Frey & McGray: A Fever of the Blood - Part 2

WHY had he accepted this shameful deal? It was not the first time he’d done something of the sort. His compassion had been stronger than his good sense, he now understood; or rather his weakness of character had prevailed, as his wife had remarked. Clouston wanted to tell Tom to turn around and take him back, but he’d given his word, even if a gentleman’s word meant less and less as the years passed.

Tom tapped the side of the carriage as they stopped in front of a low stone wall, half buried in snow. Some twenty yards beyond it there was a small, derelict farmhouse. Its crooked walls made it look rather like a beaten pile of straw, and the only sign of life was a faint light coming from a narrow window.

Clouston took a deep breath and opened the door, but he didn’t even get to set a foot on the ground. Ferocious barking filled the air, and three enormous hounds seemed to spring out of nowhere to run wildly towards him. He closed the door an instant before the first dog reached it, and through the window he had a disturbing glimpse of wet fangs and angry little eyes. The dogs swirled around the carriage, barking and growling, but soon they were silenced by a single gunshot and retreated with their tails between their legs.

The bulky shadow of a man patted each of them as he approached Clouston’s carriage. He held a bull’s-eye lantern but the light was very dim.

Clouston could not make out his rough features until the man stood right in front of the carriage door. He saw weather-beaten skin, flaccid cheeks, a broad nose and eyes as small and fierce as the dogs’.

‘I - I have an appointment,’ Clouston said after a painful gulp; his formality sounded jarring even to himself. ‘I have come to meet Lady -’

‘Don’t speak her name!’ the man snarled. ‘Get out and follow me.’

Clouston hesitated for a moment, but then he saw Tom jump down to the ground, rifle in hand, in a sudden movement that made the man take a step back. It was reassuring that his most trusted orderly was as intimidating as this towering stranger. ‘The mistress is inside,’ the man said as he walked briskly towards the house. Clouston gave Tom a quick nod and they followed.

The old door emitted a piercing creak as the man kicked it open and made his way in. Tom entered first and took a quick look around.

‘She’s here, Doctor.’

The night was bitterly cold, so Clouston was not too reluctant to step inside. The interior, however, offered little consolation: the room was small and dark, the plaster of the walls was falling apart and the floor was covered in straw, leaves and rubbish. The house had evidently not been inhabited in months. There was an improvised fire, its weak flames keeping the temperature barely tolerable, and the only furnishings were a cracked table and two chairs. Seated on one of them, and visibly uncomfortable, was Lady Anne Ardglass.

Clouston’s first impression was that of a fairy-tale crone. Thin, tall and imposing, Lady Anne was in her late sixties, but she looked much older; the fire cast sharp shadows on her wrinkled face, accentuating her deep frown and tense lips. She’d tried to make herself look common by wearing a simple black dress and a cheap taffeta hat, but the effect was rather theatrical. She could never hide her poise: her back proudly straight, her chin raised high, her long hands, protected by lace mittens, demurely folded on her lap. And the hat did not completely conceal her silver hair, arranged in the most intricate of braids.

‘Have a seat, Doctor,’ she offered in a clear, commanding voice.

As he sat Clouston perceived an odd mixture of lemon verbena and brandy in the air. He - like everyone in Edinburgh - knew that Anne Ardglass was nicknamed Lady Glass, and looking closely he noticed the dark, veiny rings under her eyes which spoke of a lifetime of heavy drinking. She probably tried to conceal the scent of alcohol with herbal sachets and perfume on her clothes.

‘As you can see, I have brought all the paperwork,’ she said, pointing at a stack of documents on the table. ‘All we need is your signature.’

Clouston perused the papers. He’d warned Lady Anne that he would not help unless she followed the law. According to the Scottish Lunacy Acts, no one could be declared insane unless two independent doctors examined the patient and agreed on the diagnosis. It appeared that Lady Anne had obtained a certificate from some unknown psychiatrist in Newcastle. The quality of the report revealed the incompetence of said doctor, and under other circumstances Clouston would have firmly refuted its validity; nevertheless, the insanity of Lord Joel Ardglass was far from debatable. Lady Anne’s only son had attempted suicide on a number of occasions, and it had been weeks since his last coherent speech - not to mention that ghastly violent episode.

‘Doctor,’ said Lady Anne, ‘before you take my son, there is something I need to ask you.’

Clouston wanted to slam a fist on the table and shout that he had not even started the first favour yet, but he opted to take a deep breath instead. ‘What is it, ma’am?’

Lady Anne looked at her servant, and he produced a crumpled envelope from his breast pocket. Lady Anne pulled out a single sheet, which she unfolded on the table. ‘Will you please sign this as well?’

As she spoke her servant brought ink and pen. Clouston had only read the first few lines before he snapped, ‘Lady Anne, are you seriously asking me to sign this..?’

TOMORROW: The ‘death’ of Lord Joel

THE Dance of the Serpents, the sequel to A Fever of the Blood, is now on sale in hardback, priced £18.99

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