Dangerous Pursuits (A Rose McQuinn Mystery)

by Alanna Knight

  Lady Antrim was simply attired in a costume of hunter's green with a matching plain velvet toque.

  Grand occasions make me uncomfortable and uncertain about what one should wear especially as living in Solomon's Tower rarely involves the splendours of dress a la mode for ladies of fashion.

  I had discarded my thin outdoor jacket and now sat feeling distinctly overdressed in my claret silk gown with its tight sleeves and lace jabot. The jaunty hat heavily overburdened with flowers and fruit grew heavier by the moment and I anticipated the collapse of the miniature garden in the direction of my soup.

  Resisting the impulse to push it back from my forehead, I nudged Vince and said reproachfully, 'You should have warned me.'

  'About what?'

  'What to wear, of course,' I whispered.

  He smiled. 'You look lovely.'

  'I don't feel lovely,' I grumbled.

  Glancing down the table he whispered, 'I'm sorry, Rose. I didn't know what they would be wearing. At the opening ceremony both the Princess and Lady Antrim were wearing long winter coats and fur hats. Because of this beastly cold day and Her Royal Highness's ear, I imagine. Didn't want to take chances. Her Majesty gets very anxious about her wee lamb, you know.'

  I looked around the table despairingly at the other ladies from Edinburgh's society, modestly clad in unpretentious dark costumes, the occasional pretty lace blouse and jewellery, discreet, unobtrusive but expensive. Pearl necklaces and earrings seemed the only sign of affluence.

  Not so the gentlemen in frock coats with handsome waistcoats, or dress uniforms all bearing orders and decorations.

  We were seated at the end of a long table, Vince on my left and on my right, facing him, a high-ranking military man. I soon discovered that they were old acquaintances who had met at the Castle, presumably Balmoral. Vince knew the officer well but I was at a disadvantage when we were introduced. The hum of voices made his name indistinct and I was too shy to ask him to repeat it. I hoped to pick up clues to his identity as Vince asked politely after Lady - sounded like Car-something, presumably his wife.

  'She is fairly well at present but still needs a good deal of rest.'

  Vince was sorry to hear that, especially when he was told that she was not yet up to facing large social occasions. I could see the interest of my stepbrother doctor was aroused: he was eager to know more about her condition, doubtless ready with advice.

  Doing my best to follow the conversation and sustain a smiling look of polite interest, I suddenly realized that the splendid soldier at my side, in dress uniform with medals and decorations, was General Sir Angus Carthew.

  Politely declining Vince's well-meaning but ponderous medical advice, he became aware of my presence. Noticed at last, as he turned his head in my direction and very gallantly addressed some flattering compliments to Dr Laurie about his pretty young sister.

  I responded with as much modesty and grace as I could muster. As I am acutely sensitive to atmosphere, I realized I must not let this sudden interest go to my head. It was not because of my personal charm, but merely that I presented a means of escape, a desperate manoeuvre on the General's behalf to change the subject of his wife's health to a more cheerful topic.

  As we tackled the next course, I observed him closely. So this was Nancy's kindly new employer. He must have been devastatingly handsome in his youth and was still an attractive man and wearing well. He could have been any age between forty-five and sixty. And according to the conversation I had overheard, with an invalid wife: a situation which I know from experiences in my professional life often opens up possibilities with tragic consequences.

  I put on my best smile for him but after a few perfunctory and polite questions about where I lived and did I like Edinburgh, the standard party conversation between new acquaintances, he lost interest and returned to Vince to talk of golf, polo and the Stock Exchange.

  As my participation was no longer expected or desired, I devoted my entire attention to the enjoyment of a splendid lunch. Soup, poached salmon and a delectable dessert heavy in chocolate and rich cream. I made the most of it, savouring every bite.

  Conscious of Vince's eagle eye descending upon me as I eagerly accepted second helpings, I didn't care. Unladylike it might be, but there are exceptions. Such occasions were all too rare in my experience and I was not prepared to let this golden opportunity slip past, since my fare in Solomon's Tower tends towards being spartan in the extreme.

  All too soon the coffee was served and we all stood for 'The Queen' as the Princess and her companion retired before proceeding to their next engagement.

  The General bowed politely in my direction, shook hands warmly with Vince and said it had been a great pleasure.

  Vince excused himself to receive royal instructions and, waiting for him in the foyer, I watched the General walk down the hotel steps.

  And then I witnessed a curious and alarming incident.

  As the door of his waiting carriage was opened, a rough-looking man approached, apparently a passer-by on the pavement. There was a rapid movement, a scuffle and a fist raised - holding a weapon of some sort.

  Stick, pistol? Emerging from the hotel with the light in my eyes, I had only a glimpse as the hotel doormen rushed forward. The man was seized firmly while the General leapt into the carriage which sped off towards Waverley Bridge.

  The man had been released and all returned to normal so immediately that I blinked and wondered had it been someone who had bumped into him accidentally and had I imagined weapon, raised fist and threatening voice?

  'Are we ready now?' Vince had returned. I started to tell him about the altercation but he merely shook his head, displayed little interest beyond asking if anyone had been hurt. Meanwhile, still somewhat distracted, he anxiously considered his gold watch as if it might be unreliable and have gained an hour or two since last being consulted.

  Quite unconcerned about the little drama I had witnessed, he nodded absently and said, 'The General is a very fine fellow. You obviously made a very good impression, Rose.'

  And that obviously gladdened Vince's heart too, as we stepped into our waiting carriage which had drawn up outside.

  Leaning back with a sigh he said, 'Her Royal Highness will rest for an hour at least before her next engagement and that will give me time to escort you home and get back.'

  Aware of my disappointment, he added, 'Sorry, my dear, but you can see how it is. I have to be in constant attendance just now. She is to make a brief appearance at a meeting of the National Institute for Imbecile Children and the Prevention of Cruelty to Children.'

  I wondered if the two were synonymous as he continued, 'I have tinctures to administer if the royal ear becomes too troublesome. It eases the pain.'

  Somewhat sulkily, I stared out of the window, feeling sorry for myself.

  So much for the time I had been promised. ('We'll have a whole day together once the lunch is over.')

  This was the story of the men in my life. The only difference was that Jack frequently promised a whole evening which all too often didn't happen at all.

  It was becoming alarmingly apparent that those closest to me were not mine to command. Vince was enslaved to his royal mistress at Balmoral or wherever her duties took her. And Jack was enslaved to the Edinburgh City Police.

  How could a mere woman fight against such odds and what had I to offer, I wondered as the carriage bowled down the Pleasance and Vince asked, 'What have you been doing since I last saw you?'

  I looked at the road ahead. Five minutes would see us outside Solomon's Tower and there our ways would part - until the next time it suited Her Majesty's command. With so little time and aware that the story was doomed to failure, I still had to tell him about my sensational discovery of a dead woman at St Anthony's Chapel.

  Vince made the right noises and asked, 'What happened then? Who was she?'

  'I don't know. When I went back with Jack she had disappeared.'

  Vince looked surprised for a m
oment, frowned and shook his head. 'I'm sure there'll be a simple explanation, there usually is for most things,' he added soothingly.

  As an afterthought, he added a warning not to get involved in matters beyond me.

  In polite words, to mind my own business, since Vince also sternly turned his face against my adopted profession as a lady investigator, thereby gaining Jack's sympathy and eager support.

  Whereas Detective Sergeant Jack Macmerry was to be applauded in his fight against crime and could mix with who-the-devil he liked without tarnishing his reputation, a female investigator was in a very unladylike profession, mixing in what was undoubtedly the world of men, just one step above a hospital nurse and open to the direst suspicion and interpretation.

  There was more to it than that. In my case there was need for extra caution. Word might get around and damage Dr Vincent Beaumarcher Laurie's credibility and respectability, should such gossip have the misfortune to reach Her Majesty's ears.

  A stepsister who rubbed shoulders with the lower classes and who might number prostitutes, pimps, thieves and other low-lifes among her clients. Intolerable - the very idea!

  It was all grossly unfair and made me seethe with anger. The campaign for women to be granted the vote had begun in '67 and a suffrage bill came up every year but without success. The Reform Act of ‘84 gave the vote to more men but no women.

  We were not defeated. There were societies growing in every major town across the country. We had faith and determination in the future. The sooner we got the vote and put men in their place, the unhappier they'd be.

  Useless to discuss such matters with Vince who, without the least idea of treading on very dangerous ground, asked after our sister Emily and had I heard from Orkney recently.

  That hurt too. 'Just the occasional card or letter.' I refrained from adding they were vague and perfunctory.

  'You should go and see her sometime. It would do you good to get away from Edinburgh for a while. You must miss her.'

  He paused before adding quite casually a suggestion which I was certain occupied a great deal of his thoughts and was doubtless earnestly discussed with Olivia.

  'Have you considered that you could do worse than go back to live in Orkney?'

  'I have, Vince dear, especially when I first came here six months ago. But I'm still waiting for that invitation, you know,' I reminded him gently. 'Up to now my hints about longing to see her again have been studiously ignored,' I continued, trying to retain my good humour against a growing feeling, somewhat spiteful, that Vince would like me tucked safely back in Orkney where I would be less likely to pose a threat to his career.

  ‘You shouldn't need an invitation, for heaven's sake,' he said sharply. 'She's your only sister and Gran brought you both up in Orkney after our mother died. If I'd been younger I'd have been there too. Stepfather could never have managed.'

  Gran, now old and frail, lived with Emmy and her husband and needed constant care, according to those rare communications.

  Vince sighed deeply. 'I expect Emily's busy like all of us. I wouldn't make too much of it, Rose. Don't take it to heart. I'm sure she means well. You were very close at one time.'

  Realizing by my expression that he was on a downward slope he said, 'And have you heard from your father?'

  'A postcard from London. Imogen is on one of her research trips, seeing people.'

  'They called on Olivia when they were there, did you know?' he said brightly. 'I gather Imogen is very involved with politics these days. Reading between the lines, Olivia said the suffragette movement is high on their list of priorities.'

  I warmed to Imogen when Vince's despairing sigh indicated that such women were a bewildering new species.

  My own despairing sigh was that I figured nowhere on Pappa's list of priorities these days. They rarely visited Britain and as there was a regular train service between London and Edinburgh, I felt they might have made the extra journey.

  When I said as much to Vince he seemed surprised that I should feel bruised by their neglect. And as the carriage approached the Tower and the end of our day was in sight, he said, by way of compensation, no doubt, 'We must have you up to Balmoral one of these days. The Queen is very sympathetic about Olivia and the children being on their own in St James's for long periods when we are in Scotland. She has hinted that they might be invited up for Christmas. Now wouldn't it be splendid if you could come too? I'll see if I can get you included in the invitation. You'd like that.'

  I said yes, aware that I didn't sound over-enthusiastic. I didn't want to hold my breath on it or put my heart into a giddy circuit of eager anticipation. Like watching the postman and looking forward eagerly to yet another invitation, only to be blighted once more.

  Handing me down from the carriage, Vince hugged and kissed me and said how marvellous it had been to have me with him at the lunch. And for a moment I thought I saw a flicker of the adored stepbrother now so lost under the weight of royal approval and command.

  ‘Take care. Rose dear. I'll see you soon.'

  'Till then,' I said hopefully. 'You take care too.' And I stood on the road and waved the carriage out of sight, feeling very out of sorts with my entire family at that moment.

  Pappa, Emmy and Vince. I had no real part in any of their lives. Thank heavens for Jack Macmerry. And how lonely I would be without Thane now that Cat was gone.

  As I opened the front door I noticed movement across the road and Auld Rory's head peeped eagerly over the hedgerow.

  Guessing that he was wildly curious about that royal carriage, I invited him in for a cup of tea, produced some scones and jam, told him all about the lunch with the Princess and how I had sat next to his old campaigner, General Carthew.

  He went suddenly quiet and I found it difficult to read his expression through all that facial hair, a perfect screen for his emotions at the best of times.

  'You served with him in India. Did you know his wife?'

  'He wasna' married then,' he said slowly.

  I brought him up to date with her being an invalidish lady who didn't accompany him to social functions and about Gerald Carthew's two children who my friend Nancy was nursemaid to. And wasn't it a small world?

  I expected him to say something, but he listened in silence and I was sure he hadn't heard a word or wasn't interested in what I'd been telling him. He pushed aside his cup of tea, bolted down the rest of the scone and, with a brief word of thanks, he stood up so quickly that the milk jug skidded across the table.

  I followed him to the door, concerned about his strange behaviour. I could hear him muttering under his breath as he crossed the road back to his ditch. I waited until he disappeared. How odd! Was he anti-Royalist, had I bored him with my chatter about royal lunches?

  I must confess I was disappointed, having fully expected that mention of the General would bring forth another series of wild adventures in India. Perhaps he was still blaming the General for his son's death. I shrugged and went inside knowing I wouldn't get far trying to work out the machinations of Auld Rory's twisted mind, damaged beyond repair by his experiences defending the outposts of the Empire.

  I suspected there were depths even those who got close to him would never understand, and he was just a poor old soldier I had taken pity on. I knew I was doing it again, what Jack warned me about, making too much of people and their reactions.

  And obviously if my interpretation of that scuffle outside the hotel was anything to go on, General Carthew was not, as the press would lead us to believe, entirely Edinburgh's most popular hero.

  Chapter Six

  Nancy looked in on her way to the Pleasance Theatre where The Pirates of Penzance were rehearsing for their imminent appearance.

  Her generous employers, Sir Angus and Lady Carthew, devotees of Gilbert and Sullivan, strangely enough seemed to regard her minor singing role in the chorus as of equal importance to her duties as nanny. She was very fortunate and she knew it.

  We had time for a cup of te
a together. She wanted to hear all about the royal lunch. I considered telling her about my discovery of the dead woman but decided against it. Nancy would worry such topics like a terrier with a juicy bone, she would have many fantastic 'simple' explanations, just as she did for Thane. He was no mystery to Nancy. She had it all worked out. With a wealthy but neglectful master on the other side of Arthur's Seat, Thane had formed an attachment to me, as animals sometimes do if their owners don't spend enough time with them.

  The vanishing corpse would be similarly explained, so I gave her a full account of my meeting with the General, how I had sat next to him at the luncheon, but refrained from any mention of the altercation I had witnessed outside the hotel.

  Nancy was delighted. Our meeting would make her gossip about the Carthews more meaningful.

  'He's such a charmer. So handsome, as well as being the kindest and most generous of men.' I had to agree.

  'Such a pity about his poor wife,' she said.

  I asked what she was like and Nancy shrugged. 'In the few weeks since I've been with them, I can count the times we have met.'

  She paused. 'I had decided she would follow the example of other upper-class parents, or in their case foster-parents, who leave their young as soon as possible to the care of nannies and governesses. But I suppose being childless, having two youngsters around is a bit of a novelty for her.'

  'I should imagine that two wee children who have just lost their mamma need all the love and understanding they can get, especially with their father unavoidably absent,' I said, refilling her cup.

  'Torquil and Tessa certainly don't go short of that. Their aunt and uncle are devoted to them. According to Cook they prefer spending as much time as possible with the wee ones on their own.'