I still found the courage – or the madness – to whisper out my most heartfelt words. ‘You believe it is worth killing yourself for that, and I will not even attempt to persuade you otherwise, but I am not going to follow you any more.’
He spoke in an ominous tone, and as the sun descended it was almost as if his words darkened the entire land around us: ‘Ye’ve no idea what it is like, do ye? To be clinging to a last shred of hope, and then to have someone like ye rub my face in how pointless it could all be.’
‘McGray –’
‘I have nothing! I’ve nothing left, but the slightest chance to bring her back. When ye realize something like that – it breaks ye to the bones.’
He chuckled bitterly. ‘How could ye understand? Ye don’t even like yer own folk; ye come from a pack of bloody wolves that stab ye in the back at the first chance. I bet ye didn’t even like yer own mother.’
That felt like a physical blow. My mother had passed away more than two decades ago, yet I had never forgotten the horrendous days that preceded her death. Whenever I thought of it I felt a surge of tears I had soon learned to repress, even as a young boy.
I preferred not to share that with McGray. I had probably injured him far more with fewer words. However, no amount of empathy could make me change my mind; this mission was meant to fail, I knew it, and I would not become another casualty in the tragic history of the Ardglass family or the McGrays.
I gulped painfully. ‘Now that we have established where we stand … we should move on. The sooner we are in a civilized place, the sooner we can each go our separate ways.’
‘Before we reach that point I want ye to remember that I wasnae hexed, blootered, drugged or impaired in any way when I did this …’
I flinched, anticipating a good beating, but for some reason he changed his mind. He released me and pushed me away, hissing.
‘Go wherever ye fucking want, ye pretty London boy.’
His voice sounded so vicious, so full of resentment, I would have preferred the actual blow.
He resumed his march, impassive, and as I watched him walk away I noticed that the snowflakes had become thick and heavy. I did not want to follow Nine-Nails, but I’d need to find shelter soon, and Slaidburn was the nearest place.
Just as I started after him we heard a throaty shout, closely followed by the rattle of wheels. The sound came from ahead, beyond the next bend of the road.
McGray raised his hand to his breast pocket, caressing the weapon. His tension lessened only a little when we saw the source of the noise. It was a cart, old and creaking, laden with at least a dozen barrels of beer. A sickly mule pulled it at a sluggish pace, and the man driving it looked just as miserable: hunched, skin and bone, and with one of those drowsy grimaces that spread apathy simply from looking at them.
McGray planted himself in the middle of the road and waited patiently until the cart reached us, the snow quickly piling on our shoulders. The mule decided that walking round Nine-Nails would be too much of an effort, and stopped in front of us as the driver let out a mighty yawn. He dragged his voice after spitting out some snowflakes. ‘What?’
‘What’s yer name, laddie?’
The man took his time to reply. ‘Floyd. Why you ask?’
‘We need a ride,’ McGray said. ‘We’re going to Slaidburn.’
That Floyd looked us over carefully, our filthy clothes and sorry faces. It took him an infuriatingly long time to respond, as if speaking required Herculean strength. ‘Nah, I just came from there … and I don’t want any trouble.’
He spurred on his sad-looking mule, but it did not manage more than one step; McGray held the beast by the mane as he brought out Nettle’s gun.
‘A ride, laddie,’ he growled, and I heard the click of the safety catch. ‘Else I’ll give ye a big trouble in the middle o’ yer bloody head.’
The veins in Nine-Nails’ temples were pounding, and I feared he’d do something stupid, but even that filthy carter had enough sense to give up the reins.
Nine-Nails installed himself on the driver’s seat as Floyd got down.
‘Where ye going?’ McGray demanded.
‘Err? I thought you –’
‘I need someone to pour me a beer,’ McGray said, and the carter did not waste his chance. Much faster than I would have thought him capable of, he clambered back on as McGray turned the wobbly cart around.
After my passionate speech I was sure he would leave me there, and I would not have blamed him. I still cannot believe he had the compassion to turn back and whistle.
‘Hop on, lassie, or ye stay here for ever!’
I chuckled. ‘And follow you where you are heading? Are you mad?’
‘Please yerself,’ he said, already spurring on the mule and riding away. He snapped at Floyd, ‘Throw him yer stinking rags. He’ll need them in this weather.’
Floyd pulled a dirty blanket from under the seat, together with a sack of bread and a flask probably full of ale, and threw them at my feet. The bread was so stale it sank like a stone into the snow.
McGray shook the reins and the mule took its first weary steps, the wheels rattling as they gathered momentum. Just then the wind hit me hard, as if trying to awaken me from my stubbornness. The cart was gaining speed so I had no more time to think. I had to jog ridiculously and leap on to the back of it, clinging precariously to one of the leather straps that kept the beer barrels in place.
Nine-Nails was already helping himself to the tankard of beer he’d been handed. Floyd sneered at me.
‘Look a’ that! Your high-born chap decided to –’
‘Don’t push yer luck, laddie, I’ve only just met ye,’ McGray snarled.
I settled down between the barrels, preferring that to sharing the front seat with Nine-Nails.
The trip was very short, but so tense and silent it felt like it took hours. McGray focused on driving the mule, his face so broody I did not even attempt to speak.
We had both crossed over a line from which there was no return, and realizing it made me feel strangely … saddened. I wondered whether we’d ever trust each other again.
30
The vast, empty moors slowly gave way to sparse woodland. Oaks and firs flanked the road, but under the darkening sky we could barely see their outlines.
The more we advanced the more uneasy I felt, yet I could not tell the reason. There was something in the air I did not like, like a dark premonition that came on the icy wind and the earthy smell of the woods, but I shook my head and cast those thoughts aside.
We finally saw the first lights of the village emerge. A small cluster of golden sparks turned, as we approached, into square windows, their glows reflected by a pebbled street and the sandstone walls of ancient dwellings. I felt as if we were walking back into the past, for those regions of England have changed very little since the Reformation – and I expected to find the residents thoroughly superstitious.
Slaidburn was little more than one long street, so it was easy to find our destination. In the dim light we made out the tattered sign of the village’s inn. Though it was cracked and weather-beaten, one could still read Hark to Bounty Inn.
‘This is the place,’ I said, somewhat relieved, for part of me had never believed that Nettle’s advice would lead us anywhere. The window glass was misted, but I could see a roaring fire inside. ‘At least it looks warm in there.’
McGray whistled as he alighted. ‘Blimey! I saw this building drawn in an auld book. This is the inn where they locked the Pendle witches on their way to Lancaster!’
‘I hope they have washed the linen since,’ was my laconic remark.
McGray did not bother to abuse me. He was busy pulling Floyd down off the cart.
‘We might need yer rickety piece o’ shite,’ he said, taking off his boot and pulling out a thick wad of notes.
‘You had that on you all this time?’ I asked in astonishment.
‘Course I did! I put most of yer money here before we left Lanc
aster, while ye were crying in the back of the coach. It’s not the first time I’ve travelled dangerous roads.’ He turned to Floyd. ‘Here, for yer trouble,’ he said, and he tossed him a liberal amount of sterling.
‘Excuse me!’ I protested.
Floyd was already counting the notes with greedy eyes. ‘My! ’Tis enough to buy me own cart and give old Mr Brewer t’middle finger!’
‘Then sod off and be merry,’ McGray concluded, and before I could say another word Floyd was off.
‘Nine-Nails, in the future, do refrain from squandering my money.’
‘Shut it!’
He went to the inn’s main door, which he found locked, even though all the ground-floor rooms were lit. I looked up and saw a light coming from one of the upstairs windows, but it went out almost as soon as I had raised my head.
‘There’s folk in there,’ McGray grunted, pounding on the oak door, but there was no answer. In fact, the village was completely deserted, as if people had left in such haste they’d had no time to extinguish their candles.
McGray knocked again and we waited, but there was not a sound until a couple of crows landed on the inn’s roof, flapping their wings and cawing at each other. Nine-Nails looked at them with suspicion and was about to say something when the door burst open, almost hitting him in the face.
A middle-aged woman came out at a run, waving madly, her face distraught. She wore a stained apron and her nervous hands clasped a dirty cloth.
‘Have you found them children?’ she urged.
McGray frowned. ‘Children?’
The woman halted, looking at the cart and then at us with befuddled eyes.
‘Can we help ye, lass?’ McGray asked, but the woman was frantic.
‘Where’s Floyd?’ she asked, still staring at the cart. I opened my mouth but McGray rushed to speak.
‘We … we found this thing abandoned on the road. We guessed it came from here. Who’s Floyd? He yer husband?’
The woman looked disgusted at the very suggestion. ‘God, no! He brings our ale, but the whole town’s looking for our poor children. Our –’
She broke apart then, surrendering to tears and covering her face with the greasy rag. McGray patted her on the shoulder. ‘Calm down, hen. We’re CID, we might be able to help youse. Can we go in?’
He was not really asking for permission; the woman was so distressed McGray led her by the arm back into her own inn.
We had barely crossed the threshold when a very tall man blocked our way. My heart jumped as I caught sight of that imposing figure, expecting a waxed moustache and a menacing crone lurking behind. It was not the case, and I looked at him with relief, despite the threatening face he turned on us. The man had fiery eyes, weathered skin and a blond, bristly beard. I could see beads of sweat all over his forehead.
‘What the hell have you done to my wife?’ he barked at us.
I realized we must look like filthy tramps, and even on his better days I could not blame anyone for looking askance at McGray.
‘All right, all right,’ McGray said, gently pushing the woman forwards. ‘We found yer missus outside; she was asking us about some missing children.’
The woman buried her face in the man’s shoulder and wept on. He half closed his eyes, all suspicion. ‘You’re not from round here.’
‘Indeed we are not,’ I replied, offering a hand the rough man did not shake. ‘We are CID inspectors. We are stranded and could use some assistance.’
‘We have enough trouble already.’
‘And perhaps we can help youse,’ McGray offered.
‘We’re full,’ the man retorted.
I took a peep over his shoulder. There was a large sitting room with several tables around the fire, and the meaty smell of a stew wafted into the porch, yet there was not a soul there.
‘This is not a particularly thriving business,’ I remarked.
‘I said we’re full!’
He pushed his wife aside and took a step forwards. I saw McGray reaching for his breast pocket and I had to tug at his arm.
‘We don’t need more trouble either,’ I whispered. ‘We’d better leave, we might have better luck elsewhere.’
‘Listen to the pretty boy,’ the innkeeper grunted. ‘We don’t like no foreigners here.’
Nobody moved for a moment, until the silence was broken by the steps of a young man, obviously a servant, who came past carrying a copper bath on his shoulders. He also looked at us in confusion, before addressing the huge innkeeper: ‘Where d’you want the bath, Mr Greenwood?’
I could not believe my ears, immediately remembering Joel’s first victim, the death which had triggered this entire expedition.
‘Greenwood!’ McGray cried, unable to conceal his surprise.
The innkeeper looked more suspicious than ever. ‘What does my name have to do with you?’
McGray cleared his throat. ‘Are youse in any way connected to a Miss Elizabeth Greenwood – a nurse in Edinburgh?’
It was as if one of the beer barrels had shattered between us. Mr Greenwood gasped, his wife’s weeping stopped and she turned her head to McGray, her eyes bloodshot.
McGray nodded sombrely. ‘I see youse are.’
Husband and wife exchanged looks. They were terrified, hands, lips and legs shaking.
‘What shall we do?’ the frightened woman burst out, but Mr Greenwood squeezed her shoulder.
Most reluctantly, and after a full minute of internal struggle, the man stepped aside and let us pass.
‘They bring news of our daughter Lizzy,’ he told his wife in an unnecessary loud voice. ‘Fetch ’em something to drink.’
‘Where are yer stables?’ McGray asked.
‘Just leave the mule where it is!’ Mr Greenwood blurted. ‘We’ll send someone to take care of it.’
Mrs Greenwood brought two pints of dark ale and a small drummer of brandy – the latter for me – and carefully placed the glasses on the table.
‘Have a seat, missus,’ McGray offered, but she looked nervously at her husband.
‘She’s all right,’ he said, lighting up a cigarette. ‘She has work to do. Go check that stew; the inspectors will be hungry.’
The woman looked appalled. ‘The gentlemen won’t be staying, surely!’
Mr Greenwood grunted through his teeth, ‘Do as you’re told.’
She curtsied, but as she walked away I noticed her trembling ankles. Mr Greenwood’s eyes followed her, and he did not speak until he was certain his wife had gone.
‘It’s bad news about our Lizzy, isn’t it?’
McGray took a swig of ale to clear his throat. ‘I’m afraid so. We’re very sorry.’
The man stared into his glass, biting his lip. He drew in smoke slowly, looking up and blinking anxiously to dissipate tears, which he hardly managed even after downing half the pint in one gulp.
‘H-how did it happen?’
‘It is better that you sent your wife away,’ I admitted. I’d given bad news to relatives more times than I could remember, but it had never become easier. ‘Your daughter was murdered by one of her patients – an inmate in the Edinburgh asylum.’
Mr Greenwood again looked up, his pupils flickering in anxiety. We gave him a few minutes to compose himself, but the poor man’s distress worsened. He was breathing raggedly, and covered his brow with a shaking hand.
‘W-why would anyone do that? Was it just the madness?’
‘To this date,’ I said, rather embarrassed, ‘we are not sure.’
‘But ye might be able to help us,’ McGray jumped in. ‘Can ye tell us a wee bit more about her?’
Mr Greenwood cleared his throat. ‘We haven’t seen her in years. We … we didn’t part on good terms.’
McGray leaned forwards and whispered, ‘We ken she gave birth at some point. Was that why youse quarrelled?’
It was as if someone had slapped Mr Greenwood in the face. ‘How could you possibly know that?’
‘Post-mortem,’ I said. �
�The fact caught our attention, given her marital status.’
Mr Greenwood shook his head, frowning in sorrow. ‘That’s where all her problems started, the silly girl. We were sitting at this very table when she told us. I was furious. Her mother smacked her …’
‘Did youse kick her out?’ McGray asked.
‘You must understand, Inspector, that we are very well known in the region. We’re not rich but at least we’re respectable. We couldn’t have borne people gossiping behind our backs, calling her names … whispering that she’d lain with every man who’d ever spent a night in this inn. I would never have anyone call my child a wh–’
He bit his knuckles.
‘So youse kicked her out,’ McGray repeated.
Mr Greenwood banged his fist on the table. ‘She knew very well she couldn’t stay. She knew the sort of life she would have had – her and her baby. When we suggested that she leave she was only too keen.’
‘Where did she go initially?’ I asked.
‘For once the bastard who impregnated her did something useful. He and Lizzy exchanged letters and she told him everything. The damn fool would not marry her. Instead he sent her the address of some woman in Lancaster who could employ her – how very kind of him!’
‘Who was this woman?’ McGray asked promptly.
‘Never saw her in the flesh, Inspector, but she was called … Something Redfern.’
I inhaled and nearly cursed, but Nine-Nails silenced me with a glare. ‘What sort o’ job did she offer?’ he asked.
‘Lizzy said the woman was a midwife. She had agreed to take care of the pregnancy very quietly, and then take Lizzy on as her apprentice. She was aware of Lizzy’s story and didn’t mind; it was all very convenient. My daughter even had time to pack and leave just before her belly betrayed her.
‘We saw her once again. My wife and me went to Lancaster to pick up the child – a girl. Lizzy was so much changed; she had gone too impetuous, too independent to listen to our advice. That evil witch had filled her head with stupid ideas: how she didn’t need nobody, how she could maintain herself and all that fancy liberal shite. Her plan was to save up and buy a small house, and then send for the girl and claim she was her niece.’
A Fever of the Blood Page 23
