The Darker Arts Read online

  The fifth one is for my very dear sis Olivia.

  Finally!

  Contents

  Dedication

  Title Page

  Plan of Edinburgh 1889

  1883

  1889

  Prologue

  Part 1 The Crime

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Part 2 The Trial

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Part 3 The Punishments

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Epilogue

  Author’s note

  Meanwhile, in Windsor …

  11 December, 1889

  About the Author

  Also by Oscar de Muriel

  Copyright

  I have seen my death.

  I saw myself hang.

  I saw the crowd around me cheering.

  I felt the noose around my neck;

  the strangling grip;

  the tearing skin.

  And you were there.

  I saw your tears.

  You were always there …

  A. K. Dragnea

  1883

  [I]

  2 July

  Public enquiry held at Dundee’s Sheriff Court, following the deaths of Mr James McGray esq. and his wife Amina McGray (née Duncan)

  Doctor Clouston stepped ahead hesitantly, his footsteps deafening amidst the deathly silence of the courtroom. His hands trembled, and he had to clench them into fists to conceal his anxiety. All eyes were fixed on him, all hostile, as if he had committed the murders himself.

  He took his seat at the witnesses’ box, his chin held high, took the oath, and then waited until the procurator fiscal came to him.

  The man, completely bald and with a scalp as smooth and pale as polished marble, took his time, rearranging and revising documents as everyone waited in tense silence.

  Clouston looked at the young Adolphus McGray, who had just given his statement. The twenty-five-year-old stood out in the rows, taller than most, broad-shouldered and with raven black hair. He also had the palest face, staring down at his bandaged hand, pressed against his chest. The wound had not fully scarred yet.

  ‘Doctor Thomas Clouston,’ said the procurator suddenly, making more than one at the court jump. ‘Of Edinburgh’s Royal Lunatic Asylum.’

  He approached with an odious grin as he read the credentials. A lead tooth caught Clouston’s eye.

  ‘That is correct,’ said the doctor, taking an instant dislike to that man.

  ‘Can you recount the events of the evening?’

  ‘I am only here to testify as to the mental state of Miss McGray.’

  ‘Oh, indulge us, doctor.’

  He spoke in grumbles. ‘I received a telegram telling me that Mr McGray and his wife had been attacked. That they were sadly dead. That their son was injured and their daughter had had to be locked up in her chambers. When I arrived—’

  ‘No, no, doctor,’ the procurator interrupted. ‘Before that. I would like to know what happened earlier that day.’

  Clouston snorted. ‘I only know what I heard from Mr McGray’s son and servants. I do not know how a third-party statement might—’

  ‘Please,’ the sheriff intervened from his higher bench, ‘answer the procurator’s question.’ His ‘please’ was rather a growl.

  Clouston cleared his throat. The sooner he obliged, the sooner this would be over.

  ‘From what I was told, Adolphus and Amy, Mr McGray’s son and daughter, left the house in the early evening. They went horseback riding since the weather was pleasant despite the hour. After some time they stopped to allow the horses to rest, and they sat by the small lake that borders their family’s estate. They chatted for a while before Miss McGray said she felt indisposed, and—’

  ‘Indisposed how?’

  ‘Again, I can only repeat what—’

  ‘How?’

  Clouston ruffled his moustache with impatience. ‘Her brother said she complained of a headache and shortness of breath. She decided to return to the—’

  ‘On her own?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What time was this?’

  ‘I must assume it was before dusk.’

  ‘You said they went out in the early evening. Do you believe they managed to have a ride long enough so that the mounts required rest, and then a chat, all before sunset?’

  ‘Are you not familiar with midsummer, Mr Pratt?’

  The entire courtroom laughed, and upon the very mention of his own name, the fiscal’s lip trembled in an uncontrollable tic.

  ‘I simply find it odd,’ he said, ominously, ‘that a young lady would decide to ride alone, in the middle of the wilderness, when the day must have been coming to a close.’

  ‘It was their family’s land. The girl had probably ridden alone there countless times.’

  ‘And she insisted her brother stayed behind?’

  ‘You just heard him say so himself.’

  ‘A young lady, feeling ill, refuses to be accompanied back home, despite the gathering darkness. And the next thing we know is that she went berserk and killed the only two souls in the house. Do you not find it slightly suspicious?’

  ‘Suspicious?’

  ‘She was perfectly healthy when she left her brother, was she not?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And mere minutes later she’d become an uncontrollable murderess?’

  Adolphus stood up at this, glaring at the fiscal. The corpulent guard posted next to him pushed him back on the seat. It was not the first time the young man had lost his temper today.

  Clouston took a deep breath. ‘It is an extraordinary shift, but not unheard of. The mechanics of the mind sadly remain a mystery.’

  The fiscal nodded, albeit with a sardonic side smile. ‘So you sustain the plea of insanity?’

  ‘Indeed. The girl is under my custody now.’

  ‘When did you take her to your – ahem – very honourable institution?’

  ‘The very next day.’

  ‘Indeed?’

  ‘Yes. She was a danger to herself and others. She attacked me when I first encountered her.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ the fiscal said, turning back to the audience to face Betsy, the McGrays’ stumpy, ageing maid, and George, the weathered butler. ‘As these servants said, you arrived and subdued Miss McGray without any trouble.’

  Clouston inhaled, smelling a trap. ‘Yes. I did.’

  The fiscal chuckled. ‘The girl managed to kill two healthy grown-ups, mutilate her brother, who,
as we can see, is hardly a featherweight … yet you, doctor, never came to harm.’

  Clouston stroked his long, dark beard. ‘That is true. When I arrived, Miss McGray was famished and dehydrated. The servants had locked her in her bedroom and nobody dared go near her. The poor girl had not eaten or drunk in a day. She only managed to lift a blade for an instant. She hurled herself onto me and then collapsed.’

  Clouston looked at the jury with the corner of his eye. Several heads nodded.

  ‘Did she say anything?’ asked the fiscal. ‘Before collapsing?’

  This was what everyone had been expecting. People stretched their necks and strained their ears. Some did not even blink. There were rumours already, but Clouston was the only one who’d heard the girl’s last known words.

  ‘Remember you are under oath, doctor,’ the fiscal pressed.

  Clouston looked at Adolphus. They’d talked about this before. There was a tormented, pleading look in his blue eyes. Don’t tell them, he seemed to beg.

  But he was under oath …

  The doctor gulped and then spat the words.

  ‘She said I’m not mad …’

  There were gasps and murmurs in the crowd. The fiscal walked triumphantly to the bench of the jury.

  ‘The girl herself said she was not mad! And if she was not mad, then these murders must be treated as—’

  ‘Oh, what a stupid statement!’ Clouston roared, jumping to his feet. His booming voice silenced everyone present. ‘I have treated hundreds of patients in the past twenty years. Nine out of ten will claim they’re not insane. Do you want me to believe their word and release them all at once – Mr Pratt?’

  There was another wave of laughter, which turned the fiscal’s scalp bright red.

  Clouston went on before the racket receded. ‘Miss McGray also said, right afterwards, that it was all the work of the devil.’

  In a blink, the laughter became gasps and cries of shock. That was what people had been craving to hear. That was the statement all the papers in Dundee and Edinburgh would publish the next day.

  Clouston cast Adolphus a troubled look. The young man was falling apart, clenching his bandages with his healthy hand. Clouston felt so sorry for him his heart ached – and yet, the truth had to be told …

  He looked straight into the jury’s eyes. ‘Miss McGray, a dainty girl of sixteen, turned against her mother and father, whom she adored, and killed them. She became wild and had to be restrained and sedated. There is no doubt she was not herself. She …’ Clouston looked down, his voice infected with sorrow. ‘She may never be herself again.’

  His words hung in the air for a long while, until the fiscal clicked his tongue.

  ‘A very sad tale – however inconclusive. The girl must attend court.’

  ‘What!’ Adolphus howled in the distance.

  There were claps and cheers in the crowd, and some men were lasciviously rubbing their hands. A young woman at court always promised a good spectacle.

  The procurator saw the fidgety members of the jury, whispering at each other, and he sneered. ‘I am afraid the girl’s insanity must be properly—’

  ‘Her insanity has been proven!’ Clouston asserted, now addressing only the sheriff and the jury. ‘My report is comprehensive. I have submitted it this morning and you can analyse it at once. A colleague from Inverness is on his way and I am certain he will only corroborate my findings. They will comply with the requirements of the Lunacy Act.’

  The fiscal approached him like a stalking wolf. ‘And in the meantime you will hide a potential murderer in your institution?’

  Adolphus jumped up again. ‘Ye fucking cretin!’

  At a sign from the sheriff, another two guards rushed to drag him out of the courtroom. Clouston spoke even as they did so.

  ‘What would you have us do, Mr Pratt? Bring the girl here so she can be made a spectacle of? Nothing shall be gained other than your morbid desire to see a helpless creature publicly humiliated.’ He turned to the sheriff and jury. ‘The law is being followed. That girl has no business here. The court must show her some human compassion.’

  ‘Did she show any compassion to her own kin?’

  There was uproar at this. People stood up, clapped, whistled and demanded the girl appeared at court. They wanted her blood ; her dignity.

  Clouston felt tears of rage build up in his eyes. He pictured himself and the McGrays as caged prey, surrounded by a pack of thousands of hounds, only kept at bay by leashes that were just about to snap.

  [II]

  The gypsy stood by the pub’s door, swathed in a dark cape and hood. She pressed her hand, armed with curved nails painted in black, against the door, but she hesitated before going in. She looked left and right, scrutinising the Royal Mile. At this hour the cobblestoned street was deserted. Even the public house was quiet.

  ‘D’ye want me to go in with ye?’ her manservant asked, still at the cart’s driver seat.

  ‘No,’ the gypsy mumbled. ‘Wait here.’

  She stepped in quietly and looked around. The place was very dark, lit only by the golden glow of some dying embers, and the air stank of cheap ale – the gypsy recognised her own brew.

  There were only a few patrons left ; a mixture of the drunkest men in Edinburgh, stooped over their pints and their drams, and those plagued by disgraces no amount of drink could drown.

  The McGray heir was easy to spot. Her contacts had told her he’d taken to dress in showy tartan, but even without those mismatching trousers and waistcoat, she would have recognised his tall, well-built frame from the newspaper reports.

  She was expecting him to be distraught ; a sad, red-eyed figure nursing a bottle of single malt. Instead, the towering man was all over the pub’s landlady.

  They were in a darkened corner of the room, locked in a tight embrace like a pair of octopuses.

  The gypsy walked closer, her cloak brushing the knee of the drunkest man in the establishment.

  He stared at her, his head swaying, and whistled. ‘Oi! I like a pair o’ those!’

  She did not look back or break stride.

  ‘I’d curse you – if you had anything left to lose.’

  Her well-chosen words, delivered in a strange accent from somewhere in Eastern Europe, struck her enemy’s most delicate nerve. The man looked down, attempting to hide his flushed, leathery face.

  The gypsy stood firmly by the couple’s table and let out a cackle.

  ‘You don’t waste your time, my dear. Well done!’

  The young landlady jumped up, her cheeks as red as her mane of curls. ‘Madame Katerina!’

  The gypsy smiled.

  ‘Oh, don’t blush, Mary! At least you’re moving up in the world ; this one’s much more fetching than the wretch you asked me to jinx last month.’ She lowered her voice. ‘By the way, those warts must be sprouting nicely as we speak.’

  She installed herself on Mary’s chair, and the young McGray, indignant, snapped his fingers at once.

  ‘Oi! I didnae say ye could sit.’

  They exchanged stares in a silent duel of wills. His were light blue, hers bright green. Both cunning.

  She spoke first. ‘I think you’ll like to hear what I have to tell you.’ And she unbuttoned her cloak and let it fall around her shoulders.

  McGray’s eyes went directly to her protruding breasts, the largest in Edinburgh, and sported proudly under her low cleavage.

  The gypsy smiled. Her attributes always threw her enemies off guard.

  ‘Would you like a drink, madam?’ Mary asked, before McGray managed to close his mouth.

  ‘Yes, my dear. But the good stuff, not the piss I sell you for the clients.’

  Mary winked at her. ‘I’ll bring ye a single malt from the McGrays’ distillery. They know their trade.’ And as she made her way to the backroom, Mary exchanged a look of complicity with McGray.

  He was not amused at all.

  ‘I don’t mean to be rude, hen,’ he said, ‘but ye should real
ly piss off.’

  ‘Oh! Are you busy, my boy?’

  ‘Aye. I’m polishing my fuckin’ nails, don’t ye see?’

  The drunkard laughed from the distance. ‘Och, ye’ll finish sooner now!’

  McGray gulped down the remains of his dram and then threw the tumbler at the man. It landed right in-between his eyes and smashed to pieces. The drunkard yowled, jumped up and attempted to make a fist, but then staggered, swayed, and looked at his hand as if it were the first time he’d seen it. He shouted some vulgarity and clumsily made his way out.

  ‘Adolphus!’ Mary grunted, coming back with a new bottle. ‘That’s the third good client ye’ve scared away today! He could’ve downed one more bottle!’

  ‘I’m sure my custom will pay off, my dear,’ said Katerina, pouring herself a very generous measure. ‘And I promise you I won’t scare this one away.’

  ‘Yer about to do just that,’ McGray snapped.

  Mary squeezed his forearm. ‘I’ll be right back, Adolphus. Do listen to Madame Katerina.’ And she scuttled into the backroom, in clear collusion with the generous-breasted gypsy.

  McGray sighed. ‘What the fuck ye want?’

  He interlaced his fingers. He’d only just lost the bandages, but the stitches on his finger stump, the one chopped off by his own sister, still made a grisly sight.

  ‘Ring finger, right hand,’ the gypsy said with a note of melancholy. ‘Just like the papers said.’

  ‘Aye. I’m glad I didnae lose this one – or these two.’

  The gypsy smiled. ‘I like you already.’ She swirled the tumbler, sniffed the liquor and took a good swig. She winced. ‘Ahh, good stuff indeed!’

  ‘I hate asking things twice. What the fuck ye—?’

  ‘I believe your story, my boy.’

  McGray looked up, his eyes catching the glow from the hearth, the blue gone a fiery amber.

  ‘Don’t toy with me,’ he warned, placing a hand on the table and slowly making a fist. ‘I’ve already met many quacks like ye. Youse are all after the brass with cheap tricks and lies.’

  ‘Don’t compare me with them, boy. I am so sorry for your losses.’

  ‘What d’ye care?’

  She smiled wryly. ‘I know what it feels like. I lost my parents when I was very young. You’re lucky.’

  ‘Lucky! Aye.’