Page 128 of Disturbing the Dead
“That well, huh?” I say. “An ugly arrest?”
“No arrest at all. The Kings were not at home.” He lifts a glass and waves it from me to Isla.
“Yes, please,” we both say.
He pours three glasses and passes us ours. “The police are stationed at the apartment, as well as at the cemetery, in hopes Emmett King returns looking for a response from the White Lady. In the meantime…” He reaches into his pocket and withdraws a packet of tied papers. “You wished to see the cipher. I have brought that, along with the solution.”
I take the pages. “Whoa. You traced out the cipher instead of bringing the original. I’m impressed.”
“It was a bit of work, but it saved me from that noise of deep distress you make when we handle actual evidence.”
“Thank you.”
Seeing the cipher page again, it still looks like feminine handwriting, which only makes me kick myself for making such a gendered presumption. Yes, the penmanship is very small and pretty, with the sort of loops associated with women, but that would be like seeing a six-foot-tall figure and presuming it was male. I should be the one to question judgments like that, and I didn’t.
I read over the list of deciphered medical-exam questions and then pass it to Isla. I don’t blame Gray for mistaking them for study notes. That’s the obvious answer… until you ponder why they were written in cipher. Emmett stole the questions for a medical exam, which he wanted to study without his wife knowing what they were, so he wrote them in a cipher, inspired by a conversation they’d had about ciphers.
“I’d like to get a copy of this to the White Lady,” I say. “It’ll need to go through Queen Mab, which could take a bit of time. I’d also like to compare it to a known sample of Emmett’s handwriting. He confessed to writing this, but once it becomes evidence he may withdraw his statement.”
“He might even blame his wife,” Isla murmurs. “Claim he was covering for her.”
“Let’s hope not, but yes. I’d also love to help Hugh by proving this is Emmett’s writing even before he’s arrested. Where would be the best place to get a verified sample? The university?”
“It should be easier than that,” Gray says. “The police are guarding the Kings’ apartment, which means we will have access to it.” He checks his watch. “It is getting late, but we could go now if you like.”
“Please.”
THIRTY-NINE
It is nearly ten when we arrive at the Kings’ apartment. Two constables are watching it. They’ve staked out a spot where they’ll see the Kings climbing the stairs to their home, and they can quietly swoop in before they reach it.
One of the officers is Iain, the young Highlander constable, and I suspect that’s no accident. When an officer is friendly toward Gray, he’s more likely to get picked for important tasks by McCreadie. It’s a solid foot on the ladder to detectivehood, if this young man wants it. I hope he does.
McCreadie is accustomed to having a constable at his side, rather than the traditional detective partnership I’d had. He lost his protégé back in May, and he hasn’t found a new one yet. If it turns out to be Iain, I’ll be pleased for both of them.
We leave Iain and his partner outside, and we’re in the apartment after a few moments of small talk. Well, I make the small talk, while practically holding Gray back from galloping up the stairs to the apartment. It’ll be a long night for Iain and his partner, and they could use a bit of conversation, as well as a promise to find them something hot to eat after we’re done here. I might even add a pint of ale to the inevitable hot meat pie. That’d be a huge no-no at home, but here “drinking on the job” means downing a bottle of whisky. A pint of ale—or even a hot toddy—doesn’t count and will keep them warm and keep their spirits up.
It doesn’t take long for us to find samples of both Emmett’s and Florence’s writing. Florence keeps meticulous records, even in a time that predates the modern filing system. She has a small desk with pigeonholes for current papers and drawers filled with past papers. It’s obvious that she handles the couple’s finances and the correspondence, even to the point of dutifully writing to Emmett’s parents. While those letters are signed by both, other letters signed by only Florence make it clear who the writer is. We do find samples of Emmett’s writing, love letters to her, signed by him, which she had saved.
I try not to read those letters. Of course, I can’t help but see a few lines, and it is enough to make me feel worse about what happened here. The tragedy of a young man pushed beyond his intellectual limits, resorting to cheating on exams and then killing his professor in what I can only presume was a blind panic. The tragedy, too, of a world where he was expected to be the doctor when his wife was obviously better suited to the occupation.
With those writing samples in hand, we can conclude, beyond doubt, that the ciphered notes were written by Emmett. Florence’s handwriting is much different, measured and precise, much like the woman herself. Emmett’s is more florid and flowing, and it is an exact match for the cipher. Now we need to confirm that this looks like the penmanship on the note sent to the White Lady. Either way, it wouldn’t be Florence’s, whose handwriting would never be categorically identified as a woman’s hand.
I’m finishing my examination when Gray walks over and hands me a crumpled letter. “I found this hidden in Emmett’s clothing.”
I take it, scanning it. “Damn. Not unexpected, though.”
“No, sadly, it is not.”
The letter is from the medical school, warning Emmett that if his grades do not improve, he will be expelled. The only surprise there is the name at the bottom.
“It’s from Sir Alastair,” I say.
“Yes, it seems he was Emmett’s advisor. That is why the tone is casual, encouraging even.”
I would never have called the tone casual, but I’m coming to understand that is a very different thing in this world, where even letters between friends can sound far more formal than I’d jot off to my modern friends.
On second reading, I see Gray’s point. A letter from the college itself would be cold and impersonal. This one is a warning from his advisor that he needs to improve his grades or risk expulsion. The “encouragement” is a stiff line that says Sir Alastair knows Emmett can do better and that he expects better of him. Not exactly warm and fuzzy, but in the Victorian world, I can see where it would be considered supportive. There’s even a line at the bottom with Sir Alastair’s office hours, which I presume is meant to suggest he’s there to help Emmett.
