Walking next to McGray’s tartan trousers it was impossible not to be spotted by the nosy crowd. Luckily, we had giant Mackenzie, who growled and barked like a devilish beast as soon as anyone hostile approached. Some of the things people shouted at us, however, were so crass and vulgar they made me shudder. Still, none of that was even nearly as off-putting as watching McGray devour six fried eggs with a side of sausages and some ghastly-looking meat stuff he called ‘fruit loaf’.
The coquettish Mary came by, and as she served McGray yet another helping of food, I recalled Katerina’s words, uttered when she touched the victims’ trinkets.
There is a sound … It’s like she’s whispering. Just one word, over and over …
Mary …
I shook my head. Mary was a very common name, and there was no chance this young woman could have been involved.
She and McGray chatted on merrily, and as soon as he finished his meal, we set off to New Town.
Bertrand, we were not surprised to learn, had lived with his mother all his life, just like his younger brother Harvey. They’d all shared a townhouse in Albany Street, and I must admit I was impressed when I saw the wide, well-appointed façade.
When a housemaid let us in, however, it was obvious that their wealth had been steadily fading away too. The wallpaper was peeling off in places, the ornate rugs had patches, and the varnish of the stairs’ banisters was almost gone at the edges. On the other hand, everything was clean and tidy ; the faded upholstery immaculate, the worn china proudly displayed on the cabinets. It was as if the objects themselves clung to their dignity in the face of hardship.
We were asked to wait in a modest parlour, where they kept a small altar for Bertrand. His rather unflattering portrait was on the mantelpiece, wrapped in a black bow and surrounded by evergreens and white lilies.
It struck me then that we had seen none such display in Mrs Cobbold’s properties ; neither at her flat in St Andrew Square nor at her summer house in Kirkcaldy. I dismissed the thought, remembering she’d wanted to keep the news from the young children.
‘Remind me how these people fit in the family,’ McGray said.
‘Bertrand was Mr Shaw’s grandson. His father was Grannie Alice’s youngest son, Richard.’
‘He’s dead, I suppose.’
‘Yes.’
‘That means Mrs Cobbold is Alice’s only surviving child?’
‘I … suppose so,’ and I checked in my notebook. ‘Indeed, with Mr Willberg now dead, she is the last one.’ I raised my eyebrows. ‘Curiously, on the Willbergs’ side there is only one survivor : Walter Fox.’
McGray raised his chin a smidgen. ‘And those two were together at court. D’ye think it might mean something?’
I pondered for a moment but did not have a chance to answer, for we heard a rhythmic sound, a metallic squeak, coming from the corridor.
We turned our heads just as Harvey Shaw made his way in, propelling his own wheelchair.
‘Good day, inspectors,’ he said with a very soft voice and offering a hand to shake. He was the only family member who did not share the dark curly hair. His was a dull blonde, and his rather plump cheeks and pallid skin spoke of someone who very rarely ventured outside. ‘You’ve come to enquire about my brother’s death, I suppose.’
‘Indeed,’ I said. ‘We are very sorry for your loss.’
‘Thank you,’ he answered, staring at his late brother’s portrait. ‘It’s not sunk in yet, I’m afraid. I’m still surprised every morning when I see my brother’s empty spot at the breakfast table.’
‘Were you very close?’ I asked, but Harvey could only look down and nod.
‘I’m afraid we need to talk to yer mother too,’ McGray added.
Harvey rubbed his hands nervously. ‘My mother’s been bedridden since we heard the news. But I can answer anything you might ask.’
‘Sorry to hear that, lad,’ McGray said, ‘but it’s important we question everyone directly.’
Harvey looked at us in complete silence, as if for a moment he’d forgotten we were there. He then twitched.
‘Oh, do sit down, please. May I offer you anything? Tea?’
‘No, thank you,’ I said.
McGray and I sat, and Harvey placed his chair facing us. The old thing squeaked not only when he moved it around, but whenever he gestured or shifted his weight, no matter how slightly. It soon got on my nerves, but the man did not seem to notice.
After a few preamble questions, I got to the point. ‘What did you know about the séance?’
Again he rubbed his hands, and they would not be still for the rest of our conversation.
‘Nothing at all, sir. I didn’t even know it would take place.’
McGray leaned forwards. ‘Ye sure?’
‘Yes, sir. We only heard of it on the same day, when the colonel’s valet came to fetch my brother. I understand it was my step-cousin who organised the whole thing, but the Willbergs and I have never talked much. Leonora visited once in a blue moon, but she always talked about really strange things ; spirits, talismans, souls in purgatory – and séances, precisely. I never liked her much, I must admit. She scared me, so I avoided her whenever I could. She’d talk much more to Bert and Mum.’
‘When was the last time she visited?’ I asked.
‘Quite a few months ago. It must have been January or February. I remember it was still snowing.’
‘What about the late Peter Willberg?’ McGray asked. ‘Or that other lad, Walter Fox? When did ye last see them?’
‘Oh, it’s been years.’ Harvey counted with his fidgety fingers. ‘Five – no, six years ago. They came to the baptism of Cousin Martha’s child, little Alice. But we didn’t even talk ; they and Leonora left very early.’
‘How so?’
‘I think they weren’t invited. The colonel didn’t like them at all.’
‘We know that,’ I said. ‘Do you have any idea why?’
‘No, sir. I think it was a business matter, from many years ago, but the family never talk to me about such things.’
‘And I assume you did not know the purpose of the séance either.’
‘Sorry, sir. No. As I told you, that valet came asking if Bert could help them. Our cousin Martha sent a note begging him to. She said the colonel would be most displeased if he refused. She was afraid he—’
Harvey bit his lip.
‘We are aware of the colonel’s temper,’ I said sombrely.
‘My poor cousin,’ Harvey mumbled. ‘She never talked about it, but we all knew the colonel mistreated her. Aunt Gertrude never forgave herself for instigating their marriage.’
‘She told us so herself,’ I said. ‘Do you know why she did so?’
Harvey rubbed his hands hard as he looked at the entrance, perhaps to make sure nobody heard.
‘I believe the colonel helped my grandfather get into some business or other. Nobody ever told me this, of course, but I believe Aunt Gertrude wanted to keep the wealth in the family.’
‘Do you know what kind of business?’ I asked.
‘No, sir. I was only a child when they married. My cousin herself was in her teens.’
I took note of everything, feeling things were very slowly beginning to coalesce. ‘Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to harm them?’
Harvey looked at the blanket on his legs, thinking hard. It took him a while to answer.
‘Well … I know Mr Willberg had a reputation. He had so many drinking and gambling debts all across the city, nobody would sell him liquor anymore. Rumour has it he even hired thugs to act as “servants” of fictitious patrons.
‘The colonel himself was a very scary man … but everyone seemed to admire him, as if he were some sort of messianic war hero. More based on his height and good looks than anything else.’
There was clear bitterness in those words.
‘Then again,’ Harvey continued after a sigh, ‘Martha, my grandfather …’ he gulped. ‘And Bert … I cannot think of an
yone who’d want to harm all of them at once. It simply makes no sense.’
‘Was Bertrand a good brother?’ I asked him.
‘Oh, yes. People always mocked him for his timid manner, but he effectively ran things here.’
‘Did he?’
‘Yes. Mother has always been of a delicate disposition, much worse after my father died. And with my paraplegia I’m of no use. Bert looked after us both for years.’
McGray looked extremely frustrated, and some of the sentiment began to creep into me. He stroked his beard and gave Harvey a scrutinising look.
‘Have ye read the papers?’
‘I have, sir. As you can imagine, I don’t get out much.’
‘So ye’ve read all that’s being said about the deaths.’
That made Harvey visibly uncomfortable. He kept rubbing his hands together and said nothing.
McGray spoke again. ‘Madame Katerina, the clairvoyant, believes Grannie Alice had some grudge against them.’
Harvey became very tense. He parted his lips and was about to speak, but then there came a cry from the corridor—
‘And do you believe that?’
We saw a very thin, middle-aged woman in her nightdress. Her bony face was lined with sharp wrinkles, and her hair, once blonde but now almost completely white, swung in a very long plait.
‘Mrs Shaw?’ I said, even though I recalled everyone in the family called her Mrs Eliza.
‘Mother!’ cried Harvey. Seeing them together it was clear they were mother and son, sharing no features with the rest of the Shaw family.
‘Do you believe a word of what that woman says?’ she repeated, taking faltering steps into the parlour. The housemaid had to hold her by the arm, and only let go of her when Mrs Shaw was settled in a nearby armchair. The woman must have been in her fifties, but looked at least a decade older ; even her blotched hands trembled like those of a very old person.
She seemed mortified – quite understandably – but McGray had the good sense to offer our condolences first. That settled her just enough to have a conversation.
‘We’ve been told yer relatives wanted to talk to the late Alice Shaw. That they—’
‘Nonsense,’ Mrs Shaw snapped. ‘Worse than nonsense. Blasphemy.’
McGray, rather than looking offended, spoke soothingly. ‘Ye don’t believe ye can talk to the dead?’
‘I believe what the scriptures say,’ she replied quickly. ‘The dead are resting ; awaiting resurrection.’ She produced a crumpled handkerchief and pressed it against her face. She took a few deep breaths, and then looked wistfully at the portrait of her dead son. ‘I know I will see my Bertrand, but it will be in Heaven, at the end of times. Not before. Not as an apparition floating in my parlour.’ She seemed on the verge of tears, but managed to compose herself. ‘So-called spirits or ghosts or visions are just abominations. The hand of the devil.’
Both McGray and I looked up so swiftly our necks could have snapped.
‘Why—’ I said before McGray had a chance to spit out some gibberish. I softened my tone too. ‘Why did you … choose that word?’
‘He’s crafty, the devil,’ said Mrs Shaw. ‘He promises us the same things the Lord gives us for free, and we still manage to fall into his snares.’
There was an eerie quality to her voice, her eyes apparently lost in the void. She almost resembled Katerina when delivering one of her omens. It seemed to disturb Harvey, who rolled his squeaky chair across to reach one of his mother’s hands.
They were a very sorry picture, sitting there together and attempting to give each other comfort, when it was clear they were both distraught for their loss … and just as fearful for their future.
McGray pressed his fingertips together (one as usual left without a partner) and mulled for a moment. He was choosing his words.
‘Missus,’ he said, ‘Grannie Alice, we’ve heard, thought she had gifts.’
Mrs Shaw looked up, her eyes twinkling.
‘Yes,’ she said soon enough. ‘I knew of my mother-in-law’s eccentricities. Why are you asking?’
‘Did she ever tell you anything about it?’
Mrs Shaw shook her head, looking confused. ‘Well … yes. But she talked about it all the time. She always told me to burn lavender and keep talismans and that kind of thing.’
‘And I feel ye didnae like that.’
‘Of course not.’
‘Did youse ever have arguments?’ McGray offered a gentle smile, seeing that the woman hesitated. ‘She was yer mother-in-law. Youse must have at some point.’
Mrs Shaw nodded coyly. ‘I tolerated her. She was my son’s grandmother and she was always very polite. It was only once that I had to ask her to leave this house.’
‘Did ye?’
‘Yes, but only because the things she said were getting sacrilegious.’
‘Sacrilegious? How?’
Mrs Shaw gulped. ‘I’ve told you already. All her witchcraft rituals.’
‘Aye but … d’ye remember the particulars?’
She shook her head. ‘No, not at all. I never paid much attention to her gibberish. And that one time was seven or eight years ago.’
I took a short breath. ‘Was that shortly before her passing, by any chance?’ I knew it must have been, but I was still interested in her reply.
Mrs Shaw looked down. ‘Y-yes. Just a few months. In fact, that was the last time we spoke.’
I took note of that, and noticed that Harvey stared intently at my little notebook. Our eyes met briefly, but he immediately looked away.
McGray, in fact, was staring at Mrs Shaw just as intensely.
‘Did anyone else in the family claim to have those gifts?’
She smiled bitterly. ‘On the Willberg side, yes. Miss Leonora, as everybody knows now.’
‘Indeed,’ I said. I was going to ask something else, but Mrs Shaw had not finished.
‘And Alice’s eldest daughter too. Her name was Prudence.’
I looked again at the family tree. ‘Walter Fox’s mother?’
‘Yes, sir.’
I arched an eyebrow, as I underlined her name. ‘How … did Prudence pass away?’
‘A very sad affair, sir. She became pregnant at an old age. She must have been forty or forty-one. She longed for more children after she had Walter, but the years went by and it did not happen. Grannie Alice … helped her with one remedy or another. Her doctors told her it was very dangerous, but she wanted to keep the child. Her husband had just died, you see. But she had a miscarriage and bled to death.’
‘Very sad indeed,’ I mumbled. ‘How old was Walter Fox back then?’
‘Oh, already a man. Eighteen or nineteen.’
‘He must have been devastated,’ I said. ‘What did he do?’
‘He went abroad for years,’ said Harvey. ‘For a while nobody knew where or what for. We even suspected he was dead, but one day Leonora and her uncle heard from him. He’d become a gems dealer.’
‘Did he?’ I asked, recalling his vulgar diamond ring. Something began to brew in my mind. ‘Do you … do you know where he lived all those years?’
‘Everywhere,’ said Harvey, ‘but mostly in Africa. For the diamond trade.’
I recalled the photograph of Leonora’s father, surrounded by African women. And also the children talking of treasures. I had to conceal my anticipation.
‘Did his business have anything to do with his uncle? Leonora’s father, I mean.’
Harvey arched an eyebrow. ‘I don’t know … Do you, Mother?’
Mrs Shaw shook her head.
‘I told you, I didn’t know them that well. Leonora’s father – what was his name?’
‘William,’ I read from my notes.
‘Yes, true. I know he had some businesses abroad at some point, but where and what … I … I don’t know.’
I wrote that down, though a little more slowly. There were fragments there, and they all seemed about to coalesce.
‘When did he come b
ack?’ McGray asked.
‘He bought a house in Edinburgh a couple of years ago,’ said Mrs Shaw, ‘but I wouldn’t say he’s ever been back. He still travels a good deal, and not only for business. He likes to flaunt that he’s a wealthy man now, especially … in front of us.’
They fell into an uncomfortable silence, until the maid came back with a cup of herbal tea for her mistress. She stood by her like a Roman guard, watching us with a defiant face.
We decided it was time to leave, but before I stood up, I underlined the name Walter Fox.
26
‘He leaves the country,’ I said, dunking a biscuit in my cup of tea, as McGray and I stared at the enormous family tree we’d pinned to the office wall. ‘Obviously shattered by his family tragedy – father, mother and unborn sibling dead almost all at once … Possibly feeling undervalued by his richer relatives … Makes his way in the world, and then, relatively soon after he settles back, all this happens.’
‘Revenge?’ McGray ventured, carelessly scratching Tucker’s ear.
‘Against whom? The mother died of a miscarriage.’
‘It does look very iffy.’
‘Indeed.’
‘And I’m starting to believe he might have the eye too.’
I had to laugh at that, spilling some of the Earl Grey. ‘Are you indeed?’
‘His mother had it ; his grandmother too.’
‘Nine-Nails, even if I believed anybody had the bloody eye, Alice told Eddie, her little great-grandson, he was the only other one with it. And I would have assumed that another grandson with the eye is one of the things you’d be able to see with the bloody eye.’
‘Frey, say bloody eye like that again and I’ll shower ye with yer sodding tea.’
I savoured the buttery biscuits. ‘Tell Joan how thankful I am for these, by the way. Do you want to go and question Fox now?’
McGray stretched his back, stood up and stared at the names, the photographs and the pages from Leonora’s journal.
‘What is it?’ I asked, and he rubbed his stubble as if trying to set it on fire.
‘I’m just afraid it might be another sodding dead end and we’ll waste yet another damn day, like chasing Mrs Cobbold all the way to Kirkcaldy.’
The Darker Arts Page 19
