The Convenient Murder

by Clare Jayne

  “You were friends?” Ishbel suggested.

  Mr McIntoll hesitated and ran a hand down his beard, before resting it on the arm of his chair. “It was a complicated relationship. I imagine most are that last nearly half a century. I probably knew him better than anyone else alive, including things from his past that he might have wished I did not know.”

  “Such as what?” Ishbel asked.

  “Even gentlemen are not always the paragons of virtue society would wish them to be.”

  Ewan ignored the vague answer. “We have been given the impression that he was... fond of female company.”

  “Just so. I am afraid his poor wife suffered many indignities over the years.”

  “Do you know of anyone who might have wished to hurt him?” Ishbel asked.

  “I have been thinking a lot about that since his death. Giles had an unfortunate habit of surrounding himself with people who both admired and feared him. I think it gave him pleasure to feel he had control over others.”

  “Do you know what his relationships were with any of the people at his house that night? For instance, was he behaving indiscreetly with a lady there?”

  “I would not know of such things. I did my best not to notice: he was not tactful in his pursuit of women but I do not know where he succeeded and where he did not.”

  Ewan thought of Lord Strand’s unwanted interest in Miss Chiverton. “May I ask an impertinent question and wonder why you would be friends with such a man?”

  “We began out as friends,” Mr McIntoll said, in the slow way of someone who was being careful about what they said. “Giles valued the fact that I knew him so well as much as it discomforted him at times. I spent a lot of time at his home and his son became very much like a child of my own. To put the matter frankly, Giles was neither a good father nor a good husband. He bullied both his son and his wife, mocking their opinions until they were reluctant to open their mouths. I like to think that my presence made their lives a little easier, giving them someone to speak to who respected them.”

  “Do you think it possible that one of them might have killed him?” Ewan asked.

  “Good lord, no!” He looked taken aback – horrified even – by the suggestion. “They are both good, moral people and, besides, I think they would have been far too scared of Giles to plot against him, even if they had had the type of characters to want to.”

  “Then is there someone else you suspect?” Ishbel asked, leaning a little towards him.

  “My dear, I feel I am harming Giles’ memory by saying this, but since you are both determined to find out the truth, you should know that Lord Strand treated a great many people badly. I should think that half of those people staying at his home were glad to see him dead.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  JED CASSELL arrived at the house early the next morning in response to their request to see him. In fact, Ewan had not even finished breaking his fast, although that was largely due to the time-consuming conversation Ishbel had heard him conducting with his valet on the subject of what new clothing he would need for the upcoming season.

  Since the dictates of formality normally demanded towards guests were not required with the caddie, they invited him into the dining room and offered him a plate of food, which he was happy to accept. Ishbel ignored the look of outrage from the butler this arrangement caused and sat at the table with them, sipping chocolate while they ate, telling Jed about the crime they were looking into. She tried to imagine the details as they were recounted: the guests, many of whom disliked Lord Strand according to Mr McIntoll, and their host poisoned in the middle of the night. Thank goodness no harm had come to Miss Chiverton and Mr McDonald – if one of them had come downstairs after the dinner party the murderer might have killed them to cover up the first crime.

  “Aye,” Jed said through a mouthful of bread, cutting through her thoughts. “I know of Lord Strand. The old one, that is, not the new one who hasn’t been back in Edinburgh for long.”

  “What have you heard?” she asked.

  He wiped his sticky hands on his apron. “There was some scandal when Lord Strand was younger, before he was married I think, where he behaved badly towards a respectable unwed lady. There was something later – also involving a lady, but a married one this time – where he fought a duel.”

  “Was anyone killed?” Ishbel asked, since revenge would certainly be a reason to kill him.

  “No. He shot the other gent in the arm, Miss. I mean Ma’am. There was also a rumour that Lady Strand never wanted to marry him but was pushed into it by her family.”

  Poor woman, she thought. From everything Miss Chiverton and Jed had told them, the late Lord Strand seemed to have been a man who enjoyed mistreating women. Perhaps that was what had caused his death.

  “You know a lot, Jed,” Ewan commented as he finished eating and sat back in his chair, a cup of coffee in his hand.

  Jed grinned. “As soon as I heard about the murder, I thought you might be interested in it, so I asked the other caddies what they knew.”

  “We appreciate it,” Ewan said. “Would you be able to see what you can find out about the guests who were also at the house when he died? In particular, we are curious about Lady Tabor, Mr Gell and Mr McIntoll, since they all seem to have had reason to dislike the late Lord Strand.” There could not be two Lady Tabors in Edinburgh but he described the men as clearly as he could, in case of confusion, and told Jed where Mr McIntoll lived.

  Jed finished his meal and wiped his mouth with an air of satisfaction. “I’ll dig around, sir.”

  “Good.” Ewan gave him some money and, as Jed headed back outside, said to Ishbel, “Jed and Rabbie between them should be able to find out some more.”

  “We started out with one main suspect but, after speaking to Mr McIntoll, we seem to have a good many more. What did you think of Mr McIntoll’s insistence that neither Lady Strand nor her son could have committed the crime?”

  He took a sip of his drink before answering. “He might be correct, as he has known their characters for a long time, but he clearly has a fondness for them which could blind him to what they are capable of. I think we should certainly not cross them off your list of names without more information.”

  “I agree.”

  “I wonder if we should reconsider our selective approach to society events this week,” he said and Ishbel grimaced at the idea, since she was the one whose interests this served, not that Ewan objected to spending time alone with her. “If our suspects are unwilling to speak to us we might have better luck if we encounter them at a ball or banquet.”

  “Perhaps Rabbie or Mr Cassell will return with some useful facts before that proves necessary,” she suggested hopefully and he smiled at her reaction.

  Chapter Fourteen

  MISS CHIVERTON had been wondering what she could do to assist Mr and Mrs MacPherson’s murder enquiry when fate knocked on her door or, to be accurate, asked her to dance.

  “I would be delighted, Mr Gell,” she said with a smile. “It is good to see you again.”

  “I have thought of you often since our first meeting,” he said as she took his arm to be led through the groups of lavishly dressed people onto the dance area within the assembly rooms.

  She ignored the hint of interest in his tone, since she did not return it, and deliberately misinterpreted it. “Yes, indeed. Poor Lord Strand. The events have been on my mind too. It is shocking to think that someone I might have even conversed with could have committed such a terrible crime.”

  “Oh, I am sure that was not the case. It must have been a servant or someone of that class.”

  Since he knew nothing of murders and clearly just wanted to relieve his fears, she ignored this biased opinion but stayed close to him as the dance began to learn more. “You did not hear Lord Strand argue with anyone that night?”

  “No, indeed. He was in jovial form.”

  She shuddered at the memory of the look in Lord Strand’s eyes before he had
made that appalling suggestion to visit her room. Had he wanted to alarm her or had he truly believed she would allow him to take her virtue?

  Mr Gell must have seen the change in her expression as he said, “You are becoming distressed speaking of such a difficult subject. We will not mention it again.”

  Thwarted in her goal for the moment, she continued the dance while trying to think of a way to manoeuvre the conversation back to something useful. The music came to an end and Mr Gell offered to fetch her a drink. Reluctant to let him leave before she had found anything out from him, she agreed, aware that she could not afford to be too friendly or he might take it into his head to try to court her. Men’s minds turned to romance far too easily, in her experience.

  He returned to her with a smile and a glass of lemonade. She took the drink and, assuming a look of innocent curiosity, she asked, “How was it that you came to know Lord Strand?”

  His expression darkened and out of nowhere she suddenly remembered how angry he had appeared on the morning that the corpse was found. Why should Lord Strand’s death have annoyed him? It was a bizarre reaction. “Gentlemen of our class all know each other,” he answered after a pause, which she did not believe at all. He must be half Lord Strand’s age and she doubted he had nearly the other man’s wealth or similar interests, so they had little reason to be friends.

  There was no point in offending him by pursuing something he had no intention of revealing so she tried a different strand in the same embroidery. “I happened to see Lady Tabor a couple of days ago. I thought she might be upset and need to speak to someone over losing a close acquaintance, but she said she barely knew Lord Strand, which surprised me.”

  “They certainly seemed to spend much of the evening talking,” he agreed, “although it is odd... I recall that her hand was shaking after a conversation with him. I just happened to notice it as she collected a drink at the same time as I did.”

  “How strange. An acquaintance did tell me before I met Lord Strand that he had a volatile temper; perhaps she had accidentally caused him to become angry.”

  “I certainly heard him speak insultingly to people,” Mr Gell said with such feeling that she was sure he had received such a slight.

  “With whom was he displeased at the dinner?”

  “There were a couple of people including a gentleman... What was his name? Ah, yes: McIntoll. Everyone said that Mr McIntoll and Lord Strand were the best of friends but I saw no evidence of it. McIntoll spent far more time talking to the son. I suppose that will work to his advantage now that the boy has inherited everything and has no one else to turn to for advice.” He glanced at her and gave a slight bow. “Please forgive me for boring you with talk of money. It can hold no interest for you.”

  This was the second time he had told her what she liked or disliked: he was beginning to remind her of Mr McDonald.

  Another gentleman – one who had been introduced to her by Eddie last year – approached to ask if she could fit him on her dance card and, satisfied with what she had found out for now and deciding she should not encourage Mr Gell’s attentions further, she left to dance with him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  RABBIE HAD no objection to being paid to spend an evening or two in taverns. He had had doubts when his master first began involving himself in crimes, fearful that Mr MacPherson would get hurt or worse, but since there had been no serious injury suffered and his master was growing more respected amongst the working classes for being willing to get his hands dirty to help them, Rabbie had decided it did no harm after all. And now his master had Mrs MacPherson to protect him and was happier than ever before, so that was a fine thing.

  He returned his thoughts to the present and looked around. The tavern was foggy with smoke from the fire and from the pipes men were smoking and he made his way carefully forward so as not to trip over someone or tread on a toe. It was also crowded, with several young men singing at the tops of their voices on one side of the room and a rowdy group dicing on the other. Having had Mr Gell’s footmen pointed out to him by a serving maid, Rabbie was able to casually lean up against an oak beam beside their table and say, “It’s pleasant to see people in such good spirits. Is it always so lively here?”

  “Aye,” the younger man at the table said. He was a scrawny red-haired lad with freckles and wild eyebrows. “It brightens up the evening after a long day’s work, when we can afford it.”

  It sounded as if that was not too often and Rabbie’s mouth twitched at the ease of his role. He used the tale he had spun once before in Mr MacPherson’s service. “My master won a bet today and was generous enough to give me a full guinea.” Their eyes lit up at the thought of such wealth as he continued, “I’d be happy to share my good luck and buy you both a drink or two.”

  They accepted this offer without hesitation and he was given a seat of honour at their table and plenty of goodwill. The red-haired fellow, Gordie, was young – no more than sixteen – while his more sturdily built companion, Alastair, was maybe ten years older and fair-haired, his face marked from having once had the measles and his expression discontented. Rabbie let them finish off their old drinks and get started on the new glasses of ale before he asked, “So what kind of man or family do you serve?”

  It was Alastair who replied, waving his tankard about as he spoke, a faint slur to his words. “Mr Gell is a bachelor at present, although I dare say he’d wed any lady with a good sized dowry.”

  “He’s short of money? That must make life difficult for you.”

  “Nay. He has a bit, a fortune to the likes of us, but you know what the wealthy are like. He has all these schemes to make more money, without ever planning to do any work, of course, and he tries to get men to invest in them.”

  “To be fair, he dinna always lose money,” the younger lad said, flushed from the heat of the fire and the drink. He had a more hesitant tone than his companion. “It’s just lately he’s lost enough to worry him. He thought he had a fellow lined up to invest a good sum, but the man went and died on him.”

  They both laughed at this, clearly not having much liking for either Mr Gell or sympathy over the death. Rabbie smiled and said, “It’s a shame the old man who died didna leave him some money in his Will.”

  “Oh, it wasna the usual kind of death.”

  “The man was killed,” Gordie interrupted, leaning forward and gaining a sour look from his friend who had clearly wanted to share this interesting titbit himself.

  Rabbie feigned astonishment. “You mean murdered? Wait, it wasna this lord everyone’s saying got poisoned recently?”

  “That’s the one,” Alastair replied. “Mr Gell was in the very house when it happened.”

  “I should think he’d have been alarmed to have been around some crazy killer,” Rabbie said.

  “He was too angry to be afeared. Got home in a foul mood because he’d lost out on the chance to get his hands on this fellow’s money.”

  “That seems cold-hearted,” Rabbie said. “I mean, surely they were friends, if your master was staying with him?”

  “Lord Strand might have thought they were friends but our master couldna stand him. Said he was a vicious pompous bastard,” Gordie said.

  “Why, what had the lord done?”

  The two men shook their heads. “No idea,” Alastair said and took another long draught from his ale.

  Rabbie got nothing more out of them that was useful and left after another hour, the cold outside more noticeable after the heat inside the tavern. It was semi-dark but there was enough moonlight to see where he was going. He was thinking that his mam would not be impressed with him for coming home drunk so late at night, even if it was to help solve a murder, when a cloaked figure stepped into his path, blocking his way. He could see other people out on the cobbled street but they were too far away to help him if he got into trouble.

  “What do you want?” he asked, taking a step away from the stranger, before he heard footsteps behind him. His mind fuzz
y from the ale, his reflexes slower than usual, he was only just turning round when someone struck him forcefully across the head. He grunted in pain, the world around him lurching as he fell to the ground, and then he was aware of nothing more.

  Chapter Sixteen

  EWAN STRUGGLED to tie his neckcloth by himself in any remotely fashionable manner, while wondering where his valet had got to. Ishbel, while spending her nights with him, naturally had her own bed chamber which she had returned to this morning so her maid could dress her, meaning that she could not help him and, besides, she took little interest in her own appearance and knew nothing of men’s fashions.

  He looked in the mirror and sighed in frustration. He could not remain in his room forever so, as much as he hated to be seen in such a state, he ventured downstairs. Ishbel had already begun her breakfast in the dining room when he entered the room. She looked up with a smile, which faded when she saw his expression. “What is wrong?”

  “Rabbie is not here this morning so my appearance is not what it should be.”

  Ishbel looked blankly over his outfit and said, “You look perfect to me.”

  He leaned over to kiss her cheek, reassured, and took his seat opposite her. He said to the tall footman who stepped forward to pour out a cup of coffee for him, “Simeon, has anything been heard from Rabbie? Is he unwell?”

  “No one from his family has come by to say he’s ill, sir.”

  “Did he not go out to talk to people about the murder last night?” Ishbel asked, her brow furrowed.

  “Yes.” There was no reason to think that he had got into any trouble over asking questions, but it was a possibility. Unease rippled through him at the idea. “Simeon, you had better go to his parents’ house after breakfast and check that he is there.”

  The footman nodded. “Aye, sir.”

  Simeon had still not returned an hour later when McDonald called and Ewan was growing concerned. Few people knew that he and Ishbel were looking into the murder but the wrong person could have found out about it or Rabbie could have asked questions of someone dangerous. Rabbie might have stumbled onto information that led someone to want to harm him. Of course, it was equally likely, hopefully more so, that there was nothing amiss and that Rabbie was feeling unwell or had been detained on some personal business.