She swallowed, looking about herself as though afraid someone might overhear.
‘There is a French midwife,’ she answered quietly. ‘Worked in the service of queens and contessas, Kitty reckoned. She had special training. Knows how to do things that doctors won’t, if you know what I mean.’
‘Well enough. Do you know her name?’
Mairi answered in a whisper, ‘Kitty called her Madame Anchou. Said she wore a hooded cape of the finest cloth and spoke with a strong accent.’
‘How did Kitty get in touch with this woman?’
‘She has rooms at a tavern. You have to speak to the landlord, though. He makes the arrangements.’
‘For a slice, no doubt.’
Mairi nodded. ‘It cost a lot of money, I know that. Kitty had this locket her mother gave her that she had to pawn. Broke her heart to part with it, but she had no option.’
‘What exactly did her money buy her?’
‘That’s the thing: only pills. I told Kitty she was robbed if she handed over all her money just for that, but she said there was an agreement. Madame Anchou assured her the pills would deal with the problem: you know, make the baby come right soon. But as a guarantee, if that didn’t happen, Kitty should come back and she would perform her service in respect of the fee. Kitty reasoned she would rather take the pills and see how that worked out if it spared her knives and knitting needles.’
Raven recalled his discussion with Ziegler and Mrs Stevenson. Desperate women would pay handsomely for a ‘secret remedy’, especially if it was dispensed by a midwife from Paris, trained at the famous Hôtel Dieu, and formerly in the service of French aristocracy. But as Mrs Stevenson warned, it was not always harmless pills their money bought them.
‘And where is this tavern she works out of?’ Raven asked.
‘It’s down in Leith. It’s called the King’s Wark.’
Forty-Six
Sarah sat at a table by the window, chosen for the view it afforded of Leith Shore stretching southwards towards Tolbooth Wynd. On Sunday morning, she could have accurately stated that she had never been inside a tavern in her life, and now she found herself patronising such an establishment for the second time in three days.
She was nursing a glass of gin, purchased primarily for appearance’s sake. It was her first taste of the stuff, and she had resolved that it would also be the last, until she discovered the ameliorating effect it had upon her anxiety. She could not imagine why anyone would choose to drink it for pleasure, but under needful circumstances, the flavour was to be tolerated like that of any other medicine.
‘It is the only way to draw out this Madame Anchou,’ Raven had insisted. ‘I can’t go myself, for what reason would a man have to be seeking her services?’
‘You could be seeking them on behalf of your lover.’
‘Yes, but this landlord would recognise me. He followed me after I went to the King’s Wark asking questions about Rose’s body.’
The landlord’s name was Spiers, according to a plate above the door. He was exactly as Raven described: bald-headed, tall and burly, an intimidating presence fit for rousting drunks. He had come over to her table unbidden, seeing her sitting there alone. Sarah guessed he already knew what she was there for.
Sarah had never considered herself to have any kind of gift for the dramatic. Her sole experience had been staging scenes from Shakespeare at school, where she had distinguished herself only by her recall for the lines, an ability entirely down to hours of rote learning. However, as Spiers approached her, she had realised she would need no talent for acting in order to deceive him. She was there to play the part of a frightened housemaid, and that required no pretence.
‘Are you quite sure you are in the right place, miss?’ he had asked.
‘I am not sure. I have been told you have a tenant, a Frenchwoman by the name of Madame Anchou. Is she present? I would speak with her, if you please.’
‘And what would you speak with her about?’
‘That is a personal matter, between ladies.’
‘Madame Anchou is not present. She does not reside here, but keeps a room for consultations. However, I can arrange an introduction.’
‘I would be most grateful.’
‘Your gratitude will suffice for that, but should you require her services –’ Spiers paused, casting an eye towards her middle ‘– and if you’ve come here, I wager you do – then the fee is two guineas.’
Though Raven had warned her about the likely cost, Sarah’s eyes still bulged. This was more than two months’ wages. It was the cruellest extortion of the desperate.
Spiers had noted her reaction. ‘If you cannot meet the price, you and Madame Anchou should not waste each other’s time.’
‘I can . . . obtain it.’
‘Good. For though her services are expensive, they are worth it. She was trained in Paris and retained by French aristocracy.’
Sarah had already heard about her reputation. ‘Such are her reputed abilities,’ Raven had said, ‘it is a pity she was not around during the Revolution, for she surely would have had a balm fit to reattach Marie Antoinette’s head. All of which begs the question of what happened to her that she’s plying her trade here.’
Spiers had offered to arrange an introduction the very next day, but Sarah knew that Monday’s duties allowed no opportunity to absent herself. She had therefore agreed to return on Tuesday, when she always had errands to run during the afternoon, giving her dispensation to be out of the house. Procuring two guineas in such a time frame was mercifully not a task upon which the success of their plan was predicated.
Even within the bounds of such dispensation, she knew she was still risking her position by partaking in these activities. It had preyed upon her mind from the moment Raven asked her to come to Leith, and yet it had not occurred to her to say no. Though it set her trembling from her gut to her fingertips, pursuing these investigations gave her a sense of freedom and usefulness far greater than anything she felt assisting at clinic.
Sarah glanced out of the window, checking that she could still see Raven on the dockside. He had chosen a discreet vantage point where he was unlikely to be noticed by the landlord, but close enough to move in and join them once Madame Anchou was settled at Sarah’s table.
A twelfth glance at the clock told her the appointed time had come and gone. Spiers had warned her not to expect sharp punctuality, but Sarah was more concerned about completing the errands she still had to run before returning in time for her pre-dinner duties.
Then, as she gazed into the ever-shifting traffic upon the quayside, she noticed a distinctive figure approaching from the south. She wore a flowing black cloak with a capacious hood, and though her head was slightly bowed, there was an upright confidence about her as she walked. Sarah had no question but that this was her, as described in the albeit second-hand accounts Raven had relayed. She was tall and graceful, gliding through the crowd as though she was not of them.
Sarah downed the rest of the gin, wincing against the taste. She needed something to steady her, already feeling intimidated by this woman before she had even reached the tavern. She felt the liquid burn all the way to her stomach.
Sarah looked along Leith Shore once again, hoping to glimpse the face beneath that hood, but Madame Anchou was no longer in sight. She surveyed the crowds upon the dock, expecting the hooded figure to re-emerge, but the woman was not to be seen.
What she did see was Raven charging past the window, taking off in urgent pursuit.
Forty-Seven
As always in Leith, Raven felt surrounded by bustling movement in every direction; even above, where seagulls wheeled amidst rising clouds sent up by a departing packet steamer. He could barely see the water for sails, and upon the shore there was the liveliest throng and babble, everywhere teeming with activity and busy purpose. Raven heard half a dozen languages spoken in the space of a few minutes, noticed a boundless variety of features, skin colours and clothing upon men t
oting crates, bales and trunks.
Smells of coffee and spices hung upon the air. Raven breathed them in gratefully, aware the shore was not always so blessed. Simpson had told him about an altogether less fragrant cargo that landed here once, both of them taking pleasure in a tale that reflected poorly upon Professor Syme. In the days before the Anatomy Act, when bodies for dissection were in short supply, Syme had acquired cadavers from Dublin and London, transporting them to Edinburgh via the docks at Leith. During the summer of 1826, the stench coming from a shipment resulted in Syme’s crates being opened and their unauthorised contents discovered, generating much outrage and scandal. ‘Syme’s cargo was marked “perishable goods”,’ Simpson told him, wheezing with laughter.
Raven thought he had chosen his position well. It was a spot where he would remain largely invisible should the landlord happen to look out of the window, but affording a clear view north and south along the shore, for he didn’t know from which direction Madame Anchou would approach. As he had explained to Sarah, his concern was that, should Spiers see him, he might suspect something was afoot and take steps to warn off the midwife. The unspoken further implication was that the landlord might simply move against Raven directly, or God forbid even Sarah.
In order to reduce her exposure to danger, Sarah was under instruction to conduct her conversation only in the tavern and not to agree to a consultation upstairs in the midwife’s rooms. She was to discuss the services the Frenchwoman might offer, but then admit she did not have the money yet. This would give Raven the opportunity to follow Madame Anchou and confront her on neutral ground, or even to find out where she lived so that he could choose his moment judiciously.
What he hadn’t anticipated was that she would see him first.
He was hopping from foot to foot as he waited, in an effort to fend off shivers. It was a cold day, an unforgiving wind blowing in off the water. Sarah was right: he urgently needed to get a heavier coat.
He ceased his hopping and stood rigid when he saw his quarry moving through the crowd, striding down the incline from Tolbooth Wynd. The moment he saw that hood, he had no question that this was the woman he had heard described. The black cloth was swaying back and forth with each step so that he could only glimpse fragments of her face, never the entirety. The view was further obscured by people moving in and out of her path, sometimes causing her to disappear from view altogether. He thought she might have looked at him, but with her eyes in shadow beneath the hood, it was impossible to be sure. She was getting steadily nearer, though, so he would get a close-up view soon enough.
Again she vanished from view behind a shore porter pushing a cart, and when next he spied her, she had turned and was running. Raven watched her part the crowd, hurrying back in the direction from which she had just come.
She knew something was wrong.
He took off, signalling through the window for Sarah to follow. There was going to be no meeting. They had to catch her now, or they might never track her down.
Weaving between the people milling along the dockside, Raven quickly began to gain ground. He had always been swift on his feet, and it was easier to run in gentleman’s clothing. For that reason, he knew that he would be leaving Sarah far behind, but the important thing was that the midwife did not get away.
She was easier to keep in sight now that she was moving faster, as he could see the movement ahead of her as people stepped out of her way. However, when she reached the first side street, she took a hard turn and was gone from view. Raven stepped up his pace, and to his relief she was back in his sight when he reached the corner, both of them now hurrying along a narrower but altogether quieter thoroughfare.
Anchou glanced back upon hearing his footfalls, then diverted to speak briefly to three stevedores who had just emerged from a doorway. Raven was out of earshot, but as he watched her point towards him, it was not difficult to deduce the crux of their conversation.
She resumed her flight as the three stevedores began marching on Raven, one hefting a heavy stick. He reckoned he could possibly take one of these men on his own, or at least be swift enough to evade him, but not all three at once. He had to back away for his own safety, and in his retreat he did not see where the midwife went. In order to resume his pursuit, he would have to double back and loop around, by which time she would be long away, or at least have plenty of time to hide.
As he turned the corner back onto the dockside, he saw Sarah hurrying towards him.
‘She got away,’ he confessed. ‘She set some dockers to block my path. Must have told them I meant her harm.’
‘Why did she run, though?’ Sarah asked.
‘It is my assumption that she recognised me, enough to know what I was about.’
‘And therefore she feared you would recognise her also. But from where?’
‘I can’t imagine. I don’t know any Frenchwomen.’
‘Then perhaps she is not French,’ Sarah suggested, ‘but rather a woman pretending to be something she is not.’
Raven suddenly saw how Madame Anchou’s exoticness was part of her attraction to prospective patients. It might be as false as the medicines she was hawking.
Raven waited until he saw the three stevedores pass, then slipped along the side street again. He and Sarah reached a thoroughfare that ran parallel to the dockside, but there was no sign of her. He knew it was hopeless.
‘She could have gone anywhere,’ he admitted.
‘At some point she will have to go back to the King’s Wark, surely,’ Sarah reminded him.
They had no notion when that might be, nor the option to keep vigil for its happening. However, there was reason enough for them to visit the place.
‘We have some questions we ought to ask Mr Spiers,’ he said.
‘And what if he has a strong will not to answer them? A violent will, even?’
Raven had considered this, but he had his leverage now. ‘He has seen you too. I will tell him that you wait for me, and should I fail to return or come to any harm, you will be going straight to McLevy to tell him everything we know.’
‘We don’t know much.’
‘Nonetheless, it is what he fears we know that will restrain him.’
They made their way back towards the King’s Wark, approaching from the rear having come around in a circle.
Raven’s plan to keep Sarah out of the landlord’s sight was immediately dashed as they saw Spiers emerge into a courtyard at the back of the tavern. He pitched forward as though about to sprint towards them, but as Raven altered his stance and put out an arm to warn off Sarah, it became clear that the landlord was in fact staggering. He fell against a stack of beer barrels, gripping one to prop himself upright. As he turned, Raven was able to see a patch of dark red staining his grubby shirt around his middle.
Spiers noticed them and reached out an imploring hand before dropping to his knees.
They hurried into the courtyard.
‘She stuck me,’ he said, clutching his hand to his side. ‘The French bitch. So quick. I didn’t even see a blade.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know. She didn’t stop to explain.’
Raven helped Spiers take his rest against a barrel. The patch of red was widening by the second. He and Sarah shared a look. Spiers was bleeding badly and they both knew he had little time left.
‘What was your arrangement with this woman?’
‘I will not condemn myself with my own testimony,’ he replied, grimacing against the pain.
‘Your wound is grave, sir. Without help you will die within the hour. I am a doctor. I can keep you alive long enough for us to get you to Professor Syme, the best surgeon in the city. But only if you answer our questions.’
‘Do not take me for a fool, son. There’s not a surgeon in the world who can mend this. She has done for me.’
‘Then you owe her no loyalty. Speak, man.’
‘She is a French midwife who rents rooms. That is all I know.’
&
nbsp; ‘You must know more than that. She carries out abortions on your premises and she pays you a percentage. Who is she really? What more do you know about her?’
‘Nothing. She told me if I didn’t ask questions, it would protect us both.’
‘Well, your silence has not served you well today, has it? What more do you know?’
Spiers considered it, a bitter look on his face, from which colour was visibly draining.
‘She has a partner,’ he said, swallowing.
‘Who?’
‘I never knew his name and I saw him but once. I tried to enter her room when I thought her not home and found him there.’
‘What did he look like?’
‘I saw him but for a few seconds, and even then only from the back. I had barely opened the door when he pushed me out and slammed it shut. He was standing by a table with instruments and potions ranged upon it. A medical man, like yourself. Older, though.’
‘And what of Rose Campbell?’ Sarah asked.
‘Who?’
‘She was a housemaid. The one who was pulled from the water.’
‘I know nothing about that.’
‘You followed me after I asked about her,’ Raven reminded him. ‘Come on, would you not make your confession that you may face death without fear?’
Spiers winced, the blood oozing between his fingers where he clutched them to the soaking cloth. He looked afraid now.
‘She came here, paid the money. The procedure was successful but she was ill afterwards. They often were . . . and we turned them out, though they were barely fit to walk. We let them stay a couple of days, and if it appeared they would not recover, we put them out because we did not want any bodies to dispose of or deaths to explain. God forgive me,’ he said, his voice faltering.
Sarah had found a wooden tankard upon a bench and pulled out the stop from a barrel to fill it. She offered it to Spiers, who sipped it gratefully.
‘Your one, Rose . . . she was recovering. She was here a few days, but she was on the mend. I brought her water, meals. Then I was woken by her screaming in the night. When I went to her room, she was in her final throes. She died all twisted and agonised.’
The Way of All Flesh Page 28