The Campbell Curse: DS Billings Victorian Mysteries, #3

By Olivier Bosman

The year is 1892. While touring Britain with her production of Macbeth, the famous American actress, Carola LeFevre, receives an anonymous death threat . Detective Sergeant John Billings from Scotland Yard is appointed as her personal security guard. Billings is thrown into a theatrical world of gossip, intrigue and temper tantrums, but things take a darker turn when the tour heads for Edinburgh. A great tragedy befalls Miss LeFevre and Billings becomes embroiled in a horrific crime which appears to be the consequence of an ancient Scottish curse.

Blurring the line between reality and superstition, The Campbell Curse is a dark, gothic mystery which touches on our deepest fears. This is the third full length novel in the series, but can be enjoyed as a standalone story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Olivier Bosman
• Release date: Jun 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393557647

Olivier Bosman

Born to Dutch parents and raised in Colombia and England, I am a rootless wanderer with itchy feet. I've spent the last few years living and working in The Netherlands, Czech Republic, Sudan and Bulgaria, but I have every confidence that I will now finally be able to settle down among the olive groves of Andalucia.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

The Scottish Play

London Metropolitan Police Headquarters, 1892

Billings and Clarkson sat at their desks when the door to the office swung open and Chief Inspector Flynt marched in, his cape billowing behind him. He walked towards the centre of the room and stared at an empty corner. Billings and Clarkson turned to face the spot on which Flynt’s gaze was fixed but saw nothing there but a cobweb on the ceiling. They looked at each other, confused, then turned back towards Flynt.

Flynt took a deep breath and stretched his right hand out in front of him. Is this a dagger which I see before me? he said in a loud, dramatic voice.

Clarkson looked around the room for the supposed dagger.

Come, let me clutch thee, Flynt continued. I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.  Content with his performance, Flynt lowered his arm and looked at his colleagues. Well? he asked, resuming his normal voice. What is that from?

Billings and Clarkson stared at him blankly.

Flynt frowned. "You pair of Philistines! It’s from Macbeth. Shakespeare’s Scottish Play. It’s on at the Adelphi. Marvellous. Simply quite marvellous. I don’t suppose you pair of hoodlums ever go to the theatre."

The rib and I go to the music hall every now and then, Clarkson replied.

You’re a cultural barbarian, Clarkson. You should go to a proper theatre once in your life. I thoroughly recommend it. Miss LeFevre was marvellous.

Who? Billings asked.

Miss LeFevre. Carola LeFevre. You have heard of Carola LeFevre, haven’t you? The great American actress. The newspapers say she has been electrifying audiences in New York with her interpretation of Lady Macbeth, and she is now touring Europe.

I’m afraid I haven’t.

Well, that’s because you too are an uncultured swine, Billings. But all that’s going to change today. Flynt took some theatre tickets out of his breast pocket and slammed them on Billings’ desk. You’re going to watch her perform tonight.

Tonight? I don’t know if I can, tonight. My landlady is staying with her sister, and there’s nobody to look after the dog.

This isn’t for leisure, Billings; it’s for work. Miss LeFevre has received a death threat. We’re assigning you to protect her.

A death threat?

Apparently she made some controversial remarks about the Irish to the New York press. She seems to have some sympathies with the Fenian cause, which has rather upset some people. She needs round-the-clock protection, and you’re the man to do it.

Me? Why me?

Because. That’s why.

But what about my dog?

To the devil with your dog! Flynt marched towards his office. The show starts at eight o’clock. You can meet Miss LeFevre in her dressing room when it finishes. He was about to close the door to his office when a thought occurred to him. By the way, there are two tickets on your desk, so you can take a lady friend. If you have one. And he disappeared into his office.

Clarkson  looked at Billings and smiled. Well. Who’s a lucky boy, then?

Billings stared at the tickets on his desk and didn’t answer. Good old Clarkson, he thought. He genuinely thought that this was a privileged assignment, but Billings knew better. Scotland Yard was always called in to guard dignitaries, celebrities and members of the royal family. Billings had once been part of the security force at the Prince of Wales’ Christmas reception at Sandringham, so he knew how utterly tedious this assignment would be. It mostly consisted of hanging around, keeping a watchful eye on other people’s comings and goings and on his very presence being resented by the people he was supposed to be looking out for. It required no intelligence, no puzzle solving, no skill. This had been a deliberate slight by Chief Inspector Flynt, who, for some reason, had always resented him.

So, who are you going to take, then? Clarkson asked.

Again, Billings didn’t reply and continued to stare at the spare ticket on his desk. Who could he take? He had to take someone. He couldn’t show up at the theatre unaccompanied. If his spare ticket remained unused, he would be exposed. Everyone at Scotland Yard would know just how friendless and solitary he really was. He had no family members he could invite, so the only person he could think of was Mrs Appleby, his landlady. He could say that it was a thank you present, for putting up with his dog. She would be elated. To be going out to the theatre with Detective Sergeant John Billings of Scotland Yard, her prize tenant! It would please him to do this for her. But Mrs Appleby was away for a few weeks, staying with her sister, so taking her would be impossible. His left hand began to tremble as he continued to stress about what to do with the spare ticket. He looked up at Clarkson, who was still waiting for an answer to his question.

Do you want to come? The words came out of his mouth unexpectedly. It hadn’t occurred to him to ask Clarkson, but now that he had, he knew that this was the perfect solution. He felt a warm glow inside him at the thought of Clarkson sitting next to him in the snug seats of the auditorium. To watch Clarkson laugh at the jokes of the actors, or gasp with horror and suspense at the play’s intrigue. This could be the very thing that would help move his relationship with Clarkson away from the cordial banter of the workplace to something resembling a close friendship. 

Me? Clarkson answered. But what about the rib?

What about her?

She’d have to come, of course. Can’t leave her on her own at home, can I, when I’m out ’avin’ fun at the theatre? We’d have to get a third ticket.

Billings’ heart sank as Clarkson mentioned his wife. I’ll get the ticket, he replied. It’ll be my treat.

Well, that’s very kind of you, Billings, but what about the li’l ones? I’d have to get somebody to look after ’em.

Isn’t there anyone?

Well, I suppose I could drop ’em off at the neighbour’s. I’ll ask the rib. See what she says. We ain’t ever been to a proper theatre before. I think she might like it.

Billings watched Clarkson’s eyes light up at the thought of treating his wife to something so posh as going to the theatre. It moved him. It was nice to see somebody so devoted to his wife.

I’ll ask her as soon as I get home. If I’m not there at half past seven, you’ll know it’s a no-go and you can ask someone else.

BILLINGS HAD BEEN LEANING against one of the cold stone pillars that adorned the entrance of the Adelphi for about fifteen minutes, wondering whether or not Clarkson would show up. If he didn’t, then he would have to go into the theatre alone. There was no other option. He had already made up a story about what to tell Flynt if that was the case. He would say that he had taken his landlady’s niece. She made dolls’ dresses and would often sit outside the theatres and make sketches of the elegant ladies entering and exiting the playhouses. He thought he’d give her a treat and show her what the inside of a theatre looked like. It was a good story – and quite a moving one too, if it had been true – but of course it was all a lie. Mrs Appleby didn’t have any nieces.

Fortunately, Billings didn’t need to use that story, because at thirty minutes past seven, he saw Clarkson rushing towards him, dressed in his Sunday best and with his hair neatly gelled back. Billings’ eyes lit up when he saw him, and he felt a warm glow of affection well up inside him. But then he caught sight of Clarkson’s wife, Susan, tagging along behind him, and his heart sank again.

The play turned out to be more entertaining than he had expected, although he felt that Shakespeare had taken some liberties with the historical facts. Clarkson, though, who sat between his wife and Billings, didn’t seem to be enjoying himself at all. He appeared thrilled and excited at the opening of the play, when the three witches came on stage and gave their damned prophecy to Lord Macbeth, but became restless and fidgety soon after that. By the time Macbeth and his wife had killed the king, he had fallen asleep.

Billings watched as Clarkson’s head dropped forward then bopped up again when loud shouting from the actors on stage jolted him awake. At one point, Clarkson’s head dropped sideways and landed on Billings’ shoulder. Billings felt a soothing warmth rush through him as his colleague’s head weighed down on him. He closed his eyes and tried to block out the murmur of the auditorium. He imagined he was alone somewhere, in a sunny park or a beautiful field, just him and Clarkson sleeping against him. He felt a great urge to wrap his arm around his colleague and was only just able to contain himself. But he was ruthlessly awakened from his daydream by Susan, who had seen her husband dozing off and brusquely yanked his body away from him.

Don’t let him fall asleep, she whispered at Billings. He’ll start snoring next and then where will we be!

She continued to stare angrily at Billings after she said this, which slightly confused him. Why was she angry at him? Was it his fault that Clarkson had fallen asleep? Or was it because he had allowed Clarkson to rest his head on his shoulder? Had she seen a trace of relish on his face as her husband slept against him? Billings’ heart began to pound in his chest at the prospect that he may have been found out, and he felt his face beginning to blush. He quickly sat up and leaned away from Clarkson, who was still rubbing his eyes awake.

After the interval, when they came back into the auditorium, Susan made a point of taking Clarkson’s seat and sitting in between Billings and her husband.

AFTER THE PERFORMANCE, Clarkson shook Billings’ hand and patted him on his shoulder, thanking him heartily for the fabulous evening. Billings knew that his gratitude was heartfelt, even though it was obvious that Clarkson hadn’t enjoyed the evening at all, as he had slept through most of the play. Susan, who did appear to have enjoyed the play, was less grateful. She didn’t shake his hand, but merely nodded and smiled at him. A cold, suspicious smile.

Mr and Mrs Clarkson claimed their coats from the cloakroom, and Billings watched them head out of the Adelphi, arm in arm, into the cold, damp Soho night and disappear among the throng of people, horses and blurry gaslights. Billings sighed, then went back into the foyer to meet up with Mr Hardy, the tour manager. Back to work, he thought to himself.

Did you enjoy the play, Detective Sergeant Billings? Hardy asked as he led Billings through a maze of backstage passages towards Carola LeFevre’s dressing room.

Yes. It was very entertaining. Billings had never seen a play before and didn’t know how to judge this particular performance. But this seemed like an appropriate answer.

I felt Miss LeFevre was a little subdued tonight, Hardy continued.

I can’t say I noticed.

Well, you wouldn’t, but I’ve seen her other performances, and she’s usually much more fiery. I can only assume that the death threat has affected her somewhat. Even though she’s adamant that it’s nothing to worry about.

A uniformed constable was standing outside one of the dressing rooms as Billings and Hardy approached.

This is Police Constable Grant. Hardy pointed at the constable. He’s from A division.

Billings and the police constable nodded at each other.

Hardy went to