The Unbelievers

by Alastair Sim

  “And was there contact between the two sides of the family during this time, Mr Bothwell-Scott?”

  “Very little I’m afraid, Inspector. I think James was rather resentful at losing his original inheritance, and the old family story is that as he left Britain he pronounced a curse that our line would become extinct. I don’t think I believe that – we’re still going strong, well except for poor William, over a century later. But our American cousins nursed a grievance for decades.”

  “So why the reconciliation? Why did your brother marry Josephine?”

  George Bothwell-Scott sighed.

  “It was our dear, departed mother’s idea. I don’t think William liked it, at first, but she was right that he had to marry. She felt it was high time that the two sides of the family came back together. I think she liked the idea, too, that we would have a property empire which spanned the Old and New Worlds. Also, I have to say that Josephine is a most splendidly handsome woman.”

  “So why was the late Duke resistant to the idea, Mr Bothwell-Scott? It does appear admirably rational.”

  George looked up at the skylight again before answering.

  “William felt there were certain…impediments in the way of his marriage.”

  “Impediments? Of what sort?”

  George leant forward and whispered to Allerdyce.

  “I can’t tell you. William might hear.”

  “What?”

  “Ssssh. We must be quiet. I think I just saw his spirit.”

  “Really sir?”

  “Yes. In the light from the skylight, just above you.”

  Allerdyce looked round, but only saw a patch of grey winter light.

  “Are you sure, sir?”

  “The spirits are all around us, Inspector. Look at the picture above the fireplace. What do you see?”

  Allerdyce looked again at the large photograph.

  “I can see the seat you use for posing photographic portraits, sir, with a beam of light falling across it.”

  “No more than that?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Let me help you.”

  George stood up and went over to the picture. Allerdyce followed, the sergeant behind him. He felt the heat of the fire through the thick wool of his trousers as he looked at the strongly contrasted light and shadow of the portrait-sized photograph.

  “Look closely into the beam of light, Inspector.”

  Allerdyce peered closer. The quality of resolution was fantastic – you could see the specks of dust floating in the light, caught in an instant of their slow eddying in the air.

  “What do you see now?

  “I can see dust particles in the light, sir.”

  “What pattern do they make?”

  “I can’t see a pattern.”

  George smiled gently.

  “Not everyone sees it at first, Inspector, but it’s as clear as day to me. If you look for long enough you’ll see the clear pattern of a woman holding a child. I’ve felt the spirits around me since my poor wife died giving birth to a daughter who only survived her by hours. I’ve seen their spirits around me many times, to my great comfort, and I’ve been experimenting for years with different lenses and filters and exposures, and different coatings for my photographic plates. This picture is my first complete success at capturing their spirits in a permanent portrait.”

  Allerdyce could still see nothing but the random flux of airborne particles, but he felt he ought to humour the deluded photographer. He would have sought comfort in fantasies himself after Helen’s death if he’d retained the ability to believe in any supernatural agencies.

  “It’s most remarkable, sir.”

  “Isn’t it? And I know I can do more. Sometimes the spirits appear to me at night, a shimmering silver-white phosphorescence before my eyes. It’s not always Matilda and the baby, in fact it’s not always anyone who’s passed over. Peoples’ spirits can wander where they want when the conscious mind is asleep, and even Josephine has appeared to me on occasion.”

  Did she say anything useful about her husband’s murder, Allerdyce wanted to ask. He felt obliged to be more tactful to at least try and get a glimmer of insight into the ‘impediments’ the late Duke may have felt.

  “Do the spirits ever say anything to you, Mr Bothwell-Scott?”

  “Sometimes I hear a soft angelic singing, like the ringing of distant bells. Sometimes they speak gentle words of comfort.”

  “Has your brother’s spirit ever said anything to you?”

  George touched him on the arm and whispered.

  “Please, Inspector, William’s here with us. He’s angry already and I don’t know what he’ll do if he hears us talking about him.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s all right. I’m trying to capture the night-spirits on film too. I’ve got a camera set up in the darkroom, on permanent exposure. The red light I use to develop my plates in silver nitrate is too dim to make an image on the photographic plate, but I believe the light of a spirit will be sufficient to be captured by the collodion.”

  The prospects of getting anything further of any use out of George Bothwell-Scott seemed remote in the extreme. Allerdyce nodded to the sergeant who was still staring into the picture.

  “Thank you very much for your time, Mr Bothwell-Scott. It’s been most useful. And please, do tell us if you get any useful information from one of your spirit visitors.”

  “Yes, Inspector, I will. And I wish you every success in finding Patrick Slater.”

  Allerdyce stood in front of Rock House, pulling on his hat against the continuing drizzle.

  “What a bloody waste of time.”

  “Do you think so, sir?” asked McGillivray.

  “Utterly. We get his half-baked theory about an estate factor who’s probably dead or in Australia, and we get his ramblings about fairies or whatever. And we’re told the deceased Duke has not in fact gone into the obscurity of death but is suspended in the air in the same room as us. What a load of bloody nonsense.”

  The sergeant was silent for a moment before answering.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure, sir. There’s plenty of stories from where I grew up in Sutherland about the actions of spirits. And I had a mightily queer feeling myself when my father died – I seemed to see his face receding into the night-time waters like a setting moon. I didn’t find out for months that the night I’d seen that vision was the night he died.”

  “I’m sorry, Sergeant. I’m sorry that this investigation is bringing back painful memories. I’d avoid that if I could. But I simply refuse to believe in fairies and spirit-visitors.”

  “That’s your privilege, sir.”

  “So what about Mr Slater, Sergeant? The estate factor? He’s obviously known to you.”

  “Every crofter in Sutherland thought he was the devil in a suit, sir. When he wasn’t putting the rents up he was throwing people out of their homes. People liked to imagine that the Duke didn’t know how harsh Slater was, and would have reined Slater in if he’d known. I never believed that. I think he was doing exactly what he was ordered to.”

  “So do you think he could be a suspect?”

  “Perhaps, sir. But I wonder about the ‘impediment’ Mr Bothwell-Scott mentioned. There’s clearly something important we’re not being told. Perhaps it’ll lead us to our criminal.”

  Maybe it will, thought Allerdyce, though we’ve already heard enough the Duke’s oppressions to understand why a man might want to kill him.

  What would he do when he found the suspect? He shuddered at the Chief Constable’s talk of ‘non-judicial’ solutions.

  That would have to be a problem for another day. First find the truth.

  Chapter 14

  “Another crumpet, Josephine?”

  “Thank you, Arthur. I don’t know what I’d do without your kindness.”

  He buttered a crumpet for her and passed it to her before topping up the tea in her cup.

  It was amazing how Josephine coul
d make the simple, and potentially coarsely physical, act of eating a patisserie into something delicate and beautiful. Her mourning veil was cast back from her face. Her downcast eyes, so dark and solemn, glanced demurely at him with the merest flutter of her eyelashes as she opened her lips of palest coral and gently seized the confection between her teeth, pulling almost imperceptibly at its doughy flesh before the merest morsel, glistening with melted butter, disappeared into her mouth and the slightest movement was discernible in her white throat. Arthur felt a warm flush of blood round his body which must be inspired by his desire to help this angelic creature of God.

  “You’ve been more than kind, Arthur. I’ve had no-one else to turn to.” She smiled, but her face spoke of affliction rather than joy.

  “It’s my simple duty and my inestimable privilege as a Christian, Josephine, to provide comfort where I can.”

  “Your quotations from the Holy Bible have been most helpful to my meditations, and a great strength to me. I’ve pondered long, Arthur, on the beautiful story of Ruth, left to mourn her widowhood in a strange land. It’s brought me much comfort to think how Ruth found protection from a kinsman, and how the kinsman’s kindness won her as his wife.”

  Arthur’s heart leapt and he thought he would spill his tea. Could Josephine, through the Holy Scriptures, be suggesting that he might hold out some hope of winning her affections? Or was it absurd, a symptom of a too-fevered mind, to think that a widow in the depths of mourning could be suggesting any such thing to a poor, hesitant clergyman? Was it sinful of him even to think of the possibility of affection with the woman who, so recently, had been one flesh with his brother William?

  Josephine continued, her smile fading.

  “There’s another passage that’s come to my mind in recent days, Arthur. It’s the beautifully simple statement, from the twenty-second chapter of the book of Exodus, that ‘ye shall not afflict any widow’. I find that the Lord is bringing that passage into my awareness rather often at the moment. What can it mean?”

  He put his teacup down on the table and leant forward to look into Josephine’s troubled eyes.

  “I don’t believe the Lord has given you these words in vain. They must have been given to you to grant you confidence that, whatever your current troubles, He is with you. But Josephine, it pains me to think you may be under any affliction and I would be honoured if you would share it with me.”

  She took her handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabbed at the corner of her eye.

  “It’s so wrong of me to consider myself afflicted in any way. For the most part I’ve only known kindness from your family. Your own dear mother was so anxious to welcome me into it, and your brother William always ensured that I was provided for. If William was ever harsh to me it was only because, poor man, he was so bitterly disappointed at my failure to give him the heir he so dearly wanted.”

  “That was hardly your fault, Josephine. It was very wrong of William to treat you inconsiderately.”

  “I do feel it was my fault, and that I was a burden to him. I wish I could fully have been the wife that he deserved. But, Arthur, I find myself subject to new afflictions which, even in the depths of my prayers, I cannot see that I fully merit.”

  “I’m sorry, Josephine. What is troubling you so?”

  She looked straight at him, her eyes clear and firm.

  “Your brother Frederick has told me to leave Dalcorn House.”

  Arthur felt a rush of rage. How could Frederick be such a heartless brute? Didn’t he realise the deep sinfulness of casting a widow out of her home? He struggled to keep his voice calm.

  “I’m very sorry to hear that, Josephine. I can offer no defence on his behalf.”

  “I would ask you to intercede with him on my behalf, but I fear there is no hope of his relenting. His heart seems set against me.”

  “I can only try. Has he suggested any way in which he might make other provision for you?”

  “He’s had the kindness to suggest that the north wing of Dornoch Palace could be opened up for me. It’s thoughtful of him, but I can’t go, Arthur. I’ve had to go to the Palace every autumn since I came here, to entertain guests when William invited houseparties to help him murder grouse and stags. I hate the place. It’s always dark and cold and it’s a complete charnel-house of antlers and taxidermy. And I know no-one there – it’s two hundred miles away from the comfort you’re able to give me.”

  “What else could you do, Josephine?”

  “I suppose I could try and go back to Pappa. But I don’t even know if that’s possible – the Yankees are still blockading New Orleans and I don’t know how I could get to the plantation or if the house is still standing. And even if I could get there, he’s been utterly ruined by the war and I’d only be another mouth to feed.”

  “I must be able to do something for you. I can’t let this family abandon you.”

  She leant towards him, her hands clasped in front of her.

  “Arthur, you dear sweet man, you’ve done more than you know already.”

  “But please, Josephine, I must help you!”

  He found himself, with unconscious boldness, clasping her pale hands in his, feeling their trembling warmth. She let her hands rest in his and smiled. He felt a pang of joy, and of a desire which he didn’t know whether he should call sin.

  “Perhaps, Arthur, there is one thing you could do for me.”

  “Anything. Please.”

  “There’s a cottage on the estate, near the east lodge, which has been unoccupied for some months. It’s nothing grand – merely the plain family house of a grieve – but it would suffice for my simple needs. I would still be able to benefit from your counsel and support.”

  “Are you sure, Josephine? It’s hardly the proper residence of a Duchess.”

  “Arthur, please remember that I was brought up in a country where no distinction of rank existed between the orders of society. I would rather live simply among my friends than in exiled dignity. I shall think of it as my dower-house, and God willing I may be happy there.”

  “Very well. I shall ask Frederick at least to have the decency to grant you that.”

  “Thank you.”

  The door opened and Arthur abruptly dropped her hands from his grasp. The servant appeared and bowed.

  “What is it, Wilson? Can’t you see that I’m engaged?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but the gentlemen from the police have returned. They are seeking a private interview with you.”

  “Well, tell them to wait.”

  Josephine stood up.

  “No, Arthur, I should detain you no longer. You have been a great blessing to me.”

  She held out her hand and he kissed it before, with the soft rustling of black taffeta, she glided out of the room. The soft floral scent of her perfume remained behind her. Arthur breathed deeply, drawing in the scent as if by doing so he could absorb part of her heavenly being. He checked himself from the unfitting thought.

  “All right Wilson, tidy the cakes away and show them in.”

  The servant piled the cakestand and the cups and saucers onto a tray and took them away. A minute later he appeared with the policemen. Arthur stood to welcome them.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen. I had not expected you.”

  He chose not to extend his hand. The sergeant bowed slightly, but Inspector Allerdyce’s smile looked like the cunning grin of a hungry wolf. The policemen remained standing.

  “What may I assist you with?”

  The Inspector answered.

  “We were hoping that you might be able to clarify some points which your brothers made when we interviewed them. It could be of significant assistance to our enquiries.”

  “I shall help you if I can, of course. What, specifically, would you like to know?”

  The Inspector took out his notebook and flicked a few pages back.

  “You were most helpful, sir, in your frankness about your brother’s slightly shall we say…sporting interests i
n Edinburgh at night. Sergeant McGillivray and I followed that up by visiting certain establishments. It was a most interesting experience.”

  “I shudder to imagine it, Inspector. And you think that whoever murdered William may have some association with his nocturnal life?”

  “It’s one line of enquiry, sir.”

  “And, as I said before, not one with which I’m able to offer much further advice. God has had the goodness not to tempt me with any desire to see these fleshpots of Babylon for myself.”

  “That’s most generous of the divinity, sir.”

  Arthur did not like the Inspector’s tone. It seemed entirely unfitting when addressing the dignity of the clergy. Even if he was a poor sinner, his holy office should be respected.

  The inspector continued, peering at his notes.

  “I seem to recall, sir, that you told us that His Grace did, however, boast to you of his exploits, so you have some vicarious knowledge of them.”

  “Yes, yes.”

  “We were intrigued to discover the diversity of His Grace’s interests when we visited his favoured establishments. He appeared to have a liking for young gentlemen as well as young ladies. Does that conform with what he told you?”

  “Yes, to his shame, it does. His tastes were quite Greek in their range, though I think his overall preference was for ladies.”

  “Do you think His Grace may have been open to blackmail?”

  “It’s possible. Though I think William would be more likely to tell any blackmailer to publish and be damn…I mean confounded.”

  “Do you know of any man who might be in a position to blackmail him?”

  “No. Not specifically.”

  “Do you know of any woman who might be in a position to blackmail him?”

  “No. I’ve told you, Inspector, he only spoke to me in very general terms about the dissolution of his secret life. I can’t be any more specific.”

  The Inspector was still smiling but was looking him uncomfortably in the eye.

  “I would ask you seriously, sir, to consider your answer. Is there no man or woman known to you who would have been in a position to blackmail your brother?”