Fergusson laughed. "I was thinking much the same thing."
"How did you do that, Will? You looked him in the eye, and everything." Tom's grin wouldn't go away, no matter how he tried.
"I don't know. Exhaustion, maybe. I was talking before I could think." That wasn't true. There had been an opportunity and he had seized it, casting his friends in a poor light while he did so. Alex already knew he had let the chance slip through his fingers, and later Tom would see it too. He grabbed the lip of the table and pulled himself to his feet, keeping clear of the revenant's clutching fingers.
"So," Tom said, "do you think he recognised it?"
"Oh, for certain." Alex's tone brooked no argument. "He just doesn't care. This stopped being Daft Jamie as soon as it turned revenant."
Fergusson shrugged. "Well, it's true isn't it?"
"Do you think so?" There was an unpleasantness in Alex's tone, the first repercussion of Fergusson having trumped him. A sign of things to come? "Then tell me, Will. If it no longer matters who this man was, if he really is nothing more than the next subject, why does your grand experiment consist of removing every identifying feature it has?"
Fergusson bit back his response, but he went cold inside. He looked down at the creature, trying to see in its wild rotating eyes anything of the simple, frightened man who had gone before. There was nothing. It was a revenant, same as all the rest. "Because that is the task that must be done," he said. "Must the physician account for his copper wire, Alex? Or the chemist his reagents?"
Alex said nothing, leaving Tom to look between them, sensing the tension but not fully understanding it.
"As it should be." He gave a brisk clap, and turned back to the twitching meat on the table. "Exactly as it should be. Aprons on, gentlemen. I sense a long night ahead."
Chapter 28
William Burke
Friday, October 31st, 1828
"Murder!"Madge Docherty stood by the fireplace and shrieked. "Help! Murder here! Police!"
Wait your turn, Bill wanted to tell her, but with William's hands tight about his throat he couldn't get the words out. There had been drinking, a whole day of it in deference to it being Hallowe'en. A year to the day since he had ridden into West Port on the back of a farmer's cart.
He dropped to his knees as he choked, staring up at his partner in crime, and saw only murder in William's eyes. Tiny red and black dots danced in his vision. Was that what they all saw at the last, when he held them tight? Was it only spots and squiggles at the end? Disappointing.
There was a hard sweep of movement behind William's head, and a whack which went through the wiry man's body so hard that Bill felt it through the grip on his throat. William's fingers twitched, and he was free.
Slumping to the floorboards, polished up for the night's revelries by Nelly earlier that day, he hacked for breath, his chest convulsing. William was sat on his backside on the floor, holding both hands to the back of his head and rocking. The Docherty woman stood above him with a stool in her hand, swaying on her feet. It was not how the night had been supposed to go.
He had run into the spry old thing that morning at the grocer, another immigrant from Donegal who was quick to tell him she was in town looking for her son, Michael. He lived in Glasgow, but had come across for the harvest season. She wanted to pay a visit for the festival, but by a stroke of poor luck she had missed him by just a few days. When she presented herself to the family he had been lodging with they had explained how he had found alternative accommodations, but they had no address. No business of theirs they said, brusque Scots folk that they were, for his rent had been settled before he left. With no will to start the long trip back to Glasgow yet, she had made her way to the Irish district in search of hospitality and countrymen.
Bill had introduced himself as another Docherty, perhaps even a distant relation, and insisted that she stay with him for the night. With what money she had brought already spent on accommodation the night before, it was exactly what she had been fishing for.
He didn't care about the holiday. It had been weeks since Daft Jamie, and the purse under the boards wasn't getting any fatter. With the end in sight he had idled and fretted, wondering how much was enough and when to pull the plug. West Port was awash with strangers, both for the night's revelries and the following day's livestock sale down at the Grassmarket. There was always going to be a new shot for the doctor that night, and Madge had all but asked to play the role.
He wanted to get to his feet, but his body wouldn't do it. He rolled onto his back instead, sucking in deep breaths, staring at the clean plaster of the wall as he tried to work out what he had done wrong. That afternoon he had taken the Grays--yet more distant relatives of Nelly's who had decided to stay with them a while--round to Tanner's Close. It was awkward, but he had convinced them to stay that one night only with the Hares, citing the festivities as his excuse. There would be drinking, through the night and into the next day, too great an inconvenience to impose on guests. As the Hares would be celebrating with Bill and Nelly, the Grays could have the run of the lodging house for free that night.
It was the first William and Maggie knew of it, but they caught on fast enough. Nelly and Maggie were round there now, sharing a cup or two with the Grays and giving he and William time to take care of business. Before they could get it done, while the old woman was still singing songs from the old country and trying to encourage them to dance, William had turned and launched at him. There had been nothing said. One moment William was watching him do a half-hearted jig with the woman, the next he was flying across the room with hate in his eyes.
He wondered if he had been naive. All this time he had been planning the end of the business, could it be that William was making his own reassessment of their business relationship? He turned over, crawling to his hands and knees, and spat onto the floorboards. There was blood specked through his phlegm, and he knew that the time had come. He wasn't ready. Nelly knew about the savings, had her instructions should anything happen to him, but it wasn't enough yet. He hadn't saved enough.
William's voice above him. "It's over when I say so." Bill started to tense, but too late, and the foot that slammed into his gut emptied him of air again, dropping him onto his side. Bill put a hand up to protect his head, but William turned and launched himself at Madge. She was slow to react and he was on her, a hand over her mouth as he drove her back on to the bed, pushing her into the straw and pinning her there. She gurgled and choked as William pressed his weight on to her. It was an inelegant throttling, but she soon silenced.
It gave him time to get to his feet, his side throbbing. William was staring into the open, bulging eyes of his victim. It was as though he were searching for something, perhaps the fractured moment when a soul vanished forever. A little thing, that moment, so fast that a single blink could mean missing it. With his lips peeled back in a snark, a thin trickle of thoughtless drool hanging from his teeth, William did not look as though he intended to blink.
Bill eyed the door, and took a slow step towards it. With his blood up, William was like a snake. If he turned his attention to Bill there would be no escape, and then nobody would be between Nelly and the Hares. He had to reach her.
Another careful step. A log cracked in the fireplace, but William didn't stir. Somewhere far off, celebrants laughed with drunken glee. Despite the pints of whisky he had consumed that day, Bill had never felt so sober. A little closer, and he would sprint for it and be damned.
William looked up. Bill froze.
Somebody knocked on the door, and they both jumped. "Hello? Hello in there? Bill?" It was Mrs Conway, his neighbour. Murder, Madge Docherty had cried. He had almost forgotten. "Is everything all right? We heard ... somebody shouted?"
William scowled, indicating the door with a twitch. Bill opened it so that William and his dead mount were shielded. Conway stood in the shadows, wringing her hands. He took a deep breath, intending to give her a boisterous and festive hello, but expand
ing his chest pulled something tender in his ribs and a gasp and wince escaped instead. He was aware of William from the corner of his eye. The man tensed.
"Are you well, Bill Burke? You look like you're back from the wars." The woman, nosey at the best of times, was looking past him, examining what she could see of the room behind him. He didn't turn, but he was sure at least one overturned stool would be in her view.
"Just fine. A shout, you say?"
"I wouldn't swear on it, but I was sure somebody called 'murder'."
He snapped his fingers. "Right enough, so they did. Just a few minutes ago." He nodded, smiling, trying to bully his brain into action.
When he didn't continue she prompted him further. "Only, it's a worry when somebody cries murder. It sounded like a woman. Your guest from earlier, I wondered."
Bill nodded, still grinning like an idiot. "That'll be right. It was just a fit of drink. She's quiet enough now." Conway had met Madge Docherty that afternoon, when she dropped round for a neighbourly drink. She had hinted that she and her husband were folk who might need to be up for an honest day's work in the morning, and would appreciate if any celebrations proceeded in a less feisty form than might usually be expected. He had made reassurances then, but had clearly disappointed her.
"That's quite some fit of drink, to make a soul cry out for the police."
It wasn't going to wash. To his right he could make out William fishing a knife from somewhere in his pockets. He stepped toward Conway, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Truth be told, young William and I had something of a falling out. You've met William?" He knew she had, that she had taken an instant dislike to him. "Don't frown so, it was nothing but drink and high spirits. Old Mary ..." That was wrong. "Madge! Old Madge, well she doesn't know us so well as you. Sure, if you saw me and William in a scrap you'd roll your eyes and call it business as usual. Old Madge thought a bit more of it."
"Seems quiet enough now."
He grinned and spread his hands. "It's Hallowe'en! Nobody keeps bad blood on Hallowe'en! Not where me and William hail from, anyway."
She nodded, a little reluctant but preferring to hear a credible lie over a truth she might have to do something about. "Well. That's that, then."
"Indeed it is. You're a good woman to come around and ask after us all. It's a sure credit to you, but there's no need. Why, you'll be up in a few hours."
"Aye. Midnight's gone. Early start on the morrow."
"You'll be wanting to get yourself to bed then."
She nodded, finally taking the hint. "Good night then, Bill. Hope the rest of your night is ... quieter."
Bill closed the door on her and waited. For a beat or two, there was no sound. Then her footsteps vanished down the passage and away. He slumped with relief, then remembered what had put them in the fix in the first place. "Are we good?"
William gave him a considering look, but nodded. "For now. Got a shot needs dealing with." He nodded at the body.
The promise that they would continue their discussion boded ill, but Bill put it aside. A shot for the doctor meant more money under the boards. "We're not ready. No barrel or crate. Get her stripped and tied. I'll see what I can do about finding something."
"You'll be back?"
"No running from this business."
William nodded as he got to work unbuttoning the corpse's petticoat. "Business goes on 'til I say so, Bill. Understand?"
Bill watched the predator have at his prey. There were all sorts of new understandings forming in his mind, and first among them was that it was time after all. If he didn't end it, William meant to.
The money beneath the boards would have to do. Not a whole new life, but the start of one.
#
There were more watchmen out and about in the West Port than usual, for the authorities were growing experienced in the ways of their immigrant Irish population. They weren't there to hamper the festivities, but would make a sharp intervention if anything spilled onto the street. Being caught drinking outside of homes and hostelries was a shortcut to a cell. Bill wondered whether the watch houses were full yet. If his countrymen were true to form, the chances were good.
It was barely a hundred yards and a couple of streets from his own house to Davey Paterson's. From every door and window he passed, there came sounds of merriment, sometimes matched by complaints from less enthusiastic neighbours who deemed the witching hour too late for revels. He found Davey's tenement, and climbed the stairs to the first floor, stepping over a snoring body on the way. It was so dark inside that he trailed the wall with his fingertips to guide him.
Davey answered Bill's insistent knocking within a few minutes, his rat tangle of hair indicating that he had been abed. His bloodshot eyes suggested that he had attacked the night's merriment with gusto, and he was not pleased to be disturbed. When he saw who had come calling, his mood soured visibly. "I'm not taken with having tradesman coming about my lodgings."
"You'll not be wanting the goods on offer, then?"
"You know that's not true. The work ... the doctor needs it for the work."
"Well, I'm not keeping hold of the bloody thing. You can take it or leave it."
"Aye, fine." Davey yawned. "I'll send round a porter before the morning, if I can wake anyone for business."
"It's not packed. You need to drop us round a chest first. Won't wait for morning."
He harrumphed. "Don't see how it's my business to deal with packing it up."
"Just a tea chest, Davey. We were caught unawares. Don't have everything we need to hand."
"Fine. Give me an hour. I'll send something round. Don't be doing this again, Bill Burke. I don't want my maw disturbed by the likes of you."
Bill smiled at him. "Don't you worry about that, Davey boy. This is the very last time. I swear."
Chapter 29
Helen M'Dougal
Saturday, November 1st, 1828
Nelly had known that it was going wrong when she returned home from Tanner's Close that morning with her cousins Anne and John Gray, expecting the job to be done and the house to be empty. Instead they had entered to find Bill and William each wound tight, pacing and arguing under their breaths. The doctor's man had failed to turn up with something they could deliver the body in, and at first she had no idea what they had therefore done with the thing. As the morning progressed, it became more and more obvious that Bill was steering their guests clear of the bed. At one point Ann had asked if she could lie down, and a bewildering argument had ensued. In the end Bill threw whisky over the bedding, claiming an accident but desperate to prevent her lying there.
The body was under the straw.
John and Ann had slept poorly the night before, and were desperate to rest. By noon, suspicious but relenting, they gave up all hope of borrowing the bed for an hour or two and laid themselves out on their blankets on the floor. William had left soon after they arrived, to search out some boy called Paterson. She was unsure if this was the same person who had failed to deliver a container, but the murderous look in William's eye suggested so.
Bill waited until the Grays were asleep, and whispered in her ear. "It could turn any moment, Nel." He was at his wit's end. "And they sleep!" He paced, dark circles under his eyes, forbidding her from nearing their bed. "Bad business, Nelly," he told her, gulping whisky. "We're on the edge of disaster. Where in God's name are they?" They spoke in whispers, but it was becoming clear that there was more chance of the beast beneath the bed waking up than Ann and John.
William returned around two, throwing open the door and casting his eyes about. He was amazed to find the Grays still there, but said nothing. Instead, he jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Going to see the doctor. Can't find that Paterson bastard."
"Sure, but the school's shut," Bill said. "It's All Saints."
"Got his address." William was in no mood to argue. "We're going. It can't wait." He scowled. "What needs said'll be better from you."
Bill glanced at the bed
, then grabbed his coat and hat. "Half an hour," he told Nelly. "Half an hour and I'll be back. Any longer and you get them out, understand?"
She had nodded, frightened by his intensity.
That had been two hours ago.
At first, she had stayed away from the bed, fear pinning her to one corner as she waited for the Grays to rise. When nothing happened, she began to relax. How long did it take? The soul was gone, the body was there ... it surely should have happened already, if it were going to. Could Bill have made a mistake? It wouldn't be the first time, especially not where people from her Falkirk past were concerned. She found courage somewhere, enough to approach the bed and peel back the hastily flung-over sheet. She prodded the straw and jumped back. Nothing moved. After several more such attempts, she rooted into the straw with her hands, finding cold, still flesh awaiting.
A mistake. Madge Docherty had not been one of the revenants after all. The men had murdered an innocent. She had to find Bill. She had to let him know.
As quietly as she could, she creeped from the room.
#
Only when Nelly started to search did it occur to her that she had no idea where to look. She hurried through the Grassmarket then up to the University, but it was a vast place, so much larger than she had expected. Stood beside an ornate arch, avoiding eye contact with the few students and lecturers who had business there on the holiday, she felt ridiculous and conspicuous. Bill was nowhere to be seen, but had she really expected to see him strolling by? Pulling her shawl tight, as though it would hide her poor station, she realised how little she understood of his business. He had never even said which doctor took the revenants to dispose of them. She had felt an absurd pride in the knowledge that his calling had lifted him to so grand a standing that he could call a doctor a friend, but had not asked for a name.
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