I was appalled to see it was still raining when I finally left the City Chambers. It was very late, so at least the reporters had given up for the day, and I had a quiet ride home.
McGray and I had agreed to meet directly at Calton Hill Jail the following morning, to escort Katerina to the Sheriff Court. That would also give us a chance to give her some advice. I could only wonder what might be going through her mind that night.
Layton received me with a large brandy and told me that Joan, my former housekeeper, had just left. She’d brought me a delicious roast chicken, but her duties at McGray’s house meant she could not wait for long. I’d not had a proper meal throughout the day, so I ate three quarters of the bird before going to bed, which I would regret.
As soon as I laid down, I felt as if the bed and the entire room swayed. It was like lying face up on a boat, and disturbingly familiar. That sensation had been very frequent since our tragic trip to Loch Maree – the one that had cost my uncle his life – and it felt like the worst land-sickness I’d ever experienced.
Again I closed my eyes, and a wave of unwanted images came back to me – the torches, the lonely islands, the dead … I had to light the oil lamp, fearing I’d see my late uncle’s face again.
I then realised I had been all right during the day. Other than the brief episode at the colonel’s house, I had not even thought of the matter. The work had kept me blissfully focused, but now, as soon as I found myself alone, in my dark and silent bedroom, it all came back to me.
How childish I must seem. Suddenly I pictured everyone at the Sheriff Court laughing at me, the gutless inspector who could no longer sleep without a little lamp on his bedside table.
Again, I woke up at an ungodly hour, and again Layton came with my morning coffee and breakfast. The lack of sleep had made me quite hungry, so I had a few extra pieces of buttered toast and extra sugar in my coffee.
Still, I could not help yawning all the way to Calton Hill. McGray was already there, waiting at the jail’s esplanade, and he whistled when he saw me.
‘Ye look terrible, Percy.’
‘What an ironic remark,’ I grumbled, gesturing at his entire persona, and then we walked towards the building. ‘Is Katerina ready?’
‘Aye. I asked the lads to bring her to one of the questioning rooms. I think she—’
‘Inspector McGray!’ cried a young officer, coming from the gate.
‘Aye?’
‘There’s a lass here that wants to see ye, sir.’
‘What?’
‘I told her to piss off, but she won’t stop nagging. Asked me to tell ye she’s Mary from the Ensign.’
McGray’s face changed at once, and impatient as I was, I had to follow him back to the front gate.
The officer let in a chubby young woman, whose hair was an explosion of distressingly ginger curls, the same colour as her thousand freckles. She had to elbow her way through three reporters, all trying to catch a glimpse of the interior. I recognised her as the landlady of McGray’s favourite pub.
‘Mary!’ cried Nine-Nails with a smile as soon as the gate was closed. ‘What ye doing here?’
She was carrying a wide basket, which she dropped on the floor as she flung herself to cry over McGray’s shoulder. He held her and patted her back with scandalous familiarity.
‘There, there! What’s wrong, lassie?’
‘Is she well? Have ye seen her?’
‘Madame Katerina, ye mean?’ McGray asked.
The young woman was sniffing and sobbing, so she only managed to nod.
‘Aye, we’ve seen her.’
‘Do you know her?’ I said, rather surprised.
‘Course I do!’ Mary wiped her tears and blew her nose thunderously. ‘She was so good to me when my auld man died. I was just sixteen. I was a right mess. But she came to me ’n’ she told me my dad was in heaven looking after me.’
I chuckled. ‘How much did she charge you to—?’
Nine-Nails silenced me with a jab at the ribs.
‘Oi, she charged me nothing, sir. She heard I was in trouble ’n’ she came to me. I was broke with the funeral, then someone looted the Ensign … I was in there all the time, but all I could do was hide behind the barrels! Madame Katerina loaned me some money, and then for months she supplied me ale on credit. I would’ve lost the Ensign without her.’ She rushed to pick up her basket and pushed it into my arms. ‘Here, sir. Please give her this, I beg youse. I brought her some bridies ’n’ cheese ’n’ sweetmeats. Also, a blanket, some soap, ’cause … youse know. Oh, ’n’ some nice clothes she can wear at the Sheriff’s, ’n’ the make-up she loves so much.’
‘Oh … madam, I do not think it will be appropriate that we—’
‘Please! These lads say I cannae see her. I wouldnae be troubling youse if … if …’
‘Course we’ll do it, hen!’ McGray interjected, seeing that Mary was struggling to speak. ‘We’ll tell her ye came.’
‘Thanks! Thanks, Adolphus! Please tell her I’m praying for her.’
McGray pinched her rounded cheek as though she were a young child, and then bid her goodbye.
As we walked to the building, I tried to put the basket in his hands, but he would not take it. From the barred windows, some of the prisoners began shouting flirtatious vulgarities at me.
‘You seem awfully … familiar with that young woman,’ I said, and McGray grinned, a twinkle in his eye. ‘Are you and her …?’
‘Occasionally. We scratch each other when we’re itchy, if ye ken—’
‘I know, I know,’ I grunted.
‘But the lassie likes her life as it is – her own business, answering to no one …’
I nodded. The rules that applied to women like Mary were very different to those that constricted high-society ladies.
The guards took us to the questioning room again, but we had to wait for a few minutes, while Katerina changed into the clothes Mary had brought her. I was pleasantly surprised when she finally emerged.
She was wearing a plain grey dress, buttoned all the way to her neck (her admirers would be disappointed to see). She had not put on the two-inch long fake eyelashes, she’d restrained her use of mascara to human decency, and wore her hair in a simple plait underneath a small, unadorned hat. With the shawl around her arms she looked almost respectable.
‘This good enough for your bastard jury?’
I blinked a few times. ‘And the illusion is shattered.’
‘That’ll do, hen,’ said McGray after a laugh.
‘Tell Mary I’m really grateful. She’s a very good girl.’
‘She remembers,’ said McGray, a grave look on his face. ‘A lot of folk remember.’
There was a deep silence then, far too emotional for my taste.
‘Shall we talk about court matters now?’ I said after clearing my throat. ‘It is getting late.’
‘Aye,’ said McGray. ‘Katerina, I want ye to listen to the dandy here. A big sodding ask, I ken, but these juries are more his arena than ours.’
I got straight to the point. ‘Today’s session is not intended to judge you. The jury will simply decide if there is enough evidence to consider those deaths as murder, which—’
‘Of course they’ll think it’s murder!’ she snapped. ‘I hear the bloody pricks shouting from the street, baying for my blood.’
I sighed, knowing that the public outcry was likely to influence the minds of the sheriff and jury, but I preferred not to confirm the fact just then.
‘We will claim that the evidence is insufficient at the moment,’ I said. ‘Which is only temporarily true. It would be better, of course, if we had those post-mortem results …’ I looked accusingly at McGray.
‘Reed said he’ll meet us at court. He promised he’d have the full report then.’
‘I bloody well hope so,’ Katerina and I said in unison, and we both winced.
‘If the jury thinks there is sufficient evidence to suspect murder, the sheriff will have to
remit the case to the High Court, given the gravity of the crime. They will then decide whether or not there is a case against you.’
‘What d’you think will happen?’ she asked. ‘And don’t coat it in sugar, son. I can handle the truth.’
I looked at McGray, and he assented with a brief nod.
‘I will do my best today,’ I assured her, ‘but since we have failed to find conclusive evidence so far, I think it is almost unavoidable this will proceed to a full trial. However, there is a chance we can … partly clear your name. The colonel’s valet, Mr Holt, is in a very awkward position. I believe the sheriff will see a stronger case against him. You, madam, are likely to remain as a suspect, but I hope they will at least let you go home while we wait for the trial.’ Katerina let out a sigh, interrupted when I raised a finger. ‘That shall happen if, and only if, we handle the situation well.’
She arched an eyebrow. It looked odd without its usual pendant. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Try to keep any mention of ghosts and spirits to a minimum. In fact, do not mention them at all, unless directly asked to. And even then, answer as succinctly as possible.’
‘They called me to commune with old Alice!’ she cried. ‘And I did. And she wanted them all dead. That’s the truth! Do you want me to lie under oath?’
‘Gosh! Do you honestly believe that—?’ I rubbed my brow and decided I was done humouring people. ‘Well then. Tell them what you wish. Let’s see how the jury and the sheriff react when you say you think those six people were murdered by the Bloody Phantom of Cripplegate!’
I made to stand up, but McGray pushed me back down.
‘Oi, don’t get so tetchy, Percy. And, Katerina, it pains me right in the arse to tell ye this, but ye better listen to the sissy dandy here.’
Katerina and I remained silent, sulking like scolded children.
I took a deep breath. The clock was ticking.
‘Is there anything,’ I said, ‘anything at all, you think we should know before we go out there? Anything you have not told us yet?’
Katerina shifted in her seat. ‘No.’
‘Nothing you did or said that might be seen as suspicious?’ I insisted. ‘It is better to be prepared.’
She looked at me without blinking, drumming her fingers on the table but rather clumsily, as if she could not quite co-ordinate their movements without her preposterously long nails.
‘No,’ she answered at last, but there was something in her cunning green eyes that betrayed her, regardless the resolution of her voice. I think even McGray knew she was not being completely honest.
11
The Sheriff Court had its own dedicated courtroom ; a detached building just behind Parliament Hall, on George IV Bridge. We rode past St Giles’ Cathedral and its blackened spire, and when we turned around the corner, we found a small crowd already gathered at the gates. Not only workers and washerwomen, but also many better-off young men and ladies who had nothing better to do. Two boys were making a juicy profit reselling last week’s papers ; the ones that told the specifics of the case in the most elaborate detail.
Those boys were the first ones to realise whom we brought. They shouted and pointed, and by the time we halted there was a handful of onlookers clustering all around us, pushing themselves against my door so I could not open it. On the other side of the cab, McGray gave his door a decided kick, sending half a dozen men on their backs as he alighted.
He and a handful of officers came to aid us, and they surrounded Katerina as we rushed into the building. She wisely covered her head with her black shawl, for a couple of thugs threw unidentifiable rotten vegetables at her. I blush when I recall what Nine-Nails shouted at them.
I was the last one to get inside, pushing and shoving, only to find an equally crowded hall. The officers took us through a side corridor, not open to the public, and from there to a small sitting room.
‘We have to leave ye here,’ McGray told a visibly distressed Katerina. The woman was panting, a trembling hand on her bosom, the other attempting to straighten her little hat. ‘But we’ll be at the front row. It’ll all be all right.’
‘Thanks, Adolphus,’ she mumbled, squeezing one of his hands. ‘I know you’ll do everything you can.’
She looked at me with a combination of anxiety and deepest sadness. I wanted to say something comforting but found myself speechless, so I gave her a short nod and made my way to the courtroom.
Never, since my days back in London handling the case of Good Mary Brown, had I seen such a crowded place. Not an inch of the wooden rows could be seen, people packed against each other snugly like sausages in a crate. The bench reserved for the press was just as crammed, with reporters already jotting down frantically and chatting with the enthusiasm of college boys. This might as well have been a public ball ; on the furthest pews I could even see a very chubby man selling pies less than discreetly.
‘Is that Katerina’s manservant?’ I whispered at McGray. He just let out a cackle and I shook my head. ‘Well, if anyone should be profiteering—’
‘There’s Nine-Nails McGray!’ someone shouted from the back, followed by a wave of laughter and cheering.
‘I can still show youse this one!’ he howled, which only worsened the clamour.
‘Inspectors!’ I heard a voice say from the front row. There I saw Constable McNair, who had reserved us two seats.
‘Where is Dr Reed?’ I asked him as soon as we sat down. We had to shout amidst the racket.
‘Still at the morgue, sirs. Says he’ll try to bring youse some results before the session ends.’
‘What? How can it be taking him so bloody long?’ and for once Nine-Nails shared my indignation.
‘There’s a few folk I should warn youse about,’ said McNair, looking back. ‘See that lady there? Huge black hat with the ostrich feathers?’
‘It would be impossible not to,’ I said. In a matching black velvet dress, she stood out like a fattened crow. Even from a distance, her irate features struck me as very familiar.
‘That is Mrs Grenville’s mother,’ McNair told us. ‘Gertrude … something-something.’
It instantly made sense ; the dark curls, the rounded cheeks. She looked like a larger, angrier, more weathered version of her now-deceased daughter, whom I’d seen at the morgue.
‘What’s she doing here?’ asked McGray. Indeed, the woman looked very uncomfortable, as if fancying herself out of place. Although many refined ladies have taken to attending court proceedings to amuse themselves with the misery of others, they very rarely do so when the cases involve their own families. On those occasions, staying at home sniffing salts is the appropriate thing to do.
She was talking at the ear of a man seated next to her. That chap, most likely in his late thirties, was very thin, his skin mercilessly tanned, and his expression fixed in a deep frown. He looked at everything and everyone with a belligerent countenance, clenching his black top hat with restless hands. He too was in mourning clothes.
‘The lad she’s talking to is called Walter Fox,’ said McNair. ‘The eldest of the surviving grandchildren.’
‘From Grannie Alice’s first marriage,’ I recalled, and as I said so, Walter Fox gesticulated exaggeratedly at the front.
‘Who’s he winking at?’ asked McGray.
‘Ah, that’s how I know them,’ said McNair. ‘They came asking to talk to the assigned prosecutor.’
‘Prosecutor?’ I repeated. ‘This case is not yet—’
‘He’s there,’ McNair interrupted, pointing at a well-built man in his mid-forties, yet completely bald and with a scalp as shiny as a freshly polished shoe. He was gesticulating back, moving his arms in overdramatic waves, almost flinging the bundles of documents he held in his hands.
Nine-Nails went livid the instant he saw him, baring his teeth in a gesture that would have made the mastiff Mackenzie look like a tender puppy.
‘Do you know him?’ I said.
McGray was opening and closing his
fists as if ready to slaughter him. He had not even heard my question.
‘That’s George Pratt, sir,’ McNair told me. ‘He—’
‘Aye, I know him. George twat tried to get my wee sister tried for murder,’ McGray at last managed to spit out. ‘The bastard wanted her to come to court and parade her around to demonstrate she’d never lost her—’ McGray growled ; his face had gone red. ‘Dr Clouston himself had to testify. Pratt was like a hungry fuckin’ vulture, encircling ’n’ trying to break the good auld doctor. He wanted him to confess Pansy was nae mad. That she’d killed—’ He could not finish the sentence, his eyes burning with a rage he barely managed to contain. ‘Poor auld Clouston nearly broke in tears.’
‘Clouston?’ I echoed. I could not picture the head of Edinburgh’s asylum thus intimidated.
‘I heard him tell Mr Fox and that Gertrude woman that the gypsy is as well as hanged,’ McNair said, nodding at the gallery. ‘He’s already been told the case will go to him if the sheriff sends this to the court.’
‘Fuck,’ McGray blurted out, so loud nearly everyone around heard him.
Pratt noticed our stares across the courtroom, and gave us a petulant nod.
It looked as if he was going to approach us, and I prepared myself for carnage. Luckily, right then the jury and the sheriff walked in, and the officers shouted for silence. There was the clatter of people standing up, but it quickly subsided.
The sheriff was a robust man, short and broad-shouldered, and he walked with heavy strides, almost as if his body were made of lead. His face was very pale but reddened at the cheekbones and the tip of the nose, the rouge highlighted by his wiry beard and mutton chops, which were snow-white. As we sat down, he combed the courtroom with absolute boredom. His eyes had the unmistakable weariness of a man who knows he has missed every chance of further promotion and has only a meagre retirement to look forward to.
He introduced himself as Sheriff Principal Blyth (with a deep, throaty voice far more energetic than his looks) and commenced to the hearings.
To the disappointment of those keen to hear the juicy details of the Morningside deaths, three cases were heard before Katerina’s. They had to sit through them in solemn silence, but went mad as soon as Sheriff Blyth summoned ‘the gypsy defendant’ (perhaps unable to pronounce her name).
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