aven was engulfed by the bleakest misery, confined within a prison of his own making, and what made it harder still was that he had to conceal his pain from everyone around him. He had to conduct himself as though nothing was amiss, there being no option to withdraw and hide away, as the following day had been hectically busy.
It had begun with a typically rumbustious morning clinic, at which he was besieged by unwary souls to whom he felt he ought to admit to being a dangerous fraud. He felt nervous and under-confident in his diagnoses and the advice he dispensed. Consequently, several patients left him with the impression that they were not convinced by what he told them, and therefore less likely to take the steps he recommended.
He thought of the homeopaths and the benefits their patients experienced due solely to the confidence they had in their doctors. If there was an opposite effect, then he was surely generating it.
Nonetheless, there was one case in which he had no doubt regarding his diagnosis, though his confidence did not provide for any better an outcome. The patient was a Mrs Gallagher, who had presented with what she initially described as a stomach complaint. Raven had palpitated her stomach to little response, but when he put the merest pressure against her ribs, she winced and withdrew. He instantly recognised what he was looking at, just as he recognised her reluctance to lift her chemise and show him her sides.
‘I need to check for a particular kind of rash that may be infectious,’ he lied, by way of convincing her to cooperate.
He found the bruising where he expected, extensive but easily concealed.
‘Your husband did this,’ he stated.
She looked hunted, afraid even that Raven had said this aloud.
‘It was my ain fault. I burnt the scones and there was nae mair flour. He had a tiring day and I should have been paying mair heed.’
‘Where might I speak with Mr Gallagher?’ Raven asked, but she was already on her way to the door.
She departed rapidly, leaving him with the impression that he had made matters worse, or at least frightened her into leaving before he was able to do anything for her.
This miserable morning had been followed by the usual diet of assisting at lectures and home visits. Adding insult to injury, one of the latter marked the first time he had accompanied Simpson to a rich client in the New Town, where inevitably he had been required to administer ether. When Simpson suggested it, Raven had looked around in the hope that he might see one of the Reverend Grissom’s pamphlets, but he was not so blessed.
How his hands had shaken as he fumbled for the bottle, Simpson asking with a mixture of concern and irritation if he was all right.
The final trial was dinner, when once again he had to conceal his torment lest someone enquire as to what was troubling him. The hardest thing about this burden was that he absolutely could not share it with anybody.
Raven had seldom felt so isolated, so lonely, but at least his efforts at such concealment appeared to be successful. Following last night’s solicitations and attendant offer of stomach powders, Mina’s attention was notably not upon him this evening. She seemed distracted by some hidden excitation. She had news she was impatient to share, but had to await her moment.
Raven suspected Simpson had divined this, as he seemed to draw out saying grace as though intent upon frustrating her. Ordinarily this would have frustrated Raven also, with his meal having been placed before him, but he was lacking in appetite.
His head bowed, Raven observed that he had been given a larger portion than anyone else. He glanced up, caught Sarah’s eye, and saw a conciliatory expression upon her face which told him his true condition had not gone entirely unnoticed. She could have no idea what was wrong, only that he was suffering.
He offered her a tiny nod of acknowledgment. He just hoped she wouldn’t misinterpret if he failed to clear his plate.
The formalities concluded, Mina did not pause to eat before making her contribution.
‘I learned the most dreadful news today,’ she said. ‘Truly dreadful and most tragic.’
Raven felt his insides turn to ice as it struck him that she was about to reveal the death of Mrs Graseby, right here before Dr Simpson.
‘You will remember the Sheldrake family’s housemaid, the one who had run away?’
‘Sheldrake?’ asked James Duncan with a sour curiosity, by way of emphasising that he had not been party to the previous discussion to which Mina was alluding.
‘Mr Sheldrake is a dentist,’ Mrs Simpson informed him, ‘with a very successful practice. One of his housemaids absconded recently.’
‘Rose Campbell,’ said Mina. ‘She was found dead, and there is a rumour that it was murder. Pulled from the dockside down in Leith. It’s thought the man she ran off with must have done for her.’
‘How awful for the Sheldrakes,’ said Mrs Simpson. ‘And for the staff who knew her.’
‘It is thought that her own behaviour might have contributed to her demise,’ Mina went on. ‘She was reputedly free with her favours.’
Mina shook her head as though the relevance of this last statement was self-evident. Raven wondered at this sense of natural justice people seemed to draw from such judgments, as though any carnal knowledge of which they did not approve must inevitably lead to the direst of consequences. Perhaps they embraced this by way of reassurance that they could never meet a similar fate because of the morality they observed.
He sometimes felt sorry for Mina in that she appeared to have no greater purpose in life than to get herself married off, and was making scant progress in this endeavour. Vicarious excitement and scandal were therefore of disproportionate significance to her, and she was a busy conduit for all manner of gossip. Mina spoke with ill-disguised fascination about this poor girl’s gruesome fate, as though she were reading from a penny dreadful.
Raven’s eyes lit briefly upon Sarah. She was upset and attempting to conceal it. Her efforts were precisely as successful as his had been, in that only one person had seen through to the truth.
Sarah knew the girl.
Mina’s reverie was cut off by the professor, who had heard enough.
‘This kind of speculation is not appropriate for the dinner table, Mina,’ he stated firmly. ‘And it is no more than blethers. I happened to run into McLevy the police detective today, and he said nothing about murder.’
‘What did he tell you?’ Mina asked.
‘The details are not for sharing in gentle company,’ Simpson replied, which closed the matter for the duration of the meal.
Raven made a point of seeking out the professor on his own once dinner was concluded. He intercepted him on his way to the stairs, before he could disappear into his study.
‘What did McLevy tell you, sir?’
Simpson looked at him as though surprised at his interest, then a dawning passed over his expression as he remembered that Raven had been there at the quayside.
‘He is awaiting the results of a post-mortem by the police surgeon,’ Simpson said, his voice low. There was nobody in earshot, but he was perhaps concerned that a door might open nearby at any moment. ‘I implied to Mina that there was no murder, but the truth is McLevy has not ruled anything out until he knows more.’
‘So was there anything specific to suggest foul play?’
‘He was very guarded. Between you and me, McLevy sometimes says more than his prayers. He likes to exaggerate the enormity of what he is up against so that it reflects the greater upon his achievement when he gets his man. But on this occasion, I do not believe that to be the case. He asked for my discretion, which you understand I would therefore expect of you also.’
‘Unquestioningly, sir.’
‘With a young woman found dead like that, he does not want word to spread that there may be some monster at large.’
Raven recalled the absurd talk of devils and Satanists that he had overheard. He well understood the hysteria that might ensue, not to mention the accusations. He recalled also the land-lord, who had been keen to know the nature of Raven’s interest, and who had followed him later. He might even have discovered where Raven lived, had he not managed to give him the slip.
‘Had McLevy any suspicion as to what might have happened?’
‘As Mina has said, Rose Campbell was rumoured to have been seeing a number of men, and possibly to have run away with one of them.’
‘When we saw her by the quay, her posture was strangely contorted. What of that?’
‘McLevy made no mention of it. But as we have no notion how long she was in the water, that might have been the result of rigor mortis. Why do you ask?’
What could Raven tell him? Because a whore of my acquaintance, and of whom I have occasionally had knowledge, died in a similarly twisted posture and I crept away like a coward in order to protect my own reputation.
‘I am simply curious as to what might have caused it.’
He watched the doctor slip away quietly into his study. There was nothing further to be learned from him, but there was one person in the house who might know more.
Raven waited until he knew her duties were complete and she would have retired to her quarters. He ascended the stairs to the topmost floor and knocked softly upon the door.
‘Yes, come in?’
Despite the invitation, Raven opened the door but remained in place, not considering it appropriate to proceed fully inside. He knew that he was not who Sarah was expecting when she called out her reply. She was sitting upon the bed, a book open on her lap.
She wore a familiarly implacable expression: a mixture of defiance and disapproval, though on this occasion missing the usual note of amusement bordering on scorn. Her face nonetheless failed to conceal that she was surprised to see him.
She closed the book and got to her feet.
The room smelled like fresh linen: clean and crisp. Sarah herself had a scent of cooked meat, smells that had adhered to her clothes from working in Mrs Lindsay’s kitchen.
‘How may I help you, Mr Raven?’
So, not Wilberforce today. She was caught off-guard and using formality to shore up a barrier. There was a redness about her eyes to indicate that she had recently wept.
Raven was struck by how small and bare her room was. He had imagined it must be at least the same size as his, his position being temporary while hers was long-term. He realised with private embarrassment that this had been a baseless and indeed foolish assumption. It seemed so drab, so inadequate, and yet this was her lot.
The furnishings consisted of a small bed, a trestle table, and a chest of drawers atop which sat a sewing basket and a washing bowl. There were no pictures on the narrow walls, no shelves full of books. He had imagined she would have a collection of novels at least, but understood now that she must borrow them from Dr Simpson’s library.
Beside her on the bed was the volume she had just closed, an illustrated work concerning the cultivation of herbs and other plants. He recalled seeing her tending a particular patch of garden at the back of the house. On the trestle table sat Outlines of Chemistry, for the Use of Students, by Professor William Gregory, who taught at the university. Raven was intrigued as to what she could possibly be wanting with that. He had found it challenging enough, so what chance did she have of comprehending anything from it?
‘What are you reading?’ he asked.
‘I am interested in the healing properties of herbs,’ she replied, an impatience to her tone clearly not welcoming further discussion.
‘And what about the Gregory?’
She glanced towards the volume that had once so tormented him.
‘Chemistry is the key to identifying the properties of individual plants which provoke specific effects. But as you had no way of knowing these books were here, I can deduce that this is not what you have come to enquire about.’
‘No, it is not,’ he admitted. ‘May I come inside?’
Sarah nodded, though she folded her arms and took a step back – not that there was much space to put between them in this small chamber.
‘Rose Campbell, the young lady who was found. You knew her, didn’t you?’
Sarah glanced down for a moment, a darkening in her expression.
‘Only a little. I knew her mainly through a mutual friend, Milly Conville. We sometimes meet when we are out in the town on errands.’
‘She and this Milly were maids in the same house?’
‘Yes. I believe Mr Sheldrake has the richest dental practice in the city, his clientele drawn primarily from here in the New Town. He has a household staff to match. What of it?’
‘It was rumoured that Rose had run away with someone. Had you heard anything about this?’
Sarah’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why do you wish to know?’
‘I am simply curious.’
‘Enough to venture forth into the uncharted territory of the top landing and knock on this door. That is not an idle curiosity, Mr Raven. Something else must be driving it, so you ought to do me the courtesy of disclosing what.’
Raven had no such intention, but he had to step lightly. If she knew nothing, she would have simply told him that.
‘When Miss Grindlay said that she was dead, I observed that you appeared distressed by the news. I was concerned that you might be upset.’
Sarah looked him in the eye, nodding to herself. ‘That would be most solicitous of you, Mr Raven, if it were the truth.’
‘It is the truth,’ he insisted. ‘I was aware you may not have anybody you could talk to about it, so I sought you out.’
‘I mean the whole of the truth. You have described a mere pretext. What is the real nature of your interest?’
Raven searched for somewhere else to cast his gaze. There was but one small window, and nothing to be seen through it at night time.
‘It concerns matters that would not be appropriate to share with someone of your standing.’
Sarah’s eyes flashed with anger. ‘My standing? Do you mean as a housemaid or as a woman? How little you must think of me that you would come here seeking information, but with no intention of reciprocating even if it might assist in what I could tell you.’
Raven withstood her ire, for in it she had betrayed what he suspected.
‘So you do know more?’
‘I am answering no more questions until you answer some of mine. Such as why you have seemed so burdened these past couple of days. Is that related to your interest in poor Rose?’
‘No. I have merely been suffering the trials of my apprenticeship and of being new to certain duties.’
Sarah scoffed, that scornful look putting in its first appearance. ‘I don’t believe you. If you were struggling with your duties, I would discern it in Dr Simpson’s manner. Something more specific is troubling you. Is it to do with this Evie, whose name you wrote down in your journal? Who is she?’
Raven felt something tighten inside him, an instinct drawing him to fold his arms too.
‘That is absolutely no business of yours.’
‘Indeed it is not,’ she replied. ‘And as I have absolutely no interest in your business, I will bid you goodnight.’ She stepped past him to hold open the door. ‘Though before you go, Mr Raven, I would suggest that you might seek out my friend Milly at the Sheldrakes’ house. See if she wants to speak frankly and openly about this raw and painful loss. I can imagine no impediment. After all, you have already established such great rapport with me, so I see no reason why that should not be reprised with a complete stranger.’
Raven got the message. He could vividly imagine how such an approach was likely to go.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Evie was a friend who lived in the Canongate, close to my former lodgings.’
‘Was? Lived? So she is no more?’
He spent a moment calculating what he could disclose, attempting to anticipate the ramifications within ramifications. It was impossible. He could not tell her anything without telling her everything. If he really wanted to find out more, he would have to commit, holding nothing back.
‘If I am to tell you this, I must have your absolute confidence. I need to know I can trust you.’
Sarah seemed momentarily taken aback. ‘I guarantee my discretion. Your words will not pass these walls.’
‘They will not have to. Your hearing it will be enough. Once I have told you what I must, you are not going to like me, Miss Fisher. That is, you are going to like me even less than you do already.’
Sarah looked at him almost pityingly. ‘I do not dislike you, Mr Raven. You have misinterpreted. You see, I am in the household to serve, but that does not mean you may automatically command my respect or my affection; or even, though many would be satisfied with it, a pretence of either. But you can have my trust.’
Raven saw a sincerity in her face that he had not observed before, having seldom witnessed anything other than studied neutrality, practised detachment and outright hostility.
‘Evie was a prostitute,’ he said quietly.
Sarah considered this a moment. ‘One you used?’
He sighed, battling his own resistance. ‘I had . . . knowledge of her, yes. But it was what she did, how she made her money. I did not judge her for—’
‘One you used,’ she repeated. Her tone was not bitter, but it was insistent and inescapable.
Raven felt the shame of it now, of what he had done, of the vulnerability he had exploited. The lies he once told himself about the nature of it were now crumbling.
‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘I was younger then, curious. Tempted. She seemed far above me, something unknowable and forbidden — and yet attainable. I was troubled then, given to bouts of . . . abandon. But yes, I used her. At first. Then we became friends.’
‘Close friends? Or merely a prostitute and a former client who might yet be a client again?’
‘I thought we were close friends, but I accept now that I will never know. When you lead a life such as Evie did, you cannot afford the luxury of trust, or of becoming close to anybody, though you may become adept at feigning it.’
Raven paused, picturing Evie how she once was, wondering whether her friendship was as illusory as her bedroom intimacies.
‘She asked me for money,’ he said. ‘She wouldn’t say why, only that her need was urgent. I gave her it. Then I visited her on the night before I came to live here, hoping to hear that her troubles were dealt with. Instead I found her . . . no more, her body twisted in agonised contortions. When I glimpsed Rose Campbell lying upon the quayside, she was in a similar condition.’
‘Did you tell anyone what you had found? Or about this similarity?’
‘I could not. On the night I found Evie, I had to leave unseen, lest anyone thought I was responsible for what happened to her.’
Sarah’s reaction mirrored everything he felt about it himself.
‘Oh, I think it would only be fair to conclude that you were not responsible.’
‘I am not proud of what I did, but I panicked. What if I was thought a murderer?’
‘So you believe she was killed?’
‘I suspect she was poisoned, yes. And it is possible Rose was too, by the same means if not by the same hand.’
‘Was any investigation prompted by Evie’s discovery?’
‘No. It was assumed she had died from alcohol.’
‘Even though she was found as you describe?’
‘Nobody looks closely when it’s “another deid hoor”, as I heard a policeman call her.’
‘Rose was no hoor. They will investigate her, surely. You must tell McLevy what you know.’
As soon as the words had fallen from her mouth, it was clear Sarah understood how this could not be so.
‘Except that you cannot, in case he thinks you were involved,’ she stated.
‘They say McLevy always gets his man, but living in the Old Town, I heard it different. Over there, they say he gets a man, then doesn’t worry so much about whether it is the right one as long as the story fits and the jury convicts.’
Raven swallowed, looking her in the eye. ‘I want to find out what happened to Evie, which is why I want to know more about Rose. Will you help me?’
Sarah returned his look, contemplating, evaluating. She appeared to arrive at a verdict.
‘My assistance comes at a price, Mr Raven.’
‘As you so accurately deduced, I have very little money.’
‘Not that kind of price. I would ask the same thing you asked of me. Trust. You will keep nothing from me, and in this endeavour, you will at all times treat me as your equal.’
‘I give you my word. It is agreed then?’
‘Not yet. Those were merely my conditions. The price I will tell you when I am good and ready.’