Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Preface
1. The Scottish Play
2. Limehouse
3. The Incident at King’s Cross Station
4. Edinburgh
5. The Aftermath
6. Excerpt from Gordon Campbell’s Diary
7. Moira
8. Bunny McVey
9. Knuckles Nancy
10. Excerpt from Gordon Campbell’s Diary
11. The Witch in the Crowd
12. Aggie Campbell
Epilogue
Other Books by the Author
The Campbell Curse
Olivier Bosman
Copyright © 2018
All rights reserved.
Preface
Back in the seventeenth century, before the city of Edinburgh became known as the Athens of the North, it was a dirty, stinking place. The old town, which stretched on a narrow piece of land from the Castle to Holyrood Palace, was overpopulated and had little in the way of plumbing. Every day, large amounts of sewage and waste were thrown onto the streets and allowed to run down the hill to Loch Nor, which served as a cesspool, causing a terrible stench. Smoke from wood and coal fires billowed out of the chimneys and lingered amongst the tall, soot-covered buildings of the old town, giving it its famous nickname: ’Auld Reekie’. The rich lived in the beautiful stately homes that lined the Royal Mile, while the poor lived in tall, rickety tenement buildings (sometimes eleven stories high) in the various closes.
Megan Malone was the proprietress of one such boarding house, known as Malone’s Land. She had two permanent tenants: Mr Fry, an English merchant, and Aden and Rebecca Frome, who, being the poorest tenants, lived on the top floor. Megan herself occupied the second floor. She had a reputation for being a shrewd and mean old battleaxe. Mr Fry testified at her trial that on one occasion, when he was a day late in paying the rent, she came barging into his room while he was taking a bath and demanded to be paid straight away. When the red-faced and indignant Englishman asked her to leave his room and wait until he was decent, she refused to go. He said that she made him get out of the tub and walk naked to his desk to retrieve the money before she finally abandoned his room.
Aden and Rebecca Frome were equally condemning of her. At the trial, they claimed that, when Rebecca was heavily pregnant, Megan had kicked them out into the rain because they were one day late in paying the rent. Rebecca said that Megan had grabbed their clothes and meagre belongings, wrapped them in a sheet and tossed the whole bundle out with them onto the wet streets. She went on to claim that Megan had put some poison in that bundle and that this poison had caused the cramps and subsequent miscarriage that she suffered a couple of days later.
But the most damning testimony at her trial was made by my own ancestor, Alexander Campbell – a widower who owned several houses in the less fashionable western part of the town and who had his eye on Megan’s property. He explained at the trial how Megan continually rebuffed his marriage proposals and how she was only interested in her son, Jamie.
He recalled seeing her son during one of his unwelcome visits. Jamie was sitting on the chaise longue, looking pale, shivering under a blanket and wheezing as he breathed. My ancestor suspected that he might be suffering from the plague. With so many people constantly entering and leaving the boarding house, it was inevitable that one day, the plague would be brought in from Leith and that Jamie, being the youngest and most vulnerable member of that household, would succumb to it.
This was the chink in Megan’s armour that he had been looking for, and he was determined to make the most of it. From that day on, he had her shadowed every time she left the boarding house, and when he found out that she had secretly been seeking help from the notorious Edinburgh healer, Isaac Bede, he rubbed his hands with delight.
Isaac Bede was the man the poor turned to when they were ill. He claimed to have knowledge of herbs, salves and ancient medical practices, acquired from Chinese sailors harboured at the port in Leith. My ancestor knew that Isaac Bede was under investigation by the church on suspicion of witchery after two of his clients had died. Therefore, when he found out that Megan had secretly been visiting him, he used his position as dean of the Kirk to inflame the situation and harden the Kirk’s stance on Isaac Bede’s doubtful and un-Christian practices. He was finally successful in getting Isaac Bede arrested. After only two days of torture, Isaac named Megan Malone as one of his disciples.
My ancestor was quick to assemble damning testimonies from all the people Megan had hurt. Mr Fry testified at the trial that he had been awakened one night by a strange humming sound, and when he looked through the floorboards to ascertain where the sound was coming from, he saw Megan sitting on her bed next to a naked black imp. Megan claimed that the supposed imp was her own child, whom she had covered top to toe with a black paste – a mixture of herbs and leaves – as instructed by Isaac Bede. She had been told to hum softly with her son throughout the night. The healing qualities of the paste were meant to be absorbed through the pores of the skin, and the humming was meant to soothe the body and drive out all harmful substances.
But of course, she was not believed. Megan Malone was charged with killing Rebecca Frome’s unborn baby, of having sexual intercourse with one of the devil’s imps and of deliberately bringing the plague into the city. She continued to deny all the accusations for almost a whole week, despite the continual torture. It was only after learning that her maid, Mary Bedlan (to whom she had entrusted the safekeeping of her son shortly before being arrested), had turned on her and that her son had died, that she finally broke down and made her infamous confession:
“I curse Mary Bedlan!” she cried after the bad news had been made known to her. “I curse Rebecca Frome! I curse Henry Fry! I am the devil’s whore! I have the devil’s seed inside me and I will curse all those who have embittered my life, and that includes you!” She was addressing the Kirk’s inquisitor. “May the devil shit on your God! And may he shit on you! May the plague hit your home and your family! May the boils on your cock enflame and erupt and may they bring you such pain as you have never known. May the plague hit this whole filthy town and may all its women and children lie boil-ridden in the gutters to be nibbled at by rats!”
The wrath with which these words were uttered had so shocked the inquisitor that for the next week, Megan was forced to wear a witch’s bridle – an iron mask with prongs inserted in her mouth – to stop her from spouting out any more curses. But the worst of her words had yet to be uttered. One week later, the gallows had been rigged up on the esplanade in front of the Castle, and a large crowd had gathered to witness the hanging. Amongst the crowd was my ancestor, Alexander Campbell, who was keen to witness the completion of his dastardly plot.
Megan was escorted to the gallows on a dog cart. Her hands were tied behind her back and the witch’s bridle remained on her face. None of the jeers and boos and cries of ’Hang, witch! Hang!’ had an effect on her. The look in her eyes remained defiant, and she kept scanning the crowd for my ancestor.
It wasn’t until she stepped onto the platform that she finally caught sight of him. It is said that the look in her eyes when she saw him was so intense that many of the spectators felt compelled to look away. It was also said that when the noose was put around her neck, the sky suddenly darkened and a heavy thunderstorm with rain and hail was unleashed upon the crowd. The spectators dispersed among cries of panic and horror to seek shelter from the storm. During that rainstorm, Megan’s bridle somehow came undone and, staring at my ancestor as he fled, she called out her damning curse.
“I see you, Alexander Campbell! You cannot run from me! I have you in my clutches! The hell to
which I shall go will be nothing compared to the hell that will be your life and that of your descendants! Your mind will become as deranged as your scruples! Your body as ill as your soul! You have doomed yourself, Mr Campbell! You have doomed yourself and your descendants beyond salvation!”
After the hanging, her body and possessions were burned and her house auctioned off. Nobody was interested in buying a witch´s former abode, so Alexander Campbell was able to get it cheap. He was determined to turn it into an elegant gentleman’s home, but alas, a far gloomier fate awaited him. It wasn’t long before his body became ill and his mind deranged, and just as Megan had prophesised, his life became one long hell.
1. The Scottish Play
London Metropolitan Police Headquarters, 1892
Billings and Clarkson were sitting at their desks when the door to the office suddenly swung open and Chief Inspector Flynt marched in, his cape billowing behind him. Flynt walked towards the centre of the room and stared at an empty corner. Billings and Clarkson turned to face the spot on which Flynt’s gaze was fixed but saw nothing there but a cobweb on the ceiling. They looked at each other, confused, then turned back towards Flynt.
Flynt took a deep breath and stretched his right hand out in front of him. “Is this a dagger which I see before me?” he said in a loud, dramatic voice.
Clarkson looked around the room for the supposed dagger.
“Come, let me clutch thee,” Flynt continued. “I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.” Flynt lowered his arm and looked at his colleagues, content with his performance. “Well?” he asked, resuming his normal voice. “What is that from?”
Billings and Clarkson stared at him blankly.
“You pair of Philistines!” Flynt frowned. “It’s from Macbeth! Shakespeare’s Scottish Play. It’s on at the Adelphi. Marvellous. Simply quite marvellous. I don’t suppose you pair of hoodlums ever go to the theatre.”
“The rib and I go to the music hall every now and then,” Clarkson replied.
Flynt frowned. “You’re a cultural barbarian, Clarkson. You should go to a proper theatre once in your life. I thoroughly recommend it. Miss LeFevre was marvellous.”
“Who?” Billings asked.
“Miss LeFevre. Carola LeFevre. You have heard of Carola LeFevre, haven’t you? The great American actress. The newspapers say she has been electrifying audiences in New York with her interpretation of Lady Macbeth, and she is now touring Europe.”
“I’m afraid I haven’t.”
“Well, that’s because you too are an uncultured swine, Billings. But all that’s going to change today.” Flynt took some theatre tickets out of his breast pocket and slammed them on Billings’ desk. “You’re going to watch her perform tonight.”
“Tonight? I don’t know if I can, tonight. My landlady is staying with her sister, and there’s nobody to look after the dog.”
“This isn’t for leisure, Billings; it’s for work. Miss LeFevre has received a death threat. We’re assigning you to protect her.”
“A death threat?”
“Apparently she made some controversial remarks about the Irish to the New York press. She seems to have some sympathies with the Fenian cause, which has rather upset some people. She needs round-the-clock protection, and you’re the man to do it.”
“Me? Why me?”
“Because! That’s why!”
“But what about my dog?”
“To the devil with your dog!” Flynt marched towards the sliding doors to his office and opened them. “The show starts at eight o’clock. You can meet Miss LeFevre in her dressing room when it finishes.” He was about to walk into his office when a thought occurred to him. “By the way, there are two tickets on your desk, so you can take a lady friend. If you have one.” And he disappeared into his office.
“Well. Who’s a lucky boy, then?” Clarkson commented.
Billings stared at the tickets on his desk and didn’t answer. Good old Clarkson, he thought. He genuinely thought that this was a privileged assignment, but Billings knew better. Scotland Yard was always called in to guard dignitaries, celebrities and members of the royal family. Billings had once been part of the security force at the Prince of Wales’ Christmas reception at Sandringham, so he knew how utterly tedious this assignment would be. It mostly consisted of hanging around, keeping a watchful eye on other people’s comings and goings and on his very presence being resented by the people he was supposed to be looking out for. It required no intelligence, no puzzle solving, no skill. This had been a deliberate slight by Chief Inspector Flynt, who, for some reason, had always resented him.
“So, who are you going to take, then?” Clarkson asked.
Again, Billings didn’t reply and continued to stare at the spare ticket on his desk. Who could he take? He had to take someone. He couldn’t show up at the theatre unaccompanied. If his spare ticket remained unused, he would be exposed. Everyone at Scotland Yard would know just how friendless and solitary he really was. He had no family members he could invite, so the only person he could think of was Mrs Appleby, his landlady. He could say that it was a thank you present, for putting up with his dog. She would be elated. To be going out to the theatre with Detective Sergeant John Billings of Scotland Yard, her prize tenant! It would please him to do this for her. But Mrs Appleby was away for a few weeks, staying with her sister, so taking her would be impossible. His left hand began to tremble as he continued to stress about what to do with the spare ticket. He looked up at Clarkson, who was still waiting for an answer to his question.
“Do you want to come?” The words came out of his mouth unexpectedly. It hadn’t occurred to him to ask Clarkson, but now that he had, he knew that this was the perfect solution. He felt a warm glow inside him at the thought of Clarkson sitting next to him in the snug seats of the auditorium. To watch Clarkson laugh at the jokes of the actors, or gasp with horror and suspense at the play’s intrigue. This could be the very thing that would help move his relationship with Clarkson away from the cordial banter of the workplace to something resembling a close friendship.
“Me?” Clarkson answered. “But what about the rib?”
“What about her?”
“She’d have to come, of course. Can’t leave her on her own at home, can I, when I’m out ’avin’ fun at the theatre? We’d have to get a third ticket.”
Billings’ heart sank as Clarkson mentioned his wife. “I’ll get the ticket,” he replied. “It’ll be my treat.”
“Well, that’s very kind of you, Billings, but what about the li’l ones? I’d have to get somebody to look after ’em.”
“Isn’t there anyone?”
“Well, I suppose I could drop ’em off at the neighbour’s. I’ll ask the rib. See what she says. We ain’t ever been to a proper theatre before. I think she might like it.”
Billings watched Clarkson’s eyes light up at the thought of treating his wife to something so posh as going to the theatre. It moved him. It was nice to see somebody so devoted to his wife.
“I’ll ask her as soon as I get home. If I’m not there at half past seven, you’ll know it’s a no-go and you can ask someone else.”
Billings had been leaning against one of the cold stone pillars that adorned the entrance of the Adelphi for about fifteen minutes, wondering whether or not Clarkson would show up. If he didn’t, then he would have to go into the theatre alone. There was no other option. He had already made up a story about what to tell Flynt if that was the case. He would say that he had taken his landlady’s niece. She made dolls’ dresses and would often sit outside the theatres and make sketches of the elegant ladies entering and exiting the playhouses. He thought he’d give her a treat and show her what the inside of a theatre looked like. It was a good story – and quite a moving one too, if it had been true – but of course it was all a lie. Mrs Appleby didn’t have any nieces.
Fortunately, Billings didn’t need to use that story, because at thirty minutes past seven, he saw Clarkson rushing towards him
, dressed in his Sunday best and with his hair neatly gelled back. Billings’ eyes lit up when he saw him, and he felt a warm glow of affection well up inside him. But then he caught sight of Clarkson’s wife, Susan, tagging along behind him, and his heart sank again.
The play turned out to be more entertaining than he had expected, although he felt that Shakespeare had taken some liberties with the historical facts. Clarkson, though, who sat between his wife and Billings, didn’t seem to be enjoying himself at all. He appeared thrilled and excited at the opening of the play, when the three witches came on stage and gave their damned prophecy to Lord Macbeth, but became restless and fidgety soon after that. By the time Macbeth and his wife had killed the king, he had fallen asleep.
Billings watched as Clarkson’s head dropped forward then bopped up again when loud shouting from the actors on stage jolted him awake. At one point, Clarkson’s head dropped sideways and landed on Billings’ shoulder. Billings felt a soothing warmth rush through him as his colleague’s head weighed down on him. He closed his eyes and tried to block out the murmur of the auditorium. He imagined he was alone somewhere, in a sunny park or a beautiful field, just him and Clarkson sleeping against him. He felt a great urge to wrap his arm around his colleague and was only just able to contain himself. But he was ruthlessly awakened from his daydream by Susan, who had seen her husband dozing off and brusquely yanked his body away from him.
“Don’t let him fall asleep,” she whispered at Billings. “He’ll start snoring next and then where will we be!”
She continued to stare angrily at Billings after she said this, which slightly confused him. Why was she angry at him? Was it his fault that Clarkson had fallen asleep? Or was it because he had allowed Clarkson to rest his head on his shoulder? Had she seen a trace of relish on his face as her husband slept against him? Billings’ heart began to pound in his chest at the prospect that he may have been found out, and he felt his face beginning to blush. He quickly sat up and leaned away from Clarkson, who was still rubbing his eyes awake.
The Campbell Curse Page 1