The Case of the Emigrant Niece: Major Gask Mysteries, #1

By David Cairns Of Finavon

2023 Readers Choice Book Awards  Finalist

 

The case of the emigrant niece is a captivating historical fiction novel by David Cairns, set in the 1800s and spanning Australia, London, Glasgow, Edinburgh, and the Scottish Highlands. Written in the first – person point of view, from the perspective of Major Findo Gask, the book follows his journey as he builds a new life for himself in Melbourne and partners with his friend, Errol Rait, in a fraud investigation.

The novel is a work of fiction, inspired by real people, places and events. Extensively researched, and historically accurate, this book will appeal to readers who enjoy historical fiction.

The novel has a definite Sherlock Holmes vibe, and I thoroughly enjoyed the mystery, suspense and intrigue.

Summary: Sherlock Holmes-esque mystery, with two memorable and eccentric criminal investigators.  5 Stars.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Cairns Of Finavon
• Release date: Jan 6, 2024
• ISBN: 9780645340600

Book preview

1

Escape

Meerut, India - 11th May, 1857

Ilay still as death itself. Hugging the ground, cowering in the dry bed of a shallow nullah ¹, hardly daring to breathe in case I gave myself away.

My leg throbbed; I must have fractured it when I’d jumped from the cantonment wall the night before after my commanding officer had ordered me to sneak out of the garrison and break through the sepoy troops to raise the alarm and bring back reinforcements.

God knows if the garrison was still resisting or not; I couldn’t hear any shooting in the distance so either they had been overrun or the siege had entered a stalemate. All I did know as I kept my head down was that my leg was a constant throbbing pain and the enemy was searching for me. Around me I could hear the muffled footsteps of sepoys scouring the ground and the occasional shouted command or comment near and far in a language that I didn’t understand.

At times, I would shudder in the cool of the night and almost choke, stifling a groan of agony as the stabbing pain jarred my body. Then I would resolve to stay still again until an involuntary twitch shot the next vicious bolt of pain up my leg.

It took extreme willpower to stay quiet but I knew that if I were to be discovered they would kill me - perhaps a bullet or a bayonet thrust or the slash of a khanda, the traditional double-edged sword that the rebels would be carrying, or maybe worse.

I even had some distant empathy with them. They had reason to vent their anger on a British soldier in return for the treatment that they and their comrades had received at the hands of the British East India Company over the years. The blood lust would still be upon them as they besieged the camp or, for all I knew, after they had overrun it and slaughtered my comrades.

My mind raced as I reviewed my situation. I cursed the desk jockeys that had led us to this state of affairs. It had been a long time coming and clear to see for those with eyes and ears to see and hear. It had been a regular topic of discussion in the officers’ mess.

A number of changes had been stirring up resentment. The presence of missionaries and the Company’s tolerance if not encouragement had convinced some that we were planning mass conversions of Hindus and Muslims to Christianity. Not true, but repeat a lie often enough and it takes on the veneer of truth.

Too, with the Company's jurisdiction expanding following victories in wars or annexation, Indian soldiers had been required to not only serve in foreign lands like Burma but also serve without the foreign service pay that they had once received. And although only new recruits to the Bengal Army were required to abide by this requirement, serving high-caste sepoys spread the rumour that this would eventually be extended to them.

There were also grievances about promotions based on seniority which was even more of a problem with the increasing number of British officers. The new rifle had been the last straw.

I had covered my army uniform before leaving the cantonment, disguising myself in a native garb which afforded me some comfort - God knows what would have happened if they had caught sight of a red tunic. But the almost imperceptible lightening of the sky foretold the coming of dawn and I knew I couldn’t remain undiscovered for long, nor would I want to remain in the open once the fury of the sun began to beat down on the bone-dry land below.

I cautiously swung my free arm from side to side until I found a rock that filled my hand and held it tight. It might be a useful weapon - certainly preferable to firing my pistol which would alarm the sepoys searching for me. I also found a pebble which I put in my mouth to try to relieve a growing thirst - a trick I had picked up from a long-serving officer when I had arrived in India.

---

It was then that I heard the sound of footsteps.

I hugged the ground and kept totally still.

Steps coming closer.

I could smell someone nearby and, although I was lying face down, I sensed him bend towards me. Perhaps he was just checking if I was alive or dead. As he leaned in closer I could hear and almost feel his breath and my senses picked up the scent of spiced food mingled with sweat.

I turned as quickly as I could to see his eyes widen and his mouth opening to shout a warning - a warning silenced as I smashed the rock against his temple with all the force I could muster. He slumped to the ground, his rifle clattering against the rock-strewn earth. I tensed, waiting for this to alert others.

But nothing.

And my victim lay still as death, blood oozing from where I had struck him. He was still breathing, spittle slipping into his beard, but he was completely unconscious.

Leaving him where he lay, I took his rifle and carefully crawled up to the ridge of the nullah and looked around. Here and there I could see several sepoys searching, but none were near me, and about 100 yards away, partly obscured by bushes and hillocks, I could see someone on a horse surveying the scene. Probably their commander.

I exhaled my pent up breath slowly and momentarily closed my eyes as I muttered a short prayer. I had not been observed. This could not continue much longer and I wracked my brain to decide on a course of action before the sepoy recovered and gave me away.

An idea came to me. Desperate, but what other choice was there? I had the sepoy’s rifle. I could use this as a crutch. So I raised myself gingerly, almost fainting with the pain at one point.

Leaning heavily on the rifle, I began to make my way towards the horseman, pretending to be a sepoy searching the ground as I inched ever closer.

---

I managed to get within a yard or two of the horseman, using bushes for cover and coming up from behind, then, checking around to make sure that no one was watching, I stepped stealthily away from the bush and up to the horse then, gripping the muzzle of the rifle in both hands, I swung it with all my might at the horseman’s head.

Pain shot up my leg as I applied leverage but there was a satisfying thud as I connected with my target. He fell from his mount like a sack of potatoes and the horse began to rear, neighing in alarm. His rider was out cold, unconscious, if not dead. Frantically, I grabbed the reins and soothed the animal with soft words and by stroking his neck, There, there my beauty. Nothing to worry about. There, there.

Then I gritted my teeth, held onto the pommel, placed my good foot into the stirrup and heaved myself up. I felt nauseous, the sweat poured down my face and stung my eyes as I assessed the situation.

It was then that I heard the shouts of the infantrymen who had now realized what was happening - but to my surprise nobody fired their weapon and instead they just ran towards me, waving blades and crying out in anger. I urged my horse forwards and, with a regularly jarring pain, galloped off towards the garrison town of Delhi. Still, nobody fired any shots and there was nobody ahead so all I had to do was to keep riding.

Which is exactly what I did.

---

I later realised that the reason no shots had been fired at me was because a rumour had spread among the sepoys that the grease used on the cartridges issued to them by the British was a mixture of pigs’ and cows’ lard, so oral contact when they bit the cartridge to load the Enfield was an insult to both Muslim and Hindu alike.  Their disobedience of orders in this regard was one of the reasons that the rebellion ² had broken out in the first place, but it also probably saved my life.

---

I remember riding as the sun rose and the dry air began to rasp at my throat. I don’t know how long I was in the saddle, clinging on desperately. And then I remember nothing until I awoke in a hospital bed with someone bathing my forehead.

Where am I? I croaked.

You’re safe, Major Gask he replied, Just rest, sir. You’ve had a bad injury to your leg and you’re running a fever, but we got to you in time and it’s all under control now. Then he added as an afterthought, You’re lucky. You were picked up by a patrol out of Delhi and they sent you on to here. Delhi’s also been overrun.

Where’s here? I whispered.

Lucknow, he replied, then he put put his hand up and said,Enough talking for now, Major. You need to recover, then you can make plans.

About 10 days later I was on my way again. In addition to my injury I was now experiencing a fever, headaches, chills and abdominal pain. However, it was too dangerous to stay put; there were no reinforcements nearby and the rebels were expected to lay siege to Lucknow at any time, long before a relief column could arrive. So I and other invalids were loaded onto wagons with most of the women and we set out before dawn, heading south, away from the increasingly serious rebellion that seemed to be gathering force by the day.

It was a miserable journey and when I arrived at Bombay I was in a poor way. The doctors diagnosed enteric fever ³ - a curse that had fallen on many new arrivals - and for the next several weeks I was quite delirious and it was touch and go, but thanks to the attentive care I received I pulled through, although I was extremely weak and I had to use crutches to cope with my injured leg.

---

As I recovered over the next couple of months, I cursed my luck. I grieved for my comrades; at Meerut and Delhi, men and women had been butchered, including men I had known and liked, with whom I had laughed and worked, shared a joke and a beer. Good men. Defenceless women. And if Lucknow had needed to be fortified (and it did, that was obvious), as an engineer I should have been helping out, overseeing new fortifications, doing my job for God’s sake.

This was my first assignment to India but now my health was irretrievably compromised. I cut an emaciated shadow of my prior self and I had a pronounced limp. All this when things had been going so well with promotion to Major a few months earlier.

I remained in a sour mood as events unfolded. Unfolded without me because my condition was considered sufficiently compromised that the medical board determined no time should be lost dispatching me back to England for a period of convalescence.

At least the lengthy journey gave me time to heal and to come to terms with my injury. It could have been worse, I knew that, and now I had to turn my thoughts to the future. What was I going to do with myself?

The journey back, day after day after day on an endless sea gave me plenty of time to think and when we finally disembarked at Portsmouth I had formed a plan of action.

1 Nullah: A gully or ravine

2 When soldiers of the Bengal army mutinied in Meerut on May 10, 1857, tension had been growing for some time. The immediate cause was the deployment of a new breech-loading Enfield rifle, the cartridge of which was rumoured to have been greased with pork and beef fat. When Muslim and Hindu troops learned that the tip of the Enfield cartridge had to be bitten off to prepare it for firing, a number of troops refused to accept the ammunition for religious reasons. These troops were placed in irons, but it didn’t take long for their comrades to free them and rise against the British.

3 Enteric fever, or typhoid

2

Convalescing

Hertfordshire, England

February is a rotten month everywhere it seems - either too hot, too humid, too cold, too windy or too wet wherever you are. Particularly so in England. February had exhibited all its unenviable characteristics with each day outdoing itself; cold, wet, windy. We even had some snow, sleet and hail. Iron grey, overcast skies created an aura of claustrophobia.

Upon arriving back in England, I had been shunted off to a hospital with an adjacent nursing home in Hertfordshire for some surgery on my leg and to convalesce, courtesy of the British East India Company. As I recovered I became more irritable with the cloying weather contributing much to my discomfort. I tried to shake off my worsening mood but without much success.

However, I was to become involved in a singular experience that would shake me out of my brown study.

---

My leg was still healing so I was resting on my bed waiting for the doctor in charge, Dr Hayes, to do his rounds. A young nurse was making me comfortable and we were exchanging comments – I even extracted a giggle from her.

Then a voice penetrated the air: What do you think you are doing, nurse?

It was the senior nurse, a spare, hawk-like, angry presence nicknamed the ‘Dragon’ behind her back by everyone, or nurse Goldstein, who roamed the ward, Get back to work, I have enough to worry about without covering for you as well.

My comforting angel quickly departed, suitably chastised. There was no point in making any further comment myself. Anything that I might say could only make it worse. Nurse Goldstein was an unfriendly spirit, probably in her 50s, with a hard visage that seemed to carry around the scars of an unfulfilled life, although she could soften remarkably in the presence of one of the younger doctors, Dr Hayes’s understudy, Dr Halliday.

I didn’t have time to think on it any more, however, because Dr. Hayes arrived with his entourage to see how I was doing. He was a friendly soul, in his 60s, clean-shaven, thinning black hair and a little corpulent. He was very softly spoken, concerned and appeared to be very knowledgeable. Sometimes his hands trembled when he was examining you but otherwise he seemed to be on top of things and I have to admit that I appreciated the way he dealt with the Dragon whose abrupt manner clearly annoyed him.

After he had finished with me he turned to my fellow patient occupying the bed to the left of me, one Captain Wylie, who had also been invalided out of the Indian campaign. He was slowly recovering from multiple bullet wounds and had been there for a month before I arrived.

---

On my second week, as we were making idle conversation, Wylie made a comment, that was a little concerning, about the poor survival rate in our ward.

What do you mean? I asked.

I know we should expect that some of us won’t make it – after all, we’re here because we’re not well, not because we’re healthy specimens! But… and he hesitated with a frown.

But what? I encouraged him to continue.

Well, old man he continued, leaning into me confidentially, Maybe I’m paranoid but since I’ve been here, I’ve seen two of the patients succumb to their wounds and I’ve been told that over the previous six months there were another four who didn’t make it. I don’t know about those before me but I can tell you the two that I knew seemed to be making a good recovery and then, poof! they were gone. I faced kaffirs in warpaint without flinching, but I don’t mind telling you, it gives me the willies.

---

I didn’t give our conversation a great deal more thought until I was brought up short only two days later. The ward had quietened the previous evening as everybody settled down for a good night’s sleep. The nurses delivered the evening medications and Wylie and I exchanged some banalities before I drifted off.

I woke a few hours later to observe a commotion over Wylie’s bed. The Dragon and another nurse were there as Dr Halliday pounded on Wiley’s chest. I couldn’t see anything else because they then pulled curtains around the scene but it was clear that Wylie was in trouble and less than an hour later he was wheeled out of the ward. I soon found out that he had passed away during the night.

Wylie’s words came back to me when I received this intelligence and it nagged away as I lay back in my bed and contemplated my situation. With his words echoing around in my mind I resolved to do more than just speculate but instead, investigate. It might be nothing but I thought that I owed it to my fellow officer and comrade in arms to make sure that there was nothing untoward going on and that he and, indeed all of us, were receiving quality medical attention.

Although I found myself with little energy, I was able to get around slowly with the aid of a stick so I started exploring. There was a porter at the entrance and I decided to see if he could provide any useful information. The next morning I got out of my bed as soon as the breakfast things were cleared away with a steely determination.

I made my way to the entrance and hailed him. He was an older fellow with a remarkable bushy grey moustache; the sort you would see guarding the doors of better class hotels dressed in an elaborate coat and a top hat, except here Barnes was dressed more prosaically.

Hello Barnes, how are things? I began.

Oh! hello Major, keeping busy, keeping busy. And how are you coming along? he replied.

I’m making progress, thanks for asking

How long have you been here, Barnes? I added

It will be ten years this June. Time flies when you’re having fun he responded with a thinly disguised grimace.

I suppose you get to hear all the gossip, witnessing all the comings and goings?

Gossip, sir? I keep my eyes open but my mouth shut

Of course I interjected hastily, Just a figure of speech.

I began again, It was a sad and unexpected thing to lose Captain Wylie the other day. I was beginning to like the fellow.

It happens, sir. That’s the worst of it. Wish it didn’t but that’s life.

Or not he quickly added.

Seems there’s been a run of bad luck in our ward in the last few months I commented.

Well, now you mention it, sir, I’d have to agree. Poor Dr Hayes is getting a bit of stick, I hear

Why Dr Hayes? I asked.

Well, they were all his patients, weren’t they? And although he’s a gentleman, he is getting on a bit. Some say he’s past it.

Anyone in particular? I asked casually.

Oh! there’s always tension between the old hands and the younger ones trying to climb up the ladder so I can’t say Dr Halliday is being out of line, but I heard nurse Goldstein mention that maybe it’s time for Dr. Hayes to pass the baton.

I nodded to signal that I was sympathetic with his comments,.

But that’s just, as you say, sir, gossip. Take no notice of my rambling.

I bade him goodbye with some words about needing to get back to my bed for some rest and wandered away.

---

On returning to the ward I found that a new patient had been deposited into Wylie’s bed, a Lieutenant Carter. He had come back from South Africa much the worse for wear with his right leg amputated below the knee. He was very weak but I introduced myself and we exchanged a few words before he signalled that he wanted to rest.

There but for the grace of God go I, I thought and I got on with my day. A little later, as I hobbled into the sitting area, I overhead Dr Hayes having words with another man. Ordinarily I would have walked on by but perhaps because my mind was turning over Wylie’s demise and the office door was half open I stopped as unobtrusively as I could and listened.

There was nothing to signal that he was in any danger. I had examined him earlier that day and he was making a good recovery.

The visitor replied, Maybe you missed something. You have to admit it’s not good to add him to the list of the others over the last six months, my dear fellow.

You’re not accusing me of malpractice, I hope? Dr Hayes responded sharply.

No, no, not at all. But… you know and the visitor’s voice tailed off. I moved on, I didn’t want to be found eavesdropping but my mind was in a whirl - it certainly added to what Barnes had been saying.

---

That afternoon I made my way to the administration office where a young man by the name of Wilson worked. I’d spoken with him a couple of times already about reimbursing bills with the Company and he’d expressed an interest in my Indian escapade - he had a vicarious interest in soldiering, I think. I’d shared some experiences with him and so had developed a basic familiarity.

Hello Major he greeted me as I entered the room.

Hello Wilson, all in order? I replied.

As best I can keep it, sir

It’s a dreich day, I suppose you’ve seen many of them though since you’ve been here? I continued.

Dreich, sir?

A miserable day, sorry. Scots vernacular.

Oh, I’ve only been here the two years, sir. Coming up on three next December. So, not much experience of the local weather - I’m from Sunderland originally.

But you’ve been here long enough to perhaps cast some light on a strange conversation I had with Captain Wylie before he died.

And what was that about, sir? Wilson replied.

He mentioned to me that there had been six patients from our ward who hadn’t made it over the last six months, seven with Wylie. I don’t suppose you have any records about them and the circumstances of their passing?

That would be confidential information, Major, then he looked up and stared intently at me, Why are you interested?

It’s probably nothing at all but Wylie wondered whether there was any common ailment that was the root cause and then when Wylie himself died so suddenly I thought it worth checking out. In the interests of us all, of course.

Wilson stared hard at me, To be honest, I wondered about something like that too but the medical staff haven’t raised anything and I didn’t think it was my place.

It would set my mind at rest if you could just check the records and perhaps we could both apply ourselves to clearing up any lingering questions? In confidence of course, I suggested.

Wilson nodded collegiately, selected a sheet of paper and picked up his pen, What are you looking for? he asked.

The names of those who died and when, the doctor and nurses in charge when they died, their medical diagnosis at the time, any prescriptions they were getting, the cause of death, things like that I reeled off as if it was just off the top of my head although I had considered this long and hard already.

Wilson considered for a moment and then touched the side of his nose with his index finger and said, Leave it to me, sir. I’ll get onto it. He began scratching on his paper with his pen and I left him to it.

3

Mystery

Hertfordshire

It took two days before Wilson contacted me to review his findings. He suggested that we meet in the Orangery, a small shelter at the side of the home that was generally empty this time of year so it would give us some privacy. As arranged, I made my way there at the end of the business day to find Wilson waiting for me with a sheaf of papers.

Hello Wilson, What do you have? I started.

I did as you suggested, Major. Here’s a list of each of the seven men who died over the last six months and he handed me a sheet of paper with their names and a number of comments under each name.

He continued, "All were under Dr Hayes’s charge and nurse Goldstein was the senior nurse. Different nurses attended the men at different times so no other common thread there.

They were all here to undergo treatment after wounds received except for the first man, a Lieutenant Commander James, getting on a bit, up from Portsmouth, who was recovering from a severe case of enteric fever. Up to the day he died he appeared to be going downhill so nothing unusual there.

The other six were all in their twenties or thirties and according to the files were recovering when they died".

Was there anything unusual about what happened on the day they died? I asked.

I looked for that, too. They all died during the night. Nurse Goldstein was the person who called the doctor,

The same doctor? I asked.

No, whoever was on duty that night - three different doctors, Halliday, Smith and Wilkins. Wilkins no longer works with us.

Wilson continued, It seems that they were off colour or having trouble sleeping - each man had been given laudanum in addition to other prescriptions they were receiving regularly.

Including Wylie? I asked.

Yes Wilson responded.

Was there anything about the cause of death that seemed unusual? I asked.

I’m no doctor, Major so there may be something in the medical terms that I’ve missed, but as far as I can tell it was due to them succumbing to their injuries. There didn’t appear to be a common cause in the death certificate although in one case the doctor noted that there were some small purple splotches on the face. I’ve no idea if that meant anything. I didn’t see them of course.

Anything else? I asked.

No, I don’t think so he replied.

I tried a different tack, What have you heard about nurse Goldstein’s relationship with the doctors?

The Dragon! Oh, no-one gets on with her. She’s a pedantic, arrogant busybody. But, to give her her due, she seems very professional, very capable.

He paused, then added, I think everyone’s had a run in with her at some time or another. I feel sorry for the nurses under her..

Anyone in particular? I added.

She talks Dr. Hayes down all the time. Then he thought and added, But the word is she has a thing for Dr. Halliday. Strange that, because she’s got 20 years on him and she normally comes down like a ton of bricks on the younger members of the home. Maybe because they’re both from Lowestoft.

How do you know that? I asked.

It’s on their records in the office. Halliday was born in Lowestoft, although he came here from London as a replacement for Dr. Wilkins, and nurse Goldstein came here from a Lowestoft nursing home.

Did they know each other there? I asked

No idea, Major. He looked back at his papers then looked up, Anyway, what are you going to do now?.

I need to digest what you’ve uncovered, Wilson. Good work, by the way, very good work. Let me think on it.

And with that we went our separate ways.

The next morning I went to the drawing room and spread a sheet of paper on the writing desk and began to marshal my thoughts.

---

I dismissed Commander James. He didn’t fit any pattern. But the other six seemed to have had at least some surface similarities. I listed the names along the left of the page; across the top of the page I headed 9 columns:

Recovering, 20-30, Dr Hayes lead, Discovery by G’stein, Laudanum, Night death, Cause of death, Attending Dr, Other.

Against each name I ticked off each item that applied and the name of the doctor who was called when the death was discovered. In the ‘Other’ column, I noted the purple splotches, not that I had an idea whether they indicated anything, but there it was, for completeness.

I then sat back and examined the result. Dr. Smith had noted the purple splotches on Hooper but there were no other unusual factors. Wilkins had attended four of the patients and I recalled that Wilson had mentioned that all the doctors had been called over by the Dragon although I didn’t have a column to note this factor, not that it probably mattered. Halliday had also apparently noted nothing unusual with Wylie. Perhaps it was all nothing.

I sat back in my chair. Damn it, but there were a number of suggestive coincidences and, above all, as Wylie had commented and as I had observed for myself with Wylie, they were all on the mend so why would they ’succumb to their injuries’? But, admittedly, Jones had died from heart failure according to the certificate…

---

I was really none the wiser. I let out a gasp of exasperation and then decided to approach things from a different angle. Let’s consider this differently I said to myself. If this was not natural or to be expected what might have happened? I then started to let my imagination roam.

I came up with the following alternatives:

1. Dr Hayes was incompetent and somehow he had missed something that led to the deaths of each man.

2. The attending doctors had made a mistake. Although this seemed unlikely given that there were different doctors and, as I understood it they had been called by the nurse when she discovered them dead or dying rather than being in attendance.

3. The medication they were taking was too strong or infected somehow. But, surely they would be from different supplies over 6 months so that didn’t makes sense.

---

I struggled with this and then, the next day, an awful thought surfaced. Supposing someone had deliberately killed each man during the night? If they had been given a sleeping draught (I recalled Wilson saying they’d all been given laudanum) they would have been unable to resist and maybe unconscious.

But who? It couldn’t be Dr Hayes, he wasn’t there overnight or when they were found. The attending doctors? No, that made no sense, not three murderers. Another patient? that didn’t work, patients didn’t stay for 6 months, two at most. One of the night nurses or even nurse Goldstein then? I shook my head, I doubted that the same nurse had been on duty every time - although I’d have to check that. Nurse Goldstein? I knew she had the personality of a rusty saw but this was a step too far. Surely? And anyway, what motive could there be?

---

To be thorough, I checked with Wilson about the night nurses on duty and he confirmed that the only person who had been there during the night on each occasion was nurse Goldstein.

I asked him to find out more about her background and also about her favourite, Dr. Halliday, just in case.

The next day Wilson