As usual, storm clouds threatened. Yet, some rays of sunshine persisted here and there between the dark puffs and swirls overhead. He cleared his mind and let the Vauxhall lead him where it may. He found himself headed towards Castle Taye. Maybe he would run into Caroline and get a chance to speak with her. He daydreamed about asking her to reserve a dance for him this evening. Perhaps he'd just catch a glimpse of her in the yard exercising her dogs, and they'd wave at each other. These were his hopes. He stretched his eyes as far as the vista allowed. He feared his job was making him near sighted. He needed to get out more.
The castle loomed to his right with the rock of Taye behind. It was obvious why people thought this area contained some of the world's most beautiful scenery. From a distance, in today's lighting, the castle first appeared as just a rocky outcrop. Duncan drove on, past Stuart's former home, observing the hills and fields, disappointed there was no sign of Caroline. Ahead, a stag leaped across his path, bounding through the dell and stopping across the small valley. Duncan slammed his brakes. The stag startled him. He wasn't expecting to see any wildlife this afternoon. He pulled his car to the side, rolled his window down and stared at this beautiful specimen. The stag supported a grand set of antlers. The animal stood perfectly still for several moments, then ducked its head into tall grass. Duncan lost track of time, viewing this lovely beast. Eventually, the stag ambled off, disappearing into the wooded hillside beyond.
Duncan pulled the car back onto the lane and proceeded with his drive. The road narrowed and soon Duncan arrived at a sharp bend. He slowed the Vauxhall to a crawl, just in case more deer appeared, and drove on. To his left, a charming farmhouse came into view. He realized he was gazing at Mrs. Charmicle's home, Caroline's neighbor. He decided to turn the car around and return to town. By now, his kilt would be waiting.
As he drove, his engine began making a strange sputtering noise he had not heard before. No mechanic, he became concerned the automobile might give out. It did seem to be losing power. The Vauxhall made it through the Wood where Duncan had his spill, before gasping its last breath. He placed the car in neutral and coasted off the side of the road. He figured he had about a mile to walk with a sore hip, and he did not relish being out here, unprotected, again.
He had not walked a quarter mile when the deluge began. He'd read somewhere that it rained, on average, twenty-one days out of thirty in November here. He regretted not bringing a raincoat. Perhaps the stag was sniffing out this torrent when he paused in the field. Another quarter mile and Duncan was soaked through and through. Then, the wind whipped sleet at Duncan, stinging his hands, face, and neck. The gusts and ice produced a brutal onslaught. Ahead, on the left, he could just make out a building and some light.
A warm glow from the open door of the kirk drew him like the proverbial moth to a flame. The doorway was sheltered by a low, stone portico, so little rain entered the sanctuary, except that which dripped from Duncan. An elderly vicar, standing at the altar, gave a sermon to an empty church.
"He has hedged me in so that I cannot get out; He has made my chain heavy. He has blocked my ways with hewn stone; He has made my paths crooked."
The vicar used all his energy to project his words. Those words held meaning for Duncan, considering he was investigating the death of someone crushed by stone. He stopped in his tracks, shocked at what he'd heard. At first the minister took no notice of him, but catching sight of him now, welcomed him with a wave and a smile. Duncan slid into a pew near the entrance.
"Hallo there," the vicar stopped his sermon and shuffled towards Duncan. "I was just practicing for this evening," he gave as explanation.
Duncan guessed as much.
"Can I help you, young man?"
Duncan couldn't remember the last time he had been called that. But, by the looks of the vicar, Duncan was very young in comparison.
"I'm sorry to disrupt you, but my car broke down and then this cloudburst happened."
The minister looked past Duncan through the open door, outside, as if he had not noticed the rain before.
"Can I call someone for you?" he asked.
Duncan realized he had his cell phone in his pocket. He wasn't quite sure what the protocol was for cell phones in a kirk.
"Do you mind if I use this to call a friend?"
He pulled out his phone and held it high for the vicar to see. He saw it was damp and rubbed it against the hem of his undershirt to dry it off.
"Oh, please go ahead. I do have a phone in back you can use if yours is not in proper order."
The parson watched as Duncan dialed the inn. Fortunately, his cellular still worked. Donald answered the phone at the Blue Bell.
"Donald, this is Duncan."
He nodded at the vicar to let him know his call had gone through and the elderly man withdrew to allow for privacy.
Duncan continued, "My car broke down near the kirk."
The vicar turned and interrupted him.
"The old kirk, tell him the old kirk," the cleric said with some excitement.
"I'm stuck, uh, stranded at the old kirk. I got stuck out in a downpour and took refuge here."
"I'll send someone right out to get you. The auto will have to stay put until tomorrow though, bank holiday and all," Donald pronounced.
"I'd be very grateful, Donald. Thank you so much." Duncan expressed relief with his tone and Donald hung up without saying good-bye.
The old minister made his way back to Duncan. He had only traveled a few steps while he spoke with Donald.
"The new kirk is on the other side of town. I didn't want your friend going on a goose chase," the parson revealed.
Duncan looked around the church. It appeared so ancient. Large, flat stones, worn smooth through the ages comprised the floor. The walls were rough rock, or rubble, of different sizes and the roof timbered. He realized he sat in a narrow nave, while the altar in front of him stood in the middle of the north and south transepts. The kirk had a T floor plan. The lighting bathed the interior in a golden glow, reflecting off the stone walls.
"So this is the old kirk I've heard so much about!" he exclaimed. "I read about your church in a pamphlet at the Blue Bell Inn."
The vicar's toothy grin spread from ear to ear, signifying his pride in the kirk.
"Please, look around while you wait for your friend. You should come back in better weather as well. There is much to see outside and in the graveyard."
Duncan had read about the unique, ancient headstones found there. He rose from the pew and walked side by side with the vicar towards the altar. He recalled that the kirk dated to 1400, long before Bluie took refuge in Taye. Did she come here to mourn, to worship, he wondered. Once they reached the transepts, the kirk opened to a wide area, much wider than the nave. Slightly in front and to the right of the altar stood a primitive stone cross about a meter high and half as wide. To the left, he saw a doorway surrounded by ornate blue stone casements. It was the same stone used for the window and door casements, as well as several plaques, at Castle Taye.
"This is magnificent," Duncan said.
There really were no other words. The place encapsulated an unusual atmosphere. He could not put his finger on it, but he felt a combination of peace, history, and power pressing in on him. It wasn't unpleasant, but he was not completely comfortable here either.
"Yes, it is," the elderly man agreed.
The two stood in silence and Duncan continued to absorb the ambience and take in the details of the church.
"There you are!" Skye bounded into the church with welcoming enthusiasm. "Hallo, Vicar," she added.
"Oh, so Skye is your friend," the minister stated, continuing, "she's a wonderful friend to have. I can attest to that."
The parson moved towards Skye and the two hugged. They obviously enjoyed a close relationship.
"I've got to get this fellow back to the Blue Bell, so he can get ready for your service, Vicar. Thank you for taking care of him for us." Skye locked her arm through Dunc
an's and headed back through the nave. She turned before leaving the kirk, "We'll see you at four p.m. We're looking forward to it!" she said.
Duncan glanced back at the rector who was waving at them. "Thank you," he shouted as Skye pulled him out into the rain.
They made a dash for a red Series III Land Rover, the only vehicle around. Duncan immediately recognized the make by its unique shape and large spare tire stationed on the hood. The automobile was in good condition and he was thankful it had a hard top. Skye cranked up the heat as they drove towards Taye.
"What year is this?"
Duncan examined the interior, which had seen better days. As a boy, he was a big fan of the Series III. It represented adventure for him, with its off road capabilities and rugged look.
"I believe it's a late 1970's model. Dad purchased it used, sometime in the '90s. It's been a reliable vehicle for us."
Skye focused on the road as she spoke. Visibility was poor and she wanted to reach Taye in one piece. Fortunately, the Range Rover didn't meet any other autos until they reached the outskirts of the village. She pulled into the Blue Bell's car park and drove to the inn's door.
"I'll let ye off here. Go ahead and get ready for tonight. Dad and I will be leaving here at three-thirty. Ye can come with us. Me dad's already called a local man to take a look at yer car in the morning. He'll fix you right up. He's a talented mechanic."
"I cannot thank you and your father enough, Skye… " He was interrupted by Skye's raised hand, placed between them.
"We're happy to help. We take care of our guests at the Blue Bell Inn," she recited in a voice that sounded as if it came from an advertisement on the telly.
"You sure do," he added before closing the Rover's door and waving as she pulled into a parking spot.
He entered the hotel and headed straight for Donald's post.
Chapter 7 - A Saint and a Ceilidh
He spread the two kilts on his bed, trying to decide which to wear. Made of fine wool cloth, they exuded a slight musty odor. But, beggars cannot be choosers. He held the first up to his waist and glanced in the mirror. Definitely not flattering and too large. Even in his younger days, Mr. Merriwether was a larger gentleman than Duncan. He tried the other kilt. It was a bit smaller and the dark plaid suited him. He determined to make the best of this one. He found a pair of knee-high stockings, left from a prior trip, in a pocket of his suitcase. His new shoes would complete his look below the belt. He chose a crisp white dress shirt to finish his traditional attire. He took one last glance in the mirror, grabbed his coat, and strode to the lobby.
"Wow!" Duncan exclaimed.
Skye stood with one hand on the lobby desk, the other on her hip, chatting with her father. She wore her auburn hair pinned in a traditional up-do and she sported a strapless dress made from a red tartan. Her dress fit her to a tee with a snug bodice and sweetheart neckline. Its pleated skirt fell just above her knee. Duncan caught a glimpse of legs that went on forever. A broad smile broke across Skye's face in response to his admiration of her appearance. She blushed.
"Ye can pick yer jaw up now, Laddie," Donald chortled.
Duncan looked from daughter to father and back again. He hoped he hadn't been rude. He knew Skye was a pretty girl. Now she came across as beautiful. Donald eased off his stool and came around the counter to join the young people.
"Shall we?" Donald asked, extending his hand to Skye.
The three marched to the Range Rover. The rain had providentially stopped. Donald utilized his cane. He still experienced pain, but wouldn't miss this evening for anything. It fell to Duncan to climb in the back of the vehicle, and while he scrambled in, Skye helped her father ease into the passenger seat. It wasn't easy, but after a few moments, both men were safely seated. Skye took the wheel and drove back to the old kirk.
Several automobiles already sat in the tiny, grassy car park next to the church. Skye stopped at the entrance. She and Duncan both exited the vehicle and then helped Donald from the car. Duncan accompanied the older gentleman into the kirk as Skye parked the Range Rover to the side of the lane. After shaking the vicar's hand, the innkeeper pointed with his cane to a pew in the back, indicating where he would like to sit. Skye entered the church and all three slid onto the bench, allowing her father the end.
Duncan didn't recognize the few villagers already present. More people dribbled in and he saw some familiar faces. He identified several Blue Bell staff members and what must have been their families. Constable William Ainsley arrived. He stood at the rear of the church, looking for someone. He spotted Skye first and smiled. William lost his smile when he noted Duncan wedged between the two Merriwethers. Constable Ainsley shook Donald's hand, nodded to Skye and found an empty pew several rows up. He stared after Ainsley, his thoughts interrupted by a feminine voice that sounded vaguely familiar.
"Hallo, Donald. How are ye this evening?"
He looked to his left, immediately recognizing Abigail Neward, owner of Cat's Books. Her nephew, as tall as she was short, accompanied Abigail, her arm locked in the crook of his elbow. Inspector Jimmy Smythe smiled down at their party.
"Ah, Abigail. The arthritis has an awful grip on me tonight. I shan't be doing any dancing this year," Donald responded.
"What a shame!" Abigail cried with real disappointment. "Ye'll be telling yer riddles won't ye?" she asked.
Abigail's eyebrows knit together tightly, reflecting genuine worry.
"I hope you feel better soon, Sir," Jimmy added.
"Aye, I've got a riddle alright and I'll be telling it. Ye won't guess the answer Abigail, dae ye ken?"
Donald was fond of asking "Do you know" at the end of his statements.
"I'm sure I won't," she said, blushing a deep crimson as she pulled Jimmy into the pew in front of Donald.
Duncan gave Skye an inquisitive look as the vicar greeted Abigail and her nephew. The lass leaned towards Duncan and whispered in his ear, "It's an old story. She's always had an interest in my Dad. She solved one of his riddles, years ago. He accused her privately of cheating. I can tell ye more about it later." She gave Duncan a sly smile and nod of her head.
He watched as more villagers filled the kirk. It was almost four o'clock. Movement next to his pew caught his attention. Caroline strolled up the aisle, Peter and a young girl following in her wake. She wore what could only be described as a Grace Kelly dress beneath a matching coat. Dressed completely in cream, she floated through the nave, like an angel. Duncan stared, his thoughts driven back to the Blue Bell when she placed her hand on his chin and searched his eyes. Constable Ainsley turned and spotting Caroline, rose to greet her. He stepped out of his aisle and made a gesture for her group to join him. Duncan saw her nod and caught a glimpse of her smile as she moved into the pew. The two trailing behind had already slid past Ainsley and taken seats. Jealousy flared inside him as he realized the Constable would be next to Caroline for the duration of the service.
The program began with a procession of four boys and a girl, dressed in white robes. They stood by the vicar, who smiled approvingly at the children, and sang a hymn, then joined their families in the pews. The pastor cleared his throat and greeted the citizens of Taye and their guests. He gave a brief history of Saint Andrew, Scotland's patron saint. Then he read from the book of Lamentations, a rather depressing choice, Duncan thought. He remembered the verses he'd heard the cleric reciting that afternoon. Those were also from Lamentations and the man repeated them and others now. Before each sentence, the rector inhaled a deep breath, drew himself up and then poured out his wisdom, deflating a little with each word. The elderly gentleman summoned all his strength for this sermon. The verses struck the investigator as they had earlier, especially the one about hewn stone. The others didn't bode well either. How ironic that he was here in Taye investigating a death caused by a stone. Was Providence or some higher power trying to tell him something? He shook off the thought and concentrated on the minister's sermon.
The rector spoke of
the sufferings of Saint Andrew, according to church tradition, crucified on a diagonal cross. The shape of that cross was the origin of the design of the Scottish flag, he reminded everyone. The reverend ended on a positive note, encouraging the congregation to live out their purpose, as Saint Andrew had. The robed children rose from their seats and sang a closing hymn where they stood. Duncan was impressed with their vocal abilities.
As parishioners filed out of the kirk, Donald waited for the crowd to clear before rising. He didn't want the others to have to wait for his slow gate. Duncan was able to get a look at everyone as they filed past. Ainsley escorted Caroline from the church, his arm locked around hers. She never looked at him, but did give Skye a smile and a small nod. Ainsley looked proud as a peacock. His view was partially blocked by the tall Inspector Smythe, who also remained planted in his pew.
Some of the younger people dressed quite casually and Peter was no exception. He noticed his grimy jeans and a wrinkled sweatshirt as he walked by, a sullen expression on his face. A girl with similar features followed Peter. This might be Julia, Duncan thought. She wore jeans and a T-shirt that proclaimed in large letters, Eat Haggis and Ceilidh On.
After everyone else had cleared out, Abigail turned and spoke to Donald. "We'll see ye at the ceilidh. Good luck tonight, Donald."
She and Jimmy rose and strolled past their group.
"Thank ye, Abigail."
Abigail blushed again and smiled with delight. She did have it bad for Donald Merriwether. Duncan wanted to hear more of their history. He would get it out of Skye later.
By the time their group arrived at the gymnasium, Skye had trouble finding a place to park the old Range Rover. She decided to drop her father and Duncan at the door. He would help Donald to his seat. A blast of warm air hit the two men as he opened the door for his friend. Donald hobbled with his cane, ahead of Duncan. The hall proved crowded and loud. Villagers visited excitedly with friends and family, while background music that he couldn't quite make out added to the general cacophony. Donald led the way to a table near the dais where several empty seats with labels stating RESERVED stood.
Mystery: The Merlon Murders: A Duncan Dewar Mystery of Romantic Suspense (Duncan Dewar Mysteries Book 1) Page 9
