by Clare Jayne
In the dining room she looked for the first time at the names on the table that told everyone where to sit. She hoped she was near to Mr MacPherson or, at the very least, that he was as far away from the Mademoiselle as possible.
Harriette nudged her arm and gestured with her fan to a seat close to her own and Ishbel, seeing Mr MacPherson’s name written on the place beside hers, smiled her thanks to Harriette and sat down. She watched happily as the Mademoiselle and her mother took seats further down the table, on the opposite side, almost invisible behind a large sugar sculpture.
Her smile faded as Lady Tinbough took a seat almost directly opposite. She had seen the woman a few times here and at other functions and Lady Tinbough had been polite and given no sign that she blamed Ishbel and Mr MacPherson for the imprisonment of her son. Nonetheless, Ishbel felt uncomfortable over it and disliked the thought of the pain she had brought to Lady Tinbough’s life, who had done nothing to cause blame or censure.
Out of politeness, she looked to the gentleman seated on the opposite side of her, whose wife was friends with Harriette. “How are you and Lady Kinson enjoying the season?”
“We have done nothing to get us arrested, Miss Campbell,” he said shortly, “so I doubt you care.”
The woman beside him giggled and there was a lull in several conversations while various sets of eyes swivelled in the direction of her and Mr MacPherson. Against her will, she felt a blush stain her cheeks. She glanced round and received a number of hostile looks.
“This meal is wonderful,” Mr MacPherson said hastily to her. “Your family’s chef is a true expert.”
“Yes,” she agreed, looking blankly at the plate in front of her. “My cousin could not have found anyone better. We are fortunate.”
“I normally prefer summer food as I enjoy the wider range of fruit and vegetables available...”
They managed to sustain this conversation until everyone within hearing distance of them was sufficiently bored as to return to their own discussions.
The evening passed slowly.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“I AM sorry that your dinner party was less successful than usual because of me,” Ishbel said when the last of the guests had left and the servants were cleaning and tidying around them as they sat in the parlour.
“It was only one evening,” Harriette said. “They will have something other than you to chatter and complain about by tomorrow.”
Ishbel would not be put off. “I thought only of my own wishes in pursuing the solving of crimes and did not consider how much it would affect you and Lord Huntly. It would make your lives easier were I to leave here...”
Harriette made a sharp, dismissing gesture. “We have discussed this matter and this is your home. You place far too much importance on one event.”
“If Mr MacPherson and I continue our investigations, people will continue to snub us. It will not just be one event.”
“Then our family will have a little notoriety. So be it.” She dismissed further protests with a look. “The subject is closed.”
Ishbel nodded, relieved she would not have to proceed with her offer to live elsewhere. “Why did you invite the Comtesse and her daughter tonight?”
“Forgive me,” Harriette said dryly. “I was not aware that they were enemies of yours.”
“No, of course they are not!”
“They are friends of a friend. Well, an acquaintance. Someone I generally do not dislike. Anyway, you will find yourself far less prone to these moments of jealousy when you and Mr MacPherson are married. I am surprised it has taken him this long to propose to you.” She saw Ishbel’s expression and her eyes widened. “When did he propose to you?”
“After the emerald necklace matter.”
Harriette was silent for time. “What will you say when he asks you again?”
“He will not,” Ishbel insisted, although her heart jumped a bit at the thought. “We are friends now and work partners.”
“You are far more than friends. He supports all your bizarre ideas and your desires for your life, even the patently stupid ones. That is what a husband does; a good one, anyway.”
Ishbel thought about Lord Huntly, then she thought about her deceased family. “My parents had a terrible marriage.”
“Many people do,” Harriette said dismissively. “What does that have to do with you?”
“My mother felt trapped. My father was angry all the time. I never want my life to be like that.”
“Why should it? Is Mr MacPherson anything like either of your parents? Has he ever shown anything other than affection and loyalty to you?”
“No,” she admitted, realising as she said it that it was the truth. He was everything and more that she could possibly want. And she loved him. She had loved him for months, but had refused to admit it to herself. “I was not close to either of my parents,” she said with difficulty. “I am not certain that either of them loved me. What if there was a reason for that, something unlovable inside me?”
“I cannot speak for your father but your mother was even worse at expressing affection than me. I do not doubt that she loved you, however she may have behaved, and I know there is nothing wrong with you because you are my family and I love you.”
Ishbel swallowed down a lump in her throat and reached out an arm, only to be waved away.
“I avoid embracing people wherever possible,” Harriette said curtly, then she added, “I hope you realise that it would be extremely foolish to turn down the marriage proposal of the man you love more than once.”
Ishbel suspected she was right.
Chapter Thirty-Three
ISHBEL RECEIVED the news that Mr MacPherson and Jed Cassell were here to see her the next day with pleasure. The case had come to a standstill and she was eager to move forward with it again.
She had a footman bring them into the library and then, having admitted her feelings about Mr MacPherson to herself last night, did not know quite how to behave with him. Mr Cassell was still wearing his blue caddie’s apron but he had taken off his cap and clutched it in his hands, once again showing discomfort at being in such a large expensively furnished house.
She greeted him warmly to allay his unease, then said, “Did you manage to find anything out about Mrs Ainslie’s visitor?”
“Aye, Miss. It was a criminal called John Marne, but I’m afraid I dinna think it was anything to do with Duke Raden. Marne’s been asking around about items stolen in a robbery from Mrs Ainslie’s house, so it looks as if she hired him to get back something of value to her.”
Ishbel glanced at Mr MacPherson, who gave a shrug and said, “It seems as if she was never a suspect after all. Nothing Rabbie or Jed here has found out suggests she was involved.”
“No.” Ishbel did not want to believe that, when Mrs Ainslie was the only person other than Miss McNeil who had a motive for the crime. “Just because she has him looking into the robbery, does not mean she did not also hire him for another purpose. Mr Cassell, is Mr Marne the kind of man who might commit a murder?”
“He’s a dangerous thug, Miss Campbell. You dinna want to go anywhere near him.”
She turned back to Mr MacPherson. “Mrs Ainslie could have got him to kill the duke.”
He thought about it, then said to the caddie, “Is there anyone we could speak to who might know more about his criminal activities?”
Mr Cassell gave this some thought. “He mixes with a lot of bad people and commits crimes alongside some of them. There is one person, though: Micky Loughlin. He’s mates with Marne’s brother, but hates Marne. He might be willing to answer your questions for a fee, but he’ll be working at the Leith docks for the rest of the day.”
“Then we should go and speak to him,” Ishbel said to Mr MacPherson, who agreed at once. “Mr Cassell, would you be willing to accompany us and point him out?”
“Of course, Miss.”
She collected her hat, gloves and mantelet and they headed out into the cold, clinging fog to Mr MacPhers
on’s carriage. The weather grew even more icy as they got closer to the sea, although the surrounding landscape was attractive to look out at, the mist giving the estuary, woodland and pastures an aura of mystery.
They descended from the carriage at the docks area, which was full of working class men, loud noise and the odours of fish and brine. It took them a bit of time to find Mr Loughlin, a strong-looking man of around thirty with a weathered face. He viewed them with suspicion when Mr Cassell introduced them, even when Mr MacPherson offered him some coins from his money pouch.
“What’s that for then?” he asked, not taking the money.
“We simply want to ask you a few questions about John Marne,” Mr MacPherson said. “We are looking into a criminal matter and need to find out what Marne’s connection is to Mrs Ainslie.”
He looked doubtfully at them and then his eyes came to rest on the offered coins. “She was robbed and asked him to find the thief and get back some family heirloom for her.”
“Was there nothing else she needed his help with?” Ishbel asked.
“No, Miss. He’s been bragging about the money he made from that lady, because he’d already known who’d done the robbery. He got the painting back, paid off the thief and he said Mrs Ainslie was happy; said it was even easier money than robbing someone.”
Mr MacPherson gave him the money and they began to walk back to the carriage.
“I am sorry,” Ishbel said to him. “You were right – Mrs Ainslie was never a very likely suspect and, with no other connection to anyone criminal, she obviously had nothing to do with the murder.”
“It was worth...” Mr MacPherson broke off as a shout sounded from behind them. They turned around to see a large unkempt-looking man striding towards them.
“That’s John Marne’s brother,” Mr Cassell said. “Perhaps you’d better leave me to sort this out with him.”
“That might put you in danger,” Ishbel objected. “I am sure we can explain to him that the topic is resolved.”
The man caught up with them and took a long, frowning look at each of them. He smelt of sweat and fish and there was a hard look in his eyes. “What are the three of you asking questions about my brother for? What d’you want with him?”
“Nothing,” Mr MacPherson said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “We had some questions about a crime, but...”
“Ewan!” Ishbel said urgently, as she saw that two more men had got behind them, blocking the way back to their carriage.
“There is nothing for us to quarrel about,” Mr MacPherson told Marne, “so I suggest you ask your friends to leave us to discuss this calmly.”
“You’re trying to cause trouble for John.”
“No. We...”
One moment they were talking and the next, one of the other men had taken a punch at Mr Cassell. Mr MacPherson tried to intervene but Marne grabbed his arm and then all three dock men were attacking her friends. Ishbel looked in one direction then another for someone who could help them, but the other workers were ignoring the fight and remaining a good distance from them.
Marne punched Mr MacPherson in the face and Ishbel shrieked and ran forward.
“Listen to me!” she shouted at Marne and there must have been some authority in her tone, as he looked round. “Please listen. This is a mistake. We thought your brother might be involved in a murder, but I promise you that we were wrong. It was the matter he was hired for by Mrs Ainslie...”
“... There was nothing illegal in that!” Marne said.
“We know,” she agreed, silently begging him to listen to her. He must, or her companions might not survive this encounter. “We were wrong. If you let us leave now we will not have you charged for attacking us and you will never see us again.”
Marne yelled at his friends to back off and Ishbel was able to start breathing again when they obeyed him. Mr Cassell had blood running down from his nose and Mr MacPherson’s eye was swelling.
“Do you promise that that’s really all this is about? You’ll not try to pin the blame on John for anything else?”
“You have my word,” Ishbel said and Mr MacPherson reiterated her promise.
Marne jerked his head at his two friends and they slowly moved, expressions wild as if they were reluctant to give up the fight. They swaggered past Ishbel’s group and stood, in a threatening manner, behind Marne.
“Don’t come round here again,” he said.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“THIS WAS all my doing,” Miss Campbell said, complexion so white that Ewan feared she might faint. “I am so sorry. If only I had accepted that Mrs Ainslie was innocent when Mr Cassell explained about the robbery.”
“We did not know for certain at that point,” Ewan said. “Speaking to the brother seemed to be a reasonable way of settling whether or not John Marne was involved in the murder.”
They were at Ewan’s house where Rabbie was tending to his eye and his butler was cleaning the blood from Jed’s face. Miss Campbell sat close by, watching the proceedings with a haunted expression and clutching her reticule with hands that five minutes earlier had been shaking. Luckily, their injuries were not bad. If not for Miss Campbell’s intervention, the situation could have become far worse.
“I shouldna have suggested talking to Micky Loughlin,” Jed responded, as he sat on a dining chair and gingerly touched his nose. “I knew he’d tell Paul Marne about it, but I never thought Marne would dare to attack two important people like you.”
“No one is to blame,” Ewan told him, “and it is all over now. It is simply a lesson that we need to be more diplomatic in our questioning of people in future. Jed’s nose is not broken, is it, MacCuaig?”
“No, sir,” the butler answered a touch dismissively, “and it’s stopped bleeding now, so he’ll be fine.”
Ewan paid Jed a generous sum for his help and for the trouble they had caused him, then sent him home in the carriage to change, since his clothes had got an unpleasant mixture of blood, mud and refuse on them. As he observed this, he realised his own outfit was no better; no wonder Rabbie had such an unhappy expression.
“I should put on fresh clothes,” he told Miss Campbell, “and, for your reputation’s sake, you must not remain any longer at my home. It is only a short journey so will a sedan chair be suitable to convey you to your house?”
“Yes, of course,” she said. “Will you be fit to call on me later to discuss the case, or should you rest?”
“I am already recovered,” he reassured her. “I will see you soon.” He ordered MacCuaig to arrange for her transport and she stood up to leave, then hesitated and, instead of moving towards the door, she walked up to him. She touched her gloved hand to his cheek and he felt the light touch with an intensity that blotted out everything but her.
“Ewan...”
He stared at her as the atmosphere between them changed. She was so close and looking at him with an expression of concern and warmth. His desire to kiss her was almost overwhelming, but of course that was out of the question. It was enough for him to believe that she might want the same.
She let her hand fall away and said to Rabbie, who was looking fixedly at the floor, “Look after him.”
The valet looked up, a sparkling expression in his eyes. “I will, Miss Campbell.”
Her gaze met Ewan’s once more and he could almost see his future with her in that look, before she turned and left.
* * *
“Is this business of looking into crimes really worth threats to your life?” Chiverton asked, observing Ewan’s eye with a frown. He had called at the house just as Ewan was about to leave to visit Miss Campbell and, as eagerly as he wanted to see her again right away, he could not avoid Chiverton’s stream of questions about the fight.
“It was never that,” he said. “I could have got a worse blow in a friendly boxing match.”
“And Miss Campbell was with you? She was not injured?”
“No, thankfully, although the incident shook her
.”
“I should think so,” Chiverton agreed. “It has shaken me! You must be more careful in future, old fellow.”
“I will. You have my word. Miss Campbell was in danger, which is unacceptable. We will be more cautious from now on. Indeed, I doubt there is much left for us to do, although I fear we are reaching a conclusion that will make Joe Fillinister very unhappy.”
“You think Kenina actually killed the duke?”
“We have no one left to consider for the crime. We have thoroughly looked into both the duke’s life and hers and I do not believe there is anything new for us to uncover.”
“Poor Joe and, even if she did kill him, poor Kenina. She will hang. It is a horrific punishment for her to endure.”
Chiverton left shortly after this and Ewan took his carriage, now returned from taking Jed home, to Miss Campbell’s house, the tall pale building as familiar as his own these days. Miss Campbell was writing pages of notes in the library, several medical texts open in front of her, but she stoppered the ink bottle and put down her quill as soon as he arrived and stood to curtsy and take a closer look at his eye. It felt rather tender and swollen but otherwise not bad, however judging from Miss Campbell’s wince, it had gained some brighter colours than usual.
“The swelling will have vanished by tomorrow,” he said before she could take the blame for what had happened again, “and it will be back to normal in a few more days.”
“We should never have gone to the docks.” She sat down in a different seat than the one she had previously used, closer to the fire, and he took the chair just a couple of feet away, facing her.
“We are still learning how to conduct investigations and if we have learnt a lesson today in proceeding in a more careful way, then that is to the good. Have you considered what our next step should be?”
“I can think of little more that we can do,” she admitted with regret. “Miss McNeil appears to be our only remaining suspect.”
“I agree.”
She paused, looking into the flames, face and hair bathed in a warm glow that made him unable to look away. “We must speak to Miss McNeil again.”