Campbell & MacPherson 2: The Dead Duke

by Clare Jayne

  “She is not a particular acquaintance of mine and I do not often see her at the entertainments I am invited to, but I believe she has a weakness for anything of a musical nature. You might find her at Sir Andrew Liddleton’s gathering this afternoon, as he has a renowned pianist playing there. I can obtain an invitation for you but I have a charitable meeting I need to attend and Lord Huntly will be delivering a lecture at the College, so you would have to go alone.”

  Ishbel ignored the stab of fear at the thought of enduring insulting comments with no one to stand at her side. She could do this; she was not weak. “Thank you, I will.”

  Four hours later she was dressed in one of her finest gowns, hair curled and puffed out at the sides, walking into the home of Sir Andrew Liddleton. A couple of dozen people were already there: women with faces painted white and a dab of red at their cheeks, wearing grand silk gowns and men in brightly coloured breeches, waistcoats and jackets, elaborate neckcloths and white wigs. Ishbel looked round for a familiar face, finally seeing only someone she would rather avoid: Lord Moray. However, he would very likely be acquainted with Mrs Ainsley, and could tell Ishbel if the lady was here. He was amongst a group of half a dozen people, many ladies included, so it was not improper for her to join them.

  She did so, giving an uncomfortable smile to the several women her own age who looked at her with curiosity. Lord Moray caught sight of her and gave a bow. “How beautiful you look, Miss Campbell,” he said with a roguish smile. “I am quite transfixed.”

  She gave a quick curtsy, wondering if he gave the same compliments to Lady Sarah. No wonder the duke had wanted to keep the two of them apart. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Lord Moray. Is Mrs Ainsley with your party? I had hoped to speak with her today.”

  “I believe I saw her a short time ago,” another young man said, whom Lord Moray introduced as Mr Hinnam. “Please allow me to escort you to her.”

  “Thank you.” She took his arm and he walked her to a different part of the room, then paused, looking about. Ishbel had only a faint recollection of the lady’s appearance, so she had to rely on his knowledge.

  “Ah, there she is.” He walked confidently to open doors that led out to the garden. She hesitated, pulling her hand free of his arm. “Did you not wish to see Mrs Ainsley after all?” he asked in a confused tone.

  She looked beyond him. There were a few people outside and she did not want to miss this chance to progress the investigation. “Yes.”

  They moved through the doorway and he at once pushed her roughly against the side of the house and attempted to kiss her. Panicking, she turned her head from the kiss and tried to pull away, but he held her arms in an immovable grip.

  His mouth touched hers and she kicked him in the shins as hard as she could.

  He swore and let her go, and she got free of him. “How dare you, sir!” She backed away and re-entered the drawing room, but he followed her inside.

  “Do not affect innocence now,” he whispered in a mocking tone. “You knew what I wanted. Lord Moray told me what manner of woman you really are.”

  “You are revolting.”

  She hurried away through the crowds, not caring how her abrupt departure might look, and ran down the steps of the house to her awaiting carriage. Only when she was safely inside and it was moving towards her home, did she feel out of danger.

  She began to shake, her body ice-cold, her breathing uneven.

  She had always scorned upper class views on proper behaviour for a lady, but this was what happened when she acted against them. This was what, until now, she had been protected from.

  A wave of nausea swept over her and she gripped the seat of the carriage tightly, swallowing down bile.

  She wished fervently she had kept to her unconventional but safe university studies and had never got involved in looking into criminal matters.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  EWAN WAS glad Miss Campbell had remained safely at home instead of accompanying him to a neighbourhood such as this. The street where Cathy Smith lived was utterly different from the respectable one where Miss McNeil’s house was situated.

  Ewan got out of his carriage and two women at once approached him with fake smiles and partly unbuttoned dresses to ask if he wanted companionship for the evening.

  “No, thank you,” he told them. His only bedroom experience had been gained with such a woman and, while he did not exactly regret the experience, it was one he felt some shame over. It had not miraculously turned him from boy into man as he had hoped; only time and responsibility had done that. The thought of constantly finding one lover after another, as the duke seemed to have done, held no attraction when compared to the thought of marrying someone he loved and remaining true to her. If she would ever have him.

  Waste of every kind littered the pavement and road and several rats fought over something – he did not want to know what – in a dark corner.

  He checked the numbers of the doors and, seeing the one he wanted, knocked upon it. A short while later he heard light steps and a woman opened the door. She was much younger than Miss McNeil, probably little more than twenty, and had a pretty face and full figure. “Yes?” she said to him, a touch wary.

  “Miss Smith?” he checked and, when he nodded, said, “I am looking into Duke Raden’s murder and hoped to speak briefly to you.”

  “Aye, all right. You best come inside then.” He followed her into a shabby parlour that held only the most basic of furniture and smelt of tallow candles.

  “Had you already heard of his death?” he asked as she waved him into a chair and sat down across the room from him.

  “Aye. Most people around here knew he called on me for a while – it was him who paid for this house.” She looked proud of the fact and, seeing his expression, said, “It might not look much to a gent like you but I was stuck with my step-dad and nine brothers and sisters. I woulda done anything to get away but the duke was good to me.”

  “He treated you kindly?”

  “Yes. He was gentle with me and bought me gifts.”

  “You must have been sorry when he stopped calling on you?” He looked for signs of anger in her but could see none.

  “Sure I was. He rented somewhere bigger than this for me at first, but I knew it would end one day. He left me with this house and enough money to make sure I didna starve. It was more generous than he had to be.”

  He could see that she meant it. She certainly had no cause to kill him. “Did you have any idea about who might have killed him?”

  “The actress he took up with, I heard. A thief or ruffian coulda done it, but wasna he murdered in her house?”

  “Miss McNeil has been accused of the crime, but I think she might be innocent.”

  “Then good luck to the poor lassie. The law don’t care what happens to our sort.”

  With these words in his head, he thanked her for her time with words and a coin and headed back outside into the cold. His coach-driver asked where to take him and Ewan hesitated. He took the pocket watch from his waistcoat pocket and checked the time: mid-afternoon. Miss Campbell would probably be out attending lectures. He would see if Chiverton or McDonald were home and call on Miss Campbell tomorrow.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  ISHBEL HAD avoided speaking to anyone the previous evening by claiming to have a severe headache. It meant she could have no dinner, but the plain rolls and fruit Lucy brought her were all she wanted anyway.

  She had repeatedly scrubbed her body with soap and water last night and still been unable to rid herself of the feeling of that man’s damp mouth pushing against hers; his hands upon her arms.

  She had stifled the sound of her sobbing against her pillow, wanting no one, not even Lucy, to know what had happened. It had been all her own fault.

  She washed her face before Lucy arrived and then her maid helped her to dress, donning a woollen waistcoat for warmth beneath the fine wool of her gown.

  “Your arm is bruised!” Lucy exc
laimed with concern. “How did you do that?”

  Ishbel looked down at the large green bruise forming and realised it was the impression of that man’s hand, when he had held her so she could not get away from him...

  She pulled the gown loose. “I will wear something with long sleeves. It is too cold for this today.”

  Lucy obeyed, asking no further questions, but it was clear from her expression that she knew something was very wrong.

  Harriette and Lord Huntly were already sitting at the dining table, eating breakfast, when Ishbel entered the room.

  “Are you feeling better today, my dear?” Lord Huntly asked her, lowering his newspaper.

  “Yes, I am entirely recovered now, thank you.”

  “It is not like you to fall ill like that,” Harriette said, observing Ishbel with a sharp gaze.

  “No. It was strange. Perhaps I ate something in the afternoon that made me unwell.”

  She helped herself to a light meal, stomach churning at the thought of cooked food. Gallach held out a silver tray with a letter for her and she broke the seal and unfolded it, then could have cried at the contents. If she had wanted to stay out of sight for a while, she was about to be forced to do the opposite.

  “What is it?” Harriette asked.

  “The date for Viscount Inderly’s trial has been fixed for next week and I have been asked to give evidence.”

  “Good. Then you can soon put the matter behind you.”

  Ishbel nodded, trying to think of it in this way, when all she wanted to do was lock herself away in her room.

  Mr MacPherson was announced as she was about to walk upstairs, so she greeted him, forcing a smile and gestured towards the library.

  “I spoke to Cathy Smith yesterday,” he said as they entered the library. He put a hand lightly on her arm, something he had done countless times in the past, but her mind instantly recalled the painful grip of that other man. She pulled away from his touch in a panic, breathing quick, shallow breaths, for a moment unable to get enough air into her lungs.

  “Miss Campbell, what is wrong?” he asked, hand held out towards her and worry in his eyes. “Please tell me.”

  She looked down. How could she speak of such a thing? “It is nothing.”

  “That is clearly untrue.”

  She swallowed, her throat dry. “When I was at the musical event yesterday a gentleman – hardly a gentleman – tried to kiss me. He said Lord Moray had said...”

  “...Said what?” he asked her urgently.

  “... That I was the kind of woman he could treat in that way.”

  “That cad! I will demand satisfaction from him.”

  A duel? She caught hold of his arm without even thinking about the touch, too concerned with his safety to feel any misgivings over it. “No, you must not. It would... it would only damage my name further.” She thought that her reputation could hardly be brought much lower, but knew he would listen to such an appeal.

  “I will at least speak to him, warn him from ever speaking of you in such a way again.”

  “It is not necessary. Do you not see? I flouted society’s rules over and over and this was the consequence. It was my own doing.”

  “It was not!” he exclaimed, his vehement reaction easing her shame. “Your behaviour may be unusual but has never been immoral in any way.”

  “I should have realised his intention in leading me away from the other people.”

  “A gentleman would never have behaved in such a way.”

  He truly did not blame her, Ishbel realised. She had not been at fault. Abruptly, the room lurched and her hands flailed, hitting the wooden floor beneath her.

  “Miss Campbell!” Mr MacPherson crouched down in front of her. “Can I get you a glass of water or wine? What can I do?”

  “Did I just swoon?” she asked him, confused. “How embarrassing.”

  He gave a shaky laugh and she realised she had scared him. “It is hardly surprising, given what you endured.”

  “Miss Campbell!” a footman exclaimed from the doorway and rushing forwards.

  “Oh, dear. Calum, you may assist Mr MacPherson in helping me up, but please promise me that you will not inform Lady Huntly of my fainting spell. I am quite well again now.”

  They helped her into a seat, as though she were an invalid.

  “I should send for the physician,” the footman said, hovering beside her chair, eyes fixed worriedly upon her.

  “No, you should not,” she told him. “I had no dinner last night, which is the only reason for the dizzy spell, which has now passed. Thank you for your assistance, but you may now safely leave me.”

  Frowning, he did so.

  “Did you receive a letter ordering you to give evidence at Viscount Inderly’s trial too?”

  He looked as if he wanted to say more about the other subject, but after a moment’s hesitation, said that he had. With an effort, she responded, “It is a good thing. I am sure Aileas’s parents will be glad to see this settled, so they can begin to move on.” She hoped the trial would bring the justice they deserved for their daughter. Changing the subject, she said, “Please tell me about Miss Smith. Is she still a suspect?”

  “No. She felt he had treated her generously. I do not believe there was any love on either side in that arrangement, so she had no reason to want him dead.”

  “Then, unless we are missing something, that just leaves Mrs Ainsley.”

  “I think...”

  She was never to know what Mr MacPherson thought as Harriette swept into the room at that moment, her husband and Calum, the footman, behind her. “Lord Huntly was just informed that you fainted!”

  Ishbel realised she had only told the footman not to speak to Harriette of what had happened, so he had gone straight to his master instead. She gave him a disappointed look. “I am perfectly well now.”

  “You said that at breakfast and it was clearly not true,” Harriette said. “You must lie down immediately and Lord Huntly will send for the family physician.”

  “No,” she said. “That is not necessary in the least. Harriette, might I speak to you alone please?”

  Her cousin took a careful look at her, then ordered everyone else out. Mr MacPherson, following Lord Huntly’s retreating figure, promised to call back this afternoon.

  Ishbel waited until they were gone and then took a deep breath and told Harriette all that had happened yesterday. She was quite prepared to face censure for her own careless behaviour, but her cousin’s wrath was aimed elsewhere. “When I have finished talking to Lord Moray,” she promised, eyes flashing, “he will make sure all his acquaintances know that he was utterly wrong to refer to you in such a way and that none of them will ever go near you from this time onwards. He will do so because, otherwise, he will never be accepted in Edinburgh society again.”

  Ishbel was not sure how Harriette could achieve such a result, but she did not doubt her. It was almost enough to make her feel sorry for Lord Moray.

  She smiled.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  ISHBEL’S INITIAL reaction was a fervent, “No!”

  “You have to get back into society,” Harriette said to her with uncharacteristic patience, “and it is better that you do so as quickly as possible, or you will fear it all the more.”

  Ishbel thought of all the insults and snubs that would be thrown at her then, far worse, she imagined being in a room filled with men like Lord Moray’s friend. “I cannot.”

  “You are going,” Harriette snapped and walked out of the room. Apparently her shows of patience were of short duration.

  Ishbel glared after her departing figure. She had been through an ordeal and if she wanted to take some time off from mixing with Edinburgh’s ton, then she would. She appealed later that day to Mr MacPherson for his support in this.

  “I agree with Lady Huntly,” he said. “You already have no liking for attending society events and, if you do not go back quickly, you will grow too nervous to ever do so. Beside
s, we have found out half the information needed to solve our cases at such entertainments. Do you really want to leave me to handle them alone?”

  “No,” she conceded.

  “I will gladly attend the ball tonight, so you will not once be alone.”

  This instantly eased her nerves and she subdued her doubts and forced a smile to her face. “Very well. We will cope with it together.”

  She attended a couple of university lectures, one of which involved watching the dissection of a cadaver, where she felt a disturbing kinship with the dead person being cut apart. Her wounds from tonight would only be emotional ones, she told herself, and she cared nothing for such people’s opinions anyway... but please let them not humiliate her in front of Ewan.

  It was in this mood that she got dressed for the ball in a dark blue silk gown with pale blue lace-trimmed petticoats. Out of nowhere, when she was looking dispiritedly at her reflection in an ornate mirror, she thought of Miss McNeil, alone in that hideous gaol room with the knowledge that she could soon be hanged. This was nothing compared to what she was enduring and Ishbel was ashamed of herself for making so much of it. Of course she could do this.

  “Thank you, Lucy,” she said to her maid and turned and walked into the hallway and down the sweeping staircase.

  Lord Huntly was standing waiting, looking wistfully in the direction of the library, while Harriette put on her gloves. “That dress is quite becoming,” her cousin said, in an obvious effort to be encouraging.

  “Yours is lovely.” Even with her face painted fashionably but unflatteringly white, the amethyst-coloured dress suited Harriette perfectly.

  “Yes, of course,” her cousin agreed, as if this was an obvious fact.

  The short carriage ride felt as if it took hours and she had to keep reminding herself to breathe. The ball was being held in the New Town Assembly Rooms and the whole of Edinburgh seemed to be in the enormous ballroom when they walked inside, the temperature stifling and the lights blinding after coming from the darkness and freezing cold outside.