Chapters (90)
- PROLOGUE
- 1849
- ONE
- TWO
- EDINBURGH
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- SEVENTY-FOUR
- SEVENTY-FIVE
- SEVENTY-SIX
- SEVENTY-SEVEN
- SEVENTY-EIGHT
- SEVENTY-NINE
- EIGHTY
- EIGHTY-ONE
- EPILOGUE
- HISTORICAL NOTE
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
- Extract from A Corruption of Blood
- 1850
- ONE
Flint thought about this for a moment. He looked towards Alec and nodded, accepting what he was being told.
‘I must leave now,’ Raven said. ‘There is nothing more I can do here, and I am needed at the Maternity Hospital.’
Flint put a hand on his arm.
‘There is something you can do,’ he said.
Raven was about to protest when Flint leaned in closer. He could smell stale alcohol and onions on the man’s breath.
‘Give him something for the pain. Ease his passing.’
Having issued his command, the money-lender left the room, leaving Raven with the dying man and the giant, whose presence seemed intended as Flint’s guarantor that Raven would do as he was bid.
He dosed the Weasel liberally with laudanum and then packed up his things, hoping to leave and never darken the door of this place again.
Gargantua blocked his path.
‘You will return,’ he said.
Raven nodded, but it was not good enough. Two huge hands gripped his lapels.
‘Give me your word that you will return.’
‘You have it,’ Raven replied.
FORTY-THREE
arah stopped outside a house on Castle Street and checked the address on the letter she carried. It was the correct number but seemed rather too grand an establishment to house Dr Simpson’s secretary and his wife. It was considerably larger than the few rooms she shared with Archie on Albany Street.
The door was answered by Mrs Quinton herself, a neat woman, well dressed if not expensively so. Sarah was shown into a bright room at the front of the house, illuminated by large windows that faced onto the street. There was a large black marble fireplace with enamel panels, and several sofas and armchairs upholstered in expensive-looking fabrics. When invited to sit, Sarah was unsure where to put herself. Framed portraits adorned the walls and suspended over it all was a huge crystal gasolier.
‘What a beautiful room,’ Sarah said as she handed over the letter along with a parcel of baby clothes Mrs Simpson had asked her to deliver.
‘Yes. It’s a wonderful house. So well located,’ Mrs Quinton replied. ‘Sir Walter Scott lived at number 39.’
‘An auspicious address, in that case,’ Sarah said.
‘Quite so,’ Mrs Quinton replied, smiling broadly. ‘The house is rather too large for just the three of us,’ she continued. ‘Well, four, if you count the nursemaid.’ Her tone implied that she did not. ‘We took over the lease from a good friend of ours. The furniture belongs to her too. It was left for our use,’ she added, indicating the contents of the room with a wide sweep of her hand. ‘A woman of great taste.’
‘You are very fortunate to have such a friend.’
‘Yes. It is so important in this world to make the right kind of connections, to move in the right circles.’