built up.

  The butler gave an unhappy glance at Mr Cassell, who still wore his stained work apron, but simply replied to her request, “Yes, Miss Campbell,” and left to make the arrangements.

  Ishbel led the way into the library, glad that the caddy was here with them. The personal conversation with Ewan had been an emotional one and she was uncertain as to how she felt about its outcome. She was relieved that he seemed to have been willing to forgive her for the unintentionally cruel way she had treated him, but she was not sure if he still wished to marry her and that hurt. As was her want, she reacted to emotional turbulence by finding something else to focus her mind on.

  A housemaid followed them in and got the fire blazing, then unobtrusively retreated.

  There were two chairs already arranged in proximity to the fireplace, so she waved Mr MacPherson towards one and took the other, saying, “Mr Cassell, will you bring a chair over so that we may all dry off?”

  He obeyed at once, his youthful features pinched with cold. It was midway through March and, as Ishbel felt the heat of the flames begin to thaw her own body, she thought that she would be heartily glad when this long, freezing winter was finally over.

  “Do you have news about Morag Duncan’s death?” she asked him. They had given him the details of the murder a couple of days ago and knew his job, and that of his fellow caddies, travelling the streets of Edinburgh each day to run errands for a small fee, would allow him to find out far more details about people than they could. His help during their previous enquiries had proved invaluable and, in some ways, she thought of him as part of their small team.

  Jed Cassell gave a distracted glance at the butler and footman who had entered the room with the refreshments she had asked for, before answering in his familiar Highlands accent, the tone more lilting than the local Scottish accent. “Aye. When I asked around, I was told that Morag was the go-between, passing stolen goods off to fences.”

  “Fences?” she asked as she poured out three cups of tea and handed two of them to the gentlemen. Mr Cassell gingerly accepted the delicate china, holding it in both of his large hands.

  “A fence is a criminal who deals in stolen things. Morag was known to some rough people.”

  “What are their names and where can we find them?” Ishbel offered round the plate of scones and then opened her reticule to get out her parchment, ink and quill.

  Mr Cassell answered her question and she wrote down the information as he added, “If you have any questions for them, it’d be best if I asked them for you, Miss. They aren’t the sort of people either of you should come in contact with.”

  This was the kind of comment Harriette would make, so Ishbel was tempted to dismiss it, until she recalled that both Mr MacPherson and Mr Cassell had been assaulted during the investigation into Duke Raden’s murder, when they had spoken to the wrong people. The incident that caused Mr MacPherson’s sore, swollen eye and Mr Cassell’s bleeding nose was definitely something she did not want a repetition of. They would need to be more careful this time. “I also had a thought last night that the guinea coin found beneath her corpse might be important. We always felt that it was a lot of money for her to have with her.”

  “From what we have since discovered, it was probably the payment for stolen items,” Mr MacPherson said, his face half in shadows cast by the dancing flames.

  “But that would not be a reason for her to be killed, unless a robber did see her with the money, but then why would he leave the coin behind?” she said. “No, Morag knew about a lot of illegal behaviour – what if she decided to blackmail the wrong person and the guinea was her payment?”

  “It would certainly be a good reason for someone to harm her,” Mr MacPherson agreed, although he did not look convinced.

  She had no evidence for her theory but everyone they had spoken to so far had seemed to like Morag. If she did not die for any personal reason then it must have been something to do with the work she undertook for George Smith.

  “Did anyone mention the name George Smith to you?” she asked Mr Cassell, who was still holding his cup of tea as if it might attack him and had put his plate on his lap so he had his other hand free to take a bite out of his scone.

  He hastily swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and said, “Aye, Miss. The lassie was thought to be acting under his orders in handling the stolen things.”

  “Did anyone say anything more about what manner of person he was?”

  “No, but I can find that out.”

  “That would be useful,” she said, “and we would be glad to know if he was involved in any other kinds of criminal work.”

  She hoped that the answers he found out would tell them a great deal more about the danger Morag had got into.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I SHOULD call alone on the fences Jed told us about,” Mr MacPherson said when Mr Cassell had left them.

  “No,” Ishbel immediately disagreed. “A criminal is more likely to see you as a threat and attack. That was what happened before over nothing more than a misunderstanding. If we approach the first shop together and show an interest in making a purchase, it will make our visit look innocent.”

  “And how will questions about a murdered woman be made to seem innocent?”

  “We could tell a half-truth,” she suggested, finishing her cup of tea. “We might say that my lady’s maid knew Morag and, having heard the shop mentioned by her, we wished to see it?”

  “We might avoid suspicion that way.”

  “Shall we leave now?” She glanced at the window, where rain was hurling itself at the glass. It was disheartening to go out again when her clothes had only just got dry, but her studies at the university had got her used to ignoring the elements.

  “If you wish.”

  If her dash from the front door to the carriage was less than ladylike, she did not care. As Mr MacPherson took the longer route round the back of the carriage to join her, Ishbel felt sympathy for the driver and young boy acting as tiger who would remain on the outside of the coach in the rain during the journey.

  It only occurred to her when she and Mr MacPherson were standing inside the first shop on her list, that it might not be convincing to suggest to the owner that they were strolling round Edinburgh High Street in such weather with no hidden purpose. Added to this was the fact that there were no other customers in the shop and that it was not the kind of fashionable place that members of good society would visit. They could not take back their actions now, though, since the proprietor was approaching them. He was a plump, middle-aged man with a jaundiced complexion who wore a style of clothes that had gone out of fashion some years ago.

  “Welcome to my establishment, sir and madam. May I show you any particular ornament or furniture?”

  “My wife and I are decorating our first home,” Mr MacPherson said, startling her. She told herself this was the obvious excuse for them to be here together, but her heart continued to beat more quickly as he went on, “My wife had heard that we might find some pleasing knick-knacks here.”

  “May I ask who recommended my humble shop to you?”

  This question gave Ishbel the perfect chance to use the explanation they had made up. “My lady’s maid had heard it mentioned by a friend, Miss Morag Duncan. I imagine she must regularly visit your shop.”

  “I’m afraid I dinna know the name, but please allow me to show you some of my wares.”

  Ishbel took careful note of the items around her, although had they come from the home of someone she knew – which was unlikely – she would still be unlikely to recognise them. They did not manage to escape for some time and Mr MacPherson carried a newly purchased lamp that he would probably not dare display given the likelihood that it had been obtained by dubious means. Th
eir journey to a second, similar, shop produced the same denial by the owner of any knowledge of Morag Duncan. After this lack of success, there seemed little point in continuing.

  The lies did tell them something, though. The shop owners were known to have regularly bought from Morag so, if they refused to admit to knowing her, it was confirmed that these dealings must be illegal.

  Mr MacPherson returned Ishbel to her house, the rain obligingly ceasing now that they were going indoors. He agreed to meet her again the next day, after a lecture she wished to attend, and they would see if they could make better progress.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “I LIKE it very much,” Chiverton said, looking round the spacious drawing room. He wore blue jacket and breeches and his blond hair was tied back beneath his tricorne hat.

  “As do I,” McDonald agreed. He looked similarly smart, although his attitude was less alert than usual.

  “You made the same comments about the last two houses we inspected,” Ewan pointed out as he studied the elaborately carved furniture.

  “You can hardly expect incisive remarks at just passed nine in the morning, my friend,” Chiverton said and yawned to prove his point. “It is practically still the middle of the night.”

  “I am grateful to you both for accompanying me. My sister and her family will arrive in little over a week and I do not feel in any way prepared for it.”

  “What is wrong?” Chiverton asked at once, seeing that this was not actually about houses.

  “Some acquaintance of my sister’s told her about my work with Miss Campbell and Matilda strongly disapproves. I have not had a response from her to the letter I sent trying to put the matter in a more favourable light.”