Shadows of Madness

by Tracy L. Ward

  With a great heave and exhale of breath, Mrs. Crane folded over the dough and began pressing it into itself with accelerating punches, each one more pronounced than the last.

  “I told those boys not to invite ye to stay,” she said with an sigh. “I told them we di’not have the room. The attic room is not suitable for either of ye but they were so insistent. The least I could hope for was for Dr. Ainsley to take the room, then I wouldn’t have laid awake so long these last two nights worrying about ye.”

  “Worrying about us?”

  “Aye.” Mrs. Crane stopped suddenly and used the back of her floured hand to push away the curls that clung to her forehead.

  Margaret spied tears pooling in the housekeeper’s eyes. “Mrs. Crane?” She rounded the table and laid a hand on Mrs. Crane’s arm. “My brother and I are very thankful for your hospitality. And I know Jonas appreciates our presence as well. The room is of little consequence to me—”

  “It’s Molly, my dear,” Mrs. Crane said, breaking Margaret off suddenly. “She took her life in that very room not one month ago.”

  “Merciful heavens!” Margaret couldn’t hide her surprise. She closed her eyes against the images that sprang to mind.

  “Oh, it was awful,” Mrs. Crane said, weeping into a handkerchief she pulled from her sleeve. “Just awful. You see, my dear, you cannot stay here. Ye and the doctor should go to yer hotel, as I said before.” A new round of piteous cries escaped Mrs. Crane.

  This explained much to Margaret. It’s not that Mrs. Crane didn’t want them as guests. She felt guilty for holding such a secret and felt that Margaret would be angry for being placed in a room with such a dark past.

  Margaret took a breath. “Mrs. Crane, it breaks my heart to think that a young woman would feel so desperate about her situation as to take her own life, but I’m not afraid of sleeping in a room where such an event occurred. I cannot profess to be superstitious in any way. And, if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to remain here for Jonas’s sake so that I may … what I mean to say is, so that we may provide him comfort and assistance at this time.”

  Mrs. Crane’s fearful expression turned to awe as Margaret spoke. “Of course, you may stay, my dear, but … Miss Margaret, are you sure?”

  “Completely positive. Nothing you have said to me is frightening in the least.” The new revelations had quite the opposite effect as now Margaret understood more about who the ring belonged to and why it may have been inadvertently left behind.

  Margaret turned to leave but just before she reached the door she asked, “Mrs. Crane, does Molly have any living relatives here in Edinburgh?”

  Mrs. Crane paused for a moment. “She has a sister, who’s married down in Glasgow. I can fetch her address for ye.” Mrs. Crane looked down to her dough-covered hands. The flour stretched nearly up to her elbows.

  “It’s all right,” Margaret said. “I can collect it from you another time.”

  Mrs. Crane nodded in thanks and returned to her task.

  As Margaret left the kitchen to seek out Peter, she told herself she would find the owner of the ring just as soon as she knew Jonas was no longer in danger of the noose.

  Chapter 20

  A hardened stare was the only thing needed to scare away the last lingering spectators who strolled down Heriot Row to have a look at the Professor of Murder’s house. It was a show of strength Ainsley was more than willing to provide as he used a broom, metal dust pan, and a sack tucked over the sides of a crate to collect the last remaining bits of debris that littered the street in front of the house. Mrs. Crane had already said she would hire a boy from down the way to wash the windows of the grime. She tried to shoo Ainsley from his task but he would not budge.

  Since before dawn he had had a nervous energy that kept him jittery and looking for something to do to ease his racing mind. The work had done wonders for his mental state. As the remnants of those hectic first days were cleared away he felt a sense of control over the situation even while other parts of him felt constrained by circumstance.

  His spirits fell when Margaret slipped out the front door, tightening her shawl around her shoulders as the cold winds greeted her.

  “I had hoped you wouldn’t have to see this,” he said, using the dustpan to scoop up the last bit of cabbage leaves. The smell was at least manageable thanks to the colder temperatures.

  “Did you expect I would believe it was all just a bad dream?” she asked, standing at the top of the steps.

  Ainsley shrugged. “Something like that.”

  He dumped the contents of the dustpan into the crate and then pulled the crate to the side of the steps along the railing.

  “I think you should go to Professor Frobisher’s funeral without me,” Margaret said, bracing against a sudden gust of wind. “I want to get this business with Eloise over with so we can approach the barkeep this evening. We only have so much time before the trial.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

  Margaret shook her head. “If you go with me she will know something is amiss. She specifically said I should visit her when I bore of all the male company in this house. Your presence would definitely tear apart my pretenses.”

  The door opened and Jonas slipped out. “Margaret, you should get out of this cold.”

  Margaret dismissed his concern with a wave of her hand.

  With the broom and dust pan in hand, Ainsley made his way back up the steps, taking in the image of his sister. She looked tired and out of sorts, not the least bit like her usual, glowing self. “Are you all right, Margaret? You don’t look well.”

  “I’m experiencing a touch of nausea this morning, which is probably because I didn’t sleep well last night,” she said, looking him square in the eyes. “Perhaps if someone had told me a certain maid committed suicide in the very room offered to me I may have been prepared for her ghost to come for a visit.”

  “Slow down, what did you just say?” Ainsley reached out to her but she pushed his hand away. Ainsley turned to Jonas. “Did you know about this?”

  “I tried to tell you both to switch rooms,” Jonas said. “Perhaps then Peter could befriend the spectre and find out why she chose to end her life.”

  “I don’t speak to them,” Ainsley said incredulously. He squared his shoulders. “And it can’t be helped if they speak to me.”

  “Did Peter tell you that’s how we knew to come to Edinburgh?” Margaret asked Jonas.

  Jonas shook his head.

  “He saw you in front of our house.” Margaret turned to Ainsley, who wished she hadn’t brought it up.

  “I thought that only happens with the dead?” Jonas asked.

  “Apparently not.”

  Just the thought of what he had seen made him uncomfortable. The spectres themselves could not be controlled, nor could Ainsley control what his mind chose to see. He had only recently come to terms with the idea of witnessing the souls of the dead. He was not prepared to see the souls of the tormented as well.

  Margaret used her hand to brush away something from Ainsley’s sleeve. “You’ve less than an hour before the funeral and you smell like the pile of scraps in The Briar’s kitchen garden. Go wash up.” She touched the side of his face, drawing attention to the emerging whiskers. He felt something cold and metallic touch his skin. He grabbed her hand gently and pulled it away so he could see it. On her ring finger was a tiny gold band with three green gemstones clustered on the top.

  “What’s this?” He looked to Jonas, who shrugged.

  Margaret pulled her hand away. “I found it in my room.” She looked to Jonas. “I think it belonged to Molly. Mrs. Crane is helping me track down her sister so I can return it.” She eyed the gems. “Right now I have more pressing concerns that need my attention.” She raised her blues eyes to meet Jonas’s.

  Ainsley could think of a hundred reasons why Margaret should not call at Eloise’s house but any protest from him would only serve to spur Margaret on all the more
. She was tenacious, he’d give her that. He only hoped that her tenacity and strength of spirit was enough to see her through any repercussions that came their way because of it.

  ***

  The cemetery where Professor Frobisher was to be buried was west of Dean Village, not far from the neighbourhood where both Frobisher and Jonas lived. Ainsley had the carriage driver deposit him at the entrance gate, which allowed him a slow walk through the cemetery grounds before meeting up with the gathered mourners near the west wall. Mrs. Frobisher, in her hastily acquired widow’s weeds, was surrounded by friends and family, who all doted upon her as if she were a child incapable of doing anything on her own. The widow herself seemed more interested in the birds that fluttered about in the trees hanging over her husband’s grave than she was about the body of the man being committed to the earth.

  Ainsley recognized a number of faculty members from the university, many of whom nodded toward him as they passed.

  “Dr. Ainsley.”

  “Dr. Ainsley.”

  Only one stopped when they saw him. “Good to see you, Dr. Ainsley.” Dr. Fellowes extended a meaty, weathered hand at Ainsley and patted the side of his upper arm as they greeted each other. He took a place along Ainsley that offered the best advantage over the gathering. “It’s unfortunate that we are to be reacquainted under such sad circumstances,” Fellowes said, leaning in toward Ainsley’s ear so no one would hear their conversation.

  Across the crowd Ainsley spotted Giles, but the man pretended not to see Ainsley at all. Ainsley watched as Giles greeted other men from the faculty. He donned a sullen expression, shook hands, and spoke a few words with each of them. There was something in his manner, a willingness to set aside the tragedy before them so that he could profit from the newly vacated position. Ainsley’s heart sank at the thought, wondering if Giles were capable of such manoeuvering. Could he be already vying for Frobisher’s position?

  “Had you worked with Professor Frobisher since graduation?” Fellowes asked, stealing Ainsley from his train of thought.

  Ainsley shook his head. “I am employed in London for the most part.”

  Fellowes raised an eyebrow. “London, is it? My, my. Congratulations, young fellow. The man who did Frobisher in was from London, did you know?”

  Ainsley shifted his stance and raised his chin reactively so that Fellowes would not see his discomfort.

  “David … Davis … Davies!” The word came out in a determined whispered. Fellowes lowered his voice even further. “That’s it. Dr. Davies. He had only been recently hired on by the college as well.” He clicked his tongue. “Imagine being one of those devils on the hiring committee. Wouldn’t want that decision on my conscience—”

  “Can you point me to the doctor currently in charge of the morgue? Dr. Waters?”

  Fellowes looked put out for a moment before regaining his thoughts. “Yeah, he’s that man down on the other side.” Fellowes trailed off as he searched his memory. “Weren’t you good friends with a man named Davies? You two were always playing each other for top marks. Imagine having the same last name as …” Fellowes stopped.

  Ainsley could almost see the grey matter behind the doctor’s eyes making the connection between Ainsley’s school chum and the man accused of murdering his colleague.

  “If you’ll excuse me, Dr. Ainsley.” Fellowes made no attempt to explain his sudden departure.

  Ainsley watched as he passed between a number of people before taking a stance on the opposite side of the gathering. It was then that Ainsley realized how all the other mourners kept a distance, preferring to stand further along the back than rub shoulders with him. As a known friend of the accused he was a pariah, allowed a wide berth for fear that murder and violence would spread like a disease.

  The funeral was a long drawn-out affair. For an hour Ainsley and the others stood in the autumn cold as eulogy after eulogy was delivered. By the end Ainsley decided the man was as near a saint as anyone could expect, or at least that was how people chose to see him now that he had met such a grisly end. Ainsley doubted he was even half as good a doctor, friend, and neighbour as they all claimed. Ainsley knew he wasn’t much of a husband. Mrs. Frobisher’s indifference and his extramarital affair were proof enough of that.

  Finally, the words of praise came to an end and the priest offered his final prayer. “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us all with the gift of this earthly life.”

  The crowd thinned quickly at the end as mourners sought refuge from the biting winds. Ainsley went directly for Dr. Waters and was thankful to reach him before he could climb into his carriage.

  “Dr. Waters, sir?”

  The older gentleman turned. “Yes?” He sneered slightly when he saw it was Ainsley who commanded his attention.

  “I was wondering if I may have a word.”

  “It’s doubtful you can say all you wish to say in one word, young man.”

  Ainsley cringed at the pandering tone often received from teachers who viewed themselves better than nearly everyone else in existence.

  “Yes, sir. What I mean to say is, May I have a few moments of your time?”

  “Hop in, young man,” Waters said, turning to pull himself into his carriage. “I haven’t much more time than the carriage ride to the university will afford me.”

  Ainsley promptly did what he was told, thankful to gain Dr. Waters’s undivided attention. “My name is Dr. Ainsley. I was a pupil at the college of which you now travel to.”

  “Yes.” Waters leaned on his cane set in front of him and used both gloved hands to lean into it.

  “I took the liberty of reviewing Professor Frobisher’s body—”

  “You did what, young man?” A vein pulsed on Waters’s forehead as he lurched forward. “When was this? How dare you? Out of this carriage this instant.” He tapped the inside of the door with the end of his cane.

  “Allow me to explain. I am a morgue surgeon myself with a practice out of St. Thomas Hospital in London.”

  Waters tempered his outrage for a moment longer but eyed Ainsley with suspicion.

  “My good friend stands as the accused in Professor Frobisher’s murder.”

  “So you are friends with the ingrate too, eh. Take my advice, son, and distance yourself. Word will make its way south faster than the train that takes you home and once it does there won’t be one door left open to you.” He pulled on the door handle and popped open the carriage door.

  “Sir, my friend is innocent.”

  “Professor Frobisher was brutally attacked!”

  “Yes, I agree. It was a most heinous crime, but I seek to find the hand that did it, as I truly believe my friend, Dr. Davies, is innocent of all charges against him.” Ainsley glanced to the open door and saw that the carriage was slowing down its pace and pulling up to the kerb. “Please, sir, I have no mind to convince you. I would just like a moment to discuss your findings further so that justice can be dealt swiftly yet truthfully.”

  The carriage stopped, but Dr. Waters remained silent for another moment as he regarded Ainsley.

  The young doctor thought to plead his case further, but doing so could also jeopardize his chances of an agreeable outcome. In the end, Ainsley sat quietly, hoping the old doctor would see the sincerity in his features and allow him the meeting he sought.

  “Very well.” Waters snapped the carriage door shut. “I will speak only of what I know as a doctor, not of what I know as a colleague.”

  “That is all I require, sir.”

  Waters tapped his cane on the ceiling of the carriage. “Drive on.” Only when the carriage moved forward, pulling away from the kerb, did Ainsley give himself permission to breathe.

  Chapter 21

  Passing through the shadows of Tron Kirk, Margaret made her way down High Street in Old Town. She told herself not to look at the piece of paper in her hand again, the one on which Jonas had written Eloise Locke’s address. The words on the paper had been etc
hed into her memory following the last twenty times she looked down at it. She knew the exact location by heart by then but only continued to look to the paper to allay her nerves.

  She had not believed it when Jonas first wrote the words Blair Street. It was as if fate were taunting her with the memory of her would-be beau. She had told herself she had no interest in the man, not in any way beyond friendship, not even after he saved her life, but still he had continued to show up at her house in London, encouraged by her somewhat meddlesome Aunt Louisa. Thankfully, Jonas said nothing about the duke’s son and Margaret’s previous connections to him. When she left Jonas’s house that morning he kissed her briefly on the forehead and wished her luck, something she insisted she would not need.

  During her time in Edinburgh she had almost forgotten that such a complication to her life existed. She had been relatively happy in Jonas’s company, despite his present circumstances. And now, standing below the street sign bearing the name of the man her family would wish her to marry, his face came to mind and she dared not smile. She knew that if Jonas were found guilty of the charges against him she would never recover. Now that Ainsley had aligned the Marshall family with that of an accused murder their last few society connections would dry up, along with any prospective marriage proposals as well. They’d be shunned. Not that Margaret would ever entertain the idea of marrying if Jonas went to the gallows. How could she tarnish his memory like that? How could she betray the love he had offered her? It would be one thing if he had denied their attachment and broken her heart. Under those circumstances there was a chance she could move on, but not now. She was locked in by her love and there was no escaping it. A judgement against Jonas was a judgement against her as well.

  The pharmaceutical storefront where Jonas’s adoptive father lived and worked occupied a corner storefront on Blair and South Bridge. The windows that faced out onto both streets displayed an assortment of large glass bottles and tin boxes. A balance scale was displayed prominently with dried herbs and a mortar and pestle on one side and a small placard with the words “Your body” scrolled on it on the other side. A young man of maybe fourteen was busy inside the window case, pouring bright green liquid into a glass jar that was nearly the same size as him.