FIFTY-FIVE

arah felt a familiar unease about walking the streets after dark, particularly as her journey had just taken her beyond the bounds of the New Town. In her growing fear, she could not help but ask herself what she hoped might come of this. If there was an innocent explanation for Beattie’s apparent dishonesty, then she would surely be dismissed once he reported her impudence and accusations to Mina and to Dr Simpson. However, until she had such an explanation, she could not in good conscience allow her employer to be deceived like this, and for Mina to be so ill-used.

There was only one house on the narrow lane, a good thirty yards along Shrub Hill from Leith Walk and the comparative reassurance of its street lights. Beattie’s address was a solitary cottage, a glow from the windows enough to guide her path. She recalled Raven saying he might not be at home, but clearly someone was. Sarah didn’t know if Beattie kept a housemaid like herself. Perhaps if he did, and he was indeed from home, she might prove someone from whom Sarah could discreetly solicit some information.

She approached the front door on quiet tread, fearful of the sound of her own footfalls. From what little she could make out in the dark, it was a neat little cottage, a dwelling she could imagine being maintained with the same attention Beattie afforded his own appearance.

She rang the bell and heard footsteps in response, which she confidently predicted to be male. It was indeed Beattie who opened the door. He looked most surprised to find her there, and not pleasantly so.

‘I am sorry to trouble you at home, Dr Beattie, but I have difficult news concerning your uncle, Mr Latimer.’

Beattie was taken aback, though whether his expression reflected concern for the welfare of his uncle or suspicion over the potential unravelling of his deceit remained to be seen.

‘You must come in,’ he said.

There was a sternness to his tone, at once commanding and yet eager. He bade her follow him into the house. It was brighter than she anticipated. There appeared to be lamps lit in several rooms, as well as the hall itself.

There was no maid in evidence, and Sarah wondered whether the expense of having one would prove an economy over the wasteful burning of so much oil and gas. Perhaps he was busy with activities that required him to flit from room to room, though such matters would surely be simpler to deal with by day.

He ushered her to the drawing room, where he took the time to light still more lamps. An uncharitable part of her wondered if it was so that he might better stare at her bosom. On her way down the hall, she had noticed another open door and caught a glimpse of Beattie’s study, which from the equipment she spied, appeared to function also as a laboratory.

He gestured her to a chair. Beattie sat down opposite, a low table between them at their knees. Sarah was unused to being seated at such a fixture, more accustomed to serving tea upon it.

‘So, what news is it that you have for me?’

Sarah swallowed. She hoped that the anxiety she might be displaying would be read by him as evidence of her apprehension at sharing difficult tidings.

‘Your uncle’s house is in Canaan Land, is it not? On the Morningside?’

Beattie paused a moment before responding. It struck her that one should not be so wary of a question to which the answer is a simple yes or no. Did he suspect she was testing him? Probably not. Men such as him did not believe the lower orders to have the audacity or imagination to so deceive.

‘It is.’

‘Miss Grindlay told me how you described it, with its views and fine gardens and even a large hothouse. She said your mother was born and raised there, which makes this all the more difficult.’

He regarded her with piercing eyes, his expression impatient.

‘What of it. Come to the point, Miss . . .?’

‘Fisher,’ she reminded him, though she was unsure he had ever heard her surname before. ‘I met a friend today, in the service of a family in Canaan. She was talking about what sounded like the very same house, which was occupied by an elderly gentleman who lives alone. Canaan Bank, I think she said the house was called. Is that your uncle’s? Or did she say Canaan Lodge?’

‘What of it?’ he demanded, his irritation growing. Sarah noted that he had not answered the question.

‘The most dreadful calamity. The reason she mentioned it was that there was a terrible fire overnight. They woke to the sight of smoke. The house is ruined. I had hoped word might already have reached you, so that I would not be the one to bring such news, but alas it does not appear to be the case.’

‘I had heard no word.’

She noted that he did not ask after the welfare of his uncle.

‘I realise this must be particularly distressing as you were to inherit this house, were you not? Though Miss Grindlay said it was in a state of some disrepair and would not be all you once hoped.’

She could see cogs whirring behind his eyes. Raven had warned her that Beattie would not answer questions of a housemaid, so she had considered her strategy accordingly. The bait in her trap was to offer Beattie a lie that would extricate him from a previous deceit, one she believed he was already laying the groundwork to escape. Tales of the house’s disrepair and his uncle’s illness were a means of preparing the path to tell Mina there would be no house to inherit, from an uncle who would die before she could meet him. If it turned out there was indeed a house in the area that had been so devastated, inhabited by a single elderly gentleman to boot, then this would solve the problem for him.

‘Indeed. This is distressing news. You describe the place I know so well. Canaan Bank is lost.’

Sarah suppressed a smile of satisfaction. By naming the house, he had committed himself. She had him.

‘I must say, Dr Beattie, I am troubled that you have not enquired as to the welfare of your uncle.’

Beattie was unfazed in his response. His answer was calmly logical, and for that, betrayed him all the more.

‘I assume he was not a casualty, otherwise you would have led with his demise.’

‘Or is it not that you have no such concerns because you have no such uncle? There was no house named Canaan Bank, and no fire either. I made it up – as did you. I would know why.’

Beattie appeared frozen for a moment, his expression fixed like one of Miss Mann’s calotypes. He blinked once then gave his answer, his nose wrinkling in distaste.

‘I cannot think what possessed you to undertake this charade, Miss Fisher, but I knew you were making it up from the moment you walked in here. Which is why I indulged your silly parlour games in order to see where this impertinence might lead. And the answer is that it will lead to the street. I will see you dismissed without character.’

As a threat Sarah had lived under for some time, it held far less fear than Beattie intended. Sarah met his eye brazenly.

‘I suspect Dr Simpson might take a different view, unless you can produce this uncle of yours and the house he lives in. I have consulted the parish register and there is no record of a Charles Latimer. I have been also to the Post Office, where I verified that nobody by that name lives in the city even now. Why are you deceiving Miss Grindlay, Dr Beattie?’