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

by Steve Robinson

  ‘That’s good to hear,’ Tayte said. ‘I’m hoping to see Dr Drummond’s research soon,’ he added, looking at Ross.

  ‘I should have it for you tomorrow,’ Ross said.

  ‘Great,’ Tayte said, turning back to Moira. ‘In the meantime, for now at least, I’m particularly interested in your Fraser bloodline.’

  ‘What would you like to know?’ Moira said. ‘Maybe we can exchange information. Help to fill in the blanks in each other’s research, as it were. I hear you’ve made good progress with your work for Damian Sinclair.’

  Tayte was beginning to wonder whether there was anything Moira Macrae hadn’t heard about him since he’d arrived in Comrie. He ignored the obvious attempt at getting him to share his findings. The discovery of Robert Christie on Sinclair’s side of the family seemed paramount to learning more about the Blood of Rajputana, and he wasn’t about to hand that key piece of information over to anyone.

  Addressing her question, Tayte asked, ‘I’d like to know more about Lachlan Fraser’s close family. I take it you know who he was?’

  ‘Aye, of course I do. My research dates back many generations. Lachlan was my three-times-great-grandfather. He was a military man, as many of the Fraser men were. If it’s him you’re interested in, then more’s the pity Niall Fraser’s no longer with us. He had a particular interest in the family’s military affairs.’

  ‘I’m not so much interested in Lachlan himself,’ Tayte said. ‘I’ve come across another Fraser, whom I believe was from Lachlan’s time. Scottish archives would no doubt provide the answer I’m looking for, but it would save me some time if you could tell me whether Lachlan had a brother.’

  ‘Aye, Lachlan had two brothers,’ Moira said, no need to reference her research. ‘One died young, the other fared little better by today’s standards.’

  ‘Was one of them called Donnan?’ Tayte asked, keen now to make the connection between this family and the man he’d read about in Jane’s letters. ‘He was a captain in the East India Company during the first half of the nineteenth century.’

  ‘As I’ve said, I don’t know much about the family’s military history, but aye, that was the name of Lachlan’s older brother. I say older, although there was barely more than a year between them.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Tayte said, smiling because he now had the confirmation he sought, and another name to add to the puzzle he was trying to unravel.

  ‘Their father was a man called Dougal,’ Moira continued, but before she could go on, Tayte stopped her.

  ‘That’s okay,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to confirm the connection for now. Unless there’s anything more you can tell me about Donnan Fraser. Did he marry? Any children? Are there any of Donnan’s descendants living nearby?’

  ‘No,’ Moira said.

  Tayte smiled. ‘No to which question?’

  ‘All of them. As I said, Donnan Fraser died a relatively young man. I’d have to check my records for the details, but I’m pretty sure it was sometime during the 1830s, while he was serving in India. He had no wife and no wee bairns.’ Moira paused, her eyes narrowing on Tayte. ‘So you believe Donnan Fraser is somehow important in all this? Maybe he’s the connection to this ruby everyone’s been looking for.’

  Tayte thought he’d said enough. ‘At this juncture, I really couldn’t say. It’s just another name I’m interested in for now.’

  ‘But wherever did you come across it?’ Moira asked, and then her face lit up as she realised. ‘It was in one of those letters Jamie Sinclair told us about, wasn’t it?’

  There was no use denying it, so Tayte gave Moira a nod. At the same time he got the feeling that the longer he spent talking with Moira Macrae, the more information she would gradually draw out of him. Despite everything that was going on, it was apparent that she was still looking for the Blood of Rajputana—still trying to work out this family history puzzle for herself.

  Before Moira could probe Tayte further, DI Ross came to his rescue. ‘I sense you’re about done here, Mr Tayte. If you’ve nothing further to ask Mrs Macrae about her family history just now, I’d like to talk about Gordon Drummond. Moira, you know the people of Comrie. You hear plenty about what goes on around here. I can’t think of a better person to ask whether you know of anyone who’d wish to harm him.’

  Moira put her empty cup and saucer back down on the table. ‘It’s not just about the doctor now, though, is it?’

  ‘No, it’s not,’ Ross said, ‘but he’s as good a place to start as any.’

  Moira settled back again and stared into the gas fireplace to her right as she seemed to give the matter some thought. ‘I’d have a word with Chrissie MacIntyre, if I were you. Unlike most in Comrie, she’s never had a good word to say about Gordon Drummond. Perhaps you should ask her why.’

  ‘Aye, I got that impression at Drumarthen yesterday. She was quiet as a church mouse all evening, but every now and then she’d give a little scoff when Gordon was referred to as the good doctor. She wouldn’t say why.’

  ‘No, she wouldn’t, being the quiet type.’

  ‘I’ll go and see her. Maybe she’ll talk to me without the family around her. Did you see your son last night at all?’

  ‘No,’ Moira said, her eyes narrowing. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘I need to speak with him, too. We called in at the garage on the way here this morning. His assistant told me he’d not seen him. Until I can ask him for myself, I wondered whether you could vouch for his whereabouts after I dropped him home last night.’

  Moira began to fidget. ‘And why should I need to do that? Do you think he’s a murderer? Is that what you think? You’ve known him since he was a wee bairn.’

  ‘Calm down, Moira. I’m not accusing anybody of anything just now. I simply want to talk to him, that’s all. There’s a chance the Frasers’ car was tampered with last night, and—’

  ‘And just because my son’s a mechanic,’ Moira cut in, sounding agitated, ‘you think he must have done it?’ She gave a sharp, derisive laugh. ‘If you want to talk to someone about the Frasers, I’d suggest you go and see Damian Sinclair. He’s a man with a motive when it comes to the murders of Niall and Mairi.’

  ‘How do you figure that?’

  ‘It’s no secret that Damian’s harboured a bitter dislike for the pair of them for some years now. You must remember when Jamie introduced Mairi to the family. They were engaged to be married, until Mairi none too gently broke the engagement off. Surely you recall how Damian nearly killed Niall when he found out he’d been having an affair with Mairi for several months behind his brother’s back?’

  ‘Aye, I remember, and better than you, it seems. Damian might have given Niall a good thumping on his brother’s behalf, but he came nowhere close to killing the man.’

  ‘Well, you remember it how you will, but Damian Sinclair’s never been one to forgive and forget.’

  Ross smiled to himself, as if seeing through Moira’s plan to steer the conversation away from her son. ‘You’d love it if I had reason to arrest Damian Sinclair, wouldn’t you? It’s also no secret that you hate the man, as you hated his father before him. All because of a family feud, and for what? A few trinkets left in a will.’

  ‘Those paintings should have come to me,’ Moira said with an indignant air. ‘They were promised to my great-great-grandfather and the Sinclairs bloody well knew it!’

  Tayte sat quietly on the sidelines, thinking that if he had a dollar for every occasion he’d come across a family quarrel over an ancestor’s last will and testament, he’d be a rich man. He was content to stay out of this particular conversation, but it seemed Moira had other ideas.

  She turned her head sharply to Tayte, her expression having long since lost its initial charm. ‘When you go back to your client, Mr Tayte, you can tell him from me that I still want those paintings. I’ve not forgotten, and he’d better not have bloody well sold them!’

  Tayte wasn’t sure how to reply to that, but thankfully he didn’t have
to. Ross put his cup and saucer down on the table with a clatter, silencing Moira and drawing her attention back to him.

  ‘Do I need to remind you that four members of this syndicate I heard about last night are dead? That’s all I’m interested in just now. A syndicate, I might add, that you were a part of.’

  ‘Well, maybe I’ll be next,’ Moira said with sarcasm. ‘I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for Damian Sinclair when he comes for me, don’t you worry.’ She turned back to Tayte, her eyes squinting and her lips thinning as she said, ‘So, is Captain Donnan Fraser all you’re going to give me? Are you going to tell me what other discoveries you’ve got in your briefcase there or not?’

  ‘Most definitely not,’ Tayte said, beginning to see now why others felt the way they did about Moira Macrae.

  On hearing Tayte’s answer, Moira stood up, needing no help from her walking stick. She picked it up just the same. ‘Then get out of my bloody house, the pair of you,’ she said, poking her stick threateningly in Tayte’s direction.

  Ross stood up, smiling to himself. ‘You know, Mr Tayte, as soon as we sat down, I thought to myself, this is not the Moira Macrae I know. I’m glad to see you didn’t let her sweet old lady routine fool you.’

  ‘Get out!’ Moira yelled, and this time she brought the tip of her walking stick down hard on to the table, rattling the crockery.

  ‘Come along, Mr Tayte,’ Ross said. Then, as they began to leave, he turned back to Moira and added, ‘Tell Callum I’d like to speak with him when you see him. He knows where to find me. Or don’t tell him. It’s up to you. One way or another, I’ll catch up with him soon enough.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  When DI Ross dropped Tayte back at Drumarthen, Murray was standing on the sunlit drive with a spade in his hand. He was covered in mud, from his elbows to his oversized wellington boots, suggesting that he was still busy dealing with the aftermath of the previous night’s storm.

  ‘Just the man I want to see,’ Ross said as he brought the car to a stop.

  They got out and Murray stepped closer. As well as the spade, Tayte now saw that he was holding a brown-paper package, which he handed to Tayte as he and Ross approached.

  ‘This parcel just arrived for you, Mr Tayte.’

  ‘Thank you, Murray,’ Tayte said as he took it, wondering what it was. His eyes immediately fell on the postmark. It was from London and he supposed Jean must have sent it. Had he forgotten something?

  Murray turned to Ross. ‘Mr Sinclair said you wanted to see me about last night.’

  ‘Aye, I do,’ Ross said. ‘Take a wee walk with me, will you? Do excuse us, Mr Tayte.’

  ‘Of course,’ Tayte said, still feeling the outline of his parcel, trying to guess the contents. ‘Thanks for your help today.’

  ‘Anytime, Mr Tayte. As I said, the sooner you find what you’re looking for, the better.’

  Tayte headed for the front door. As he reached it, Damian Sinclair appeared in the frame, a welcoming smile on his face, his cable-knit jumper also spattered with mud.

  ‘I’ve been helping Murray,’ he said by way of an explanation. ‘Sometimes one pair of hands isn’t enough around here.’

  Tayte returned his smile and stepped inside. ‘I’m sure a place like this must be quite a challenge. Ever thought about selling up?’

  Sinclair looked shocked by the idea. ‘Heavens, no. My father would turn in his grave. And who would buy the old place in this state? No, Drumarthen will stay in the family as long as there’s a breath left in me.’

  ‘But you don’t have any children to leave it to,’ Tayte said. ‘Someone might buy it at the right price. You could be enjoying the money.’

  ‘I’ve seen enough money through my work in London to last me a lifetime, Mr Tayte. I don’t much care for it these days, as long as there’s enough. If Murray’s still around when I’m gone, the place will be his to do with as he pleases. He’ll have earned it, believe me.’

  ‘That’s a very generous gift.’

  ‘What good will it do me when I’m gone? Murray’s as good as family—always has been. He’s so much closer to me than my flesh-and-blood family are. I couldn’t stomach the idea of Drumarthen falling into their hands.’

  Having met a few of Sinclair’s relatives, Tayte could understand why he felt that way. He began to walk towards the stairs, eager to carry on with his research now he’d confirmed that Donnan Fraser was Lachlan Fraser’s brother, tying the captain from Jane Hardwick’s letters to the family he was researching. He’d only taken two steps when Sinclair stopped him.

  ‘If you’ve got a moment,’ he said, ‘there’s a room at Drumarthen that a learned man such as yourself might be interested in seeing.’

  Tayte turned back again. ‘Sure,’ he said. He was very interested in seeing more of the house. ‘Lead the way.’

  ‘It’s here in the west wing, so we’ll be quite safe,’ Sinclair said as he led Tayte through a door to their right. It opened into a corridor that was dimly lit by several open doorways along its length. ‘I had the contents of the original room moved down here some time ago, to help preserve it all. I was worried about the rotting woodwork on the upper floors.’ As they headed along the corridor, Sinclair asked, ‘How did you get on with Moira Macrae?’

  ‘I found her a very calculated woman,’ Tayte said. ‘I managed to get what I wanted from her. Donnan Fraser was Lachlan Fraser’s brother. As soon as she told me that, it was clear she wanted information from me in return.’

  ‘You didn’t tell her about the Christies, did you?’

  ‘Under different circumstances I’d have thought it a fair enough trade, but no, I didn’t give her anything beyond Donnan Fraser himself. She knows I’m interested in him, which could help her, assuming she’s still looking for the Blood of Rajputana, with everything that’s going on here.’

  ‘You can be sure she is,’ Sinclair said, scoffing to himself. ‘She’s invested too much time in trying to find it to let it go now, especially since you’re here looking for it.’

  They turned a corner to their left and the way was marginally brighter, lit by several high windows through which the midday sunshine beamed, illuminating dusty flagstones and the faded, threadbare carpet runner on which they were walking.

  ‘Before I forget,’ Tayte said, ‘Moira told me to tell you she still wanted those paintings, and that you’d better not have sold them.’

  ‘Did she now?’ Sinclair said, furrowing his brow.

  Tayte nodded. ‘Ross mentioned a family feud. It had something to do with trinkets left in a will.’

  ‘The paintings to which she refers are more than mere trinkets, and yes, I still have them—not that I’ll ever let Moira Macrae get her hands on them. They’re from the old days, when my four-times-great-grandmother, Aileen, was alive. She’s in most of them, although there’s one of her husband, Lachlan. I suppose that’s why Moira’s so keen to have them, and maybe why she feels they should have gone to her side of the family. Lachlan’s her biological ancestor after all, not mine, but that’s hardly the point.’

  ‘I saw in your records that Aileen survived her husband. I guess the paintings were hers to do with as she pleased.’

  ‘Aye, and while she and Lachlan had four legitimate children together, she wanted her illegitimate son Angus to have them. The feud between the two sides of the family has been going on for generations, but it was never greater than when my father was alive—when he had Moira Macrae to contend with. Jamie always said she finished our father off in the end, although he was already in poor health. Mind you, the stress she caused the man might well have put the last nail in his coffin, so to speak.’

  They came to the end of the corridor and Sinclair stopped. To his left was a large oak door, which he slowly opened. It creaked in protest, clearly not having been opened in some time. Sinclair stepped back and with a wave of his hand, invited Tayte to go inside.

  ‘It’s a library,’ Tayte said, stating the obvious as he gazed around at
all the colourful, if dusty, book spines lined up on shelves that reached almost to the ceiling. ‘There must be a thousand books or more in here.’

  ‘I counted closer to two thousand,’ Sinclair said. ‘The house came with quite a collection to begin with, but as I’m from a long line of readers, the collection quickly grew.’

  Tayte walked further in. There was little furniture in the room—not even a desk to sit and read at. He saw a tall wooden ladder at the far end of the room, but other than that, it was all about the books. He drew in their scent, and the many old pages combined to assault his senses.

  ‘I love that smell,’ he said, a wide smile on his face as he was reminded of all the old documents he’d had the privilege of seeing during his twenty-plus years as a professional genealogist.

  ‘The original library was far more grandiose than this, of course,’ Sinclair said. ‘We managed to fit some of the old bookcases in, but as you can see, most of the shelving is comparatively crude. On the whole, I think Murray did a fine job.’

  ‘Anything that helps keep such a collection safe is a good thing in my book,’ Tayte said. ‘No pun intended. Is it okay to take a few out?’

  ‘Be my guest,’ Sinclair said. ‘What use is a collection of books nobody reads? If anything takes your fancy, you’re more than welcome to take it back to your room with you, and you know the way here now should you want to try something else.’

  ‘Thank you. I’d like that very much,’ Tayte said as he put his briefcase and parcel down and began to read some of the titles on the lower shelves.

  He was standing beside a section of books about architecture. He saw titles by John Ruskin: The Seven Lamps of Architecture, published in 1849, and The Stones of Venice, 1851. Moving along, he came to a section about landscape gardening and saw many books about the works of Lancelot ‘Capability’ Brown, whom someone living at Drumarthen in the past had clearly taken great interest in. Next there was a section on poetry, and then other, very old sections about geography and botanical studies. After that he came to a large section devoted to art.