At the far end of the flat a door banged and she heard voices. Pete’s lower growl. Then a mellow mezzo. Damn it, Greta was still here. Still part of the family group. With a sigh, Cathy headed for the door of her study. Time to assert herself.
Pat was in the living room alone with her laptop. Sitting down opposite her, Cathy grimaced. ‘Was that Pete and Greta?’
Pat shrugged. ‘To be honest I wasn’t taking much notice.’
Cathy nodded. Who could blame her. ‘I’ve been trying to reach Viv again,’ she said. ‘I’ve even tried e-mailing her. There’s no reply.’
Pat saved her document. ‘I shouldn’t worry. She’ll turn up.’
‘But haven’t you got meetings with her every day?’
‘Not for now. I’ve plenty to be getting on with.’ Pat was evasive. She glanced up. ‘Maddie is quite happy for me to do most of this, as I told you. I’m showing it to Viv but she seems to have lost interest.’
Cathy raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s odd, I can’t imagine her doing that.’ She paused, thinking of possible reasons for her friend’s abrupt absence. ‘She didn’t tell you she was going away or anything?’
‘No.’
‘And she hasn’t been in touch with Maddie?’
‘Whatever for?’ Pat was indignant. ‘Maddie has left this all in my hands.’ She stood up and tucked the laptop under her arm. ‘I’ll put this upstairs out of harm’s way while you sort out your family.’ They could hear voices again now, Pete and Greta were arguing in the kitchen.
Pat stopped in her tracks. ‘She couldn’t be ill, could she?’ She glanced back. ‘Or had an accident or something? Is there anyone who would know? How about the university?’
‘She’s not flavour of the month there, at the moment,’ said Cathy thoughtfully. ‘But I suppose the departmental secretary might know if she’s gone away. But why on earth should she disappear so unexpectedly when you are working together?’
‘She was pretty strung up last time I saw her.’ Pat shook her head. ‘And, as I said, I suppose she realises I can get on pretty much without her.’
‘Without who?’ The door opened and Tasha bounced into the room in time to hear the last comment.
‘Viv, if it’s any of your business, brat!’ Pat said tolerantly. She reached, absent-mindedly, for her cigarettes.
‘I expect Professor Graham has murdered her,’ Tash put in helpfully. ‘Didn’t she say that’s what he wanted to do?’
‘Something like that.’ Cathy hid a smile.
‘Like Mum wants to murder Dad,’ Tash continued. ‘Can you hear them? Dad forgot to arrange something he was supposed to and she’s spitting nails.’
‘Oh God!’ Cathy stood up. It was too late. Greta was already in the doorway. Whatever she was about to say froze on her lips as she spotted the cigarette in Pat’s hand. ‘I hope you do not intend to inflict that disgusting thing on my child. I do not permit anyone to smoke in her presence. Anyone at all.’
Pat stared at the cigarette. Her mouth had fallen open and for a moment she seemed incapable of speech.
‘I gave Pat permission to smoke here, Greta,’ Cathy lied, as Tasha threw herself on the sofa and pulled a cushion over her head. ‘This is my flat. And I was not expecting you or Tasha to be here this morning.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Perhaps you would both like to go back and join Pete in the kitchen?’
Greta gave Pat a look of utter disdain and disappeared back into the hall.
Pat stared after her. ‘Wow!’ she murmured. ‘Poor Pete. Why on earth did he ever marry her?’
‘For her legs,’ Cathy replied tartly. ‘Or so he says. Excuse me a moment.’ Climbing to her feet she headed for the door.
Pat stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray. ‘Suddenly it doesn’t seem worth it.’
‘Not even as an act of healthy rebellion?’ Cathy grinned over her shoulder.
‘As you constantly point out, healthy is probably not the right word.’ Pat gave a throaty laugh.
She waited as Cathy headed for the door and then followed her into the hall with a smile.
Upstairs in her bedroom Medb was waiting.
II
Viv was standing alone on the top of the hill staring out towards the eastern horizon. Shoulder after shoulder of misty hills and dales stretched away into the distance, whilst behind her the sun was disappearing into the haze. All she could hear was the hiss of the wind. High above a circling buzzard let out an eerie cry, mewing into the advancing mist.
She shivered, wishing that Steve was still beside her.
The actual area of the hill fort, inside its mile-long collapsed stone ramparts was about half the size of that at Traprain. She knew that from her notes, but the setting was so different. Traprain was surrounded by flat farmland, with the sea in the distance. Here there was nothing to see but lonely fells. The sea was probably there, somewhere far away on the western horizon, but she couldn’t see it for the haze. There had been stone-built round houses here, a flourishing community just as there had been at Traprain. Craftsmen and lead miners as well as warriors and Druids. Someone had built some of the stones of those houses into a cross-shaped shelter where people could sit out of the wind. So much for preserving any archaeological clues there might have been. Other stones had been heaped into cairns. Apart from that only the trig point stood up here on top now. She felt suddenly terribly lonely.
A breath of icy wind touched her cheek. She shivered again, glancing at her watch. It was getting late and they were expecting them back at the farmhouse. Was she really hoping to make contact with Carta here? Just like that. Flick a switch. Pick up the phone. She hesitated. Then as another icy breath of wind began to tease the tendrils of her hair she turned to retrace her steps down the steep track to the spot where she had left Steve.
Gordon Steadman had joined his wife by the time they had returned to the farmhouse. A stooped, wiry man in his late sixties, he had thinning grey hair and a weathered face, an older, more battered version of his son who, Viv had now realised, was very much the ewe lamb of his parents’ later years, his brother and sister being respectively ten and twelve years older than he was. Gordon was washing his hands in the sink when she appeared, his two collies lying on the floor by the dresser. They wagged their tails in greeting but otherwise lay still as he welcomed her warmly and directed her to her place at the table. Talking to him as they ate Peggy’s cottage pie and spring greens dressed in butter and nutmeg, Viv realised that this house, this valley, was his whole life.
He shrugged when Viv asked him how long his family had lived in the house. ‘Since records began. And long before that.’ He gave a slow, thoughtful smile. ‘Since time began, I reckon.’
Viv felt a quick shiver of goose pimples across her arms. ‘That must be the most amazing feeling. My parents have never lived longer than about ten years anywhere. I’m not sure my grandparents did.’
‘You’ve got a Welsh name?’
Viv nodded. ‘We come from North Wales and are very proud of it. But my parents live in Australia now. The tradition is broken as it seems to be with most people these days.’
‘These days a lot of things are less than ideal.’ Gordon Steadman pursed his lips. ‘I watched them slaughter my stock, which had been bred to this land for hundreds of years. Gone. Just like that. To the knacker’s bullet by the order of some fool behind a desk far away in London. I’m not allowed to know if my own beasts are healthy or not. We are told we must get used to the idea that we no longer know best about anything.’
There was a moment’s silence. Viv stared down at her plate, intensely embarrassed. She could not begin to imagine what life had been like during the foot and mouth epidemic and how people like the Steadmans had managed to come through it. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Peggy reach across and touch her husband’s hand. He pulled away sharply and she saw a flash of anger cross Peggy’s face.
Steve stood up hastily to collect the plates. ‘Tell Viv about the ghosts, Mum. She is seriously i
nterested.’
As a method of changing the subject it worked. Peggy turned to Viv. ‘In the house or up at the fort?’
Viv shrugged. ‘I suppose both. Iron Age ghosts for preference as that is the period of my research project.’
Peggy gave a small humourless laugh as she stood up and went to the fridge for a bowl of fresh fruit salad. ‘People aren’t usually that fussy. Mostly we just hear noises. People shouting in the distance. The clash of swords. All carried on the wind.’
‘It’s all imagination!’ Gordon put in sharply.
Viv glanced at him. ‘I should imagine it’s spooky out here in the winter.’ Outside the distant fells were lit by the slanting light of the setting sun.
‘Not just in winter,’ Steve put in cheerfully. He passed round the bowls as his mother filled them. ‘You’d be surprised how eerie it gets when the mist comes up over the fells at night sometimes. When we hear Awd Goggie in the orchard.’ He grinned at Peggy. ‘Or the barguest out on the fell.’
‘I’m sure Viv hasn’t come up here to see ghosts and evil spirits, Steve,’ his father said sternly. ‘She’s a serious historian.’
‘Indeed I am.’ Viv tried to resist the jug of fresh rich cream and failed. ‘But I’m interested in ghosts. All sorts of phenomena. Who knows how much such things might be able to help us with our research if we only knew how to interpret or verify what we see.’ She glanced at Steve, uncomfortable at the tension between his parents. He was concentrating on the fruit salad.
Peggy nodded solemnly. ‘Aye, well, that’s true enough. That is what I keep telling Steve. The world is not unforgivingly black and white. There are a million shades of grey - so hard to see, so beautiful under the starlight.’
Viv smiled. Steve was right. His mother would understand. But not Gordon. He did not look up from his plate, nor did he join any further in the conversation.
It was after they had finished supper that Viv noticed a book on herbs pushed in on the shelf amongst the well-thumbed cookbooks.
‘It’s something else to do with my research,’ she explained. ‘I wanted to find out what sort of potions would have been used to prevent someone miscarrying a baby.’
‘Oh, Mum can help you with that,’ Steve said with a tolerant grin. He put an arm round his mother’s shoulders and gave her a hug. ‘She’s more or less the local midwife.’
‘Really?’ Viv was astonished.
‘No, not really.’ Peggy was firm. ‘I sometimes lend a hand when no one else can get here, that’s all. The hill farms get cut off in the winter sometimes.’ She glanced at her husband. Some of those times had been by order of the government. He had left the table and was shrugging on his jacket, the two dogs milling round him, tails wagging, and did not seem to have heard. ‘Come with me.’ She touched Viv’s arm. ‘We’ll look it up. You go with your father, Steve.’
Peggy watched the two men leave the kitchen then she led the way down the long flagged passage and into a dark shelf-lined back room. Some of the shelves were laden with books, others with jars and bottles. In one corner was an old kneehole writing desk, in another a couch covered by a brightly coloured throw. ‘My still room.’ Peggy waved her in and closed the door behind them. ‘This was my mother-in-law’s room when I first came here. She taught me everything she knew about herbs. Sit you down, love.’ She smiled. ‘This is a woman’s room. I don’t allow Steve or Gordon in here.’
Viv hitched herself up onto the couch and sat, legs swinging like a child. ‘It smells wonderful.’
Peggy smiled. ‘That’s the herbs. I used to use the kitchen for making remedies and things, but since the B&B I have to be a bit careful. I prefer to be private.’
‘Regulations?’ Viv raised a sympathetic eyebrow.
Peggy nodded after a moment. ‘Regulations. Poor Gordon. Forgive his little rant out there at supper.’
‘It must have been awful beyond belief. He’s so lucky to have you there.’
‘It’s what wives do.’ Peggy tightened her lips for a moment. ‘Now, let’s see about your miscarriages.’
‘Perhaps it’s easier if I tell you what I think was used. This was in the Iron Age. The woman was threatening to miscarry at I think about five or six months. I made some notes of the names and had our Celtic language expert check them for me and she came up with what she thought they were in the Gaelic. Copan an druichd which I believe is dew cup or lady’s mantle; muca faileag which are briar rose hips; sgiteach - haws, preas subh chraobh which were rasps or raspberries and seilleach which is willow.’
Peggy nodded. ‘Couldn’t have prescribed better myself. Three textbook herbs, raspberry leaves, rather than raspberries, with willow bark, that’s the origin of aspirin, as a pain killer.’
‘And would they have worked?’
Peggy shrugged. ‘It depends why the woman was threatening to miscarry. If there are contractions and too much bleeding it is probably impossible to stop it, even today. Rest. Sedation. Something to soothe the cramps and relax the uterus. That’s all you can do. Haws are a tonic; wonderful relaxants. Lady’s mantle wouldn’t be so good to try and stop the miscarriage, but once it was underway it would make things less painful, and the same with raspberry leaves which are one of the herbal remedies people still remember today. Roses are good for the female system as well. It sounds as though your Iron Age herbalist knew what she was doing.’
‘It does, doesn’t it.’ Viv sat for a moment lost in thought.
‘Did they find archaeological evidence of those remedies?’ Peggy leaned against the desk, arms folded. ‘They’ve been finding some amazing things at the hospital they are excavating up at Soutra, I believe. Steve told me about it.’
‘That’s more a medieval site.’ Viv frowned. ‘This is earlier. Much earlier.’
‘They’ve found Roman remedies too,’ Peggy prompted. ‘Jars which still have traces of cream. That sort of thing. Haven’t they?’
Viv nodded. ‘But this is actually conjectural,’ she said slowly. ‘To be honest, with you, I -’ She hesitated. ‘I sort of dreamed it.’
‘Sort of?’
‘I’ll tell you about it some time.’ Viv stood up.
‘Fair enough.’ Peggy scrutinised her face for a minute. Her eyes were no longer soft. They were uncomfortably piercing. ‘I hope you enjoy your stay with us, love. Ask me if you need anything at all and make yourself at home.’ As they walked back in towards the kitchen Peggy paused at the foot of the stairs. ‘Don’t go up to the fort on your own, will you. It’s very wild up there. Easy to fall and even easier to get lost.’ She hesitated a moment as though about to say something else, changed her mind and walked back into the kitchen.
III
The city was basking in the glorious sunshine. It was the kind of day which made one glad to be alive and Hugh was sick with worry, thanks to Viv. Someone greeted him as they walked past. He hadn’t recognised them; hadn’t even seen them to be honest. Stopping, he turned and looked back. Amongst the crowds he recognised no one.
There had been no reply from Viv’s flat, either on the phone or when he had climbed all those millions of steps and knocked on the door. Hugh frowned as he walked back down the High Street, past the High Kirk of St Giles, with its wonderful crown spire, past Parliament House and the Heart of Midlothian, dodging the dawdling tourists without really seeing them.
Making up his mind abruptly, he changed course and headed towards the department. To his surprise Heather was there even though it was Saturday. Greeting her with a smile he made his way up to his office. There he closed the door and stared round the room suspiciously. Someone had been in there. He could feel it. Walking across to the desk he scanned it carefully. Since his tidy up he could tell at once if anything had been touched. It was all exactly as he had left it. Meticulous. Organised. He pulled open the top drawers. Nothing had been moved, as far as he could see. He straightened and stared round the room again, then shaking his head he walked to the door and pulling it open strode down the landing
.
‘Heather?’ he bellowed from the top of the stairs.
Her face appeared at her office door, and she looked up apprehensively.
‘Has anyone been in my room?’
‘No, Professor. No one.’ She stepped out into the hall. ‘Is anything wrong?’
He shook his head. ‘No. Don’t worry.’ Turning abruptly he found that Mhairi Mackenzie had opened her door and was peering out at him. A pretty mousey-haired woman, she found Hugh terrifying at the best of times. Her face was white as she stared out at him. ‘Is everything all right, Professor?’
He nodded. ‘Sorry, I didn’t realise anyone else was here. Mhairi, did you see anyone going into my room?’
She shook her head adamantly. ‘No one. I’d have heard them if they went past my door. It’s been quiet as the grave.’
‘How apt!’ The Professor’s tart comment made her shrink back as he strode past her towards his office. With a quick look after him she retreated and closed her door.
Back in his study Hugh stared round again with a wave of apprehension. He could sense someone there and yet he could see no one. Not daring to move, he scanned the room. There was nowhere to hide. Next to the filing cabinets? Behind the door? Under the desk? Every space was crammed with things. Books. Boxes. Files. Chairs. The old fashioned curly-armed coatrack held only an old scarf, dropped by one of his students and never reclaimed.
Taking a firm grip on himself he walked over to the desk and sat down, gripping the edge with whitened fingers. It was then he heard it again. The distant call of the trumpet, and he was sure, the sound of horses hooves. Dear God, he was going mad!
Pushing back the chair he shot to his feet and going to the window threw it open. Leaning out he took a few deep breaths of fresh air, feeling the sweat cooling on his face, then he turned back into the room, slamming the window down behind him and was brought up short by a wave of anger.
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