She grimaced. "Would that we could Bill. Got guests in right now. Summer labour. They'll be dozing." Repairs on the Edinburgh stretch of the canal meant that even the quietest boarding house had seen good business over the last week or two, with incoming workers from Ireland and the Highlands finding work for the taking. Until the weekend and their day off the men rose early, worked hard, and returned to their lodgings exhausted.
Bill gave Nelly a look of apology. What can I do? "Well, to ours then. We've space, and plenty of refreshment to make a night of it." He rose, and William stood with him, his face hard. The women had no choice but to follow, as Bill pushed a path through the crowd and into the night.
#
Ann sat on a stool by the fire, which roared and crackled. The nights had drawn in fast and hard, and there was a deep chill to dispel from their home. Nelly, still by habit, tried to eke out the supply of coal, but Bill was firm whenever he caught her. Money wasn't a problem. One of the rewards of his calling. A lifetime's habit made it difficult to stop scraping, but she was learning. Nelly was sat on the bed, Bill standing over her while William kept their guest talking. It wasn't a difficult task. He had only to remember to nod in the right places, and Ann took care of the rest.
"You didn't see it," Nelly said, looking up at her man. With his back to the fire his face was in shadow, and there was something terrible and sorrowful in the hang of his head. "I know you didn't, Bill. You were surprised as me to see her, every bit as irked that she'd called on us, but you didn't think she was one of them. I saw your face."
He shook his head, and took a second too long to answer. Nelly felt her world spin in that pause. The chill had gathered at the edges of the room, and it reached out to hold her, making her shiver. "William saw it. Told me at the Hart."
"And why would you be listening to him, Bill Burke? I don't trust him. He's got bad eyes."
Bill chuckled, and sat next to her, an arm around her back. "Well, the good Lord didn't see fit to make him a pretty man, and nothing more certain than that."
She watched the light from the fire dancing in his eyes, and tried to relax. "It's your gift, Bill. Your eyes and heart. Is she one of them?"
He gazed over at Ann, who was roaring with laughter at some poor jest. William's face was pained. "Sure enough she is. I didn't see it when she arrived, but there's one of them in there all right."
"So why didn't you see it?" It was a big question. Her heart was pounding and her face was flushed. There were tears in her eyes waiting to spill over, and she had thought herself done with crying long ago. "Tell me true, I'll know if you don't. I'll know it's all ... I'll know."
Bill nodded, and his smile vanished. The moment was fragile. Did he know her world could spill away at the wrong word? "I was blinded, Nelly. She knows you. She's known you a long time. I thought for a moment, in Falkirk ... and I put it aside. I didn't want it to be true, do you see? I wanted not to do it, just this once, but William ... William insisted I open my eyes." There was a flicker of resentment there at the end, something breaking through as he looked to his friend. "She's the next one. I won't even pretend I have a choice in this Nelly, and you're going to have to heed me."
"He's the same as you?"
He glanced at her, surprised. "Did you not think that already?"
"That he helped you, aye of course. That he was the same though ... no. I thought you were special."
A flicker of pain crossed over his face. "Not so special after all, Nel. William is ... well, whatever I am William is, too."
It was a sourness, to consider that. Yet should she judge? If demons could wear fair faces, could angels not wear foul?
Yes. That was right. That was practically proof, if proof were needed. Bill's love for her had blinded him, and just this one time his partner had taken the lead, saved him from a too human failing. It ... worked. It held.
Her world firmed up and she bit on her own lip, resolved. "If it has to be done then ... how to do it?"
"We've a way. It's painless enough. We're not here to make anyone suffer. I don't want you to see it though, Nelly. It's a hard thing to do, and not for kind eyes to watch."
"I think perhaps I should, Bill. I think I should watch just once. So I know."
He grimaced, but she chose not to notice. "Of all the things to ask. I'll not have it. Maybe ... maybe one day. But not this one. You've known her for years, for God's sake. Wait for a stranger. A few months, maybe. If you still want to." She nodded. It would have to do. "Now, can you keep her calm and quiet while William and I fetch a thing or two?"
She looked over. William had refilled Ann's cup and was passing it back to her with a tight smile and mean eyes. Bill might find his duty a hard thing to be true to, she realised, but not William. William was glad. "I don't know about quiet, but I'll keep her company." She walked over, and tapped William on the shoulder. They switched places, a changing of the guard, then the two men stepped out of the room.
"And where are they in such a hurry to be off to?"
Nelly floundered, then Ann swigged back her fresh drink in one. "More whisky, Ann. We've drank ourselves dry, but they've some up at the lodging house. They won't be long. We'll be partying to the small hours."
Ann laughed, then stopped, as though she were unsure what had started her off in the first place. She pressed her empty cup to one eye with a grin. "I won't say no to another, truth to tell. They're a funny lot, your Irish man and his Irish friends."
"Would you say so?"
"Full of whispers when they're not making you laugh. And your friend Hare? He has listening on his face, but he's not listening at all. S'like he's waiting." Nelly tried to smile, but couldn't. It was true, after all. "Where did that Maggie go, anyway? I liked her. She was funny."
"You remember, Ann. She had to go back to her lodgers, make up a late broth for anyone who wanted to pay for it."
"Should have eaten." Ann was swaying on her stool, and Nelly reached forward to put a steadying hand on her shoulder. "Gone straight to my head, this has. Fine welcome though, Nelly. Very fine. Can I tell you something?"
"Anything you like dear."
"I'm not going back. Not to him. Not even to Falkirk. Nobody can make me."
"I know dear," Nelly said. "You'll never have to see him again. Bill and William ... well, they'll make sure of it." It wasn't a lie, and even if it had been she was certain that she would be forgiven. After all, this wasn't Ann's real face. Her words were false. She might be running from Falkirk, but it wasn't an innocent fear that drove her. Could her husband have caught a glimpse of what she hid deep inside? That would explain his turn to violence. He had seemed a gentle fellow when they met a few weeks before, hardly the type to pound on his wife. Yes, that sounded right. That worked.
Ann straightened, and tried to focus. "That's kind, Nelly. You're kind people. Good people. I don't know how to thank you."
"Tomorrow. We'll talk it through tomorrow, with clear heads."
"Aye." The door opened behind her, and Bill and William eased a barrel through the door, grunting as they tried to roll it on one edge. Ann stared at it as they slid it across the floor to the far wall. "S'lot of whisky. Don't know that I've appetite to finish it." She giggled.
Bill looked at Nelly, and caught on. "Would you know it, Ann, I remembered we had more whisky here after all. Don't give the barrel any thought. That's for the morning."
"And here's me keeping you out and up!" She tried to stand, wobbled, and gave up. "You must have things to do of the morning. We should call it a night."
"Don't worry about us. We're bred hardy in Ireland. The night's not over yet. A word, Nel?" He took her arm and guided her to the door. "We need an hour," he said in a low voice. "She'll be packed up after that."
She glanced over at Ann, whose glass was being generously refilled by William. "Will it ... does it hurt?"
He looked at her with deep weariness. "Not the way we do it. Besides, you could drop a horse on her right now and she'd scarce
notice."
"All right, Bill. An hour. I'll go and see if Maggie needs help."
She turned to go, but he had her arm still. "You're a good woman, Helen M'Dougal. Never doubt that."
Giving him a weak smile, she stepped into the dark passage and closed the door behind her. Walking the length to the next door, listening to her footsteps echo, she tried to be happy. Bill was doing his work, meeting his purpose. Why did it feel wrong? She had stopped questioning it weeks ago, and life was tolerable when she let things be. Was she worrying at it now because she had known Ann for so long? When Bill and William took the washerwoman who worked their close, Mrs Hostler, just a couple of weeks ago she had thought nothing of it.
What was a solid surety within her showed cracks as she tested its weight. She opened the door, then pushed it shut again, letting it bang closed without stepping through.
She stood alone in the dark, the only light coming from under the door to her own house. What was she doing? If Bill stepped out and found her ... or worse still, William ...
Taking careful, quiet steps, she creeped back to the house. It was too dark to see, and the darkness swam when she stared too hard, but she could listen. Bill's voice was a reassuring murmur as he crossed the room, and there was a low splash. He was refilling her glass. Ann laughed, so loud next to Bill's discreet muttering that Nelly stepped back in alarm, her back touching the icy wall behind her. Bill spoke again, and Ann's laugh turned hysterical, an uncontrollable, spluttering thing. Was that it? Had he seized her?
No, Ann's laugh died away. "You're a scoundrel, no mistaking. What business would I have in your bed?"
More murmuring, a chuckle.
"Aye, but I can't put you and Ann on the floor for the night."
Bill laughed, his voice raising. "You're not wrong! It's only ten minutes, Ann. Close your eyes and catch your breath. We're not finished for the night yet."
"Ack, it's been a long day right enough. The travel. Ten minutes, Bill Burke. Don't be drinking too much without me." A clatter, the stool overturning as she stood, then the irregular stamp of her feet towards the bed, an echoing shuffle of boots suggesting Bill might be helping her make her way.
There was nothing from William. If Nelly didn't know better, she would have thought there were only two people in the room. For a moment she wondered if he could have followed her out, pushing himself to the wall when she made her way back in the near total darkness. He could be standing beside her at that very moment. She knew it wasn't true, but felt the air with a tentative hand anyway.
Something caught her eye, and she glanced at the weak light beneath the door. Two shadows broke the line. That was William. He had stood, moved to block the door, and she had heard nothing. More evidence, if she needed it, that there was something unnatural about him.
If she spoke, he'd hear her. Something uncomfortable squirmed in her belly, and she wondered if he knew she was there. The certainty that he did made her want to cry. He hadn't put himself at the door to keep Ann back from it. He was blocking Bill. He was stopping Bill from getting to her.
That made no sense.
Yet his presence froze her. Minutes passed, taking a leisurely time to do so in the dark, and he didn't move. He and Bill were waiting for something. She could picture them standing there, looking down at the bed, still and silent. Angels? It didn't fit.
A grumbling, animal noise rose, then fell. Something growling in the dark.
No. Snoring. Ann was snoring.
Bill's footsteps shuffled. William's shadow vanished from the door. It was happening. "Don't like to begin first on her," Bill said, his voice sad. "Her being a distant friend and all. I'll hold the legs. You get the burking done."
Silence, then low grunting. Was Ann struggling? There came a loud smack that made her jump. Had he clapped his hands? Steps across the room, then scrapes back. The barrel.
She stood in the darkness listening to them pack her friend as though she were stubborn luggage, a fixed grin on her face as she felt her world spin.
Chapter 26
William Burke
Thursday, October 2nd, 1828
Tommy Rhymer showed him nervous eyes as the autumn light streamed into the small shop through the open doorway. It was all the man could do to watch the wire long enough to mark where he was cutting. "Mind yourself," Bill said. "You'll be having your thumb off if you're not careful."
Tommy smiled, but it was anxiety rather than mirth that twitched his lips. "Can't be doing with that. Tools of the trade, these thumbs." He sliced, then moved the chunk of butter onto a piece of brown paper.
Bill watched him wrap it from behind the thrum of his hangover. "Everything all right, Tommy? Got yourself at odds with something?"
A fast shake of the head. "Nothing wrong at all. Business booms. Interest you in a jug of whisky, Bill? Something else you need?"
He stared at the man, enjoying how he seemed to shrink under his gaze. Shame bubbled up in response, and he smiled to break the tension. Was that was how William felt all the time, feeding off his own reputation? It was power of a sort, and an easy one to wield. Word was out. Not the specifics, perhaps, but Tommy knew that something wasn't right with Bill Burke's comings and goings. Before he could say anything further, Tommy's attention was drawn by somebody coming into the shop behind him. Rather than relaxing, whoever it was made him tighten even further.
Bill turned, expecting William but finding Maggie. She was stood in the doorway, staring at the shop keep like an idiot, as though she were somehow surprised to find him there. "Morning, Maggie. How's life and trade?"
She opened her mouth to show her missing tooth. Closed it again. Saw what Tommy was wrapping. "Butter!" She barked it as though it were a personal revelation. "I've come for butter!"
Bill stepped aside, wondering at her oddness. It was the pregnancy, no doubt. She had confided a few weeks before that she was with child. Five or six months, she thought. It made him uncomfortable for all sorts of reasons. That William Hare was bringing forth progeny was not something he could find any joy in. What would the thing inside William Hare, the gift he employed, do to his own child? Bill shuddered to think. There was also the end of the business to consider. The babe could not be allowed to change his plans, but it had implications. He tried to avoid thinking about them, but couldn't help himself. Having abandoned his own children to be aided fatherless, could he really inflict the same fate on a newborn?
Yes. He could. He had no choice. "Help yourself, Maggie. There's plenty of it to be had. What do I owe you, Tommy?"
She stepped up beside him as he counted out pennies, and pressed her heel down hard on his toes as she set Tommy to cutting her a portion. Bill winced. It was their secret signal, and a poor one at that. Maggie wasn't there for butter. She was looking for him. She and William had a fresh shot at the lodging house, and he was needed.
"Best let me carry that back for you," he told her, scooping up the tiny packet of butter she had purchased as a pretext. "Woman in your condition shouldn't be bearing such a weighty load."
He followed her from the shop, rolling his eyes at Tommy as he went.
The shop keep smiled, and this time it was genuine. Bill Burke was leaving his store, and he could relax again.
#
Bill stepped through the lodging house door, and the memory struck sharp of carrying his bag over the threshold that first time, hoping that Maggie would be kind enough to offer he and Nelly a fireside bed. He had been dwelling more often on the beginnings of the strange and deviant path he was on, perhaps because he knew it was drawing to a close. Images of those early days would present themselves to him in the least welcome moments. So struck was he by the slap of nostalgia that when he saw who was sitting on a bed beside William, dwarfing the small man, he froze as he tried to process what he was seeing. Had he been asked an hour ago if there were anything left on this world that could really surprise him, he would have laughed and said no.
Finding Daft Jamie staring at
the cup of whisky in his hand as though it were full of poison proved him wrong. He looked around the room, sure he was missing something. They had to mean somebody else, surely?
"And have you not supped your whisky yet?" Maggie asked the big man, eliminating all doubt. "Whatever have you been doing while I've been gone?"
"Jamie doesn't like it, Maggie Hare," the big man said, an unhappy look on his innocent face. "Jamie doesn't like the fighting juice." William looked up at Bill and winced, knowing what Bill would be thinking. He was right. If Edinburgh had a famous resident, a single person that everybody knew no matter what their station in life, Bill was looking at him. A giant of a man, James Wilson shambled barefoot through the streets each day, New Town and Old, as though he owned them. He wasn't homeless and never begged, though he was given handouts to make even the most skilled beggar envious. He lived somewhere on Stevenlaw's Close off the High Street with his sister and her family, and they cared well enough for him. His hands and feet were always clean, as were his clothes. Nobody got and stayed as big as Daft Jamie without eating well, and Bill knew five or six families at the very least who often called him in to share a meal with them. Born with something missing in his head, the powerful, curly headed giant was like a child. Simple and innocent, he was a tiny mind in a vast body.
He remembered the boy who arrived on foot with his grandmother and left with her in a barrel. They had said they weren't going to do that again. Daft Jamie might look like a man grown, but that was smoke and mirrors. He was a child.
Trying to keep the anger from his face, for it would only spook the big man, he strode through to the kitchen, summoning William with a jerk of the head. William followed, closing the door behind him. He raised his hands, showing sense enough to be embarrassed. "Not me, Bill. Maggie. She met him in the Grassmarket and fetched him back."
Bill rubbed his eyes. "Don't take me wrong lad, but that child in her belly's left her in no mind for our business. What was she thinking? Daft Jamie!"
The Flesh Market Page 22