by Clare Jayne
“Then so be it,” she said with finality. “I will do whatever is necessary to catch this evil person. I owe it to Aileas and her family. Will you help me?”
He wanted to shake her for being so stubborn or to fall to his knees and beg her to step away from this, but he knew by now that nothing could dissuade her from doing what she believed was necessary. It was up to him to protect her. “Of course.”
She gestured once more to the locket. “Someone bought that for Aileas or it would not have her initials on the back.”
He turned it over and saw the letters A. J. carved in elaborate curling strokes. “It is possible that someone stole it then had it engraved,” he said, although this sounded a doubtful explanation even to himself so he was not surprised when she disagreed.
“To take a stolen locket to a jewellers would be very risky and why bother? Having the initials put on was an extravagance – the locket was pretty on its own. It is something someone with plenty of money would put on a bought gift.”
He thought about this and an idea struck him. “The only man in that household with money is Lord Tinbough. What if he bought her the locket, trying to woo her, then Lady Tinbough found out and fired Aileas, so she stole the emeralds as an act of revenge.”
“Then where are the emeralds and who killed her?” Miss Campbell said. “Besides, if she had fired Aileas, Lady Tinbough would have checked into whether Aileas had taken the necklace. It is an obvious deduction and Lady Tinbough is no fool or Harriette would not have befriended her.”
“We have to find out who gave her the locket,” Ewan said.
“If it was someone outside Lady Tinbough’s household then perhaps her parents know. We did not know of the locket when we spoke to Mrs Jones so we never asked about it... But they are in mourning. We cannot disturb them after they have endured so much today.”
“She was their daughter,” he said. “They will want her killer caught even more than we do. If we give them today to grieve then pay a brief call tomorrow and ask only about the locket and any men who showed an interest in Aileas we would not need to stay more than a few minutes.”
“All right. Ewan, she was barely more than a child. What sort of monster could possibly have killed her and why?”
He shook his head, at a loss, part of his mind caught on the fact that she had used his given name for the first time. She would be in danger from now on until they found the killer. He kept returning to that fact, but she knew it and refused to let it stop her, so the case must be solved at once. They had to act, but how?
They were still sitting in silence when the butler announced a visitor for Miss Campbell. A young man was shown in who Miss Campbell introduced to Ewan as a medical student by the name of Mr Brown. He was a sandy-haired young man who looked at Miss Campbell with far too much familiarity for Ewan’s liking. He looked to be about the same age as her or close enough to be viewed as a potential rival.
“That was an unexpected turn to the morning,” Mr Brown said, taking the seat she offered him.
“Yes,” Miss Campbell agreed with feeling.
The young man glanced at Ewan as if wondering what he was interrupting then said, “Professor Monro thought you should know what we discovered when we examined the cadaver, Miss Campbell.” Before Ewan could object to such things being spoken of to her, the student went on, “The woman had been dead for some time, more than a week, from the state of decomposition. She had been pregnant and it looks as if her death might have been caused by a miscarriage – either natural or induced.”
“Induced?” she asked, looking puzzled.
“This is really not an appropriate subject...” Ewan tailed off at her annoyed glance.
At her prompting, the student said, “There are doctors or others who’ll abort a pregnancy in an unwed woman although, of course, it’s illegal and there’s always a chance that the woman will die from the procedure.”
“I see. Thank you for letting us know,” Miss Campbell said.
The student got up and began to walk away then turned back to ask, “Is it true that you are planning to track down the killer?”
“Yes, it is.”
“How exciting!” Ewan rolled his eyes as Mr Brown added, “Let me know if I can help at all, for instance if any more dead bodies turn up.”
He left them with this unpleasant thought.
“Was that a friend of yours?” Ewan asked once the student was well and truly gone.
“A fellow medical student,” she said, leaving him none the wiser. “She did not wear the locket.”
“No,” he said, not seeing her point.
“If she was pregnant then the father was presumably the man who gave her the locket, yet she did not wear it and they were not married.”
“This is why I wanted you to leave the investigation to me,” Ewan said. “You should not have to hear sordid information...”
“I am not a weak child or in any way feeble-minded,” she snapped, reminding him unnervingly of Lady Huntly for an instant. “I do not need anyone’s protection.”
He raised his hands in surrender. “As you wish.” The last thing he wanted was for her to look into the matter alone, which he believed she was more than capable of doing if he tried to argue further.
As he took his leave he wanted to tell her to get some rest but feared she would take this as a criticism. He admired her determination to find the killer but was equally afraid for her. This investigation had turned in a violent turn and he could not imagine what dangers they might soon face.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“THERE IS no reason for you to be involved in any way with this unpleasant murder business,” Harriette said as they sat around the table in the large dining room eating breakfast, the day after the discovery of Aileas’s corpse, the air redolent with the smell of hot chocolate and freshly cooked bread.
As Lord Huntly hastily opened a newspaper and raised it as a barrier between himself and the women, Ishbel said, “It was you who insisted Mr MacPherson and I look into a criminal matter...”
“A mistake on my part,” Harriette answered. “I thought it would be easy for the two of you to solve the crime and I do not entirely disapprove of your gaunt friend’s interest in you.”
“Can you possibly be referring to Mr MacPherson?” she queried through gritted teeth.
“He might be unremarkable in his own right but he comes from an excellent family. Of the very few men to have shown an interest in you, he is the least disagreeable. You should marry him.”
Ishbel threw her napkin down on the table and rose, her chair scraping on the floor with a noise that made the footmen wince. “How many times do I have to tell you and everyone else that I do not intend to marry? Ever!”
She turned and marched out of the room, annoyed an instant later for letting Harriette rile her. For once it was not her cousin she was really angry at. Ishbel had begun to believe that Mr MacPherson respected her and liked her intelligence but he had acted like any other man yesterday, treating her as if her gender made her incapable of rational thought and as if she needed to be protected from any unpleasantness in life. As if she did not already know of sordid behaviour, after spending her entire childhood watching the disaster that was her parents’ marriage: the infidelity; the yelling and cutting words; the long periods of silence between them. The idea that she might subject herself to a lifetime of miseries with a man was unthinkable after that.
She recalled Harriette’s comments and silently agreed that Mr MacPherson was by far the best of the men who had liked her – the best of any man she could imagine – and even he wished to stop her pursuing this case. He did not see her as his equal, only as a doll that needed to be shut away somewhere safe.
For Aileas’s sake, Ishbel had already been determined to solve the murder, but now she had to prove she could do it for herself too, to show that they were all wrong about her.
She went upstairs and found Lucy with a handful of dresses and petticoats. “Is
there anything else you want washed, Miss?” her maid asked.
“Lucy, I want you to tell one of the grooms to find a caddie for me by the name of Jed Cassell. Ask him to call on me at his earliest convenience.”
“Yes, Miss.” Lucy took the clothes with her as she left.
Within twenty minutes the caddie was entering the library. It was the same man from yesterday who had been told to look for Aileas. He looked slightly younger than Ishbel, maybe seventeen, but had large muscular arms and broad shoulders from years of doing heavy work.
He bowed politely to her.
“Are you still willing to help with this business, now that it is a murder case, Mr Cassell?” she asked.
“Of course, Miss,” he said without hesitation or any sign that he objected to taking such orders from a woman. He had a lilting Highlands accent. “What do you want me to do?”
“Would you ask around about Aileas Jones. It looks as if she had been pregnant so her killer could have been the man responsible. Just find out anything you can about her recent life and let me know.”
“Yes, Miss.” She held out a coin to him as she had seen Mr MacPherson do yesterday but he shook his head. “If I find anything I’ll accept payment, Miss Campbell.”
“Thank you.”
He left and Ishbel glanced at the table clock on the mantelpiece. Mr MacPherson would arrive soon so they could call upon Aileas’s family. For the first time since his early calls, when she had not been sure how to respond to his interest, she was not looking forward to seeing him. She had thought he viewed them as partners in the investigation but she had clearly thought he had a higher opinion of her than was the case.
She put some fresh parchment into her reticule and made herself focus on what lay ahead. She still felt bad about intruding upon Mr and Mrs Jones when their grief was so fresh, but Mr MacPherson was right that they must strongly want the killer to be found and brought to justice.
She walked upstairs to fetch her hat, gloves and shawl, donning them before descending just as the butler let Mr MacPherson in. He bowed to her and she curtsied.
“Shall we go?” she said.
“There is nothing I can say to dissuade you from continuing with this?”
She headed past him, a coldness settling over her at the words. “Nothing, but of course if you wish to give it up now that it has become so complicated, then you can.”
He caught up with her on the steps outside. “No, of course not.”
She ignored his outstretched hand and got onto the curricle unaided, saying, “I spoke to Mr Cassell, the caddie who identified Aileas’s corpse, and he is willing to continue searching for information.”
He got up beside her in the vehicle. “You should not have spoken to him alone.”
“I do not answer to you, sir.”
“That is not what I meant. We are hunting for a killer. You do not seem to realise that he could view you as a threat and try to harm you.”
“I do see that,” she said, “but fear will not keep me from doing everything I can to find justice for Aileas.”
“I understand that and I feel the same way. You can rely on my support utterly but, for my peace of mind, will you promise not to take unnecessary risks? That you will not pursue any clues alone?”
Looking into his eyes, she could see only concern, not any wish to dominate or patronise her, and her anger faded. “I give you my word.”
He smiled and, as they set off, she began to relax. It was a sunny day and, as they passed the park, she could see people strolling about or stopping to talk to acquaintances. A woman had been murdered but the world continued on, uncaring. It did not seem right. She could remember feeling the same way after her parents had died and she realised their lavish lifestyle had been a sham, that there was virtually no money left. She had been lost in grief and fear over what her fate would be, while everyone else had continued to attend balls, dinner parties, musical evenings and other entertainments. Even Harriette and her parents had barely seemed touched by the deaths.
They arrived at the home of Mr and Mrs Jones and, once again hesitant over calling at such a time, Ishbel walked with Mr MacPherson to the front door, where he knocked upon it.
Mrs Jones opened it and Ishbel took in the bruise on her cheek. It had been there yesterday but Ishbel had been too distracted to consider it. There had been a faded bruise on her face when they had first come here too and Ishbel wondered who had caused them.
“Our apologies for intruding on your grief,” Mr MacPherson said in a gentle tone, “but we wish to find the person responsible for your daughter’s death. If you are up to answering a couple of brief questions it would help us do so.”
“We can return tomorrow if it is too difficult for you to face today,” Ishbel added.
“No. Mr Jones and me are both grateful to you for what you’re doing. Come inside.”
They followed her into the sitting room where the rest of her family were assembled: Mr Jones, a boy of around fourteen and the two young girls who had been playing the last time they called here.
“We are so sorry for your loss,” Ishbel said to them all.
“Thank you, Miss,” Mrs Jones said.
Mr MacPherson repeated the condolences and told Mr Jones why they were here. He then asked about the locket.
Mrs Jones shook her head and looked at Mr Jones who said, “We dinnae know nothing about a locket. I suppose Beathan might’ve saved up for it but I don’t know why Aileas wouldna have told us about it.”
“Who is Beathan?” she asked.
“He’s her young man. They’ve been seeing each other about a year, but I dinnae know if he’s serious about her or not,” Mr Jones said.
“Could you tell us his address or where he works?” Ishbel asked.
As she wrote down the information Mrs Jones gave, Mr Jones said, “What does this locket have to do with our lassie’s death?”
“We are not sure,” Mr MacPherson said. “At first we were investigating the theft of an emerald necklace and we wondered if the locket had also been stolen.”
“Are you accusing Aileas of being a thief?” Mr Jones approached Mr MacPherson in an aggressive way. He was taller and broader and Ishbel swallowed, not knowing what was about to happen.
“We do not think that,” Mr MacPherson said. “The locket had Aileas’s initials engraved on it so it was clearly a gift that had been bought especially for her. We did not know that until we saw it yesterday but she had never worn the locket which made us wonder if she disliked her admirer’s attention and that was why she left.” He showed Mr Jones the locket.
“This is a good necklace – must be worth a fair bit.”
Mr Jones looked down at the delicate jewellery resting on his large, calloused hand. “I doubt Beathan could’ve afforded something like this and, if he thought enough of her to save up for something expensive, why wouldn’t he have bought an engagement ring?”
“She’s – she was a pretty lass. You think a gent took an interest in her? Maybe wanted her to be his mistress?”
“It is a possibility,” Mr MacPherson said. “The locket is, of course, yours now but, if we can find out who bought it, that might be proof in a murder trial of the killer, so it would be best if you did not sell it for now.”
“You’d better hang on to it ‘til you find the man,” Mr Jones said, giving the locket back to Mr MacPherson. “There’s nothing more important than finding out who killed our Aileas. I’ll be asking round about what happened too and God help the bastard if I catch him first.”
Mr MacPherson gave Mr Jones his address and told the family he would let them know when there was more information.
Ishbel saw one of the small girls wipe tears off her face before they left and the mother looked red-eyed. Their loss cut at her. Their lives were already so difficult and to have this misery added to the others must be almost unbearable.
She and Mr MacPherson got into his curricle and he said, “Did you see the bruises on Mr
s Jones?”
“I did.”
“If Mr Jones has that much of a temper how might he have reacted if he learned that Aileas was expecting a child out of wedlock?”
She stared at him, hardly believing she was hearing him suggest such a thing. “What a horrible thing to say about a grieving father! Would you make such an unfounded accusation if he were not working class? I thought better of you than this.”
She jumped down from the curricle and headed blindly up the street, ignoring his calls to her, lost as much in her own memory of grief as the thought of the pain in Mr and Mrs Jones’s faces.
Chapter Twenty-Three
EWAN WAS beginning to feel as if he could say nothing lately without causing offence to Miss Campbell and he did not understand why. It stung a little that she had thought he was the kind of person who thought less of working class people; that was not him at all and he had thought she understood him better after the weeks they had spent in each other’s company. They never should have got involved in the entire criminal business – he was useless at this work and appeared badly to her. If he had slowly courted her in the traditional way he would have known how to behave and they might have been engaged by now. And he wanted that. He wanted to kiss her and plan their wedding and future together, not stand by, useless, while she found a murdered girl and wait for something worse to befall her.
He knew he could not talk her out of pursuing the investigation, though, and her refusal to consider her own safety made him love and admire her all the more, as much as it also disturbed him. He felt a sense of wanting justice for Aileas Jones too and it was worrying to think that her death might have never been looked into if they had not been willing to do it. How many other people had to face the murder of loved ones and other crimes and, unless they were rich enough to pay for help, they had to live with knowing the criminals would never be caught. It was wrong, an unacceptable injustice in the way the country treated crime.
He had slept badly after his argument with Miss Campbell and was awake early so, knowing how early her family arose in the mornings, he called to speak to her at eight o’clock.
