The Wages of Sin

by Kaite Welsh

  I emerged into the courtyard, the watery late-afternoon sun bathing the streets a few hundred yards in front of me. In the square, however, I was standing in a chilly shadow, the Gothic architecture of the buildings looming over me. I had always loved this place, but now I wanted to be far from it, and far away from Gregory Merchiston’s accusations. I broke out into a run as I left the Old College, no longer caring who saw me. I needed air and solitude, and there was only one place for me to get it.

  I was out of breath by the time I reached the foot of Arthur’s Seat. In pleasanter weather, it was a nice spot for a picnic, but even in the gray drizzle I found it soothing. Up here, far enough away from the breweries and factories that the air was crisp and clear, I could finally breathe. My tears dried in the chilly breeze, but for once I didn’t mind the cold. The air was still tangy with hops and the traces of factory smoke, but the wind was bracing and the rain was cool against my overheated skin. My cheeks were burning with shame, but shock and hurt had been eclipsed by rage.

  I sat on a patch of damp grass, gazing out across the city as I mulled over what had just happened. Merchiston knew Lucy; there was no denying that. But he hadn’t known that she was pregnant. There had been pain in his eyes—just a flicker, just for a moment—and it was more than just empathy for the dead girl. If he had suspected that the child was his, however slim the chance was, given her occupation, I could not imagine how he must be feeling now. Was there remorse at the unforeseen consequences of his actions? Or was he pragmatic about the whole thing, relieved to be rid of the burden, not only of a troublesome lover but of an illegitimate child as well?

  I cursed myself for showing my hand too soon. He would be watching me, and he knew my weaknesses. One false step could get me thrown out of medical school. I would either have to tread very carefully, or abandon any hope of discovering the truth behind Lucy’s death. What was she to me, after all? Just a vulnerable girl stuck in a vile profession, as so many others were. I had recognized something of myself in her, true, but why take on her problems as well as my own? I tried to block out the murmurings of my conscience, scolding myself for letting my emotions get the better of me.

  A couple walked past, clearly sweethearts, and the sight made a smile rise unbidden to my lips. I could give in. I could marry Miles Greene, or hope for someone better. I could somehow convince my aunt for a stay of execution, an engagement long enough to finish my studies. I could move on with my life instead of trying to avenge past wrongs by championing the cause of every wronged woman who crossed my path.

  Was Professor Merchiston right? Had I let my imagination run away with me again, when my studies should have provided enough fascination? What a foolish little girl. I had fought for this. I had begged and pleaded and finally threatened my parents to let me come here, reminding them that university was at least better than lingering in the asylum that posed as a rest cure. If I was condemned to live my life as a disreputable spinster, I had pointed out, better that I at least have an occupation. And now, instead of embracing that vocation, was I seeing mystery where there was none to be had, playing out my strange fantasies in the hope of what? Redemption? The chance to save a woman whose life had been blighted, much as my own had, by the needs and actions of unscrupulous men?

  Merchiston’s threat rang in my ears. I didn’t doubt that he’d see it through if he had to. And another fear lurked in the recesses of my mind—if he had killed Lucy, what was to stop him disposing of me as well? I had no friends here, he’d said so himself. Who would really miss me if I disappeared? A clock chimed in the distance, and I realized I was missing another lecture. At this rate, it wouldn’t be only Merchiston baying for me to be sent down. Still, I couldn’t face the thought of returning to the university, of battling Julia’s sneers, the men’s taunts, and Merchiston’s accusing gaze. But there was somewhere I thought I might receive a warm welcome.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Sarah, how delightful to see you again!” If Elisabeth Chalmers was surprised at my arriving in her parlor, damp and disheveled, she had the good grace not to show it. She ordered some tea to be brought to us as if I had been paying a prearranged social call, but as soon as the maid left us she turned to me, her eyes bright with curiosity, pushing me down into a chair by the fire.

  “Sarah! What on earth is the matter?”

  “That man,” I snarled through gritted teeth. “That bloody man! How dare he? Threatening me with expulsion when I’ve done nothing wrong—what the hell is he so afraid of?”

  Elisabeth stared at me in mounting horror. “Who wants to expel you? Sarah, what have you done?”

  “Nothing!” I almost shouted, months of pent-up rage exploding out of me. “I have done nothing wrong, except challenge a man—who is supposed to be a gentleman—on his actions, which are, quite frankly, dubious to say the least. And he said he’d have me sent down if I kept asking questions. How dare he? How bloody dare he?”

  Elisabeth put a soothing hand on my elbow. “Catch your breath for a moment. Who are you talking about?”

  “Professor Merchiston,” I said sullenly.

  There was a sharp intake of breath. “Gregory? He threatened you?”

  I took a deep breath. Elisabeth was the closest thing I had to a friend in Edinburgh, and if I could confide in anyone, it would be her. Lucy’s story tumbled out of me, and I found myself weeping openly over her death for the first time.

  By the time I was finished, my voice was hoarse and I felt exhausted from my torrent of emotion. “She was bruised, Elisabeth. It might have been a laudanum overdose, but she didn’t take it willingly.”

  “Oh good Lord.” Elisabeth slumped in her seat, her face drained of the little color it possessed.

  “So I started asking questions, and I found Merchiston doing exactly the same thing.”

  “Sarah, Gregory is a doctor! He’s perfectly entitled to ask questions if he suspects that a death may be suspicious.”

  “Perhaps,” I conceded, “but that doesn’t explain why he was looking for Lucy and then denied knowing her. I found him stumbling out of her brothel in a drunken stupor, helped him home, only to hear him mumbling about her to his housekeeper.”

  Elisabeth drew a ragged breath. “You’re sure? It couldn’t have been some other girl?”

  I shook my head. “He knew her, even if he says he didn’t. The girl’s madam all but confessed it. I’m as confused as you are, Elisabeth. But what he didn’t know—not until I told him today—was that Lucy was pregnant. I’ve never seen a man go so pale. I thought he was going to fall into a swoon—I was about to get out my smelling salts! But when he recovered, he was angrier than I’ve ever seen him before. He told me to stop asking questions, and that if I persisted ‘in this ridiculous line of inquiry’”—I imitated his soft Borders accent—“he would speak to the dean of the school of medicine and have me sent down.” The reality of the situation crashed over me, and I felt choked with panic. “Elisabeth, I can’t lose my place here! It’s all I have left.”

  “Then you must cease this investigation at once.” My friend’s voice was firm, her countenance unwavering. “Sarah, whatever romantic notions you may have about this poor girl, put them out of your mind. You can’t help her now. I cannot sit here and watch you sacrifice your future on a whim!”

  I closed my eyes. Elisabeth was right—and, in his own way, so was Professor Merchiston. “But if I don’t do it, no one else will. Elisabeth, someone stole her body from the dissection room. One of the porters said her madam had taken it, but I spoke to her and she was lying, I’m sure of it. I just don’t know why. This is no accident, and someone doesn’t want the truth to be told. It’s murder, I’d bet my life on it.”

  “That’s precisely what you are doing!”

  I shook my head. “Someone is covering this up, but I can’t let Lucy’s death go unpunished. It would be immoral. No one else will speak up for her; no one else cares. They just dismiss her because she’s no better than she ought to be,
because she’s a whore . . .”

  “And she reminds you of yourself,” Elisabeth finished softly. I stared at her, sick to my stomach. “I may choose to stay above rumor and malicious gossip, Sarah, but that doesn’t mean I don’t hear it.”

  “Is there anyone in Edinburgh who hasn’t heard of my misfortune?” I asked bitterly. “Merchiston knew. He told me that my reputation preceded me, and that it would take very little convincing for the dean to have me sent down.”

  To my surprise, Elisabeth cursed quietly. “That’s cold. I can’t believe Gregory would say something like that.”

  “Well obviously you don’t know him as well as you think,” I snapped.

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” she murmured. “Of course, one knows these things go on, but one never expects it of one’s friends. And not someone like Merchiston. He’s so upstanding, so . . .”

  “Respectable?” I finished bitterly. “Oh, Elisabeth. Respectability means nothing when it comes to women. You’re sheltered by Professor Chalmers; he’s a good, good man, but many men lack his moral rectitude. Women are there to be used, and if they are willing then it’s a bonus.”

  I turned my face to the fire so that she couldn’t see my tears fall. When I had mastered my emotions, I returned my focus to the one person who needed it most.

  “So what do I do about Lucy?”

  “Nothing,” she told me firmly. “You can’t risk your future like that, not after . . . Well, you have had enough disappointments for a lifetime.” I opened my mouth to disagree with her angrily. “But,” she added, “you’re not the only one who can make inquiries.” She pressed my hand. “Take it to the police. If they won’t do anything, come back. We’re two intelligent women, I’m sure we can ask the right questions.”

  I smiled for the first time in days. I was beginning to get the distinct feeling I had underestimated her. Whatever my next steps were, I was not going to take them alone.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I had never seen the inside of a police station; I doubted that many women of my position had. But I had practiced my statement about Paul for hours, scribbled the vile words down on paper, had composed myself as far as I could in anticipation of questions that never came. My father, who would have reported a theft of one of his priceless bloody bibelots in a heartbeat, had been content to spare his daughter’s violator the trouble of answering for his actions.

  The courtyard was jammed with carriages, and I stepped gingerly across the cobbles to avoid the manure the horses had left in their wake. Inside, however, was a different matter. I stood at the back of a queue of people, some of whom were obstreperous and others merely drunk. A harassed young man with ginger hair and a frustrated expression was dealing with the torrent of people, although whether they were victims, criminals, witnesses, or merely voyeurs was beyond my deductive capabilities.

  Finally, I reached the desk and smiled as kindly as I could at the policeman.

  “I’m terribly sorry to bother you, Officer, but would it be possible to speak with your medical examiner? I’m from the Saint Giles’s Infirmary, and I have a question about one of our former patients.”

  Clearly relieved that I wasn’t protesting my innocence or impugning anyone else’s, the officer opened the door behind him and bellowed.

  “There’s a lassie here, says she’s a nurse from the infirmary, wants t’speak to the doctor. Has he shown up yet?”

  There was a mumbled reply that I couldn’t make out, and then my officer reappeared.

  “He’s due in any moment, miss. If you come this way, we’ll find you somewhere to sit where you won’t be disturbed.”

  I flashed him my most charming smile. “Thank you, you’re most kind.”

  “So you’re a nurse, are you?”

  “Actually, I’m a medical student.” My response provoked a gale of laughter.

  “Aye, that’s a good one, lassie.” Little more than I had expected. “Ferguson, this wee thing says she’s a doctor.”

  “Naw, they’re all bearded ladies from up Newington way,” his colleague argued. “They’re no’ pretty faces like hers.”

  I was painfully, unsettlingly aware that I was alone in a room with four strange men.

  “I assure you, gentlemen,” I informed them in my frostiest tone, “I am enrolled at the University of Edinburgh.”

  “Aye, I heard about that,” one mused. “They let lasses in now. Shocking.”

  “How do we know this isn’t a windup? Coming in here, wasting our time with your nonsense?”

  “Sir, please. I have a legitimate inquiry—”

  “What happened—someone steal your stethoscope?”

  I was rapidly reaching boiling point, unsure how much longer I could remain here without throwing something. The thought of a night in the cells did not appeal.

  “Gentlemen, I assure you I have a perfectly legitimate grievance. I—”

  “Someone get that bloody woman out of here!”

  The room fell silent and I swiveled to see the newcomer. Standing in front of me, cheeks reddened with anger and the late-autumn wind, was Professor Merchiston.

  “It’s not enough to harass me at the university, you have to follow me here? Well, young lady, these gentlemen won’t be as tolerant of your nonsense as your lecturers. They’re ruffians, the lot of them, and the ones in the cells are little better. If you value what is left of your reputation, I suggest that you leave. Immediately.”

  “Lovers tiff is it?” one of the policemen called out, to the amusement of his brethren. “Give your sweetheart a kiss, Doctor!”

  Merchiston turned his scowl toward them. He didn’t flinch.

  “She is not my sweetheart. She is a bloody nuisance. What half-baked tales has she been telling you, eh? Too many novels, that’s your problem, Gilchrist. Perhaps if you concentrated more on your studies and less on your flights of fancy, I might have been able to mark your last essay a little higher.”

  “That essay was more than adequate,” I argued, barely aware of the fact that I had risen to my feet. “If you’ve failed me for it, then I’ll take it to the dean. You have no right to take out your petty grievances against me on my work.”

  “‘Petty grievances’?” he stormed. “You accused me of murder!”

  The room fell silent, and the officers stared at us both.

  “I . . . I didn’t accuse . . .”

  “As near as, damn it. For the love of God, Gilchrist, a girl of your obvious brains shouldn’t be wasting her time playing detective. Leave the solving of crimes to this sorry lot, and get back to your studies.”

  “Does this ‘sorry lot’ know about your association with Lucy?” I turned to them. “Gentlemen, a young woman was murdered not two weeks ago, and yet her death has been treated as a common suicide.”

  “Let me assure you,” he said, leaning close enough that I could feel his warm breath tickle my hair, “Lucy did not arrive here, dead or alive. I give you my word on that—as the police medical examiner.”

  I stared at him coldly. “What a coincidence. How busy you must be, Professor.”

  “Why don’t you try asking Ruby McAllister? If that bitch sent Lucy’s body directly to the university morgue, it wasn’t with my consent.”

  “I—”

  “It wasn’t with my bloody consent!” he roared. There was pain in his voice, and I was half tempted to believe him. But there were too many questions that lacked answers, and the violence seeping from every pore terrified me. Murderer or not, Gregory Merchiston was a dangerous man, and I had made an enemy out of him. He took hold of my shoulders in a viselike grip. “Understand?”

  “I believe you,” I gasped, although I wasn’t sure that I did. “I do. Please, just let me go. I promise I won’t ask any more questions. I’ll let the matter drop. Just let me go, and I’ll forget I ever met her.”

  He let go of my arm as though I had burned him. With the shadows playing across his face, I couldn’t ascertain his expression, and this m
ade me even more uneasy.

  “Well,” he said finally, after a long silence. “Make sure that you do.”

  He turned and marched back indoors, posture ramrod straight. As I heard him explaining my behavior to his colleagues—the words hysterical female were used—I walked out into the darkening streets, wondering if I had just made a terrible mistake. The chill I felt now had little to do with the late-afternoon wind, or the heavy drops of rain that stained my skirt. I stood there in the darkness for a long time, wondering how it was that I felt my promise had disappointed him in some way.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  It was early enough when I arrived at the university that only a few keen students were up and about, and a solitary runner made his chilly circumference of the Meadows, much to my admiration. I stood and watched him run until a few cyclists swooped past me. There had been snow on the ground when I left the house, and it unnerved me to realize that the year had circled round again. And yet, so much had happened: 1892 had been a hellish year and I would not be sad to see the back of it. In one way, I had what I’d wanted for so long—no longer simply sitting in medical lectures at the London School of Medicine for Women, wishing passionately that I could be allowed to really study, not just be a dilettante who scribbled useless notes that she was never going to need. My circumstances might be restrictive, but how much more intellectual freedom did I have!

  Turning back up Middle Meadow Walk to begin my day in earnest, I caught sight of a familiar figure striding away from the medical buildings with a grim expression. The desire to follow Professor Merchiston was overwhelming, and a quick glance at my wristwatch showed me that I had plenty of time before my biology lecture. I remained a good few feet behind him, ready to dart away if he realized he was being followed. He maintained a brisk pace, and I was forced to scuttle along to avoid losing him in the throng of people that grew steadily thicker as we drew closer to the Royal Mile. I was out of breath and felt the beginnings of a stitch in my side—being treated like an invalid or a mental deficient for so long had had a detrimental effect on my physical health—but I managed to keep up as he turned onto Cockburn Street. If he had been heading to Princes Street he could have caught an omnibus or hailed a cab—but if he had been heading somewhere so innocuous, he would hardly have turned so sharply I almost missed it and slunk like an alley cat down Fleshmarket Close.