A Fever of the Blood

by Oscar de Muriel

  ‘Joan?’ I jumped in.

  ‘Oh, sorry, master. I know you don’t like my tittle-tattle.’

  ‘I do not, but … right now I need some of it.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ She seemed rather alarmed. ‘If ’tis about this morning with George, master, I swear I’ll –’

  ‘No, no, no,’ I interrupted, still trying to cast that unsettling picture out of my head. I shifted in my chair, the epiphany now fully formed. ‘It is something else. I need you to tell me everything – and I mean everything – you know about Joel Ardglass.’

  From her mouth came a sizzling noise, as if she were staring at a juicy joint of beef. ‘Oh, master, ’tis a most dreadful affair! How come you want to know?’

  I shrugged. ‘Just to … have something to gossip about at the New Club. The conversations have run dry of late.’

  ‘Well, I do know a wee thing or two.’

  ‘Wee? Why, you are swiftly becoming a Scotswoman!’

  Joan blushed slightly, but then dived straight into the gossip. ‘I had it all from Gertrude, one of the washerwomen who work for that nasty Lady Glass. We both like to buy our soaps at Mr Oleander’s. He sells those nice scented bars you like so much; you know, the one made of oats for sensitive skins?’

  ‘You may spare me those details – well, at least I know that your gossip comes from a good source.’

  ‘Indeed, sir, but you mustn’t tell anybody you heard all this from me. I swore to Gertrude I’d take it to the grave!’

  ‘As I am sure she did too.’

  ‘Well, do you know how the gentleman died?’

  I cleared my throat. ‘No, not really. Tell me.’

  She poured some more gravy on my chicken. ‘Made a very good batch of this, master. I had some scrapings from that roast –’

  ‘Joan, please focus! How is he su–’ I had been going to say ‘supposed to have died’, but managed to hold my tongue. Joan, like everyone else, thought him truly dead.

  ‘Shipwreck, master. Well, so Lady Glass claims.’

  ‘Oh? Why would it be in doubt?’

  ‘Well, after it happened folks naturally asked questions and looked at the newspapers. Very soon they realized that – you won’t believe this – there were no shipwrecks on the day Lady Glass claimed her son died! Not a single one!’

  ‘You shock and astound me.’

  ‘Indeed! Some of the servants say the poor lad killed himself, jumped overboard when crossing the Channel or something like that. Others even say Lady Glass … well, did it herself! She was nowhere to be found in the days after Lord Ardglass set off for Europe.’

  I nodded, thinking that the truth was far more shocking than people theorized. If only Joan knew …

  ‘Why would she do such a thing?’ I probed. ‘Then again, why would Lord Ardglass commit suicide?’

  ‘That’s what Gertrude was most reluctant to tell me.’ Joan would not scruple to spill it out though: ‘Not long before the affair, Lord Ardglass had a mighty quarrel with his mother. They cursed and yelled horrible things at each other; everyone in the house heard. Apparently Lord Ardglass even tried to strangle the old woman. It was a dreadful affair. After that fight he became very withdrawn, very withdrawn indeed. It was then that Lady Glass decided to send him to some fancy country on the Continent.’

  ‘What was the quarrel about?’

  ‘Do you like them spuds, sir? I did think they needed a touch more salt. I can bring you –’

  ‘Joan, will you forget my dinner until you are done with the story?’

  Then Joan said the single sentence that would explain it all: ‘Oh, everyone knew that he never wanted to marry the gal he married. He did so to please Lady Glass. Gertrude told me she was this petite, sickly creature from some fading aristocratic family. Most folk were surprised she even endured a full pregnancy; she died when her child was only four or five years old.’

  ‘I see …’ I muttered, bringing my fingertips together. ‘That frail woman was Miss Ardglass’s mother, I suppose.’

  ‘Aye. Lady Beatrice … Remburn, I think. And Gertrude said her death was a blessing in disguise. She couldn’t have been happy, you know, with a husband that didn’t want her and that pesky drunkard as a mother-in-law.’

  ‘Perhaps that Gertrude woman is right. Did she mention why Lord Ardglass objected to the marriage?’

  ‘She wasn’t sure, master, but Miss Ardglass’s old nanny told Gertrude once that the man’s heart was elsewhere.’

  ‘Elsewhere?’

  ‘Yes. And if she’s right, having to wed another must have destroyed him.’

  ‘That is interesting,’ I said, my eyes fixed on the ceiling. I remembered Lord Ardglass’s earliest and apparently unjustified suicide attempt, before his trips to the Continent. Could that have been triggered by his doomed love?

  ‘Did she tell you this other woman’s name?’ I asked. ‘Or how they met … or anything about her?’

  ‘Oh, I did ask her,’ Joan said with frustration, ‘but Gertrude didn’t know herself. That’s all I can tell you, master.’

  ‘Thank you, Joan. It was in fact more than enough.’ Having such an avid gossipmonger under my roof was finally paying off.

  She curtsied and left me with my thoughts.

  Lord Ardglass’s character was beginning to make sense in my mind, and his tribulations were so close to my own it was painful to admit.

  It was not something I liked to discuss, but I had been jilted myself, and quite recently. That was the matter that had pushed me away from Gloucestershire, the reason my Christmas holiday had ended so abruptly.

  It was no secret to anyone that Laurence, my eldest brother, had won the heart of Eugenia Ferrars – my former fiancée. I left London the day after she curtly broke our engagement, and I have not been back since, but I am sure the gossip has been industriously disseminated throughout our social circles. I have come to dread the day I return to the capital, which partly explains why I did not push for my reinstatement in Scotland Yard too much.

  While I was no longer sure I had truly loved her, Eugenia had certainly stirred powerful emotions in me. I had seen her as the most angelic, most perfect of all creatures, and I had undoubtedly looked forward to our future together: raising children, sharing meals and quiet evenings.

  Now it was uncomfortable to even think about her, a dark mixture of disappointment, jealousy and bitterness. I could easily imagine similar resentment brewing in Lord Ardglass’s mind. He was a broken-hearted, frustrated man. Those episodes of depression I’d read about now had an explanation. Even his attack on his own mother, the woman responsible for his grief, would have made some twisted sense in the man’s vengeful mind.

  Had he spent thirty years dwelling on his lost love, until he finally erupted? If so, what had triggered his rage now?

  I shook my head, telling myself I would have plenty of time to reflect on those matters in the morning. Besides, the rest of my chicken was getting cold.

  10

  Superintendent George Campbell was around sixty, but despite his age and rank he much resembled a wild, scruffy lion, with his grey hair fluffed up, a thick moustache and the corners of his eyes tilted slightly upwards. His sullen face had very recently healed from his last friendly meeting with McGray: the ghastly, greenish bruise around his eye had taken weeks to vanish, and the words Peach-skin Campbell could still be heard throughout the CID corridors.

  I was not expecting him to be in a terribly good mood, it being very early in the morning, but his mouth was twisted into a most unusual shape, his lower lip almost quivering from the contained tension when he saw me.

  Campbell could never forgive that an Englishman had been forced into his ranks. As he’d once put it, my presence proved that the high commissioner in London thought of him as ‘poor, provincial folk’, and the most sympathetic adjective he’d ever used to describe me had been frivolous-looking.

  Needless to say that the hatred was mutual; nevertheless, I had to make my best e
ffort to appear deferential, for that morning I had something to ask from him.

  ‘I suppose you haven’t caught the rogue yet,’ he said, or rather yawned.

  ‘Indeed we have not, sir. Not being able to deploy officers to conduct a proper search has been quite a hindrance.’

  Campbell exhaled noisily. ‘I knew you’d come here moaning about that. I had to give my men strict orders; I’ve not forgotten the havoc you and McGray caused in New Town back in November. The last thing the department needed on New Year’s Day was an avalanche of complaints from the Queen Street Gardens gentry. If I must endure condescending upper-class peacocks telling me how to do my job, I would rather it is only you. Whom I can ignore. Very easily.’

  ‘We may have missed our best chance to find Lord Ardglass,’ I insisted. I would not let his mockery undermine me. ‘Sir, this secrecy around him is ridiculous. We have his portrait; the family can surely provide us with a few more, perhaps a more recent one. It would be a routine assignment for a few ground officers to take such pictures and ask around town who has seen him, while McGray and I investigate the other aspects of the –’

  Campbell was already leafing through some other documents, deaf to my words. When the superintendent finally deigned to look at me again his eyes were frustratingly vacant. ‘Why do you insist on bothering me, Frey? You know what my response will be. Our discretion was kindly requested by Lady Anne; by now you know how delicate this entire affair is for her family.’

  ‘By kindly requested do you mean … handsomely rewarded?’

  Campbell’s mane seemed to stand on end. It was no secret that he was more than willing to turn a blind eye to procedure when the right bribe came along.

  ‘Any other complaint, Frey?’ he snapped. ‘Any other aspect of the case you believe I am grossly mismanaging?’

  In fact …

  ‘Sir, I wanted to respectfully propose –’

  ‘Oh, here we go …’

  ‘To propose that Inspector McGray is taken off the investigation.’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Frey … My face has barely healed!’

  ‘I do not have the authority to remove him from the investigation, but you do, sir.’

  ‘Frey, it’s really difficult to feign interest when all you do is request the same gibberish over and over like one of those Brazilian parrots … What are they called?’

  ‘Sir, I am serious. It was nearly impossible to keep McGray and the Ardglass women from eviscerating each other; he is the last person I’d assign to find Lady Anne’s son. And if that were not enough, there is the issue of McGray’s sister.’

  Campbell’s eyes opened just a little wider. ‘The lunatic girl?’

  ‘The … ill girl, yes,’ I remarked; I have never liked the blunt term lunatic. ‘Lord Ardglass was overheard talking to her but a few hours before the murder.’

  Campbell sat back. Suddenly I had his full attention. ‘You must question her.’

  ‘We tried already, sir. Miss McGray has not said a word in five years. She –’ I was about to mention the Marigold scribble, but decided not to. ‘Even if she could communicate something to us, I doubt the testimony of a mentally ill person would be admissible in court.’

  ‘But McGray doesn’t see it that way, I would guess …’

  ‘Precisely. When his sister is involved Nine-Nails cannot possibly discern the trivial from the meaningful. If Miss McGray blinked or sighed or shook her head, Nine-Nails would see it as some miraculous hint of recovery.’

  Campbell nodded. ‘I do appreciate your point about McGray’s clouded judgement. That’s precisely why I want you to assist him. Dr Clouston requested specifically that you two handled the case. Now that you’ve mentioned McGray’s first-hand experience with madwags Clouston’s request seems quite logical.’

  ‘With all due respect, I doubt Dr Clouston’s judgement can be fully trusted right now. He is deeply involved in this case too, and despite being a reasonable man he shares this nonsensical idea of keeping things quiet …’

  ‘Because of his borderline illegal arrangement with Lady Anne. I know that.’

  ‘Indeed. You must also know that Clouston has given excellent treatment to Miss McGray for the past few years, and because of it Nine-Nails feels compelled to protect him. I am more inclined to believe that is the reason Clouston wants McGray in charge. To secure his own reputation.’

  ‘Complicated situation, Frey,’ Campbell muttered, now seemingly in deep thought.

  ‘Far more complicated than necessary, sir. To make matters worse, we found traces of witchcraft in Lord Ardglass’s room, and –’

  It was as though I’d pulled his chin up with a fishing hook.

  ‘Witchcraft!’

  I stammered, realizing how stupid I had been to mention that detail. ‘Well, only a fool would believe that those trinkets were actual –’

  ‘Well, I had my reservations, I have to admit; but if there is witchcraft involved in the case, that makes it McGray’s field of expertise.’

  ‘Sir, forgive me for asking this, but did you not hear a single word I have just said? It is dangerous to leave this in McGray’s hands. He will not have a level head; he might make painful mistakes and drag us all down with him.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be so bloody melodramatic.’

  ‘Melodramatic! A woman has died and another was attacked. This is beyond your regular penny dreadful.’

  By then I knew myself defeated. All power had slipped through my fingers and I had voluntarily handed it to McGray.

  Civility would have been too much for me – especially since Campbell was again leafing through his documents as if I were not there – so I simply turned on my heels and stormed out.

  I found McGray in the Dumping Ground, his feet on the desk, perusing the tattered witchcraft book. He was wearing the same clothes as the day before and his stubble looked slightly darker. He had probably spent the night at the public house, drinking ale and gorging himself with haggis and other Scottish unmentionables. At least he looked rested enough.

  I saw with disgust that he’d casually left the rotten onion on my desk; a couple of ants were still roaming over my paperwork.

  ‘Morning, yer highness,’ said McGray. ‘How come yer in this late?’

  I looked at my pocket watch, surprised by how long I’d been in the superintendent’s office. ‘I have been here for a while but I went to see Campbell. He wanted a general update.’

  ‘Aye. What did ye tell him?’

  ‘Nothing you do not know already.’

  McGray grinned. ‘Och, so ye asked him to get me out o’ yer way.’

  I cleared my throat. ‘Yes. I told you that myself. I do not think this case is –’

  He closed the book so hard it sounded like the thump of a mallet. ‘I don’t give a shite what ye think, Frey.’

  ‘I am aware of that.’

  He pointed at me, the book still in his spoiled hand. ‘What I do care about is ye telling on me like a wimpy schoolboy. It’s not the first time ye’ve done that.’

  ‘McGray …’

  ‘I’m in charge and I’ll see it to the end. If ye don’t like it, ye’d better leave. Understood?’ To underline his authority, he concluded: ‘And the first thing we’ll do now is to consult Madame Katerina.’

  I took a deep, angry breath. Madame Katerina was Nine-Nails’ clairvoyant of choice, and the prospect of meeting her again irritated me even more than sitting on top of an anthill. Protesting would be like preaching to the walls, so I focused on more important matters. ‘I have found out a thing or two about Joel Ardglass that Lady Anne forgot to comment on.’

  That immediately shifted McGray’s attention. ‘Did ye! How?’

  ‘Chatting to Joan. She is part of a network far more efficient than the bloody Scotsman.’

  I quickly briefed him on the gossip I’d heard the night before, and I saw his eyes light up when I mentioned Lord Ardglass’s unrequited love affair.

  ‘Doesn’t surprise me. I
told ye once, these people only marry commoners to avoid harelip – not that I need to say that to a Siamese from a similar litter. What does surprise me is that after all these years even her own servants haven’t heard the laddie’s real story. The auld bitch has done a terrific job at keeping her cards close to her saggy chest.’

  ‘I cannot blame her. See how easily the homicidal mother theories reached our ears. In fact, it shocks me that …’ the Ardglass story is not as famous as your sister’s past, I nearly said, but managed to hold myself back and amend the sentence: ‘It shocks me that Lady Anne would rather have people murmuring she is a murderer than admit her son lost his wits.’

  ‘The lie might have gotten a wee bit out o’ her hands.’

  I tilted my head. ‘Although that Bertha woman did seem nervous when I questioned her. She must know much more than she admits.’

  ‘Aye. I should try and persuade her to talk.’

  ‘McGray, I will not let you beat the truth out of an elderly woman!’

  He laughed earnestly. ‘Don’t worry. The only auld hag I’ve ever wanted to beat is Lady Glass, and her son’s already done that for me.’

  11

  Madame Katerina owned a most peculiar establishment in the southern slums of the city: the ground floor was a thriving alehouse, while on the upper storey she hosted her ‘divination sessions’. The woman was supposed to be the most gifted clairvoyant in all of Scotland – how good a recommendation that was, I sincerely cannot tell.

  Her sad premises looked directly over the filthy square that serves as Edinburgh’s cattle market. To my disgust, it was auction day, so the stench of a thousand flea-ridden cows and sheep hit my nostrils, as powerful and offensive as a physical blow.

  Philippa became agitated as soon as we approached, the mooing and bleating too much for her ears. She halted stubbornly, neighing and snorting, and I had to spur her hard until she finally deigned to move. I tethered her next to McGray’s Rye, the chestnut horse as unaffected as its owner.