Duncan was glad the tour guide disappeared and the woman now conversed with him. Next, she led him through a grand opening into a sea foam green receiving room. Heavy gold leaf coated the moldings and bright red curtains surrounded tall windows. This room was furnished.
Caroline continued her speech, "Of course, these two rooms have been restored in the Regency style. You see this pair of armchairs?" She didn't wait for a response before carrying on, "The only other known example is in the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston."
She was practically giddy over the seats. Duncan examined the chairs. Gilded curved legs that transformed from claws at the bottom to leopard heads at the top, supported the arms. Fine cream velvet covered the seats and backs.
"These were the work of a master carver," she declared.
Duncan agreed, admiring the artisan's work. He imagined her art history degree helped in the restoration process. He wished he could see these rooms in bright sunlight and tried to shake the remaining nagging oppression that clung to him there. They passed into a gallery that contained a great staircase, leading back to the ground floor.
"These are the stairs visitors use to access the common areas," she explained.
Caroline led him through a light blue ladies' parlor and a dark green men's parlor. The green room still smelled of tobacco, and Duncan envisioned Victorian gentlemen retiring there after dinner to smoke and drink whiskey. Beyond the men's parlor, an unfinished ballroom completed the rooms on display to the public.
"Down here are the study and the library," she said, pointing towards a hallway.
They walked together towards the doorway to Stuart's study. Keenly aware of her every movement, Duncan willed himself to focus his eyes straight ahead. She hesitated at the threshold while he entered the room. It appeared as though Stuart had just left and would return at any moment. He glanced at Caroline and noticed she stared at the floor, as if she could not bear to gaze on her husband's belongings, his work, or projects. The room was a mess. Papers were scattered over a large desk. Books and Victorian knick knacks filled every shelf, every corner. Yet, the furnishings and curios were dust-free. Someone painstakingly cleaned this study on a regular basis. Duncan had seen enough. He visualized Caroline maintaining the room as a shrine to her late husband, and that made him uncomfortable, jealous. Duncan marched past Caroline and turned towards the next room. She followed, silent.
As they entered the library, a blinding flash split open the dark mood, immediately followed by a deafening clap of thunder. They both jumped, and Duncan hurried to a window. A cloud burst blurred the view, although he could see trees swaying wildly on the hillside. He still needed to get up on the battlement, and he realized he should have worked first and toured afterwards. Now, he'd have to wait out the storm. Viewing Stuart's study had put him in a black mood. He sensed anger welling up inside, irrationally aimed at Caroline and a dead man.
He focused on the window to avoid speaking. He felt Caroline's presence close behind him. She squeezed the back of his upper arm for balance as she leaned near to see beyond him, out the window. Duncan tried to keep his gaze straight ahead, looking through the window. He remembered his promise to behave. But, having her this close to him was too much. He caught a glimpse of her in his peripheral vision and sensed her perfume, something like orange blossoms. He glanced her way, turning his head slightly. She caught his movement and looked up at him, their faces close. She was so lovely.
"I've always been afraid of storms," she murmured, holding his gaze.
He was about to place an arm around her waist, pull her close, when a noise from behind interrupted the moment. They both turned from the window.
"When will you want lunch, Miss Caroline?" Julia asked.
Duncan resented the interruption, but tried to control his reaction.
Caroline moved away from him, closer to Julia and the doorway. She checked her watch
"Perhaps in an hour," she turned to Duncan and added, "you'll stay won't you?"
"I would like that. Maybe the rain will ease by then and I will be able to finish my work this afternoon," he replied.
Caroline smiled as if she welcomed his company at the meal and nodded at the girl. Julia left, and Duncan couldn't help feeling as though she broke up their intimate moment on purpose. It had passed and there was no regaining it. He stared at the tomes in this impressive library, each wall lined with shelves containing countless books. The bookshelves and woodwork were not fancy, but still carved in an appealing manner. A plain, triangular pediment topped each case, featuring a Scottish thistle inscribed in the center.
"I think we have time to see the rest of the house, if we hurry," Caroline proposed, heading out of the library. "I want you to experience the spiral stairs. Let's head back to the ground floor so you can get the full effect!"
Duncan followed her down the grand staircase and towards a corner of the castle he had not seen before. There, a thick red rope barred entrance to the turret. She removed the rope and sprinted ahead, bounding up two steps at a time. She whirled around to face him and held out her right hand as if she possessed a sword.
"Stay where you are!" she commanded. "See how I can defend the castle all by myself?" She sliced the imaginary sword through the air towards him. "I fight with my right hand next to the safety of the wall, but you risk falling down the middle from one of my blows or getting knocked there by my sword!"
She tilted her head towards the middle of the open spiral, where nothing prevented one from falling. Luckily they were not far from the ground, or it would be dizzying.
"Careful there, Caroline," Duncan said. "Remember, we tend to be a little accident prone when we're near each other. I don't want you to break your arm again," he added.
Caroline grinned from ear to ear like a child who just won playing at pirates or knights. Duncan noted how very young she looked at this moment. The stairs were narrow, stone, and original to the castle. She gestured for him to join her. It was too narrow to climb side by side, so he followed a few steps behind, enjoying the view.
"Take a look at the stones," she directed. "See how worn they are?"
Duncan saw that each step was smooth and concave at the middle, from centuries of shoes scuffling there. He had seen the same thing on steps in Canterbury Cathedral, where pilgrims knelt over hundreds of years. He lost his place in space whenever he stopped. Something about these stairs dizzied him and he had to grab the rope railing hanging from the turret wall. The stone steps were irregular and tripping posed a definite risk.
Caroline turned suddenly and said, "Look down the middle."
Duncan was leery, but did as told.
"If you fell here, you would easily break your neck. That's why the builders constructed these stairs this way. They make each floor easy to defend."
Duncan clung to the rope and peered down. It seemed as though he looked down the inside of a Nautilus shell to infinity. Duncan felt almost sick to his stomach. Heights never much bothered him before, but this was different.
"Come on then," Caroline said.
Her words snapped him back to the here and now. She already climbed ahead and he strained to keep up. He did not notice the two landings they passed on their way to the battlement. Finally, they reached a small, heavy door. She took an ancient key from her pocket and unlatched the lock to the roof. Duncan reached past Caroline and pushed the door open. Cold air and rain hit both of them like a slap in the face. Yet the open air was a relief to him. It was as if the wind blew away whatever oppressive spirit followed him.
"I won't go out there. But I suspect you'll want to look around the battlements after lunch," she said.
"Yes, I'll need to examine that area."
He pulled the door shut with a loud thud. It was small, but made of thick, dense wood.
"I won't lock it now, since you are coming back up," she said over her shoulder as she descended the steps to the third floor landing.
Caroline showed Duncan around this floor, left
in its original state. He marveled at the open beams and ceiling hewn from countless tree trunks. This level was open with just a few large rooms. Raw stone walls and unpolished wood floors made up the décor. She told him about how the roof had been replaced before she married Stuart and how it had nearly broken his finances. Oddly enough, the third floor seemed far less oppressive than the rest of the castle did today, and Duncan felt more at home here than in the fancy rooms below. She followed him as he walked through the rooms, soaking in as many details as possible.
"This fascinates me," Duncan admitted. "I can really see the architecture up here, everything is so raw. Can you imagine designing and building this back in the 1400's? Incredible!"
He did not want to leave this area, but a quick check of the time proved that lunch was probably waiting for them downstairs. They paused on the landing to the living quarters on their way down the stairs. Caroline explained that there was nothing special to see there.
"Stuart allowed me to keep it American style, with a living room centered around a television, bathrooms and bedrooms," she stated as they continued to the kitchen where sandwiches and bowls of hot soup waited on the table.
Chapter 10 - Evidence of a Death in the Family
After a few bites, Caroline asked, "Tell me about your heritage, Duncan. As a Dewar, have you ever visited Castle Menzies? It's not far from here and it is your ancestral seat."
"I believe I'm a MacNab," he answered.
A dubious look crossed Caroline's face.
"I don't think so," she said flatly. "You look French Menzies to me."
"What makes you say that?" he asked, perplexed.
"For starters, your dark looks, hair, eyes and jaw line all seem like Menzies. I've been to a lot of Menzies gatherings over the years. Remember, I met Stuart through my brother and his Menzies pen pal exchange. My parents have researched our heritage for as long as I can remember. You look as though you have some French in you. The Menzies originally came from France, sometime in the 1200's. Sir Robert de Meyners is considered the founder of our clan. His grandson was a childhood friend of Robert the Bruce. The Menzies fought with The Bruce, while the MacNabs did not." Here she raised one eyebrow. "Where did you get the idea that you were a MacNab?"
"I don't know. I heard it as a boy, probably. Genealogy was not a big thing in my family," Duncan answered and returned to his soup.
It seemed people thought he was less than, if his ancestors were not loyal to The Bruce.
"Well, I suspect you will find out you belong to the Menzies before it's over," she proclaimed triumphantly.
Duncan peered up from his bowl. He caught Caroline scrutinizing his face. Their eyes met and she smiled. He wanted to read something into her comment. Did she mean he would belong to her? She was a Menzies. Duncan found it impossible to discern anything beyond her cool exterior.
"Tell me about your family. Do they live in Scotland?" she asked.
Duncan thought about what he might share with Caroline. He remembered his first night back in Edinburgh.
"My parents and three of my brothers still live in Scotland. I'm the oldest. I have a sister in London who is married with two children and another sister in Australia. My youngest brother is there, visiting her now."
"Is your family close?" she asked.
"Yes, I believe we are. When I came up from London, I stopped in Edinburgh to see them for a couple of days. My first night back, my brother Angus threw a party for me. For no reason, just to welcome me home," Duncan volunteered, recalling the shock he felt at the time as the memory of that evening flashed through his mind. He continued, "When I opened the door to the house, it was already full of people. I knew my family was large, but not that large."
Duncan thought about some of the events of that night. As he pushed into the kitchen, someone slapped him on the back. It felt like a log had been dropped on his body. "Dee Dee! So good to see you!" Duncan recognized the voice shouting his school nickname as that belonging to a football mate, Hamish. He never liked the moniker bestowed upon him by Angus, but it stuck and he had to accept it.
Hamish was one of his larger mates. After Duncan left for college, Angus and Hamish became fast friends. That friendship lasted over the years. Hamish grabbed him in a bear hug and pounded his hand on Duncan's back. Ouch. He managed to wrest free of the giant. Looking around the room, it was apparent someone had invited extended family and friends.
"So how was the party?" Caroline asked, snapping Duncan from his thoughts.
"It was good." Duncan continued, " I spotted my brother, Angus, across the room, head and shoulders above the crowd that surrounded him. People are always drawn to Angus. I pressed towards him, bumping into my cousins and friends from the neighborhood. I spoke to everyone, so it took about twenty minutes to reach my brother. That's how crowded it was. Right before I reached him, I heard a collective laugh erupt from his direction. He had just finished an anecdote of some kind. Angus can be quite entertaining," Duncan added.
He did not bother telling Caroline how Angus reached out a massive arm, clutched Duncan around the shoulder and drew him under his own arm in a hug, squeezing him repeatedly. He also didn't mention that when he asked Angus if the party was his doing, he replied with a wink, "Well, some of it was. I think Mum invited a few ladies for your perusal."
It was just like Angus to sidestep responsibility for his own actions by placing a more pressing situation before his accuser. Duncan had a soft spot for his brother and was usually a good sport about his antics.
"Sounds like Angus is a thoughtful brother," Caroline mused, interrupting his thoughts again.
"I guess he is," Duncan said, even though thoughtful was not how he would describe Angus. "People packed our house and I did have a fun evening. My mum made a fabulous dinner for everyone. She has a small catering business, so she's used to cooking for groups." Duncan worried he was dominating their conversation, so he asked, "Do you miss your family?"
"Yes, but I've made a life for myself here. I get along all right." Caroline continued, "What kind of events does your mother cater?"
"We lived in the States for several years and Mum noticed how often people ate at takeaways. She didn't think it was healthy. It gave her an idea for a business. When we returned to Scotland, she started preparing family meals for working couples with children who didn't have time to cook during the week. Her meals became so popular, she had to turn business away," he said. "She makes the suppers at home, in her own kitchen and delivers the food at dinner time to her customers," he added.
"What a brilliant idea!" Caroline exclaimed. "She must be a wonderful cook." She continued, "How did you like the States and how long did you live there?"
This was the question Duncan always dreaded. He stalled for time by taking several bites of his sandwich.
"We were there for several years. My dad taught at university. I can't say I adjusted well. I was sort of in an awkward period, you might say."
He sidestepped the question and changed the subject, asking about her dogs. By the time he finished his lunch, the rain slowed to a drizzle. Caroline insisted he borrow a raincoat before he ventured outside. He planned to visit the battlement first. Duncan lugged his briefcase and a small tool bag up the spiral stairs. He tried to stay next to the wall, but found the experience dizzying again. Once at the top, he pushed the door open and ducked beneath the jam.
A crisp breeze hit him and felt wonderful. A sense of freedom accompanied him when he left the building. He slowly made his way around the battlement toward the north side. Duncan found the walkway wet and slippery. It was narrower than he expected, in some places more like a catwalk. He spotted the area with the missing merlon in the distance. It was an eyesore, especially knowing where it went. He followed the crenellation, observing and touching the fine grained stone, until he reached the location he needed to examine.
Duncan ran his hand over the base of the merlon. It had detached at an angle, sloping towards the ground. He remove
d a laser measuring device from his case and placed a wooden ruler vertically at the outer edge of the stone. This required him to lean to the external part of the wall, an uncomfortable and dangerous position. He aimed the laser first at that edge and pressed a button. Then, he eased the beam up to a horizontal position, even with the inner side of the base. He recorded his results in a small tablet. Then, he measured the merlons on each side of the break. Both had virtually the same dimensions, which he also recorded in his notebook. Next, he walked around the battlement, stopping at each merlon and crenel, taking measurements. Amazingly, Duncan found differences of no more than two centimeters between any of the "teeth" and openings. Stone masons of the distant past certainly knew their trade, he thought. Their precision amazed Duncan.
He observed the composition of the merlons. The builders used what was called rubble to build most of the castle, various stones found locally and held together with the mortar of that day. Where the merlon broke away, limestone was the main rock used, along with some rarer blue stone. He knew limestone dissolved slowly unless exposed to hydrogen ions. Duncan pulled the hand lens from his briefcase. He examined the limestone for any signs of contact with hydrochloric acid or chisel marks. The drizzle made it difficult to detect much, but Duncan thought he saw the telltale grooves of a chisel. If he could get a slice of this stone back to a lab, a scanning electron microscope would provide all the proof needed. He removed a small chisel and hammer from his bag and chipped off a piece of rock about the size of a large coin. He marked the side he had cut with a fine tip marker and placed the stone segment in a plastic bag before dropping it into his pocket.
Duncan now looked over the edge of the battlement to the ground. He went over the pictures taken at the scene in his head. There was just no way a merlon could land on Stuart as he had been found. It might have pounded him on the head, but Stuart would have to be lying flat on his back on a wet lawn to be killed as was supposed.
Mystery: The Merlon Murders: A Duncan Dewar Mystery of Romantic Suspense (Duncan Dewar Mysteries Book 1) Page 13