After several minutes, something miraculous happened. Sarah could see pulsations in the umbilical cord where it attached to the child. Raven placed his ear on the infant’s chest and confirmed that he could hear the heart beating. He cut the cord and handed the child to the matron, who was standing with a warm towel waiting to receive it.
Raven stood for a moment, bloody fluid dripping from his sleeves, then bent over the prostrate woman again to complete his task. He worked less frantically, more methodically now. He removed the placenta and stitched the wound. When he was finished, he paused. He looked down at the patient as though only now becoming aware of what he had done.
Sarah handed him a towel and he wiped his hands. The bed was a mess, blood and fluid soaked into it. Raven reached forward, closed the woman’s eyes and pulled the sheet over her. He murmured something. Sarah thought for a moment that he was praying. Then she realised that it was not a prayer but an apology.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he said.
Sarah suddenly felt light-headed. Dark spots began to appear at the periphery of her vision. She looked round for a chair and sat down heavily, taking a few deep breaths and hoping that she would not faint. As her own breathing slowed, her vision began to clear. She looked at the clock above the fireplace at the far end of the room. No more than twenty minutes had passed from the time they had walked through the front door.
Raven sat at the desk in the cramped room matron used as her office. He was bathed in the light from a small window, scribbling his notes in the little book he always carried with him. His hair was dishevelled and was becoming more so as he ran his fingers through it.
Sarah sipped from the glass of water that she had been given. She could still feel the drying sweat in her hairline, the patch of dampness at the back of her dress.
‘How could you do that?’ she asked.
He looked up from his notes, surprised at the question.
‘There was no hope of saving the mother, so I had to try to save the life of the child.’
‘You misunderstand me. I mean how could you remain so calm in the face of such tragedy? I know that I could not. I did not. But you did.’
He gave her a weak smile, finished what he was writing and closed the book. He looked at her, concern on his face.
‘What is troubling you?’
‘Apart from witnessing a sudden death?’
Raven sighed. ‘You have not been yourself of late.’
Under other circumstances this statement could have unleashed a torrent of vituperation. Of course she had not been herself. What did he think was the matter with her? It should be obvious, shouldn’t it? But she was too tired to fight. Too tired to explain. So, she said nothing.
In the absence of any explanation from her, Raven tried to justify his own behaviour, supply some reassurance.
‘You learn how to deal with these things, little by little,’ he said gently.
‘They won’t let me learn though, will they?’
Raven looked as though he was about to speak again but she forestalled him.
‘I am thinking of leaving Queen Street,’ she said.
‘Leave Queen Street? Why? To go where?’
‘There is no reason for me to stay.’
Raven looked alarmed and there was some comfort in that. A tiny piece of consolation.
‘I will never be able to do what you do,’ she said, ‘and perhaps I was wrong to ever wish it. At most I can be half of something. Less than half of something.’
‘What do you mean?’
He got up from behind the desk and began to move towards her, but she put her hands up to stop him. She feared she would collapse completely if he came too near.
‘I have been deluding myself. It was all a foolish dream from which Elizabeth Blackwell helped shake me awake.’
‘What did she say to you?’
He seemed angry now, but Sarah did not want his outrage.
‘The specifics of what she said do not matter. What matters is that she was right. I am wasting my time. I would have made efforts to move out already were it not for Christina.’
‘Christina?’ Raven asked. ‘What about her?’
He looked confused now. Bamboozled. Under other circumstances she would have found some humour in it, but there was nothing amusing about any of this.
She realised that she had said more than she intended, but it felt good to confide in someone.
‘Christina had a baby before she came to Queen Street, a boy. She was forced to give him up but now she wants to find out what happened to him. There is a woman in Dickson’s Close, a Mrs King, who arranged for the child to be adopted. That is where I was headed today when we met. I was going back to try to find her.’
‘Going back?’
‘I have been before but found no one at home. A neighbour thinks that she might have moved on. I thought, if nothing else, I might drag a bit more information from the neighbour. Perhaps she has heard something or can provide some clue as to where Mrs King has gone.’
‘If there are clues to be had, they are likely to be in the house itself, don’t you think?’
‘Well, yes. But how do I gain access when there is no one there?’
Raven gave her a look that she recognised. Mischievous. Roguish. Dangerous.
‘We break in,’ he said.
TWENTY-NINE
aven followed Sarah into the narrow vennel of Dickson’s Close. It was as gloomy and oppressive as before, even in the late afternoon, little light finding its way between the high walls. The ground beneath their feet was uneven, large stagnant puddles coalescing in places to form small lakes. Raven instinctively reached to take Sarah’s hand as they negotiated their way between them, then restrained himself, unsure of how she might react.
He was relieved that she had allowed him to accompany her, alarmed by the thought that she had previously come here alone. That was Sarah, though. Not fearless in the face of danger, for only a fool could be truly so, but undeterred by it.
That was why it had been painful to see her in the matron’s office looking so untypically unsure of herself, so wracked by doubt. Raven’s perception of her was of someone formidable, of there being nothing she could not achieve once she had made it her purpose. There was no obstacle she could fail to overcome with her confounding intelligence and infuriating tenacity. Sometimes it seemed that her indignation alone could drive back an army. And yet there she had sat before him, Icarus bereft of his wings. She had been inspired by Elizabeth Blackwell’s achievements, but having been confronted with the reality of the woman, it appeared all the fight had gone out of her.
A little voice whispered that if only he had waited, she would have become amenable to the idea of being his wife and assistant. In fact, she might have arrived at that point already, given her reaction to his news. But he could not bear the thought of her wishing to be with him only because her dreams had been crushed; of a lesser, chastened version of Sarah submitting to him. What kind of life would they have had together if they both knew that marriage to him had been a mere consolation? Surely she would resent him for taking advantage of her wretchedness, as he might come to resent her through knowing that he had been her second choice.
But was Eugenie his consolation, he wondered, his second choice? Raven thought of how his mother had married his father against her family’s wishes and warnings. Was it better to know what you wanted and not be able to have it, or to get what you wanted and learn it was a mistake?
Raven would take the former, for in not having Sarah he had learned the value of Eugenie. What mattered was that he knew he and Eugenie could be happy together. They were a good fit, as Dr Todd put it, though Raven was still curious as to whether this remark had been entirely complimentary.
His feelings for Sarah had not changed. He knew that. He loved her but he did not wish to possess her. He wanted her to aspire, to dream, to always be more than she was yesterday. And right now, he wanted her to understand that just because yo
u cannot reach the sun does not mean you cannot fly at all.
She showed him to Mrs King’s address, clearly doubtful that he would be able to effect the entry he had suggested. The door looked imposingly sturdy, but often it was the frame that presented a weakness: hinges screwed into softening wood, rotted and warped by the weather.
Raven was considering whether he ought to kick or shoulder it when he became aware of movement and glimpsed another door closing further along the close. Someone had been taking a curious peek at what was going on. Sarah had noticed it too.
‘That’s the neighbour,’ she said. ‘The woman I spoke to before.’
Raven was conscious that an act of noisy destruction was not going to go unnoticed. For what it was worth, he gripped the handle and gave it a twist. The door opened freely.
‘I thought you said it was locked.’
‘I didn’t. I merely said there was no reply to my knocking.’
‘And you didn’t try it?’
‘I am not in the habit of intruding into places uninvited and unauthorised.’
Raven gave her a sceptical look. ‘Maybe not in the habit, but you can hardly claim you are entirely unaccustomed. Duncan and Flockhart’s?’ he reminded her.
He noticed her blush, and suspected it was not merely at the memory of breaking into the pharmacy on Princes Street. It was when they had first kissed, a moment that felt stolen and illicit, hiding in the darkness of a place they were not supposed to be. But Raven had fresher memories of kissing someone else, in darkness and in secret. There had been something stolen and illicit about that too.
They stepped through the door. What light there was in the alley did little to penetrate the gloom within. The smell of damp was overpowering. There was something sharper in it too, like ammonia.
‘Can you see a window?’ Sarah asked. ‘Perhaps there are shutters preventing any daylight getting in.’
‘I can’t see anything,’ Raven replied.
He took another cautious step into the darkness and jarred his knee against something. There was no point in proceeding – they were not going to find anything if they could not see.
‘Perhaps you could ask if your acquaintance next door might oblige us with a candle,’ he suggested, rubbing his knee.
‘She didn’t strike me as particularly obliging last time. Maybe you should try.’
Raven left her hovering at the entrance and hurried along the alley. He knocked on the door from which he had recently been spied upon. It was not opened by the woman Sarah had described, but by an old man. He stuck his head out into the alley and looked to where Sarah was standing.
‘Looking for Mrs King, are you? She’s not here any more.’
He regarded Raven with intense scrutiny.
‘I know you,’ he said, his expression softening. ‘Aye. I saw you at Queen Street. I suffer terrible from my lungs. You gave me medicine. Donnie Mackay,’ he said enthusiastically.
Raven smiled, feigning recognition. There were times when he felt he must have seen half the faces in Edinburgh inside his consulting room.
‘Mr Mackay, that’s right! I wonder if I might impose upon you for the loan of a candle?’
‘Oh, for an associate of Dr Simpson’s I can do you better than that.’
He disappeared into his dwelling and returned momentarily bearing a safety lamp, its wick enclosed in a cylinder of wire gauze.
‘Thirty years a miner,’ he said. ‘This and a bad chest are all I’ve got to show for it.’
Sarah held open the door as Raven approached, clutching his prize.
‘A Davy lamp,’ she said, sounding impressed.
As he lit it, she asked: ‘Do you know why it’s so called?’
Raven could not resist. ‘Probably because the alley doesn’t get much sun.’
Sarah tutted, evidently in no mood for his poor jokes.
‘It is named after its inventor, Humphrey Davy.’
She looked at him for signs of recognition.
‘I’ve heard of him,’ Raven said. ‘And his experiments with nitrous oxide.’
‘He was a man of many interests. He developed this safety lamp to prevent the explosions which could occur when a naked candle flame met with firedamp underground. The wire gauze absorbs heat and prevents the ignition of the gas.’
‘Where did you learn that?’ Raven asked.
‘Where do you think?’ she answered archly.
Simpson must have held forth on the subject. The man was a vast repository of arcane information. Raven wondered at his prodigious mental capacity. He seemed to be able to store enormous amounts of information inside his head. Raven struggled enough to cram in the knowledge that was immediately relevant. It seemed inconceivable to have any space left over for anything else.
Venturing inside, he thought it was as well they had illumination fit for the darkest pit. They were now able to ascertain why the place was so dim: an oilcloth had been tacked over the window.
‘Why would you block out what little light there is to be had here?’ he asked.
‘To prevent anyone seeing inside,’ Sarah suggested.
Raven pulled the oilcloth back, sending a shower of dust into the air. A thin light penetrated the dirt-streaked glass. Several of the panes were missing or broken. A slight breeze could be felt through the gaps, though the air it carried was far from fresh. Street smells mixed with the damp, mouldy odours of the room. Hardly an improvement.
The room was larger than Raven had expected, with a doorway to a second chamber at the far end. There was a range set into one wall, soot streaks above it reaching to the ceiling, and a pot resting on the hob with a spoon sticking out of it. Sarah took a tentative look, seeming relieved to find it empty. If any food had been left in it, Raven thought, it would have been consumed by the various pests that now inhabited the place. No one had been here for some time.
He observed with a frown that his knee had found the only freestanding article of furniture in the place: a flimsy table, its wood discoloured with dark patches.
Raven proceeded tentatively into the adjoining chamber, noticing as he entered that there were marks on the floor: circular impressions in the dust running parallel to the wall. They appeared to be laid out in a pattern: one, then three pairs, then one again.
‘What could have made these?’ he asked.
There was another oilcloth obscuring a smaller window. Raven peeled it away, covering his mouth this time, and as the light spilled in, he could see that there was an identical sequence of marks closer to the wall.
‘Cots,’ said Sarah. ‘She had several babies staying here.’
Raven felt his foot brush something and shivered at the thought it might be a rat. Instead, he heard a clatter and saw that he had kicked an empty bottle.
He picked it up and showed Sarah the label. Godfrey’s Cordial.
‘Laudanum,’ she said. ‘So that’s another reason the windows were blacked out. Keep her little charges asleep.’
As Raven returned to the main room, he saw that the table had an inset drawer in its centre. He pulled it open, but as he did so its very lightness told him he would find nothing.
‘What are you looking for?’ Sarah asked.
Raven paused. He had hoped to avoid sharing this with her, but she ought to know.
‘White tape,’ he said. ‘There was a baby found in Leith harbour, strangled with white tape and wrapped up in parcel paper. I was present at the post-mortem.’
Even in the half-light Raven could see the concern on Sarah’s face.
‘Male or female?’
‘A boy.’
‘Did he have a birthmark?’ she asked. ‘On the left arm?’
‘No. And there’s no such tape here.’
Sarah nodded with relieved satisfaction, her expression indicating she had seen enough.
‘It will be of little comfort to Christina,’ she said, ‘but I believe I know what happened to her son. This woman did not only look after babies, she found home
s for unwanted ones. She would have collected a fee at both ends of the transaction.’
‘Not passing them on, but selling them on,’ said Raven.
‘Christina fell behind on her payments, so Mrs King sold her baby to some childless couple. Sold all the babies, then absconded so that they could not be claimed back.’
As she said this, Raven realised he was wrong to imagine the dead child from Leith had been murdered in this place. Mrs King would not be so wasteful. The babies kept here had been valuable to her, though their worth was measured in pounds, shillings and pence. The wee boy in the parcel had been thrown away as worthless.
He wondered what answers McLevy might have found on Candlemaker Row and hoped the detective had not bumped into Charles Dymock in the meantime.
Raven watched Sarah as she looked the place up and down once more, checking for anything they might have missed. A smile crept across his face, which she noticed.
‘What?’ she asked.
‘Nothing. You just look more like your old self.’
‘How so?’
‘I think it’s the sight of you doing something you’re not supposed to.’
Mr Mackay was standing in his doorway waiting for them as they re-emerged into the alley. Raven suspected he had been keeping a curious watch the whole time. He probably had little else to do.
As Raven handed over the Davy lamp with his thanks, the man glanced in the direction of the Cowgate, from where a woman was approaching on unsteady feet, carrying a hessian bag.
‘That’ll be the missus,’ he said.
Mrs Mackay eyed Sarah inquisitively, taking a moment to consider why she was familiar. Her eyes narrowed as recognition passed over her face, followed by a look of wariness. Then her features became animated as something seemed to occur to her.
‘You were looking for Mrs King, aye? I think I saw her not ten minutes ago. I was cutting through Greyfriars on my way down to the Grassmarket. I saw her going into a haberdasher’s, just down from the Covenanters’ Memorial.’
‘You think you saw her,’ Raven said.
‘Well, when I say that, I mean I didn’t want to catch her eye, so I didn’t stare. But I’m fairly sure it was her.’
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