Ghost Walk

by Alanna Knight

  He shook his head. ‘No, too public. Especially small halts like Eildon where there are so few getting on and off the three trains a day that any stranger would be remarked upon – and remembered in some detail. Far too dangerous for our man.’

  These theories were all very well. But there was one missing ingredient.

  ‘If these two deaths, as we suspect, were murders, for murder there has to be a motive – a reason. If you consider that the Jubilee is rather far-fetched – you know Eildon better than I do, you’ve lived here a long time – so what about a personal vendetta? Did Father McQuinn have any enemies? What about fanatical Protestants?’ I asked.

  He laughed. ‘There aren’t any that I know of in our community. You’re talking about the bad old days. This is the 19th century – things are different now, folk are more civilised. Our very respectable Presbyterian church is anti-Popery but remember our local laird is a Catholic.’

  Then he added soberly. ‘The Father was a good kindly man, a real Christian gentleman and one I would have trusted with my life. I respected him and his beliefs although I’m not supposed to say that as an elder of the kirk. I think everybody in Eildon would agree with me. As for Mrs Aiden. She was popular with everyone, a kindly soul always ready to lend a hand to those in trouble.’

  He shook his head. ‘No, I think we can rule out personal vendettas. This isn’t Europe, you know. Passions in Eildon don’t rise much higher than the fate of the harvest each year, cost of grain and what price the sheep and cows will bring at the Peebles market.’

  Throwing down his pen, he regarded me gravely.

  ‘And there you have it, Mrs McQuinn. I fancy we are dealing with something much more sinister than killing a Catholic priest and his kindly housekeeper. Do you know what I fear most?’

  I didn’t but he was ready to supply it.

  ‘I fear that these two innocent victims are just the beginning.’

  I thought about that. In his eagerness to see something more dramatic than the simple misdemeanours of a tiny village community, was he exaggerating, even hopeful that he was to see his lifetime’s ambition fulfilled at last?

  The chance to solve not one murder, but two!

  Chapter Thirteen

  The sound of a crash followed by children screaming and Mrs Bruce calling ‘Tom! Come here – at once!’ cut short any further discussion. With a murmured apology a rather red-faced Constable Bruce sprang to his feet, pushed the ledger into the drawer and saying hurriedly that he would contact me later, I was ushered out of the house known as the local police station.

  Feeling somewhat frustrated at this abrupt ending to what promised to be a revealing episode regarding the two deaths, nevertheless I felt quite buoyant and confident, no longer regretting Jack’s absence at this crucial time. Once I was able to produce evidence that I had not imagined the whole thing I knew he would throw himself wholeheartedly into a murder investigation. But in his absence, I had found a local policeman who not only believed that the priest and his housekeeper had been murdered, but was prepared to take an active role in helping me solve the crime.

  I wondered how Detective Inspector Jack Macmerry would react to this piece of news and, more urgently, when he was likely to return to Eildon.

  Deep in my thoughts, walking back along the street towards the farm, I heard my name called and, turning, saw a small pony trap, the kind known among the gentry as a governess cart.

  It had come to a standstill across the road and waving wildly, I saw the small figure of the Master of Verney.

  ‘Miss Rose – Miss Rose! Over here!’

  As I approached I saw that his balancing act in an effort to attract my attention was being somewhat ineffectually restrained by an attractive fair-haired young woman who had been driving the cart and was holding on to him.

  Smiling, I hurried across.

  He clapped his hands. ‘I am so glad to see you again.’

  The young woman at his side whispered, ‘Please sit down, Alexander. Everyone is looking at you.’

  A slight exaggeration as the street was almost deserted but she gave me an apologetic nod as if to excuse her charge’s exuberance.

  ‘Oh, do be quiet, Cousin Annette. This is Miss Rose, a dear friend of mine. You see –’ and I was listening once again to the dramatic account of my rescue of his boat.

  Breathlessly at the end, Alexander beamed on us both, remembered his manners and said, ‘Miss Rose, this is my cousin Miss Annette Verney.’

  As we shook hands she said, ‘We are very grateful to you – we realised from the condition of Master Verney’s clothes that it was more than a shipwreck you diverted.’

  And suddenly I knew where I had seen her before. No longer wearing the garb of a novice this blue-eyed pretty girl was my aloof fellow passenger on the Edinburgh train. At that moment I felt rather gratified that my observations regarding her elegant shoes and neatly manicured fingernails, the evidence of a well-to-do background, had been correct.

  ‘Yes, Alexander,’ she was saying. ‘You may go into the shop and spend your pocket money. I will wait for you –’

  ‘Miss Rose – she is to wait too!’ It was a command.

  His cousin glanced quickly in my direction. ‘Perhaps – if Miss Rose has not some more pressing engagement?’

  This was a question. I smiled at him and said of course, I would wait.

  ‘Then you must promise not to be too long, Alexander,’ said Miss Verney.

  Alexander glanced at me sternly. ‘You won’t go away – you will wait. You promise!’

  When I said yes he gave a whoop of pleasure, hopped out of the cart and raced into the general store.

  Miss Verney smiled apologetically. ‘The seat is rather hard but perhaps you would care to join me.’

  As I stepped into the cart, she added, ‘I think I should warn you however, we may have to wait some time. Alexander spends much time and deliberation over his purchases, especially colouring books and crayons.’

  I was somewhat embarrassed as I did not know whether she would wish to be reminded of our earlier encounter. The same thoughts were in her mind when she broke the silence.

  ‘We have met before, Miss Rose. And I owe you an apology. I fear I was rather rude.’ And cutting short my protests, she went on, ‘You came upon me at a bad moment. I didn’t feel like talking to anyone that particular day. As you can guess by my resumption of normal dress, I was at a crossroads.’

  Pausing, she sighed and gazed towards the hills as if they might provide a solution. ‘I was about to take my final vows – I had to decide whether this was my rightful vocation – against the wishes of my family, in fact, and I was on what was perhaps to be my last journey home.’

  She paused again and I asked the obvious: ‘Then you have decided?’

  ‘Fate has decided it for me. When I was in New York with Alexander’s mother, I made an unsuitable – alliance – against my family’s wishes. Lord Verney is my guardian and there was a fearful scandal – I was under age and had eloped with a humble clerk in a shipping office. I was dragged unwillingly home and poor Amelia believed that by diverting my life and putting more suitable and eligible young men in my direction, the marriage annulled, I might forget and make a better choice.’

  She sighed deeply. ‘I chose instead to go into a convent.’

  Pausing, she smiled for the first time. ‘When I left the train that day there were surprises in store. Amelia is an invalid and it seemed that as I have some education she wished me to teach Alexander for a while. His former governess moved on recently and it is hardly worth while hiring a tutor – for the short while before he goes to prep school in September. I was happy to agree. And then I had an additional reason for secret rejoicing,’ she whispered jubilantly. ‘A letter forwarded by a friend in New York who is in my confidence.’

  Again she paused, eyes shining. ‘You cannot guess what happiness the contents of that letter held. I am now of age, and the man with whom I eloped and who I still rega
rd as my husband in the eyes of God is on his way to Britain to claim me as his wife.’

  Somewhat cynically I considered that had not Fate intervened, she might well have slipped into the thankless role of a young unmarried relative becoming an unpaid servant in a noble household as she turned to me excitedly.

  ‘My one and only love. And I am to have my happy ending after all. Is that not a romantic story, worthy of any novel, Miss Rose?’

  And I thought of my love for Danny. One love, highly unsuitable. How I had never imagined I could ever love again. Yet here I was about to marry Jack Macmerry.

  I decided I had better tell her that my name was Mrs McQuinn when, at that moment, Alexander appeared clutching his purchases, his colouring book and crayons, proudly chosen alone and paid for.

  Relieved to see me sitting beside his cousin, he was reluctant to let me go. Could I not come back with them for lunch? Oh please, please.

  Miss Verney shook her head and said in grown-up manner that this was very short notice and no doubt Miss Rose had other engagements.

  I got the message. But it was also too late now to embark on explanations regarding my widowhood as Alexander refused to be placated. I had to promise that I would visit them, and see all his toys, his rocking horse which he had outgrown and his new train set.

  I gave my word and Miss Verney added her smiling request for an early meeting.

  Watching them drive off I thought of her confidences, perhaps she was lonely and I was left with the feeling that I had another friendship in the making.

  Besides, with a touch of snobbery I would never have admitted to Jack, I was rather pleased at the possibility of seeing the inside of Verney Castle as a guest and how new friends in high places would impress my future in-laws.

  Back at the farm I looked into the stable to see Thane. Jack’s father was with him and he looked up when I came in and greeted me in astonishment.

  ‘You will never believe this, lass,’ and holding out Thane’s injured paw, no longer in its splint. ‘This animal is amazing. Such speedy healing! – I’ve never seen anything like it.’

  ‘All thanks to you,’ I murmured, as he went on: ‘Nay, lass. I have no such powers.’ And pausing to push back his bonnet and scratch his forehead, a familiar gesture I had observed indicating surprise and puzzlement, ‘It is absolutely incredible. Injuries like that take weeks to heal but look –’

  Thane obediently held out his paw for examination. It was true. All signs of injury had disappeared.

  ‘It’s like a miracle. Never seen anything like it in all my born days of working with beasts. Who on earth did you get him from? They should have kept him for breeding.’

  Thane gave a faint shudder. In a human one might have said he raised his eyes heavenward in an expression of disgust. As for me I could only answer ‘He was a stray – he more or less adopted me.’

  Mr Macmerry shook his head in wonder and I had no logical explanation that I cared to discuss with him regarding the arrival in my life of the strange deerhound from somewhere on Arthur’s Seat two years ago. And how he managed to live in that wild place, and feed himself – although that was not quite such a mystery as how he managed always to look so groomed and cared for.

  I could have told him – maybe I would someday – how Thane’s strange telepathy – or magic – had twice saved my life. But magic is not a word I readily use, or care to ask others to consider, although I now suspected that instant healing might also be added to Thane’s mysterious origins and his agelessness.

  ‘Will he be able to walk?’ I asked vaguely, the question somehow superfluous.

  As if he understood, Thane raced to the door. That was as far as the restraining rope allowed him, so turning he ran back to us.

  ‘There’s your answer, lass. He’s just told us himself,’ said Mr Macmerry, frowning, regarding Thane in wonder and something more indefinable – almost awe, I thought, as he asked:

  ‘I suppose you’ll be taking him back to Edinburgh now.’

  That was the last thing I wanted at the moment with two possible murders to solve. I said, ‘Can he stay here – if it’s all right with you? You see, there’s no one to look after him back at Edinburgh while we’re away?’ I added lamely and I’d swear I blushed, aware of a sharp and reproachful glance from under Thane’s magisterial eyebrows at this outright lie.

  ‘Besides Jack wanted me to stay with you. He thought I might be needed,’ I added taking refuge in a small bout of self righteousness. Mr Macmerry beamed. ‘We’ll be right glad of that, lass. You’re great company. You’re a joy to have around.’

  My feelings of resentment at this forced stay gave me a twinge of guilt, although I suspected the dear soul was using the royal ‘we’ and that such sentiments were a little one-sided, especially as Mrs Macmerry appeared at the door with her basket of eggs at that moment.

  Mr Macmerry sprang to his feet and began telling her all about Thane’s miraculous recovery.

  She didn’t share his amazement and enthusiasm, unwavering in her regard of Thane with tight-lipped disapproval.

  ‘Very well. He can stay, if you are willing to be responsible for him, Andrew Macmerry. But That Dog is not to be allowed in my house – you understand.’

  Her eyes flickered in my direction, a reminder that those instructions included any ideas I might have on the subject.

  And again to Mr Macmerry. ‘Not in any circumstances. Whisky and Soda would never tolerate another dog.’

  Her husband tried to placate her but I could see a nasty domestic storm brewing up, so I gently unhitched Thane from his post and led him out of the barn leaving behind complaints about ‘That Dog’ still thick in the air.

  This was his first introduction to Eildon and what better than to take him across the field leading to the Abbey. Unlike my first visit, today there were cows grazing and as I am a little cautious in case one might turn out to be a bull, I felt very confident and brave with Thane at my side.

  I wondered how he would react to them, but as soon as they saw him they all stood still like some group of bovine statues and then they huddled close together. If they didn’t exactly stampede, they certainly moved very fast out of our path. Halting by the fence at the edge of the field, they turned their white faces towards us, their steady unmoving gaze following us as we walked away.

  I was rather relieved and decided that this was doubtless their normal reaction to any strange animal, particularly a large deerhound.

  Wondering how Thane would take to the Abbey ruins, I soon discovered that he found them very interesting indeed and sniffed around, tail wagging in very normal dog fashion.

  On impulse I decided to take him up the spiral staircase where my stalker had lurked.

  He didn’t like it. He went halfway and then stopped looked at me imploringly. Do we have to go on?

  I wondered if this was too much for him and if his paw hurt. When I patted his head and asked if that was so, he turned and went quickly up the stairs. As we reached the open roof we were met by the sunlight and a cool breeze.

  Alongside the top steps, there had once been a door, perhaps leading into a tiny room for occupation by a lookout in troubled times. I went in and it was clear from Thane’s behaviour that it had been occupied more recently.

  He sniffed the floor eagerly, especially one corner, so I looked more closely and saw a rough blanket had been thrown down and abandoned. That and a stump of candle confirmed that it had seen human occupation.

  Thane looked at me. Oh, if only you could speak, I thought as I had done so often when faced with the certainty that he had knowledge that would be invaluable if only he could communicate it to me.

  I left him rooting about in the dark corners and went out on to the roof where I realised this was the very spot from where the stalker had watched me. And what a view he had. The entire village spread out before him.

  When I came down, Thane was still investigating cracks in the stone floor. I could see nothing. Dark and gloomy
, I hated the foetid odour, smells which indicated that it had been used for less pleasant purposes than a temporary sleeping place.

  I called to Thane who seemed reluctant to abandon his inspection of that bare stone floor. Later I was to regret not sharing his enthusiasm for a more careful search.

  As we left the sentry room and went back down the spiral stair, I had the satisfaction of having solved one mystery.

  This was most likely where Father McQuinn’s killer had spent those missing hours while he lay in wait to murder his next victim: Mrs Aiden.

  Constable Bruce would no doubt be very interested in my findings, I decided, as we set off in the direction of the police station.

  Thane had no need of a rope. I knew he was happy to be free of restraint as he walked close to my side but the absence of a lead clearly alarmed some of those we met who were of a nervous disposition.

  After all, he was a very large dog and I was conscious that he was almost as tall as myself.

  ‘You’re walking very well, Thane,’ I said, ‘all things considered.’

  He looked up at me. Indicating his now healed paw I said:

  ‘How did you manage that?’

  He looked away. In a human I would have said, he shook his head, if dogs were capable of such gestures.

  The reactions of the cows in the Abbey field I considered quite normal. But at our approach some of the village ladies who had dogs on leads looked mildly hysterical, seeing that he could have gulped down some of their small charges in one mouthful.

  But what interested me most was the reaction of the dogs themselves. Large and small alike, they did not approach him, or bark warningly, depending on their dispositions. They merely melted obligingly and respectfully into the sidewalks as if royalty progressed through their midst.

  By their behaviour I realised that dogs, perhaps cows and all animals, recognised the mysterious quality in Thane that was quite beyond human interpretation. Some additional sense, some fragment of consciousness lost long ago.

  We reached the police station without incident. To find there was no one at home. At least that was the impression we were to be given, although I could have sworn that the lace curtain twitched and Mrs Bruce remained silent behind it.