Shadows of Madness

by Tracy L. Ward

  A moment of uneasy silence blanketed them. Margaret saw Giles’s expression falter before he suddenly clapped his hands and forced a smile. “I was going to offer you some tea before we were interrupted.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hand to invite her down the hall. “Shall we?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  She followed him, stealing quick glances through the open doors they passed. There were two sitting rooms and a sizeable dining room complete with a table large enough for ten people to sit about. The furnishings looked worn but not overly so. Everything seemed well in place, without even a book lying around unclaimed. The main floor was quiet with most of the noise emanating from the kitchen at the back.

  It seemed, Margaret observed, that whomever they had contracted to take care of them was doing a commendable job of it, judging by the state of the place.

  Giles pushed open the door to the kitchen, giving a gentle wrap of his knuckle as he entered.

  Margaret entered the room and saw a woman standing over the sink, while two men sat at a small table set in the middle of the room. A fire in the stove burned, keeping the kettle and another large pot steaming. One of the men held a damp handkerchief in his hand, twisted and pulled in his hands, which were set on the tabletop. All the murmurs Margaret had heard prior stopped suddenly when they entered.

  “Mrs. Crane, we have a visitor,” Giles said.

  Mrs. Crane turned toward the door and both men stood quickly when they realized a woman had entered.

  Margaret started at the sight of her. “Mrs. Crane?”

  She placed a hand on her stomach, as if to suppress the shock. Mrs. Crane had been the housekeeper for Dr. Bennett, a physician who had contacted Peter after a series of deaths in the town of Picklow. At the time, Mrs. Crane was aghast at Margaret’s lack of domestic skills. She offered some quick lessons and encouraged her to continue practising which, Margaret was ashamed to say, she had not.

  “Gracious Providence!” Mrs. Crane pushed back some curls from her forehead. “Margaret, my dear. Never did I expect to see you again.” She stepped forward and took up Margaret’s hand in a very soothing manner.

  Margaret smiled broadly, glad to be seeing a familiar face. She could feel a heavy weight being lifted from her shoulders, which almost sent her into a fit of tears.

  “You have heard then,” Mrs. Crane said, sniffling. She glanced to the two men at the table. “You have heard of our agony.”

  Margaret could tell Mrs. Crane had been crying. She did not doubt she was glad to see her, but their reunion was tempered by Jonas’s arrest.

  Searching for the words, Margaret nodded. “Yes. I have heard. I saw him last night at Calton—”

  “You went there?” one of the men asked suddenly.

  Margaret could see he was a studious man, with gold-rimmed spectacles and a whisker-free chin. The man who sat beside him could have been a sibling, matching the first man in every way, clothing and hairstyle, save for the spectacles.

  “Yes,” Margaret answered matter-of-factly, before turning her attention back to Mrs. Crane. “He is shaken, but well.” She decided to not confess his outburst toward her. She could not say if it truly were his feelings or if his words were born out of his heinous predicament. “Peter and I are going—”

  “Peter is here?” the other man asked.

  “Yes, we travelled here yesterday from London by train.” Margaret hesitated. “Sorry … who are you?”

  The men exchanged glances.

  “Forgive me.” Giles stepped forward and went to the men, gesturing to the first man with spectacles. “Miss Margaret, may I introduce Ezra Pefferlaw and John Gilbert. They work jointly as professors of biology at the university, sharing the position, if you will.”

  Both men reached out a hand in greeting and gave Margaret the lightest of handshakes.

  “Yes, well, we wouldn’t have to share if we could pry him away from his laboratory,” Ezra said of John.

  “If you did pry me from my research, I imagine you’d be out a job,” John teased.

  Margaret smiled at the jest, but wasn’t so sure their jabs at each other’s egos were so innocent.

  “Plenty of time for making acquaintances later,” Mrs. Crane interjected. “Peter and you have come … for Jonas then?”

  “Yes, of course. We mean to see that he is given a fair trial and freed, as he ought to be.”

  Ezra scoffed, running a hand through his hair as he turned to the window behind him. “Such optimism.”

  Margaret felt herself grow angry. She grew tired of everyone disbelieving her resolve or, worse, believing Jonas capable. “What other emotion shall I employ?” she demanded sternly. “Despair?” She raised her eyebrows to emphasis her point.

  The two men stared at her. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Mrs. Crane smile and raise her head slightly.

  “I agree with Miss Margaret, wholeheartedly,” she said jubilantly. “It’s about time we stop doubting our Dr. Davies and afford him more credit of character.”

  Margaret surveyed the room, wondering who it was who had thought Jonas guilty of such a crime as murder. Ezra and John must have noticed her condemnation, as both looked away.

  “I, for one, think it’s wonderful that Jonas should have such a formidable force in his corner,” Giles said, giving Margaret a wink. “Mrs. Crane, may we have some tea so that we may sit in the sitting room to generate our strategy?”

  Mrs. Crane nearly bounced at the request. “Yes, of course. I’d make a thousand teas for those who will see our beloved Dr. Davies on the right side of that awful place.” She turned to Margaret and nipped her chin. “I am so glad you have come, my dear.” She turned to the counter to ready the tea service. “Once all this is behind us, you can show me how much better you are in the kitchen. If memory serves, the last time I saw you there was still much you needed to learn.”

  Chapter 9

  As they walked to the main door, Ainsley stole a glance to the fortified stone building towering above them. The shadow of the structure engulfed them when they reached the steps and began their scamper up to the top.

  His confidence was boosted now that he had both Samuel and his uncle willing to speak and file motions on Jonas’s behalf. The convoluted structure of Scots Law and all its particulars were like a foreign language to Ainsley. He knew one thing, however—money and status made all the difference. While attending the bank to procure more funds, “enough to nudge the governor in our favour” as Samuel so eloquently put it, he pondered the quick turnabout of Jonas’s situation since he had confessed his heritage. What do the others do? he wondered. How could anyone in the lower classes expect fair and equal treatment if money and clout were the only currency recognized by prison personnel? Ainsley tried not to let this revelation anger him, not then. For the time being, getting Jonas on the right side of these walls was all that mattered.

  There was a different guard at the desk this time who directed them down a corridor to a row of chairs placed along the wall. They were not forced to sit and wait. Instead, the guard announced their presence, making sure the prison governor, John Smith, was aware that a Mr. Peter Ainsley, son of Abraham Marshall, Earl of Montcliff, accompanied the lawyers.

  After the standard pleasantries, Thomas wasted no time proclaiming the reason for their visit. “You have a gentleman in your prison who is wrongly accused of the murder of Professor Frobisher. It is our intent to have him released to our care so that we may begin to formulate our defence.”

  “I would gladly release Dr. Davies to your charge”—the governor smiled broadly from behind his desk—“but we have protocols, you see.” His fingers were knitted together but his thumbs danced circles around each other. He turned his gaze directly to Ainsley. “We need a guarantee, an offering if you will, that he will not leave the city and that he will cooperate with the investigation. And, naturally, his appearance in court is of the utmost importance.”

  “Naturally.” Already, Ainsley could n
ot stand the man. He appeared old, though not feeble, and quite comfortable in his position of authority. “I will take personal responsibility and see that he stands trial, if it comes to that.”

  Smith raised an eyebrow. “You question our legal process?”

  “No, sir,” Ainsley said. “I only wish to prove his innocence.”

  The governor laughed piteously. “He was found—”

  “With the body, I am aware. But to be found guilty of murder one has to perpetrate that murder, yes?”

  Smith glanced about the room but did not answer Ainsley’s question.

  “Let us not bore you with the particulars of the case,” Thomas interjected quickly. “We have come to see Dr. Davies free until trial.” Thomas moved his hand in front of Ainsley with his palm up.

  Ainsley pulled the envelope of money from his inside breast pocket and placed it in Thomas’s hand.

  “We have procured the standard fee for capital murder cases.” Thomas placed the envelope gently on the governor’s desktop and slid it across the surface. He did not remove his fingers, however, and let them linger for another moment more. “We have also included a small sum as a gesture of our appreciation for your swift action.”

  Once he was finished speaking, Thomas pulled his hand away and Smith lifted the envelope from the table. He stole a peek inside and suppressed a giddy smile. “I must apologize, Mr. Marshall. Had I known our good doctor had such friends I would have installed him in much finer accommodations.”

  Ainsley’s jaw tightened as the governor spoke, sickened by his willingness to be bought.

  “Swift action,” Thomas repeated.

  “Of course, kind sirs.” He slipped the monies into his own pocket and stood. “It will only take a few moments to draw up the paperwork.”

  ***

  Ainsley waited in the lobby with the others for what felt like ages, when actually it was only half an hour. He had signed some papers, reading each line carefully to ensure nothing had been slipped into the contract that he could not guarantee.

  “You are very wise, Mr. Marshall,” Thomas said, when he finally did pick up the pen. Samuel said nothing during their entire time at the prison until Jonas was finally spotted at the end of the hall.

  “Goddamn,” he said at the sight of him, shirt bloodied and trousers torn.

  Ainsley turned in place to watch as Jonas made his way toward them slowly. Jonas squinted against the light somewhat as he neared the doors at the front of the building.

  “Thank you, Peter,” Jonas said softly, when they were finally standing opposite each other. “You sent her back to London then?”

  Ainsley nodded and stole a glance over Jonas’s shoulders to the guards who flanked him. “As promised.”

  Jonas smiled and turned to Samuel and Thomas, shaking their hands in turn.

  “Hello, Dr. Davies, I am Thomas Humphry. You know my nephew, Sam. We shall be your lawyers in this case. We will be fighting on your behalf.”

  “Thank you, sir.” He glanced to Ainsley. “I imagine my friend went to great lengths to secure my release.”

  Thomas looked uneasy and shifted his weight. “Well, yes, but that is merely the beginning of our battle, I’m afraid. You must tell me everything, with great honesty, and we shall see what can be done—but not here.” He gestured for the door. “Let us get as much distance between us and this God-awful place.”

  ***

  Once everyone was installed in their carriage seats the door was closed, latched, and they were on their way. Thomas wasted no time and quickly opened his Gladstone bag to retrieve his notebook. With one ankle crossed over his opposite knee, he rested the notebook on his knee and gripped his pen. Ainsley could tell already that Samuel’s uncle was the sort of man they needed, stern yet likeable, focused and unwavering.

  “Now,” he said, keeping his focus firmly on Jonas. “What can you tell us about … the event? Leave nothing out,” he cautioned. “Every detail is of vital importance.”

  Jonas’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he prepared to speak. With an exhale he shook his head and gave the slightest of shrugs. “I can’t say really.”

  Thomas’s expression soured.

  “I told Peter I don’t remember how I got to Professor Frobisher’s office.”

  “But that is where you were found,” Thomas said, not bothering to raise his chin. He quickly scribbled something down on his papers.

  Samuel leaned forward. “What do you remember about that night?”

  “I accepted an invite to have drinks with friends—”

  “Which friends?” Thomas interjected.

  “My flatmates.” Jonas stopped and looked to each of their faces. “We were celebrating a breakthrough John had with one of his experiments. He’s studying the limb regeneration of starfish. It’s tedious work.”

  “So one of them is named John.” Thomas continued to scribble away. “The others?”

  “Ezra, he works alongside John, but isn’t as interested in the hands-on experiments John has in the attic.”

  “Who else?”

  Jonas shrugged.

  “Giles Grant lives with you as well,” Samuel said, “Was he there?”

  “Yes, I mean, no.” Jonas closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, but everything is all distorted.” Jonas appeared angry at himself. He balled a hand into a fist and used the other one to rub his eyes.

  “Giles was visiting his sister in London,” Ainsley said, saving his friend from having to explain.

  “I don’t see why they need to be named,” Jonas cut in.

  “I must speak with them all.” Thomas looked at Jonas over the rim of his glasses. “I’m sure the authorities have already questioned them thoroughly.”

  Jonas took a breath and ran a hand through his hair.

  “Whose idea was it to celebrate?” Samuel asked, anticipating his uncle’s next question.

  Ainsley could tell recalling the details was difficult. Jonas had always had a stellar memory, with the ability to see his own school notes exactly as they were written while performing a practical exam. It was a skill that served him well while obtaining his medical degree.

  After a moment of thought Jonas spoke. “I don’t know really. I came home and I was promptly ushered out the door again.”

  “Where did you go?” Ainsley asked.

  “Some pub. I can’t … I can’t recall the name.” Jonas closed his eyes before shaking his head. “The sign had a picture of a dog on it, I think.”

  “It’s all right,” Ainsley said, wanting to put his friend’s mind at ease.

  Thomas gave him a look from the other side of the carriage. “I cannot help either of you if you are not truthful with me.”

  “This is the truth!” Jonas rolled his hands into fists before looking away and relaxing them. “I spent every second in that cell trying to recall what happened and I draw a blank every time. We had a few drinks. There was a girl. She fancied Ezra … I think. I don’t remember her name or even what the barkeep looked like.” Jonas looked distressed enough to cry, but he didn’t. “Everything comes up blank. I woke up covered in my colleague’s blood. I—I— was dizzy and incredibly tired. When I saw the knife near my hand my first thought was that I had fainted during surgery, but I quickly realized that wasn’t it.”

  “What did you do when you saw the body?” Thomas asked.

  “I froze.” Jonas’s gaze grew distant. “And then I realized what I was covered in and I dropped the knife.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “The door burst open. Someone was pulling me from the floor.”

  “Someone?”

  “An officer. They came in like a swarm of bees, circling me, ready to subdue me instantly if I so much as blinked.”

  “Did you say anything to them?”

  “I told them I didn’t do it, but I knew it was fruitless. Professor Frobisher’s blood was all over me. Who else could it have been?”

  Thomas sighed and removed his spectacles. “Mister
Marshall here led me to believe you are not capable of such a crime.”

  “We are all capable, given the proper circumstances.”

  “Someone has gone to great lengths to make it appear as if you perpetrated this crime,” Ainsley said.

  “To what end?” Samuel asked.

  “Blackmail. Revenge. Entertainment.”

  “Who would be entertained by such a thing?” Samuel asked, a slight laugh escaping his lips.

  “Take me to any murder scene in any of Britain’s cities and I’ll show you dozens who would gather for hours to gawk at the carnage.”

  A gloom set over the carriage. Ainsley’s words rang true with each of the men, who in their own way had been witness to such morbid excitement. A salacious trial. A grotesque murder scene. A theatrical showcase of medical dissection. These were all examples of the Victorian public and their insatiable appetite for sordid affairs.

  Samuel was first to break the reverie. “Supposing someone has positioned against Jonas, wanting him blamed for the murder of Professor Frobisher—what possible motive could they have?”

  All eyes went to Jonas.

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” he offered. “I have angered no one, save perhaps Frobisher himself.”

  Ainsley shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

  “It will all come out in the trial so it’s best not to surprise me,” Thomas cautioned.

  Jonas let out a quick breath before responding. “In recent weeks it became apparent that we disagreed on a fundamental matter regarding the future of our institution. There has been some discussion amongst the faculty about whether we are prepared to admit women to some of our lectures and courses. Not grant them degrees”—Jonas looked to Ainsley before shaking his head at the absurdity—“that would be too much, apparently.”

  “The Medical School of Edinburgh will be admitting women?” Thomas asked, an eyebrow raised.

  “Yes, that is our hope. It’s my belief that women are able to provide a unique perspective on the care of their sex. Women have been treating women for some time, in such things as childbirth and the like, but Peter and I know how little time is spent studying female anatomy and ailments.”