Nor Will He Sleep
Authors: David Ashton
Born and educated in Greenock, David Ashton trained to be an actor at the Central Drama School in London. He started writing plays in 1984, winning the Radio Times Drama Award
for
The Old Ladies at the Zoo
the following year. His work has been broadcast throughout Europe and he continues to write for BBC Radio 4; his McLevy series is now in its tenth season. He
has also written extensively for television, film and theatre.
He began writing the McLevy novels in 2006 with
Shadow of the Serpent
, followed by
Fall from Grace
(2007) and
Trick of the Light
(2009). He lives in
London. www.david-ashton.co.uk
PRAISE FOR DAVID ASHTON
‘McLevy is a sort of Victorian Morse with a heart’
Financial Times
‘McLevy is one of the great psychological creations, and Ashton is the direct heir to Robert Louis Stevenson’ Brain Cox, star of the BBC Radio 4 McLevy plays
‘You can easily imagine the bustling life of a major port, and the stories are alive with a most amazing array of characters’ BBC Radio 4
‘David Ashton, like Robert Louis Stevenson or Ian Rankin, is inspired by the beauty-and-beast nature of Edinburgh. His interpretation of James McLevy is worthy of the
original man’ Sherlock Holmes Society
‘Ashton’s McLevy ... is a man obsessed with meting out justice, and with demons of his own’
The Scotsman
‘An intriguing Victorian detective story ... elegant and convincing’
The Times
on
Shadow of the Serpent
‘Dripping with melodrama and derring-do’
The Herald
on
Fall from Grace
This eBook edition first published in Great Britain in 2013 by
Polygon, an imprint of Birlinn Ltd
West Newington House
10 Newington Road
Edinburgh
EH9 1QS
www.polygonbooks.co.uk
eBook ISBN: 978-0-85790-577-2
ISBN: 978-1-84967-251-5
Copyright © David Ashton 2013
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form, or by any means electronic, mechanical or photocopying, recording or
otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher.
The moral rights of David Ashton to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available on request from the British Library
To Graham and Michael – fellow travellers
Chapter 1
If you want to be a wolf, you must howl.
Rousseau to James Boswell
A deathly hush had fallen on Leith Harbour as a horde of white faces stared up into the dripping sombre sky. The drops had smeared and caused the chalked make-up of the young
men to run, giving them the appearance of distorted circus clowns, the dark rings round their eyes sliding like black tears as they held a collective breath.
The object of their scrutiny was a slender cane projecting like a stray moonbeam towards the top of a stately ship’s mast. In fact an official vessel of Her Majesty’s Revenue
Service, but for this moment trembling on the edge of being the recipient of an equally stately corset that dangled from the tip of the cane.
The underwear swayed as if shying away from the jutting masculine naval staff and then coyly wreathed itself in fond embrace to surrender her charms, helped by an impatient prod from the
conductor’s baton.
But would she stay the course?
The stick removed itself, the wind fluttered straps and buckles but the corset held steadfast, gleaming pale as streaks of water ran down old satin in the dark night.
‘She has found her hero!’
A disembodied voice rang out in the damp air, and the crowd below burst into wild cheers to hail the slight figure who shinned nimbly down the mast, mission accomplished.
As the shape landed awkwardly on the deck and hopped to the harbour flagstones, it was now obvious that the cane was no affectation – one leg lagged crablike behind the other – but
despite this, the young man executed an agile caper as he accepted the adulation.
His name was Daniel Drummond, also white-faced but with jet-black hair, long and swept-back, that framed the alabaster visage in a dramatic casing.
A medical student with exams successfully passed, Daniel was soon to be qualified like the rest of his fellows; and also qualified as leader of the White Devils, who at this moment vied with the
Scarlet Runners, deadly rivals in derring-do and anarchic acts aimed at creating havoc in the public domain.
Three days of mayhem were the city’s reward for the begetting and nurturing of these young bloods who would, in time, become respectable and frown upon the antics in which they now
revelled.
A solid chunky figure led the congratulatory throng, Alan Grant. Drummond’s best friend, he played, with some relief, Sancho Panza to the other’s Quixote.
‘Corsets on the topmast – a beautiful sight!’ Daniel announced with gusto amidst much cheerful bedlam as the two friends embraced.
‘I hope your mother doesn’t miss them,’ was the more deliberated response.
‘She has such fripperies in abundance!’
Alan shook his head as he gazed up whence his comrade had newly descended.
‘You are truly mad, Daniel. On such a night to climb so high.’
‘Too cautious, my friend. How are we to win else?’
A refrain of agreement from the rest of the students milling around them brought a smile to Alan’s face.
In truth both young men were to some extent acting a part, as were most gathered here, but whereas Alan possessed a ballast of sorts, the prudent inheritance from generations of a
cooperage-owning family, Daniel had a reckless streak. His eyes glittered like the silvery cane he twirled in triumph.
Alan nodded judiciously.
‘The Scarlets will be hard pressed to match such an exploit,’ he admitted.
‘And the White Devils will triumph – ’
A hail of wet dungy clods, sky-propelled but now earth-bound, contradicted this bold assertion as they landed with smelly spattering impact on the gathering.
This was accompanied by a chorus of catcalls from a crowd of equally garishly attired young men who had emerged from one of the taverns, their tribal marking a livid scarlet, which covered the
face and glowed diabolically in the dark like a satanic challenge.
A howl went up from the white ranks and as the scarlet horde whooped their jubilant way towards the narrow wynds that spread off the harbour, the corset-worshippers set forth in hot pursuit.
Daniel paused once more to admire his handiwork atop the mast and Alan loyally kept company. The crippled leg would not allow his friend to keep up with the whirling limbs of their companions
and these two would perforce follow at a more measured pace.
If there was any acknowledgement of his disability, it certainly did not show in the eyes of the slender figure as he bowed solemnly to Alan and they prepared to go where the noise of the fracas
would lead them.
Then a cracked voice from the shadows stopped them in their tracks.
‘
I saw ye.
’
A momentary fear showed in Daniel’s eyes, as if some deep unrest had been provoked by a force of conscience but then some movement from the darkness revealed an old woman who stepped
forward, clutching her large handbag like a shield.
A thin face, cheekbones sucked tight in rectitude, the small figure quivered with indignation as she confronted the two miscreants.
This was Agnes Carnegie, as the youths would find out at a later juncture, much to their regret.
‘I saw ye,’ she repeated. ‘Profane a woman’s undergarments, ye sinful godless creatures.’
Daniel threw out a riposte, though Alan was already trying to edge them away from further entanglement.
‘I merely moved them to another location,’ he replied.
‘Ye have no shame!’
As Agnes spat out this verdict, some virtuous saliva joined forces with the rain falling alike on the blameless and culpable.
Nature has no favourites.
While Alan tugged at his elbow, Daniel peered with some humour into the accusing mouth.
‘No shame indeed, but yet I have my own teeth.’
The tiny form shook angrily.
‘A godless sinner!’
‘He does lack a certain pious inclination, madam. You are correct in that observation,’ said Alan earnestly, though a gleam in his eye betokened an inherent comicality to the
situation.
Agnes’s hat was saturated and had folded itself around the small pointed pate like a dismal pancake. She wrenched her head right and left to scatter the seeping raindrops, and moved
forward to remonstrate further.
‘Decent folk cannot walk the streets these nights without a student rabble making their life a misery.’
‘I would imagine yours to be a misery in any case, madam,’ Daniel responded ungallantly. Then, with aplomb, he limped forward and offered with outstretched hand what he thought to be
a placatory gift.
It was a crudely formed rosette of white – the emblem of his faction, and indeed one of the same rested cosily in the bosom of the billowing corset above.
‘You may have one of our favours, madam. White. For purity of purpose.’
She snatched the rosette and with a vicious tweak of her clawed fingers, tore the fragile fabric in two.
Christians have never hesitated to proclaim their virtue by indiscriminate cruelty and Agnes held true to her belief; indeed the action released a further vein of moral invective sown in the Old
Testament and reaped by Calvinism.
‘Ye dare insult your elders,’ she observed with tight-lipped relish. ‘Look at you. A deformed soul. See God’s punishment for your wickedness.’
Daniel’s face flushed and his hand gripped tight to the cane. ‘Go to hell,’ he muttered and allowed himself to be moved away by Alan’s restraining hand.
But Agnes had more to convey, clutching at the light grey sleeve of Daniel’s suit, a colour he wore to distinguish himself from the common herd.
‘You will wait till I have ended!’ she shrieked.
‘Take your hands from me – ’
‘You will wait my pleasure – ’
Alan had by now walked some paces on, thinking to be followed, but now looked back to see the struggling pair.
‘Daniel, come on with you,’ he called somewhat desperately. What had been an amusing entanglement now appeared to have a vicious aspect.