The Night Calls (4 page)
Authors: David Pirie
At the door, Bell stopped and looked back.
‘Well at least nobody was badly hurt,’ I said.
‘That is part of what occupies me,’ said Bell, and I could sense the feeling in him. ‘In one way it was almost childish. Like a child testing his own power. I hope it is not his idea of a rehearsal.’
I lay in bed that night, thinking of the house we had seen. That word the Doctor had used, ‘rehearsal’, appeared curiously apt, for there was something about that shell of a building which almost seemed like a theatre without the performers. It was the first time I had ever ventured into such a place, and I was both repelled and intrigued.
I thought too of the student, Miss Scott, who I had met under such strange circumstances. Of all the strange things that had happened to me that day, our meeting had made the strongest impression. I could still visualise the sudden flash of her impish smile before Crawford interrupted us. I tried to recall exactly what had passed between us, all that she had said. And now, for the first time, I remembered that she had mentioned Latimer.
Professor Neil Latimer was a fierce-faced anatomy teacher who had made it a pledge of honour never to admit a single woman to his class. Indeed the lack of anatomy tuition was becoming one of the women’s greatest handicaps. The man would argue his case constantly in front of us, and I recalled one occasion in particular when he was brutally dissecting a frog. ‘Besides, gentlemen,’ he said, looking up at us from his dissection with an expression on his face that was positively obscene, ‘there are traps even you may not have thought of. What after all is to stop a Magdalene from the streets coming here to study?’
He smacked his lips as he said the word Magdalene, and we all knew what he meant, indeed some of the men guffawed at the thought of a prostitute in our midst. ‘Oh yes,’ he said, ‘there is a place for everything.’
It was, I suppose as I look back now, among the stupider observations I heard from any teacher in the whole of my career at university. Not only was it utterly fatuous to imagine a woman of the streets without any education entering the university to study medicine. But supposing even that impossibility happened, what exactly could she do to corrupt us? Beyond the open soliciting that we endured every day on the streets, the answer was nothing at all except in Latimer’s own fevered imagination. His words were nothing more than a lustful fantasy masquerading as an argument. My blood boiled to think of that now, and to recall that Crawford had been one of those who guffawed the loudest. And what did it say about our sex that on the one hand we could try to hound women out of learning the practice of healing and on the other use their services in houses like the one I had just seen?
That night such thoughts went round and round in my head but it would be entirely dishonest to pretend that, during this confused time, I always occupied the moral high ground. On the contrary, I was as torn as any eighteen-year-old about my true emotions with regard to these subjects, and no doubt my encounter with Miss Scott added to my confusion. For the honest truth was that, outside of my immediate family, I barely knew what I should expect of a woman when the examples around me were all so manifestly different.
On the one hand there was the Edinburgh landlady, who in this era was a notorious breed, grasping and viciously prudish almost to a point of madness. On the other, in the streets, we students were constantly being importuned by girls who seemed tender-hearted and were no older than ourselves. There was one woman in particular I had encountered regularly, on the corner where Samuel played his violin, who had a merry twinkle in her eye and a kindly mischievous manner.
I never really dared to talk to her, yet once this woman had come upon me unawares, and offered a sweet kiss, and the memory of that kiss lingered uneasily with me. I knew well enough it was only an attempt to part me from my money, but in her way she still seemed far less hard and grasping than the landladies I had encountered at my friends’ lodgings. Indeed, when Latimer had first spoken, I certainly felt a guilty fascination at the thought of a ‘Magdalene’ appearing in our class to tempt us to unspeakable acts of lust.
But, by the night I describe, I know I was at last becoming aware of a vague sense of right. Whatever my reservations about Bell (and these reservations had by no means disappeared), I could see quite well that he had a good deal more rationality than Latimer or Crawford, and also I needed little persuading to honour Miss Scott as a shining example of sense and fortitude.
As a result I longed to meet with her again, and looked for her the next day and the day after. But, after Crawford’s cruel prank, the women were much less in evidence at the university and there was no sign of her. Eventually, since there were already rumours on the subject, I told my friends of Miss Scott’s disguise and they were both amazed and impressed. Neill’s response was that, as gentlemen, we should now insist on offering the women a safe escort into the university, but his scheme gained little support and I felt a bitter disappointment when Macfarlane’s next pharmacology lecture came and went without any women attending at all.
I walked home after it, wondering gloomily if I would ever see her again. The weather seemed to fit my mood, for the city had suddenly thrown up one of those late frosts that make its streets a treacherous misery, even in early spring. It was, I reflected, inauspicious weather for that night’s medical society ball, an annual event I usually managed to avoid. But on this occasion Waller happened to have been given a ticket, though he never attended, and my mother insisted I make use of it. So a few hours later I found myself in the ballroom of the Waverley Hotel, which once stood at the end of Chambers Street, doing my best to dance an eightsome reel.
It might be thought that a medical society ball in Edinburgh at that time would be a smart formal event. In fact it was nothing of the kind. The hotel was a dingy place, lit by an inadequate series of gas lamps, which made for an eerie spectacle, sending flickering shadows of the dancers on to the floor beneath our feet. As an economy measure there was little in the way of food, but a plentiful supply of brandy punch had been provided in steaming bowls set to one side.
Partly because of the absence of food, and partly because of the cold, it was soon obvious as we staggered through our dances that too much punch had already been consumed, though more by the men than the women. My partner in the reel was the daughter of the hotel owner, and by the end her father came over with a grim countenance, looked me up and down (though I was perfectly sober, having had only one glass) and pulled her away, obviously concerned about the propriety of such partners and the reputation of his establishment.
I was rather irritated to be treated in this way and sauntered over to where Stark and Neill were pouring themselves liberal glasses of punch and laughing, for they had witnessed it.
Neill put a comforting arm round me. ‘You are not respectable enough in his eyes,’ he said. ‘Like the heroes of our favourite Poe stories, you are “plunged in excess”.’
‘And I may as well be,’ I said bitterly. ‘He judges without evidence.’
‘Well, I hope he has no cat for you to attack.’ He was referring to Poe’s strange tale, ‘The Black Cat’, one of the many stories by that author Neill and I constantly devoured.
‘Then, I have not seen one,’ I rejoined. ‘But if it appears I may well be tempted.’
All of a sudden we were interrupted by a commotion on the stairs to one side of the room. I could hear women’s voices raised, and the sound of running feet. Several men, including Stark, Neill and myself, ran up there, and women pointed along the corridor. Loud screams and sobs were coming from a room at the end.
Stark was first there and Neill and I ran behind him as he flung open the door. We were in a ladies’ powder room, which was brightly lit with a red carpet. Directly ahead of us a woman was on her knees. She was as white as a sheet and quivering with terror. Another woman was trying to hold her, but she was hysterical. A man, who turned out to be her brother, pushed past us and put his arm round her, trying to console her.
‘Kathy,’ he said. ‘It is all right, you are unharmed, but what has happened?’
She calmed down a little, but it was a while before we heard the full story, and it came out only haltingly after some brandy. The woman, whose name was Miss Katherine Morrison, had entered alone and there had been a man behind the door. The instant she closed it, he pulled her towards the window and covered her mouth. She was terrified enough, and then he produced a blade and said he might cut her throat.
What happened next she would not say, but her friend knew and she told Stark, Neill and me the story downstairs as Miss Morrison’s brother stayed with his sister to comfort her and await the police. At first this friend had been reluctant to go into details, but I told her we were medical students and she need not spare our feelings. And so, after drinking a glass of punch, she told us the facts. Evidently the man had said he would cut some of her hair now, and one day might return to cut more of her. That was horrible enough, but he also made it clear that the hair he wanted was not on her head. Miss Morrison had had to keep still as his knife went within an inch of her belly. Hearing this, we naturally assumed the worst but it turned out the man had not lied. Using the knife, he had snipped a bit of pubic hair and done nothing else. It was odd but even so, as we all knew, it amounted to an indecent assault of the most disgusting kind.
Already, as word spread of what had happened, much of it grossly exaggerated, the place was in an uproar. All thought of dancing had been abandoned and a search of the upper rooms had begun, though it was obviously useless, not merely because the man had almost certainly fled but because most of the searchers were demonstrably the worse for drink.
I was trying to get a description of the man, but she had not seen him properly. All that could be ascertained was that he was lean and dressed in black. At a formal ball this amounted to nothing at all and soon, to my disgust, such frenzied portraits were circulating among the pursuers that I could see he would shortly be accorded fangs, gigantic stature and a forked tail. In any case so much noise was being made, so much bellowing and bravado, that we might as well have hunted him with a herd of elephants in front of us.
Neill and I gave up in disgust and decided to look downstairs rather than up. The ballroom was empty now, and we moved into the kitchen area, which contained a multitude of corridors, sculleries and storage rooms.
The first space was filled with pots and pans and a basin. I entered it and glanced around, but it seemed to be empty and I moved back into the corridor as Neill turned to the next door along. I was just behind him as he opened it.
The figure on the other side was huge and covered in blood and gave a great cry as he came out at us like a bull. The sheer impact almost knocked Neill to the ground and forced me to grab out at my friend as the assailant darted off down the corridor.
I made sure Neill was only winded and then raced after the man. He was already pushing his way into a kitchen, knocking a great pile of plates down as he went. I reached the door, managing to dodge the broken crockery. It was obvious the figure was aiming for the open kitchen window. Once out in the street, there would be little hope of catching him so I tried to dive for his legs.
It was a feeble attempt, for he only kicked out at my head, sending me flying backwards into the hard wood of a cupboard door.
I was dazed and took a little while to get to my feet, feeling very foolish, for by now he was through the window, and would have easily escaped into the darkness.
I reached the sill, which was covered in ice, and saw that it gave on to a narrow dark wynd. There seemed little point in pursuit now but I started to clamber out. And then I stopped in astonishment. For sprawled on the paving stones below me was a large black shape, streaked in red. I stared, but there could be no doubt. It was my assailant.
Naturally I waited, fearing some kind of trick. But he seemed to be still, so I eased myself out and jumped, every muscle poised for his attack.
None came. He was lying there, just as I had seen, in the bitter cold, and he was quite unconscious.
Neill was soon beside me, and after a few minutes the police were on the scene too. Our fugitive was dead to the world, and the stench of brandy convinced me I had been a witness to the wildest stage of drunkenness, inevitably followed as it was now by oblivion. Quickly we ascertained that the man was a waiter in the hotel and that the blood on him was not his own. A chambermaid had been stabbed, though fortunately her wound was minor. Being the hero of the hour, I took the opportunity to ask one of the policemen if he would summon Dr Bell and, although the man was a little reluctant, he agreed.
About an hour later I was waiting expectantly when the Doctor strode into the ballroom, dressed so scrupulously in his immaculate topcoat with silver-cane and bag, that you would never have thought he had been dragged rudely out of his bed. But if I expected any kind of thanks from him, I had quite forgotten his ways. He merely nodded in my direction and then went upstairs to talk to the victim of the first assault.
This surprised me a little, for she was after all the least afflicted, but I knew better by now than to question his style. In any case there were more pressing matters, for the police had proved utterly incapable of finding the knife that had been used in both attacks. The first victim described this weapon in some detail: a long-handled, double-edged blade of a kind that sounded almost surgical. The second merely saw it glint in the darkness and felt its sharpness cold as it entered her shoulder. But her attacker was so drunk that she was able to force it from his hand and even heard it drop while he fled. It therefore seemed certain that the blade must be in the room where she was stabbed, but the police had combed the place and found absolutely no sign of it.
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