The Fireraisers

by Malcolm Archibald

  Varthley shook his head. 'No, Sergeant. I never asked; I supposed it was because he was American.'

  'American?' Watters stared at Varthley. 'You never mentioned that before. Are you sure?'

  'Yes,' Varthley said.

  Watters glanced at Murdoch, who nodded. Coupled with Beaumont's trading with slave states, an American involvement was a worrying development. This affair went far beyond a simple assault or fire-raising.

  'And the woman?'

  'I never saw her clearly, Sergeant. She stayed behind the man. She came to my house later with the money and told me what to say, but I never saw her clearly. She stood in the doorway in the shadows.'

  'Was she American too?'

  Varthley shook his head. 'No, Sergeant.'

  'Tall? Short?'

  'She was quite tall,' Varthley said. 'She spoke strange though. Not local.'

  'Was she foreign?'

  'I don't know, Sergeant.' Varthley looked away. 'I don't know any more, Sergeant. I was going to use the two sovs to further the cause.'

  'I'm sure you were.' Watters raised his voice. 'Bring this man some clothes!' He nodded. 'I don't like you, Varthley; I don't like men who hit young women. However, we might need you, so I'll be straight with you. If you co-operate with me, I'll help you all I can.'

  For the first time, Watters saw a glimmer of hope in Varthley's face. 'Yes, Sergeant. What do you want me to do?'

  'Anything I ask you to.' Watters looked up as the cell door opened and Duff looked in.

  'I don't know his size, Sergeant, but these might do.' Duff threw across a bundle of clothing.

  'There we are, Varthley.' Watters stepped to the cell door. 'Don't go away now. I may have work for you.' He slammed shut the door.

  As much of the work of the police depended on information from men such as Varthley, Watters knew he might drop most of the possible charges and stick to the assault on Amy. More important was the fact that an American and a possibly foreign woman were at the back of the attacks. He had made some worrying progress.

  'Are you all right, Sergeant?' Duff asked.

  'I'm taking a few moments to think,' Watters said. 'Varthley's way out of his depth. I don't think he knows much more.'

  'Scuddamore and I investigated him further.' Duff's grin was pure evil. 'We found out who his friends are. The Dundee and Forfarshire Anti-slavery Alliance is a very interesting group that raises money for the Abolitionists in the United States.'

  'That's a worthy cause,' Watters said. 'My wife would completely approve.'

  'Wait, Sergeant.' Duff held up his hand. 'I've got more.'

  'Carry on.'

  'There are six in the group.' Duff read out the names.

  Watters nodded. 'They're all local with Scottish names. No Americans or other foreigners.'

  'No, Sergeant.'

  Watters nodded. 'Let's see if Mr Mackay allows us to have a wee word with these allied people. They might know more about this American and his mysterious female friend.'

  CHAPTER TEN: DUNDEE: OCTOBER 1862

  'An American and a foreign woman?' Superintendent Mackay stepped up from behind his desk to pace back and forth in his office. 'That brings an international dimension to things, Watters.'

  'Yes, sir,' Watters said. 'If we can find these two, we can probably clear the whole thing up. I'm not sure about the Calcutta murder, though. We are still looking for Richard Jones.'

  'I'll alert the entire force,' Mackay said. 'There can't be very many Americans running loose in Dundee. There are plenty of foreign women though, dammit.'

  'The American might not be in Dundee. He may be based in Glasgow or Edinburgh or even Aberdeen.' Watters paused to allow Mackay time to think. 'My first thought was for James Bulloch, the fellow from the Southern states who came to Charlotte Beaumont's wedding and claimed to know William Caskie.'

  'I know that name.' Mackay stopped and stared at Watters. 'Bulloch. He works for the Confederate States.'

  'Yes, sir. I found out about him. He buys ships for the Confederate Navy. However, the description that Varthley gave did not fit.' Watters shook his head. 'Also, it would make no sense for Bulloch to target the Beaumont family if they trade with the Confederate States.'

  'If the American in question even existed,' Mackay said. 'We only have Varthley's word to go on. The man may not even be American. If so, it is more likely he came from the Northern States than the Southern.'

  'I agree, sir.'

  'Our first call will be the United States Consulate,' Mackay continued. 'I'll speak to Holderby, the vice-consul here. He's receptive to sense.'

  'Yes, sir. He seemed a decent enough fellow when I met him at the wedding.' Watters waited for a moment. 'I believe I might be able to find the foreign woman.'

  Mackay returned to his desk. 'Keep me informed of everything you do, Sergeant. Just be careful not to create any international ill feelings. We have just come through one delicate incident with the United States; we don't want another.'

  'Yes, sir.' Watters paused again. 'I don't believe that the foreign woman is American, sir. Do you recall that I met a woman the day of the murder on Lady of Blackness?'

  'I don't recollect anything of the sort.' Mackay was already shuffling papers on his desk.

  'She called herself Henrietta Borg, sir. She told me she was from the Mediterranean.' Watters tried to phrase his words to capture Mackay's imagination. 'France has a Mediterranean coastline, and Mr William Caskie has French connections.'

  Mackay's fingers danced a polka on the desk. 'Be very careful, Watters. Don't do anything until you are certain. You seem to be chasing shadows just now with your tomfool ideas about Mr Caskie senior's death and stray French women.' He looked up from his papers. 'You can't go imagining that every woman you see is French.'

  'I didn't say that, sir. I feel that there is something wrong with this Henrietta Borg woman, and I'm certain that Borg is a false name.'

  Mackay's fingers stilled. 'Don't act until you are certain, Watters. That's all I have to say on the matter.'

  'There is also Varthley's abolitionist group, the Dundee and Forfarshire Anti-Slavery Alliance,' Watters said. 'I'd like your permission to pick them up on suspicion.'

  'On suspicion of what?' Mackay asked. 'On suspicion of trying to help these poor fellows in chains? Do you have any evidence that they have tampered with Mr Beaumont's mills?'

  'No, sir,' Watters said. 'May I speak to them?'

  'You can speak but nothing else,' Mackay said. 'Don't spread yourself too thin, Watters. Sergeant Anstruther is keen to take over the case.'

  'I'm sure he is, sir.'

  * * *

  Rain swept the Wellgate Steps, forming puddles that grew to drip down the steps one by one. With his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his great coat, Watters stood in the semi-recessed doorway of a shop, blinking at the water that wept from the brim of his hat. He looked up the steps where Duff huddled into a green greatcoat trying to look innocent. Scuddamore and young Willie sat in the comparative comfort of a hired Hackney carriage, waiting for eight o'clock.

  Watters checked the time. Five minutes short of the hour. Snapping shut his watch case, he replaced the watch in his waistcoat pocket and continued his survey. The wind strengthened, blasting sharp rain across the steps. Two women hurried past, one carrying a paper bag full of her daily shopping with the paper already dissolving in the wet.

  Duff lifted his hand slightly, signalling to Watters that a lone woman was coming. Watters tilted his hat to ensure that the brim concealed more of his face, swearing at the resulting cascade of rainwater.

  The woman appeared at the head of the steps, walking with her head held high despite the weather. Watters nodded in satisfaction as he recognised her right away. 'Right, Henrietta Borg. Now we'll see who you really are.'

  From the corner of his eye, Watters saw the Hackney door open and Scuddamore step outside. As Scuddamore reached back, Willie slipped under his outstretched hand, jinked left and right, and
ran, head down and feet kicking up spray from the puddles.

  Blasted boy!

  Watters swore again. 'Catch him, Scuddamore! Duff, take the woman!'

  'That woman! Stop where you are!' Duff launched himself from the doorway, slipped on the top step, and nearly fell. As he tried to recover, Watters emerged from his doorway, cane in hand.

  'You there! Borg!'

  'Murder!' Borg gave the nationally recognised yell for help. 'Murder! I'm being attacked!' Pushing aside the staggering Duff, Borg leapt back up the steps to the Wellgate, lifted her skirt, and ran.

  ''You bloody idiot!' Watters snarled at Duff. 'Catch that woman!' Borg was quickly disappearing along the street.

  'Stop!' Watters ran in Borg's wake. Man but you're a scud, Borg! Watters lengthened his stride, splashing through puddles and ignoring the stares of other pedestrians.

  Borg neither hesitated nor looked around. She ran in a straight line shouting, 'Murder! Help!'

  With his coat flapping around his shins and his hat blown off his head, Watters finally got close enough to Borg to launch himself in a flying dive. Grabbing hold of Borg around the waist, he brought her to the ground.

  'Hey!' A man shouted. 'You leave that woman alone!'

  'Aye, leave her alone.' The voices were rough yet concerned. Somebody landed a hard kick on Watters's thigh. 'Let her go, you blackguard!'

  Others joined the kicking man, pulling roughly at Watters, trying to help Borg to her feet as indignant voices, male and female, joined in.

  'Get the police!'

  'Bugger the police, give him a doing! Treating a poor woman like that. Look at the mess he's made of her clothes!'

  'Police!' Duff arrived, panting with exertion. 'Dundee Police!'

  'About time you got here.' The first man landed another kick on Watters. 'This bugger,' he kicked again, 'jumped on that poor woman.' Another kick.

  'If you don't stop kicking that man, I'll arrest you for assaulting a police officer,' Duff said. 'That's Sergeant Watters of the Dundee Police. The woman is a suspect in a murder enquiry.'

  'Murder!' A woman repeated. 'She's too respectable for to be a murderer!'

  As Watters pulled himself up, Borg looked anything but respectable. Soaking from head to foot, with her hair a tangled explosion and the laces of her left boot trailing on the ground, Henrietta Borg tried to straighten her clothes. 'I have no idea what you are talking about.' She sounded genuinely angry.

  'We'll discuss that at the police office.' Watters attempted to regain his dignity after rolling about on the filthy road.

  'Oh, Sergeant Watters,' Mrs Foreman was amongst the crowd. 'Have you caught a murderer? Was it that woman who poisoned Mr Caskie?' She peered across at Borg. 'Oh, doesn't she look wild! You are so clever, Sergeant Watters.'

  'I didn't poison anybody,' Henrietta Borg said.

  'We don't know if she is guilty of anything yet, Mrs Foreman,' Watters said. 'We are only suspicious.'

  'Get back now.' Duff pushed the spectators away. 'There's nothing to see here! Get off to your homes.'

  Borg said no more as Watters and Duff escorted her to the police office. Only when she sat down at Watters's desk did she ask why she had been arrested.

  She listened intently as Watters mentioned the fire-raising and Willie. 'I know nothing about either of these things.' She sounded faintly amused despite her now-bedraggled appearance. 'Why should I wish to start a fire in a mill or pay a small boy to do so?'

  'That is something we intend to find out,' Watters said.

  'I'll be interested to find out how I turned into an arsonist and why,' Borg replied. 'I presume you will pay to get my clothes cleaned?'

  'Where have I seen you before?' Watters asked the direct question.

  'Brown's Street,' Borg said.

  'Before that?' Watters sat opposite her.

  Borg smiled, took a mirror from inside her coat, and began to straighten her hair. 'I get around, Sergeant Watters.'

  'Here's young Willie now,' Duff said with some satisfaction. 'That's your goose cooked, missus.'

  Scuddamore looked tired and dishevelled as he dragged Willie along behind him. 'Right, you little blackguard, tell us that's the woman, or I'll kick your backside black and blue.'

  'What woman?' Willie looked at Borg with complete disinterest. 'Who's that?'

  'Is that not the woman who owes you five shillings?' Scuddamore asked.

  'Nuh.' Willie shook his head. 'I never seen her before in my life.'

  'Don't lie to me!'

  'I don't think he's lying,' Borg said. 'I've never seen him either.'

  'I'm warning you, you wee rascal!' Scuddamore lifted a hand as if to strike Willie, who cowered away.

  Watters shook his head. 'None of that, Scuddamore.'

  'May I leave now?' Borg asked with a smile. 'I have somebody to meet.' She stood up. 'I'll send you the bill for having my clothes washed, Sergeant Watters.'

  Watters's frustration mounted as he watched Borg leave. He thought he had found a lead in this case only to slam against a dead end. His only success had been with Varthley.

  'Right, gentlemen,' Watters lifted his much-battered hat. 'We have the Dundee and Forfarshire Anti-slavery Alliance to interview. Let's salvage something from this shambles.'

  'Mr Mackay won't approve,' Scuddamore said.

  'Blast Superintendent Mackay,' Watters said. 'We'll do this my way.' Now that he was committed, he dismissed his usual caution. 'We'll hire two growlers and pick up the whole bunch of the Alliance. If they're in custody, they can't burn anything, and we'll question them closely to find out about this foreign woman and the American.'

  'Mr Mackay…' Scuddamore began.

  'Mr Mackay is not invited,' Watters said. 'Go and hire two hansoms, Scuddamore. We're leaving within the hour.'

  Despite their grandiose name, the members of the Dundee and Forfarshire Anti-slavery Alliance were concentrated in three streets on the eastern side of the town where Dundee merged with West Ferry.

  'Nice part of the world.' Duff looked around at the walled gardens that surrounded each large house.

  'Yes.' Watters did not wish to waste time with small talk as he glanced over the list of members. 'Robert Stanton, Peter Kelly, Jillian Ware, Lorraine Middleton … Hopefully, one of these two women is our foreign woman.'

  'Jillian Ware and Lorraine Middleton,' Duff said. 'They don't sound very foreign to me.'

  'Perhaps they married a Scotsman,' Watters said. 'We'll round them up and question them. Scuddamore, you stay with the carriages. Duff, we'll take Robert Stanton first. You go to the back door in case he tries to escape.'

  Darkness had long fallen, and with no street lamps in the area, the only illumination came from the house lights. A rising wind flicked tree branches back and forth, spilling the last of their leaves, although Watters was glad to note the rain had eased to an occasional spatter.

  A single candle burned in an upstairs window when Watters knocked on the door.

  'Who's there?' The voice was loud and masculine.

  'Sergeant George Watters of the Dundee Police.'

  'What do you want?'

  'Open the door!' Watters knocked again, louder than before.

  As the door opened, Watters barged in. 'Are you Robert Stanton?'

  The man was about thirty, already plump with prosperity, and wearing a long, embroidered nightshirt. 'Yes, that's me.'

  'Are you a member of the Dundee and Forfarshire Anti-slavery Alliance?'

  'Yes.' Stanton's sallow face coloured. 'Why?'

  'We have reason to believe that one or more of the members of your society have been involved in fire-raising, issuing threats, and possibly murder.' Watters felt some cruel satisfaction when Stanton looked as if he was going to faint.

  'Murder?' Stanton sat down on an ornately carved chair that was situated behind his front door.

  'You may be charged with the murder of a seaman and attempted murder by means of setting fire to mills and factories, thereby e
ndangering the lives of the workers and those who live in neighbouring properties.' Watters produced a set of handcuffs. 'Shall I need these?'

  'Oh dear Lord, no, please.' Stanton's voice was little more than a whisper.

  'Get yourself dressed and come with me,' Watters said.

  None of the six Alliance members offered any resistance, although both women protested in undoubtedly Scottish accents. One man ducked his head as he passed Watters.

  'What's that fellow's name?' Watters asked.

  'Peter Kelly,' Scuddamore answered at once.

  'I know you!' Watters grabbed Kelly's hair and yanked his head back. A pale face surmounted by red whiskers stared up at him. 'You were the fellow at the Beaumont wedding. I'll speak to you later.'

  Within the hour, Watters deposited all six into the rapidly filling cells of the police office. 'That was easy enough,' he said. 'Now we'll leave them for a while.' Watters grinned. 'For the first time in this case, I feel that we're making progress, gentlemen. Now, all we need is one of the women to admit to being the foreign woman who hired Willie, and we're home and dry.'

  'That still leaves the American,' Scuddamore reminded.

  'Let's press them on the American,' Watters decided. 'We'll interview Jillian Ware and Lorraine Middleton first, in case one of them is our foreign woman. Kelly can wait.'

  'They sounded very Scottish to me,' Duff said.

  Scuddamore laughed. 'Aye, but you wouldn't know a Scotswoman from a collie dug. You've never met a woman except to arrest her.'

  'Give them half an hour and bring up Ware.' Watters ignored the by-play. 'In the meantime, we all have paperwork to do.' He lifted his pen.

  'You have no right to imprison me.' Jillian Ware was intense of eye as she sat erect on the hard chair in the interview room. 'I am not one of your mill workers or prostitutes. My father is a solicitor.' Watters guessed her age at about twenty-two.

  Ignoring Ware's bluster, Watters sat opposite her. 'Do you know a young boy named Willie?'

  When Ware shook her head, Watters nodded to Scuddamore, who brought over a much scrubbed and newly-clothed Willie.

  'Is that the woman who owes you five shilling?' Scuddamore asked.