by Alastair Sim
“What happened?”
“She was a little feverish the first night you were away. I called the doctor but he said it was nothing to worry about, and just to give her some gripe water with a dash of laudanum and put her to bed early.
“It was awful, Archie, when I came in to see her in the morning. She’d had watery diarrhoea in the bed and had been too weak and fevered to get up. Her brow felt like hot coals and she was alternately sleeping and mumbling nonsense. I sent for the doctor again.”
“What did he say?”
“He said it was cholera. I thought I’d die when I heard that, Archie. He said to keep her cool and give her a few more drops of laudanum to make her comfortable, but that we’d just have to watch and pray. She’s got quieter during the day, and she’s had less diarrhoea since the middle of the afternoon, but she’s so weak. Oh Archie, I think she’s slipping away.”
He knelt and looked at his daughter’s pale face. Her eyes were darting from side to side and didn’t seem to recognise him. Her mouth seemed to be forming, silently, the random syllables of a baby’s babbling. He put his hand on her forehead and felt its heat.
“The doctor’s an old fool, Margaret.”
“What?”
“He doesn’t know how to treat cholera. The police surgeon treated a prisoner with cholera last year with a new method. He survived long enough to be tried and hanged.”
“What can we do?”
“She’s not just lost a dangerous amount of water, she’s lost a lot of energy and a lot of the chemicals her body needs. In every pint of water we give her we need to dissolve a teaspoon of salt and a tablespoon of sugar and the juice of half a lemon.”
“I’ll go and make that up. Are you sure it’ll help?”
“I can’t be sure of anything, Margaret, but it’s the best thing we can do for her.”
Margaret left the room and he took over from her at sponging Alice’s fevered face. It felt like a useless thing to do, but he had to do something. He couldn’t just sit powerlessly and watch death claim her.
Margaret came back with a jug of water and a glass.
“I mixed it up like you said.”
“Thank you. Let’s give it a try.”
He lifted Alice gently from her pillows and held the full glass to her lips. At first the water simply ran down her chin, but as he tipped her head back, her eyes still darting madly from side to side, more of it entered her mouth and she started to swallow by reflex.
“More, Margaret, more. We don’t know how much she’s lost. Keep it coming.”
After they’d made Alice drink four pints of the watery solution they settled down to a routine. They’d each take two hours vigil, and make her drink some more of the fluid, while the other tried to rest. Millie put a large pile of clean sheets in the room, in expectation of the diarrhoea starting again.
And start again it did. For each period of his vigil, as Millie brought up jugs of the special water, he had to change the sheets at least once. It felt like a race to make her body absorb the life-giving fluid faster than she was losing it. As he watched her rapid breathing he couldn’t help praying for her to live through the night, though he didn’t know why he should allow himself to pray to the cruel non-existence who’d brought his daughter to the margins of death.
At last some sunlight started to creep round the edges of the curtains of the sickroom. He couldn’t honestly say that she looked a lot better, but she was sleeping more soundly and her eyes had stopped their crazy flickering. She was still hot, though, and her breathing was fast and shallow. He wanted to hope, but he knew her life still hung by a fragile thread.
He jumped when he heard the doorbell, followed by the maid’s quick footsteps down the stairs. If that’s the doctor, he thought, I’m going to kick his incompetent arse straight back onto the pavement.
Millie came back up.
“There’s a soldier to see you, sir.”
“A soldier? What in God’s name for?”
“He says it’s very urgent.”
“More urgent than looking after my daughter? Tell him go away.”
“He’s very insistent, sir. Can you just come down for a minute, please?”
“Oh, very well then.”
A young corporal in Highland dress was standing at the front door, his Glengarry bonnet under his arm.
“The ADC to the GOC presents his compliments, sir, and requests your immediate attendance at the Castle.”
“Try and make sense, man. I hardly understood a word of that. And I’m not going anywhere. I have a sick daughter to look after.”
“He says it’s most important that you come, sir.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t. Why should I?”
The soldier paused and bit his lip before answering.
“There’s been a murder.”
Allerdyce was greeted at the Governor’s House by the same officer who’d shown him into the Brigadier’s office before, though this time his tunic was undone and he was pale and unshaven. He introduced himself as Major Edward Farquharson, the Brigadier’s aide-de-camp.
“So, Major,” asked Allerdyce, “what’s happened?”
“Come through to the Brigadier’s room, please, Inspector. You too, Corporal.”
The Brigadier’s office hardly looked changed from when he’d first seen it. The whisky decanter was still on the desk, though it was practically empty. Brigadier Sir Frederick Bothwell-Scott still stared cholerically from the portrait behind the desk. The only changes were that the Russian sword was missing from its stand and the wood-panelling door to the Brigadier’s water-closet stood ajar.
“Through here, please, Inspector.”
The corporal opened the door to the water closet and Allerdyce went in.
The Brigadier was sitting on the lavatory, leaning against the wall to one side, his trousers and long-johns round his ankles, his tunic unbuttoned and a sword stuck through his heart. He stared lifelessly at the Inspector, a trickle of dried blood running from his mouth to his chin. But what stood out most, literally as well as figuratively, was the massively erect penis of the man who had, so briefly, been the 8th Duke of Dornoch.
“We thought maybe we should cover it up,” said the Major. “Professional respect and everything. But then we thought you ought to see everything just as we found it.”
“Thank you. Might just be a touch of rigor mortis,” said Allerdyce. “Does strange things to a man’s body.” He wondered, however, what the Brigadier had been up to in the moments preceding his death.
Looking carefully at the scene, he noticed that a piece of paper had been folded and left on top of the Brigadier’s crumpled long-johns. Allerdyce picked it up, his nose closed against the sweaty whiff of the victim’s underwear, and opened it.
The message was spelt out in letters cut from a newspaper and pasted onto the paper.
‘RELIEVED OF COMMAND.’
He showed it to the Major.
“We appear to be dealing with rather a droll murderer, Major.”
“Indeed.”
He folded the paper back up and put it in his pocket. He needed to get away from here, back to Alice’s bedside, but he knew he had to ask the required questions.
“What were the circumstances of this discovery?”
The corporal answered.
“I’m the – was the – Brigadier’s batman. I was meant to wake him up at seven o’clock with his shaving water and hot coffee. He wasn’t there when I went to wake him, and his bed hadn’t been slept in. I feared that he might have been taken ill – he was prone to fits of apoplexy, sir, and combined with the effects of strong liquor I feared he’d maybe had a stroke or a heart attack. It’s been a constant worry to me, sir.”
“I don’t think you need to worry any more, corporal,” said Allerdyce.
“No.”
“So what did you do next?”
“I came down here to see if he was in his office. I’d half expected to find him asleep on his desk if he
’d had too much whisky last night, but he wasn’t there. Then I saw the door to his water closet open and thought he’d maybe been taken ill there.”
“As indeed he was.”
“I couldn’t believe it, sir, seeing him staring at me from the privy, with that old Russian sword through his chest. I went immediately to wake Major Farquharson and he told me to fetch you, since you’d already had some dealings with the Brigadier.”
“You did well, corporal.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Allerdyce looked at the polished wooden floor of the privy to see if the killer had left any other traces, but none was visible.
“Could anyone have got in here un-noticed, Major?”
“It’s possible, Inspector. There’s all sorts of tradespeople and visitors coming and going during the day. And at night there are the officers’ invited guests, and the guards at the gatehouse also let the soldiers’ bawds in.”
The corporal appeared to blush slightly.
“I see, Major. And what about getting into this particular building? When I was last here I recall there were sentries at the door. They would surely be able to identify anyone who entered?”
“They’re not on duty at night, Inspector, unless the Brigadier is hosting a dinner or some other event. It would be quite possible for a stranger to be admitted unobserved.”
“Wouldn’t the Brigadier expect you to open the door to a guest, Corporal? Or would he expect some other servant to do so?”
“I would be on duty if he was expecting visitors, sir. But last night he dismissed me after I had ensured that the whisky decanter was full and he had a sufficiency of cigars.”
“And did you remain in the house? Could you have heard any disturbance?”
“No, sir. I retired to the barracks. I spent the evening in the Corporals’ Mess.”
“Thank you, Corporal. You’ve been most helpful. Might I prevail on you to pass a message to two of my colleagues, requesting their immediate presence?” He scribbled down the home addresses of Superintendent Burgess and Mackay, the police surgeon. “In the meantime I’ll examine the Brigadier’s room more closely for any signs his visitor may have left.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be right back.”
The corporal hesitated on his way out the room.
“Do you think he might have done it himself? Suicide?”
“No.”
He rushed back to Cumberland Street after briefing Burgess and Mackay, praying that he’d find Alice still alive. Margaret greeted him at the front door, crying and clasping him tight.
“Oh, Archie,” gasped Margaret, “she stopped breathing. My little angel, she stopped breathing.”
Allerdyce thought he’d collapse against her. He felt the tears start at his eyes as he cursed the late Brigadier for tearing him away from his daughter’s deathbed.
“She didn’t breathe for a whole minute. Then she gave a little shake and I thought it was her spirit leaving her. Then she started again.”
He shook himself loose from Margaret’s grasp and ran up the stairs.
Alice was lying, pale as death, in her bed. He laid his hand on her brow and felt its coolness. He listened to her breathing, slow, deep and regular.
Instantly, he was sobbing over the girl’s bed.
God willing, she would live. And if she did, his whole life’s work would be to become the father and husband he ought to be.
Chapter 22
Alice was still desperately weak when Allerdyce left for work the next morning, but she’d been able to take some soup and to speak.
“Daddy, I was scared.”
“Your mother and I were scared too.”
“I thought I was going to go to heaven. I didn’t want to go and meet Jesus. I wanted to stay here.”
“You’re going to be all right, Alice. You’re a very brave girl.”
“I love you, Daddy.”
He walked to the Police Office feeling as if he’d just, himself, been through some grave illness. He desperately wanted just to stay at home, rest, and keep watch on Alice’s recovery, but his duty was absolute. The investigation of another murder had fallen squarely on him.
Immediately, he was called into Burgess’s office. The Superintendent sat, looking pale and ill. Jarvis was already sitting at the other side of the desk from Burgess. As Alledyce sat down he saw that, for once, Jarvis’s self-satisfied smirk had been wiped off his face.
“Gentlemen,” said Burgess, “This is the worst bloody mess we have ever been in since the establishment of the City of Edinburgh police.”
Allerdyce felt the blood draining from his face. Burgess continued.
“Never, never before have we allowed two of Scotland’s premier aristocrats to be murdered when they were the object of our special care and attention. The press have been told that the Brigadier died from a seizure but soon enough everyone in Scotland is going to have guessed that somebody is killing the Dukes of Dornoch while we look on in complete impotence.”
Burgess gazed in silence at each of Allerdyce and Jarvis.
“Well, gentlemen, have you nothing to say? What do you suggest we do now?”
Jarvis spoke.
“The two deaths may not be connected, sir. Semple may well have been responsible for the first murder.”
Burgess stood. His face flushed red. He pointed at Jarvis.
“For Christ’s sake man, I’m not daft you know. If you hadn’t been so bloody cocksure about Semple the Chief wouldn’t have closed the investigation. Think about it, man, think about it seriously. Your prejudice about Semple may have cost the Brigadier his life. If the Chief Constable didn’t think the sun shone out of your arse I’d have you up on a charge for obstructing justice.”
Jarvis chose not to reply – neither apology nor explanation – but stared back at Burgess. Burgess is in more danger from Jarvis and the Chief, thought Allerdyce, than Jarvis will ever be from him.
The Superintendent sat down.
“All right, men, I’m sorry. The first murder happened before we could have anticipated it. It seemed reasonable at least to want to interview Semple. But we’re still as deeply in the mire as we could be.”
“I understand Inspector Allerdyce undertook informal investigations in Sutherland, sir,” said Jarvis.
Damn, thought Allerdyce, how did he know that? Maybe he did have me followed.
Burgess look unsurprised at Jarvis’s knowledge.
“Well at least one of you was doing something useful. Mr Allerdyce should have been on sick leave but he voluntarily searched for any information there. Perhaps you’d care to report, Allerdyce.”
He recounted his investigations, including his conclusion that Patrick Slater was not a credible suspect.
“So,” said Burgess, “where does that leave us, gentlemen? If we have two dead Dukes then my assumption, as a simple man, is that we are probably looking for a single killer with specific reasons for wanting each of them to die. What common reason might there be?”
“Inheritance, sir?” suggested Allerdyce.
“All right, that’s one possibility, but rather remote I’d have thought. The titles and the properties will pass down the family, and I can’t honestly imagine that the Bothwell-Scotts are murdering each other for money.”
“Don’t forget, sir, that the Reverend Bothwell-Scott suggested that his oldest brother had a daughter by a marriage which he had repudiated.”
Burgess tapped his fingers against the desk.
“Yes. That’s interesting, Allerdyce, very interesting indeed. We clearly need to speak to her. What else do we know?”
“The messages associated with each death seem to suggest a person of some wit and intelligence,” observed Allerdyce.
“True enough. And what sort of person might bear a sufficient resentment against both of them to want to kill them, apart from this possible woman?”
“The list of people with reasons to resent William Bothwell-Scott is immense, sir. It could be anyone who�
��d suffered under his clearances of the Sutherland estates or under the management of his mines.”
“All right, and what about the Brigadier?”
“Possibly rather a narrower field, sir. His oppressions have been principally military. The message left at the scene of his death – ‘relieved of command’ – may be an ironic reference to his removal from active command in the Crimea and his subsequent mismanagement of his duties in supplying the army there.”
“Fine. So we’re looking for someone who might share both those resentments. Can we think of anyone?”
Jarvis’s reptilian smirk had crept back. That’s a look of sheer malice, thought Allerdyce, as Jarvis turned to look at him.
“I can think of one person,” said Jarvis.
“Really?” asked Burgess.
“Yes, sir. Mr Allerdyce’s sergeant. McGillivray.”
You poisonous bastard, thought Allerdyce. You’ll do anything to destroy us.
Burgess sat bolt upright, shocked into pallor. He held tightly to the arms of his chair.
“Mr Jarvis, are you daring to accuse a fellow police officer?”
Jarvis sat back and crossed his legs.
“I’m not accusing anyone, sir. I just want to make sure we’ve considered every possibility.”
“Damn you, Jarvis.” Allerdyce turned on him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You wrecked my last sergeant’s career. Now you’re telling us that Sergeant McGillivray may be a murderer? Are you mad?”
Superintendent Burgess trembled as he spoke.
“Mr Jarvis, I must say that I share Mr Allerdyce’s astonishment. Justify yourself, Chief Inspector, if you can.”
Jarvis flicked some lint off his trousers before answering.
“Sir, I’m only drawing a reasonable inference from things which Mr Allerdyce has told us in previous conversations. We know from him that McGillivray and his family suffered under the Duke’s evictions. We know too that they suffered under the Brigadier’s management of military affairs in the Crimea. I don’t think Mr Allerdyce is in a position to give an alibi for his sergeant’s whereabouts at the time of either of the murders. It does raise some interesting questions, doesn’t it sir?”
