Straddling two worlds, Ainsley was both gentleman and labourer, with equal footing in high society balls and the morgue room at St. Thomas Hospital in Vauxhall. Though somewhat tricky, the duplicity had become so ingrained in him that imagining a time without the delicate balance seemed incomprehensible. Many times it felt as if his life as a Marshall was more an act than his position at the hospital.
The room went quiet after his outburst. Ainsley rubbed his temples. “I’m sorry,” he said after a time. “I’m just overwrought, tired, and pressed for time.” Ainsley walked to his bureau.
“What exactly did you see?” Margaret asked.
“Don’t encourage him, Margaret,” said Aunt Louisa, who was still a bit sour.
“I saw Jonas plain as you or I. Just as he was the last time we saw him only …” Ainsley was hesitant to say more for Margaret’s sake. She had never been good at hiding her affection for Jonas.
“Tell me,” she said.
“He had blood all over his shirt. And some on his hands.”
“Was he hurt?” she asked anxiously.
Ainsley inhaled deeply but before he could answer Aunt Louisa chimed in.
“He’s a surgeon, dear. It’s more than likely your brother was only recalling what he looked like after some difficult procedure.”
Ainsley shook his head. “No. In surgery we wear aprons and, while it’s true we use our bare hands, this was different. There was something in his eyes.” Ainsley tried to shake the image from his memory. “He looked afraid, truly afraid.”
“Is he dead?” Margaret asked. Ainsley could see how her emotions threatened to spill over at the very idea of Jonas being killed.
In recent months Jonas and Margaret had developed a closer bond. For a time, Ainsley was sure they would marry. The only thing that seemed to stand in their way was Lord Marshall, who no doubt had expected to arrange a better marriage prospect, one with titles and riches befitting the daughter of an earl. There was one man, Blair Thornton, who fit the bill perfectly and had easily met the approval of Aunt Louisa. But Ainsley had seen how sterile Margaret was with him, how guarded her affections were. Mr. Thornton had no hope of the easy connection with Margaret that Jonas had.
As a doctor, a surgeon no less, Jonas was a tradesman with a tidy sum of money to live from but certainly no political connections or noble prospects. If Margaret married him she’d be downgrading considerably from her aristocratic upbringing. It was a sacrifice Ainsley wasn’t certain she was ready to make.
When Jonas left for Scotland, shortly before their father fell ill, they didn’t hear from him for two months. By the time Ainsley set about to write he worried his long silence would have a negative impact on the friendship they once shared. He did not know if Margaret wrote to Jonas. Ainsley had asked her once but his enquiry was met with hostility and then reminders of their father’s illness. She had taken it upon herself to see to his care and that had left no room for ill-fated matches or secret sweethearts.
Margaret cared for him still, Ainsley knew that much. He could see it in her eyes as she looked at him from the threshold. If Jonas were dead, Ainsley had no doubt Margaret would be most affected.
“I don’t think he’s dead,” Ainsley said, making sure he looked Margaret in the eye.
“How could you know?” Aunt Louisa turned to Margaret with arms outstretched. “It is best, my dear, if you just accept it now.”
“He’s not dead!” Ainsley yelled, forcing Aunt Louisa to stop midstep. “He is in trouble and I need to go to him.”
“You are going then,” Margaret asked, “to see if something can be done?”
Ainsley nodded. “Yes. There’s an express train leaving in the morning and I intend to be on it.”
“I’m coming with you,” Margaret said, turning for the door.
Ainsley nodded, and turned back to his task.
“Have you both gone mad?” Aunt Louisa asked, dividing her attention between Margaret heading down the hall and Ainsley in front of her. “Blair Thornton is coming over tomorrow afternoon to take you to tea. Margaret!”
Margaret ignored her and continued to head for her room. Seconds later Cutter appeared with Ainsley’s trunk and set it at the foot of the bed.
“Thank you, Cutter. Please check with Maxwell to find out if there is anything else he needs you to see to.”
The footman nodded and left.
“What about Lucy?” Aunt Louisa asked when they were alone again. “You cannot leave her here, not with things as they are. It isn’t safe for her or Cassandra.”
If there was one thing that could make Ainsley stay it was the baby in the nursery down the hall and the woman he loved, who had been forced to take on another identity. Aunt Louisa knew the way to entice him to do as she bid was to bring these two people to the forefront of his mind. At the mention of them his resolve waned slightly and he was brought to a halt at his bookcase.
He wished Cassandra were there so he could ask her himself. When she lived at Marshall House, as a lady’s maid to Margaret, he had taken her near-constant presence for granted. She was always just a room or flight of stairs away and could be summoned easily at times such as these. Not that he summoned her often. Most of the time she found a way to come to him, sensing his need for her, he imagined. Now she lived outside the city and only made infrequent trips to see him as his aunt prescribed. It was for Cassandra’s protection while they established her new life under an assumed name. Lucy was her orphaned niece and one of the reasons that Ainsley decided to adopt her. It was a forgone conclusion that eventually, after enough time had passed, he and Cassandra would marry and Lucy would complete their little family. Until then, the separation was nearly unbearable, especially when he had come so close to losing her forever.
A bottle of brandy sat hidden in his side table drawer, a remnant of darker days—a time when he had less resolve to better himself, the time before Lucy and Cassandra entered his life. It had been a month since his last drink. For the first few weeks without drink he counted the days, and never forgot to congratulate himself for another twenty-four-hour period without imbibing. Once his new sober state took a firm hold, he allowed the sense of accomplishment to diminish as the tasks of daily life took greater priority. At no other time during that month had he wanted a drink more than that moment. Even a half glass, he thought, would do much to suppress the shaking in his hands.
“Cassandra will understand,” he said, resigning himself to the task before him. “I have to go to Edinburgh.”
“Can we send a wire?’ Aunt Louisa asked. “We could know the outcome in a few hours.”
“Everyone is most likely asleep at this hour. By the time we get a response, good or bad, we could be halfway there.” Ainsley turned from her and went for his medical bag. “I’d rather see for myself. I’ll send a note to Inspector Simms. Perhaps the Yard can make sure to keep an eye on things while I am gone. Lucy is safe here. Perhaps Julia—” He stopped himself. “Perhaps Casandra should stay in the country until I return.”
Aunt Louisa came to his side and placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Peter, I don’t like this, any of it. When will you stop taking on all that ails the world?”
Ainsley smiled and placed a hand on top of hers. “I’m not taking on all the world. I’m just protecting what matters most to me in it.”
Chapter 2
The train for Edinburgh was scheduled to leave King’s Cross station at precisely 10:10 in the morning. Ainsley and Margaret made it to their platform with only seconds to spare. Travelling light, they had a trunk each, hastily packed up until the hour before, much to the dismay of Elmira, Margaret’s recently hired lady’s maid, who grew more flustered and sweaty as the morning went on. Cutter, who agreed to stand in as Ainsley’s footman, appeared less frazzled and more accustomed to the Marshalls’ sudden departures. Surrounded by their things, Cutter nodded to Ainsley on the platform, assuring him that the luggage would find its way on board before the final whistle.
> “Come, Margaret,” Ainsley said, ushering her for the door. Even as they boarded, Ainsley saw the porters rushing to aid Cutter in getting the parcels to the baggage car. “After you, Miss Elmira,” Ainsley said, standing aside so the maid could follow her mistress into the passenger car.
His closed-mouth smile was met with a scowl as she shuffled by.
“Heaven knows why I took this position,” he had heard her say once.
It was a miracle they were able to find anyone willing to align themselves with the Marshall clan. Dragged through the gauntlet of scandal in recent months, the topic of the gossip pages, and at the forefront of a capital murder trial and execution, Ainsley and Margaret were pleased to have anyone reply to Aunt Louisa’s advertisement. They weren’t about to be choosy.
Elmira was older, practically an ancient elder from the days of the Druids, judging by the way she slouched over the furniture as she moved about a room. Her hair was white and stringy with dozens of untameable strands that poked out from behind her ears and at the back of her neck. She wore a collar high into her neck and so tight that flaps of aging skin often dangled over the laced edge. Her voice was often shaky when she spoke but she said very little as she set about to help Margaret.
Ainsley had offered, on numerous occasions, to hire someone else, perhaps someone younger whom Margaret could better relate to, but Margaret would hear none of it. The prospect of interviewing and adjusting to yet another person in what had been a steady stream of newly acquired staff members was almost too much to bear.
The three of them made their way down the centre aisle of the train. The first class car was three cars from the front and so they moved from car to car until the plush red-and-gold carpet and fringed window coverings with tasselled drawstrings signalled they were in the appropriate car. They found two seats toward the centre. Elmira moved to place Margaret’s valise beneath the small side table set next to the window.
“Thank you, Elmira,” Margaret said. “I can manage.”
The older woman nodded. “Very well, Lady Margaret,” she said. “Mr. Cutter and I are only a car away should either of you need anything. I’ll have a porter bring you and Mr. Marshall here a drink to start your journey.”
Margaret nodded her thanks and took her seat just as the final whistle blew and the train jerked into motion. The table rocked. The fringe and tassels swayed. And Miss Elmira was nearly knocked off her feet by the sudden movement. Ainsley caught her and held her upright while she gained her balance.
“Shall I escort you to Cutter?” Ainsley asked, reluctant to let go of the woman’s frail and boney body.
Forcibly, she pulled her arms away and slapped at his chest. “Heavens no,” she snapped before making her way down the aisle, using the backs of each chair she passed to hold her steady.
Ainsley watched expectantly for some time until Cutter appeared at the car door and she was safely escorted to the next passenger car.
“I don’t believe she likes me,” Ainsley said as he sat down opposite his sister.
Margaret chuckled. “I’m not so sure she likes anyone.”
“Perhaps we should have brought Prudence,” he said, referring to one of the chambermaids who was still too young to be a lady’s maid, but would have been more light and nimble. “She would have at least been better company for you.”
“Certainly not. My patience is thin for anyone not my age or older,” Margaret said. “Besides, I’m not quite sure anyone will be able to replace J—” Margaret stopped herself. “My previous maid.”
Ainsley tried to hide his smile at the mention of his future wife. They had been meeting in secret over the past few weeks and biding their time until a formal engagement could be announced. They would marry, he had no doubt, but for the time being they had to be careful.
“You did tell her we were leaving the city?” Margaret asked.
“I sent a note this morning telling her where we were headed and why,” Ainsley explained. “I had a mind to bring her along, and Lucy as well, but I’m not exactly sure what we are walking into. I think I will rest easier knowing they are both far away and safe.”
Margaret licked her lips as she nodded. Her eyes had a far-off look to them. “Did you have a dream last night?” she asked, snapping her attention back.
“I barely slept,” Ainsley answered truthfully. He glanced out the window as the train picked up speed in the outskirts of London. “He’s not dead,” he said, suddenly looking back at her. “I know that much.”
“How do you know?” Margaret looked doubtful and reluctant to accept any hope he offered.
“I don’t know. It’s just a feeling I have.”
Margaret found no comfort in this and said very little throughout the rest of their journey. The train ride would take up the greater part of the day and extend into the night, a ten-and-a-half-hour endeavour. Knowing this, they settled in for the long, cross-country journey north, with their eyes on the passing landscape while trying to keep their minds off the myriad of possibilities that lay ahead.
They disembarked in York sometime in the afternoon and were allowed twenty minutes for lunch in the station dining room. Both Ainsley and Margaret ate very little, to the dismay of the wait staff.
“Is there something wrong, Mr. Marshall?” the waiter asked after approaching their table.
“No, sir,” Ainsley said, taking a final look over all that had been provided for them. Nothing was ordered specifically. All of it was brought once it was known who their father was. It was this sort of attention that Ainsley and Margaret were loathe to receive. It was conspicuous and uncharitable.
“Everything is wonderful,” Ainsley said, unsure whether his words were perceived as sincere.
The waiter took a step back and bowed as Ainsley and Margaret stood up from the table and began making their way back to the train.
“For Pete’s sake, I wish they’d just get on with it. Seems a right waste of time to stop here for so long,” Margaret said, glancing about nervously.
“We shall be on our way soon enough.”
As they neared their platform, Ainsley pulled their tickets from his inside jacket pocket. He felt Margaret pull closer as a gust of wind swirled around them, sending some dry leaves up into the air.
“Peter Ainsley?” A loud voice bellowed over the passengers who surrounded them. “Dr. Peter Ainsley?”
Ainsley and Margaret looked over to see a man about their age heading toward them with an overcoat draped over his bent arm. He had short, black hair, with a gentle curl to the ends. His smile was broad and his eyes were slits against his high cheekbones. He switched his newspaper from his right hand to his left and held out a hand to Ainsley, fingers like fat, rough sausages. “I knew it was you,” he said, loud enough so that everyone in the immediate vicinity could hear. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “It feels like I haven’t seen you in a dog’s age,” he continued before Ainsley had the chance to answer his question.
“Giles Grant,” Ainsley said, taking the man’s hand into his own.
“Eh, that’s Dr. Grant to you,” he said, with a chuckle and pointed finger.
Ainsley gave a forced laugh before seeing Giles’s eyes dart to Margaret beside him. “Allow me to introduce my sister, Margaret.”
“Well, goodness me,” Giles said, folding the hand with the newspaper over his stomach and bowing slightly. “It’s a good thing you look nothing like your brother.”
Margaret smiled. “I shall take that as a compliment,” she said, nodding to acknowledge his bow.
“Absolutely, that’s a compliment. Pretty as a picture. Jonas was absolutely right about one thing.” He continued to smile as he looked at her and only looked away when Ainsley began to speak.
“We’re headed to Edinburgh to pay a visit to Jonas.”
Giles raised his eyebrows. “Are you? Won’t he be delighted. We’re flatmates, you realize?”
Margaret perked up. “Are you?”
“We share a ho
use with a few others who work at the university. It’s a nice house in New Town, one of those large homes no one wants anymore on account of needing too many servants. We manage well enough just ourselves and the housekeeper.”
“Sounds lovely,” Margaret said, squeezing tighter on Ainsley’s arm.
Ainsley looked at her and realized he would never hear the end of it if he did not ask. “Would you know if anything had happened to Jonas in the last few days?”
Giles pulled his mouth and shook his head. “Everything was fine when I left, but that was three days ago now.”
“You were in London?” Margaret asked.
“Yes. I was visiting my sister and her new wee sprite. I’m an uncle now,” he said, spreading his arms out to exaggerate his point. “Can you believe it?”
Ainsley slapped him on the upper arm. “Congratulations are in order.”
Giles nodded and his smile dimmed somewhat. “Yeah, it’s quite a development. I can’t quite grasp it myself.” His eyes darted to the passenger car beside them, no doubt noticing FIRST CLASS in gold lettering painted on the side. “Last I heard you were at the morgue at St. Thomas.”
Ainsley could hear the questions that went unasked. Giles wanted to know how a surgeon, a lowly tradesman like himself, could afford two seats in first class.
“We were turned around by the crowd,” Ainsley said quickly. He pointed further along the train. “We’re headed back that way.”
Giles turned suddenly to look where Ainsley pointed. His newspaper hit Ainsley’s hand and sent their tickets flying. In the commotion Giles dropped his newspaper in a puddle.
“Oh clumsy me,” he said, scrambling to gather up the newspaper and the tickets that spilled out onto the concrete. “Forgive me,” he said as he turned and handed Ainsley two tickets. “They have fared better than my paper I am afraid.” Giles held up his soaked newspaper.
Tucking the tickets safely in his inner pocket, Ainsley stole a glance to Margaret, who clasped a gloved hand over her mouth to keep herself from laughing at the dripping newsprint.
Shadows of Madness Page 2
