AN OLD ENEMY

We arrived at Edinburgh in late morning. I had not slept much, but as I stared around me at a frosty Waverley Station with its bustling crowds and porters I could hardly believe how sane and normal it looked. I felt greatly lifted and, after some reviving tea, I decided I would walk though the frost to the university, which was not after all so far up the hill in the old town.

I strode out briskly, turning up the collar of my coat against the cold and once again uttering a silent prayer of thanks to Stephen Middleton. There was a spring in my step, for I longed to enlist Bell in a counter-attack on my enemy. At the university I encountered a porter who had been there since the old days and gave him a friendly wave. He did not recognise me at first but then smiled broadly and came over.

‘Why, Dr Doyle,’ he said, ‘are you back in the town, sir?’

‘Only on a visit,’ I replied. ‘I intended to catch Dr Bell. I know my way.’

‘I am sure you do,’ he said. He was staring at me now, no doubt thinking I must have fallen on hard times, for though I had done my best with my appearance it was hardly that of a prosperous traveller. ‘But you will not find him, sir. He is in Berwick at a funeral. Professor Fleming died earlier this week.’

Professor Fleming had been an elderly anatomy teacher of some repute. I had never met the man and at that moment dwelt only on how inconvenient his death was to me. ‘When is he expected?’ I asked, trying to disguise my disappointment.

‘Why, he only just left, Dr Doyle. He will be away three days.’

I thanked him and turned away, thinking furiously. There was nobody else at the university I could turn to. My friends were all long departed and I had no real rapport with any other teacher besides Bell. Of course in the past, I would have gone home but that was now impossible too, for there was no home for me here — not since my mother had decamped to Masongill in Yorkshire where Waller had his estate.

As I walked those frosty streets, trying to keep up my spirits, I considered the position. Obviously I must await the Doctor’s return. But what could I do in the meantime? I had been sent away to school so I had no old school friends here. I suppose I could have approached some of my family’s older acquaintances; my mother still had friends here. But I had not heard from them in years and what exactly was I supposed to say? The idea of turning up in this condition, effectively begging for board and lodging, was simply not to be countenanced. Almost the first thing they would do is to contact my mother. I would rather freeze on the castle mound than that.

Eventually I turned back down the hill towards Princes Street. Looking at it and the new town beyond, it suddenly occurred to me that there was one other person in the world who knew something of what I had endured from Cream. Sarah Carlisle was the sister of Elsbeth, the woman Cream had killed purely to spite me.

I had not, it is true, told Sarah, whose husband was a knight and a member of parliament, everything that happened. But she knew from me that her sister had died at the hands of a man who was still at large, even if the authorities refused to accept this. Other than Bell, she was the only person in the world who might believe and understand the significance of what had happened to me. The house was down in the new town and I resolved to walk to it.

Trudging back down the hill, I started to feel the cold and also my own hunger. A little of my strength had returned, but it would not last long unless I found some food and shelter. The money Middleton had given me was already exhausted.

After about half an hour, I reached the Carlisle house, which lay in an imposing street, and stood before its magnificent doorway. Of course I had no knowledge Lady Sarah would be here and I was doing my best not to think about her husband, a raffish, self-important man who had made a packet in the colonies. Ever since I first set eyes on the man at the university, playing up to an adoring band of students, I had disliked him and did so even more after the night I saw him swaggering lecherously into one of the brothels of the old town. Indeed for a time, I had been quite convinced he was the murderer we sought.

In the end he was proved innocent, and Bell told me shortly afterwards that Sir Henry seemed genuinely chastened. But that was years ago and I had no idea whether he had returned to his old habits. Nor, I thought as I stood on that doorstep raising my hand to the knocker, did I have any great wish to find out.

It was after all a weekday morning, which gave me every hope I would find Lady Sarah at home. The knock rang out and I waited a little while for a servant to come. On the last occasion it had been a friendly housemaid, though when Sir Henry had been at his most imperious, an odious manservant had done his bidding.

Still I waited. It seemed hard to believe the house was empty. It looked quite as prosperous as ever and I knocked again. Finally I heard footsteps and the door did open, but it opened slowly. At first I could see nobody, for a figure had stepped back a little into the shadows. And then I saw his face.

Sir Henry had not aged badly. He had always been a good-looking man, if a trifle ruddy in complexion. Now his face was more lined but had lost none of its sensuality. I was startled, all the more so because he was staring at me, not in surprise but fascination. Why had a servant not come? I had never known Sir Henry to open the door in his life and where was Sarah?

He must have seen my expression. ‘A thousand pardons, Doyle,’ he said, ‘for it is you and you have not changed so much. You will wonder why I open the door and show so little surprise. I saw you coming from my study and was curious. So I said I would greet you myself. Come in now.’

He beckoned me to step inside and I did so, grateful at least for the warmth. The interior was pleasant enough. A lamp burnt brightly against the winter gloom, there were flowers and a smell of polished furniture. All of this showed Lady Sarah’s touch, but there was something about Sir Henry’s tone I did not like any more than the fact he had been observing me. Indeed I almost preferred his old hauteur to this curiosity, which made me feel like some strange and not particularly wholesome specimen on a slab.

A housemaid came into the hall now and bobbed. ‘Ah, Rose, you may remember Mr Doyle — I beg your pardon, Dr Doyle. Please bring some refreshment to my room, I am sure he is tired.’

We entered his drawing room, which was much as I remembered it with rich hangings and a blazing fire. ‘Ah,’ said Sir Henry, rubbing his hands, ‘I forgot to say, I am sorry that Lady Sarah is not here. She visits with an aunt in Harrogate, and will be away for a week more. She is back for Christmas, of course.’

So all my hopes were dashed again and I felt suddenly overcome by despair. There was nobody else in this town to turn to and I could hardly trespass for long on the hospitality of a man who was once my sworn enemy. Still, I thought, I might as well take advantage of his refreshments. They were sorely needed. And so I sank down miserably into the comfortable armchair he indicated.

The chair was by the fire and was one of the most luxurious I had ever encountered. For a moment, as I enjoyed the warmth of the blaze on my legs and the softness of the cushions below me which contrasted sharply with the train’s hard boards, I almost lost track of the fact Sir Henry had been speaking to me.

‘… of service?’ he was saying. It was obviously a question but I had no idea of the rest. Presumably he was asking in polite terms what in heaven’s name I was doing there.

‘I merely wished to pay my respects to Lady Carlisle,’ I said. ‘I have absolutely no wish to intrude.’

‘No no,’ he said. ‘You misunderstand me. I said I wish to be of service to you. I wish to offer that to you.’

I was a little confounded by these words. Admittedly, I had missed their beginning but what exactly was he talking about? I had walked off the street to his house for the first time in several years, and he spoke as if he were waiting here only to oblige me.

‘Of course I am very grateful for your kindness but I have no intention of disturbing your work, Sir Henry.’

At this he smiled as if I still misunderstood him but before he could say anything further there was knock and the maid entered with a tray. I had expected some tea with perhaps a few biscuits. Instead, to my joy but also to my perplexity, there was a feast on the tray: bacon, oatcakes, some sausages, toast, porridge, scones, butter and poached eggs, not to mention coffee and milk. My eyes fairly bulged.

‘I was quite sure you would want some real sustenance,’ said Sir Henry. ‘There was plenty left over from breakfast. Now I suggest I leave you to it for a short time while you do the best you can with this and then I will return and we can talk.’ And, once the food was laid out, he smiled and went out, closing the door.

I really did not know what to make of this but I was in no mood to hesitate. I ate as much as I could. Then I drank two cups of coffee. After that, feeling far more robust, I returned to the problem at hand.

I decided there could only be one rational explanation. Sir Henry had indeed been chastened by the experiences some years earlier. Perhaps he spent more time at home now and had become lonelier and altogether more charitable. No doubt he saw me as an opportunity to practise his charity, possibly because he felt guilty about his past dealings with me. Here was the only possible conclusion, yet it squared so little with the man I had once known that I did not come to it easily.

The maid appeared to clear away the things and I sat on there, feeling pleasantly sleepy and wondering where Sir Henry had gone. No doubt it was the warmth of the fire and the copiousness of the meal but soon I was falling asleep.

I heard the door open and Sir Henry was back with me. I opened my eyes with difficulty.

‘So,’ he said. ‘You have dined well, I hope?’

‘I am most grateful,’ I said, forcing myself to be more alert. ‘And now I am sure I should not trespass on your kindness any longer.’

‘My dear fellow,’ said Sir Henry, ‘I would hope you are going to stay here for a few nights. I would take it as a means of repaying past wrongs I may have done you. It is a long time ago but not forgotten.’

That certainly was true. For in this very room I had once denounced Sir Henry before his wife and been ejected from his house. Of course, given my predicament, his offer could only be extraordinarily welcome, and yet it also made me feel uneasy. Even if he was consumed with the need to make amends, it still seemed odd and why did he not ask me more about myself? For all he knew I was already staying somewhere else in the town.

‘You are very good,’ I said. ‘I would like to explain something of what has brought me to Edinburgh …’ At once I started to relate some utter fiction about a misunderstanding with Dr Bell over dates but, to my astonishment, Sir Henry stopped me.

‘Much better,’ he said, ‘not to go into it now. There will be plenty of time for such things and I have a visit to make, in any case. Can I just say that the house here will be at your disposal? The maid is a good enough girl as you saw and you can summon her by the bell on the wall. There is a tolerably comfortable room on the second floor, and you may come and go as you please.’

I was so taken aback by all this that I found myself almost wondering if he had some design against me. But how could that be so? It is true Sir Henry’s fall had been harsh, but Bell thought he was a chastened man. And, if he wished to take revenge, he could surely have accomplished it years earlier while I was still at university. It seemed only sensible, therefore, even though I sensed something behind his manner, to accept this gift from the gods. I had nowhere else to go and did not much welcome the chance of dying of cold in the streets. So I thanked him, telling him it would indeed be convenient for me to stay a few nights, since I was awaiting the Doctor.

I was testing the ground, expecting his face would fall at the prospect of having me under his roof for that length of time. On the contrary he became positively effusive. ‘Of course, of course,’ he said. ‘Now I will get Rose to show you your room. And from there you may do as you please. I will look forward to talking to you over dinner.’ And he rang the bell.

The room I was shown was a large and comfortable bed chamber high up on the second floor with its own dressing room and water closet, containing all necessary toiletries.

There was also a desk at the window and Rose informed me that I could ring for whatever I liked from there or come down to the sitting room and ring its bell if I preferred. The master would not be returning until we both dined at eight.

After she left, I looked down from the window and saw Carlisle enter his carriage. Once it had driven off, I stared round at my handsome quarters with surprise but a sense of foreboding. Once I had been treated as an enemy of this house and now, for reasons I could not fully grasp, I was being given the run of it.