by Clare Jayne
Miss Campbell’s complexion was colourless and there were dark smudges beneath eyes that were normally full of life, but now held a pain that he ached to remove. “I am very well,” she said, her gaze reaching no further up than his cravat. They sat down in the library, Miss Campbell choosing a seat that was further away from his own than usual, with a table between them. “In fact, we may be close to solving Duke Raden’s murder. Did Mr Chiverton tell you what Lord Moray said?”
“Er, no.” That was the last thing he cared about right now. “Lady Selney had no right to speak to you in such a way last night...” Lady Huntly’s subsequent rebuke had brought the woman to tears and reminded everyone present that they could not insult Miss Campbell without bringing down her fury, a lesson he felt sure most had taken to heart. It had caused in him an unexpected liking for the caustic Lady Huntly.
“... I think Lord Moray had drunk too much or he would not have said so much,” she interrupted him, the reddening of her cheeks making her overall pallor even more evident.
She clearly could not bear to speak of what had happened so – despite his desire to reassure her that the words had not mattered to him except in his desire to shield her from such unpleasantness and that a number of important ladies had reacted with displeasure to Lady Selney’s outburst – he could not bear seeing her further distressed, and so he went along with her change of subject. “What did Lord Moray say?”
When she repeated the exchange, he said, “It might indeed have been an admission that he murdered the duke. I wish we knew more of the quarrel between them.”
“He must have other friends. Perhaps you could find out if they know anything about it.”
“I will visit my club and learn what I can.”
“Lord Moray’s comment about the duke not taking responsibility for the troubles he caused also seems important.”
“It might take us back to Miss McNeil as a suspect if the duke really did intend to leave her, although that seems contrary to everything we have learned so far about their relationship.”
“Yes,” she agreed, hands tightly clasping one of the books on the table in front of her, knuckles white. “Perhaps that was only what he wished to believe, if he really did have an interest in Miss McNeil himself.”
“Possibly and we still have a number of other suspects to consider.”
“Lady Sarah Halsted and anyone she might have persuaded to act for her. The actor, whose full name Mr Chiverton told me is Tim Harrison, who might have still been in love with Miss McNeil. We should speak again to the actors or perhaps you could do so at the tavern you said they visited.”
It was unusual for Miss Campbell to want him to speak to people alone. Did she want to distance herself from the investigation? He could hardly blame her for such a wish, given the reaction last night. Indeed, he was the one at fault for ever asking her to help him solve a case that was steeped in scandal. He had been a thoughtless idiot. Worse than that, his actions had brought about her current pain and there was nothing he could do to ease it.
He reluctantly took his leave of her and drove his curricle to the club he sometimes visited, determining that, if she would not allow him to offer her his support, he would show through his continued presence in her life that the words at the ball had changed nothing between them.
* * *
How was it she had not known of her own family’s public scandal?
Ishbel was still in the library several hours after her meeting with Mr MacPherson, doing nothing but dwelling on matters she usually avoided remembering.
She could never recall a time when her parents had been happy together. Her father had spent nearly all his time at the university and her mother... Ishbel could not recall when she had first learnt of her mother’s affairs. Most of her memories of that time were of her parents screaming at each other and one occasion had been worse than any of the others. She had crept out of her room and sat on the cold wood of the staircase, listening to the raised voices that came from the drawing room below.
“How dare you embarrass me this way?” Papa had exclaimed. “At least try to act like a lady, even if you are not one.”
“What do you expect me to do?” Mama shouted back. “You are no husband to me. You shut me in this vast cage and want me to stay here, alone and unloved. I have nothing! You have stolen my life away...”
Nothing? Ishbel blinked back tears. She had known her mother had little interest in her, but it was far worse to hear that she had no worth at all in Mama’s life.
“You are being over-dramatic as always,” Papa exclaimed. “I provide lavishly for your needs. You see your friends...”
“... Women you deem fit company for me! You must control everything!”
Then came the sounds of chairs and tables scraping on the wooden floor and being knocked over. A woman’s shriek and the louder thud of a body landing on the floor. Sounds of sobbing. Ishbel had run to her room and pushed herself into the tiny space between her bed and clothes trunk, hands over her ears, tears running down her face.
“There you are!”
Ishbel flinched as the voice pulled her out of the past. Her cousin was standing in the doorway of the library, a frown on her face. Nothing ever seemed to intimidate or frighten her and Ishbel wished she had her cousin’s strength.
“Do you really intend to hide away in the house for the foreseeable future?” Harriette asked her. “Had I known you were so easily cowed, I would certainly have found a way to prevent you taking on this investigation.”
“Are you not angry with me?” she asked, ignoring the deliberate provocation. “You should be furious. You warned me this would happen, that I would embarrass our entire family by getting involved in this case, and you were right.”
“I also said that if you were determined to go ahead, I would stand by you. That woman last night made far more of a fool of herself than she did of our family. Neither one of us can be held accountable for your mother’s indiscretions and, indeed, they were no worse than the behaviour of countless others. I doubt there was a single person at the ball who did not have some relation – present or past – who had had a scandalous affair or two. Damage can only be done to us if you act as if you have a reason to be ashamed.”
“I thought only Papa and myself knew of my mother’s affairs.”
“Put it behind you,” Harriette insisted. “The blame is not yours to shoulder. Go out and question people or whatever it is that you do and carry on with your life.”
She nodded, realising her cousin was right: it would do no good to continue to sit here and feel embarrassed and miserable. The worst had been said and now she must deal with it. “I will.”
As she walked upstairs to collect her hat, gloves and coat, she could not help but think that her life was not what it had been. Mr MacPherson must be so happy now that they were not promised in marriage and his friends, who had finally begun to like her, must be wishing none of them had ever met her. She had, however, chosen her own path and, whatever comments were made, she would see this investigation through to its end.
Chapter Eighteen
“HOW IS Miss Campbell?” Chiverton asked.
Ewan had sent a note earlier today asking his friends to join him at the tavern where Alex and the other actors came. It was early but the place was full of noise, rowdy behaviour and the smell of alcohol. Every type of person was here, from lords to tradesmen to the lowest paid worker; there were even a few women, some getting a drink with friends after finishing their jobs for the day, and others in even heavier make-up than the actors wore on stage, looking to find a paying man and begin their work for the night. There were card games, dice being rolled, bets being placed, people shouting across the room to each other and a dog barking excitedly in a far corner.
“She refused to speak of what happened at the ball,” Ewan answered his friend, speaking more loudly than usual to be heard over the background din. He had called on Miss Campbell this afternoon but she had been out.
The memory of her distressed face this morning would not leave his mind. “You were both right. We should never have begun such investigations. It is my fault that she was subjected to such a scene.”
“I believe Miss Campbell is a woman who makes her own decisions,” Chiverton said. “If you had refused to have anything to do with such work, she doubtless would have gone ahead on her own.”
Ewan smiled, acknowledging the truth of this. “That is very possible.”
Chiverton nudged him and gestured to someone across the room from them. “You see that fellow in the pale blue jacket?”
Ewan glanced through the crowd to the group of actors who had just come in, eyes landing on a slender man of around thirty years, with unremarkable features and a good-natured expression. The cut and quality of his clothes marked him as working-class. “Yes. Who is he?”
“That is Tim Harrison, the man Miss Campbell was asking me questions about. I gather he has some romantic feelings for Miss McNeil.”
“They had an affair that ended about a year before her involvement with the duke. I want to discover if his feelings for her faded or not, in case he could be a murder suspect.”
“Then this is a good time to find out,” Chiverton said, waving to catch Alex’s eye. His lover grinned, handsome face lighting up, and approached, a few friends with him although not, unfortunately, Tim Harrison.
Alex perched on the arm of Chiverton’s chair and put an arm round his shoulders, the long gaze exchanged by them an affectionate one. This tavern was one of the few places where they could be openly fond of each other. The problem was less the unlikely possibility that people would discern their relationship and more that people would be appalled at the friendship between an upper class man and working class actor. “This is a pleasant surprise.”
“Mr MacPherson!” Mr Fillinister exclaimed at the same time from another direction. He hurried over to their group, expression eager. “How is your investigation progressing?”
“It is still too early to have any definite answers, but I promise you that we are doing all we can. We have found out a lot about the duke’s life and acquaintances and hope to soon find something that will prove Miss McNeil’s innocence.”
“Did you hear that they sent the King’s Messenger himself to hunt her down?” Alex said to Ewan. “The bastards haven’t spoken to any of us, nor conducted any investigation themselves, but they’re still determined to arrest and hang her.”
Mr Fillinister looked beseechingly at Ewan, who said, “We will do everything possible to prevent that.” He hoped his words were not a lie. He was still not certain that Miss McNeil had not committed the crime. As Alex struck up a humorous tale that kept the rest of the group entertained, Ewan said to Mr Fillinister, “Would you answer an odd question and tell me if Tim Harrison is courting anyone at present?”
“Oh, you heard of his affair with Kenina,” Fillinister correctly guessed. “No, there’s no reason to think he might have killed Raden. He was the one who ended things with Kenina, although it did upset him when she first got involved with the duke. I think he realised then what he had lost. He probably also felt guilty at his own behaviour and wanted to make sure she wasn’t hurt a second time. Wealthy men often develop a fondness for actresses, but they don’t always treat them well.”
“Someone recently said that the duke did not take his responsibilities seriously. Do you think he might have been about to let down Miss McNeil?”
Fillinister hesitated then said, “They loved each other. Who knows what might have happened in the future, but I’ve got no doubt of the truth of that.”
Ewan wondered what had made the man pause before speaking, what he was holding back, but applause sounded at the end of Alex’s tale, so he could no longer talk privately to Fillinister. He ordered a round of drinks for the group.
An hour later they were all talking merrily when a man came into the room and approached Fillinister. They spoke privately for a moment and then the man left. Fillinister leaned a hand against the wall of the tavern, head bent over.
“Joe, what’s wrong?” Alex called to him.
Fillinister turned back towards them and Ewan saw that there were tears in his eyes. “They’ve got her. They’ve caught Kenina.”
Chapter Nineteen
ISHBEL RECEIVED the note from Mr MacPherson, sent late the previous night after she was already asleep, from her lady’s maid when she woke up. When she saw what was written, she sat up and pulled back the bed covers.
“Lucy, would you get my clothes and help me dress at once?”
“Is something wrong, Miss?”
Ishbel took off her nightgown and hurriedly washed her body in the freezing water from the wash basin, ignoring Lucy’s protest about bringing up hot water.
“Miss McNeil has been arrested and taken to the Old Tolbooth gaol. Mr MacPherson and I must see her immediately.”
She dried herself and then Lucy laced Ishbel into her stays, then added petticoats and woollen waistcoat.
Lucy held up a pretty blue robe à la polonaise, but Ishbel said, “No, I had better wear one of my oldest gowns. I doubt the conditions at the gaol will be ideal.”
Lucy did as she asked but said, “Must you visit such a place? It’ll give you nightmares. Couldn’t Mr MacPherson go alone this once?”
“Miss McNeil is the most important person in this case,” Ishbel said, lifting her arms so Lucy could help her into the dress, then use ribbons to loop the sides of the skirts up, creating the necessary fullness in the panels that modern fashion demanded. “I need to see for myself what kind of woman she is, to know if she is capable of having committed such a terrible crime herself. If not, then she is the best person to tell us who else might have killed the duke.”
She penned a brief letter to Mr MacPherson to let him know that she was available as soon as he was ready to visit the gaol, giving it to a footman to take to him as she came downstairs. Breakfast was not usually served for another half hour so the dining room was empty, but another footman took her verbal apology to the kitchen staff and request for any food that could be quickly prepared. Within minutes, plates and cutlery were being placed on the table at her place and her morning drink of chocolate was being brought in, soon followed by fresh rolls with butter and jam.
Mr MacPherson arrived as she was finishing and bowed as he said, “Mr Fillinister will meet us at the gaol to make the introduction and so he can see Miss McNeil. He tried to visit her last night but the guards would not allow him access. I have brought with me a suitable sum of money to ensure we can speak to her.”
They walked out into the hall. “A bribe?”
“It might not be necessary,” he said, “but I do not want to lose our chance. The case involves the murder of a member of the peerage, so I imagine an early date will be set for the trial, perhaps as little as a fortnight from now.”
“Then the crime must be solved as swiftly as possible,” she said, accepting her mantelet from Lucy and putting it over her shoulders, then tying it with ribbons. She then took her broad-brimmed hat and gloves, donning these. “I hope Miss McNeil has some idea of who the killer could be or, at least, can reduce our list of suspects.”
“I can also help with that,” Mr MacPherson said, as Gallach opened the front door for them and they ventured out into temperatures so cold that her breath left a mist in the air. He told her what he had learnt about Tim Harrison as they set out in his carriage for the gaol.
Mr Fillinister was waiting for them at the entrance to the building, arms clasped round his body and features pinched with cold. She stood with him as Mr MacPherson spoke to a guard and handed him a number of guineas. The guard then led them inside.
The stench in the building was almost overpowering and caused all three of them to reach for kerchiefs to place over their noses. Ishbel wished she had thought to soak the cloth in fragrance to cloak the odour, afraid it might cause her to vomit.
They followed the guard into an even more foul-sm
elling part of the building, grateful for the lantern he held that lit up the semi-dark interior, and he unlocked a door for them.
“Joe!” the woman inside exclaimed, hurrying forward.
As the two of them embraced, Ishbel looked round the cell. There was nothing more than straw to sit or lie on and a chamber pot in the far corner contributed to the stench.
Mr Fillinister introduced Miss McNeil to them and explained to her how they came to be working to free her.
“I am so grateful to you both,” she said, wiping tears from her cheeks. Ishbel could see that her features would normally be lovely, but hidden beneath the grime accumulated from a week on the run and drawn from cold and hunger, Miss McNeil looked haggard and exhausted. Her brown hair had fallen out of its clasp and her blue eyes were dull. “I wish I could at least offer you a chair to sit in.”
“It is not important,” Mr MacPherson said, giving her a kind smile.
“I fear we have little time left to prove your innocence,” Ishbel said to her. “Are you strong enough to answer a number of questions?”
“Yes, of course. Anything.”
“I hope you will forgive me,” Mr MacPherson said, “but this must be asked before we can proceed. Did you kill Duke Raden?”
Miss McNeil looked him in the eye and said, “No.”
There was nothing shifty about her reaction, only a definite response, and Ishbel believed her. “Could you tell us everything you remember from the night he died and the morning after it?”
“There is little to tell.” Miss McNeil leaned against the stone wall of the cell, clearly almost too worn out to remain upright. “I wish I knew more – I wish it desperately – but I knew nothing of the duke’s arrival at my house. I had hoped he would visit me that evening and was feeling disappointed that there was no sign of him as I went to bed. At an early hour I was woken by a maid saying my name urgently. She said he was dead. I couldn’t take it in. I ran downstairs and when I saw him there, lying in a pool of blood...”