Edward Kane and The Vinegar Valentine: Chapter 5

Madge MacAloon – wanted by the police and holed up in the South Bridge Vaults – was in tears. But these were tears of laugher. Mr Horse saw one of her golden teeth listening in the gloom: “Oh, Horse, Horse – you always did make me laugh, my love...”

Edward Kane and The Vinegar Valentine. Illustration: Lesley-Anne Barnes Macfarlane

Horse had broached the subject-matter carefully. Not only because it concerned the delicate question of who had sent him the Vinegar Valentine declaring his soon-to-be paternity, but also because Madge’s associates – standing in a circle around them – were likely to be carrying concealed razors, knives and guns. Sudden moves were not advisable.

MacAloon wiped her eyes with the back of her cuffs and handed back the card. Horse looked up: “So, it wasn’t you then, Madge?” The lady outlaw grinned: “Does it look like me?” She sat back in her chair and pointed at the card: “If that ever happened to me, Horse, it’s not a card you’d get. It’s a knife at your throat.”

Horse stared at the card again and sighed. MacAloon leaned forward in her chair and nodded towards the card: “So - have you had the second card yet, Horsey?”

“The second card?”

The lady reached over and stroked Horse’s cheek with her finger: “Oh, my Horse. I’ve missed you so much. You were always so...so...what is the word I’m looking for?” ‘Gullible’...”

*****

Mackintosh of the Detective could not hide the look of surprise on his face: “I’m very sorry to disturb you Mrs Walker. You were obviously...obviously engaged in an important activity...”

Mrs Fanny Eudora Walker, entirely unabashed despite being dressed as a matron of Ancient Rome, sat in her lavish drawing room in Drummond Place. She handed the teacup and saucer to Mackintosh of the Detective: “Not at all, Mackintosh...”

The lady sat back in her chair and sipped her tea: “I’m sorry, but you have just missed my husband, sir. However, he will not be too long. We have agreed that he will try to spend more time at home from now on – given the recent events...”

Silence. Then: “You are wondering why I am dressed like this, Mackintosh?”

“I didn’t like to say, madam.”

When Mackintosh had entered the drawing room, he had been encountered by the sight of the good Mrs Walker dressed in the garb of an ancient Roman matron. In a costume that was now, perhaps, somewhat too small...

Mrs Walker beamed: “I like to surprise my husband, Mackintosh, by dressing in my old costumes. Here you see me as Calpurnia, Caesar’s wife. And you will note, the costume still fits me perfectly.”

Mackintosh thought to himself, Perhaps twenty years ago – but he said nothing.

The lady leaned forward in her chair: “As a married man yourself, you understand the importance of keeping passion alive...”

Mackintosh was at the stage of his marriage where he was more concerned with the importance of a good night’s sleep. But smiled and nodded anyway: “I just called in, Mrs Walker, to confirm something. You informed me that Mr Richard Burr, your erstwhile suitor, had arrived back in Edinburgh last month and was now living at an address in Hanover Street.”

The lady sipped her tea: “That was my understanding.”

The detective frowned: “The thing is, madam, I have called in at that address and they know nothing of him.”

Mrs Fanny Eudora Walker put her hand to her breast: “Goodness!”

*****

“Mr Horse, is that you?”

Horse came into the sitting room, somewhat the worse for wear: “Yes. Just me, sir.”

Kane got up from his chair, holding an envelope in his hand: “I’m terribly sorry to tell you this, my friend...”

Horse was taking off his coat and scarf: “Let me guess sir...another card.”

“How did you know?”

Horse pointed over at the card: “Open it, Mr Kane.”

“But it is addressed to you, Mr Horse.”

“Just open it, sir.”

Kane opened the envelope. It was another offensive card. This time, the message read:

“It’s time to shout

‘Hip-Hip Hooray’

You’ve put me in

The Family Way”

Horse held up his hand: “You don’t have to tell me what’s in it, sir. It will say something like ‘For a mere twenty pounds, this problem will disappear’.”

The young Advocate raised his eyebrows: “How on earth could you know that, Horse?”

Horse smiled: and shook his head “Let’s just say that I’ve just been consulting with an expert in the trade, Mr K.”

*****

Ting-a-ling! The bell above the door of printers, Simpson and Son in Thistle Street tinkled to announce the entrance of the weary figure of Mackintosh of the Detective. This was the eighth such establishment of the day, and the last before the detective intended to head for home.

A young man, seventeen or so, came to the front desk, wiping the printers’ ink from his stained hands with an oily cloth. “How can I help you, sir?”

Macintosh took off his hat and went into his (by now, well-practised) speech: “I’m looking to purchase a Valentine’s card.”

The printer nodded: “I’ll just get the tray, sir. You’ll see that we have quite a selection in the window.” He took down a tray full of ready-made Valentines. Mackintosh studied these for a moment. No printing defect. This was not the printing press that had created the problematic cards. The detective pretended to look shifty: “If it’s no trouble, my lad, I would like one made...made ‘specially’ - if you take my meaning...not so much the ‘slushy’ type, son. Something with a bit more...”

The young printer smirked: “‘Vinegar’, sir?”

Mackintosh nodded.

The printer, Young Simpson, winked: “Not a problem, sir.” He patted his pocket: “But it will cost you...”

“That will not be a problem. Perhaps you have some samples that I could look at?”

The lad nodded. He reached under the counter and produced a tray covered by a cloth. He placed the tray on the counter and tugged off the cloth to reveal around forty Vinegar Valentines.

The young fellow laughed: “Don’t tell my father, sir – he doesn’t approve. But you have to move with the times, I tell him. Now, these are the more bespoke ones.”

Mackintosh picked one up and noticed immediately: spots and smudges in the top left-hand corner. This was the printer who had made the offending cards. This conversation was about to become extremely difficult.