Letters from the Dead (Jefferson Tayte Genealogical Mystery Book 7)

by Steve Robinson

  He pinched the sleep from his eyes and swung his legs out of bed, stretching and yawning as he did so. He stood up and went to the window where he threw the first of the curtains open, noting that the weather had turned, settling the area with mist. He opened the next curtain along, still trying to decide what to do. He was certainly invested in the assignment by now. There were so many questions he wanted to know the answers to, and he hated the idea of walking away from unfinished research.

  When he reached the last curtain and flung it open, a folded slip of paper fluttered from the windowsill on to the floor. He stooped down and picked it up, curious to know what it was. When he opened it, he saw that it was a note, and as he began to read it his heart rate quickened.

  ‘Find the ruby,’ he said under his breath. ‘Restore the Blood of Rajputana.’

  After the message there was a series of symbols he didn’t recognise, although he knew it had to be some kind of language—Hindi, perhaps. As with Jane Hardwick’s letter, he wondered who had left it for him. He was sure it hadn’t been on his windowsill when he’d drawn his curtains the night before, but then he’d gone down to dinner. He thought someone must have put it there during that time, and he imagined it had to be the same person who had left Jane’s letter. He went to the bathroom, eager to wash and dress and go down to speak with Sinclair about it. The note left no doubt that someone wanted to help him find the ruby.

  But to what end?

  ‘It’s Sanskrit,’ Sinclair said as he studied the note Tayte had passed to him across the table. ‘You don’t mind porridge for your breakfast, do you?’ he added, looking up at Tayte, as if wondering whether he considered it adequate. ‘It’s simple but hearty, and it was also quick and easy for Murray to prepare for us before he went out shooting this morning.’

  ‘I don’t mind at all,’ Tayte said. ‘In fact, there was a time when oatmeal was my go-to breakfast of choice. This is very good.’

  ‘Aye, Murray makes fine porridge. Perhaps if you ask him, he’ll share his secrets with you.’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ Tayte said, then getting back to the note, he added, ‘Do you know what the Sanskrit means?’

  ‘I do. It’s a word I’ve seen before, during my research into the Blood of Rajputana. I don’t know whether to feel excited or afraid about seeing it here at Drumarthen.’

  ‘Afraid? Why? What does it mean?’

  ‘It means that a fabled group of Rajputs may be real after all. I read that these men, each carrying a tattoo bearing the Sanskrit written on this note, were once charged with protecting the Blood of Rajputana. Since it was taken they’ve been honour-bound to recover it and return it to its rightful place.’

  ‘To the forehead of the golden statue of Krishna it was taken from,’ Tayte said, glad that he’d been paying attention when Sinclair first told him about the ruby.

  ‘So the story goes,’ Sinclair said. ‘I’ve found no evidence to support their existence, until now perhaps,’ he added, looking at the note again. ‘These Rajputs are said to be patriots to their cause, which is more or less my understanding of what this Sanskrit word means.’

  ‘If that’s true,’ Tayte said. ‘If this note was left by these fabled patriot Rajputs, their cause has been passed down through several generations.’

  ‘Aye, which is where my concern at reading this note comes from. They’re clearly very determined.’

  Tayte’s brow furrowed. ‘How could they have gotten in here? The ground floor to this place is like a castle. Have any doors been left unlocked? Are any of the windows broken?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge,’ Sinclair said. ‘Murray may not be in the habit of locking every door behind him each time he steps a foot outside, but I certainly lock up whenever I go out for any duration. Murray’s either here or out on the estate most of the time, of course, so maybe that’s it. I’ll be sure to tell him to lock the doors behind him when he goes out in future, and to ensure they’re bolted at night.’

  That much was reassuring, but Tayte’s brow remained creased. ‘How could these people know what I’m doing here? How do they know you’ve hired me to look for this ruby?’

  ‘Given their cause, I imagine they’ve taken great interest in the pursuits of my family, in which case I suspect they’ve had their eye on us all for some time.’

  Tayte was again reminded of the figure he’d seen by the burn the evening he arrived at Drumarthen. Had they been watching him then?

  ‘This could very well be connected to my brother’s death,’ Sinclair added, thoughtfully. ‘If he did borrow money from the syndicate Callum Macrae mentioned, to fund a trip to India in search of the ruby, it could well have drawn their attention. Maybe they didn’t like what my brother was doing. If we’re to take it that these Rajputs left you this note, then we can also suppose that they left us Jane Hardwick’s letter, which to my mind, given that I know my brother had them, means they took them from him.’

  ‘Or from Dr Drummond,’ Tayte offered. ‘You said that your brother and the doctor were close.’

  ‘Aye, perhaps. Who can say at this point? It’s an interesting turn of events, that’s for sure.’

  ‘We need to tell the police about this.’

  ‘Leave that to me,’ Sinclair said. ‘I’ll let DI Ross know what’s happened. As for the ruby, you must believe me when I say I don’t care for it. I simply wish to bring my brother’s killer to justice. My determination in the matter gained all the more strength when I saw Gordon Drummond lying dead at the foot of his stairs. I need your help, Mr Tayte. Do as the note says, won’t you? Find this accursed ruby if you can. Perhaps in doing so you can put a stop to what’s going on here.’

  Tayte sighed. It was clear to him that, for now at least, whoever was doing this had no interest in harming him. If that situation changed, he knew where the front door was.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’ll keep going for the time being.’

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ Sinclair said. ‘So where will your research take you today?’

  Tayte had already thought about that, which in itself was enough to tell him he was keen to continue. ‘I figured I’d start where I left off yesterday,’ he said. ‘I want to look into the Christie family I identified from Albert Faraday’s newspaper reports.’

  Sitting at the desk in his room, facing a painting of the Scottish Highlands with its ubiquitous mist and purple heather, it did not take Tayte long to prove his inklings about the Christie family were correct. By late morning his laptop screen was displaying a page from the UK Genealogy Archives, showing information he’d searched for in Burke’s Peerage. The heading he was interested in was ‘Christie of Glentrave,’ which matched with the information he’d found in Faraday’s article in The Times newspaper archive.

  Beneath the heading was all the information Tayte could hope to find. Sir John William Christie of Glentrave in the county of Fife was born on 11 August 1778. Died June 1826. In December 1799, he married Elspeth Macleod. Beneath that information Tayte read the names of their issue—and there was Robert, along with his sister, Arabella, whom he’d read about in Faraday’s newspaper column and in Jane Hardwick’s letters. In this instance, no dates of birth or death for Robert or Arabella were listed.

  There was little doubt in Tayte’s mind that this had to be the right Robert—the very same man Cornelius Dredger had written to in 1869 about his great-aunt Jane’s letters. Jane, Tayte now knew, had been in India with this Christie family. It stood to reason that Jane’s great-nephew, who had clearly been left her letters, would have written to John and Elspeth Christie’s son about them.

  Tayte had to remind himself, however, that Robert was a popular name. While he could feel Sinclair’s genealogical brick wall beginning to crumble, due to the illegitimacy of Robert’s as-yet-supposed offspring, he knew it would be difficult to fully prove that Robert Christie was Sinclair’s four-times-great-grandfather. All he had for now were the letters, which according to Sinclair had been passed down through his fam
ily, leading him to suspect that Robert was his four-times-great-grandfather—Robert having come by them himself via Cornelius Dredger. It all stacked up well enough, giving Tayte the confidence to keep digging. He thought it was sure to be exciting news for Sinclair when he told him, but he hoped to find some solid proof.

  Next, Tayte looked up Robert Christie, once again turning to Burke’s Peerage. Having quickly found that Robert had inherited his father’s titles and estate when Sir John Christie died, Tayte was keen to read about Robert’s marriage and subsequent offspring. He was surprised to learn, however, that Robert Christie had never married, and that with no legitimate heir to his title, the peerage became extinct. Tayte thought this information was telling in light of the affair Sinclair had spoken of. It was yet more supporting evidence to suggest that Robert Christie had fallen for a married woman, and that any children he may have fathered were therefore illegitimate.

  Tayte sat back and began to ponder where to take his research next. He knew little of the interaction between Dredger and Robert Christie, so he thought that merited further exploration. Had Robert given Dredger the money he sought to fund his expedition to India in search of the Blood of Rajputana? Or had Dredger been forced to look elsewhere? That was if he’d managed to raise the money at all. It would be difficult to accurately draw out the events that took place from the archives alone, but Tayte thought the ship indexes could be useful. Maybe Cornelius Dredger’s name would appear on them, dated soon after he wrote his letter to Robert Christie, or perhaps they took a voyage to India together, which would be very telling indeed.

  Then there was Captain Donnan Fraser, the man he’d read about in the letter someone had clearly wanted him to read. Donnan Fraser would certainly have to be looked into further, but for now Tayte was keen to prove the connection he’d just made between Robert Christie and the man he knew from Sinclair’s existing records to be Sinclair’s three-times-great-grandfather, Angus Fraser. As Angus’s birth certificate showed no father’s details, however, Tayte knew he needed to find a way around the problem. He sat forward on his elbows, contemplating how best to do that, when his thoughts were interrupted by a knock at his door.

  ‘Come in!’ he called, turning around to see who it was.

  It was Murray, as shabbily dressed as ever in a pair of dirty old jeans and a sagging green jumper that had seen better days.

  ‘My apologies for interrupting your research,’ Murray said, remaining in the doorway as he spoke. ‘Mr Sinclair asked me to pop up and tell you that he’s spoken with Detective Inspector Ross. There’s to be a family gathering here at Drumarthen at seven thirty this evening and he’d like you to attend.’

  Tayte smiled. ‘Who would, Mr Sinclair or DI Ross?’

  Murray, whose dark eyes always seemed to be set in a permanent squint, looked confused. ‘I couldn’t say, sir.’

  ‘It’s okay. I was just fooling around. It’s one thing to be invited to a gathering by your host, but perhaps another altogether to be asked to attend by the police.’

  ‘Aye,’ Murray said, scratching at his ear. ‘I see what you mean.’

  ‘Tell Mr Sinclair I’ll be there,’ Tayte said, thinking that he wouldn’t have missed it for all the Hershey’s Miniatures in the chocolate factory. The chance to meet and hopefully talk to so many family members at the same time was an opportunity too good to pass up.

  ‘Very good, sir,’ Murray said, and closed the door again, leaving Tayte to his research.

  While Tayte felt that distractions were often unwelcome in his line of work, when he turned back to his laptop he began to smile to himself. Perhaps the intrusion had helped to clear his mind, or maybe his next step seemed so obvious to him now that he would have arrived at it sooner or later regardless. Whichever it was, as he began tapping keys, bringing up the National Records of Scotland’s associated online records website, Scotland’s People, he knew exactly how he might prove that Robert Christie was Damian Sinclair’s four-times-great-grandfather. If he was right, he imagined that Sinclair was going to be a very happy man indeed.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Having wrapped up his research for the afternoon, Tayte arrived in the dining room at Drumarthen House half an hour early for the family gathering DI Ross had set up. He was excited to share his findings with his host, yet at the same time he was aware of the nervous energy rising within him at the thought of meeting so many of Sinclair’s relatives under such awkward circumstances that they warranted the presence of the police. He’d put on a fresh white shirt and his best tan suit for the occasion. It was the suit he typically reserved for visiting clients and their families for the first time, considering that his everyday research suits were always far too crumpled to make a good impression, which on this occasion he was keen to do.

  ‘Ah, there you are,’ Sinclair said as Tayte entered the room. More chairs had been brought into the dining room, which Sinclair was arranging around the table. ‘I’m glad you’re early. It won’t be so overwhelming for you, as long as everyone doesn’t arrive at once.’

  ‘That’s kind of what I was thinking,’ Tayte said, counting the chairs. There were nine. ‘I was also keen to share some of the results from my research with you before the proceedings began.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you’ve found something else already?’

  Tayte gave Sinclair a wide smile. ‘Actually, I have.’

  Sinclair laughed. ‘Good man!’ he said. ‘Although you’re putting my humble efforts to shame. You’ll be telling me next that you’ve smashed through my family history brick wall and found my four-times-great-grandfather.’

  Sinclair was laughing as he finished speaking, and Tayte laughed with him. When the short burst of laughter subsided, Tayte didn’t speak. He just held on to his smile until Sinclair understood his meaning.

  ‘You haven’t?’ he said.

  ‘I think I have.’

  Sinclair couldn’t have run around the dining table faster. When he reached Tayte he slapped him heartily on the back. ‘I knew you were the right person to hire for this. Was it finding the Christie name that did it?’

  Tayte nodded. ‘That was the way in. Once I had that, the rest was pretty simple. I found Sir Robert Christie, son of Sir John Christie in Burke’s Peerage.’

  ‘Sir Robert Christie,’ Sinclair said, slowly, as if feeling proud to be associated with the name and title. ‘Given we know that Jane was travelling with the Christies to stay with Sir John Christie in Jaipur, there’s little doubt then that Robert Christie is the man Cornelius Dredger wrote to?’

  ‘It seems highly likely,’ Tayte said, ‘but just because Dredger’s letters wound up with your family here at Drumarthen, it doesn’t prove that Robert Christie is your four-times-great-grandfather. I wanted more, so I spent the afternoon looking for proof.’

  ‘And you found it? How?’

  ‘Did you ever wonder how Drumarthen came to be in your family?’

  ‘It was purchased by my three-times-great-grandfather, Angus Fraser, with the inheritance money he received following the death of his stepfather. There’s a copy of the will bequeathing a generous sum of money to Angus.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve seen your copy of the will,’ Tayte said. ‘But Angus didn’t buy this house with the money he inherited.’

  ‘He didn’t?’

  Tayte shook his head. ‘Testaments for the period 1514–1925 have been digitised. You can view them at the Scotland’s People Centre in Edinburgh, and online. This afternoon I was able to see a digital copy of Sir Robert Christie’s last will and testament. Drumarthen belonged to him. He left it all to Angus Fraser.’

  ‘That’s very interesting indeed, Mr Tayte. I had no idea.’

  ‘Without the Christie name to open the door, how could you? Given that Angus was born illegitimate, and that, for reasons as yet to be discovered, he appears to have distanced himself from his biological father, or at least his biological father’s name, I think this will I’ve found is about as much proof as we’re l
ikely to get that Sir Robert Christie was your paternal four-times-great-grandfather, and it could be enough. As Robert died without legitimate issue, you may even have a right to the peerage titles that became extinct when he died. Illegitimacy today is looked upon rather differently from how it was back then.’

  ‘This is wonderful news indeed, Mr Tayte,’ Sinclair said. He turned towards the door that led into the drawing room. ‘Now, if you’d care to follow me, I think we’ve time to celebrate with a wee dram of the good stuff before the clan arrives. Then I shall have to lock it away, or that’ll be the last I’ll see of it.’

  As Tayte followed Sinclair into the drawing room, he thought a small glass of whisky was just the thing to help settle his nerves before meeting Sinclair’s guests, especially if Callum Macrae was anything to judge by. Tayte hadn’t even seen the man yet, but he’d heard enough to know that he wasn’t someone he particularly cared to acquaint himself with.

  ‘So, who else is coming this evening?’ Tayte asked as he sat in his usual armchair by the fire and watched Sinclair pour their drinks. ‘Apart from Callum Macrae and DI Ross, of course.’

  Sinclair sat back with his whisky and stared up at the ceiling as he thought on his answer. ‘Well now, there’s Callum’s mother, Moira Macrae. She’s been a widow for a good many years. After her long-suffering husband passed to a better place, she never remarried.’ He paused and scoffed to himself. ‘No man in his right mind would have her!’ He sipped his whisky. ‘All the family you’ll meet tonight are descendants of Lachlan and Aileen Fraser. Unlike myself, they’re from the legitimate Fraser bloodline, which brings me to Niall and Mairi Fraser. Niall’s the only member of the family who carries the Fraser name today, all others having changed through marriage at one time or another. The Frasers are a touch pretentious for my liking.’