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Chapters (90)
  1. PROLOGUE
  2. 1849
  3. ONE
  4. TWO
  5. EDINBURGH
  6. THREE
  7. FOUR
  8. FIVE
  9. SIX
  10. SEVEN
  11. EIGHT
  12. NINE
  13. TEN
  14. ELEVEN
  15. TWELVE
  16. THIRTEEN
  17. FOURTEEN
  18. FIFTEEN
  19. SIXTEEN
  20. SEVENTEEN
  21. EIGHTEEN
  22. NINETEEN
  23. TWENTY
  24. TWENTY-ONE
  25. TWENTY-TWO
  26. TWENTY-THREE
  27. TWENTY-FOUR
  28. TWENTY-FIVE
  29. TWENTY-SIX
  30. TWENTY-SEVEN
  31. TWENTY-EIGHT
  32. TWENTY-NINE
  33. THIRTY
  34. THIRTY-ONE
  35. THIRTY-TWO
  36. THIRTY-THREE
  37. THIRTY-FOUR
  38. THIRTY-FIVE
  39. THIRTY-SIX
  40. THIRTY-SEVEN
  41. THIRTY-EIGHT
  42. THIRTY-NINE
  43. FORTY
  44. FORTY-ONE
  45. FORTY-TWO
  46. FORTY-THREE
  47. FORTY-FOUR
  48. FORTY-FIVE
  49. FORTY-SIX
  50. FORTY-SEVEN
  51. FORTY-EIGHT
  52. FORTY-NINE
  53. FIFTY
  54. FIFTY-ONE
  55. FIFTY-TWO
  56. FIFTY-THREE
  57. FIFTY-FOUR
  58. FIFTY-FIVE
  59. FIFTY-SIX
  60. FIFTY-SEVEN
  61. FIFTY-EIGHT
  62. FIFTY-NINE
  63. SIXTY
  64. SIXTY-ONE
  65. SIXTY-TWO
  66. SIXTY-THREE
  67. SIXTY-FOUR
  68. SIXTY-FIVE
  69. SIXTY-SIX
  70. SIXTY-SEVEN
  71. SIXTY-EIGHT
  72. SIXTY-NINE
  73. SEVENTY
  74. SEVENTY-ONE
  75. SEVENTY-TWO
  76. SEVENTY-THREE
  77. SEVENTY-FOUR
  78. SEVENTY-FIVE
  79. SEVENTY-SIX
  80. SEVENTY-SEVEN
  81. SEVENTY-EIGHT
  82. SEVENTY-NINE
  83. EIGHTY
  84. EIGHTY-ONE
  85. EPILOGUE
  86. HISTORICAL NOTE
  87. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  88. Extract from A Corruption of Blood
  89. 1850
  90. ONE

I felt like I wanted to hold Mrs Robertson, as I had been held when I was taken into the bed alongside my mother in her sorrow at losing each of her sons. On those nights, though I was sad to see my mother in such torment, part of me was grateful for what had happened, because it had given rise to this tenderness. Such affection was otherwise not permitted by my father. He did not like it when she coddled us.

As I had experienced before, something in Mrs Robertson’s grief gratified me.

FORTY-SIX

logo missingaven was woken by a knock on the door, coming to with a start as he heard his name spoken by a female voice. It was one of the new maids. He bid her come in, by way of letting her know he was awake.

She stuck her head around the door tentatively. He noted the contrast between her shyness and the liberties Sarah used to take when she held the same position.

‘I was sent to enquire as to why you are still in bed. You have missed breakfast.’

Raven reached for his pocket watch to confirm this, though the girl would have no reason to misinform. He had indeed overslept. He had been very late in returning from Flint’s place in Fountainbridge the night before, and it had taken him a long time to fall asleep as he considered the implications of his course of action.

He quickly pulled on some clothes, concerned at the prospect of facing the rigours of a morning clinic without so much as a bite of toast to fuel him. He just hoped Mrs Lyndsay was not in an obstreperous mood.

He was descending the stairs hurriedly when he heard a familiar voice rising from the hall below. It was the northern Irish accent that made it unmistakable, though the gruff confidence was distinctive also. The mere sound of it pricked the hairs on his head and urged him to spin on a heel, but it was too late. His approach had been seen, and such a volte-face would be conspicuous in precisely the way he wished to avoid.

It was not wise to invite the suspicion of James McLevy, the city’s foremost policeman. The detective prided himself on solving all of his cases, by which he meant seeing someone convicted for every crime he investigated. He was also concerned with the recovery of stolen property, an activity for which he had a less complete success rate. There were those who believed a failure to locate that which was stolen ought to cast some doubt on the guilt of whoever was apprehended for stealing it, but McLevy was more sanguine about such discrepancies.