The Sins of the Wolf.

by Anne Perry.

To Kimberly Hovey for her help and friendship

.1.

HESTER LATTERLY SAT upright in the train, staring out of the window at the wide, rolling countryside of the Scottish Lowlands. upright in the train, staring out of the window at the wide, rolling countryside of the Scottish Lowlands.

The early October sun rose through a haze above the horizon. It was a little after eight in the morning, and the stubble fields were still wreathed in mist, the great trees seeming to float rootless above it, their leaves only beginning to turn bronze on odd branches here and there. The buildings she could see were of solid gray stone, looking as if they had sprung from the land in a way the softer colors of the south never did. There were no thatched roofs here, no plaster walls pargeted in patterns, but tall chimneys smoking, crowstepped gables outlined against the sky, and broad windows winking in the early light.

She had come home when her parents had died at the close of the Crimean War, nearly a year and a half before. She would like to have stayed in Scutari until the bitter end, but the family tragedy had required her presence. Since then she had attempted to put into effect some of the new nursing practices she had learned so painfully, and even more, to reform England's old-fashioned ideas of hospital hygiene in accordance with Miss Nightingale's theories. And for her pains, she had been dismissed as opinionated and disobedient. There really was no defense against either charge. She was guilty.

Her father had died in social and financial disgrace. There was no money for her, or for her brother Charles. He would have provided for her, of course, out of his own salary, and she could have lived with him and his wife as a dependent, but that thought was intolerable. Within a short s.p.a.ce of time she had found a position as a private nurse, and when the patient recovered, she had found another. Some were agreeable, others less so, but she had never been more than a week without some remunerative employment, and so she was her own mistress.

This summer she had taken another hospital appointment briefly, at the urgent request of her friend and frequent patron Lady Callandra Daviot, when the death of Nurse Barrymore had threatened Dr. Christian Beck with arrest and prosecution. When that matter had been finally resolved she had found another private post, but that too was at an end, and she was once again seeking a place.

She had found it in the form of an advertis.e.m.e.nt in a London newspaper. A prominent Edinburgh family was seeking a young woman of good birth, and some nursing background, to accompany Mrs. Mary Farraline, an elderly lady of delicate but not critical health, who wished to make the journey to London, and back again some six days later. One of Miss Nightingale's ladies would be preferred. All travel would naturally be paid for by the family, and there would be a generous remuneration for the duties required. Applications were to be sent to Mrs. Baird McIvor, at 17 Ainslie Place, Edinburgh.

Hester had never been to Edinburgh before-indeed, she had not been to Scotland at all-and the thought of four such train journeys at this time of the year seemed most agreeable. She wrote to Mrs. McIvor stating her experience and qualifications, and her willingness to accept the position.

She received a reply four days later, and enclosed with Mrs. McIvor's acceptance of her application was a second-cla.s.s train ticket for the night journey to Edinburgh on the following Tuesday, leaving London at 9:15 in the evening and arriving in Edinburgh at 8:35 the morning after. A carriage would meet her at Waverley Station and take her to the Farraline house, where she would spend the day becoming acquainted with her patient, and that evening she and Mrs. Farraline would board the train and return to London.

Hester had made some inquiries, out of interest, even though she would barely arrive in Edinburgh before she left it again, at least on the initial visit. Perhaps when she returned with Mrs. Farraline after her stay in London she would have the opportunity to remain a day or two. Her time would be her own, and she could see something of the city. She had been informed that in spite of being the capital of Scotland, it was a great deal smaller than London, a mere one hundred and seventy thousand compared with London's nearly three million. Nonetheless it was a city of great distinction, "the Athens of the North," renowned for its learning, most particularly in the fields of medicine and law.

The train rattled and lurched around a curve in the tracks, and when the air had cleared Hester could see in the distance the dark rooftops of the city, dominated by the crooked skyline of the castle perched on its ma.s.sive rock, and beyond them all, the pale gleam of the sea. In spite of all common sense, she felt a thrill of excitement ripple through her as though she were at the outset of some great adventure, not a single day in a strange house before a very ordinary professional task.

The journey had been long and uncomfortable, there being no privacy in a second-cla.s.s carriage, and very little room. She had naturally sat upright all night, so she was stiff, and had only the occasional s.n.a.t.c.hes of sleep. She stood up and straightened her clothes, then, as discreetly as possible, redid her hair.

The train finally drew into the station amid gushing steam, clanking wheels, shouting voices and slamming doors. She seized her single piece of luggage, a soft-sided valise large enough for only a change of underclothing and her toiletries, and made her way to alight onto the platform.

The cold air struck her sharply, making her draw in her breath. Everywhere there was noise and bustle, people shouting for porters, newsboys calling out, the clatter of trollies and wagons. Cinders shot out of the funnel and a grimy stoker whistled cheerfully. Steam belched and billowed across the platform and a man swore as s.m.u.ts descended on his clean shirt collar.

Hester felt wildly exhilarated, and she strode along the platform towards the stairs and the exit with most unladylike haste. A large woman in a stiff black dress and poke bonnet looked at her with disapproval and remarked ringingly to the man next to her that she did not know what young people were coming to these days. No one had any sense of what was proper anymore. Manners were quite shocking, and everyone was a deal too free with their opinions, whether they had any right to them or not. As for young women, they had every kind of unsuitable idea in their heads that one might imagine.

"Aye, m'dear," the man said absently, continuing to look for a porter to carry their very considerable baggage. "Aye, I'm sure you're right," he added as she appeared to be about to continue.

"Really, Alexander, I sometimes think you are not listening to me at all," the woman said testily.

"Oh, I am, m'dear, I am," he answered, turning his back on her and waving to a porter.

Hester smiled to herself and made her way up the steps to the exit, and after handing in her ticket, went out onto the street. It took her only a few moments to find the carriage which had come to meet her; the driver was the only one looking from person to person, but hesitating when he saw a young woman in a plain gray costume and carrying a single valise. Hester pa.s.sed her and addressed the man.

"Excuse me, are you from Mrs. McIvor?" she inquired.

"Aye, miss, I am that. Would you be Miss Latterly, just come up from London to be with the mistress?"

"Yes I am."

"Well then, you'll be ready to come and sit down to a decent breakfast, I daresay. I don't suppose they serve anything on those trains, but we can do better, and that's a fact. Here, I'll take your bag for you."

She was about to protest that it was not heavy, but he took it anyway, and crossing the pavement, handed her up into the carriage and closed the door. The journey was far too short; she would have liked to see more of the city. They proceeded simply off the bridge into Princes Street, down the greater part of its length past the fine fronts of shops and houses to the right, and to the left the green slope of the gardens, Scott's monument and the castle beyond and above. They turned right up towards the new town, and after the briefest pa.s.sage through Georgian streets, they were in Ainslie Place. Number seventeen was exactly like its neighbors to either side: four stories high with s.p.a.cious windows decreasing in size with each floor, and perfect symmetry to its facade, proportions that were full of grace and ease and the Regency's eye for simplicity.

She was driven around the back; after all, she was more of a servant than a guest. She alighted in the yard before the coachman returned the vehicle and horse to the stables, and presented herself at the door. It opened before she had time to pull the bell, and a bootboy regarded her with interest.

"I'm Hester Latterly, the nurse to accompany Mrs. Farraline on her journey," she introduced herself.

"Oh yes, miss. If ye'll come in, I'll tell Mr. McTeer." And without waiting for her answer, he led her through the kitchen to the pa.s.sageway, where he almost walked into a gaunt-faced butler with a funereal expression. The butler regarded Hester closely.

"So ye're the nurse that's come to take the mistress to London." He said it as if London were the burial ground. "Ye'd better come in. Mirren'll be bringing your case, no doubt. And I daresay ye'll be wanting a bite to eat before ye go and see Mrs. McIvor." He looked at her appraisingly. "And a wash and a chance to comb your hair."

"Thank you," she accepted self-consciously, feeling untidier than she had hitherto thought herself.

"Aye, well if ye like to go into the kitchen, the cook'll get ye breakfast, and someone'll come for ye when Mrs. McIvor's ready."

"Come on," the bootboy said cheerfully, turning on his heel to take her back. "What are them trains like, miss? I never been on one."

"You get about your business, Tommy," the butler ordered dourly. "Never mind about trains. Have you done Mr. Alastair's good boots yet?"

"Yes, Mr. McTeer, I done them all."

"Then I'll find something else for you...."

Hester was given an excellent meal at a corner of the large kitchen table, then shown to a small bedroom set aside for her use, next to the nursery, where her valise had been left. She washed her face and neck, and did her hair yet again.

She had no time to wait until she was sent for and conducted by the dismal McTeer through the green baize door into a large hall with a black-and-white flagged floor like a chessboard. The walls were paneled in wood and there were half a dozen trophies of animal heads mounted and hung, most of them red deer. However, the one thing that arrested her attention and held it was a life-size portrait of a man straight ahead of her. It dominated the room, not only with its coloring, which was remarkable, but with some quality of character in the features. His head was long and narrow with large, clear blue eyes, a long slender nose, pinched at the bridge, and a broad mouth whose lines were blurred and strangely uncertain. His fair hair swept across his brow in a splash of color so startling as to draw the eyes from all the surrounding darkness of oak and gilt and the gla.s.sy stare of the long-dead stags.

The butler led her across the hall and down a pa.s.sage past several doors until he came to one where he knocked briefly, then he opened it and stood back for her to pa.s.s.

"Miss Latterly, ma'am, the nurse from London."

"Thank you, McTeer. Please come in, Miss Latterly." The voice was soft, gently modulated, and only very slightly accented in the precise, very proper, rather flat Edinburgh society pitch.

The room was decorated largely in a cool mid-blue with a floral pattern of some indistinct sort upon the walls and in the carpet. The wide windows overlooked a small garden and the early light gave the room a chilly air, even though there was a fire burning in the grate. The single occupant was a slender woman in her late thirties and the moment Hester saw her she knew she must be related to the man whose portrait hung in the hall. She had the same long face, and nose and broad mouth, but in her there was no hint of indecision. Her lips were beautifully shaped, the blue eyes steady and direct. Her fair hair was dressed in the current severe fashion, but its warm color gave it a charm which would have been absent in a less glowing shade. And yet her face was not beautiful; there was a power in it which was too apparent and she took no pains to mask her intelligence.

"Please come in, Miss Latterly," she repeated. "I am Oonagh McIvor. I wrote to you on behalf of my mother, Mrs. Mary Farraline. I hope you had an agreeable journey from London?"

"Yes, thank you, Mrs. McIvor, it was quite pleasant, and that part of it which was in daylight was most enjoyable."

"I am delighted." Oonagh smiled with sudden warmth, transforming her face. "Train travel can be so weary and so terribly grubby. Now I am sure you would like to meet your patient. I must warn you, Miss Latterly, my mother appears to be in excellent health, but it is largely a charade. She tires more easily than she will admit, and her medicine is really quite vital for her well-being, indeed possibly for her life." She spoke the words quite calmly, but there was a sense of urgency in her conveying the importance of what she said. "It is not in the least difficult to administer," she continued. "A simple potion which is unpleasant to the taste, but a small confection after it will more than compensate." She looked up at Hester standing in front of her. "It is simply that my mother can forget to take it if she is feeling well, and by the time she is ill for its lack, it is too late to make up for the oversight without distress, and possible damage to her permanent well-being. I am sure you understand?" Even though she said she was sure, there was a question in her face.

"Of course," Hester said quickly. "A great many people prefer to do without medicine if they can, and misjudge their own capacity. It is easily understood."

"Excellent." Oonagh rose to her feet. She was as tall as Hester, slender without being in any way thin, and she moved with grace despite the awkwardness of wide skirts.

They crossed the hall, and Hester could not help glancing at the portrait again. The face haunted her, the ambiguities in it remained in her mind. She could not decide whether she liked it or not. Certainly she could not forget it.

Oonagh smiled and hesitated in her step.

"My father," she said, although Hester had known it must be. She heard the catch in Oonagh's voice and knew there was intense emotion behind it, carefully controlled, as she imagined such a woman would always be in front of strangers-and servants. "Hamish Farraline," Oonagh went on. "He died eight years ago. My husband has managed the firm since then."

Hester opened her mouth in surprise, then realized how inappropriate that was, and closed it.

But Oonagh had seen. She smiled and her chin lifted a fraction. "My brother Alastair is the Fiscal," she explained. "He does go to the firm as often as he is able to, but his duties keep him most of the time." She saw Hester's confusion. "The Procurator Fiscal." Her smile broadened, curling her lips. "Something like what you in England would call the Crown Prosecutor."

"Oh!" Hester was impressed in spite of herself. Her acquaintance with the law involved only Oliver Rathbone, the brilliant barrister she had met through Callandra and Monk, and about whom her feelings were so painfully mixed. But that was personal. Professionally she had for him only the profoundest admiration. "I see. You must be very proud of him."

"Yes indeed." Oonagh continued on her way to the stairs and hesitated till Hester was beside her, then began to climb them. "My younger sister's husband also works in the company. He is very skilled in all matters to do with printing. We were very fortunate that he chose to become one of us. It is always better when an old company like Farralines can remain within the family."

"What do you print?" Hester inquired.

"Books. All kinds of books."

At the top of the stairs Oonagh turned along the landing, carpeted in Turkish red, and stopped at one of the many doors. After a brief knock she opened it and entered. This was entirely different from the blue room downstairs. The colors were all warm yellows and bronzes, as if it were filled with sunlight, although in fact the sky beyond the flowered curtains was actually quite a threatening gray. There were small, gilt-framed landscape paintings on the walls, and a gold-fringed lamp, but Hester barely had time to notice them. Her attention was taken by the woman who sat facing them in one of the three large floral armchairs. She seemed tall, possibly even taller than Oonagh, and she sat with a stiff back and erect head. Her hair was almost white and her long face had an expression of intelligence and humor which was arresting. She was not especially handsome, and even in youth she could not have been a beauty-her nose was too long, her chin far too short-but her expression obliterated all such awareness.

"You must be Miss Latterly," she said with a firm, clear voice, and before Oonagh could effect any introduction. "I am Mary Farraline. Please come in and sit down. I understand you are to accompany me to London and make sure that I behave myself as my family would wish?"

A shadow crossed Oonagh's face. "Mother, we are only concerned for your welfare," she said quickly. "You do sometimes forget to take your medicine...."

"Nonsense!" Mary dismissed it. "I don't forget. I simply don't always need it." She smiled at Hester. "My family fusses," she explained with humor. "Unfortunately, when you begin to lose your physical strength, people tend to think you have lost your wits as well."

Oonagh looked over at Hester and her expression was patient and conspiratorial.

"I daresay I shall be quite unnecessary," Hester said with an answering smile. "But I hope I shall at least be able to make the journey a little easier for you, even if it is only to fetch and carry, and to see that you have all you wish."

Oonagh relaxed a little, her shoulders easing as though she had been standing unconsciously at attention.

"I hardly need a Florence Nightingale nurse for that." Mary shook her head. "But I daresay you will be a great deal better company than most. Oonagh says you were in the Crimea. Is that right?"

"Yes, Mrs. Farraline."

"Well sit down. There is no need to stand there like a maidservant." She pointed to the chair opposite her and continued talking while Hester obeyed. "So you went out to nurse with the army? Why?"

Hester was too taken aback to think of an immediate reply. It was a question she had not been asked since her elder brother Charles had first demanded of her why she wanted to do such a dangerous and totally unsuitable thing. That, of course, had been before Florence Nightingale's fame had made it almost respectable. Now, eighteen months into the peace, Florence Nightingale was second only to the Queen herself in the respect and admiration of the country.

"Come now," Mary said with amus.e.m.e.nt. "You must have had a reason. Young ladies do not pack their bags and abandon all their families and friends and depart for foreign lands, and disastrous ones at that, without a very pressing reason."

"Mother, it may have been something quite personal," Oonagh protested.

Hester laughed aloud. "Oh no!" she answered them both. "It was not a love affair, or being jilted. I wished to do something more useful than sit at home sewing and painting, neither of which I do well, and I had heard of the terrible conditions from my younger brother, who served in the army there. I-I suppose it suited my nature."

"That is what I imagined." Mary nodded very slightly. "There are not many ambitions for women. Most of us sit at home and keep the lamps burning, literally and metaphorically." She looked around at Oonagh. "Thank you, my dear. It was most thoughtful of you to have found a companion for me who has a sense of pa.s.sion and adventure, and has had the courage to follow it. I am sure I shall enjoy my trip to London."

"I hope so," Oonagh said quietly. "I have no doubt Miss Latterly will look after you very well and prove interesting company. Now I think I had better have Nora show her your medicine case and how the dose is prepared."

"If you really feel it is necessary...." Mary shrugged. "Thank you for coming, Miss Latterly. I look forward to seeing you at luncheon, and then at dinner of course, which will have to be early. I believe our train leaves at a quarter past nine, so we shall board it at least half an hour before that. We shall have to leave here at a quarter past eight. That usually is too early to dine in any comfort, but there is no help for it tonight."

They excused themselves, and Oonagh took Hester to Mrs. Farraline's dressing room and introduced her to the lady's maid Nora, a thin, dark woman with a grave manner.

"How do you do, miss," she said, regarding Hester politely, and apparently without the slightest envy or resentment.

Oonagh left them, and for the next half hour Nora showed Hester the medicine case, which was as simple as Mary had indicated, merely a matter of a dozen small gla.s.s vials filled with liquid, one for each night and morning until she should return again. The dose was already prepared; there was no measuring to be done. All that was necessary was to pour it into a gla.s.s already provided and see that Mrs. Farraline did not accidentally spill it, or far more seriously, that she did not forget that she had taken it and repeat the dose. That, as Oonagh had pointed out, could be extremely serious, possibly even fatal.

"You are to keep the key." Nora locked the case and pa.s.sed the key, tied to a small red ribbon, to Hester. "Please put it around your neck, then it cannot be lost."

"Of course." Hester obeyed, and slipped the key inside her bodice. "An excellent idea."

Hester was sitting sideways on the dressing room's single chair; Nora stood next to the wardrobes. Mary's cases were spread out where the maid had packed them. With the wealth of fabric in every single skirt, half a dozen dresses took up an enormous s.p.a.ce. A lady who expected to change at least three times a day-from morning dress to something suitable to go out for luncheon, and then to afternoon dress, tea gown and dinner gown-could hardly travel with less than at least three large cases, if not more. Petticoats, chemises, corsetry, stockings and shoes would require one alone.

"You won't need to tend to any clothes," Nora said with proprietary pride. "I'll take care of all of that. There's a list written out of everything, and there'll be someone at Miss Griselda's to unpack. All you might have to do is dress Mrs. Farraline's hair for her in the morning. Can you do that?"

"Yes, certainly."

"Good. Then that's all I can show you." A slight frown shadowed her face.

"Is there something else?" Hester asked.

"No, no, there's nothing." Nora shook her head. "I just wish she wasn't going. I don't hold wi' travel. There's no need. I know Miss Griselda's newly wed, and expecting her first child, and the poor soul worries something wretched, from all the letters she's been sending. But that's the way some folk are. She'll be all right, like as not; and either way, there's nothing the mistress can do."

"Is Miss Griselda delicate?"

"Lord no, just took it into her head to worry herself. She was all right till she married that Mr. Murdoch with his airs and graces." She bit her lip. "Oh, I shouldn't've said that. I'm sure he's a very nice man."

"Yes, I expect so," Hester said without belief.

Nora looked at her with a faint smile.

"I daresay you'd like a cup o' tea," she offered. "It's near eleven. There'll be something in the dining room, if you want."

"Thank you. I think I will."

The only person sitting at the long oak table was a small woman Hester judged to be in her twenties. She had very dark hair, thick and shining, and a dusky complexion full of the most attractive color, as if she had just come in from an invigorating walk. It was not in the least fashionable, not in London anyway, but Hester found it a pleasant change from the much admired pallor she was accustomed to. The woman's features were neat, and at first seemed merely pretty, but on closer examination there was an intelligence and a determination which was far more individual. And perhaps she was not twenty, but in her early thirties.

"Good morning," Hester said tentatively. "Mrs. Farraline?"

The woman looked up at her as if startled by her intrusion, then she smiled and her entire bearing changed.

"Yes. Who are you?" It was not a challenge but curiosity, as if Hester's appearance were miraculous, and a delightful surprise. "Please do sit down."

"Hester Latterly. I am the nurse to accompany Mrs. Mary Farraline to London."