Shadows of Madness

by Tracy L. Ward

  “This is about the murder of the professor, then?” he asked, placing his teacup and saucer on the small table near the window.

  “Yes, sir,” Samuel said, somewhat hesitantly. “This is Peter Ainsley, the friend from the university I was telling you about.”

  Thomas approached with an outstretched hand.

  “Your profession?” Thomas asked quickly.

  “Surgeon,” Ainsley answered.

  “Where is your practice?”

  “London. I am attached to St. Thomas, sir.”

  Thomas nodded. “And how are you related to the accused?”

  “We trained together at the university,” Ainsley said, “And have stayed close since.”

  Thomas eyed him, most likely trying to decide if Ainsley was to be trusted. “I have read the accounts in the papers,” he said, before turning to Samuel. “The evidence is very damning, I’m afraid. You insist the accused is innocent.”

  Samuel stepped forward. “Yes sir, we both feel the same way. Jonas—”

  “Is in a whole heap of trouble, that’s what.” Thomas took on a contemplative air and began stroking at his facial hair.

  “He is incapable of doing what they say he has done,” Ainsley insisted.

  “How so?” Thomas turned to his nephew in particular so that he alone would answer his question.

  Samuel hesitated, taken aback by his uncle’s line of questioning. “He has the most scruples of all of us, sir,” Samuel said. “I remember it from school.” He glanced to Ainsley. “We all had our fair share of troubles but not Jonas. He’s as straight as they come.”

  Thomas smirked. “I am well aware of your misdeeds, Sam.”

  Suddenly, the mood in the room changed and Samuel drew back. Thomas would not accept their appeals regarding Jonas’s character, not while he still saw his nephew as a child to be disciplined.

  Thomas turned to Ainsley. “As I understand it, Dr. Davies was found in the presence of the body, covered in the victim’s blood. How does your friend account for that?”

  “He remembers none of it, sir, or so he told me last night,” Ainsley said. “He was under the influence of something, something he did not willingly ingest.”

  “What is his last memory then?”

  Ainsley shook his head. “Of that I am not aware.”

  Thomas waved his hand and turned, clearly disappointed.

  “Our meeting was brief and we were able to examine so few details,” Ainsley injected quickly. “At this moment in time he is locked in the basement cell at Calton surrounded by thieves and murders—”

  “Who all profess their innocence,” Thomas answered from his desk. “I cannot help them all.”

  “But Jonas must be helped,” Samuel said, coming to Ainsley’s aid.

  Thomas slammed a fist onto the desktop, rattling it. “Look around you, boy,” he said, regarding Samuel squarely. “We are on the very edge, the very edge.” He stood tall and pulled down his vest beneath his jacket. “We have no room for capital murder cases. There is no money in it, not for a surgeon, one who only has surgeon friends. I’m sorry, boy, but if you expect to make partner you’d do better to choose the cases that you bring to my office more carefully.”

  Samuel opened his mouth to speak but closed it again when he saw his uncle taking his seat at his desk and picking up his pen. He turned to Ainsley, who still stood at the table. “Come then, Peter,” Samuel said, “I’ll help you find someone else.”

  Even as Samuel began for the door Ainsley found himself rooted in place. He had a strong suspicion that Thomas Humphry was the lawyer they needed, the only one in Edinburgh who could plead Jonas’s case and have him exonerated of all charges. Ainsley could not see himself leaving that room without knowing he had secured someone to represent Jonas in court.

  “What if I wasn’t a surgeon?” Ainsley asked, keeping his eyes trained on Thomas.

  The lawyer raised his head slowly.

  “Peter, what are you doing?” Samuel asked.

  “Answer my question,” Ainsley charged as Thomas sat silently at his desk.

  The senior lawyer shrugged. “There would be more money in it then, wouldn’t there? More clout when we head to court.” Thomas sighed, as if realizing he had made a mistake by being so direct earlier. “I’m sorry if my words offended you. You have chosen a noble profession, a noble profession, but I’m afraid the court will not see it the same as … others.”

  Ainsley licked his lips and ignored Samuel’s tugs on his arm. “You are in luck, sir,” Ainsley said. “My name is Peter Marshall, second son and heir to Lord Abraham Marshall, third earl of Montcliff.”

  “Peter, this is ill-advised—”

  “I speak the truth,” Ainsley said, shaking his sleeve from Samuel’s grasp. “I attended the medical school under my mother’s maiden name, the Ainsleys. I work as Peter Ainsley. No one knows of my birthright.”

  Thomas laughed but stopped short. Ainsley watched as he and Samuel locked eyes, each man evaluating his claim for plausibility. “You had no idea of this then, Sam?” Thomas asked, tossing his pen to his desktop before leaning back in his chair.

  “No, sir.” He bowed his head and avoided Ainsley’s gaze.

  The side of Thomas’s lips curled into an amused smile. “You have money, I presume.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ainsley said. “And I can access more of it should we need it for Jonas’s defence.”

  Thomas nodded. “All right. And you’d be willing to sit in court as a character witness? Your secret would be out, a matter of public record.”

  Ainsley knew this would mean the end of his secret, though he could see no way around it. He’d do anything to secure Jonas’s freedom. And the prospect of freeing himself of the burden he’d held all these years was something else he was very much looking forward to.

  “I am aware of what this entails, sir,” Ainsley said, “My only worry is with my employer. I am unsure how this will affect my place.”

  “Bah”—Thomas waved his hand—“a pittance. I doubt it will provide much difference to your comfort.”

  Ainsley nearly corrected him. It wasn’t about the income, and never had been. The ability to study the science of death and all its secrets had been enough to keep him moving forward following tragedy after tragedy. His mother’s death. The loss of innocent lives. Even the forfeit of his own soul. Medicine and his contribution to it meant more to him than some inherited title or all the money in the empire. Ainsley knew enough not to argue, though; pity was not the sort of thing offered to the upper tiers of society.

  “What time is it, then?” Thomas asked, breaking Ainsley’s reverie.

  “’Tis nearly eleven o’clock, sir,” Samuel said, somewhat sheepishly. Ainsley looked to him but Samuel quickly averted his gaze.

  “Very well,” Thomas said. He stood up and made his way toward Ainsley. “Please secure as much money as you can, both for our fees and Dr. Davies’s freedom. I will meet you both at Calton promptly at one and see what we can do to have him released to our care. Is this agreeable to you, Mister Marshall?”

  Ainsley started when the lawyer used his real name. “Highly agreeable, yes,” he said, still somewhat stymied by the change in the tone of their meeting.

  Thomas looked past Ainsley to his nephew. “See that you draw up the contract so Mister Marshall and our accused may sign it this afternoon.”

  Samuel nodded.

  They walked to the door. “I want to thank you for coming to see me today,” he said. “We will do our best for your friend, yes?”

  Ainsley nodded as he reached the hall. “Thank you, sir.”

  “We can chat more about the case once the accused can help fill in the details.” Thomas shook his head in disbelief as he pulled the door closed, most likely his mind still coming to terms with what had just been revealed to him. “A gentleman masquerading as a tradesman … never heard of such a thing.” His voice trailed off in amusement as the door closed.

  When Ainsley turned
to Samuel, he was reminded of how his friend’s demeanour had changed. “I’m sorry for not telling you. It was—”

  “Does Jonas know?” Samuel asked sharply.

  “He found out early on. I couldn’t keep it from him.”

  Samuel grimaced. “That settles it then.”

  “Settles what?”

  “A number of us had an ongoing bet regarding who was your benefactor.” Samuel smiled. “You weren’t fooling anyone, Peter. We all knew you weren’t like the rest of us. And now we know why. Jonas never said anything to any one of us. He’s loyal, I’ll give him that.”

  Despite these remembrances Ainsley feared awkwardness would wedge itself between them. It could change their easy dynamic.

  “Nothing changes,” Ainsley reminded him. “The title means nothing to me.”

  “Good,” Samuel said, gesturing for Ainsley to follow him down the hall. “Because there’s no way in hell I’m going to start addressing you as Your Lordship.”

  Chapter 8

  The valise in Margaret’s hand grew heavy with each step she took down Dundas Street in New Town. She had so little money with her that she feared taking a hansom from the train station would empty her purse, but the walk was longer than she anticipated, especially with her bag to lug along beside her. Jonas’s house couldn’t be far, she reasoned, but each time she thought she drew near a passerby directed her further and further down the street.

  Everything had looked different the night before and Margaret had been so tired that she paid little heed to where Giles called home. She regretted her lapse exceedingly now. Had she realized how far the house was from the station she would have taken a hansom straightaway, to hell with the expense.

  Fortune was in her favour, however, when the paper saw need to publish Jonas’s home address, an offering to the citizens who relished the macabre details of any murder or grisly misdeed perpetrated in the city. It was unfortunate for his housemates, who’d suffer the stigma of association. She imagined Jonas would have no rest for many years to come. Even if he is exonerated—when, she corrected herself—when he is exonerated, she knew many would still look at him with suspicion.

  The thought made her steps heavy and her resolve waned slightly before she finally saw the terraced house Jonas shared with a handful of others from the university. The front walk was filled with people who had been drawn to the doorstep of the unassuming three-storey house in the middle of the block. Two uniformed officers stood at either side of the steps, and a police carriage sat at the kerb. Their presence did little to dampen the anger of the crowd, who hurled obscenities and tossed rotten food at the exterior stone of the building. As Margaret drew nearer she could see a considerable pile of splattered produce had accumulated on the front step and in the surrounding crevices.

  “He should be hanged for what he done!” one woman yelled as she raised her fist in the air. A man, most likely her husband, pulled her away from the crowd and guided her down the street toward Margaret, who hung back with considerable apprehension.

  “To think we live ten houses from such a murderous man,” she said as they walked nearer Margaret.

  “We could have been murdered in the night,” the man proclaimed, stealing an uneasy glance over his shoulder. “If there is any justice in the world he will be hanged publicly for all in Edinburgh to see.”

  Margaret shivered to hear them speak and pushed back tears that threatened to overwhelm her. Jonas’s name had been tarnished, perhaps beyond repair. Some would always view him as a murderer even though she knew he was no such thing and hoped she could clear his name quickly. Stepping slowly, she neared the edge of the crowd and looked up to the windows of the second and third floor. She could see the drapes had been drawn in all rooms except one, where a man stood looking down at the scene. She recognized him right away as Inspector Bertram Hearst and reasoned that that room must be Jonas’s room.

  The hum from the crowd grew louder and more frantic all of a sudden and when Margaret looked she saw Giles pushing his way through. He held a satchel in one hand and moved slowly between the tightly spaced bodies that crowded the stoop.

  “Out of my way,” he growled against the renewed fervour of those gathered. “Can’t a man get to his own front door?”

  Someone grabbed his satchel and pulled him back just as he reached the highest step.

  “Let me be!” he yelled, yanking it back. His eyes met Margaret’s then as she stood nearer the back of the crowd. “Miss Margaret?”

  Margaret’s heart leapt.

  “What are you doing here?” He surveyed the mob and looked back at her.

  A moment later, Giles was pushing his way through the crowd toward her. “Come quick,” he said, beckoning her with his hand, “Inside.”

  He provided a barrier for her through the crowd. Even still, her dress and valise were tugged by unseen hands and when they finally reached the top of the stairs she felt something hard hit her on her shoulder. She couldn’t help crying out in pain.

  “Animals!” Giles yelled into the crowd before quickly closing the front door behind them. “Forgive me, Miss Margaret. Their behaviour is abhorrent.”

  “Man finds no greater accelerant to his anger than when he is with like company,” Margaret said, still trying to catch her breath.

  Giles’s face betrayed his surprise at her observation. “How very astute.” He reached for her bag, which she was much relieved to be free of, and placed it next to the hall stand by the door. “What brings you to New Town”—he pointed to her valise—“with luggage, no less?”

  “I haven’t any proof, but I believe Peter may have tried to trick me into leaving Edinburgh.” Margaret was somewhat embarrassed to admit her morning’s misadventure, but Giles had been so friendly with her since the moment they met at the train station in York the day before. When she saw the look of concern on his face she decided to try for a more lighthearted approach. She smiled. “He wishes to have all the glory to himself when Jonas is set free,” she said with a laugh.

  “That certainly is Peter’s way. He told me last night before we parted that he was going to try to have Jonas released pending his trial. He said he would stop in to see me whether his plan met with success or not.” Giles glanced down the hall. “I think you should stay here until he—”

  An army of feet marched down the stairwell, eliciting all manner of creaks and groans from the aged wood. One by one, six uniformed officers passed them in the halls, each carrying a crate filled with random things, most likely taken from Jonas’s room. At the end of the line sauntered the detective Margaret had seen peering down at her from the window.

  Her throat went dry at the sight of him and for some reason she wished Giles was not separated from her on the other side of the hall. She could tell immediately that she did not trust this man. His angular face was so stern and his eyes were cold and dark. She knew he had already made up his mind about the case and had no doubt Jonas was their murderer.

  “You are a fair distance from home, Lady Margaret,” Inspector Hearst said.

  Margaret recoiled at the use of her proper name. She looked to Giles, who seemed thoroughly confused.

  “I took a precursory look into your and your brother’s histories,” the detective explained. “You’ve led a charmed life, it seems, until recently.”

  “How did you know—?”

  “You brother signed the logbook last night using his proper name, his legal name, which I admit, was very wise.” Hearst stole a glance to Giles. “Tell me, Lady Margaret, is anyone else aware of your brother’s duplicity?”

  Margaret chose not to answer.

  “Is the university aware?” Hearst didn’t bother to wait for an answer. “Is his medical licence even legal given that a Mr. Peter Ainsley doesn’t actually exist?”

  Margaret swallowed down her panic. She held no answers for the detective’s pointed questions.

  “How long do you and your brother intend to stay in Edinburgh?”

  �
��As long as it takes to see our friend, Dr. Davies, exonerated,” Margaret said, finding her voice.

  The detective raised his chin at the mention of his accused. “How unfortunate of you,” he said. He took a step closer to her. “As it is a fool’s errand.”

  Margaret could tell he was laughing at her, amused by the thought that she, a woman, could affect anything in their man’s world of murderers, deviants, and thieves.

  “Not as foolish as blindly believing a man guilty without proper evidence.”

  Hearst raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Our friend is happy for our assistance,” she lied.

  “What sort of assistance are you and your brother expecting to provide, exactly?” Hearst asked.

  “We expect to prove his innocence,” she answered coolly. Internally, she shook. She had already lied once, by telling him Jonas was happy for her help. She knew Jonas was not going to be pleased when he found out Peter had not been successful in getting her out of the city. And she had no idea if her presence was going to be a help or a hindrance, but she was determined not to show this man any of her apprehension.

  When the detective looked to Giles, she squared her shoulders and raised her chin slightly. She was not going to be intimidated.

  “Innocence.” He repeated her word with an air of amusement. “Of course.”

  He was still laughing as he walked out onto the steps and Giles closed the door after him.

  “He arrived here early this morning before I left,” Giles said, almost apologetically. “He was intent on searching for evidence.” He twisted his mouth into a frown as he said the last three words. “He wished to interview everyone. Thank goodness I was spared such a fate.” He smiled. “I had a meeting at the university to discuss how to handle this tragedy.” He glanced out the window alongside the door as if to take one last look at the inspector. “Not sure how I would have stood up against a man such as that.”

  “He looks quite severe,” Margaret said, finally allowing herself to relax. “I shall not rest knowing he is so determined to prove Jonas’s guilt.”