“There goes my reading material for the afternoon,” Giles said with a laugh before taking two steps to the bin to throw it away.
The first whistle sounded.
“Well,” Giles said with a tight smile, “I guess I’m off to find a seat. It was nice meeting you, Margaret.” He touched the brim of his hat, flashed a winning smile, and slipped into the crowd.
“He seems friendly,” Margaret said as they watched him disappear. “A colleague, I understand?”
“He failed out of our class,” Ainsley explained. “He was always pestering Jonas and me to tutor him more, but truly there was little we could do. He understood so little of the material.” Ainsley glanced to the first class car. “If he’s a doctor now, that means he passed eventually.”
“Hardly instills confidence in the man,” Margaret said.
Ainsley suppressed a laugh. “I could tell you a story or two, but it may prevent you from seeing a doctor ever again.” He smiled when she looked to him with shock. “It will be all right. It’s not like Giles Grant is the sort of physician employed by us Marshalls anyhow.”
***
When they arrived at Waverly Station it was dusk, with the final embers of sun giving a faint dusting of light over the lower edge of the night sky. Ainsley helped Margaret disembark before seeing Elmira and Cutter waiting on the platform alongside the locomotive. Cutter was gesturing for a nearby porter to bring the luggage cart to them.
“You look cold, Lady Margaret,” Elmira said as she approached.
“I’m fine,” Margaret answered somewhat curtly, her breath steaming up the air about them. It had been a long journey and Ainsley could tell she was anxious to find out what information awaited them.
“I’ll secure a hansom, sir,” Cutter said, after all their trunks and belongings were loaded onto a cart.
“Thank you, Cutter.” Ainsley turned to Margaret and found her staring off into the distance. “You’re tired, Margaret,” he said, coming alongside her. “Let’s get you to the hotel.”
“I want to see Jonas,” she said. “I need to know he is all right.”
“I doubt he will be up for visitors at this hour,” Ainsley said. He was just as anxious as she but he was also extremely tired.
Begrudgingly, Margaret allowed Ainsley to guide her through the crowded station. Passengers and waiting family members darted back and forth all around them, scarcely leaving much room for the trio to advance forward.
Ainsley felt Margaret clutch at his sleeve so they would not be separated. The crowd thinned considerably the farther they stepped from the locomotive and toward a handful of cart vendors selling newspapers, hot teas and pies, tourist pamphlets—anything disembarking passengers might need.
A beggar woman, hunched over and shuffling her feet under a tattered cloak, approached Margaret with an outstretched hand.
“Perfume for the pretty lady?” The woman grabbed Margaret’s hand and pulled at something in her satchel. “Two pence. Two pence.” The woman wore a pair of fingerless lace gloves which had turned grey with age and use, but her nails were kept short and clean. In her free hand the woman flashed a small bottle with a cork stopper. “Lavender oil is just the thing to induce calm.”
Margaret pulled her hand away before a drop touched her skin. Ainsley pushed his way between them and guided his sister away. “No, thank you,” he said over his shoulder as they sped along.
A few feet away they spied Giles Grant standing next to a brick pillar, a fat cigar drooping from the side of his mouth. He looked up as they passed. “Peter. Peter!”
Ainsley stopped and Giles pointed to the thin newsprint. “Did you know about this?”
In bold type on the first page a headline read: Local Doctor Arrested on Suspicion of Murder. Ainsley’s heart leapt into his throat.
The first sentence of the article revealed the doctor in question was Jonas Davies.
Ainsley’s first instinct was to hide it from Margaret, but when he looked to her he saw she had already seen it. She grabbed for the edges of the paper and pulled the article closer to continue reading the incredibly small typeset.
“This can’t be,” she said at long last. “Jonas would never—” She swallowed hard and reached for something solid to hold her upright. Elmira went to her side but was little help given her own frail state.
Ainsley used one hand to fold back the paper and slapped it back on Giles’s chest.
“My apologies, miss,” Giles said, stammering as he took in her shock. “I had not realized … well, that is to say …” The proper words failed him and soon he gave up trying to console her.
“Elmira, let’s get her to the hotel,” Ainsley said.
“No.” Margaret grabbed hold of Ainsley’s arm as he reached over to guide her away. “I need to see him.”
“Margaret, he has been sent to jail,” Ainsley protested.
“Take me to him.”
Elmira grabbed Margaret’s hand. “That’s hardly a place—”
“Take me there, or I shall find my way there on my own,” Margaret said, cutting off the words of her maid and ripping her hand away.
Ainsley and Giles exchanged glances.
“In Edinburgh, prisoners are taken to Calton Jail, miss,” Giles explained. “But I do not think they accept women … women visitors, I mean.” Giles wet his lips and looked to Ainsley. “Perhaps you and I should go. And see how we can be of assistance.”
Ainsley knew there was no way Margaret would allow herself to be left behind. After his premonition the evening before and the anxious day-long journey to Scotland, she was more concerned for Jonas’s wellbeing than anybody.
“No,” Ainsley said after some thought. “She should come with us. Jonas will be glad to see her.”
Chapter 3
The prison stood like a castle on top of a high hill overlooking much of the city. Constructed of limestone, the jail appeared as a fortress with a solid two-storey wall separating the main buildings from the road and surrounding landscape. The five-storey structure boasted ramparts along the roofline and towers placed haphazardly as if to showcase the institution’s strength rather than its usefulness.
Ainsley’s distress at the news of his friend’s current state was only made worse as the hansom rolled up to the gate. The driver would venture no further. Ainsley hopped down from the door of the carriage and turned to assist Margaret. With her hand in his, Ainsley noticed her eyes forced upward at the oppressive structure. Her face looked frozen in fear, her mind unable to accept what they had just learned.
“It will be all right, Margaret,” Ainsley said quietly so Giles behind her would not hear. “Jonas is a stocky sort.”
She made no reply while her gaze trailed the arch that straddled the laneway.
Ainsley began to second-guess his decision to let her come. “I should have insisted you go to the hotel with Cutter and Elmira,” he said. He gave a sideways glance but she did not indicate that she had heard him.
On the pavement, Giles adjusted his jacket and pulled his sleeves down over his wrists while the driver retrieved his small valise from the perch of the carriage. “Feels as if a dream, yes?” he asked, after he paid the driver.
“More like a nightmare,” Margaret corrected him. She was the first to step forward away from the safety of the road and into the dark recesses of the prison yard. At the gate they were asked about the nature of their visit and were permitted through. A portly man at the front desk just inside the arched doorway, however, refused their admittance. He had a thick, black handlebar moustache but possessed very little hair on the top of his head.
“’Tis nearly ten o’clock,” he said, aghast at their request. “We have rules, ye know.”
“He was only brought here today,” Giles protested, pointing to the article that had alerted them of Jonas’s arrest. “Surely, he’s entitled to visitors who are helping him formulate his defence.”
“Defence?” The prison guard laughed, holding his rotund belly wit
h one hand as if to prevent the buttons from popping from his uniform. After his merriment, he jerked forward, leaning his elbow into his desk and lowering his voice. “We found him, elbow deep in the victim’s blood. He had some of the victim’s belongings in his possession at the time of his arrest. And he can’t recall a minute of the last two days to give his own account. I don’t believe there’s much of a defence that can be given for a situation like that.” The guard leaned back in his chair, knitting his fingers together over his belly.
“But he is owed a fair trial,” Ainsley sneered. “We are not barbarians.”
“But it was a barbarian who did him in, wasn’t it? Sliced open his stomach, he did. And as I understand it, the professor he done killed was going to be knighted a’fore long. Your doctor is cooked, if you ask me.” The guard smiled out the side of his mouth and huffed.
Margaret stepped forward, pushing between Giles and Ainsley, and laid a gloved fist on the visitor’s logbook in front of them. “I don’t recall asking you for your legal opinion. This man was arrested only this morning and it’s my understanding that we are permitted to pay for his release until such a time that a trial can be held. Now, are you going to start the paperwork so that my friend isn’t expected to spend another goddamn minute in this hell or do I have to take the damn keys to his cell myself?”
“You will do no such thing.”
A voice behind them bellowed through the cavernous hall. When the threesome turned they spied a well-dressed man with a slender dossier held at his side. He slipped his other hand into the pocket of his trousers in a nonchalant manner. Sporting a full beard and short haircut, the man was an imposing figure, made even more so by the darkness of the place and the overall vulnerable position Ainsley and Margaret found themselves in.
“Detective Inspector Bertram Hearst,” he said, stepping closer. “Edinburgh Police.” He did not bother to extend a hand in greeting.
Ainsley could smell a strong odour of whiskey emanating from the detective, a smell that nearly brought back all his darkest memories.
“We intend to punish your doctor friend to the full extent of the law.”
“The punishment for murder is execution,” Giles said hesitantly.
“I know.” Hearst looked almost delighted at the prospect. “The governor, the procurator fiscal, and I are of the same accord on this. This is a very serious crime, which deserves a very serious punishment.”
“Our friend is innocent,” Margaret said, without the slightest quiver in her voice.
Hearst raised an eyebrow at her insistence, and gave a half smile. “Aren’t they all? Young lady, your belief in him is commendable, sweet even, but terribly misguided. Dr. Davies was seen arriving at the university late last evening inebriated. At some point he encountered Professor Frobisher and, for reasons yet to be determined, he stabbed him to death. This morning, Dr. Davies was found alongside the body, the blood clearly evident on his hands. These are the facts, which cannot be argued. I should hate to see you waste your time defending a man who clearly cannot be defended.”
Ainsley studied the man, allowing him to speak while trying to decipher his motivation for being so assured.
“We must see him,” Margaret pressed.
The detective pulled a pocket watch from the front pocket of his vest. “I’m sorry but there is nothing that can be done, especially at this late an hour. You’ll have to come back in the morning.” He looked to the guard seated at the desk. “Angus, you’ll see that these doors are locked once they leave?”
The desk guard sat up taller in his chair and straightened the ledger on his desktop. “Yes, sir.”
Placing the watch back in his pocket, Hearst started to walk for the door but stopped suddenly and turned to Margaret. “My apologies, ma’am.”
The three of them watched as he made his way out the door and into the October night. Ainsley saw the look of pure anguish on Margaret’s face, most likely spurred on by the inspector’s smugness and arrogance. When Ainsley looked back to the guard, Angus shrugged and leaned back further into his chair.
“I only do what I am told,” he said.
Ainsley found the remark laughable. “For six shillings a day?”
Angus furrowed his eyebrows and sat up straight, but said nothing to contradict Ainsley’s claim.
“I’ll give you a month’s worth if you let me speak with my friend,” Ainsley said, hastily reaching into his pocket to pull out all the coins he had and spilling them onto the man’s logbook. He reached into his inner breast pocket and pulled out a few notes and slapped them down as well.
As Angus reached to snatch up the money, Ainsley slapped a sturdy hand over it all. The guard was too slow and for a second tried to pull Ainsley’s hand away.
“Just a quick visit, that’s all we ask. Tell me where he is.”
Eying the loose bribe, the guard swallowed. “He’s being held in the basement, second cell on the right.”
Ainsley waited a moment, studying the man’s features for sincerity before finally pulling his hand away. “You will allow us as much time as we need.”
Angus nodded rapidly before looking down the hall as if to ensure they were alone. “Yes, sir. I’ll make sure no one bothers you.”
The hallways were dark but Angus lent them a single tin lantern they could use to navigate the stairwell. Ainsley couldn’t help but be grateful for the darkness, knowing that beyond their light was the filth and squalor this particular jail was known for. Rats could be heard scurrying along the edges of the walls and every so often they could hear themselves stepping into pools of liquid, which could have been anything from blood or urine to stomach bile.
Margaret stayed close at Ainsley’s side until they reached the stairwell that would take them down to the basement.
Giles’s steps behind them had grown more distant as they went. At the top of the stairs, Ainsley glanced back to ensure the man was still there. A look of abject horror washed over Giles as the light hit his face. His brow gave off beads of sweat that Giles tried to keep at bay with a wipe of his sleeve.
“What is it?” Ainsley asked.
Giles’s gaze looked beyond them into the darkness, his expression betraying his fear. “My apologies,” he said, “I cannot go any further.”
Ainsley felt Margaret’s hands gripping tighter around his arm.
“I’m sorry, Miss Margaret,” Giles said, “I would have liked to offer you my support.” He retreated slowly into the darkness, using one hand on the wall as his guide. “I’ll wait for you both outside.”
Neither Margaret nor Ainsley protested. They could not force him on further and were secretly glad for the privacy. Ainsley remembered Giles had always been weak in the stomach, never able to hold back as the cadavers in their classroom turned after weeks of dissection and exploration. He imagined the man retching out the contents of his stomach just as he reached the outside door.
“You have a stronger stomach, it seems,” Ainsley offered when he looked to Margaret.
“Why is this surprising to you?” Margaret asked.
They made their way gingerly down the steps and out into a larger room. At first they could not see the cell bars and this forced Margaret to clutch Ainsley’s sleeve even tighter. They walked the middle of the room, guided by shadows and the outline of iron that led them past a cell where a grouping of men slept huddled for warmth in the dank underground holding.
At the next cell Ainsley felt Margaret pull away but he himself could not stop. He stepped forward at the first sight of Jonas, who was standing in the middle of a large cell with his back to them. He had his face upturned to the slit of a window that cascaded blue moonlight down onto the floor about his feet.
“Jonas?”
Keeping his hands in his pockets, he turned in place. When his eyes fell on Ainsley, Jonas’s expression of sorrow morphed into inconsolable shame. From his place outside the cell, Ainsley could see Jonas’s downturned mouth moving as if readying to speak and then
thinking better of it. At last Jonas turned his head to the side, and his gaze fell to the floor.
“I had no wish to summon you,” he said softly.
“But here I am.” Ainsley stepped up to the bars and peered into the cell, where about ten others sat huddled against the wall trying to sleep. One dishevelled man with a week’s worth of grime on his face and a month’s worth of facial hair sported a relatively new jacket that match Jonas’s trousers perfectly.
Jonas followed Ainsley’s gaze. “He was colder than I.”
When Jonas turned back Ainsley saw the crimson stain at his friend’s stomach, hardened now and caked into the fibres of the dress shirt. It matched the blotch Ainsley had seen the evening before when they had returned home from the theatre. He tried not to think of how his mind had known such a detail and instead focused on the precarious predicament of his friend.
“I cannot—” Jonas stopped suddenly when his eyes lifted to see beyond Ainsley’s shoulder.
When Ainsley turned he saw that Margaret had stepped into the light of their lantern but she did not come forth to the bars as Ainsley had.
Suddenly, all of Jonas’s will to speak was gone. The sight of Ainsley, his good school chum, had made him sorrowful, but the sight of Margaret had rendered him dumbstruck. Even in the dim light, Ainsley could see Margaret willing herself to look forward, ignoring the conditions of the prison—the damp, the smell, the desperation. She licked her lips as she looked over Jonas.
“Are you injured?” she asked hesitantly.
Jonas looked down to the crusted blood on his white shirt, and shook his head. “Nothing of any consequence.”
Ainsley swallowed hard after Jonas’s black eye caught the light. “Your face?” he said softly, before he could stop himself.
Jonas’s hand went to his jaw. “Courtesy of the Edinburgh Police, I’m afraid.”
Margaret looked to Ainsley, a fearful plea in her eyes for him to carry the conversation she could not bring herself to have.
Shadows of Madness Page 3
