The Dead Duke Page 14

  “Yes,” he agreed. “While we seem to have run out of other options, I still cannot picture her committing the murder. We have to be sure of her guilt before we finish our involvement and let her go to trial.”

  She got to her feet. “Then let us go now and see what she says.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  THE OLD Tolbooth gaol was every bit as horrific as Ishbel had remembered, from the stench of human waste and unwashed bodies, to the callous treatment of its inmates. Miss McNeil, at least, looked more alert than when they had seen her last, her room cleaner, and she thanked them both profusely for gaining this better treatment from the guards. Her pleasure at seeing them made Ishbel feel even worse about there purpose here.

  “Have you discovered who killed Duke Raden?” she asked eagerly.

  “I fear we have ruled out every possible suspect,” Ewan said and they saw the light fade from her eyes.

  “Then I will hang for an ugly crime that I did not commit.”

  Ishbel walked up to her, taking her hand. “You have nothing to lose now. Is there anything at all you have not told us? Anything you have not been entirely honest about?”

  Miss McNeil sighed and gave a short nod. “I painted a picture of my life that was lovelier than the reality. I was lying to myself more than you. Richard – Duke Raden – did love me; I am certain of that. However... I believed too much in his romantic words. I told you I didn’t want him to marry me, but that wasn’t true. Recently something happened...” She broke off and Ishbel could see indecision in her blue eyes before she continued. “A week before Richard was killed, I believed I might be with child. I told him about it, with the wild idea he might suggest marriage, but he was furious, saying the scandal would destroy him. From what he said it was clear he’d end all contact with me rather than face the mockery and dislike of his peers. We argued. I was miserable for several days and, of course, I discovered at that time that I was not going to have a baby after all. My belief that he still loved me was destroyed and I considered never seeing him again. I felt he deserved to know that there wouldn’t be a child and sent him a note, and he immediately came to see me, with a long stream of apologies and an expensive gift of jewellery. I was confused about my own feelings and let him convince me we should continue as before. However, I don’t know if I could’ve stayed with him much longer. He died the night after his apology. I’m sorry I lied to you. It was too humiliating for me to think about.”

  Ishbel tried to take in this new information, shocked to discover this ugly side to the duke nearly everyone had adored. If the discovery was unpleasant for her, it must have been unbearable for Miss McNeil. She looked the other woman in the eyes. “Did you kill him in anger for how he had treated you?”

  “No. I know you have little reason to believe me now, but I truly didn’t kill him.”

  Ishbel was not sure whether she believed the words or not.

  “Who knew about this?” Mr MacPherson asked.

  “No one.”

  “Are you certain?” he checked.

  She bit her lip, brow furrowed. “Well, I suppose one of the staff in my household might have overheard the argument, but that would be no reason for any of them to harm him. I...” She turned pale and Mr MacPherson caught her, putting an arm round her waist, before she could collapse. He carefully lowered her to the rough floorboards and she leaned forward, a hand over her face, as she breathed in and out. After a moment, eyes still closed, she said, “I’m sorry. It suddenly hit me that I’m really going to die.”

  “We should not wear you out further,” Ishbel said, “but this might give us new suspects to consider. Do not give up hope entirely.”

  Miss McNeil opened her eyes and gave a wan smile. She looked very small, sitting hugging her knees on the floor. “You’re both very kind. You’ve already done more than anyone could’ve asked, when you owed me nothing. I’m really grateful.”

  She sounded as if she was saying goodbye to them.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  AS THEY left the gaol, Ishbel thought about how it would feel for a woman to endure weeks of torment, knowing she could not prove her innocence and that she would hang for the crime of murder.

  “... Lady Huntly’s relation!”

  Ishbel looked up, seeing two smartly dressed women on the street nearby. She recognised them both as wealthy married women who often attended balls and dinner parties, but only knew the name of one of them.

  “Disgusting,” the unknown woman responded, pitching her words to be heard by Ishbel. “Her mother was no better than a harlot and she is just the same.”

  Ishbel gasped. She wanted to say something in defence of both Mama and herself, but could not argue with a stranger in the middle of a public street. In any case, she was horrified to realise, she had no idea what she could say. She was here to visit a working-class woman who was accused of murdering her lover. No upper class lady would see anything respectable in that.

  Mr MacPherson held out his hand to help her into his carriage and, as she took it, she saw him aim a cold glare at the gossiping ladies. So he had heard more humiliating comments being made to her. She avoided his eyes as he took a seat opposite her in the carriage and the vehicle began to move.

  “Pay them no attention,” he said to her.

  She looked out of the window, feeling the heat rising to her cheeks. “Of course not.”

  “Miss Campbell, I hope you would never believe for even a moment that such foolish comments could ever affect my liking and admiration for you.”

  She turned her head to face him. “I believe most people would say that I am no longer respectable.”

  “I think you exaggerate but, in any case, I solve mysteries alongside you. Do you really think I would be such a hypocrite as to think less of you for doing the same thing as me?” He looked appalled at the idea and she could not help but smile, warmed by his reaction.

  “I would not expect that from you, although few other men would think it unfair to expect better behaviour from women than they themselves showed, just as few members of the ton will fail to judge you badly for associating with me.”

  “Ishbel,” he said softly. “You have done nothing wrong and I esteem no one more highly than you. If everyone but you disowned me, I would remain content.”

  She had to blink away tears at these words, her embarrassment fading away. If he felt no cause to think less of her because of her mother’s affairs and her own unconventional behaviour, then she had little to fear from life. It rendered the gossip about her meaningless.

  “I want you to know that there is also no one’s opinion that means more to me than yours.” She wanted to say that she made up her mind years ago not to marry, having only had the example of a bad one and too naive to understand how different a good marriage could be. She wanted him to ask her to marry him, so she could give him a different answer, but the words would not come to her.

  She was struggling to think of a way to speak of her feelings when he said, “I thought that seeing Miss McNeil might bring a feeling of closure to the case, but it had the opposite effect on me.”

  “Yes,” she agreed, half thankful of the change of subject. This was much easier to discuss, although she was frustrated with herself for not being braver. “I think she is innocent but how can we possibly prove it to a judge and jury in less than two weeks?”

  “We must look deeper into both the duke and Miss McNeil’s lives in search of someone new with a motive to kill him.”

  “Could her confession today lead us in a new direction?” she wondered. “Everyone thought the duke loved her and many thought that he might marry her. But she has no family and we have found no evidence of anyone being in love with her, so who could have been angered to the degree of committing murder because of the duke’s treatment of her?”

  “Joe Fillinister seems more fond of her than anyone else, but he did not know of the argument and, as you say, it would take a lot to make someone commit murder. I cannot
imagine any of Miss McNeil’s servants would feel so protective of her that they would kill for her, having only presumably known her since the duke bought her house and hired them, and they are the only ones who might have known about her falling out with the duke.”

  “Mr Fillinister knows the most about her life and friends so I think we should talk again to him,” she suggested. “If he can suggest nothing better, then we can look into who might have found out about the argument between Miss McNeil and the duke.”

  “Good idea.”

  It was dark outside now and past the time when she should have begun changing her clothes for dinner. “Shall we visit him the day after tomorrow, after Viscount Inderly’s trial?”

  “Certainly. I will send him a letter, so that he expects us.” They agreed on a time and he added, “I am not sure what to expect at the trial. Are you nervous?”

  “A little.” That was an understatement, but this was about Aileas’s parents, not her. “I hope we may do some good there.”

  “Indeed.” His tone was more cheerful as he said, “Are you still intending to attend the ball at the New Assembly Rooms tomorrow evening?”

  She looked at him in confusion. “Was I ever meaning to go?”

  He grimaced. “Lady Huntly led me to believe you would both be there.”

  Of course she had. Nevertheless, after Mr MacPherson’s reassurance that unkind comments would not change his regard for her, she had no reason to fear the event and Harriette might not have been wrong when she said that Ishbel could only prove that she had nothing to be ashamed of by facing them all. “Does that mean you will be at the ball?” she checked.

  “It does.”

  She resolutely dismissed from her mind the disastrous nature of recent entertainments and said, “Then I will be happy to see you there.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  “LET ME see if I understand this correctly,” Mr Braden, Viscount Inderly’s solicitor, said to Ishbel, looking at her with cold eyes and a down-turned mouth. Behind him sat a roomful of people, not just Aileas’s parents and friends, but many of Edinburgh’s ton as well. “You, an unmarried lady, or a woman at least...” There was some laughter at this insult. “... spoke with criminals and vagabonds who told you that my client was guilty of some sort of crime?”

  “I asked questions of...” Her words came out shaky and almost inaudible, so she swallowed, and began again. “I asked questions of a number of respectable people who identified Viscount Inderly as having bought a pendant for Aileas Jones...”

  “Ah, yes, the pendant. That is why my client has been sitting in a gaol room!”

  There was more laughter and Ishbel’s glare fell onto the figure beside him of the Viscount, who looked perfectly dressed and alert. Clearly he had not had to suffer the same discomforts as Miss McNeil during his weeks under arrest. She had already given her account of the crime in answer to the prosecution solicitor’s questions and, by now, with this interrogation from a new source, the ordeal seemed never-ending.

  “Your client confessed to having forced his attentions on Aileas Jones,” she said loudly and the room fell silent, “and, having got her with child, he took her for an illegal operation with an unlicensed student of medicine. He told Mr MacPherson and myself this.”

  “The Viscount denies any such speech and claims that you and your, er, gentleman acquaintance...” His emphasis put a sordid complexion on the last words. “... have some form of vendetta against him, perhaps because he comes from a decent background, whereas you do not. Do you have some grievance against him or against good society in general because of the shame your own mother brought to your family with her immoral relationships with a variety of men?”

  Harriette was in the audience, having to hear this, along with dozens of others. Ishbel could not look at her and turned desperately at the judge. “Must I answer such a question?”

  Belatedly, the prosecution solicitor stood up and said, “I object to this entire subject as an irrelevant one and a clear attempt to discredit my witness.”

  The judge was silent for a long moment, then, just as she was hoping he would take her side, said calmly, “If the witness has some reason for wanting to cause the Viscount harm, then we need to hear of it.”

  Ishbel clenched her fists and said, “I never met Viscount Inderly before looking into this crime and I swear to this court that I have no personal reason for wanting to cause him harm. I was requested by the Viscount’s mother, Lady Tinbough, to begin the looking into the matter...”

  The defence solicitor spoke over her, asking in a fake shocked tone, “Lady Tinbough asked you to find out about the death of a maid?”

  “No, she had lost an emerald necklace...”

  She was once again interrupted. “So you found her necklace?”

  “No. It...”

  “So you were unable to solve the crime you were asked to look into but you expect the jury to believe that you were able to solve the death of Aileas Jones?”

  “Viscount Inderly confessed!” she exclaimed.

  “So you say,” he responded dismissively, “but I am sure the jury will know whose word to trust. You are dismissed.”

  Her legs were shaking so much they would barely support her as she left the stand and walked out of the room. Now it was Ewan’s turn and she would not even be allowed to hear the questions asked of him. She could only hope with everything in her that this ordeal would serve a worthwhile purpose and the Viscount would be properly punished.

  * * *

  “We have ruled out everyone we suspected of the murder, so we need help from you in order to continue the investigation,” Ewan said to Fillinister, as he and Miss Campbell sat in the parlour of his lodging house. The trial of Viscount Inderly the previous day had gone on well into the evening but, as witnesses, he and Miss Campbell had not been allowed to listen to the case. It was probably a good thing as Miss Campbell had clearly been shaken by what was said to her on the stand, although she would not tell him what that was. They were awaiting news of the verdict, something that kept distracting Ewan, but he forced himself to concentrate on the actor opposite him.

  The fact that they had got nowhere with the investigation so far was clearly a blow to the man. “If there was anyone I suspected, I’d tell you at once, but there’s no one. Surely a man as powerful as the duke had enemies?”

  “Not really,” Miss Campbell said. “He was generally well-liked. He had good manners and a good name so the ton thought well of him and he seemed to treat others in a generous manner, so they had no reason to dislike him. The only person we could find who was angry with him was a friend who had an alibi for the night he died.”

  “We know there was another side to him, though,” Ewan said. “He had an argument with Miss McNeil shortly before he died that proved he could behave in a callous way. Is there anyone who might have objected to that?”

  “All of her friends including me would’ve been angry if the duke was cruel to Kenina, but a number of us feared the relationship wouldn’t last. If it ended, we’d want to look after her, but some angry words wouldn’t be reason to kill him.”

  “You are absolutely certain you know of no one who might have been in love with her?” he asked.

  “As a good actress and attractive woman, she had her share of admirers, but none recently were persistent and she loved the duke, so she encouraged no one. I honestly can’t think of anyone; I wish I could. But, if you can’t prove someone else committed the crime, surely there’s some way to prove Kenina didn’t kill him?”

  “I fear not,” Miss Campbell said. “He was killed in her house and the servants were already asleep when he arrived. There is no one who saw what happened and the house was not broken into. He could have invited someone else inside but, unless we can prove that to be the case and name the person, then Miss McNeil remains, in the jury’s eyes, the most likely suspect.”

  “Do you really think they could hang her with no proof that she harmed the duke?�
��

  “As far as we can prove,” Ewan said, “the night he died, there was no one in the house except for Miss McNeil and her servants. None of them had any grudge against the duke and Miss McNeil was the only person who fled from the scene.”

  “I agreed with her that she had to go,” he said. “It’s my fault. I knew they’d suspect her but, if I’d told her to stay...”

  “... Then her trial would already be over,” Ewan told him, “and, with no one else with entry to the house and a motive for the crime, she would already have been sentenced to hang. You have no reason to reproach yourself and we will keep working to find the real killer.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’m very grateful.”

  The words were similar to the ones Miss McNeil had used and Ewan feared that, like her, Fillinister was losing hope.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  ISHBEL HAD been at the ball for less than five minutes when a well-respected matron turned her back as Ishbel approached the group, cutting her. She ignored the slight and the resulting giggles, an easy task when Mr MacPherson approached her with not just his friends, Mr Chiverton and Mr McDonald, but another man as well. The gentleman was introduced as Mr Liddon, who had had a novel published the previous year and was interested to hear how she and Mr MacPherson had begun solving crimes for a new novel he was planning.

  By the time Ishbel had conversed with these companions, two hours had passed in an unexpectedly pleasant fashion and she accepted Mr MacPherson’s request of a dance with hardly any misgivings. If she made a fool of herself by being clumsy, she thought, then it would be nothing she had not done before and it would be the least embarrassing thing to have recently happened to her in public.

  “What have you told people about your eye?” she asked him as she took his hand and walked into the middle of the ballroom with the other dancers. His eye still looked painfully bruised and sore from the punch he had taken, but he always said it was nothing. He was a brave man.