with well-tended flowerbeds and immaculate lawns bordered by respectfully disciplined shrubs. Splendid trees provided shady corners, many already ancient in the woodland that predated the mansion’s building; they had watched as their less fortunate neighbours were cut down to make way for landscaped gardens. Those favoured enough to remain had regained their composure and even a certain dignity of age, their leafy tops moving gently in the breeze, theirbranches home to sweet-singing thrushes and a variety of chirruping garden birds.
The shadows of two uniformed policemen crossing the lawn viewed from the windows also cast shadows over the occupants of this pleasant suburban tower, raising doubts and a certain amount of dread, since everyone under the handsome roof with its turrets and crow-stepped gables had reason for disquiet at the approach of these guardians of the law.
In his study, Archie Lumbleigh sat at his wide mahogany desk, where the sight of helmeted policemen aroused unpleasant memories of a long-past interview with their Glasgow equivalents and a very unsavoury court case to be settled before he sought refuge and a new life in Edinburgh.
An unfortunate and murky interlude in his career, his business partner had shot himself after making it public that Lumbleigh had robbed him, leaving him and his family penniless. He had lost everything, including his shares in the company, through Archie, a notorious gambler, cheating at a game of cards. His only son had had to quit university, where he had a promising future, and go to work on the canal in order to look after his widowed ailing mother, who died a year later – some said of a broken heart.
Archie meanwhile soared into a fortune. A few successful shrewd and lucky ventures and his future was made. The tragic fact that his partner’s money brought him these ill-gotten riches, he firmly put out of his mind. But that now distant court case, the police enquiries, and even the rumour that his partner’s death was not a straightforward suicide, that Archie had been present and even helped tosupport the gun at his head, occasionally revived memories that brought him out in a cold sweat at the sight of two grim-faced policemen walking purposefully towards him.
He had another reason for disquiet. The business of his first wife, his stepson Paul’s mother, Alice, refused to lie quietly buried in the past. She had been a widow and he had treated her badly, marrying her for her money which was considerable. Since she already had a son, he hoped she would provide him with heirs. But it was not to be.
The years passed and as there were to be no children, disappointment led to bitterness and blame. He despised this plain woman and sought pleasure in high-class brothels the length and breadth of Edinburgh. Mavis Rayne, the madam in York Square, had become a particular friend over the years, almost a confidante.
Alice had known about Mavis and, loving him more than he deserved, was so unhappy that she tried to take her own life, providing her faithless, heartless husband with just such an opportunity he had never dreamt would come his way: to get rid of a wife he no longer wanted. What a piece of luck, especially as wealth had bought him a young and beautiful mistress he was eager to install in his handsome home as the second Mrs Lumbleigh. He presumed that his efforts to conceal Mavis’s existence – not out of any shame but to avoid possible disruptions in the smooth running of his personal life – had succeeded.
Attempted suicide was a crime that played into Archie’s greedy hands. He had doctors called, Alice certified as insane and she was locked away in a private asylum. Mercifully, on all accounts, she did not long survive and he had done his best to raise her son Paul as his own. Butthe lad showed no gratitude for his fine education, and now grown up he solidly blamed Archie for his beloved mother’s death. Sometimes looking across the length of the
The shadows of two uniformed policemen crossing the lawn viewed from the windows also cast shadows over the occupants of this pleasant suburban tower, raising doubts and a certain amount of dread, since everyone under the handsome roof with its turrets and crow-stepped gables had reason for disquiet at the approach of these guardians of the law.
In his study, Archie Lumbleigh sat at his wide mahogany desk, where the sight of helmeted policemen aroused unpleasant memories of a long-past interview with their Glasgow equivalents and a very unsavoury court case to be settled before he sought refuge and a new life in Edinburgh.
An unfortunate and murky interlude in his career, his business partner had shot himself after making it public that Lumbleigh had robbed him, leaving him and his family penniless. He had lost everything, including his shares in the company, through Archie, a notorious gambler, cheating at a game of cards. His only son had had to quit university, where he had a promising future, and go to work on the canal in order to look after his widowed ailing mother, who died a year later – some said of a broken heart.
Archie meanwhile soared into a fortune. A few successful shrewd and lucky ventures and his future was made. The tragic fact that his partner’s money brought him these ill-gotten riches, he firmly put out of his mind. But that now distant court case, the police enquiries, and even the rumour that his partner’s death was not a straightforward suicide, that Archie had been present and even helped tosupport the gun at his head, occasionally revived memories that brought him out in a cold sweat at the sight of two grim-faced policemen walking purposefully towards him.
He had another reason for disquiet. The business of his first wife, his stepson Paul’s mother, Alice, refused to lie quietly buried in the past. She had been a widow and he had treated her badly, marrying her for her money which was considerable. Since she already had a son, he hoped she would provide him with heirs. But it was not to be.
The years passed and as there were to be no children, disappointment led to bitterness and blame. He despised this plain woman and sought pleasure in high-class brothels the length and breadth of Edinburgh. Mavis Rayne, the madam in York Square, had become a particular friend over the years, almost a confidante.
Alice had known about Mavis and, loving him more than he deserved, was so unhappy that she tried to take her own life, providing her faithless, heartless husband with just such an opportunity he had never dreamt would come his way: to get rid of a wife he no longer wanted. What a piece of luck, especially as wealth had bought him a young and beautiful mistress he was eager to install in his handsome home as the second Mrs Lumbleigh. He presumed that his efforts to conceal Mavis’s existence – not out of any shame but to avoid possible disruptions in the smooth running of his personal life – had succeeded.
Attempted suicide was a crime that played into Archie’s greedy hands. He had doctors called, Alice certified as insane and she was locked away in a private asylum. Mercifully, on all accounts, she did not long survive and he had done his best to raise her son Paul as his own. Butthe lad showed no gratitude for his fine education, and now grown up he solidly blamed Archie for his beloved mother’s death. Sometimes looking across the length of the
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