by Clare Jayne
She paled and Joe hurried forward to put an arm round her.
Mr MacPherson spoke to the guard, placing another coin in his hand as he asked for a hot drink to be brought. She then heard the guard call to someone else to watch over the unlocked room while he left.
“Forgive me,” Miss McNeil said, straightening and taking in several steadying breaths. “I am well, but you can’t imagine the nightmare I’ve lived in since that awful morning. I can answer more questions.”
“Why did you leave?” Ishbel asked.
“My first thought was to send for a doctor, but it was clearly far too late for anyone to help poor Richard. The housekeeper was asking me what to do, but I couldn’t think, couldn’t tear my eyes away from his dead body. I can’t say how many minutes passed. I asked who had done this and she said she didn’t know, that no one had opened the door to him the previous night, nor heard any noises, and no one had broken a window or door to force their way in. It then struck me that others would assume I’d killed him: he was in my house after all and no other visitor was there. I could think of no way to prove my innocence. I told them that I had to leave or I’d be arrested and said that they should wait several hours, then send for the Town Guards. I ran upstairs, dressed, packed a handful of clothes and ran. I went to Joe first, telling him what had happened, and he gave me all the money on him and said I should take a coach to London and try to get passage on a ship out of the country. I got as far as London but had too little money left to proceed further. I thought I could remain there until the real murderer was found, but an officer found and arrested me, bringing me back.”
“When you left your house, did you see any knife that could have been used to commit the crime?” Mr MacPherson asked her.
“No, I...”
There was a sound behind them and they turned as the guard entered the room and handed Miss McNeil a drink in a crude tankard and a lump of bread. She thanked him gratefully, not seeming to realise that this was no kindness on his part but the work of Mr MacPherson’s bribe. She took several swallows of the hot drink, whatever it was, which seemed to revive her.
“A knife? Do you mean, beside Richard’s body?” she asked Mr MacPherson, who nodded. “I saw nothing. There were knives in the kitchen.”
“None of them were used,” he told her. “We also saw a letter opener that could perhaps have been used, but there was no blood on it.”
“Then the killer must have brought a knife with him?” she mused, finishing her drink. “Many people carry a folding knife for protection. I do. It was with my clothes the morning after the death, so no one used that.”
“It is not something a gentleman would commonly carry,” Mr MacPherson said, with a glance at Ishbel. There was a moment of silence as they all considered this information, then he asked Miss McNeil, “Do you have any idea who the killer could be?”
“I had two thoughts about it, firstly that a thief somehow had a key to my door, although I cannot imagine how. My second belief, which seemed more probable, was that Lord Moray had done it. He was a friend of Richard’s...”
“We know,” Ishbel said. “We have met him. Do you know what their disagreement was about?”
Miss McNeil finished chewing a piece of bread before speaking, the expression of hunger on her face making Ishbel think she had not had much, or perhaps any food recently. “Richard suggested that they invest in some venture and it lost a great deal of money. I think Lord Moray had put even more money into it than Richard had and felt that Richard should pay him back himself. Richard refused, saying he had known the risk. They argued and had still not reconciled when Richard was murdered. Richard said something about Lord Moray not being trustworthy around women too – I think he must have heard some of the crude comments Lord Moray made to me. He wanted to protect me.” She put the tankard down on the floor and straightened, taking a step closer to them. “What I thought was that, unless someone else had obtained a key somehow, Richard must have arrived with his murderer, meaning that it was someone he knew and felt safe to let into the house. I thought there could have been another argument between the two men and Lord Moray lost his temper – he has a really nasty temper – and stabbed him. However, as you say, most gentlemen do not need to keep a knife on them. Could he have used my letter opener and then wiped it clean?”
“That is possible,” Mr MacPherson said.
“Our other main suspect is the duke’s daughter,” Ishbel told her.
“Lady Sarah? Why would you possibly believe such a thing?”
“She seemed to have a bad relationship with her father and has inherited a great deal of money on his death. There was also a rumour that you and the duke might marry, which would make her fear losing her inheritance to you and any male heir you produced.”
“No, Richard was never going to marry me,” Miss McNeil said and gave a quick laugh, a painful sound. “Can you imagine me attending some fancy ball with him and mixing with the gentry? They would have destroyed me if I’d done such a thing. He gave me a good life: his affection, a lovely home and more money and gifts than I ever expected. Why should I ask for more than that?”
“Lady Sarah might not have realised you felt like that. She is the only other person we have heard of with a motive to kill the duke,” Ishbel said. “She could have asked a servant or admirer to commit the murder on her behalf, which would explain them taking a knife with them, and there would have been no reason for the duke to feel threatened by such a visitor, so he would have let them into the house.”
“How horrible. It never occurred to me to suspect his own daughter could think of such a thing, but if you believe it possible then so do I. How will you prove it?”
That was, unfortunately, a question they had no good answer for.
Chapter Twenty
IT WAS still early morning when they left the Old Tolbooth, taking their leave of Miss McNeil and Mr Fillinister. They returned to Miss Campbell’s house to talk over what they had learnt. Ewan had left some money with a guard so he would provide Miss McNeil with a blanket and decent food and drink.
They settled themselves in the library, its fire hot and servants close by to provide them with refreshments, and Ewan could not help but compare it to the hellish place they had just been and to the luxurious life he usually took for granted.
“I cannot believe anyone could be kept in such appalling conditions,” Miss Campbell said, echoing his thoughts. “Miss McNeil has not even had a trial yet and such treatment must kill many of its inmates. I must ask Harriette if there is any charitable organisation that might be able to improve matters for prisoners.”
“If there is, I would be glad to contribute to it,” Ewan said, grabbing this idea as a salve to his conscience at having so much wealth.
“I believe more than ever that Miss McNeil is innocent. Do you have any doubts about her?”
“She was convincing but do not forget that she is an actress. I would certainly not consider her one of the most likely suspects, but I am not yet ready to absolve her of the crime.”
“Our two best suspects must remain Lady Sarah and Lord Moray.”
“Yes,” he said, a picture coming to his mind of the cold anger on Lady Sarah’s face as she spoke of her father. “Perhaps I should send Rabbie for another talk with Lady Sarah’s servants.”
“Certainly. And perhaps Mr Cassell – the caddy who helped us before – could ask around about the two of them amongst his acquaintances. He might even be able to find someone who saw who entered Miss McNeil’s house on the night the duke died.” When Ewan agreed with this, she went on, “I will send for him while you speak to your valet.”
Ewan felt this was not entirely proper, but the young Highlander had been nothing but polite to Miss Campbell in the past, and he doubted she would listen to his objection in any case, so he agreed to speak to her tomorrow. She had several university lectures she wished to attend this afternoon, and this would give Rabbie and Jed Cassell a chance to find out what
they could.
He left the house, still lost in thought about the case. It seemed most probable to him that Lord Moray was the killer, but a confident gentleman like that would not be likely to make a confession of his guilt if they confronted him. He said this to Rabbie, as he requested his help and changed out of the malodorous outfit he had worn to the gaol, feeling a bit guilty as he saw his valet’s downcast expression at the state of the soiled clothes.
“A jury would never even consider a peer of the realm as the murderer when they have an easier person to blame in Miss McNeil. We need evidence of his guilt.”
“Best to be sure you’re accusing the right person of murder before you worry about that, if you’ll pardon me for saying so, sir,” Rabbie said, tying a fresh cravat around Ewan’s neck.
“No, you’re right, but between you and Jed, the caddy, I hope you can get enough information to let us be certain of the culprit. We are rapidly running out of time. If the trial begins before we have another good suspect to put before a jury, Miss McNeil could hang...”
Chapter Twenty-One
MR MACPHERSON brought his valet with him when he called at Ishbel’s home the next day.
“I could not find much out that you do not already know,” Rabbie Camran said, sitting carefully on the edge of a chair in the drawing room in worn but well-maintained clothes. His sharp features were full of enthusiasm and, as before, he spoke with a familiarity to Mr MacPherson that suggested a friendship between them, despite their different stations in life. “Lady Sarah seemed to strongly dislike her father, but they knew of no man who she might take into her confidence. I was thinking about what Mr MacPherson said to me yesterday about someone killing the duke for her. It didn’t seem as if any of the servants liked her and, if there wasn’t no other man she trusted, who does that leave?”
“That is a good discovery,” she told him.
“There’s a chance I can find out more,” he said eagerly. “A footman mentioned that today Lady Sarah’s maid has the afternoon off so, if you both think it’s a good idea, I could try to have a private talk with her and perhaps offer her a bit of money to tell us what she knows. If there is anyone who would know all Lady Sarah’s secrets, it’s her maid.”
“I agree,” Mr MacPherson said and they both looked to her for approval.
“So do I. You are doing a wonderful job of helping us, Mr Camran.”
The valet grinned, clearly enjoying playing his part in their investigation. It seemed as if it was not just she and Mr MacPherson who were stepping outside their usual roles in life and relishing the change.
“Rabbie,” Mr MacPherson said, “see if the maid saw any blood, either on Lady Sarah or any possible accomplice. I cannot believe the murder could have been committed without blood getting on the killer’s clothes and that would be a clear sign of guilt we could put before a jury.”
“Yes, sir.”
When the valet left them, Mr MacPherson asked, “Did you manage to speak to Jed Cassell yesterday?”
“Yes. He already knew Lord Moray and seemed unsurprised at the thought that he might be a killer,” she told him, Mr Cassell’s information having sealed her dislike of Lord Moray. “Apparently, the lord’s show of good manners do not extend to his servants or to other working class people he encounters. He once punched his valet while drunk and frequently has affairs with the maids who work in his house, several having left to escape his attentions.”
“We have been told by more than one person that he has a bad temper. If he was drunk when he turned up at Duke Raden’s house, it is highly probable that he killed him in a fit of rage.”
She frowned, not seeing how this would fit with the events of the night. “Where did he get a knife from?”
“The letter opener could have been used.”
“And, drunk, having just killed a friend, he thought to wipe it clean of blood? Why would he even bother? It would not link him to the crime in any way.”
Ewan leaned back in his armchair, silent, a considering frown on his expressive face. “You are right. It does not make sense.”
“There is still Lady Sarah to consider.”
“But if she did not know about Miss McNeil until after her father was dead, she has little motive.”
“Perhaps she found out about her that very night and, in a burst of anger at the thought of such a liaison tainting her family’s name or of her father begetting a male heir who would disinherit her, she arranged the murder – or committed it herself – straight away.”
“That is possible.”
She could tell he was not convinced. They would have to wait – impatiently in her case – and hope that Mr Camran and Mr Cassell found out what they needed to be sure of the killer. With Miss McNeil awaiting trial, they had to solve the murder quickly.
Chapter Twenty-Two
WHILE THE valet and caddy searched for proof of the killer on their behalf, Ishbel attended another informal luncheon with her cousin. She had attempted to avoid it but, of course, Harriette would not countenance that, saying Ishbel must be seen in society as soon as possible after being publicly insulted, to show that she was not cowed by the words. This was not entirely true. Ishbel was terrified of another such scene, her usual sense of independence and indifference to the opinions of the highest level of society vanishing when confronted with such malice.
Upon their arrival their hostess, Mrs Gleeson, greeted them. She was an unusually tall lady in a green gown that had the unfortunate effect of turning her complexion slightly sallow. She spoke to them in a friendly manner, but Ishbel was sure she caught a note of contempt in her voice.
Harriette was immediately seized upon to give her opinion on some matter, so Ishbel was left alone amid the roomful of guests. They were in the elegant formal dining room of Mrs Gleeson’s large city house, which had walls that were half panelled and half decorated with gold and blue striped wallpaper, and mahogany furniture. The dining table had been moved to one end and covered with refreshments, with a footman waiting there to serve the guests, who were standing about in half a dozen groups, the air filled with numerous conversations. Several women glanced in Ishbel’s direction, then one of them said something that had them all laughing.
“Miss Campbell!”
Ishbel turned, not recognising the voice and looking about with apprehension, then she gave a smile of relief and pleasure at seeing the familiar, attractive features of the young lady approaching her. “Miss Chiverton, I am happy to see you again.”
“And I, you.” Mr Chiverton’s sister was wearing a cream gown covered in lace that suited her blonde hair and pale complexion, while making her blue eyes look more vivid than ever. Ishbel had no doubt that she would have plenty of men competing for her affections after her coming out ball. Miss Chiverton gave Ishbel a bright smile. “How is your murder case proceeding?”
“Well, I think. We hope to be sure of the killer soon; we must be since Miss McNeil, the woman accused of the crime, has now been arrested and will shortly be put on trial.”
“Then you will save an innocent woman?”
“I very much hope so.” Ishbel glanced round the room. “Is your brother here with you?”
“Not today. My father accompanied me.”
“And is your mother recovered from her recent illness?”
“Nearly.” The smile returned. “She is still regaining her strength but the darkest times are over and she will soon be fully restored to health. At her insistence, we have set a date for my coming-out ball, so I may soon attend larger gatherings.”
Ishbel failed to see why this was a good thing, but kept the thought to herself in the face of the young woman’s excitement.
“Fiona!” A distinguished-looking, blond-haired gentleman, presumably her father, gestured for Miss Chiverton to join him, glaring at Ishbel.
“Oh, dear! I am so sorry but I was not supposed to speak to you.”
“Because of the scandal now attached to my name,” Ishbel guessed at once, try
ing to hide her disappointment.
“My brother disagreed with the decision, but my parents would not be swayed.”
Her father called out to her once again, in a more brusque tone.
“I understand,” Ishbel said. “It is all right. You must go: I do not want you to be scolded because of me.”
Miss Chiverton put a hand on Ishbel’s arm. “I hope you will still consider me a friend.”
“Gladly.”
The young woman reluctantly left, returning to her father, who took her to one side, to speak in a way that left her looking downcast, cheeks crimson.
This was Ishbel’s fault, her presence now an embarrassment to anyone who associated with her.
* * *
Mr MacPherson was waiting with both his valet and Mr Cassell, the caddy, when she got back to the Huntly residence. Harriette took one look at her three callers and, with a long-suffering sigh, invited herself into their meeting as Ishbel’s chaperone. Torn between amusement and chagrin, Ishbel silently acknowledged Harriette’s right to act in this way – given the repercussions she had recently discovered of being considered unladylike by society.
They all took seats in the library, the working class men looking thoroughly intimidated by Harriette’s presence, their eyes frequently darting over to her silent frowning form.
“What have you discovered?” she asked them.
All three men exchanged looks, then Rabbie Camran said, “They didn’t do it, Miss. Neither of them.”
“What?” She could not believe it possible, not with all they had learnt. This would destroy their entire investigation, if true. “How can you be sure of that?”
“It’s a delicate matter, Miss Campbell,” Mr Cassell said, flushing. “Lady Sarah was seen leaving her house on the night her father died. She spent the night with a male acquaintance... With Lord Moray.”
