The Way of All Flesh

by Ambrose Parry

  Rigby was remarkably tall and thin, her hair clamped in tight coils at the side of her head. She spoke with authority and candour, which was surprising in that she was undeniably a lady and yet seemingly prepared to discuss all manner of subjects with a man to whom she had only just been introduced. Raven suddenly had an image of her picking up the miserable Reverend Grissom bodily and breaking him over her knee.

  ‘From what I am told, the Reverend Grissom knows of what he speaks. Strident denunciations most often hide a secret shame,’ she continued, entirely unabashed by the direction she was taking the conversation.

  Raven could not envisage her being abashed by much. He preferred this manner of dialogue to the empty pleasantries that one was normally forced to endure in such circumstances.

  ‘Are you saying he has been consorting with prostitutes?’

  ‘Not consorting with them, Mr Raven. Using them. Exploiting them.’

  The word fell from Miss Rigby’s lips so matter-of-factly, and yet as it lit upon his ears it echoed like thunder.

  Raven was simultaneously in awe of this woman and terrified of her. She seemed to grow even taller before him, or perhaps it was that he felt like he was shrinking as he considered what she might think of him if she knew that he had thus used Evie.

  ‘But how could a fellow in his position expect to get away with such behaviour?’

  ‘It is the downfall of many a proud man to imagine everyone around him stupid. He frequents places where he thinks he is unknown, although perhaps the good Reverend should have travelled a little beyond Leith and Newhaven. He forgets that even prostitutes will sometimes attend church.’

  Further conversation was interrupted by Mr Hill deciding that Raven should now be positioned for his portrait.

  He was placed in an upholstered chair beside the birdcage, his face examined from every angle. The position of his arms was arranged and rearranged several times before Hill was satisfied.

  Miss Mann handed Mr Adamson a wooden box that was slid into position at the back of the camera. Adamson buried his head under a piece of cloth and removed a cap from the front of the machine while Miss Mann counted off the seconds with a pocket watch.

  Raven thought he had remained still, but he noticed Adamson shake his head.

  ‘You moved your arm,’ Hill stated wearily.

  ‘A full minute is required for the exposure,’ Miss Mann reproached him with a sigh. ‘I’ll get some more paper.’

  Raven was posed a second time, on this occasion with the aid of a box to rest his arm upon, assured its black colour would render it invisible in the finished picture. He felt he was entirely still throughout the ensuing minute, but neither Hill nor Adamson looked particularly pleased.

  ‘We usually pose children as though asleep,’ Miss Mann muttered. ‘Perhaps we could try that.’

  This suggestion turned out not to be in earnest but by way of reproach, and Raven was relieved of his role as sitter. A short time later, he was warming himself with a cup of tea while watching Hill position Sarah. She was seated in a chair, her head turned to the side and resting gracefully on one hand. She had a purple shawl wrapped around her shoulders and her hair was loosely tied at the nape. Hill stepped back and examined her from several angles before announcing that he was content. He implored her to remain as still as possible, looking pointedly at Raven.

  Sarah exhibited no similar difficulty, remaining entirely immobile as though she had fallen into an open-eyed trance.

  She was not the only one. Raven found himself gazing rapt at her face, the paleness of her skin, the golden highlights in her hair. A sense of tranquillity settled upon him, as though the serenity of her stillness had somehow been transferred to him.

  ‘You seem transfixed,’ observed Hill quietly, walking past. ‘A pity you could not have held such a pose earlier.’

  Thirty-One

  Sarah watched Miss Mann carefully remove the plate from the camera, handling it like a newborn. Her gaze was trained intently upon what she was about, but she still noticed Sarah’s attention.

  ‘You made an excellent subject, Miss Fisher. You could sit for a painter with such poise.’

  It was a pleasant thought, but Sarah could not imagine ever having such a luxury of time.

  ‘I would be most interested to know what happens next,’ she observed. ‘The calotype process is a matter of chemistry, is it not?’

  Miss Mann looked at her with a degree of consternation that made Sarah fear she had misspoken.

  ‘Or am I mistaken?’

  ‘No, you are quite correct. I was simply taken aback. Most of our subjects are more apt to believe it the work of fairies and angels. And that’s just the clergymen. Do you have an interest in chemistry?’

  ‘I have read Professor Gregory’s work, but I have not had the opportunity to practise experiments.’

  Miss Mann seemed pleased with her answer, which in turn pleased Sarah.

  ‘Would you care to accompany me? I can show you how it’s done.’

  ‘I’d like that,’ she replied.

  They strode towards the house together, the plate still clutched possessively in Miss Mann’s hands.

  ‘You took Mr Hill’s instruction very well,’ she said.

  ‘I am a housemaid. I am used to doing as I am told.’

  ‘You would be surprised. The most subservient of people can nonetheless struggle to follow instructions, while the mighty are prepared to humble themselves when a portrait is at stake. I once photographed the King of Saxony, and had you been there that day, you might have believed I was the monarch and he my subject.’

  ‘You photographed a king?’

  ‘Yes. He turned up at Rock House unannounced, Mr Hill and Mr Adamson’s reputation having reached him abroad. Unfortunately, neither of the gentlemen were at home. I told him I could carry out the procedure and he gladly acquiesced.’

  Sarah was agog. She thought of the leering squirt rolling pills behind the druggist’s counter not a mile from here. Clearly there were some customers who did not always believe that ‘only a man will do’.

  ‘And was he pleased with the result?’

  ‘Enchanted. He said it would have pride of place in his palace. Though as the name Jessie Mann is of less renown than Hill and Adamson, I suspect it will be theirs and not mine attached to it.’

  ‘That is unjust,’ Sarah stated.

  Miss Mann did not reply, for what else could be said?

  She led them into a room in which newspaper had been affixed to the window to block out the light.

  ‘We need relative darkness for the preparation of the calotype paper,’ she explained.

  Sarah went to close the door, out of habit.

  ‘Leave it for now, otherwise I won’t be able to show you anything.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Miss Mann indicated a table laden with bottles and shallow trays. ‘A piece of good-quality paper is first washed in a solution of silver nitrate then a solution of iodine. Once dry, this iodised paper is dipped in a mixture of gallic acid and silver nitrate, and it is this which is placed in the frame that is slid into the back of the camera.’

  Miss Mann held up her right hand, which was streaked with black. ‘It is a dark art,’ she said. ‘The silver nitrate stains the skin.’

  ‘How did you come to be involved with Mr Hill and Mr Adamson?’ Sarah asked, watching as Miss Mann pinned a piece of prepared calotype paper to a wooden frame.

  ‘My brother Alexander and Mr Hill are friends,’ she replied. ‘I am a supporter of the Free Church, and have been helping him with the photographs for his Disruption painting. His interests have extended beyond that now, of course, which makes me wonder sometimes if the painting will ever be done.’

  ‘What exactly will the painting depict?’

  ‘It will be a representation of the meeting at Tanfield Hall that followed the mass walkout from the General Assembly by two hundred ministers and elders. As Mr Hill wishes to depict all who were prese
nt, he is using calotype to record their faces, that he may work from the photographs.’

  Sarah thought of her grandmother, who dispensed wise words as well as herbal remedies. Where there are men, there will be dispute, she once said. Put ten of them in a room and soon enough you’ll have two groups of five.

  Sarah watched Miss Mann carefully prepare the next plate.

  ‘You must have a remarkable knowledge of chemistry to be able to do all of this.’

  ‘Only as it pertains to the photographic process. Mr Adamson is a patient teacher. Why do you ask?’

  Sarah paused for a second. She felt oddly dishonest to be speaking about this, though she was bearing no false witness.

  ‘An acquaintance of mine died recently, and when she was found, her body was contorted as though she had suffered a fit of some kind. There seems a possibility that she took a poison, though unless I can discern what, I will never know whether she died accidentally or . . .’

  Sarah let the other possibility remain unspoken.

  Miss Mann put down the framed sheet she was holding. ‘I am most sorry to hear that.’ She placed the stained hand on Sarah’s arm and spoke softly. ‘Was it likely that your friend meant herself harm? I mean, did she have reason?’

  ‘I believe she was most troubled. But it makes no sense that she should choose a means whose effects would be so unpleasant.’

  ‘Your description does remind me of something,’ Miss Mann said. ‘A relative of mine was suffering from a neurological palsy. She was given a tonic medicine which helped for a while, but she kept increasing the dose. It brought on increasingly severe convulsions and eventually killed her. Her body remained in a contorted pose for a long time after. It made it impossible to lay her out properly, which caused a deal of additional distress for the mourners. There was some concern that they wouldn’t be able to chest her. You know, fit her into a casket.’

  ‘Do you know what was in the tonic?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘Yes. It contained strychnine.’

  Thirty-Two

  The pavements seemed busier as they made their way back down Calton Hill towards Princes Street. Sarah heard a whistle carried on the wind, and in the middle distance she could see steam rising from the new North Bridge station. The sight of clouds rising from below rather than floating up above was one she might be a long time in getting used to. She had only once travelled on a train and had found the experience noisy and frightening.

  Dr Keith was not with them, having remained at Rock House taking lunch with his friends. Sarah had explained that she needed to return to Queen Street and her duties, and expected to be walking back alone, but Raven had announced that he also had matters to attend. Sarah was not sure whether this was true, given Dr Simpson’s on-going self-confinement, and allowed herself a moment of pleasure that Raven had chosen accompanying her over the prospect of what would undoubtedly have been a sumptuous meal in the company of Messrs Hill and Adamson, as well as the remarkable Miss Mann and the formidable Miss Rigby.

  However, once they began talking, she realised that perhaps his principal motive was his impatience to impart Miss Rigby’s revelation.

  ‘The Reverend Grissom using prostitutes?’ Sarah asked. She kept her voice low, wary as much of passing pedestrians as of being overheard by someone at an open window. ‘Surely she must have been mistaken?’

  ‘She was adamant that he is well known to the pinch-cocks of Newhaven and Leith. Is it so hard to believe?’

  Sarah was conscious of an innate sense of duty driving her to question it, and she wondered why this should be so. What made a minister’s word or reputation seem beyond question? It was possible that Miss Rigby might be mistaken or even motivated by malice (she certainly had not spoken with much reverence for the ‘fat martyrs’, as she described them), but Sarah could not envisage the woman making such a serious accusation without having a profound conviction that it was true.

  ‘I suppose such a thing is easier for you to believe,’ she replied, which made Raven’s cheeks burn a little.

  ‘I sorely doubt I was the only student to do so, as much as I doubt Grissom to be the only minister. And as he is connected to the Sheldrake household, I have to ask myself where else he might have spilled his seed.’

  Sarah’s voice dropped to barely more than a whisper. ‘Are you suggesting . . .?’

  She stopped there, unprepared to even voice the words.

  ‘When we heard him preach, he seemed intent on blaming women for the temptations to which men succumb. Miss Rigby suggests he has often fallen to such temptations. Grissom is the Sheldrakes’ minister. Rose would have attended his services and I am sure he must have visited the Sheldrakes’ house, as I believe Mr Sheldrake is a benefactor of his new ministry.’

  Sarah recalled her impression of an awkward and self-regarding little imp. She would admit that she could imagine him using prostitutes to slake his lust, but housemaids were another matter.

  ‘What would make Rose want anything to do with him?’ she asked.

  ‘He is an important man. Status, influence and respect might exert an intoxicating influence on a young woman who has none of those things. And if she found herself pregnant by him, he might find himself in a difficult spot.’

  Sarah felt a shudder run through her, as though she might face a terrible reckoning for even entertaining these notions. It was one thing to claim that the Reverend Grissom was a hypocrite, but quite another to suggest him capable of murder.

  ‘We are looking for a common cause for Rose and Evie’s deaths,’ she reminded him. ‘My conversation with Miss Mann leads me to believe that strychnine might have been responsible for their contorted conditions. She knew someone who died of it and was left similarly twisted. There is nothing that connects Grissom to Evie.’

  ‘Is it unreasonable to speculate that his appetites took him to the Canongate as well as to Newhaven?’

  ‘I can accept that complacency might make him think he would not be recognised further afield, but surely he would not go whoring half a mile from his own church?’

  ‘Such a man might believe himself beyond suspicion. If he was seen entering or leaving a bawdy house, he could claim he was interested in their souls, not their bodies, trying to convince them away from their lives of sin. Nobody would believe the word of a whore over that of a minister.’

  Sarah had to concede this point, but in it also lay the reason Grissom would have had nothing to fear from Rose.

  ‘Nor would they believe the word of a housemaid claiming a man of the Church had got her pregnant.’

  ‘Unless Grissom feared Rose’s employer might believe her. Why would she lie about something so heinous?’

  Sarah failed to suppress a scornful look. ‘Speaking as a housemaid, I find that extraordinarily unlikely. The family would not entertain the scandal. A pregnant housemaid would be embarrassing enough, but an accusation against their reverend minister would be intolerable. No, I consider your hypothesis hopelessly flawed, Mr Raven. Nor have you offered any reason why he would wish to harm Evie.’

  Sarah turned to him for a response, but his eyes were looking down Leith Street.

  ‘Do you ever recollect seeing him around Evie’s lodgings?’ she asked.

  ‘I vaguely recognised his face when we went to the church, but no, I don’t recall seeing him down at that end of the Canongate. I certainly don’t remember seeing him the night I found Evie dead. One of her friends said the only person who visited that night was a woman.’

  ‘Who was this friend?’

  Raven did not answer. Instead he put a hand around Sarah’s waist and pulled her bodily into the darkness of a narrow close. In the work of a second she found herself plucked from the brightness of the street and thrust against the wall in a cramped and dank passage, just beyond where the light spilled in.

  ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’ she tried to ask but Raven had already clamped a hand across her mouth. She grabbed his arm with one hand, her other pu
shing his chest, but he was strong and lithe. Physically she was no match for him.

  Shock and anger quickly gave in to dread and fear as she wondered what outrage might be inflicted upon her. Was this the real reason he had opted to leave Rock House and accompany her alone? She tried to wriggle free, but Raven’s grip only tightened. She looked desperately into his eyes, which stared back manically, pupils ever widening. Loosening his hold of her with one hand, he put his index finger to his lips. He gestured with his eyes towards the mouth of the close.

  Sarah heard male voices approach, one of them rumbling and gruff, the other reedy and nasal. She saw two fellows briefly pass: a rodent-like specimen who looked all the smaller next to the freakish creature alongside. She was allowed only the briefest glimpse as he strode past, due to the speed of his lolloping and awkward gait. He was an ugly and overgrown individual, benighted by some hideous condition that had inconsistently enlarged certain parts of him in the most grotesque manner.

  She looked back at Raven as the voices receded, saw the tension in his face lest they turn around again.

  She realised that these were the people Raven had been so vigilantly looking out for. Also in that moment, it struck her why he was in their debt, and she felt a little ashamed for not having worked it out before.

  Evie had asked him for money, in urgent need. Raven had borrowed it from them though he had no swift means of paying it back; had put himself in danger to help her.

  She hardly dared breathe now, her eyes drawn to the scar barely hidden by Raven’s developing beard. She recalled the mess of his face when he first arrived at Queen Street, the deep slash upon a cheek held together by cat-gut, and the bruising upon his body. The men who had inflicted it were mere yards away, still in earshot. She stood perfectly still, perfectly silent, not daring to make a sound until they were sure the danger was truly past.

  Long after the footsteps and voices had receded, she and Raven remained motionless, their faces barely inches apart, hardly breathing. The intent look in Raven’s eyes became something else, their gazes locked upon one another. With her hand still pressed upon his chest, Sarah could feel his heartbeat and thought he must be able to hear her own.