A Corruption of Blood

by Ambrose Parry

  ‘I’m not here about your soul,’ Sarah said. ‘I’m trying to help a friend of mine. Christina Cullen.’

  Sarah could see the moment of recognition and curiosity.

  ‘How is it you know her?’ Nora asked.

  ‘We both work for Professor Simpson. She’s a housemaid.’

  Nora looked Sarah up and down. ‘I didn’t take you for a housemaid.’

  ‘I am not, but I used to be.’

  Perhaps it was the admission that she had once been in service herself, but Sarah detected a diminution in the hostility emanating from the wraith in the bed.

  ‘How did Christina end up there? Last I heard she was in the Lock.’

  ‘Dr Simpson is a man who believes in giving people a second chance.’

  ‘I don’t think there’ll be any second chances for me,’ Nora said, before exploding into another fit of coughing. She spat some blood into a rag.

  Sarah could see the truth of this and felt angry that nothing could be done for her; that this young woman’s life would soon be over and all she had known was being used by men for their pleasure. She understood why Dr Simpson would defy the board at the Lock as Raven had described. She felt a renewed determination to help Christina, and Lizzie if she should ever need it.

  ‘I’m glad for her,’ Nora said. The last bout of coughing had left her breathless. She spoke in short bursts, pausing to recover herself between them. ‘Christina was always good to me. She hadnae had all the kindness driven out of her yet. A timid lassie, though. Frightened. The patrons liked that, of course. Some preferred it that way. Liked to imagine she was intact. A virgin.’

  She cast an eye at Sarah, gauging her response to this.

  ‘I mean, they knew that wasn’t the case, but at Melbourne it’s all an act. Some men like you to be confident, in charge, like you cannae get enough. And some of them like a scared wee lassie that gives the impression she’s never done anything like this before. Of course, in Christina’s case they’d need to pretend they weren’t seeing the belly she still had on her at first.’

  ‘What do you know about the baby?’ Sarah asked.

  Sarah tried to make this sound incidental. Nora seemed happy enough to talk, but Sarah had feared that if she made her focus obvious, she might become evasive. She had a contingency for such an impasse, a suggestion made by Madame Bouvier, but it was a card she could only play once.

  ‘What do you know about it?’ Nora countered, vindicating Sarah’s instincts.

  ‘That it went to Mrs King.’

  Nora eyed her for a moment, before nodding a disapproving affirmation.

  ‘Aye. She and Madame Bouvier have an arrangement, sending business in each other’s direction. Sometimes there’s a pretty lass with a debt to pay off. Money owed to Mrs King. More often it’s the other way round. We try to be careful. There’s things we can do, a few wee tricks, but every so often somebody gets caught out and there’s a bairn they cannae afford to keep.’

  ‘But isn’t it expensive?’ Sarah asked. She thought of what the woman from the perfumier had said.

  ‘Aye, it is. For those as has a reputation they need to preserve and the funds to preserve it. Mrs King will bleed them dry, wring out as much as she can. But most aren’t looking to pay for discretion. Half the hoors in Edinburgh must have dropped off a wee parcel with Mrs King, and they’ve hardly tuppence between them otherwise they wouldnae be hoors.’

  ‘And she looks after the babies until their mothers are able to do so themselves? What if that never happens?’

  She thought of Christina’s concern that her baby had been given away when she became ill and stopped making payments.

  Nora wore a dark look, a combination of regret at what she was about to reveal and contempt at Sarah’s naivety.

  ‘The purpose isnae always for them to thrive.’

  Nora pulled at a loose thread on the sheet.

  ‘Those she takes in don’t always get the best care, is what I’m saying. Not fed much, just a morsel of pap and a good slug of something to keep them quiet. They don’t tend to last very long under those conditions. Christina knew that but told herself otherwise. Needed to hold on to a bit of hope.’

  Sarah thought of the bottle of Godfrey’s Cordial at the abandoned house in Dickson’s Close.

  ‘Everybody lies to themselves about it,’ Nora continued. ‘You cannae pay a pittance for the upkeep of a bairn, can you? Otherwise you could afford to keep it yourself. And the fine ladies who pay more arenae just paying for secrecy. They’re paying to salve their conscience, spending on a fantasy. If Mrs King charges so much, they tell themselves, it must be because she’s moving only in the best circles and ensuring the children go to the finest homes.’

  Nora continued worrying at the sheet, picking at a small hole in the fabric with a fingernail.

  ‘Concealment of birth carries a prison sentence,’ she said. ‘And the killing of a child the death penalty. But if you give your bairn to Mrs King, and it doesnae thrive, then that’s just what they call “marasmus”.’

  Sarah understood the term. A natural wasting away.

  ‘Are you saying none of them are fostered?’

  Nora coughed again. Spat again. A perpetual cycle.

  ‘Of course not. Mrs King makes money selling them too. The healthy ones anyway. And it’s just as important that she does because the women need to think that their bairn might be one of the lucky ones. See, I had a gentleman at Melbourne once, a military man. He told me how sometimes the soldiers have to execute one of their own men. Six of them in the firing squad, but one of the rifles has a wax ball in the barrel, and nobody is told which. It’s so they can always tell themselves they might not have had a hand in killing their comrade.’

  Sarah paused for a moment, trying to take all of this in.

  ‘Do you know where to find this woman?’ she asked.

  Nora wore a bitter smile. ‘Happily, I’ve never had the need. And I’m not likely to now.’

  ‘But if you were to . . .’

  ‘Christina told me she was in Dickson’s Close off the Cowgate.’

  ‘I’ve been there. It’s abandoned.’

  Nora nodded as though this came as no surprise.

  ‘Aye. She comes and goes, I’m told. Wherever rent is cheapest. Madame Bouvier might know where she is now, but she won’t be for telling.’

  Sarah thought of their recent encounter and had no doubt as to the truth of this.

  ‘Of course, you could always do as the childless do. Put a notice in the paper and she’ll find you.’

  Sarah realised that this was the most likely way to make contact and would arouse the least suspicion. It might take some time but it would be so much better than knocking on doors and asking awkward questions.

  ‘Thank you, Nora,’ she said. It was a gratitude sincerely felt.

  She could think of no further questions to ask and was about to say goodbye when Nora spoke again.

  ‘How is she doing? Christina, I mean. Is she well?’

  For the most part Sarah had been met with evasiveness and obfuscation in response to her enquiries and had been prepared for more of that from this woman too. However, despite her hostility during the early part of their conversation, Nora seemed keen to continue it. Sarah realised that she was in want of company. Lonely and dying, and she knew it.

  ‘Christina is well, though missing her child,’ she replied.

  ‘Is she pleasing her employers? Will they keep her on?’

  ‘She’s very conscientious. Obedient and deferential. We have all grown fond of her.’

  This was largely true, though Sarah could not help but recall Lizzie’s typically cruel nickname for the girl – Teardrop.

  ‘It makes sense,’ Nora said. ‘She was a housemaid before.’

  ‘Do you happen to know where?’

  ‘She would never say. She was scared. I think someone had threatened her.’

  ‘I had assumed her employer took advantage of her,’ Sar
ah said.

  Nora nodded sagely. ‘The old story. Got her pregnant and then chucked her out. Except, it wasnae quite that way.’

  Suddenly there was a glint in her eye, gossip to share.

  ‘She told me she still loved him,’ Nora said, ‘and that he loved her. One night we got drunk and the whisky loosened her tongue. She said it was his father drove them apart.’

  Sarah could feel her heart racing, her body reacting before her mind had the chance to catch up. Disparate thoughts coming together, connections being made.

  ‘Did she tell you his name?’ she asked, her mouth suddenly dry.

  ‘Not directly. She wasnae drunk enough for that.’

  Sarah felt her hopes flag. Then Nora’s eyes shone with that glint again.

  ‘But she sometimes said it in her sleep.’

  Nora paused. Sarah thought that she might need to be persuaded to reveal this last piece of information, and was about to reach for the bottle she had brought on Madame Bouvier’s recommendation. It was brandy rather than whisky, which she hoped would be acceptable. But Nora did not require bribery or coercion. She shrugged her thin shoulders.

  ‘I’ll have no use for secrets where I’m bound. His name was Gideon.’

  FORTY-FOUR

  arah found Raven in his consulting room when she returned from the Infirmary. He was seated at his desk and had, as usual, a heap of paper in front of him, a medical journal opened at a particular page. He was not looking at it, instead staring into the middle distance, lost in his thoughts. Shafts of sunlight were illuminating the room, motes of dust swirling in its rays, still bright though it was gone seven. The room was warm, stuffy and oppressive but Raven was oblivious. Under other circumstances she might have left him undisturbed but what she had just discovered was too important to keep.

  Sarah bustled into the room, made directly for the window and hauled it open. A welcome gust freshened the stale air of the room, rousing Raven from his introspection. He looked up at her in surprise, as though she had suddenly materialised in front of him.

  ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’

  ‘Evidently.’

  She took off her hat and gloves, putting them on top of his papers.

  ‘It was Christina,’ she told him.

  Raven looked confused.

  ‘The girl Gideon got pregnant. The unsuitable girl Wilson spoke of. The housemaid who was dismissed from Crossford House.’

  She watched him as he took it all in, could almost hear the cogs turning in his head.

  ‘There can be no doubt,’ she insisted. ‘It is our Christina. The two matters we are investigating are connected. Christina and the missing child. Gideon and his father.’

  Raven leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes, then his expression resolved into a frown, which was not the response Sarah was hoping for.

  ‘What?’ she asked.

  ‘The two matters are undoubtedly linked,’ he said. ‘But I still don’t see how this helps us understand either of them.’

  Sarah returned with a tea tray. She left the pot to brew for a while, thinking that perhaps a strong cup or two might assist them in their analysis of what they had uncovered thus far.

  ‘What is unexpected,’ she said as she poured, ‘is that Christina professed to love him still, despite what has happened to her.’

  She noticed Raven eyeing up the fruit cake she had also brought from the kitchen. She nudged a slice towards him, thinking that perhaps he had not eaten for a while and that hunger was impairing his cognition.

  ‘Gideon apparently feels the same way about her,’ Raven said. ‘I have just returned from Calton Jail, where he seemed quite impassioned on the matter.’

  ‘You sound surprised.’

  ‘I am beginning to understand what Eugenie sees in him now. What struck me was not his despair, but his regret. He had deluded himself into thinking he and this girl, who he would not name, might run away together. Foolish as that sounded, I think it also serves to suggest he did genuinely care for Christina.’

  ‘So, you believe him then?’

  ‘I want to. But what still troubles me is that although Gideon could be foolish, he was never stupid. Perhaps he was acting a part to convince me of what he wishes me to believe.’

  ‘If this is all some ingenious stratagem, he is leaving it extremely late to make his winning move, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘He did not look like a man whose fate was in his own hands,’ Raven conceded. ‘Waiting for the perfect moment to turn the tables.’

  ‘That said, if he cares so much for Christina, why has he not sought her out since his return from Tobago?’

  ‘Ainsley told him she was dead. To prevent him doing just that, I would assume.’

  The idea of this cut Sarah deep.

  ‘What a cruel thing to do,’ she said. ‘Needlessly cruel.’

  ‘That’s not the end of it. Gideon told me that his father intimated that he had used Christina before sending her away. I suspect Ainsley intended it as a warning of what would befall her should she speak of any of this.’

  ‘This would certainly explain the fear that has silenced her. Was there no end to the man’s depravity?’

  ‘And yet in time there will no doubt be a statue of him in some prominent place, looking down on us all.’

  ‘Not if I have anything to do with it,’ Sarah said, taking a sip of her tea. ‘We need to find out what happened and expose his role in all of this.’

  ‘Whatever Sir Ainsley Douglas is guilty of, it will not save Gideon.’

  ‘None of this helps him does it?’ she admitted.

  ‘No, but it doesn’t incriminate him either. And it does help me understand him a little better. I have never liked Gideon, and whether or not Eugenie is right about his gentler nature, I can at least now comprehend why he conducted himself as he did. What made him the way he is.’

  Raven became pensive, wearing a troubled look Sarah was familiar with.

  ‘Do you believe that he has inherited something evil from his father?’ she asked. ‘A taint in the blood?’

  ‘Much as it is my own father’s nature that I always fear in myself.’

  ‘I don’t know why you still hold on to that notion. You are not your father. “A tree is known by its fruit; a man by his deeds.”’

  Raven did not look convinced.

  ‘Have you ever struck a woman?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘No,’ he said with conviction. ‘Nothing could compel me to do so.’

  ‘Then there you have it. Conduct observed does not have to be imitated. Indeed, your father’s action brought about an opposite reaction in you. It made its mark, but not in the way you might imagine. The question is, what did it bring about in Gideon: a desire for love or an unquenchable hate? Did he wish to be other than his father, or was he inescapably shaped in his father’s mould, his fate predestined by the damage long since done?’

  Raven was quiet for a while. He sipped his tea, ate some of the fruit cake that had lain untouched on a plate by his elbow. Then something occurred to him.

  ‘I meant to tell you,’ he said. ‘The case you witnessed at the Maternity Hospital – I know the cause.’

  ‘Was it the heart?’

  He smiled. ‘Yes. The mitral valves were cartilaginous. The valve orifice scarcely admitted the point of a forefinger. Possibly the result of acute rheumatism when she was fourteen; her fate, as you say, predestined by damage long since done. If only Ainsley’s post-mortem had been able to tell us as much.’

  ‘Arsenic is not conclusive enough for you?’

  ‘Well, there is no doubt that the presence of arsenic demands an explanation. But what we do not know is how it was administered and by whom. Gideon had the strongest motive and the easiest access, but there remains the question of fortitude.’

  ‘Fortitude?’ Sarah did not follow.

  ‘Yes. Gideon claims he is too cowardly to do such a thing.’

  ‘That sounds of a piece with his claim that he was t
oo knowledgeable to use arsenic.’

  ‘Nonetheless, much of what we have learned inclines me to believe him. So many people were afraid of Ainsley, cowering before his wealth and power. None among them dared defy him, so who would have the strength of nerve to risk all in killing such a man?’

  Sarah was about to say that poison permitted the weak to fell the strong. The surreptitious administration of it was generally how women killed men, hiding it in their food or drink.

  Or their medicine.

  Then she remembered the glass bottle she had taken from Crossford House.

  ‘Come with me,’ she said.

  ‘Where? Why?’

  ‘Because it is just possible nobody poisoned Ainsley Douglas.’

  FORTY-FIVE

  hat do you mean?’ Raven asked, following Sarah upstairs. She was moving at quite a clip, driven by one of the most powerful forces known to nature: Sarah’s determination to prove herself right about something. ‘Are you saying the arsenic was detected in error? Christison himself verified it.’

  ‘Yes, but you told me that according to Struthers there was only a small amount in the stomach contents, and none in the liver or other organs. Have you considered that its ingestion could have been accidental?’

  ‘Well, unless the man had taken to licking fly paper I don’t think that’s very likely.’

  Unsurprisingly, she paid no heed to his churlishness. She led him into her bedroom, which looked more like a laboratory than a chamber of repose. There was a long bench beneath the window laden with test tubes, flasks and retort stands.

  ‘What have you been doing in here? Distilling whisky?’

  She ignored this too, handing him a medicine bottle.

  Raven read the label.

  ‘Bismuth. What of it?’

  ‘I lifted it from Ainsley’s bedroom. The housemaid said he took bismuth last thing at night.’

  ‘So, he was dyspeptic. I’m fairly sure the man did not die of rampant indigestion.’

  He had no idea where she was going with this. However, his growing confusion was in no way dampening her enthusiasm for whatever theory she had come up with.