Story: Auld Reekie (chapter 2 of 5)
Author: Garonne
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Sherlock Holmes' hand rested on my knee, but I did not feel in the least bit slighted that his head was turned away from me and he was paying me no attention at all, for after all, it was my own city of Edinburgh which he was drinking in through the hansom cab window.
On the one hand, we had the breath-taking expanse which was the south side of Edinburgh's main thoroughfare, where the ground all along that side of the road fell away sharply to lush green pleasure gardens and then rose steeply to the lofty spires and towers of the university's New College, the Bank of Scotland and the imposing mass of the Castle, all posed high on the sheer volcanic cliffs which rose from the valley separating us from them.
Holmes, naturally, was looking out the other window, absorbed in the bustle of shops and people: office clerks and bankers on their way to work, street-hawkers already at their pitches, and sundry other ruffians and gentlefolk.
"There are as many pickpockets here as in London, I perceive," said Holmes, in a voice which I am sorry to say must be described as satisfied. "However, it remains to be seen whether the criminals more worthy of my attention are equally as inventive as their southern counterparts."
As we travelled further from the train station, and penetrated deeper into the neighbourhood of private squares and magnificent town-houses where the Gordons lived, I attempted to draw my friend's attention to some landmarks of interest. Holmes did not seem to be listening, however, and I surmised that the Duke of Moray's residence and birthplace of Sir Walter Scott fell into the same category of irrelevant information as facts about the Solar System.
Ten minutes more brought us to our destination. Mildred Gordon was a little plumper than I remembered, with the tired, shadowed eyes of three sleepless nights. My old school-friend Gordon himself was already grey and balding, although in his early thirties, scarcely older than I.
"I trust your journey was not too uncomfortable," he fussed, while his wife poured tea and attempted the impossible task of urging biscuits on Holmes. "I find travelling to be such a stress myself. One never knows whether one will misplace one's tickets, or forget a piece of luggage on the train, or alight at the wrong station..."
"Quite," said Holmes, while his gaze flickered around the room, absorbing every detail. I devoutly hoped that if he did consider my two friends as members of his list of suspects, something which was perfectly likely, then he would make no awkward comment to betray this fact to them, until such time as he had finally seen fit to clear them of suspicion.
I had not seen the Gordons in almost a decade, but somehow it seemed indecent to dawdle too long over tea while the dead man still lay unidentified and unclaimed in the Royal Infirmary's morgue. Holmes, too, was clearly impatient to make a start. As soon as I judged that Gordon would be satisfied we were sufficiently rested from our supposedly harrowing journey, I suggested a visit to the scene of the gruesome discovery.
Holmes clucked his tongue in irritation upon seeing the well-scrubbed hallway floor and the thoroughly beaten-out rug. He spent scarcely a minute looking around, before demanding to see where all the keys in the house were kept. One set lay in a drawer in the hallway, and Gordon indicated the key to the back door, which had been found open on the morning after the murder. Holmes examined the key closely, and to my mind it seemed that he relied far more on the sense of touch than his eyes in his examination, but whatever he was seeking he did not seem to find it.
"The other set is in the kitchen somewhere," Gordon said. "I'm not quite sure where. Margaret will show us."
He rang the bell, and the maid who had served us our tea reappeared. She was short and portly, and I thought she would have appeared quite amiable, were her eyes not red-rimmed from crying. I wondered what had happened to upset her so.
She led us down the back stairs into the kitchen, and pointed silently to a bunch of keys which hung from a hook by the back door. Holmes pounced on them, identified the correct one immediately, and exclaimed in satisfaction.
"Excellent," he said, replacing the bunch. "I think that will be all for the moment, Mr. Gordon. Now I must have time to reflect."
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Holmes was standing by the window, smoking, when I joined him in his room.
He smiled fondly at me. "Well, my dear fellow, let me hear your deductions so far."
I hesitated. There did not seem to be a great deal to say. "The maid, Margaret, appeared to be in quite a state. Do you think it is of any relevance?"
This earned me another smile. "I'm glad you noticed that, Watson. Not that it was very easy to miss, but nevertheless your Alistair Gordon seemed completely oblivious. Either that, or he simply does not care." He tapped out his pipe into an ashtray on the dresser and went back to frowning out the window. "As usual, Watson, I am reduced to trying to pick up the start of a trail that has already long since been washed away, dried out and tidied up. Sometimes it seems to me that my clients deliberately wait to call me, in order to make the life of a consulting detective as difficult as possible."
I smiled at this familiar complaint, and went to put my arms about his waist, but he sprang away.
"Holmes - "
He put his hands in his pockets and frowned at me.
I glanced back at the door, but it remained closed, as I had taken care to ensure after entering.
For a moment we regarded each other across the space which separated us, myself still not quite sure what was going through his mind, until he spoke again, choosing his words with deliberation:
"You must believe me, Watson, when I say that I do not mean to repulse you heartlessly, nor provoke unfounded judgements in you regarding my nature, which you have in the past described as unfeeling. But I do nonetheless urge you to imagine the look on the face of your upright friend, were he to witness the scene you attempted to enact."
I gritted my teeth. "He is not here, and not likely to walk in at just this moment."
"It is not a risk I am willing to take." He turned away from me. "This will never change, you know, Watson," he said in a low voice. "We shall never be free."
His tone made me long even more than ever to take him in my arms, but I remained where I was, gazing at him helplessly.
Suddenly Holmes turned back toward me. His head bent, warm lips brushed mine, and then he was already striding to the door, grabbing his hat.
"Come, Watson. I have some more questions I wish to put to your Mr. Gordon."
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Holmes stood in the middle of the large living room, and span round once on his heel, taking in everything from the thick new carpet to the glistening white plaster-moulding on the high ceiling.
"How recent was the construction of this row of houses?" he demanded.
We were in the living room of the Mackays, a couple who featured among the acquaintances of the Gordons. Upon hearing that they had recently suffered a burglary, Holmes had insisted on being taken to visit them. I did not quite see the connection with our case, as the burglary here appeared to be perfectly straightforward. No mysterious bodies had been found the following morning, and many items of value taken. The only connection was that the door used as a point of entry in this case had also not been forced, but this did not seem very conclusive to me, as there was certainly no shortage of lock-picks in Edinburgh.
I knew from my guidebook that this crescent of houses was the latest addition to Edinburgh's magnificent New Town, but I left it to Mr. Mackay to answer Holmes' question.
"Less than a year ago," he said readily. "We have only lived here a few months, like most of our neighbours."
"We haven't even finished with the furnishings," Mrs. Mackay put in. "That empty corner there will hold a cabinet, for example - although the thieves took everything I intended to display in it," she added in a disconsolate voice.
Holmes had evidently now seen all he wished to, for he made his adieus. I followed his example, and we stepped out into the street.
"Where to now?" I asked.
"I would like to know exactly how many burglaries there have been in this area since its construction," Holmes said slowly. "I'm not sure how willing the Edinburgh constabulary will be to cooperate with a stranger from England, however. Nevertheless, I plan to make the attempt. You, I know, have not yet answered an invitation from two old friends to spend the afternoon drinking port at a golf club and talking about how you would all play a round, were the weather a little more clement. You should accept the invitation."
"You could come with me," I offered. "We could go to the police first, and then - "
"I cannot think of anything I would enjoy less."
I was taken aback by his vehemence. He saw my expression, and elaborated:
"I must admit to being somewhat mystified by your enjoyment of time spent in the company of your friends. Or should I say rather - those people you call your friends, although they know nothing whatsoever about the most important aspect of your life, and would instantly sever connections, were they ever to discover it."
Sherlock Holmes was far from being modest, but he spoke the exact truth, of course, in describing my relations with him as the most important part of my life.
Before I could compose a response, he had already hailed a cab. "Go ahead, enjoy your afternoon, my dear fellow. I promise you, nothing interesting will happen until tonight, and perhaps not even then."
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I spent a pleasant day talking of old times, and returned to the Gordons' in time for dinner, arriving not long before Holmes. Our hosts seemed much happier now that Holmes was attending to their case, although if he had made any progress during the afternoon he had not shared it with the rest of us.
The Gordons had also invited some acquaintances around, and we had a pleasant after-dinner conversation. After some time I looked about me and noticed that Holmes was nowhere to be seen. Most likely he had simply tired of making polite conversation with the bourgeoisie of the Lowlands and slipped discreetly away.
However, I had not forgotten his hint that afternoon that the night could hold an interesting development in the case. Excusing myself, I stepped outside, and had the good fortune to glimpse the back of Holmes' tall figure, disappearing down the steps to the kitchen. I raced after him, and finally caught up with him in the dark stable lane behind the house.
He was not in the least surprised to see me, of course. He caught my arm, and pulled me into the deepest shadows beside the wall. Following his gaze down the long shadowy lane, I saw a short stout female form disappear around the corner.
Holmes put his lips to my ear, although there was no one around to overhear us. It was simply something he took every possible opportunity to do. "That was Margaret Donnelly, the maid."
"She who had been crying?"
"Exactly. I propose to follow her. Get your revolver, and meet me back here as quickly as possible. In the meantime I shall fetch our coats, for I fear I am not as hardened to this cold northern air as you." He saw my hesitation, and interpreted it correctly. "Never fear, Watson, I already know her destination, I merely didn't know that her assignation was tonight. Look." He held up a crumpled piece of paper to the light from the kitchen window, and I read in an almost illegible scrawl:
Greyfriars Kirkyard, 11 o'clock
"I shall be as quick as I can," I whispered.
Five minutes later we were in a hansom cab, rattling across the cobblestones of Edinburgh city. We quickly left behind the imposing sweeps of beautiful sandstone town-houses, crescents and private gardens of the New Town, and plunged into the narrow, twisting, grimy streets of the Old Town. The cab left us on the Royal Mile, at Holmes' request, and we continued more discreetly on foot. I was amused to find that Holmes' anticipative study of the map of Edinburgh had been sufficiently thorough for him to be able to lead the way, and I was happy to indulge his penchant for flaunting his knowledge.
It was easy to understood why Margaret Donnelly's mysterious correspondent had chosen the graveyard as a meeting place, for it was dark and completely deserted. As Holmes and I installed ourselves behind a sepulchre not far from the gate, we heard a church bell strike quarter to eleven.
The light of gas-lamps from the street only reached the area near the kirk, and our hiding place was steeped in darkness. The night air was more reminiscent of January than July, and the graveyard was cold and damp. I shifted uncomfortably, feeling a twinge in my leg.
All of that was driven from my mind as warm breath fell suddenly on my face, and then Holmes was kissing me fiercely, his hands gripping my shoulders as though he would never let go. After a moment's shock I responded just as strongly, pressing myself up against him. I slid one hand inside his cape, trying to get as close as possible to the warmth of his skin. I could not tell how long we stood there, clinging to each other. Holmes was like a man who has found water after a long drought, and I am sure I appeared in much the same light to him.
Finally we broke apart, remembering our mission in that dark place.
"It seems the dead do not object to us," Holmes said dryly, his hands still holding me close. "They're keeping their silence, at any rate."
I felt fingers on my breast and Holmes withdrew my pocket watch and held it out briefly to a patch of moonlight to read it. He swore softly. "Three minutes to eleven. That was all too brief an interval."
His breath was still coming in short gasps, and even as he straightened and turned towards the gate, he left his hand resting on the small of my back.
Less than a minute later, we saw a shadow slip through the gate, and come to stand by the side door of the kirk. I felt from the slight change in Holmes' stance that he had seen it too. There was little to distinguish, only that the man was small and slight, and muffled against the cold.
Shortly after that, Margaret Donnelly arrived, still out of breath from her long march on foot across town. She glanced around nervously before joining the man in the kirk doorway. I was sure that the choice of the graveyard as meeting place had not been hers.
Only snippets of the conversation reached our ears, but enough to determine that it revolved around the topic of the 'two men from London' and 'that foul-up the other night.'
The majority of the conversation was dominated by the man, while the girl listened with her head down, her stance mulish, but at one point something seemed to needle her, and she exclaimed: "Murderer! Why should I - "
Her interlocutor had raised his voice now too. "Don't you cross me, my girl. Remember, you have another life to protect. Remember your dear - "
The girl cut him off, her voice carrying clearly in her anger. "Dinnae dare mention his name!"
The man laughed this off in the most horrid manner imaginable, and finished the conversation by handing over a small cloth-wrapped package. The maid tucked it under her cloak, and hurried away, followed a few moments later by the man she had labelled a murderer.
Holmes took my arm and drew me with him. We trailed the man out of the graveyard, then down into the dark, dangerous hell which was the neighbourhood in the shadow of the Castle. We followed him down a narrow flight of steps, along a grimy, unlit, stinking close, and into a passageway which led under the floors of the buildings above. All around us we could hear the teeming sounds of life: voices raised in anger, babies wailing, dishes and glasses clattering, but the back streets were deserted, and we saw no-one but the shadowy figure of the man ahead.
We emerged from the passageway into a small, dingy courtyard, lit only by the small amount of moonlight that managed to filter down through the gap between the rooftops far above. Our mark was nowhere to be seen. I came to a sudden stop, snatching Holmes by the arm and pulling him back into the passageway.
"Wait a moment," I murmured before stepping forward cautiously, my revolver in my hand, and all my senses on alert.
Suddenly I understood what I had already sensed to be wrong, when the shadow that should not have been there moved. I dived back towards Holmes, but not quickly enough. Pain seared through my shoulder, and the world spun around me as I sank to the ground.
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