She glared at him and turned away. ‘I will see you in the morning,’ she repeated firmly. ‘And maybe we’ll give Grandfather a ring and go and see him then.’
Up in her room, she tried to phone Liza. Michele still had had no word, and she hung up miserably. She wanted to talk to Liza very much indeed.
The following day Giles and Beth borrowed the promised car, which turned out to be an aged red Porsche. ‘All that remains of my career as a money trader in the City.’ Dave looked from Giles to Beth and then handed her the keys. ‘If you want to know how to lose ten years of bonuses and most of your hair, buy a Highland hotel the size of a railway station and find after you’ve bought it that it’s falling down the hillside at the rate of several inches a year! Take care of her and be warned, she can still go quite fast.’
She could indeed, once Beth had plucked up courage to change out of second gear. They drove through brilliant sunshine and breathtaking views of mountains and glens and intense blue lochs, winding across country towards the east until at last they turned off the main road to climb the narrow road towards Pittenross.
The first person she asked in the narrow village street, with its scent of woodsmoke and wet pine needles, directed them to the new manse, a small, concrete bungalow in a neat development of recently built houses on the outskirts of the village. Leaving Giles in the car, his nose buried in the Ordnance Survey map, Beth knocked on the door and it was answered after a few minutes’ delay by a pretty woman in a tracksuit. The minister was out, it appeared, but when Beth explained the nature of their visit her face cleared. ‘You’re Dr Craig’s granddaughter? My dear, I am so pleased to see you!’ The woman’s warmth and kindness shone out. ‘He seems such a lonely man, and he’s not on the phone up there, which worries us. I’m Moira Maclaren, by the way, the minister’s wife.’ If she thought it odd that Beth had lost her grandfather’s address she did not say so.
Her directions were detailed and fairly lengthy. Beth found out why when she set the Porsche at the network of steep lanes and tracks which led to the cottage, which rejoiced in the name of Shieling House. As they drew up outside, and climbed out of the car, she sniffed ruefully at the smell of burning rubber.
Her heart was in her mouth as they walked up to the front door and rang the bell. She could hear it pealing somewhere at the back but there was no reply and there was no car outside. The place seemed deserted and she found suddenly that she was overwhelmed with relief. She had a sneaking feeling that her welcome when she finally made contact with her grandfather would be less than ecstatic.
Slowly they walked around the building. The house was built of grey weathered stone with blistered white paint on the window frames and door. It was quite small, barely more than a cottage, as he had said. Behind it, bounded by low walls of dry stone, was a small garden. Here someone had made an effort. There were signs that vegetables had been recently dug and there were several neatly pruned rose bushes. Beth smiled. She remembered Liza saying that Adam adored his roses more than anything else in the world.
To their surprise the back door was standing ajar and she pushed it tentatively. ‘Grandfather? Are you there?’
There was no response. Beth peered cautiously round it. ‘I don’t know whether we should go in,’ she whispered uncertainly.
‘I think we should.’ Giles was immediately behind her. Too close. She could feel him breathing down her neck and she desperately wanted to reach out and touch him. ‘You need to check he hasn’t been taken ill or something,’ he went on. As if he sensed what she was feeling he reached out and touched her shoulder lightly, then he drew back. ‘And as his nearest living relative, if not his only one, from what you said, you have every right to go in.’
She glanced at him and nodded. Plucking up courage she led the way inside. Giles strode into the kitchen after her.
The kitchen was large, almost as big, she discovered on looking round the further door, as the living room, the only other room on the ground floor. Both were comfortably furnished with sturdy furniture. In the middle of the living room was a large table. On it was a typewriter and piles of papers and books. There were books all over the place, overflowing the shelves which had been put up on the end wall of the room, on the furniture, piled on the floor and all over the kitchen, mixed up with bread and milk and rancid butter and half-drunk mugs of coffee and tea.
‘Grandfather?’ Beth stood at the bottom of the short flight of stairs and looked up. The house felt empty, but it was with slight trepidation that she tiptoed up the modern, open-tread staircase onto the small landing. Off it opened two bedrooms and a bathroom. There was no one there either. Only one bedroom contained a bed, the other held boxes and storage cartons, and more furniture piled to the ceiling. Her grandfather’s bedroom was untidy, the double bed unmade, heaps of books overflowing here as downstairs. Intrigued, she picked a couple up: Pagan Celtic Britain and In Search of the Picts.
Downstairs she found Giles intent on looking through the books on the table. The topics were the same. The Picts and the Celts of Scotland, the Druids and early Scottish history, and with them books on every form of occultism and magic. Amazed and a little shocked Beth glanced through some of them. Was her grandfather writing a book? He had made copious notes both in his small, neat, but barely legible handwriting, and on the typewriter. Beside it she found, neatly stacked, lists of references and dates and what looked like recipes for magic potions. At least now she could guess why he had wanted to see Meryn.
‘My God, Beth, look at this!’ Giles pulled another pile of books towards them. This time they were in German, but their illustrations, of devils and fiends of every description engaged in acts which were graphic to say the least, left no doubt as to their subject. ‘Is your grandfather writing a book on German erotica?’ He laughed incredulously.
‘He can’t be!’ Beth pushed them aside and pulled another pile of books forward. Dion Fortune’s Psychic Self Defence and various books on the art of High Magic were muddled into a heap with two volumes on the mythology of cats.
She frowned. Cats? Something stirred uncomfortably at the back of her mind; both she and Granny Jane had been attacked by cats. She shivered and stepped away from the table uneasily, looking round. ‘Oh God, Giles. We shouldn’t be here.’
‘Of course we should. This is fascinating, Beth.’ Giles had hooked a chair up to the table and was engrossed. ‘He’s got the most amazing library here, you know. It must be worth a fortune.’
‘He’s got a crystal ball!’ Beth had found it, wrapped in black velvet, on a shelf in the corner. ‘And look at this. Runes. Tarot cards. Stones and feathers, oh, and a skull!’
‘Human?’ Giles looked up at last.
‘No, you idiot! Some kind of bird with a huge beak.’
‘Raven.’ Giles had come to stand immediately behind her. ‘He is into some seriously interesting stuff, Beth. All these Pictish symbol stones for example. You are going to have to paint one or two of them for the book.’ He leaned close to her, pointing at the huge tome open before him on the table; she could smell his aftershave. ‘Everyone knows about the Celtic crosses and the interlaced designs the Celts were so good at in their carving, you’ll have to do one of those too, of course, but the Picts did these incredible strong drawings in the stone as well. Carving doesn’t seem the right word. There is so much power in them. I’ve read a bit about them. There are so many theories about what they were: messages, clan totems, signposts, magic; gravestones. You get these animals and birds. Symbols. There’s one here.’ He pointed at it, his arm brushing hers. She did not move away. ‘He’s photographed it from every angle, and he’s copied the symbols on it – you see? There is a serpent there. And a Z rod. And a mirror. And the crescent moon with that sort of v-shaped thing. And then the Celtic cross on the back, but only half finished, which is interesting because it shows that the Pictish symbols came first, and the cross was an afterthought –’ he broke off. ‘Beth, there’s someone coming!’
&n
bsp; They had both heard the car engine. Guiltily they glanced at one another. It was too late to hide or go outside. Whoever it was would have seen their own car outside the front door.
When the door opened they were standing side by side by the table. A short, sandy-haired middle-aged man dressed in a thick sweater and a jacket strode in. He smiled and held out his hand. ‘I’m Ken Maclaren, the minister down in Pittenross. I understand from my wife that you are Adam Craig’s relatives?’
Beth stepped forward. ‘I’m his granddaughter, Beth. We’ve been looking for him.’
Maclaren shrugged. ‘He goes off on his own sometimes. I’ve been coming up each day to keep an eye on him and I have to say my wife and I have been a bit worried about him.’ He looked down at the table uncomfortably. ‘You have found his books, I see.’
‘We certainly have.’ Giles studied the man’s face. ‘His father was one of your predecessors, I understand?’
Maclaren nodded. ‘A fine man, Thomas Craig. Very much respected in the neighbourhood and I like Adam enormously. He and I have been friends ever since he came back to this part of the world, but I have to say I am concerned.’ He looked at Beth intently for a few seconds. ‘My dear, he didn’t tell me he had any relatives. I understood he was alone in the world.’
Beth shrugged. ‘I have only met him very recently. Before that I hadn’t seen him since I was a baby. I believe he was very unhappy after my grandmother died, and went away. No one knew where he was.’
Maclaren nodded. ‘He does seem a very solitary man. He goes out each day at dawn, sometimes earlier, and wanders round in the hills. When he is here he is studying his books.’ He stopped talking and sighed. ‘And I am really not at all happy about some of the things he is doing up here. I should perhaps not say this to a stranger, but you are a relative, and the situation is dire. He is engaged in some very dangerous experiments.’ He looked from Beth to Giles and back. ‘I am not sure as to what he is trying to do. He occasionally discusses some of his interests with me – where he thinks I can advise on spiritual practices, for instance – but I think some of what he does is not only a danger to his immortal soul but also an immediate danger to his life.’
Beth stared at him. ‘What on earth is he doing?’
‘It’s black magic, isn’t it,’ Giles put in. He glanced down at the books on the table.
‘I think he is trying to conjure spirits, yes. I think he is also involved in witchcraft. I am sorry to have to tell you this, but I am afraid for him. And on top of everything else, I don’t know where he is. The house is not usually this …’ he looked round, searching for a word, ‘squalid. He forgets to clean it. But he doesn’t let food go bad like this. I don’t think he’s been back for several days.’
Beth and Giles exchanged glances again and Giles reached out to give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. ‘Perhaps he’s gone away somewhere? After all, his car is not here. If he had gone off walking in the hills and had a fall or something, surely it would still be here?’
‘But he left the door unlocked,’ Beth said quietly. ‘He wouldn’t have done that if he had gone off for several days.’
‘Oh, he might,’ Maclaren put in. ‘That is typical, I’m afraid. He says no one used to lock doors and I can’t convince him that crime has come to the glens, although not as much, I have to say, as it has elsewhere in the country.’ He hesitated. ‘I think he leaves the door unlocked deliberately. I think he is hoping someone might come.’
‘Someone in particular, you mean?’ Giles enquired. He was opening Adam’s notebooks one by one and leafing through them.
The minister nodded. ‘Last time he and I talked about his leaving the door open he said as much. He said “she” might recognise it as a sign that he wanted her to come home to him. I take it he didn’t mean you?’ He looked at Beth and gave her a small wry smile.
She shook her head. She liked this man with his pale blue eyes and thick-lensed glasses. He was sympathetic and caring, and she could feel a strength in him which reassured her. ‘I doubt it. He didn’t, to be honest, even give me his address. I got the strong impression he did not want anyone coming up here. When he came to find me it was my grandmother – my other grandmother, my mother’s mother – he wanted to see, not me. But she lives abroad now so he went away.’ And he wanted to see someone else. Meryn. Merlin the wizard.
‘We’re staying at the Loch Dubh hotel,’ Giles put in. ‘Beth and I are collaborating on a book’ – he glared at her, daring her to deny it – ‘and she suggested Dr Craig might be able to help me with my research into Scottish history. We thought it gave us a good excuse to come and see him.’ He paused. ‘He seems to be especially interested in the symbol stones which I want her to draw for me.’
Maclaren nodded. ‘That one,’ he indicated the stone Adam had photographed, ‘is very close to here. You walk up the hillside and over the ridge behind this house. It is a bit of an obsession with him, you’re right. I wondered if it had anything to do with his father. There were quite a lot of notes about that stone in the old man’s handwriting, which came to me in the parish papers. In his day it was regarded as heathen and in some way spiritually polluting. Thomas Craig had a very fundamentalist faith, and a very unforgiving one. He wanted it torn down.’
‘But that’s ridiculous. It’s an ancient monument!’
He nodded. ‘Different ages see things very differently. There is a signpost to it now, and a notice about it.’ He paused thoughtfully. ‘I wonder if it is your grandmother he is expecting?’
‘He’s not getting senile, is he?’ Giles put in suddenly.
‘No.’
‘No!’
The minister and Beth spoke simultaneously.
‘No,’ the minister went on. ‘I think he is a man with a quest. I only wish he had chosen other ways to pursue it, because the way he is going about it he is playing with hell fire, and although he is far from senile, I do think his sanity is at stake.’
They pulled off the road halfway back to the hotel and sat watching the stormy sunset. Giles had bought a tin of shortbread when they stopped to fill up with petrol and he pulled off the lid, offering Beth a piece as he scrabbled in the glove compartment for his notebook. ‘Just near here there’s a wonderful waterfall, if I remember. I’m not sure if there’s time to go and see before it gets too dark.’ He glanced at her. ‘You’re worrying yourself sick about him, aren’t you?’
She nodded. ‘None of it makes any sense.’
‘You’re going to have to try and speak to Liza again. There must be some way her husband can reach her in emergencies, surely.’
She shrugged. ‘Mr Maclaren frightened me. He was really worried.’ She reached for the door handle suddenly. ‘I need to walk. Let’s try and find your waterfall. After all I’ve got to have some variety in my drawings. Perhaps this one can be by moonlight.’
The track was hard to see in the twilight, but they followed it carefully with the help of a small pocket torch. It led through lichen-draped trees and over steep rocks, climbing almost vertically up the hillside.
Beth stopped to rub her foot after her shoe had slipped on a loose piece of scree and Giles waited for her. ‘Are you all right?’ He waved his hand vaguely towards the misty distance. ‘I can hear the falls. Listen.’
They stood listening to the rush of water, and the whisper of the wind in the larch. The western sky was still bright with the setting sun, but in front of them the hillside was dark. Beth shivered. She desperately wanted Giles to put his arm round her. ‘Is it far? It’s getting dark very quickly.’
‘Not according to the map. It’s a tourist spot. A series of wonderful falls. It must be fairly close. And look. Here comes the moon.’
The silver light flooded through the trees suddenly and they both saw the glint of reflections where the water cascaded down the hillside. Scrambling on up the steep track they found themselves on a sort of natural platform, looking down into the dark cavernous pool beneath the fall.
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p; Beth shuddered. ‘It looks very sinister down there.’
‘Look up,’ Giles breathed. ‘That’s where the beauty is.’ Streams of pure silver seemed to be pouring down the black face of the rock, threaded here and there by the delicate silhouettes of the trees which clung to the precipitous cracks. The noise was deafening. Giles looked down at Beth, then at last he put his arm round her shoulders. He murmured something to her but she couldn’t hear him. She reached up to hear better and he mistook the gesture. His lips on hers were warm and firm, his arms reassuring. She knew she should pull away; she should break free. But in a moment she was lost. They clung together, locked in one another’s embrace as the moon sailed higher over the mountainside, sending its light down into the depths of the pool below and turning it to liquid fire.
It was a long time before Beth remembered her resolutions and a little shakily pushed him away. ‘We shouldn’t have done that.’
‘No.’ He grinned. ‘I’m glad we did.’
‘But Giles, what about Idina?’
He sighed. ‘Beth, our marriage is over. We’ve tried. God knows I’ve tried, but we don’t have anything in common any more. And she realises it at last, too. She is a town girl and I’m country. It’s as simple as that. No, it’s more than that. I bore her. And it’s a long time since I loved her. Since before you and I ever met, Beth. I tried to tell you, but I suppose I can’t blame you for not believing me.’ He hesitated. ‘The threats to kill herself –’ He paused again and shrugged. ‘I’ve discovered they don’t mean anything. They are dramatic and they call me to heel very effectively. But she’s the one who has been straying. I’ve been faithful.’ He paused. ‘To you. Please, believe me, we’re not hurting her.’
‘Giles, I want to believe you –’ she broke off. ‘What was that?’ All her senses were suddenly alert.
‘What?’ He stared at the trees and rocks around them.
‘I’m sure I saw something – there, in the shadows.’ She felt a sudden wave of real fear. ‘Giles, let’s go. Let’s get back to the car.’
On the Edge of Darkness Page 47