The Hunt (A Case for Frey & McGray) Read Online Free
Author: Oscar de Muriel
straw, leaves and rubbish. The house had evidently not been inhabited in months.
There was an improvised fire, its weak flames keeping the temperature barely tolerable, and the only furnishings were a cracked table and two chairs. Seated on one of them, and visibly uncomfortable, was Lady Anne Ardglass.
Clouston’s first impression was that of a fairy-tale crone. Thin, tall and imposing, Lady Anne was in her late sixties, but she looked much older; the fire cast sharp shadows on her wrinkled face, accentuating her deep frown and tense lips.
She’d tried to make herself look common by wearing a simple black dress and a cheap taffeta hat, but the effect was rather theatrical. She could never hide her poise: her back proudly straight, her chin raised high, her long hands, protected by lace mittens, demurely folded on her lap. And the hat did not completely conceal her silver hair, arranged in the most intricate of braids.
‘Have a seat, Doctor,’ she offered in a clear, commanding voice.
As he sat Clouston perceived an odd mixture of lemon verbena and brandy in the air. He – like everyone in Edinburgh – knew that Anne Ardglass was nicknamed Lady Glass, and looking closely he noticed the dark, veiny rings under her eyes which spoke of a lifetime of heavy drinking. She probably tried to conceal the scent of alcohol with herbal sachets and perfume on her clothes.
‘As you can see, I have brought all the paperwork,’ she said, pointing at a stack of documents on the table. ‘All we need is your signature.’
Clouston perused the papers. He’d warned Lady Anne that he would not help unless she followed the law. According to the Scottish Lunacy Acts, no one could be declared insane unless two independent doctors examined the patient and agreed on the diagnosis. It appeared that Lady Anne had obtained a certificate from some unknown psychiatrist in Newcastle. The quality of the report revealed the incompetence of said doctor, and under other circumstances Clouston would have firmly refuted its validity; nevertheless, the insanity of Lord Joel Ardglass was far from debatable. Lady Anne’s only son had attempted suicide on a number of occasions, and it had been weeks since his last coherent speech – not to mention that ghastly violent episode.
‘Doctor,’ said Lady Anne, ‘before you take my son, there is something I need to ask you.’
Clouston wanted to slam a fist on the table and shout that he had not even started the first favour yet, but he opted to take a deep breath instead.
‘What is it, ma’am?’
Lady Anne looked at her servant, and he produced a crumpled envelope from his breast pocket. Lady Anne pulled out a single sheet, which she unfolded on the table. ‘Will you please sign this as well?’
As she spoke her servant brought ink and pen.
Clouston had only read the first few lines before he snapped, ‘Lady Anne, are you seriously asking me to sign this?’
‘Indeed. You made me look at the law and I did so thoroughly. There is no act to keep doctors from telling everyone about their patients’ affairs. There was only one case my solicitors found: some London physician divulged how one of his patients aborted an illegitimate child. The trollop’s husband heard about it and divorced her. She then successfully sued the doctor. The court deemed his statements to be “libel and defamation” – despite it all being true.’
‘And by signing this I admit that if I ever speak out on this matter I’ll be defaming you,’ Clouston read.
‘That is correct. The very words used in that precedent case. That would save us much time in court if this were ever made public. To the world, my son died this afternoon on his way to Belgium.’
Clouston snorted. ‘I thought you had a higher opinion of me and my professional practices.’
‘And I do, Doctor, but I need to make sure that the name of my family is not tarnished. I am sure you will understand.’
Clouston kneaded his temples.
‘You
There was an improvised fire, its weak flames keeping the temperature barely tolerable, and the only furnishings were a cracked table and two chairs. Seated on one of them, and visibly uncomfortable, was Lady Anne Ardglass.
Clouston’s first impression was that of a fairy-tale crone. Thin, tall and imposing, Lady Anne was in her late sixties, but she looked much older; the fire cast sharp shadows on her wrinkled face, accentuating her deep frown and tense lips.
She’d tried to make herself look common by wearing a simple black dress and a cheap taffeta hat, but the effect was rather theatrical. She could never hide her poise: her back proudly straight, her chin raised high, her long hands, protected by lace mittens, demurely folded on her lap. And the hat did not completely conceal her silver hair, arranged in the most intricate of braids.
‘Have a seat, Doctor,’ she offered in a clear, commanding voice.
As he sat Clouston perceived an odd mixture of lemon verbena and brandy in the air. He – like everyone in Edinburgh – knew that Anne Ardglass was nicknamed Lady Glass, and looking closely he noticed the dark, veiny rings under her eyes which spoke of a lifetime of heavy drinking. She probably tried to conceal the scent of alcohol with herbal sachets and perfume on her clothes.
‘As you can see, I have brought all the paperwork,’ she said, pointing at a stack of documents on the table. ‘All we need is your signature.’
Clouston perused the papers. He’d warned Lady Anne that he would not help unless she followed the law. According to the Scottish Lunacy Acts, no one could be declared insane unless two independent doctors examined the patient and agreed on the diagnosis. It appeared that Lady Anne had obtained a certificate from some unknown psychiatrist in Newcastle. The quality of the report revealed the incompetence of said doctor, and under other circumstances Clouston would have firmly refuted its validity; nevertheless, the insanity of Lord Joel Ardglass was far from debatable. Lady Anne’s only son had attempted suicide on a number of occasions, and it had been weeks since his last coherent speech – not to mention that ghastly violent episode.
‘Doctor,’ said Lady Anne, ‘before you take my son, there is something I need to ask you.’
Clouston wanted to slam a fist on the table and shout that he had not even started the first favour yet, but he opted to take a deep breath instead.
‘What is it, ma’am?’
Lady Anne looked at her servant, and he produced a crumpled envelope from his breast pocket. Lady Anne pulled out a single sheet, which she unfolded on the table. ‘Will you please sign this as well?’
As she spoke her servant brought ink and pen.
Clouston had only read the first few lines before he snapped, ‘Lady Anne, are you seriously asking me to sign this?’
‘Indeed. You made me look at the law and I did so thoroughly. There is no act to keep doctors from telling everyone about their patients’ affairs. There was only one case my solicitors found: some London physician divulged how one of his patients aborted an illegitimate child. The trollop’s husband heard about it and divorced her. She then successfully sued the doctor. The court deemed his statements to be “libel and defamation” – despite it all being true.’
‘And by signing this I admit that if I ever speak out on this matter I’ll be defaming you,’ Clouston read.
‘That is correct. The very words used in that precedent case. That would save us much time in court if this were ever made public. To the world, my son died this afternoon on his way to Belgium.’
Clouston snorted. ‘I thought you had a higher opinion of me and my professional practices.’
‘And I do, Doctor, but I need to make sure that the name of my family is not tarnished. I am sure you will understand.’
Clouston kneaded his temples.
‘You
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