I stood by the table, trying to work out sensibly and logically what had happened. I was careless about keys, relying on the Tower's isolation, and only at night when Thane wasn't in the kitchen did I make certain the door was locked. His mighty presence was enough to deter even the Devil himself. There was also a latch on the door, and Thane was tall and adept at using his nose to lift it and let himself in and out of the kitchen.
Trying not to panic, I went through my pockets once again. Went to my bedroom and searched in case I had been carrying it and set it down absent-mindedly when I collected my papers.
I knew even as I grovelled about with a lighted candle that it was a forlorn hope. The key wasn't there. Downstairs again I groped under the dresser, was rewarded by dust, and the disagreeable scurrying sounds that hinted at very badly frightened mice.
I sat back on my heels. What next? I was alone in a creaky old Tower with a storm raging, and a door I couldn't lock.
I had mislaid - lost - the key. But where? How?
Another thought. Had it been stolen? But who would steal it? I remembered the children - dismissed the thought as unworthy and had another of my cold shivers.
What if the killer had come to the Tower when I was out, had seen the key and taken it? What if he was lurking about out there, in the garden, waiting to pounce on his next victim? Me!
This wouldn't do at all. I realized I was scaring myself, being quite silly really - or so I would have dismissed such behaviour in the cold light of day.
But there were many dark hours ahead before reassuring dawn returned once more. So I tried careful logical thought and began by going over the day's events from rising until I left the house to visit Nellie Edgley.
Jack had arrived but before him I had had another visitor.
Desmond Marks, early and quite unexpected. I had given him tea and remembered talking to him over my shoulder as he watched me take cups down from where they hung in a row on the dresser.
Had the key been there on its usual hook alongside? If only I could be certain.
I remember bending over the peat fire, pouring boiling water from the kettle into the pot, my back to Desmond who had walked round and was standing by the dresser, watching me and offering to help.
Had he noticed the key then and taken it?
But for what purpose?
And with cold terror wrenching at my stomach, I knew there could be only one reason.
If Desmond Marks had arranged his wife's murder, and believed I was the only witness, then I was in mortal peril.
Chapter Fourteen
I had been in worse situations with wild Apache warriors storming a besieged fort in Arizona, one of a group of terrified women and children united in danger shared, and with a loaded pistol in my hand.
An experience of scant comfort in my present situation for here I was completely alone, with the strong probability that a killer, whose face I already knew, was somewhere near at hand awaiting his opportunity to creep into the Tower and murder me.
I could sit up all night and watch the door, with my pistol on the table. Except that I was not at all sure it would be any help since it had not been fired since my return to Edinburgh. 'Discreet investigation' of the problems of ‘distressed ladies', as Jack called them, had not up to now called for the use of firearms but perhaps flourishing a Derringer at an intruder would have the desired effect.
The alternative was to retire to my bedroom up the spiral stairs. Except that none of the massive interior doors had locks on them. This necessity had never occurred to their long-ago builders. A chair set under the door handle would have to suffice. That and the firearm should give me initial protection against an intruder.
But for how long and against what odds, I dared think no further.
And so it was with a feeling of utmost dread that I barricaded my door and got into bed, telling myself that I was reasonably safe.
Listening for warning sounds below was an impossibility since the storm had chosen midnight to break with all its ferocity on the hill. This was accompanied by heart-thumping claps of thunder of Wagnerian magnitude that seemed to shake the old Tower to its very foundations, braced against the full force of the battering as it had done for the past several hundred years.
Shutters rattled, doors and floorboards creaked. Such conditions would have been more than enough for any female of a nervous disposition without the addition of a killer on the prowl outside.
Alone and vulnerable, I lay shivering, very sorry for myself, my head under the bedclothes, listening to the storm. At last the thunder faded, silence reigned and I fell into an exhausted sleep.
I awoke to a dog baying.
Thane. Unmistakably Thane.
Turning up the lamp I ran downstairs. To my horror the kitchen door hung wide open, a trail of dead leaves scurrying across the floor.
Thane was in the garden. He stood by the far wall, growling deep in his throat. Seizing my cape, I went out after him.
'Who is it, Thane?'
Hackles raised and bristling, he turned and looked at me.
'Woof.' Still growling, but feebly wagging his tail as if to assure me that danger was over. Then shaking himself, he trotted back into the Tower.
'Who was it?' I asked, my hand on his shoulder.
If he could have answered that question many of my problems would have been solved that night.
Instead I was left to puzzle it out for myself as once again I resumed my frantic search for the key as if it might have miraculously reappeared.
Had someone attempted to break in? If that was the question there was only one answer. The intruder-cum-killer could only be whoever stole the key in the first place.
And the role of 'whoever' fitted Desmond Marks perfectly.
The lovely old clock with its Westminster chime struck six and there seemed little point in going back to bed, so I blew the peat fire into life again, put on the kettle and shared with Thane a very early breakfast.
'Was it Desmond Marks?' I asked, stroking his head. 'He didn't like you much. I wonder why.'
In answer Thane looked at me, that maddeningly intelligent intent expression which confirmed absolutely nothing.
I stared out of the window. First light on the hill is quite magical. Particularly, I was discovering, in autumn, when breaking dawn casts clouds aside with a rose red sunrise above Arthur's Seat, in a celestial drama breathtakingly beautiful.
A flight of birds echoed overhead, a great noise, and we went to the back door to watch the wild geese, the great V formations - one upon another, hundreds of them - flying over the Tower on their way to the feeding grounds in East Lothian.
Each November they came, following the primeval pattern established long before man took up residence on the site of an extinct volcano. Back from the Arctic circle, back home to live and breed another year, fulfilling their survival ritual.
Intrigued by the wonder and majesty of it all, I took out my sketchbook and water-colours, but my brushes could not work fast enough to capture the scene. The geese were mere black dashes of paint and the sunrise had faded long before I looked at the result of my labours, so drab and lifeless.
Disappointed as usual at another failure, I tore it out and attended more prosaic domestic matters in the kitchen, keeping a sharp lookout still for that missing key.
Consoled and made bold again by daylight, I determined to put aside the nightmarish hours when my overwrought imagination convinced me that someone had tried to break into the Tower and had been scared off by Thane.
Or that I might well be marked down by the killer as the next victim.
Punctually at eight, when I normally made him breakfast if he stayed the night. Jack came by wheeling my bicycle.
'I've fixed the wheel for you.'
Thanking him, I realized he was in a foul temper, unusual for him, stiff-lipped and still angry or hurt, perhaps both, about my harsh words and dismissal yesterday. His appetite was unaffected though, and watching him demol
ish a hearty breakfast I said casually, 'Someone tried to break into the Tower last night.'
He put down his fork, stared at me for a moment as if searching for the proper words to deal with this piece of drama. That shake of the head and slight smile of disbelief was more than I could bear at that moment.
'You think it's a joke.'
'No, I don't think that. Imagination is more like it.'
'All right. I wake up in the middle of the night. Thane is barking. I find the back door wide open - he's outside barking furiously.'
Jack swallowed his last piece of bacon and said, 'That's easy, Rose. Even for a detective. First, the open door. We know that you don't lock it and that Thane can lift the latch by himself. That's your answer. He came in, heard a noise outside - for heaven's sake there was a storm roaring most of the night - and rushed out, probably after some prowling animal.'
'Or some prowling killer.'
Jack helped himself to bread and jam, poured out a second cup of tea and sat back in his chair. He stared out of the window pretending to be thoughtful, but I knew he was just digesting his bacon and egg and considering the possibilities of another slice from the rapidly diminishing loaf.
Looking at the clock he said briskly, 'I must be off, Rose. I'm late already. See you tonight.'
He came round the table to kiss me and seemed surprised by my averted cheek.
'Now what's wrong?'
'Nothing's wrong. You can leave the back door key, by the way.'
'What key?'
I pointed to the dresser. 'The one that lives there.'
'I know that. Am I supposed to have taken it?'
'Thought you might have put it in your pocket by mistake.'
Silent for a moment, he looked at me. 'I presume by that you don't know where it is and you've mislaid it.'
Suddenly it wasn't worth the argument. He'd never be convinced that someone tried to break in or that I was in danger. Until too late.
'It'll turn up somewhere. Why worry, you never lock doors, anyway.' Bring in Thane's strange behaviour and he'd say. Well, you taught him how to open the back door.
‘I’m off - I'll leave you the newspaper.You can read all about that riot at Leith yesterday.'
I glanced at the headline.
'Protesters Dispersed. Rioter Accidentally Shot Dead.'
The man's name, ‘Peter McHully', meant nothing to me, but I remembered something significant which had been at the back of my mind. Formless, irritating, refusing to be recognized.
Until now. Desmond Marks at the Pirates rehearsal talking to another constable while I waited and Nancy tried to attract his attention. It was so vivid-
'Jack, I'm sure I've seen this man, met him somewhere before.'
Jack laughed and shook his head. 'Surely not? How on earth did you come to that conclusion?'
I didn't want to bring Desmond Marks into it again. 'His voice. I remember voices.'
Jack said nothing.
'I know you don't believe me - I have a strange feeling...'
'One of your intuitions, eh? Go on,' he smiled.
'Fantastic or no, Jack Macmerry, find out more about McHully and you'll have a lead to the murdered woman,' I said complacently.
He looked at me and I knew he was aching to ask, What murdered woman, Rose? Instead he gave me his mocking 'you're letting your imagination run riot again' smile.
I refused to be provoked. Especially as I couldn't put up a defence since Jack refused to believe that either PC Smith or the dead woman had ever existed. He had already reached his own satisfying conclusion about her disappearance from St Anthony's Chapel and he was prepared to stick to it.
He left shortly afterwards in a better mood, thinking that because there had been no further argument, all was forgiven and forgotten.
I read the newspaper report. It was all there, cautiously written and well biased in favour of the police, of law and order... The villainous dock workers, refusing to accept the generous wage their bosses gave them and the advantages of having daily employment and roofs over their heads...
What advantages, I thought bitterly, remembering the sad gloomy tenement where Ben Edgley and his wife Nellie lived. And she was one of the better tenants, I was sure, trying against hopeless odds to turn a hovel into a home.
What less caring folk were like, I dared not think. But the smell of grime and poverty remained with me after that brief visit, refusing to be banished and telling its own story.
The report skirted around Peter McHully, mentioning only that he was a known agitator, wanted by the police on sundry other charges. His death, unfortunate but accidental, had been caused by a stray bullet.
A carefully worded, sanitized version of the scene I had witnessed. Not a mention of General Sir Angus Carthew either, nor of the presence of armed police and the damage they were doing with their truncheons.
No doubt Jack also knew a great deal more about McHully than he was revealing. Information classified as highly confidential by the Edinburgh City Police and unavailable to a member of the general public. Particularly to a lady investigator such as Rose McQuinn. It was Nancy who provided the vital clue.
Chapter Fifteen
The Carthew carriage rolled up to the front door early that morning and Nancy emerged with the two children looking almost too angelic to be real.
Perhaps she hoped that arriving so early she might meet Jack, and I did not mention that she had missed him by ten minutes.
There was still tea in the pot kept warm on the hob and she drank it gratefully after settling Tessa and Torquil with their picture books and instructions to be patient and keep quiet. I supplied reinforcements of bread and jam to brace them for such unnatural requirements while Nancy explained the reason for this morning call.
'The General has decided that the children must have winter coats and hats and sturdy new boots and as they are always up and about by eight o'clock, I decided the sooner we set off the better.' She shook her head. 'Their poor uncle wouldn't know where to begin to make such purchases especially as Lady Carthew is not well enough to undertake such an exhausting shopping expedition. They both felt it was a more appropriate assignment for their nanny, although the General was full of apologies for inflicting-' She laughed. 'That is the very word he used. Rose - inflicting such an imposition on me. Little does he know that in most households this falls to the nanny whether the mother is fit or not. And little does he realize that the chance of shopping in Edinburgh is a great privilege, whatever the excuse.'
I still didn't know why I was being told all this when she said, 'The reason I'm here, Rose, is that I have a great favour to ask. Could you possibly come with me?'
'Why, of course I could, Nancy, and I'd be delighted. Although I'd better warn you I haven't much idea about the needs of young children.'
'I can't believe you would be baffled by such a prospect as buying them suitable clothes,' she said firmly. 'You have such excellent taste, and you will know at once exactly what is right for them,’ she added as if I had some second sight in the matter of choosing bargains where children's outfits were concerned.
'Your confidence is touching, Nancy, but I'm not sure I can live up to your high ideals.'
'Oh yes, you can,' she said. 'And I'm not the only one who has absolute confidence in your abilities.' Looking round in case the children were listening, she added, 'Desmond is sure you'll find Nora for him. He is so grateful to you for promising to do so.'
I was somewhat taken aback if this was what he had told Nancy. 'I didn't promise him anything, only that I would try my best to find out where she had disappeared to. I didn't promise that I would restore her to him.'
Nancy looked disappointed as I went upstairs to change and I had the distinct impression that she felt let down that I did not have some magic formula for finding lost wives. She would be even more put out, I thought grimly, if she guessed my suspicions that Nora Marks was no longer alive. And that her dear friend Desmond who sang like an angel (her
words!) possessed some murderous impulses.
I had promised not to keep them waiting downstairs and suggested that the children play outside. Obviously a merry game was in progress accompanied by much shrill laughter and chasing round the garden. Thane discreetly remained invisible. Young children were not his strong point. In that respect he was like any other dog.
When I came downstairs Nancy was standing by the dresser watching them through the window and she held up the painting I had discarded.
'Rose, did you do this?' When I said yes, she said, 'It's absolutely lovely. Sunrise, on Arthur's Seat. You are clever, I wish I could paint. Are you going to put it in a frame?'
I laughed. 'As a matter of fact, no. I was going to throw it away - it isn't very good, Nancy. Honestly.'
'Throw it away?' she shrieked, clutching it. 'Oh no. Rose.' She looked at me. 'Please, please - if you don't want it - may I have it? I would love it for my wall.'
I was flattered by her enthusiasm but more than a little diffident about parting with what I felt was a poor effort. Nancy, however, refused to listen to my protests so I agreed that she could have it and signed my name in the corner as she requested.
Laying it aside, she pointed at the newspaper on the table. 'Have you read it- Wait till I tell you-'
At that moment Tessa appeared, screaming shrilly that Torquil had stolen her scarf and wouldn't give it back. I was to discover that those angelic curls hid little demon's horns.
'It'll have to wait until later,' Nancy muttered, disentangling the two children, wiping faces, inspecting hands and setting bonnets to rights as they were led to the waiting carriage with warnings to behave.
I could feel Nancy's suppressed excitement as she said once or twice, 'This is amazing, Rose. Quite amazing. Such a coincidence,' and so forth leaving me even more frustrated about what important information was forthcoming - eventually.
Outside Jenners, she despatched the carriage with instructions to return within the hour.
A newsboy was shouting, 'Further developments in Leith riots,' and she bought a newspaper as we headed for the Jenners children's department where the two small but important customers were persuaded into suitable garments with a minimum of fuss. As they pirouetted around in their new coats, a fur bonnet for Tessa and a jaunty cap for Torquil, I was relieved at how easy it had all been and let my mind drift longingly, with ample time to spare, to the tearoom upstairs...
Dangerous Pursuits (A Rose McQuinn Mystery) Page 11
