The Unbelievers (14 page)

I'm sorry, Margaret, he thought. You don't deserve to be left alone. Do your best for the children. I'd come home if I could.

For an uncertain period nothing in his mind had given him a solid purchase on where he was or on the passing of time. He'd felt himself floating through different, varyingly bizarre situations. His wounds had been washed down by Margaret while Antonia massaged him to arousal. He'd been carried across country by a giant McGillivray and laid gently under a hedge. He'd been floating away to a warm sensual heaven, called by a flame-haired Rosetti angel whose shimmering face never quite resolved itself into Helen's, until another angel had slapped him harshly on the cheek.

“Wake up, Mr Allerdyce! Wake up! You have a visitor!”

“Not possible. I don't even believe in heaven.”

The angel slapped him again and he opened his eyes. The white-starched female leaning over him was out of focus, but his eyes fixed more clearly on the familiar bull-headed figure behind her.

“Burgess? Are you dead too?”

“Don't be daft, man. I'm as alive as you are.”

“Oh. Is that good?”

“Better than it should have been. You could have bled to death.”

The nurse left them. Allerdyce tried to prop himself up, felt an electric pain up his left arm and into the centre of his brain, and subsided back onto his pillows.

“Where am I?”

“The Royal Infirmary. You're lucky about that too. The helmsman of a barge spotted you and put you on board. He thought you were a vagrant and handed you over to the workhouse hospital in Linlithgow. They found your warrant card in your jacket when they sent it away to be fumigated and got in touch with us.”

“What happened?”

“That's what I'd like you to help me understand, Allerdyce. I find that I've got two injured policemen and one dead suspect in circumstances which are not at all clear to me.”

“What about McGillivray?”

“He'll live. He got a nasty graze on his chest from a bullet and some bruises from a beating. He's resting at home.”

“Paid?”

“I've seen to that. But Allerdyce, what happened?”

Allerdyce told the Superintendent about the meeting and the chaos that followed. Burgess frowned.

“That's consistent with what Sergeant McGillivray told me. It's not entirely the same as what Jarvis said.”

The mention of Jarvis caused a fresh flash of pain as Allerdyce lifted his head.

“Jarvis? Was he there? He was meant to meet us but we didn't see him.”

“He says he was there, but that the disturbance made it impossible for him to meet you as arranged. Once the mob started chasing you he had no chance of escorting you away and had to look to his own safety.”

“What a hero.”

“What disturbs me, Allerdyce, is that Jarvis claims not to have seen anyone in the woods, and not to have seen any shots from there.”

“I've told you everything I can, sir, and I swear it's the truth.”

“So Jarvis is lying?”

“What do you think, sir?”

The Superintendent paused, frowning.

“I don't know, Allerdyce, I really don't know. If I was being charitable I'd say that in the confusion of the event it's unsurprising that different people should have seen different things. But if I had my own way I'd suspend all of you until the matter had been properly investigated. No offence to you, Allerdyce, but it's a serious matter when a suspect dies during a police operation, and all the more so when the policemen involved can't agree about the facts.”

“So what are you going to do, sir?”

“Nothing. The Chief Constable has congratulated me on a successful outcome to the operation and told me that, as far as I'm concerned, that's an end of the matter.”

“And do you really think that McGillivray or I wouldn't tell you the truth about what happened?”

Burgess drew closer to Allerdyce and spoke softly.

“No, Allerdyce, I don't. But I'm not so sure about Jarvis. I don't know what he's doing most of the time – he keeps getting orders directly from the Chief Constable – and I don't like it. But the man's become untouchable – the Chief thinks he can do no wrong.”

“I see.”

Allerdyce shifted position awkwardly before continuing.

“Sergeant McGillivray saved my life, sir. I'd like him to receive a commendation.”

Burgess looked tired and old again.

“I'm sorry, that's not going to be possible.”

“Why?”

“Because the Chief says that the operation never officially happened at all.”

The nurse unwound the bandage, red-black with caked blood, from Allerdyce's arm before pulling the matted cotton wadding away from the wound.

“Ow! God! Please, Sister, that hurts!”

“It's for your own good, Mr Allerdyce. And besides, you want to be looking your best when your wife comes to visit, don't you?”

“Margaret is here?”

“She's just waiting outside the ward until visiting hour starts. The gentleman who came earlier was admitted specially.”

He looked at the cauterised red-black of the open wound and shivered as, at its base, he saw a sliver of white bone.

“How bad is it, Sister?”

“The surgeon had to cut away some flesh because the bullet had drawn in some filthy fabric from your clothes which was starting to go septic. The bullet just chipped your bone slightly.”

“It'll heal?”

“It'll take a while to become completely better, but thanks to this new carbolic spray it shouldn't become infected, so you'll be all right. Once you're fit to leave here we'll give your wife instructions about changing the dressings while it heals. Hold still while I put some more on.”

The nurse pressed the plunger on a little brass can and sprayed antiseptic onto the wound. Allerdyce wasn't sure what was worse – the intense stinging or the chemical stench. She pressed fresh cotton wadding onto the wound and then bandaged it, briskly but neatly.

“All right then, Mr Allerdyce, slip your dressing gown on and we'll let the ladies in.”

The nurse rang a handbell and a handful of ladies entered the ward, clutching baskets with fruit or flowers. Ahead of them ran little Alice in her blue bonnet and coat, a posy in her hands.

“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!”

She ran up to the bed, jumped on and pressed the posy up to his nostrils.

“Oh Daddy, are you going to die? Please don't die, Daddy, I don't want you to die.”

He put his good arm around her, trying not to wince as she accidentally pressed her elbow against his wound.

“No, darling, I'll be all right. I've just hurt my arm a little.”

“Oh good. I love you, Daddy.”

She nestled against him, her thumb in her mouth.

Margaret came up to the bed. She still looked thin-faced and drawn, but in the clear light from the ward windows he could see a certain beauty in the delicacy of the features.

“Alice, you'll have to get down from there,” she said. “You're not allowed on the beds.”

“I don't want to!”

The nurse came up.

“Get down right now, little girl. It's unhygienic.”

Sulkily, Alice let her mother remove her from the bed. Margaret sat down beside the bed, Alice standing in front of her.

“Archibald, I've been so worried. The Superintendent called to see me earlier. He said you were still under the chloroform but he thought you'd wake up during the day.”

“Did he tell you what happened?”

“He said you were shot at on a secret mission.”

Margaret looked round the ward, where the sick and injured were doing their best to look cheerful for their visitors.

“I didn't want to bring Alice to this terrible place but she was insistent she wanted to come. Millie's looking after Bertie and the baby.”

“I'm glad you both came.”

She pulled her handkerchief out and wiped away a tear.

“Oh Archibald, your life shouldn't have been like this.”

“Margaret, I'll be all right.”

“I wish I could believe that, Archibald. But every time you've gone out at night I've worried that something will happen, and now it has. It could be worse next time.”

“Margaret, I'll be careful. I always am.”

“But that's not good enough is it? One night someone's going to get you, whether you're careful or not.”

“Please, Margaret, don't upset yourself. It's not much more than a bad scratch.”

“It's so unfair, Archie. You should have been a doctor. Or anything you wanted. If only your father hadn't lost all his money.”

“It wasn't his fault. He was cheated. He wanted to believe the best of everyone. It broke his heart that he'd misplaced his trust in his business partner.”

“I know, but if you'd been able to complete your degree you wouldn't have to put yourself in danger. You'd be a doctor, and you'd come home every night to a nice new home in the Grange. Other people got scholarships when their parents couldn't afford the fees.”

“Yes, but they were the sons of clergy. No-one had endowed a scholarship for the sons of printworks owners. And my life would have been completely different. I might never have met you, Margaret.”

Alice, getting bored, was pulling at the bedclothes.

“Don't do that, dear.”

She pouted at her mother.

“I sometimes think that's the start of your silly prejudice against religion,” said Margaret, sniffing back tears. “Do you know, I pray for you every day, morning and evening? That I pray that you'll come back safe to me? I suppose you think that's nonsense.”

“No, I'm grateful, whether it does any good or not.”

Margaret's tears were coming more strongly now.

“I love you, Archie. I need you to stay safe. Please, Archie, be careful. For me.”

“I will.”

“Now look what you've done. I'm crying in front of Alice as if I was a baby myself.”

“That's all right.”

“I'd better go now. I'll come back tomorrow. Alice, come on.”

Alice looked up at her father.

“I'll say a prayer for you too, Daddy.”

As they left, he put his hand over the posy which Alice had left on his chest. He though for a moment that he, too, was about to cry, thinking about Margaret and the children left alone if the bullet had found its target. He'd not loved her as well as he should, and she deserved better. Alice deserved a father who could give her all the love and attention she needed. But as he drifted off to sleep it was Antonia's face that he saw, her lips descending to meet his as she stroked her fingers gently down his body. He fought the image, struggling against what felt like a double infidelity against both Margaret and Helen, but the memory of Antonia's erotic genius overcame his will as he surrendered to oblivion.

After three more days the wound had healed enough for him to be discharged. Allerdyce knew clearly what his first duty was.

McGillivray's home was a short walk down the hill from Cumberland Street, on some flat, flood-prone land beside the Water of Leith where rows of workmans' houses known as the Colonies had been newly built.

As Allerdyce walked past the rows of identical little two-storey terraces, with steps up to the upper flats, he realised that he knew nothing about the home life of the man who'd twice saved his life. Children were playing in the cobbled streets and washing gaily flapped in the breeze in the little front yards – might any of these children be the sergeant's? He felt a twinge as his heavy coat pressed on the dressing of his wound.

Finally he saw ‘Rintoul Place' carved into the stonework of one of the corner houses. He pushed his way past a washing line of wet sheets and bandages to get to the front door of number 14. He rapped at the door and a plump, comely red-haired woman, probably no older than thirty, opened the door.

“Can I help you, sir?”

He instantly recognised a Gaelic accent.

“My name is Inspector Allerdyce. I've come to pay my compliments to Mr McGillivray.”

“Oh sir, come in, come in. Hector will be so pleased to see you.”

She showed him into the hall and disappeared into the room at the end. He could hear her calling the sergeant.

“Hector! Hector! Your Mr Allerdyce has come to see you!”

McGillivray came down the hall in his stocking soles. Allerdyce noticed a caked stain of blood on the right hand side of the chest of the sergeant's white shirt.

“By God, it's good to see you, sir. When we last parted I wasn't sure that either of us would meet again in this life.”

The sergeant clasped his hand and shook it.

“Come through to the parlour, sir. Jeannie will put some tea on for us.”

The sergeant led him through to the small parlour, where a fire was burning in the black-leaded range, a kettle already on the boil on the hob beside it. McGillivray's wife could be seen in the tiny scullery which opened off the parlour, fetching a tin out of a cupboard. Two little children, a boy and a girl with dark curly hair, looking about four and six years old and in patched clothes, were sitting on the rug in front of the fire playing with a little wooden dog on wheels.

“Children,” said McGillivray, “This is Mr Allerdyce of the police force.”

They stood up and shyly proffered their hands to be shaken. Allerdyce shook each child's hand.

“All right then, children,” said the sergeant, “now go and entertain yourselves while Mr Allerdyce and I talk.”

The girl opened curtains which Allerdyce hadn't noticed into a bed-recess at the end of the room opposite the single window. She pulled her brother, still clutching the toy dog, up into the bed and shut the curtains behind them.

“Please, sir, take a seat.”

There were easy chairs either side of the range and the men lowered themselves into them.

“The Superintendent told me you'd survived and were in the Infirmary, sir. I can't tell you how glad I was to hear that.”

“I'm in your debt for it, Sergeant.”

McGillivray's wife came through with a tray.

“Do have some fruitcake, Mr Allerdyce. I'll fill the teapot and then leave you men to talk.”

“Thank you. I hope I'm not imposing.”

“Not at all, sir. It's our privilege.”

She pulled the curtain of the bed recess aside.

“Come on, children, no spying on our guests. Go and play outside.”

She bustled out with the children and Allerdyce was left facing the sergeant. In the silence he was embarrassed that he had practically nothing social to say to the man he spent more waking time with than his own wife. After a few moments he tried to break the silence.

“That's a fine family you have, Sergeant.”

“Aye, they are that, sir. They're a daily blessing to me.”

Silence settled again as the two men supped their tea, then McGillivray spoke.

“It was a queer business, sir.”

“It was certainly that.”

“I mean Mr Jarvis not turning up, and that man shooting at us.”

“The queerest business I've ever been mixed up in in over twenty years police service, Sergeant.”

McGillivray paused.

“I don't think any of us was meant to come out of that alive, sir.”

“You think so?”

“Doesn't look like it to me, sir. I think it suited someone that Mr Semple should be killed outright rather than questioned and tried. I don't think they wanted any witnesses to survive either. It was their bad luck that they didn't shoot well enough to kill us, but they probably reckoned the crowd would finish us off.”

“As they might well have done, Sergeant.”

“I'll tell you one peculiar thing too. The informer was ready to open the door from the stage and let the men through as soon as Mr Semple had been shot. I think he was in on it, sir.”

“I wouldn't be surprised.”

“So you see my point, sir.”

“Yes. I'd been thinking along similar lines myself.”

McGillivray leant back in his chair.

“Do you think Semple did it, sir? I mean, murder the Duke?”

“I don't know, Sergeant. I honestly don't know. He had plenty of reason to hate the Duke, and the telegram does ambiguously suggest him, but my guess is that he didn't need to resort to murder for his revenge. A general strike would have done the job more effectively for him.”

“That's what I think, sir.”

“So, in probability, the Duke-killer's still at large, and we're not meant to be alive. What do you suggest we do, Sergeant?”

“Do our duty and watch our backs, sir.”