Aunt Toffy and the Ghost

by Linda Lea Castle

  ****

  The next afternoon tea took place as scheduled. Several of the society attended along with Mrs. Malone. Questions were asked and answered. Soon they were all finished. It was late in the afternoon, and Mr. Scrum was returning from the bank as they readied themselves to leave.

  “Mrs. Malone, when will your daughter being marrying?” Mrs. Scrum asked while the ladies tightened their bonnets and gathered their cloaks.

  “I confess I am somewhat embarrassed. Mr. Rawlings and I certainly anticipated a wedding, but—”

  “Surly Rawly has not done the wrong thing!” Mr. Scrum declared.

  “Oh, faith, no. He has been the perfect gentleman. No, the fault is in my daughter. While she has enjoyed the hospitality of Dullinmuth, the dances, teas, and hunts that Basil has hosted, she has not yet accepted Rawly’s offer of marriage. Her father is quite vexed. He has sent word to her that she is either to accept the proposal or return home.”

  “Could it be because of the Dullinmuth piper? The stories in the newspaper have been quite lively. Perhaps she doesn’t wish to dwell in a house so much occupied by a spirit,” Adorna commented.

  “It indeed may be the ghost, but not for the reasons you think,” Mrs. Malone said cryptically.

  Adorna had no reply, for she was somewhat surprised at how happy that unexpected news was to her. But why? What possible difference could it make to her? She and Rawly were cordial—she was his landlady—there was no more. And yet, she could not deny some strange thrill when she heard he was not quite at the wedding alter.

  ****

  Molly dashed from the dark hall of Dullinmuth at dawn. She was out of breath by the time she reached the stable. Her skin prickled in the early morning damp air. She had been in such a rush she had not snatched up her cloak and the sleeves of her frock were short.

  “I thought you might have changed your mind,” a voice said from the shadows.

  “Not likely. How am I to learn if you don’t teach me.”

  He laughed and stepped into the weak light. “Then sit you down and let us begin.” Todd Hull held out his hand. “Let me see your latest effort—and I will tell you if you have what it takes to be a writer.”

  “I better get back to the hall. Mother will be looking for me.” Molly stood up and brushed her skirt to make sure she had no traces of grass or straw clinging. “Tomorrow?”

  Todd Hull smiled. “Molly, you have talent, no doubt about it. What you need is experience. And that is something a proper young Scottish lass is not going to get.”

  “Not in Edinburgh.”

  “Not anywhere. You will marry, settle in, and raise a family.”

  “But what if I wish to be another Lady Stanhope?”

  He snorted a laugh. “You? You are going to journey to the desert, climb pyramids—ride camels?”

  “And why not?”

  “Because you are nearly engaged.”

  “Nearly is not engaged,” Molly said with a toss of her curls. She began to think of what he had said as she made her way back to Dullinmuth hall.

  “Be that as it may you also have another disadvantage.”

  “Which is what?”

  “You are female. To be able to write and submit to newspapers, and expect to be taken seriously, you need a male name.”

  Molly narrowed her eyes. “Then I shall create one.”

  “How do you suppose you will get away with that? At some point you would have to speak with editors.” Todd shook his head.

  “Then you will help me. You will be the face that editors see, I will make up a name, you can represent me. Say that I’m currently out of the country.”

  “And if I should agree to this madness—what will you write about?”

  “I will find something. I will find some bit of news.”

  ****

  Rawly saw Molly as she walked by the black stallion’s stall. She was so deep in thought she did not even see him. Only a few moments later, he saw Todd Hull leave the same way.

  “So, my friend, there is a new intrigue.” He rubbed the velvety softness of the horse’s nose while a smile played around his mouth. Perhaps there was another reason he could not marry.

  A second letter from Tobias arrived that morning. Rawly read the many pages and smiled. His brother had much news—some of it personal, some of it general—all of it quite exciting. Rawly tucked the letter into his waistcoat and went in search of Molly Malone.

  He found her having tea in the kitchens with Todd Hull. A smile tickled the edges of his lips.

  “Miss Malone, would you be so kind as to go riding with me this morning?”

  He did not miss the quick glance she gave Mr. Hull. But to her credit she put a bright smile on her face. “Of course, that would be grand.”

  Rawly instructed the stable boys to find a gentle gelding for Molly to ride. He found a housemaid, Sally, who had a brother who worked in the stable.

  “I need you and your brother to provide the chaperone for Miss Malone and myself.”

  “Aye.” She bobbed a curtsey.

  Rawly knew them both to be expert riders. They were also the niece and nephew of the local vicar so their reputations were sterling in the community.

  He did not want to compromise Miss Malone.

  She joined him in a short while, prettily dressed in a sedate riding outfit, suitable for her age and station. She glanced at the young couple waiting on horseback.

  “Our chaperones,” Rawly said.

  “Thank you. We would not wish to cause a scandal.”

  “I agree.” He helped her into the saddle, watching as she settled herself, side-style.

  “Thank you, Rawly. Where shall we ride.”

  “To yon glen, I think. There we will have complete privacy. There is something I must ask you.”

  Molly paled and bit her lip. He hoped he was not over-playing his hand. This could all go terribly wrong if he had misread the situation.

  ****

  They rode side by side, Rawly keeping a tight rein on the fractious stallion, Molly sitting sedately on the gentle bay gelding. The chaperones kept up the pace but maintained a respectful distance, talking quietly to each other.

  The horses followed an ancient game trail, startling up grouse and capercaillie. Just before the group reached the top of the hillock, a huge stag bounded out in front of them. He ran up the heather, his rack was a mighty branching affair that seemed almost too large for him to balance. His neck was thick and shaggy, his legs delicate. When he reached the top, he turned and bugled, loud and long at the intruders, pawing at the heather.

  “Magnificent,” she said.

  “Aye, the monarch of the glen. He is a bonny lad.” Rawly pulled up the stallion and turned to Molly. “Have you enjoyed your time here in Dullinmuth?”

  “It has been a wondrous adventure. The piper was more than I ever expected to find.”

  “I understand the stories in your father’s newspaper have been very informative. If I am to be truthful, their appearance has helped a friend of mine, if the servant’s gossip is true.”

  “Are you speaking of Mrs. Miggins?” She expertly reined the gelding to a more advantageous position. He clipped short, tough grass with his teeth.

  “Aye, and Toffy. They are very dear friends. I was distressed when Basil’s tea parties led to adverse rumors about their home. As a widow she depends on steady custom.”

  “It was unfortunate she was inconvenienced. But now they are the darlings of Edinburgh.”

  Rawly tried to keep his features bland. It was a telling point that Molly never knew Mrs. Miggins had been inconvenienced. He turned to Molly and asked, “And who do I have to thank for that newspaper story? Todd Hull? Or you?”

  “What? I am sure I don’t know what you mean.” She looked a little pale.

  Rawly decided to let the matter drop for now. “I received a letter from my brother today.”

  “The elder brother?”

  “Aye, the true heir of Dullinmuth. He has
been in Africa—a short stay as it turns out. He has sent me extraordinary news.”

  “Really? I would love to hear.” She seemed interested but a bit wary.

  “Let us pull up and dismount.”

  They did so in silence. The young boy and girl did the same, letting their ponies graze nearby, where they were able to fulfill their duty as watch-dogs.

  “Tell me, Molly, what are your interests?”

  “Oh, the usual pursuits,” she said evasively.

  “Surely there is more to you than that. Whom do you admire?” Rawly helped her to sit down on a mound of moss. She stretched out her legs and arranged her riding costume demurely.

  “I most admire Lady Stanhope.” She blushed a bit.

  “Ah. I met her once,” Rawly said, plucking a heather bloom. Soon the hillside would be a carpet of soft color.

  “Really? Oh tell me, what is she like?” She was a different lass now, all interest and sparkling eyes.

  “Let me think… It has been a few years. She was intelligent, strong, willful…reckless some would say. I ran across her in Egypt. She is lovely in her own way. Unique best describes her. A strong woman living by her own rules. She is very different than most women. She drinks, smokes, dresses as she chooses.”

  “I would love to live as she does,” Molly mused with a sigh.

  “And if you were another Lady Stanhope how would you live?”

  “I would travel the world and write the news,” she blurted and then as if she regretted her words, she clapped a hand over her mouth.

  “So, you have an ambition. Am I to assume your father does not approve?”

  “Please do not tell him I said what I did. He would like for me to forget it. When I was a child I often went with him to the newspaper. I loved the clang and thunk of the press, the scurrying type setters, the scent of the ink. I wanted this for as long as I can remember.”

  “If that is the case then why on earth did you answer my grandfather’s call for prospective brides?” Rawly flopped down near her and propped himself on one elbow.

  “But I did not! Your grandfather did not approach the unmarried girls. He appealed to their mothers—mine included. He listed your lineage, your attributes, your income. Then it was up to the mamas to present their daughters for his approval.”

  “I see.” Rawly was torn between being horrified and amused. His grandfather was seeking a wife for him with the same techniques as he would find a new ewe for the standing ram.

  ’Twas a bit insulting.

  “It seems we both have a desire for a life beyond the usual.”

  “What do you want, Rawly?”

  “Many things. Not the least of which is to see my grandfather happy and content. The puzzle is how to do that without sacrificing my own life.”

  They sat in silence for a few minutes.

  “Tell me about your brother’s letter.” Molly lay back on the cushion of moss and closed her eyes.

  “I would be glad to read it to you. He sent several pages. A lot is happening in that part of the world.”

  She was all ears as he read the long letter to her.

  “This news is fresh…” she mused.

  “Aye, I wonder if any newspapers have printed much on these events?”

  “I doubt it. The reporter that writes this story will have a feather in their cap,” she said wistfully.

  Rawly saw the hunger in Molly’s eyes. He had seen the same hunger—when he looked in the mirror each day.

  “Let us be candid, Miss Malone. I think you are a canny girl with a quick mind.”

  She stiffened like a wary hare, waiting to be caught in a trap. “Thank you.”

  “I think you have a craving for a life beyond marriage and motherhood.”

  “Do go on.”

  “I have a question to put to you, Molly Malone.”

  “Ask me if you must.” She seemed to be steeling herself against bad news.

  “I would be honored if you refused to be my wife. And I have a plan that I hope will bring us both what we want”

  Chapter Ten

  “My the news is startling! I don’t know how they learn of these events,” Mrs. Scrum said over the top edge of the newspaper. “This story is written by a new reporter. Perhaps he was there in Africa.”

  “What is his name?” Mr. Scrum asked.

  “Mmm, it appears to be A. Hopeful. Do you suppose that is made up? I think it sounds like a made up name.” Mrs. Scrum noisily adjusted the paper. “I have often wondered if they use names other than their own in case readers don’t like the story.”

  “Do reporters do that—make up nom de plumes?” Adorna poured herself a new cup of tea and offered Toffy a heat-up. “It is intriguing to think so. We might actually be sitting beside someone who does that and we wouldn’t even know it.”

  “Read us some more.” Toffy shook her head to the offer of more tea and nibbled on a scone.

  “Maybe that is what Rawly was—a secret reporter.” Mrs. Scrum’s eyes widened.

  “No, he came back too dirty for that—and he was covered with dirt not India ink,” Toffy scoffed. “No, I am afraid we are no closer to unraveling Rawly’s secrets than we ever were.”

  They were seated around the dining table with the early morning light illuminating the room. Crosbie had pulled back the drapes and opened the shutters. The early morning warmth and noise of the wakening city seeped inside.

  “It is so incredible to hear about darkest Africa as if it were no farther away than London.” Mrs. Scrum refolded the paper as if to put it aside.

  “I would stay and hear more, but I must get to the bank. Much to do much to do.” Mr. Scrum rose and gave Mrs. Scrum a peck on the cheek.

  Adorna smiled at their display of affection. The household was quite settled these days. Crosbie and Mr. Scrum were the only roosters in this house of hens. And while it was pleasant to have everyone fixed into a routine, Adorna did miss the extra excitement of Basil and his ongoing quest to see Rawly wed. That coupled with Rawly’s mystery provided them with daily diversion.

  “I will read it all to you when you return this evening.” Mrs. Scrum promised her husband.

  “Don’t restrain yourself, my dear. Read on. The news will be as fresh to me whether you ladies hear it firstly. It will give you something to discuss over your tea—besides speculating on Rawly.” Mr. Scrum then put on his hat and left by the front door.

  “Crosbie, freshen our plate of scones and then perhaps Mrs. Scrum will read to us more of Africa,” Toffy said, picking up another scone. Adorna did not miss the fact that she had not touched the bannocks and that by the time they left the table the bannocks would be gone. She wondered how Meridius did it—how he could simply make food and drink disappear. And how it was that nobody commented on it.

  “It seems a great African emperor has been killed,” Mrs. Scrum said a few moments later interrupting Adorna’s thoughts. She waited until Crosbie returned. Adorna nodded at a chair, and the tall man seated himself. His face was open and eager.

  “Shaka, king of the Zulus, known for his extreme cruelty, has been killed. After a year of deprivations, not the least of which was murdering women who were with child, and forbidding the consumption of milk by his starving subjects, his own brothers have put an end to his tyranny. The face of Africa will be changed by this event.”

  “My it is so vivid one could almost believe Mr. A. Hopeful was actually there,” Toffy commented.

  “Yes, it does paint a sad picture doesn’t it? Imagine killing women before they give birth. The man must have been a monster. I cannot imagine the barbarism of that continent.” Mrs. Scrum took a sip of tea to steady herself. Then with slow resolve, she proceeded to read the entire article. They were all silent after she finished the graphic details of death and famine. After a moment or two where the air was thick with the thoughts of each person, she flipped a few more pages over, scanning.

  Finally, she spoke again, “It seems the latest story of hauntings in Edi
nburgh has been moved to a back page. There is a small piece here about the ghosts of Grayfriars—Bluidy Mackenzie and the like. The lodging house spirit is no longer front page news.”

  “I canna say I’m sad about that. I was growing very tired of strangers standing in the street pointing at the house,” Toffy said. “I wouldn’a minded if they had come in and paid to speak to Meridius, but it is too rude to simply stand and gawp. I must say our custom has slowed down considerably of late. I had hoped that Mrs. Malone’s society would continue to keep us busy.”

  Adorna nearly snorted with laughter. Leave it to Toffy to lighten the mood with her strange remarks. It was amazing to hear some of the things that came from Toffy’s mouth, but in this instance she was glad for it, because it helped to wipe away some of the sorrow the newspaper article had brought to the house.

  ****

  Just before the noon meal was laid out on the table, a knock came at the door. Crosbie came back and handed a small note to Adorna. She broke the wax seal and opened it.

  “Good news, dear?” Toffy asked settling herself near the bread basket.

  “Aye. Our sign if finished. The workmen will be by later to today to hang it. I must confess I am a wee bit excited to see it hanging. It will make this dream of ours seem real.”

  “I guess we can take that tatty old handwritten sign from the front window.” Toffy sounded a little sad.

  “Aye, we can. We are embarking on a new venture. No longer will we be dependent on the custom of lodgers. See to it, please, Crosbie,” Adorna said.

  He left and returned a few minutes later with the small square of paper. It was yellowed, the once black ink faded. It did look a bit down-at-heel. Adorna ran her fingers over the script she had written herself just short of two years ago. “Rooms to let,” she said softly. “It has been a good business. It has kept us in drink, coal, and bread—brought us together with wonderful people. Let us hope the new endeavor can do the same.”

  Everyone in the room nodded in agreement.