On the way back to her house, she stopped at a few of Bill's favourite watering holes, programmed to do so after many such searches when he had been at his lowest with the grog. This wasn't the same, though. He was abroad with purpose, and would not have settled while he believed he had left her in the house with a revenant. Still she looked. Could he already know he had erred, and been driven to old bad habits through guilt? It was possible. Talk of finding William could have been no more than an excuse to escape the house. She began to fear that her husband had lost his tenuous grasp of the world again.
The sun was falling low to the horizon when she entered into the common passage leading to her home, and she was frozen on the step by a piercing, phlegmatic scream. It was unmistakably Ann. A crash followed, and John's hoarse swearing. She scurried to the second passage and opened the door, but she could not take herself closer. Madge Docherty had turned. Phantom pains in her shoulder, long forgotten, flared up anew. She remembered the scraping pain of grave-dirty fingernails tearing jagged wounds in her flesh, and those open jaws so desperate to bite. One of those things was in her home, had burst from her own bed as though it were a straw grave and set itself on her cousin. She wanted to help them, but no obligation on Earth would make her body take one step closer to the creature. At the end of the black corridor the door to her room opened and something stepped out. She screamed, unable to flee.
Behind the first shape, two more entwined silhouettes shoved one another. The larger of the two heaved, and the smaller fell back into the firelight. She saw naked flesh. The revenant. John had cast it back. He slammed the door, breathing hard, and put an arm around his wife. "Come on, Ann. We can't stay here." She could hear a tentative scratching, then a thump against the door. Denied its meal, the revenant wanted to pursue. Was there still enough of who it had once been to understand the door handles? Ann wasn't for moving, and though Nelly couldn't see her face she understood too well the shock of seeing one of the creatures for the first time. Was she hurt?
"Ann!"
"Nel, that you?" John answered for his wife, and started to guide her at a brisk pace down the passage.
"Aye. Did it hurt you, John? Did it bite?"
She could see him as he came closer, grey light filling out the detail of him. She could see no wounds, but Ann was limping badly. John's face was grim. "I'm not hurt, but it had its teeth in her leg. We were asleep. Mother of the Christ, it was a revenant, Ann. The woman you had there last night. A dead thing. I've heard the stories, but never ..." He shook his head, and she helped him lead Ann the last few feet out of the inner passage. When they closed the door on it, Ann saw her cousin properly for the first time. She was wide-eyed and silent, looking around without seeing. Her dress was sodden with blood.
"We have to get her to the street and bandage her. Oh, John," her head was spinning, imagining what would have happened if she had locked the door behind her when she went searching for Bill. "I'm so sorry. I thought it was all right. I didn't think it was one of them." She was babbling, hardly listening to her own words as horrible scenarios played through her mind, but she looked up when John resisted her attempt to pull Ann towards the exit.
He had his back against the door, still breathing hard. She heard a distant thump, less ferocious than before. The revenant could neither see nor hear its prey. She imagined it standing by her bed, gazing with stupid corpse eyes at the wood, wondering why it was so important that it be on the other side. Another thump. John was staring at her. "What are you sorry for, Nelly?" He was quiet, his words hollow, as though they were coming from very far away.
"For ... I ..." What had she just said? She couldn't remember, and trailed off. She felt very, very small.
John squared, still broad from his years in the army despite his growing paunch. "What is it doing in there? How did it get in the room?" She shook her head, unable to answer. "Christ ... did you know it was in there? Did you leave us sleeping with that thing?"
Could he see the tears leaking down her own face? She shook her head, an answer catching in her throat. Where was Bill? If he would only appear at the end of the passage, rush down to see what the matter was, he could make this right. He would make a lie from nothing, and John would believe it, and he would stop looking at her as though he was going to step forward and wrap his hands around her throat.
"Nel?" Anne's voice, shrouded in pain. She was looking around as though wondering how she got there. "There's a horror in your house, Nel." She giggled.
John's face set, and he leaned down, sweeping Ann's legs up, carrying her like a child. Nelly pushed herself against the wall as he passed, as though touching him would cause her to burst into flame. "John?" She was surprised that she had a voice at all. "John, what are you going to do?" He didn't answer, and she scurried after him. "John! Don't ... it's going to be taken care of. Bill's going to take care of it. You don't have to tell anyone." He ignored her, and she pawed his shirt. "Don't tell anyone! John! Don't tell the police!"
He snapped his head round, mouth twisted. "Get your hands off me."
She jerked back, dropping to her knees. "I'm begging, John! Don't say! If you ever loved me, don't say! I cannot help it! It's nothing that you think!"
"You cannot help it? Nelly, it's your house. You stay in it. You knew it was there. You surely can help it."
She reached out, put a hand on his foot, and he stepped back as though it were she who was the revenant. "You can have money, John. Ten pounds. Ten pounds a week! Bill will see you right. Just don't say!"
"Dear God, Nel ... that I should be worth money for dead people ..."
He left then, and some flicker of self-respect stopped Nelly from trying to go after him. She could still hear the occasional tentative thump from her home, which might well have been one of the faraway lands she had heard of. America.
Or Australia, where the convicts went.
She dragged herself to the wall and sat there, knees drawn to her chest, her arms shaking with shock.
#
Time ceased to pass for Nelly as she stared at the passage wall, the pitted brick cool on her back, but the light had changed little by the time Bill and William returned carrying a tea chest between them. Bill let go of his end as soon as he saw her, almost over-balancing William, then her husband was on his knees, pulling her close. "Tell me."
"It woke. Ann got bit. They're away now." Her voice was hoarse and quiet.
He sucked in breath. "Our fault. We should have been faster."
"Where is it," William was urgent, looming over them.
"Shut in." As though to confirm, there was another distant thump.
William nodded. "This'll go hard then."
"I think they're going to the police."
Bill sat back on his haunches and rubbed his lips. "Need the thing gone, then. If it's not here when they come ..."
William stared at him with narrow eyes. "They saw it." It was as though Nelly was no longer there.
"So they say." He reached out and touched Nel's shoulder. "Porter's coming, Nel. Stay here and show him the way in." He rose, and they grabbed the chest back up and scurried into the gloom.
"Bill!" He looked back at her. "I'm sorry. I tried to stop them."
His eyes were haunted, but he was at the same time relaxed, as though a great burden were lifted. "You played your part, Nel. We'll be finished soon, you'll see."
William glanced at her husband, a quick and furtive look of questioning doubt, and then they reached the door to the inner passage and were gone.
Chapter 30
William Burke
Saturday, November 1st, 1828
Bill sat by the fire, nursing his whisky. Nelly sat on the bed. After their porter M'Culloch had departed with William, they had spent a frantic few minutes putting the house back in order. They righted stools, mopped blood from where Ann had lain, rearranged the scattered straw of the bed, and evened out the blanket. Now they waited.
M'Culloch had been curious at the urgenc
y of the job he had been asked to do, but there was no help for it. Bill had to stay at the house so the police had somebody to talk to, and William couldn't get the tea chest up to Surgeon's Square on his own. He said nothing, of course, and they had tied the Docherty revenant tighter than usual so that it could not squirm in the chest. There was no lid to conceal it, so they had packed straw on top. It would be enough to pass any casual inspection, and they could only hope the streets stayed empty after the previous night's debauchery. William had been reluctant to go. He didn't like to deal with the doctor's men direct, but the alternative was that he try to bluff the police in Bill's absence.
There was a heavy, insistent knock on the door. Bill rose, sinking his drink, feeling the warmth and buzz bat down some of his lethargy. He looked at Nelly, trying to reassure her with a smile. What was to follow would be hard on her. Very hard indeed. Her wide and fearful eyes seemed to know it. "Be strong," he told her, fighting back his own exhausted tears at the sight of her cowering. "We'll be done with this soon." She nodded, just a jerk, and he wished he could explain everything to her. It would be painful in the telling, but knowing the truth might also lessen her grief in the coming days.
He straightened his shirt, and took a breath. As the knocking resumed he grinned and pulled open the door. The uniformed officer was young for the watch, badly shaved and soft looking. Behind him was an older man, who stepped forward straight away. The pressed metal disk pinned above his heart declared him to be a criminal officer. He had hard grey eyes, and his smile was a cold courtesy rather than a greeting. At the back of the group was John Gray, who glared hard at him. "That's him! Bill Burke!"
The officer's eyes scanned the room over Bill's shoulder. "Good evening, sir. William Burke in full, is it?" Bill nodded. The man tapped his badge, a little medal of authority. "John Fisher, with Edinburgh police, sir. Could I have a few moments of your time?"
"To be sure, officer. And is that you there, John Gray? A fool's business, wasting this man's time on account of a bit of bad blood." He gave a mock glower and stepped aside to let them in.
Only Fisher did so, a hand on the truncheon at his belt. He turned on the spot, taking in the whole room. While the young watchman wore a helmet, Fisher had on a hat. He doffed it when he saw Nelly. "Ma'am." She stared at him like a frightened rabbit would a stoat. "I'll be fine here, son," he told the younger officer. "Back to the street entry. Nobody in or out until we're done."
"Aye sir. Mr Gray?"
"Take him with you." The young man turned to usher Gray back along the passage. Bill closed the door.
"Sorry again for the inconvenience, sir," Fisher removed his hat and tucked it under his arm.
"You're hardly a trouble, Mr Fisher. Or is it officer?"
"Aye."
"I'm just sorry you've had your time wasted, that's all."
Fisher didn't respond to that. Instead, he looked around the room, searching. "Would you mind telling me what became of your lodgers, sir?"
Bill laughed, and gestured the officer towards a stool. When Fisher shook his head, he sat himself. "That's an odd question, when you've one of them right outside. Well, to call it true you should name him a former lodger."
"Aye?"
"Turned them out this very morning, for bad conduct. The things they said of my Nelly's father ... well, I won't be repeating them. Not with her right there and listening."
Fisher turned to her, and she jumped. He frowned. "And did your disagreement lead to violence? We see it often enough. Halloween. Hard liquor. Irish ... temperaments."
"Not a bit of it, sir, and if he said so he's a born liar. A bit of shouting, aye. Nothing more."
"And would you have had cause to ... bite the lady's leg, sir?"
Bill stared at him as though he were mad. "Not something I've the taste for, no."
"She's at the Watch House now. With a bitten leg."
He shrugged. "Well, who's to say how that happened? I threw them out this morning. Where they've been since then is nothing to me."
Fisher stared at him hard, knowing he was being lied to. Bill didn't care. "And there was a little woman, too. She was seen in your company yesterday by neighbours, as well as the complainants."
He was about to answer, when Nelly spoke. "I threw her out last night," she said, breathy and shrill. "Seven of the clock, it was. She was making too free with my Bill, so she was. I threw her out."
Bill winced. That wasn't going to pass, not if the officer had already spoken to Mrs Conway. He was about to intercede, but Fisher got to it first.
"Was that the last time you saw her?"
"Well ... no. I saw her just this evening, not an hour ago, and she apologised. I could find her, and she'll tell you the same."
"No, Nelly, not that one." She stopped speaking, and shrank into herself. Fisher turned back to him, eyebrows raised. "Ah, officer, she has the wrong woman and the wrong night. That was the day before, Nel. Do you not remember?" He tried to smile at the officer, who waited without expression for him to continue. "Sure it was. Forgive her, sir. It's been a merry whirlwind of a week. Old Madge stayed with us last night. She left this morning, not long after the Grays."
"Is there anybody else who could speak to it?" Fisher turned, pacing towards the bed. Nelly shrivelled but stayed where she was.
"Sure. I won't rely on Nel's troublemaking kin, though they were here for it. My friend William Hare could vouchsafe that it's the truth, as could his wife. And a number of others who could not have missed her departure, I'm sure."
"You've very attentive neighbours, Mr Burke?" Fisher was staring at something on the floor, a dark patch. From where he sat, with only the firelight to see by, Bill couldn't be sure what it was.
"Neighbours who perceive the whole world to be their business."
"Is this blood, sir?"
Nel jumped off the bed, and Bill rose from his stool, putting out a hand to steady her. When they had grabbed the revenant there had been blood across its lips and chin, and Bill had assumed it to be Ann Gray's. Now he remembered the brutality with which William had throttled the old woman. What damage had he done? "I couldn't say, officer. Is it?"
"It is," Nelly said. "I ... a woman lay there not two weeks gone, and took her monthly blood. That's all it is, to be sure."
Fisher put his hands on his knees, and stared down at it. Whatever education the man had received, Bill was prepared to wager that he could tell the difference between fresh blood and a two week old stain. The officer opened the door, and called down the passage. "Findlay!"
"I don't know what they told you, officer, but it's nothing but pure personal spite. You've my word to that."
"Perhaps, sir." They heard the door at the other end of the passage open, and the stomp of boots as the young man scurried to join them. "If it's no trouble to you sir, I'd like to tell you their version of events. It's an odd story, to be sure. Probably best if the two of you join us down at the station. We can get comfortable there. Have a proper chat."
Nelly's arm went rigid in his hand, but Bill felt nothing but warm relief. It made him giddy, and he could barely keep himself upright. As the room swam, his grin split his face almost to the point of pain.
It was over.
Finally.
#
Fisher led them up the narrow steps of the Watch House and opened the door for them. It was all very civil. For the sake of courtesy, nobody acknowledged that they had been followed at three paces, all the way from Wester Portsburgh, by the young watchman Findlay. Fisher had not indicated that they were under arrest, but he thought that might only be a formality. If either he or Nelly attempted to flee, they would be brought down hard. The streets were dark and quiet, which saved Nelly the shame of that long walk, but there were still some passers-by who knew them. Tommy Rhymer had been closing up shop as they trudged along, and he alone would ensure the swift spread of news. Bill Burke, whose late night comings and goings had been noticed first with interest and then concern, was in the cus
tody of the police.
They gave their names and address at the front desk. Bill emptied his pockets into a bag, pausing as he deposited each item so that a clerk could scratch a description into a ledger. They were separated, and he took one long look at Nelly, trying to burn her face into his memory. It was made difficult and awkward by the low hang of her head, for she refused to look any of the officers bustling from one room to another in the eye. Then they were led in separate directions, the young officer taking Nel away while Fisher escorted him to his new accommodation. The cell was small. There was a pail in the corner, and a bed of dank straw. A tiny table sat next to the bed, and Fisher lit the two candles there. "If you'll excuse me sir. A few small matters to attend to, and then I'll be back. Hopefully we can put a swift end to this business, eh?" Bill nodded, and sat on the bed. "Somebody should be along soon, give you a bit of bread and water if you've not yet eaten." The heavy wooden door crashed shut, the din echoing in the small chamber. A key turned, the lock thunking closed. Fisher took one look back at him through the little barred window, nodded, and was gone.
Bill was alone.
At first he tried to hold back his tears, not knowing who might be in the next cell over, or whether Fisher might still be behind the door waiting to see what his reaction to incarceration might be. He lay back in the straw, not minding the smell, and pinched out the candles. Save for the dim glow of a lantern some feet down the corridor outside, there was only darkness. He stared into it, and let the tears out.
He wept in silent relief. Weeks of tension seemed to squeeze out through his skin, as though he were a wet rag being wrung tight by strong hands. The straw soaked it all up. Perhaps it had done so for other men marked by the law before him, and it had become foetid with their sins.
The faces in his head, each contorted by the savage, snapping rage of the revenant, floated above him in the darkness. When he tried to think back on the murder of each one he found so many of the details blurring into routine. Some stood out, especially in recent months, as he had pulled himself from the grog and started thinking about the future. The early days were less clear. There were some scenes he remembered, but always as a bystander. It was like watching the plays of the performing companies that toured about Scotland in the summer months. He could see the obscene things he had done only as a member of an audience, never as the player on the stage. Somebody else had done them while he sat passive, watching and refusing to interrupt the act. Sometimes, though he could not deny the monster he had become, none of it seemed real.
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