by Jess Faraday
I nodded. I hadn’t liked Alexander Fraser when we’d first met, and I didn’t like the idea of meddling in another man’s private life. But Warwick was out of control. The laird was in a critical state, and I was certain Warwick had put him there.
But whatever might happen next was for McClelland to decide.
I could probably have waited for McClelland to finish his business, then caught a ride back to town with them in the Maria. But the night was cold and crisp, with a full moon lighting up the gathering clouds. A long walk alone with my thoughts was exactly what I needed.
Unfortunately, it was not to be. I hadn't been on the road twenty minutes when I heard running footsteps on the path behind me. I turned.
“By God, you walk fast,” Cal said, jogging to a stop.
“That was quick. Did they interview you first?” I was trying to be polite, but he was the last person I wanted to speak to right then, for numerous reasons.
“They did, actually. You’re wrong about Elliott, you know. He would never hurt Richard.”
“I disagree.”
“I don't know what Alexander told you,” he began.
“Mr. Fraser’s nothing to do with it. My conclusions are based on observation.”
“What exactly did you observe?”
“I can't discuss an ongoing case,” I said.
He made a frustrated sound. “It's just that you only have part of the story. If you knew these people—”
“I don’t, though,” I said. “Though I might if you’d introduced me to them. Or to any of your friends at all.”
The words hung between us in the chill air. To the west, the wind was picking up, moaning as it swept over the grass-covered hills. I’d said too much, but it was too late, now.
“Well,” he said quietly. “After tonight I think you can understand why that hasn't happened.”
“Right.” I put my head down and started to walk again.
“Simon, wait. I'm sorry. That was uncalled for.”
“Is it because I’m not a...a laird or a baron or…or some kind of country squire?”
“What?” He actually laughed. “No.” He caught my arm and pulled me to a stop in front of him. “No,” he said again. “Simon, the police are no friends of men like us, and, frankly, it was an awful shock to see you there, tonight, in that role.”
“I imagine it was,” I admitted.
“And I know you wouldn’t….” He sighed. “I know I’m safe with my friend Simon. But…Constable Pearce is a bit…intimidating.”
It struck me then how little I actually knew of Cal’s past. I was pretty sure he’d not been arrested, but had there been a close call? Awkwardly, I put a hand over the one he still had clamped around my wrist. Our hands gradually slid together. Over the past month we’d engaged in infinitely more carnal acts than that, but somehow, with him, it was unexpectedly, deeply intimate. Our eyes met, the moonlight revealing a shadow of worry in his expression. I closed my fingers around his.
I said, “You approached me, you know. I didn’t set out to entrap you.”
“I know that.”
“You knew I was a copper when you met me. I was in uniform, for God’s sake.”
He laughed self-consciously. “Aye, and you looked so rugged in it. It was a terrible risk, but I couldn’t help myself. I’ve not regretted it for a moment.”
“Me either,” I said.
“But there are times, like tonight, when I wonder if it was at all wise.”
It was fair enough, but still, the words stung.
I said, “Do you know how many of those men I could have arrested for suspected indecency tonight? Eight, including you.” His hands went rigid in mine. I gave his fingers a gentle squeeze, and his fingers relaxed. “I didn’t, though, and I wouldn’t. But I’m certain Warwick tampered with Richard’s drink.”
He huffed. “I’m not calling you a liar, but I don’t think it happened that way.”
“If only someone hadn't cleared his glass away—”
At that, the cheeky spark that had drawn me to Cal in the first place, lit up his entire face.
“You mean this glass?”
He let go my hands and unbuckled the strap of his bag, from which he produced a wine glass with a napkin stuffed inside to absorb the liquid.
“So you saw it too,” I said.
“No, but I had my ear to the door when you were interrogating Elliott. He’s my friend. They both are,” Cal said as I started to admonish him. “The staff were already starting to clear the table. Alexander told them to, even though you said to leave everything as it was.” He inhaled sharply then handed me the glass. “I’m giving this to you because I believe it will help to exonerate Elliott. But if you’re right, and he’s harming Richard in some way, well….then he should be stopped.”
I reached for the glass, absorbing the importance of the gesture. “Thank you,” I said.
“I’m putting my trust in you, Constable.”
“I’ll do as justice compels. That’s all I can promise.”
He pursed his lips, nodded, then released the glass. “That’s all I ask. So, what happens now?”
“It’s out of my hands,” I said, as we began to walk again. The wind had started to howl like the whistle of a ghostly train. “It's McClelland’s case, now.”
“What sort of a man is McClelland?” Cal asked.
“Not sure. He works nights.”
“Is he the sort who would squeeze Warwick to reveal names of other like-minded men, for the sake of a few easy convictions? You know that Alexander will tell him something. He’s had it in for Elliott from the start.”
“It’s possible,” I said. “At the same time, Mr. Fraser wants to avoid a scandal. A mass indecency arrest stemming from a party—a seance—at his home…it’d be difficult to recover from that.”
“I suppose,” he replied. “Still, please be cautious.”
“I always am, but point taken. I’ll deliver this,” I said, tucking the glass into the capacious pocket of my overcoat, “To the police surgeon myself, and ask him to give his results to McClelland.”
Cal nodded. “That’s a good start.”
“And then, if you’re not too busy, I’d like to hear what you have to say about all this.”
I’d intended to walk back to town, and presumed that Cal would walk with me. Unfortunately, as so often happens in Scotland, the weather had other ideas. The clouds had grown thicker and closed in, muting the moonlight and obscuring the road ahead of us. Thunder cracked loud overhead, and then tiny pellets of snow began to fall thick and fast.
“What the devil?” I said.
“Come along!” Cal laughed, grasping my hand as he began to run.
He pointed up ahead of us and to the south. Through the swirling clouds of snow, I could make out lights in the windows of what might have been a long farmhouse. A few minutes later, we arrived at what thankfully turned out to be an inn with the improbable name of Hunter’s Tryst. To no one’s surprise, Cal had been there before, and was a nodding acquaintance of the barman at the attached tavern.
“Is there anywhere in Edinburgh where you can’t walk in the door and meet someone you know?” I asked as we warmed ourselves before one of a pair of fireplaces.
“The Six Foot Club meets here,” he replied.
“The what?”
“It’s an athletic club for men over six feet tall. I was inducted last year.”
“That figures,” I said. Never had I known anyone so relentlessly social. If there was a club in Edinburgh he didn’t belong to, I’d not found it.
“You should join,” he said.
“Not sure I’d measure up.” I stood exactly five foot, ten-and-a-half inches, which, under ordinary, non-Scottish circumstances, was quite respectable.
“Maybe they’d make an exception for a wee little man from London.”
“A wee little—”
Just then the barman arrived with two pints of something viscous and dark, along wit
h some thick slabs of bread and cheese. Cal had a quiet word with him. He withdrew, and a few moments later returned with two keys.
“We’re not walking back to town in that,” Cal said, gesturing out the window. The snow was coming down thick and fast, now, and the wind was snarling like a beast behind the mountains. He handed one of the keys to me.
“You’re a good man to know,” I said. “I shall forgive your insult.” We touched our glasses together, and I took a long pull from mine. After we’d demolished the bread and cheese, I took out my little notebook.
“Uh-oh,” Cal said.
“Think of it as your chance to help your friend,” I replied.
“Elliott or Richard?”
“Both, possibly. I feel silly asking how you know them. You seem to know everyone in Edinburgh. But how did you meet them, and when?”
He leaned back in his chair, let out a long breath, and gazed at the fire. “Richard and I….” He caught his lower lip between his teeth and swung his eyes back to meet mine. An irrational and completely unexpected rush of jealousy rose from my gut and straight to my head. It was so sudden and out of proportion, it took my breath away. Heart pounding, I gripped my pen like a vice, as I attempted to tamp the feeling down.
“You were close friends,” I finally managed.
“Yes.”
“Recently?”
“No.”
I relaxed a bit, but not enough. Someone else should be doing this interview if I had so little control over my responses.
“Right,” I said. “When did you meet and how?”
Cal and Richard had met, as fate would have it, while Cal and a few mates were on their way to a ramble in the Pentlands. They were cutting through the lands around Comiston House. Alexander and Richard, then aged eighteen and twenty, respectively, had arrived to chase them off. Cal, of course, had charmed them both, and parlayed the encounter into supper at Comiston House for the entire group. The spark between him and Richard had flared fast but burned out just as quickly, though they had remained friends.
“And Warwick?” I asked.
His expression turned thoughtful. “Elliott came into the picture about a year ago. I’ll admit I wasn’t sure about him at first. He wasn’t from our circle, you see. But Richard was completely taken with him. Still is, I’m sure you noticed.”
“I noticed.”
Cal said, “Elliott is very good company, and they both have this fascination with ghosts and spirits.”
“Has the laird always been interested in these things?” I asked.
“Oh, yes,” Cal said. “I knew him for three years before Elliott turned up. He’s always been mad on the subject.”
“Did he always claim to see spirits, or is that a new development?”
Cal frowned. “Come to think of it, he always wanted to see a ghost, but…yes, Elliott was with him when it first happened.”
“When was that? Where?”
“Have you heard of Yester Castle?” Cal asked. I shook my head. He grinned. “As far as haunted spots go, it really is top-notch. I’ll have to take you one day.” His smile faded. “When this is all over. At any rate, Yester Castle is a day’s ride from here, east of Gifford. It was built in the 14th century by a sorcerer. They say he summoned a goblin army to serve him. Calamity and tragedy inevitably followed, and today it stands abandoned…and haunted. That was where Richard had his first visitation. I was there, along with Elliott and a few others.”
There had been a hike through the woods, some fooling around, and then, suddenly, Richard had looked up to see a medieval structure looming down from a hilltop. They had all agreed that they hadn’t seen it there before. They ran up the hill to explore.
“Alexander and I were having a look at the chimney, and Richard and Elliott were down by the Goblin Ha’,” he said, describing the underground chamber where the sorcerer was said to have performed his dark rituals. “Suddenly there was a bell, tolling low and loud. Alexander and I thought the other two had found it and were having a laugh, but they had thought the same of us. The thing was, we all heard it.”
“That was the encounter?” I asked. I had to admit, it was a bit disappointing.
“That was what triggered the first fit,” he said. “As a man of science, I have my doubts about whether it was an actual brush with the supernatural. But we searched the area thoroughly, and there was no bell—and no dwelling anywhere close enough to have housed one. But that’s not important. The important thing is that this was where Richard’s illness first manifested.”
“Yes, tell me about that,” I said.
He described an event very similar to what we’d witnessed that evening. First, his friend had described dancing lights and a sensation of a supernatural presence. Then there had been convulsions, followed by a period of confusion. On that day, the confusion had eventually cleared, and Richard had recovered. That had not been the case today.
“Richard and Elliott are convinced it’s visitation from beyond, but these symptoms, even feelings of a divine visitation, are consistent with epileptic seizures,” Cal explained. “Alexander agrees with me on that, at least.”
“Was that what you were arguing with Dr. Cumberland about?” I asked.
His expression darkened. “Cumberland is a relic and a hateful man besides. He believes the seizures are caused by….” He leaned in and finished his sentence in a furious whisper. “The coddling of unnatural appetites.” He leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. “I suppose it’s a step up from earlier thinking, which was that it was demons.”
“What does cause it?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Nobody’s sure, that’s the thing. But the fact is, it’s a question of physiology, not morality. What’s really infuriating, is that there are medications, now, that can provide relief. But Cumberland—”
“So sorry, gents,” the barman said as he approached. We looked up to see that the tavern had emptied. I glanced at my watch. Oh, dear. “That’s us closing.”
We paid and thanked the man, then went to find our rooms.
Half an hour later, the snow had stopped, though the wind was still blowing like a train whistle through the hills. I’d built a fire in the grate, and the room was slowly warming, when there was a knock at my door.
“I thought you might be cold,” Cal said. “So I came to warm you up.”
He locked the door while I drew the curtains and turned the lamp down low. What an evening. Falling into his arms was like coming home. Or it would have been, if events hadn't thrown even this into question. Of course we couldn’t be open about our affection. It was sad and unfair, but it was as much a fact as gravity. It just hadn’t occurred to me until that evening, the size of the barrier he'd put between us and the rest of his life. And what the devil was between him and Miss Ferguson?
“Turn off that formidable brain, Holmes,” Cal murmured in my ear, invoking the hero of that detective story that had come out last year. It was one of his favorites, and I was still meaning to read it, though fiction wasn’t really to my taste. “I’m serious. I can hear you thinking. Stop.”
I forced myself to stop, to submit to sensation, to lose myself in his warmth, his touch, and smell. Now-expert fingers addressed buttons and cloth, explored now-familiar terrain. There was a unique joy in that familiarity, a confidence that only came with knowing how to please the other person, and knowing they would please me. That they wanted to please me, and that we’d be together again. I hoped. I tried not to think about what would happen when my time in Edinburgh inevitably came to an end. I tried not to think about anything at all.
“I never thought this would go anywhere, you know,” he said, once we’d both taken our pleasure. We were lying on the bed, wrapped in clean sheets, and in each other's arms. “Thought it’d be a bit of fun, then you’d go back to London. But now….”
My pulse picked up. Now what?
He frowned. “Now…do you see how complicated your life will become? How
complicated my life has already become?”
I propped myself up on an elbow, not liking this turn at all.
He pressed on. “I didn’t just keep you and my friends apart for the sake of their safety. That was part of it, of course. But once people know you’re a copper you’ll be subject to blackmail from two sides. Already there’s an entire class of men who must never know about us—not if you want to continue with the Edinburgh police. Do you understand that?”
“All too well,” I said, though admittedly I hadn’t thought about the first part. How was I becoming so careless?
“Do you intend to stay in Edinburgh?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it.”
“No?”
“I mean, I thought I’d be going back to London in a week, but the MacKay investigation isn’t yet concluded, and it’s a month gone, and—”
“And our friendship is a convenient distraction.”
“It’s certainly a pleasant one.”
“But are you planning on staying?” he pressed.
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want to stay?”
Of course I did. There was nothing to go back to in London, save for a tightly circumscribed and unspeakably lonely existence. And yet….
“Tell me about the Honorable Miss Ferguson,” I said.
Surprise crossed his face, along with an appreciative look I wasn't sure I liked at all.
“Arabella? A smashing lass. Took her degree in chemistry, you know.”
“You seemed quite close,” I said.
“She's a very good friend.”
“Have you ever….” My chest squeezed, choking off the words. I didn’t want to think it, but I had to know. Drawing a deep breath, I started again. “Have you ever thought she'd make a good doctor’s wife?” I asked.
“An excellent one, especially since she has as little interest in marital congress as I do, and for similar reasons.”
I sat up quickly, startling us both. “So you've actually considered it?”
He laughed. “Not seriously, no. For one thing, I haven't the pedigree. Her family would never allow it. But—” He laid a hand on my knee as I started to sputter. “More importantly, I prefer to live my life honestly. Well, as honestly as one can.”
