Dangerous Pursuits (A Rose McQuinn Mystery)

by Alanna Knight

  As an extra precaution, I made a careful copy addressed to myself, care of my Edinburgh solicitor Mr Blackadder, with the melancholy instruction: 'To be opened in the event of my death.'

  I would have enjoyed the walk across the hill for Arthur's Seat looked divinely beautiful, something out of a fairy tale. Snow had fallen steadily all day and lay two inches deep as I set off for Carthew House. I took the long way round by Duddingston village where I posted a letter, any fleeting anxiety about how I was to get home that evening comforted by thoughts of the Carthew carriage or of other guests whose vehicles might be diverted towards the Tower.

  The walk down the drive was enchanting but as I glimpsed the mausoleum and recalled the horror within, I gave some thought to the General's high standing in the community. How terrible this revelation would be for him and his family. Sensational murder, however remote, casts its gloomy shadow, its indelible stain.

  Or was I concerning myself unnecessarily? Perhaps he had influence enough with the city fathers to have the grisly discovery and its aftermath concealed from the press. And I spared a thought for his poor sick wife.

  I was seated on the General's right. 'Our invited guests included your brother, Dr Laurie,' he told me.

  'We invited him specially should he be in Edinburgh, Mrs McQuinn,' said Lady Carthew with a smile in my direction.

  The General explained that the expected large dinner party had been whittled down by the sudden snowstorm. Three couples who lived at some distance from Edinburgh had telegraphed their apologies since the weather was so treacherous.

  Looking out of the window, relieved that Nancy was staying at Queensferry overnight, I hoped that the weather hadn't ruined her cousin's wedding.

  Seated at the table besides the Carthews were Dr Pierce and his wife Molly, and next to me, the factor Kennock whom I hadn't met before. An elderly widower of dour aspect he had, like Mrs Laing, served the family for two generations.

  Kennock lived at the lodge gate and it soon became apparent by the quality of his conversation that he was also general factotum and handyman, inside and outside the house, and that he performed his duties with a considerable amount of grumbling and resentment. No doubt the Carthews kept him on either through kindness of heart or because they were disinclined to look for a replacement since Kennock was keen to tell me in a stage whisper, 'They'll never find anyone else to do all the work I do for them.' Obviously he was not in awe of the General, having known him, as he said, 'since he was a wee bairn'.

  The dinner promised to be extremely pleasant. Mrs Laing had prepared the food and also served at table. Having deputized for Nancy and put the children to bed, she now appeared almost unrecognizable in a starched white cap and apron. Compliments were heaped upon her by the assembled company for excellent soup, salmon, followed by roast beef and a Scotch trifle.

  'Her Majesty will be dining on just such a meal as this which was served the last time I was honoured to be invited to dinner at Balmoral Castle.'

  Lulled by the wine, something I was not used to in any excess, I allowed the General to top up my glass rather too regularly.

  'Perhaps we could prevail upon Mrs McQuinn to tell us what it is like living in the Wild West of America,' said Lady Carthew.

  I recalled saying, 'Do please call me Rose,' before launching into some of the more respectable and amusing incidents I had witnessed in a world whose culture was romantic and exciting, if also constantly endangered by outlaws and savage tribes.

  Lady Carthew watched me, smiling. A good listener, she occasionally raised her glass to her husband at the far end of the table. In candlelight, she was a beautiful woman with her heavy golden hair and well-defined features, the wide mouth remote from the rosebud demanded by fashion.

  But I fancied these looks which depended on a good bone structure would endure when her contemporaries' fragile roses and cream had faded and withered.

  During a lull in conversation, I heard Kennock ask Sir Angus, 'Have you heard from young Appleton lately?'

  I pricked up my ears as the General replied, 'Not very recently, thank God.'

  I looked at him sternly. That was a lie, since Appleton had been in the library with him only a couple of days ago.

  Kennock shook his head sadly. 'We had such hopes of that young man, such high hopes. When my Maggie was alive, he was a particular favourite of hers, having no bairns of our own, ye ken. She always said that the lad would go a long way.'

  The General nodded somewhat absently and flourished the wine bottle in my direction. 'May I offer you a sip more, my dear?'

  Not wishing to disappoint him I held out my glass.

  'We were hoping Sergeant Macmerry would be accompanying you this evening. We sent him an invitation - is he to be absent for long?'

  Kennock was leaning forward looking frustrated, obviously with a great deal more to say that his employer had no desire to hear. Clearly eager to change the subject, the General talked of Solomon's Tower and its ancient history.

  Listening politely, I was disappointed; my preference was for more gossip about the stepson who was the black sheep of the family. As the evening progressed I was already turning over schemes for calling in at the lodge and striking up a better acquaintance with the dour factor.

  I was somewhat preoccupied with my own thoughts as much of the conversation concerned local politics and names still unknown to me. My American experiences no longer in demand, I seized the opportunity of eating a great deal more than usual. This was food of a quality and variety unlikely to come my way very often. With great enthusiasm I accepted second helpings of everything, especially the delicious Scotch trifle, heavily laced with excellent sherry.

  Outside the gardens were a romantic picture with the snow falling steadily, lying on trees and bushes. Beyond a mild flutter of apprehension quickly quelled regarding my homeward journey, I had no complaints. Prepared to call the world my friend, I had no desire to be anywhere else than this splendid dinner party with charming people in a warm candlelit room.

  Mellowed by good food and wine I had reached the stage where my mind no longer observed with its usual clarity, retreating far from common sense which whispered that I must resist the General's 'just another sip'.

  At last a clock struck ten. With caution and sobriety restored in a manner that would have done credit to Cinderella, I remembered that I must go home - at once.

  Rising somewhat unsteadily I announced my departure, the signal for others to leave the table. The doctor and his wife were staying the night as always, while in the hall Mrs Laing brought my cloak.

  As Kennock opened the front door we were all thrown backwards by a fierce blast of wind as several inches of snow that had piled against the front step now blew briskly across the floor.

  'I'm away,' Kennock shouted. 'Goodnight to yez all.' He plunged off down the steps while I stared after him in dismay.

  The General took my arm. 'My dear young lady, you must not even consider venturing back to the Tower in such weather. And alas, I cannot provide a carriage since the stable lads have alternate Saturday nights off to go into Edinburgh. Had I known that we were in for such a storm...'

  Suddenly I felt very scared. The fairy-tale romance of the white world outside had vanished into a nightmare straight from the pages of the Brothers Grimm.

  But determined to put on a brave face, I said, 'I shall manage very well, sir, thank you. It isn't far-' and stepping forward I promptly collapsed into the snow.

  The General raised me to my feet, dusted the snow off my cloak. 'We cannot allow you to leave in this.' He turned to Lady Carthew who stood well back in the hall with a shawl about her shoulders. 'What say you, Harriet?'

  'Of course you must stay, Rose. I'll instruct Mrs Laing to prepare a room.'

  And even as I protested at being too much trouble, the General closed the door firmly on the snow. Following him inside, I realized that I had no alternative.

  Dismissing ingratitude with the merest flicker of unea
se, I decided that here was an opportunity which might offer interesting possibilities, as yet unlooked for.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Mrs Laing apologized profusely as she led the way to the nursery quarters at the top of the house, explaining that Sir Angus's grandfather had intended them for his vast family as well as spare rooms for visiting children and their nannies.

  'It is the best we can do for you at short notice, Mrs McQuinn. No more than a cot bed in Nanny Brook's sitting-room,' she said, opening the door and frowning as she looked me over. 'But then you're just a wee lass. I've put in a warming pan.'

  She went on breathlessly, 'The Pierces are in the main wing, they often stay, and Sir Angus has only the one guest bedroom prepared. They don't have many visitors. But you won't be lonely with the children next door. They'll have been asleep for hours but it will be a pleasant surprise for Tessa to see you in the morning.'

  And surveying the room anxiously she put down the candle. 'I'm sure you'll be comfortable enough. It's just for one night - that's the bathroom and WC across the corridor. I'll bid you goodnight.'

  The room Nancy was so proud of was bleak and briefly furnished. High barred windows beyond the reach of curious children made it impossible for anyone under seven feet tall to enjoy the view. The result, despite some of Nancy's possessions added for a homely touch, was still depressingly like a prison cell.

  I like to know where I am before I go to sleep at night in a strange bed and I remembered Nancy had pointed out the nursery wing from the stable yard.

  By standing on tiptoe on the solitary wooden chair, I looked through the barred window directly on to Arthur's Seat and the short cut we took from the Tower. Alas, all the warming effects of the wine had now vanished. Sick with longing for my own bed, I stared from my high perch across a vast white wilderness rising to meet a full moon peering from behind fleeting clouds.

  Suddenly a tiny shadow moved near the stile. It was Thane.

  I could recognize his shape outlined against the snow. He was running back and forth, staring across as if - for I knew it wasn't possible - as if he could actually see me!

  Taken by surprise I spoke his name. ‘Thane!'

  He couldn't hear me either from that distance but again he seemed to be waiting, listening. He began to run backwards, forwards, the way he did when he wanted me to follow him.

  'Thane!' I called again.

  At that moment, the moon was obliterated by fast-moving angry clouds and white flakes of snow beat against the glass, blotting out all else. Too chilly to remove more than my dress, I went to bed.

  I was certain that I would never sleep, but presumably the wine took effect and I drifted away. I was woken from a confused and frightening dream by a dog barking outside.

  The low eerie howl of an animal in distress.

  Thane!

  I pushed the chair over to the window, stood on it, and I could see him, not racing back and forward now but standing still, his forepaws on the stile, staring directly at the house.

  A moment later and he had disappeared.

  How weird. Perhaps it was part of my dream, I thought, snuggling back into the warm bed and falling almost immediately into a strange dream.

  I was back in Arizona, sitting by a camp fire, and Danny was there by my side. How rarely I dreamed of the man who filled so much of my waking thoughts - and now for an instant from paradise the present had switched places with the past. Deliriously happy to be with him again, laughing as he was telling me to be careful as I warmed my hands at the fire... Closer - hearing its roaring, its crackling flames...

  I sat up in bed, Danny and the dream were gone. I smelt smoke, through the base of the door, I saw flickering light. The pungent smell of burning wood was real.

  Raised voices, a faint sound of footsteps outside... I ran across the room, seized the door to open it.

  Nothing happened. It was jammed, or I was locked in. Coughing, choking, I had to get air... Back to the chair at the window, looking for something to break the glass, calling for help...

  The room behind me was full of acrid smoke, the chair wobbled and I was falling, falling... My head struck something hard - it hurt.

  Then above me I saw a shadowy figure outlined by flames from the now open door.

  The Angel of Death.

  But this angel had strong arms, human arms seized me, gathered me up from the floor. A familiar voice whispered, 'It's all right - you're safe now.'

  I was being carried through the smoke by a man in a nightshirt. A young man I had met before.

  Young Appleton.

  A distant sound of bells. The fire engine...

  I opened my eyes in Lady Carthew's sitting-room, presumably still unscathed by the fire.

  Someone - the young man in the nightshirt - was stroking my forehead with gentle fingers.

  'That's a nasty bruise, Rose. But you're all right - the fire's out.'

  I sat up. 'What about the others, the children...'

  'Everyone's safe.' He shook his head. 'You're not to worry. Here, drink this.'

  I did as I was told as he went on, 'Dr Pierce is with Sir Angus. He took the worst of it.'

  'What happened to him? Are the children safe?' I repeated.

  'Yes, they're safe,' he said bleakly. 'Whatever happens. Sir Angus has to remain the brave soldier, the gallant gentleman to the end.' His voice was bitter. 'The children - that was his first - and only - thought...'

  He paused and I asked, 'What caused the fire?'

  'Young Torquil, I'm afraid, has all the makings of a fireraiser. As far as we can gather from the story Tessa has sobbed out, Torquil stole fireworks from her birthday bonfire and matches from the kitchen. He decided while Nanny was away, to have a nice little display of his own. And he set the bed on fire.'

  I looked at him again. The black sheep of the family, the wayward stepson, a scoundrel who only appeared at Carthew House with a begging bowl for his gambling debts.

  'And Lady Carthew, what of her?'

  He gave me a mocking glance and laughed softly. 'What indeed, Rose? What indeed?'

  And suddenly it was all there staring me in the face. The smile, the laugh, those fine eyes, delicate bones, a large mouth. All the things that did not add up to the frail invalid woman suddenly made perfect sense.

  'You aren't young Appleton, are you?'

  He smiled gently and I said, 'You're Harriet Carthew?'

  He bowed. 'One and the same.' And with a grin: 'A bow or a curtsey - I wonder which is appropriate?'

  I thought quickly, putting the facts together. 'And Rory is your father. You're his estranged son.'

  He nodded. 'Correct! Harold Roderick, known as Harry, at your service. But not estranged any more.'

  And regarding me gravely. 'So what are we to do with you now? How are we going to fit Mrs McQuinn, discreet lady investigator, into this very personal domestic dilemma?'

  Aware for the first time of my own peril, I said, 'You might start by telling the truth.'

  'And throw yourself on our mercy, is that it?' He said the words softly, but I was in no doubt how dangerous he could be as he studied my face. 'Angus was right. You're a clever young woman and he suspects that you know too much for your own good.'

  Still in a state of shock and unbelief, I guessed what he was going to tell me.

  'We must never forget that Angus is very fearful for his reputation. He would kill to defend it. God knows he has done so often before on the battlefield. The legitimate business of a soldier's career is learning how to kill for Queen and Empire.'

  He paused, regarding me dubiously; and said, 'And that's where Lady Carthew comes in. I don't know how much you know of life, Rose, beyond the conventions of our present society or how tolerant you might be of the many odd trappings that make up the human condition.'

  Letting that sink in for a moment, he added with a sigh of resignation, 'Perhaps you know that men do not only love women, they often love other men.'

  'As in ancien
t Greece,' I said helpfully.

  He ignored that. 'What I am going to say may disgust you. It began in the Indian Army with two men who fell in love, a forbidden passion to be concealed at all costs, for this was as bad as it could be. One was a General and the other, his seventeen-year-old batman. They managed the relationship discreetly enough since blind eyes were turned on the behaviour of a formidable General.'

  He shrugged. 'Besides, a lot of what might scandalize more civilized society goes on secretly among men denied their natural needs of sweethearts and wives.

  'At the beginning my terror was in case my father ever found out. A milksop son who hated violence and should have been a lass was enough for him to contend with. Better have him believe that I died a brave soldier's death. He could live with that, bask in proud memory, so I went missing on patrol, let Angus spread the story that I had been captured by tribesmen and was to be presumed dead.

  'A very convenient arrangement as he was about to retire to Britain, with his title and family home. But it wasn't until then he realized how difficult living in Edinburgh might be. Difficult and dangerous for two men to carry on a relationship where he was well known and his neighbours curious.'

  He sighed. 'I was all for putting an end to it, painful as that would be, rather than endanger his reputation and land in jail accused of sodomy. But he wouldn't hear of that.'

  He paused and smiled. 'Clever Angus had an ingenious solution. Even as a little lad I had loved dressing up in Ma's clothes and Pa beat the hide off me, when I cried and said I wanted to be a girl. What a blow for the frontier army man, wanting his only son to be a fighter like himself. It wasn't until Ma died that he realized I didn't have the makings of a tough soldier ready to die for Queen and Empire. But I had taken her shilling and honour had to be obeyed.'

  He shook his head. 'I knew I had broken his heart then-'

  'No - you didn't. If it's any comfort to you, he once told me how wrong he had been about you. His one regret that he had forced you to do things your gentle nature abhorred. That you hated violence-'