Dangerous Pursuits (A Rose McQuinn Mystery)

by Alanna Knight

  She sighed. 'I should be grateful as it certainly gives me much more freedom. Once they are dressed, breakfasted and set up for the day, I don't even have to do any washing for them. The daily laundry maid takes care of that with the rest of the house linen.' She shook her head. 'Sometimes I have to pinch myself to believe how lucky I have landed.'

  I agreed, although I found it difficult to imagine the General and his invalid wife relaxing as the devoted temporary foster-parents of two boisterous young children as Nancy continued: 'Mrs Laing has been with the family for donkey's years - she served the General's parents as a young lass. Although they don't like it known, this is actually his second marriage. He was married the first time when he was very young. To a county woman, a wealthy widow a lot older than himself. There was money involved, of course. Apparently the Carthews were in dire straits, so he did as he was told. There was a young stepson by his wife's first marriage, but Mrs Laing hadn't heard of him for years.'

  She sighed. 'The General is certainly devoted to her ladyship, the ideal husband. Her personal maid left recently and went down to England to look after her elderly mother who was seriously ill. Mrs Laing said that her ladyship was terribly cut-up.

  'And no wonder, normally such ladies have been brought up to be completely useless, can't even do up their own corsets, or put up their hair, but Lady Carthew's not like that. And Sir Angus is always willing to play lady's maid, brushing her hair and lacing her into her corset - according to Mrs Laing, he makes a great joke of it.'

  I wasn't entirely surprised at this information which Nancy found so remarkable. Some men enjoy such tasks. Danny always brushed my hair. He said there was something very alluring and very exciting for a man about a woman's hair.

  Nancy laughed. 'I can't imagine the General somehow, especially as maids have to be trained to hairdressing, coiffures for fashionable ladies are very tricky these days.'

  She looked at me and smiled. 'A lot would give their fortunes to have your natural curls, Rose. Myself included...'

  I grimaced. 'They can be an unruly menace, I assure you. You have no idea how I envy your well-tamed waves.'

  She touched her soft brown hair, pleased with the compliment, and then, leaning forward, she added confidentially, 'I'll let you into a little secret, Rose. I've suspected since I first saw her ladyship walking in the garden that her magnificent wavy golden hair is - a wig! It's not like yours. There's never a strand out of place.

  ‘And once when Torquil fell and cut his knee, he screamed for his auntie. I ran upstairs after him leaving Tessa in the schoolroom. I knocked on their door, but he wouldn't wait. He struggled away from me and rushed into the bedroom. And I saw the wig stand,' she added triumphantly.

  I thought this somewhat naive. Many rich women wore wigs for convenience and they were specially popular among the saloon girls in Arizona who could not afford the luxury of hairdressers, if they had ever been fortunate enough to find one.

  'It is quite likely that Lady Carthew's long illness has made her lose her hair.'

  'I hadn't thought of that,' said Nancy. ‘Poor lady, how awful. Well, as I was telling you, the General was out of sorts that day. He had a visitor and he doesn't like being interrupted. I've never known him be impatient with Torquil before. He demanded to know what all the fuss was about a scratched knee and told the wee lad he must learn to be a brave soldier.

  'All the time he glared at me, I was obviously to blame.

  'I said I was sorry for disturbing them. Although the General hugged Torquil, he had a face like thunder. Told him to be quiet and be a good boy, here was a penny. Auntie would be back shortly, she'd kiss his knee better.

  'His visitor was obviously embarrassed, staring out of the window. The General said - rather sharply, I thought - "Just leave the children with us, Nanny. We'll look after them until her ladyship returns."

  "Then he gave me one of his smiles and said that as Mr Appleton was leaving soon, I could take the rest of the day off. Mr Appleton's the stepson, so Mrs Laing told me. On a very rare visit.

  'When I was leaving I heard their voices in the study. Her ladyship had returned. So I tapped on the door, the General opened it and took Tessa in. And that's why I'm here earlier than usual,' she added happily.

  Despite her early arrival Nancy left at the last possible moment for the rehearsal. A few times she asked casually, 'What time does Jack come for supper?' And I guessed this was the reason for her delayed departure.

  She was in luck this time, she had just put on her bonnet and cape when Jack arrived. There was a great deal of laughter and teasing about Desmond Marks which I watched rather sourly, before Nancy said she really must go or she would be late.

  Jack turned to me eagerly and asked how long would supper be?

  I did not say I had been delayed by Nancy's visit and the potatoes were not yet peeled. When I told him half an hour, the gallant Jack smiled delightedly.

  'Then I'll walk Nancy down the Pleasance. That'll give me an appetite.'

  I accepted a goodbye peck on the cheek from both of them and watched them rush out of the front gate, still laughing and teasing. It wasn't much consolation to realize that this state of affairs was all my own doing either.

  Jack returned in such a good humour and I tormented myself that he was working off a guilty conscience.

  When I asked if there was any more information about PC Smith and the dead woman, he said there wasn't but going to his jacket he took a piece of paper out of his pocket.

  'The missing women you asked about. There are four in the Edinburgh area.' He consulted the list. 'A woman of sixty, a fifteen-year-old, a young married woman, twenty-four, with two children, a thirty-year-old schoolteacher.'

  I felt I could dismiss the first two. 'Tell me about the last two.'

  Frowning, he considered the descriptions. 'Mrs Winton, dark brown hair, medium build, average height.'

  Apart from the lack of a wedding ring, which wasn't conclusive to a marriage, that sounded promising.

  'What is her address?' I said, holding out my hand.

  'No, Rose,' said Jack, adding with a laugh, 'I am not permitted to give out that information. Surely you should know that. This is confidential police business.'

  'It is also my professional business,' I responded hotly, but Jack was unimpressed. He merely shrugged and said:

  'Do you want to know what the schoolteacher looked like?' I did.

  'She is a spinster, fairish hair, average height.'

  It was all terribly vague, these two missing persons who might fit the description of the dead woman.

  'Well, will that satisfy you?' Jack said, folding the paper and returning it to his jacket pocket.

  'What do you know about the first two names on the list?'

  Jack thought for a moment. 'I suppose there's no harm in telling you that the old lady has wandered away before. Daughter says they had a fight and she suspects her ma's gone to Aberdeen to her son. As for the young lass, it's the usual sort of story. Run away from home. Lives in one of the High Street wynds. Parents insist she's "gone to the bad", though how it could be much worse than her terrible conditions at home, fair beats me.'

  I put out my hand. 'Please, Jack. Let me see the list.'

  He shook his head. 'No. That's all you are getting and this was merely to satisfy your curiosity-'

  'At least tell me how the last two women disappeared.'

  He grimaced. 'I suppose so. The married woman walked out and left her husband couple of weeks ago. Took the children...'

  That didn't sound promising. 'Go on.'

  'The schoolteacher walked out of a girls' boarding school three weeks ago and hasn't been heard of since.'

  That was hopeful. Neat clothes and hair, respectable.

  'You must admit there's nothing there that sounds like your dead woman, Rose. Even if she exists. I still think she'd fallen and fainted, then recovered and is safely back home somewhere now. The sooner you accept that the better.'

>   I didn't accept it but there was no point in arguing. And that night when Jack was sound asleep and snoring happily, I did something I would never have believed myself capable of.

  I went to his jacket hanging over the chair and extracted the list. Tiptoeing downstairs, I turned up the lamp and copied the addresses of the two women most likely to correspond with the one I had found.

  Returning to bed, I slipped in beside him and slept soundly until morning without a single pang of conscience.

  Jack had that weekend free and he had plans for us to spend it together. He had been behaving very mysteriously, promising a special outing. From that I imagined Sunday dinner at an inn somewhere, perhaps across the Forth. If the weather was mild enough he might have in mind a picnic, going across in a ferryboat to the island of Inchcolm, a visit I had also often been promised.

  At breakfast he informed me that we were to go down to North Berwick on the train, to visit his parents who had recently moved there from Peebles.

  He waited for my reaction, saw my startled expression and said, 'Well, aren't you pleased with my little surprise?'

  I wasn't pleased. I was taken aback.

  At this stage of our relationship I did not want to meet Jack's parents, who would immediately presume that we were an engaged couple about to get married. Jack was an only son. I could not do that to them.

  ‘I’m sorry, I can't,' I said.

  He looked woeful. 'Why ever not?'

  'You know why not,' I said as gently as I could.

  He took my hand across the table. 'Rose, this doesn't commit you to anything. They know about you.'

  'But do they know about us?'

  Jack looked confused. 'Only that we are courting. And so they're longing to meet you.'

  'Do they know about Danny?'

  He shuffled uncomfortably. 'I've never made any secret that you are a widow - of course. A very pretty young widow, Rose.'

  I sighed. 'We're not certain sure about that. Jack.' This was the one rock to which I obstinately clung, the one Jack believed was the sole impediment to our marriage.

  'Come now, Rose. It's been more than a year since Danny disappeared.’

  I stood up, began to clear the breakfast dishes. 'You'd better be off, Jack. You'll miss your train.'

  He knew I meant it. 'I'm very disappointed, Rose. And the folks will be too. You'd like them, they're great.'

  'I'm sure they are.'

  He looked at me. 'What am I going to tell them?' he said desperately.

  I shook my head. 'You'll think of something.'

  He kissed me goodbye, clearly as disappointed in me as I was in having that surprise I was looking forward to dashed once again. If only he had discussed it with me first, but watching him go I felt angry that he had tried to force me into a position where I would be accepted by his family and all the wrong conclusions drawn.

  Sad and somewhat weary, I prepared to face the prospect of a now empty weekend, two days I had set so much store on spending with Jack.

  There was no point in feeling sorry for myself. Worse things had happened in my life. So I would set aside my injured feelings and put the information I had copied from Jack's list to good use.

  Chapter Seven

  As I prepared to put my disappointment to some useful purpose by not hating Jack and instead finding out if the dead woman was one of the two on his missing persons list, the weather smiled on me. The sun shone as if the celestial weatherman had forgotten to consult his calendar, and note that this was November, future prospects: ice and snow and skating on Duddingston Loch.

  Instead we were presented with trees that were an artist's dream, glowing landscapes and glorious golden days. Mild and windless, warm enough to abandon thoughts of winter coats and consider sunny picnics outdoors.

  I thought gloomily about the one picnic I had hoped for - what perfect weather for it - as I looked at the two most probable names I had copied down.

  Bella Winton, aged twenty-four, last known address 117 Musselburgh Road. I remembered the tall tenements newly built in Newington on what had been the long winding drovers' road south out of Edinburgh towards Dalkeith and Berwick.

  That would be my first call.

  The second was Mabel Simms, the schoolteacher, whose address was St Anne's Boarding School for Girls at Portobello. No picnic, but a glimpse of azure sea and a bracing stroll along the promenade.

  Taking out my bicycle I headed to Newington, found the right house with the name Winton on the fourth floor. As I climbed the stone stairs I heard raised voices, a man and a woman, in the thick of a violent disagreement accompanied by the sound of breaking china. I looked at the name on the door apprehensively, hoping that I was wrong.

  Winton. Furious sounds of violence and crashing within had me ducking out of sight as the door flew open and a woman emerged, still shouting obscenities as she rushed downstairs.

  The man, a rough-looking character, unshaven and wild-eyed, dashed after her, adding his derisive comments about wives who were bitches and should never have left their mothers' kennels.

  When all was silent again, I emerged from my hiding place to find that the irate couple's neighbour had opened her door. The old woman looked out very cautiously. When she saw me, timidly keeping out of sight, she grinned.

  'So that was the Wifie Winton leaving home - once again.' She nodded. 'A good riddance to bad rubbish, I'd say, and maybe a body'll get a bit of peace - the noise, the fighting half the night has been awful.'

  As she spoke she regarded me, obviously curious about my business there and especially my bicycling outfit, something of a novelty in her experience.

  So raising my important-looking leather case, which actually contained just a few printed business cards, denoting 'Lady investigator. Discretion guaranteed', I muttered something about 'charity organizations'.

  'Is that so? We could all do with some of that,' said the old lady enviously. 'But I doubt you've wasted your time, hen. Ye'll get nowt for your charities from the likes of the Wintons, or anyone else in this road.'

  'Will - er - they be back?' I asked politely, rather hoping the answer would be negative.

  She shook her head. 'No point in yer waiting for that. The wife'll be on the next train back to England to her bairns - and her auld mother. It happens regularly, every few weeks. Last time it was longer than usual and then her ma sent letters back that she wasn't there. She'd gone away. Well, the silly bugger got scared and told the polis. There's been no end of a stir I can tell you...'

  I made my escape as quickly as I could.

  That was number one off Jack's list.

  It was still early so I decided to call on St Anne's Boarding School, a new establishment which had taken over a handsome mansion on the sea front.

  Hoping to find out what they knew of Mabel Simms' reasons for disappearing, I wasn't quite sure how to frame my enquiry and I was fortunate enough to find a teacher. Outside the dining-room, from the smells of food and the clatter of cutlery within, a young woman was shepherding girls into an orderly crocodile, demanding silence.

  She might have saved her breath. Canute had more luck in commanding the waves to retreat.

  As the last of her charges disappeared inside, she turned with a deep sigh and saw me.

  'I am looking for Miss Simms,' I told her with a businesslike flourish of my leather case.

  'She isn't here any more,' was the not unexpected reply.

  When I expressed surprise, she said, 'I can give you her home address, if that would help. If you'll just come along to the study.'

  I followed, dying to ask questions about the absconding teacher as she looked in a filing drawer and copied down an address.

  'Here you are,' she said brightly. 'That's her sister, Miss Bertha Simms.'

  As I turned to leave I asked, 'Were you a friend of hers by any chance?'

  She shook her head and looked a mite uncomfortable. 'Not exactly, I was in my first week here when she left. Actually, it was because of
my appointment as her assistant. It was thought she took umbrage and walked out that afternoon at the end of the English lesson. When she didn't come back, Headmistress decided she was in the sulks. She'd been here for years and years and they accepted her tantrums. There were other things...'

  She paused, realizing she had said too much. 'I mean, this wasn't the first time she'd walked out - but she was good with the girls, who adored her.'

  Her wide-eyed look of surprise indicated that this was something remarkable. When I said nothing, she continued.

  ‘She was a wee bit unconventional, spoke her mind - no respect for the classical authors we are taught to revere, either. A mimic who had all her pupils in fits of laughter. In her good moods, she made everyone laugh,' she added in tones of envy.

  As she was speaking, I felt a growing sympathy with the absent teacher. Being unconventional and speaking one's mind were dangerous pastimes and, in the wrong direction, certain ways of making enemies and getting oneself murdered. I liked what I had heard of her and hoped that she wasn't the dead woman in the ruined chapel.

  'If you do see her, please tell her we all miss her. I'm sure Headmistress would love to have her back. She was like one of the family here, that's why they insisted the police be told, in case something dreadful had happened to her.'

  As she spoke she was eyeing the black leather case. 'Is there something we can do for you?' she asked.

  'No. It was Miss Simms I needed to see.' I smiled. 'To do with insurance policies and so forth.'

  'Then her sister is the one to see.'

  I had a quick look at the address. Right on the other side of the town.

  Sighing, I was glad of the warm sunshine and told myself that I would enjoy bicycling across the Meadows and down Lothian Road.

  Enjoy, was not quite the word I would have used, endured was more appropriate. By the time I had negotiated the Saturday traffic and had been hooted at by numerous carriages with impatient occupants heading towards a local football match, I had decided that I was not and never would be the world's most expert bicyclist. I had a tendency to get my wheels caught up in the tramlines.