A Dangerous Past

by Clare Jayne

  He narrowed his eyes at the hint of impertinence in this remark but just said, “Very well.”

  They approached the small group and he introduced her to Lord and Lady Tain and their companions, Mr and Mrs Fraser. Lord Tain was a middle-aged man, his hair hidden beneath a powdered wig, the rose red in his white-and-red striped coat matching the red in his wife’s dress. Lady Tain was perhaps ten years younger than him and held his arm in a proprietary way. Mr Fraser, a short gentleman with a sallow complexion, was a newly qualified solicitor who seemed to have an endless list of legal questions he wished to ask of the older man.

  “I fear this conversation will be dull for you,” Lady Tain said to Fiona in a slightly condescending way. She was the only one of the group they had joined who spoke in the upper class English accent rather than a Scottish one.

  “Not at all. I imagine the legal profession must be a fascinating one.”

  “It is a distinguished career my husband excels at.”

  “I should think it would be a thrilling thing to watch him present a case in front of the judge and jury.”

  “It makes me very proud.”

  Lord Tain overheard this remark and gave his wife an affectionate smile, patting the gloved hand that rested on his arm.

  Fiona said to him, “My friend, Miss Campbell, told me recently about your kindness to Morag Duncan, a child accused of theft.”

  “Aye, I recall Mr MacPherson and Miss Campbell having an interest in the girl. Tell me, have they worked out what happened to her?”

  “Not yet.”

  “What is this?” Lady Tain asked.

  Her husband said, “It is a tragic matter. The working-class girl, Morag Duncan, was my client when, as a child, she committed a theft. I managed to convince the factory woman she stole from not to bring the matter to trial and sincerely hoped Miss Duncan would do better in the future. Her recent death was in the newssheets – she was murdered in the ugliest way.”

  “How can that possibly matter to anyone here?” Lady Tain said in a dismissive way that shocked Fiona. “Women of that class die every day. I do not see why you should give it any thought.”

  Lord Tain frowned, looking taken aback. “It is my job to do so.”

  “Surely your work is to defend people to the best of your ability. The mistakes they make after you help them cannot be on your conscience – that is all I meant.”

  “That is true,” he said and the conversation resumed with a discussion between Mr Fraser and Lord Tain on a recent trial involving a small gang of thieves who, Lord Tain believed, still had accomplices at large in society.

  Although the subject was interesting, Fiona only half listened. She had hoped to find out something to help Miss Campbell and Mr MacPherson but had learnt nothing, except that Lady Tain had a callous streak and now Mr McDonald, who had finally worked out what she was up to, was glaring at her.

  She ignored him and wondered if she could find someone to dance with.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  JED BACKED away from the three men, only realising too late that they had manoeuvred him into a coal yard, with no way of escape. It was early morning and his mind had still been on the bills for his brother’s medicine and treatment. Despite knowing that someone did not want Morag Duncan’s murder solved, Jed had not been careful enough and, seeing the threat he faced, he realised he might not get another chance.

  “You shoulda listened to all the warnings, boy,” one of the men said, echoing Jed’s thoughts. The speaker was a fair-haired thug of around thirty with a long scar on one muscular arm, and, as nervous as he was, Jed bristled at being referred to as a child. He was just as brawny as the man he faced and was confident he could have got the best of him in a fight. But not of all of them together. Gabe Fryer, the criminal who’d warned him off before, was with them and Jed had an idea that he recognised another of the men as having spent time in gaol too. They were a rough-looking collection and Jed had the feeling they were not here to just beat him up.

  “Your patrons, Miss Campbell and Mr MacPherson, shoulda dropped the matter after I spoke to you before,” Gabe said. “With the reward money promised, I’ll gladly risk hanging for all of you. If others dinna get to them first, that is. Even if they do, the money on your head is definitely ours.”

  “Aye,” the blond agreed and picked up a shovel that had been lying next to a heap of coal, holding it up as a weapon.

  The three of them spread out as they approached Jed, so they could attack him together. He had to think of some way to distract them or he would not stand a chance. He backed further away, feeling behind him with his feet for stacks of coal, as tripping over now would be fatal.

  “If you’re gonna kill me anyway, why not tell me who it is that’s paying for me to die?”

  The blond laughed with genuine amusement, the sound rattling Jed. “I dinna ken who’s offered the reward but whoever it is has deep pockets.”

  Jed tried to keep an eye on all three of the man as they surrounded him, tensed for the beginning of an attack. “So how do you know they’ll really pay?”

  “Their hired man was open-handed with me just for giving you the warning you stupidly ignored,” Gabe said and made a lunge at Jed, who blocked the punch and shoved him away, getting to one side of the thugs. There was still a man standing in his way but, if he could get around him, Jed could get out of here and make a run for it.

  “Why take the chance of hanging when you can make a good profit from selling this information to Mr MacPherson?” Jed suggested and saw one of them pause to consider the idea.

  “Because he’s already as good as dead and if we dinna kill you, someone else’ll do it and claim the reward,” Gabe said and sprang forward, the speed of the attack too fast for Jed to counter, and he was knocked to the ground.

  Gabe punched Jed, the blow making his senses spin, but desperation kept his wits sharp and he grabbed Gabe’s wrist with one hand and clenched the other into a fist to return the blow, landing it in Gabe’s stomach. Jed rolled away just as the second man brought the shovel down with crushing force on the spot where his head had been.

  Jed tried to jump to his feet but the blond grabbed his ankle, sending him sprawling again. Panic set in as the three of them descended on him at once. Heart thumping as he saw his own death in their eyes, Jed aimed a punch at the man with the shovel before the red-head who’d previously hung back punched him in the face.

  “Oy! What are you doing?”

  The unknown voice was the most welcome sound Jed could imagine. As the assault was paused, he caught sight of a couple of men entering the yard from the street. Their faces and arms were covered in black coal-dust, so they obviously worked here.

  There was a pause and then Gabe Fryer made a run for it while the other thugs dithered, still crouched over Jed.

  “Langham, go fetch the Town Guard who’s out on the street,” the older coal worker said and the younger man raced off.

  One of the men who held Jed, a fist around his neck, swore and let go, and both of them hurriedly got up and jogged for the main street.

  The coal worker took in Jed’s blue apron with a frown. “How badly are you hurt, laddie?”

  “I’m fine, thanks to you,” Jed answered, sitting up. His face was tender but his nose was not broken and he had no other injury, to his surprise. Having feared being killed, he could not quite take in his fortune. The man reached out a large hand and hauled Jed to his feet.

  “What was all that about?”

  “Someone put out a reward to kill me.” He breathed in sharply as he remembered what the thugs had said. “I have to go – two others are in danger too.”

  At that moment, of course, the Town Guard appeared, with the lad who had been sent to get him, and demanded a full account. Jed answered the questions as quickly as he could, desperate to warn Mr MacPherson and Miss Campbell.

  He could only hope he would not reach them too late.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

 
“I FEAR we have discovered nothing that has any direct bearing on Morag’s death,” Ewan said, sitting in a more relaxed pose than usual in his seat beside the library fire. He put a hand over his mouth to hide a yawn and straightened. “Forgive me – I stayed late at a ball last night, one where young Miss Chiverton sang your praises to my sister and Picton.”

  “How kind of her,” Ishbel said with feeling, glad to have become friends with the younger woman. “Do you think it helped make up for my blunders at your home?”

  “Do you mean, getting a few drops of your drink on Matilda’s dress? That was nothing – it did not leave the smallest stain. I hope you have not been worrying about something so trivial.”

  His reaction was heartening, convincing her that perhaps Lady Picton would not hold it against her after all. “I do not think your family was impressed to hear about me attending lectures either.”

  “That is not their concern. It is unusual but nothing they can find fault with.”

  She was not convinced about that and adding it to the work she did on murder enquiries, Ishbel was hardly the sort of young lady his sister might want him to marry.

  “Since the weather has been fine the last few days, I thought we might carry out McDonald’s suggestion of a picnic. That would let my sister get to know you properly in a relaxed setting.”

  “That is a charming plan.” She resolved not to drink anything during the event or Lady Picton would be afraid to come near her.

  “Three days from today?”

  That would be a Saturday, when there were no lectures for her to attend at the university, although she would have cancelled any other plans for the sake of another chance to attempt to make a good impression on Ewan’s family. She was determined to succeed this time. “That is perfect.”

  “I will have my butler make the arrangements.”

  There was a silence and then Ishbel returned to their original subject. “I fear the subject of Morag’s father is a pointless one. He is most likely dead and, even if Morag had discovered a relation of his, why would they possibly harm her?”

  “Yes. I think you are right. That takes us back to the crimes she was involved in.”

  “So who could have given Morag the guinea and why? George Smith seemed to know nothing about it.”

  “No and it was certainly not obtained honestly.”

  She tapped her finger on the leather cover of a book. “It must have been one of the people she sold stolen goods to – nothing else makes sense. We just have to find a way to convince them to talk to us.”

  “If money is what most matters to them, perhaps we could use it to encourage them to speak.”

  “Yes.” She stood up. “Let us try that.”

  A short time later Ewan’s carriage stopped in front of one of the shops they had visited before. They walked inside and were approached, more warily than the first time they had visited, by the snub-nosed middle-aged proprietor.

  They abandoned the pretence they had previously used of being innocent shoppers and Ewan opened his money pouch, removing several coins. “We have no interest in causing trouble over any illegal behaviour we discover,” he said, holding them out to the man, who looked nervously around, before pocketing them. “We just wish to know about Morag Duncan. You know who that is?”

  “Aye,” the man said in a low tone. He looked them over at length, as if deciding whether or not to trust them and then he gestured for them to follow him into the back part of the shop, which was a small office. Once they were alone, he spoke more freely. “Morag started coming here eight or nine months ago, bringing items for me to sell. I didna ask where they came from – I canna afford to be fussy.”

  “Was she here on the day she died?” Ishbel asked.

  “No, I hadna seen her in a few days when I heard of her death.”

  Then this trip was another futile one. Where had Morag been before she was killed?

  “Do you know of anyone who wanted to harm her?”

  “I asked around quietly after she died. After all, someone coming after her might have also been after me, but no one knew anything. I thought she must have stolen something from the wrong person.”

  “No, it was George Smith who did the stealing,” Ewan said.

  “Who told you that?” the man scoffed. “That young man wouldna risk his own neck if he could get someone else to risk theirs.”

  “Then perhaps the money Morag had on her came directly from a theft,” Ishbel said to Ewan.

  “Or she sold on something too valuable and the owner had her killed over it,” the shop owner suggested. “But it’s nothing I’ve heard about.”

  Ishbel was lost in thought as they left the shop, going from the darkness of the back room through the dim shop and out into the overcast street. She had no idea where the attackers came from. One moment, she was walking towards the carriage with Ewan at her side and the next, one muscular man had got hold of Ewan while another knocked her off her feet.

  She shrieked as she saw the first man produce a knife. Ewan punched him and, as she hurriedly got to her feet, she saw the knife flash towards him. She could not breathe as she heard Ewan’s grunt of pain and saw him stagger back several steps, the sleeve of his jacket covered in a growing stain of blood.

  She stared at the knife, held in a confident grip, terrified that the man would use it again and kill Ewan. Instead, the men paused less than an arm’s length away from her and one of them pointed a finger at Ewan and then turned towards her. “You shoulda left Morag Duncan’s murder alone. Now it’s too late for you.”

  Ishbel froze as their hard gazes fell on her, like wolves spying their prey. Ewan moved unsteadily to stand in front of her and raised his fists. Although he was tall, he was also slender and faced men whose arms bulged with muscles and whom she saw both carried knives. One of them looked happy to meet the challenge and Ishbel looked around for something to throw at him, but the other pulled him back. They caught sight of something that made them pause before running off and, sick with relief, Ishbel realised what it was when Ewan’s carriage driver raced to her side, the little tiger beside him taking Ewan’s uninjured arm.

  “Do you want me to go after that ruffian, sir?” the carriage driver asked. Although he was smartly dressed, he was a sturdy-looking man, whose look of anger at the attack on his master suggested he was keen to pursue them.

  “No,” Ewan said. “I don’t want you to risk your life over this.”

  They all looked round at the attackers, just as the men reached the end of the street and turned out of view.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  “IF SOMEONE is afraid of what we will find out, at least it shows we are progressing in the right direction,” Ewan said in a calm tone while Ishbel bit her lip as she watched the elderly physician apply ointment to the gash on his arm, reminded of a similar occasion when he had been wounded during their pursuit of a killer. He might have died today. She could have lost him.

  “This is lunacy,” Harriette said, hands on hips as she watched the proceedings that were taking place in her drawing room. “You cannot possibly pursue this matter further if it puts your lives in danger.”

  “On the contrary,” Ishbel said, trying to sound composed. Faced with Ewan’s injury, she wanted to say the opposite words to the ones she knew she had to speak. “It would be insupportable to give in to such bullying tactics.”

  “I agree,” Ewan said at once, as the physician stoppered the ointment bottle and then began to bandage his arm.

  “No, this is my doing,” came a voice from the doorway and they all turned their heads to see Lucy standing in the doorway, an appalled expression on her face. “I should never have got you involved in this matter, Miss. You have to stop.”

  Harriette gestured to the maid. “There. Now there is no need for you to continue with this folly.”

  “There is a young woman whose murderer is still at large,” Ewan said from his chair.

  “Harriette, were an important member of so
ciety to snub you, you would never allow the slight to pass unchallenged,” Ishbel said.

  “It is hardly a good comparison. There would be no risk to my life in that situation.” Harriette was finishing speaking when a new figure appeared, walking past Lucy towards Ewan and Ishbel. Jed Cassell bowed to Harriette and the others, but she ignored him and said to Ishbel, “You and I will discuss this later in private.”

  Harriette glared at Jed as she passed him and swept out of the room, skirts rustling. Ishbel got a clearer look at Jed’s face as he moved closer and breathed in sharply as she saw bruises darkening it.

  “I’m sorry,” Jed said to Ishbel and Ewan, “I had three thugs attack me earlier. They said there was a reward for killing all of us, but I couldna get here in time to warn you. The reward is there for anyone to claim, so we’re all in danger until the murder is solved.”

  Ewan leaned forward. “How bad are your injuries?”

  “Just what you can see, sir. By good luck alone, I came out of my fight better than you did.”

  “I think we were all lucky,” Ishbel said, “and it sounds as if it is too late for us to stop our enquiries now, even if we were to decide that we wished to.”

  “Aye,” Jed agreed unhappily.

  Ewan reached into his money pouch and took out a number of coins. He stood and walked across the room to put them into Jed’s hand. “Take this and find somewhere to stay out of sight until we get the matter solved. I do not want your death on my conscience.”

  Jed stared in shock at the coins. “This is a fortune.”

  “You have more than earned it,” Ewan told him. “You were hurt because of us.”

  “No,” Jed contradicted him, “I was hurt by the killer’s order. I chose to accept your hire, so I was always willing to accept the chance of danger. And if you intend to keep on with the hunt, then I will too. If it helps you any, the thugs let slip that they didna know who’d offered the reward as it was offered through a go-between, but given the money involved the murderer would have to either be a powerful criminal or an aristocrat.”