by David Pirie
No doubt this gross insult would have provoked more roars of pleasure from his people except at that moment a woman moved forward from the others, somehow forcing the crowd to part till she was beside him. And, with unexpected speed, the woman brought her knee into his groin. Crawford’s face, which had been triumphant, suddenly contorted with pain and he doubled up. But I was not looking at him, I was looking at the figure of his attacker. It was Miss Scott.
Of course Crawford recovered quickly and launched himself after her. He was strong, and no one person could possibly have restrained him in that frenzy. But he was so obviously out of control that even his friends held him back. I clung on to him too.
‘I will kill her.’ He was screaming. ‘You hear me.’
I felt a stern hand on my shoulder and turned to find that several strapping porters had appeared. Behind them was Dr Gillespie who had immediate responsibility for discipline within the university precinct.
The presence of the porters rapidly cooled the passions of the throng, though Crawford was still having to be restrained by his friends.
‘This is disgraceful,’ Gillespie was shouting to all of us. ‘We cannot possibly tolerate such a bedlam. The lecture is of course cancelled. And the women must stand down for two months.’
There were cries of anger at this injustice, not merely from the women. I doubt it would have had the slightest effect, but Crawford’s roar of triumph at this development was so uncontrolled, his frenzy so palpable, that even Gillespie could not ignore him. He turned. ‘And you, sir, for three.’
Gillespie moved away, thinking his work done, but I thanked heaven the porters still held Crawford, for now all his attention turned back to Elsbeth, who had moved into the midst of the women. ‘This is your doing, Miss Scott,’ Crawford screamed at her. ‘You will pay for it. As a lamb to the slaughter, and you will not escape me.’ For a moment it looked like he might break free, and others, including myself, moved to block him.
At last he subsided, and when I turned round I knew why. The women had gone, and I had lost my chance of talking to her, perhaps for as long as two months. Of course I could try my luck at her lodgings but I knew perfectly well the landlady would never allow a gentleman to call. My only course would be to write a letter and see if she would answer. After all that had happened, including my weeks of silence, it seemed highly dobutful.
With a bitter heart I turned to walk to Bell’s room for there was something I wanted urgently to discuss with him. I could find no sign of Bell, but I was told he was in the building, and I wandered around disconsolately for a while until I overheard his voice outside Gillespie’s room.
‘I incline to think …’ Gillespie’s tones were pompous, sonorous.
‘Then do so,’ came back Bell’s voice, obviously angry. ‘Of course the safety of these women is our responsibility! And we must accept it!’
With these words he strode out of there so fast that he almost knocked me over. I moved quickly to get out of his way and walked rapidly alongside him. ‘Dr Bell, I wanted to discuss a matter with you.’
‘If it is about this business with the women, I have already stated my position—’
I interrupted. ‘I am glad, and it concerns them in a way.’ I struggled to marshal my thoughts for I was about to present the doctor with my own deduction, and I knew it would be subject to ruthless scrutiny. He indicated that I should proceed.
‘You recall,’ I said, ‘that pile of coins in the room where we found the blood?’
He nodded.
‘I thought at the time it reminded me of something. Now I know why. It is because there was something very similar beside the beggar who was killed.’ I had told the Doctor about Samuel’s death and he had lamented that such forensic negligence was nothing unusual.
‘Presumably his earnings,’ he answered. We were getting close to his rooms.
‘Yes, that is what I thought,’ I replied eagerly. ‘But I felt there was something odd and now I see what it is. Samuel never left his earnings on the street, they were always in his violin case.’
‘Perhaps it was overturned,’ he said, still without any great interest as we entered between the high shelves. There was dank water in his tank, no doubt awaiting some specimen.
‘Yes,’ I cried. ‘That is what I had thought. But now I see the oddness of it. If it overturned, the coins would scatter. Yet they were not scattered at all, they were in a tiny heap exactly as they were in the room. Samuel would never have bothered to take the trouble to set them in that way. No beggar would.’
Suddenly the Doctor looked much more engaged. He sat down at his desk. ‘Intriguing. You think there is a link?’
‘I am sure of it,’ I went on quickly. ‘And not only that, I have a suspect. There is a fanatical student called Crawford who persecutes the women.’
The Doctor nodded. ‘Yes, I am aware of the man, he has just been suspended.’ He was tapping his right hand on the polished wood of his desk.
‘I believe,’ I was keeping my eyes fixed on his for I desperately wanted to convince him, ‘he is responsible for the killing of the sheep. He herded some sheep into a lecture hall the other day. He constantly refers to the blood of the lamb. Today I have seen him throwing coins at the women. The blood, the coins, maybe these are mad signs he leaves to mark his crimes.’ The Doctor sat there considering my remarks and foolishly I rushed on. ‘Crawford is obsessed with the women. I fear he may be a serious danger. They must be protected.’
Of course I had moved from the analytical to the merely emotional and the Doctor saw it at once. ‘From the hooligans certainly, I agree,’ he answered kindly. ‘That is what I have just been telling Gillespie. But in your natural anxiety, Doyle, I very much fear you are guilty of making connections where none exist. A dead violinist, a room of blood, coins thrown at women, a pile of coins. Some of the facts are suggestive. Your observation about the beggar’s money is striking …’ He paused, thoughtfully, and I felt a glimmer of hope. ‘But there is no genuine thread. I am sorry. Until you have that, you have nothing.’
THE PROBLEM OF LADY CARLISLE
I returned home in a state of dejection, with some vague idea of writing out a reasoned argument for my suspicions, but my mother reminded me of an engagement I had forgotten. That afternoon Neill and I were due to play rugby in a friendly game against a Glasgow team so, within an hour, I was on the playing field.
I say ‘friendly’, but in fact it was one of the least friendly games I ever endured. Our opponents were a huge side, typified by an eighteen-stone forward called Watt who succeeded quite early on in pushing a scrummage over the Edinburgh goal line and grounding the ball, knocking one of our players out cold in the process. A lengthy debate ensued, but the referee had missed Watt’s many fouls including his savage treatment of the player who was carried off. So the try was finally allowed and Watt himself converted it to a goal with a gracious kick, and an equally ungracious leer at our side, which naturally left us in a fury, especially when we thought of the man who was injured.
After this, the game degenerated into a heated scrap which was neither enjoyable nor decorous, and our only consolation was that Watt was so ruthlessly marked by our side he never got back into the match and, by the end, was shouting abuse at anyone and everyone like a demented schoolboy.
It was a rather miserable end to a dismal day, and later Neill, Stark and I drowned our sorrows in Rutherford’s bar, joined on this occasion by another friend called Cullingworth who had just returned from a time away. For once we did not have to rely on Neill’s generosity, as most of the players bought rounds of drinks, and after a time my friends started making conversation with an attractive servant-girl, with lustrous curls and a mischievous expression, whose companion was otherwise occupied.
The girl, who told us her name was Amelia, had a pretty smile and when she laughed her teeth shone like little pearls. But I thought only of Elsbeth laughing, and said little.
Eventually they all chided
me for my silence, and I was forced to join in. Amelia seemed most impressed that we were medical students, and that Neill already had a qualification from Montreal. Soon she was describing various conditions and headaches, that struck us all as normal enough, so to shut her up Neill produced a pill from his pocket, telling her it would help her nerves.
Later we tumbled out on to the street, all rather the worse for drink, with Neill complaining bitterly that he had been hoping to see the girl home or he would never have squandered some patent medicine on her. ‘Yes,’ said Cullingworth, the big-boned son of a borders doctor, ‘and now for two months there will be no women at the university. We are cast out of Eden.’
After that we trudged along in search of another bar as the conversation became bawdy. ‘Talking of Eden,’ said Stark, ‘is it not curious that Adam and Eve’s knowledge of their own nakedness should be a sin? What is wrong with knowing you are naked?’
‘Ah,’ said Neill, ‘but you miss the point. After they had eaten the apple they wore fig leaves, primitive clothes, because of shame. It is the wearing of clothes themselves which betrays our freedom, the freedom to do what we like with our bodies.’
Sometimes I tired of Neill’s wild notions and now I pointed out that clothes had a perfectly valuable function. Not least in a city with the keenest wind in the northern hemisphere.
But, Neill lapsed back into rhapsodic bliss over the prettiness of the servant-girl in the bar. ‘You know she was the handsomest girl in the place. I would have paid a fortune for her.’
Cullingworth was intrigued by the notion. ‘Is it true,’ he said, ‘that the first thing your cavalry do after they claim a town is send for women?’
‘Certainly,’ Neill replied as his handsome features broke into an even broader grin. ‘Did you never hear of that rogue General Hooker? He would buy women’s services by the gross.’
I know the drink was making us loose-tongued, but I had been taught to honour military men, indeed I was brought up with many heroic stories of my great-uncle who led the Scottish Brigade at Waterloo. Not surprisingly therefore, I found this idea somewhat repellent. ‘Your country sounds barbaric,’ I said.
Neill of course took this as a compliment. ‘Gloriously so!’ he shouted, clapping me on the back as his voice echoed along the street.
Stark and Cullingworth were starting to laugh and I concluded this was surely the silliest discussion I had ever joined. Soon we were all laughing when quite suddenly I froze.
For there, marching straight towards me in the flickering flame of the gas lamp, was the Doctor. Bell’s head was upright, his topcoat buttoned to the neck, and he gripped his silver-topped cane so tightly you might have thought it was trying to escape.
At first I could not believe it, but then I recalled that he made a habit of walking the streets, indeed the Doctor prided himself on long strolls that took him into every corner of the city. I had no wish to meet him, but it was too late. He had stopped and he was staring straight at me. My companions had seen him too and they were equally amazed.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said as he came up beside us.
‘Dr Bell!’ Stark was literally open-mouthed. ‘What brings you here, sir?’
‘Oh, I make it my business to go everywhere.’ He surveyed us without expression. Then he pointed his cane at me. ‘Doyle, you will pardon me if I interrupt your studies, but I have a patient to visit. You can accompany me.’ And he strode on.
The others were of course consumed with amusement at this turn of events, but there was no choice. I buttoned up my jacket, ran a hand over my hair and followed after him.
Already I was feeling a good deal more sober, but he was walking so fast it was hard to keep up. Bell had evidently been on one of his strolls through the city, and now wished to find a cab to take us to his consultation. There was none to be seen for we were not on the main thoroughfare, and he darted forward into a small lane that would take us there as I ran to catch him.
The lane was small with dark cobbles and there was not a soul in it. I was almost beside him when I saw the lantern by the horse-trough and suddenly felt a sickening sense of recognition. I turned, and there was the sign: Jack’s Lane
I cried out for him to come back. But he was already almost halfway along. Finally I caught up with him. ‘We must go back!’
He did not stop. ‘Why?’ he said. But it was too late. Before us a smiling figure had stepped out with a pistol, which he brought up level with the Doctor’s chest.
‘Hello, gentlemen,’ said the man, and I recognised all too well that grey skin and thin smile.
Bell, who had been forced to stop, stared at the figure in front of him.
‘Your money, please, or I’ll kill you,’ said the man, his words all the more threatening for being said with so little emphasis.
Bell just stood there. And his words when they came were equally unemphatic. ‘Then do so.’ And without hesitation he started to walk on.
The man was a little taken aback, but he raised his gun and his finger tightened on the trigger.
I was terrified. ‘You must do as he says, Doctor!’ I shouted.
Bell was level with the man now. And to my relief he stopped. ‘My money, you say?’ He spoke carelessly.
‘Now!’ said the man with more irritation than before.
‘Very well,’ the Doctor said, and I thanked God he had seen sense as he put his hand in his pocket. But all he drew out was a handful of pennies.
The man was angry now. ‘You’ve more than that.’
But Bell raised his voice too. ‘How could you possibly know? Come, take it. This money is as good as any. See what’s here!’
He held his hand up high. I could see that the Doctor’s sheer foolhardiness was making the man uneasy. But again his finger was tightening.
I started forward in terror. Bell was holding up the coins now like a madman. ‘My money’s as good as the next man’s can’t you see?’
And he flung the coins hard at the man’s eyes. There was a flash and a report as the gun went off, but it was no longer pointed anywhere near the Doctor. Then Bell was on to the man hard, smashing his stick into his legs and sending him flying.
I stood there in open-mouthed amazement, for until then I had had no idea of the wire-like strength of the Doctor when he was seriously enraged, his passions inflamed. At times like this he could look almost crazed.
‘I will walk every street in this borough, you understand?’ Bell was shouting as he bent over his opponent, administering a series of expert punches. There was only a groan from below. The Doctor picked up the gun and walked on, dusting himself down.
I ran to catch him and soon we were at the end of that horrible lane and had found a cab. But I will admit that I eyed my companion with a new respect as it sped through the streets.
Eventually we entered a smart quarter of the new town and turned into a row of wealthy houses.
‘Who is our patient?’ I said, for I felt I was entitled to know.
‘You will see,’ replied Bell. ‘I would ask for the utmost discretion.’
The town house into which we were admitted was at that time the richest I had ever entered. There was a marble statuette on one side of the door which gleamed in the soft light of the lamps and a palatial central staircase. A smell of good food assailed me as we were ushered into the hall by an elegant butler who evidently knew Bell, but who looked at me with a slight downard curl of his lips.
And then a figure came out in evening dress, his hair as elegant and his smile as wide as when he was telling jokes to his acolytes at the university. Somewhat to my amazement it was our patron, Sir Henry Carlisle.
Carlisle shook hands with the Doctor, ignoring me. ‘Thank you so much for coming, Bell, I am sure it is nothing.’ And now he dropped his voice a little, glancing at me as I hung back. ‘But I wanted her to see someone in the strictest confidence …’
‘Of course,’ said Bell, as unruffled by this challenge as he had been by the man in the
lane, and I wondered what Carlisle would think if he knew there was an unloaded pistol in the Doctor’s pocket. ‘This is my trusted clerk and pupil, Arthur Doyle. He has torn himself away from his studies to assist me.’
Now at last Carlisle turned properly to look at me. There was just the smallest hint of recognition. I suppose he did recall my encounter with his wife and her sister, but he did not refer to it. He merely shook my hand without the courtesy of a smile, and then led us up that beautiful staircase.
We came to a bedroom at the top which was as ornate as any I had seen, indeed all I could take in at first in the soft light of its lamps were lush green hangings and a tapestry. And then I saw the bed, which was large, though not a four-poster, and in it lay the small, somewhat fragile figure of Lady Sarah Carlisle. She obviously knew Bell but gave a little start of surprised recognition when she observed me. Carlisle had been introducing me as the Doctor’s clerk and looked a little taken aback when she smiled at me so warmly. Then of course he was obliged to withdraw.
Bell greeted Lady Sarah kindly and proceeded to his task while I assisted by handing him whatever he required from his bag. He was, I could see, making an extremely thorough examination, but there was not the slightest hint of the imperiousness I knew from the lecture room, indeed he talked to her brightly while he worked. I did not observe all he did, but I saw enough to concern me and, as I closed his bag, I was anxious to hear how he would proceed.
‘It is an infection, I am afraid, Lady Sarah,’ he said, hardly altering his cheerful tone. ‘Though I hope we can be of some use to you in containing it. A circulatory imbalance of the blood, causing inflammation. I will of course be advising your husband as to the best way forward.’
He was doing his best to offer reassurance, but I have to admit this irritated me, given what I suspected, nor was he entirely successful.
‘Please, I beg you, do not alarm him,’ she said, and I was sure a shadow of fear crossed her face.
‘I promise,’ he replied. ‘And we will come back again very soon.’