The Sign of the Black Dagger

by Joan Lingard

  “We’re not sure. He didn’t say.”

  “He’s a scholar,” put in Louisa. “And he can write in French.”

  “He might be a clerk to the count then.”

  “He said he’d try to come out to see us but we don’t know how long to wait.”

  “If ye hang on a wee while ye can come back in wi’ me. But first I’ve got an errand to do.”

  “Would it be all right for us to come in?” I asked.

  “Nae bother. There’s so many folk living in the palace, what wi’ the Frenchies and our own noblemen and their wives and children and servants, that nobody would notice ye.”

  He told us to call him Tam and we walked with him up to Halkerstoun’s Wynd. He had come to place an order at Mr Charles the candlemaker’s for several dozen candles. He said he would take a box with him now and perhaps we, too, could each carry one? We readily agreed, for that would make us feel less conspicuous going into the palace. The remaining candles were to be delivered.

  “And when am I to get my money?” demanded Mr Charles.

  Tam shrugged. “That’s nae up to me. Ye can send yer bill.”

  “I’m already owed plenty.”

  In spite of that, grumbling somewhat, he gave Tam the candles.

  The door opened behind us and I glanced round briefly to see who had come in. It was Monsieur Goriot.

  Mr Charles was looking at Louisa and myself and frowning. “Are you not Ranald Cunningham’s children?”

  “We are,” said Louisa, lifting her chin. I was feeling uneasy.

  “He owes me money and all. Half the folk in Edinburgh do.” I wondered if that would apply to Monsieur Goriot too. We were about to leave when Mr Charles said, “Wait a minute till I get you his bill. I’ve already sent him one but he has neglected to pay.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Louisa.

  I kept silent. I dreaded to think in how many shops around the town we might be similarly greeted.

  The candlemaker searched in a drawer and produced the bill. He put it into my hand. “Tell him I would appreciate an early settlement.”

  I hoped that we would have a good supply of candles in the house for we would not be able to come back here to order more. At that moment I felt annoyed with my father that he should have been so bad at looking after his affairs. After all, I thought, the candlemaker also has to eat, and feed his children. As we passed Monsieur Goriot I stared hard at him wondering how many crowns Papa had actually ‘lent’ him. He stared back at me. I knew there would be no chance of him offering to repay any of Papa’s money. I left the shop with a jumble of feelings turning inside me.

  We trudged behind Tam in blinding snow back to the palace. I could see only the shape of his back through the whirl of white. His footprints faded as fast as he left them. I looked back at Louisa. The boxes were heavy and I was worried that it might be too much for her but she seemed to be managing even though her feet were slipping.

  We went through the gates and entered the palace by a rear door. The guard nodded, recognising Tam, and paid no attention to us. I could not help thinking that spies from France or elsewhere would find it fairly easy to gain access.

  It was obvious that we were in the servants’ quarters. The passage was dingy and cold. We passed several servants, both male and female, going about their business, some of the latter carrying mops and pails. I supposed it would take a huge number of people to look after a place as big as this.

  Tam led us through a doorway into a storeroom where we deposited the boxes of candles. Two men were working there, sorting out sacks and boxes. Tam asked if they had come across a Ranald Cunningham working in the palace. They shook their heads.

  “I’m busy the now so just tak’ a wee dander round yersel’s,” said Tam. “Ye might run into him.”

  We thanked him and a little apprehensively did as he had suggested. But there were so many people around that perhaps we would not be noticed. We thought that our father, if he were employed as a clerk, would not be in the servants’ quarters, but in the main part of the palace. We found a door which, when we pushed it open, led us into a hall. It looked rather scruffy but it had gilt-framed pictures on the walls. As we stood wondering what to do, two men wearing wigs and well-cut coats and knee breeches came along chatting to each other. In French.

  “Bonjour,” said one, as they passed us.

  “Bonjour,” we chorused in return.

  It seemed like a safe password to use.

  We proceeded along the corridor, lit by flares on the walls. We glanced into rooms where the doors stood open and saw that everything was in a somewhat run-down state. Hangings were tattered and faded, carpets had holes in them, and the brocade chairs with the gilt legs looked in need of a clean. How Bessie would love to get her hands on them! It did not seem a very grand place for a royal nobleman, brother of the former king of France. But better than a gaol.

  We met several other men in varying kinds of dress, some elegant and bewigged, others more ordinary, marking them out as servants. When anyone gave us a curious look we said, “Bonjour”. After we had said it three times, Louisa giggled. “They’ll think we’re part of the comte’s family.”

  There was still no sign of our father.

  “He might be behind one of the closed doors,” said Louisa.

  “We can’t open any of those.”

  “We won’t find out unless we look.”

  “But we don’t know who might be in there. Even the comte himself.”

  “I shall just say, ‘Pardon!’ very politely.”

  And with that, Louisa, who is impetuous, opened the door and put her head inside. Then she said, “Pardon!” and closed it hurriedly.

  “A sitting room,” she whispered. “Lots of people.”

  The door opened again and out came a butler carrying an empty silver tray. He was rather grandly dressed for a servant, with flounces and silver-buckled shoes. Perhaps he was the head butler. He gave us a superior look.

  “Bonjour,” we said, but he responded in English.

  “Whit do the twa of ye want snoopin’ aboot in here? Ye dinne belong here, do ye? I’ve no seen ye afore.”

  “We’re looking for our father,” I said.

  “He is employed by the count,” added Louisa, tossing her head, annoyed, I could see, by the man’s disdainful air.

  “Is that so?”

  “His name is Ranald Cunningham,” I said.

  “Niver heard of him,” said the man and he began to hustle us along the corridor, whilst keeping the silver tray balanced aloft on the palm of one hand. I could not help wishing that he would trip and the tray go shooting off into space. “I suggest ye ask doon the stairs where the skivvies work.”

  He stopped at the door we had entered the corridor by previously, pushed it open and held it there until we had passed through, then he let it swing shut behind us. It struck me on the back.

  “I am glad Papa is not working for him!” declared Louisa.

  We wandered back along the corridor and into another one. What the man had said about skivvies lay uneasily on my mind though I said nothing to Louisa. We were approaching the kitchens. We could smell cooking and hear the clatter of pots. The door of the first room we came to was ajar. We stopped and looked in.

  The light was bleak but we could make out two men in long canvas aprons standing in front of two big stone sinks, washing pots and pans. One of them was our father.

  We turned immediately and walked swiftly back along the corridor and out into the winter afternoon. We knew that our father would not have wished us to see him.

  As we were passing Jenny Ha’s tavern the door opened and out came a man whom I recognised, even in that poor light. He was the man who had accompanied our messenger-at-arms. He had a slanty eye, which was unmistakable. He recognised us, too.

  “Been to see yer da, have ye? We’ll get him yet. He’ll nae escape us. Tell him that fer me, will ye?”

  Chapter 9

  In school, on Mo
nday afternoon, the day after they had been to the police station to report their father missing, Lucy found it difficult to concentrate on French, which normally she enjoyed. They went most summers to France on holiday though it wasn’t likely they’d be going this year. Not unless a miracle happened. She couldn’t help thinking about her dad; the fact that he was MISSING. Sometimes you read about cases like that in the paper or saw it on TV, though usually a girl was involved if it was on the telly. Last seen … You never imagined it could happen to anyone in your family.

  When she wasn’t thinking about her father she was thinking about William and Louisa’s. They might have been upset at seeing him washing dishes in the palace but that was better than not seeing him at all. She and Will didn’t have a clue where their father was or what he was doing. Not a single clue.

  On her way out of the classroom at the end of the afternoon, the teacher stopped her and asked if there was anything wrong. “Something worrying you, Lucy?”

  She shook her head. How could she possibly tell Miss Harper? She couldn’t even tell Julie, her best friend. Julie kept chattering all the way down the road, about a top she had seen in a shop and hoped her mum was going to buy for her, and she didn’t even seem to notice that Lucy was saying nothing. Sometimes Lucy got fed up hearing about Julie’s new clothes. Her own mum couldn’t afford to buy her as much. And with all these debts round their ears She’d be able to afford even less in future, if anything.

  When she and Julie came to the parting of their ways, they stopped on the corner to blether as they always did. Sometimes they’d stand for as long as half an hour, or even an hour.

  Today Lucy said, “There’s Will.” She’d caught sight of him on the other side of the road. He was alone, not with his friend Mark, as he usually was. “I’ll chum him home.”

  Julie looked surprised but only said, “OK then. See you tomorrow. I might ring you later.”

  Lucy dashed across the road during a break in the traffic and as she did so she thought that her father would have been annoyed if he could have seen her. He always told them to cross at the lights. She just couldn’t get him out of her head, not even for a minute, it seemed.

  Will didn’t notice she was coming until she was almost on top of him. He had been walking with his head down.

  “Hi!”

  That was all they said on the road home.

  Their mother would still be at work, though she should be back at six tonight. Will opened the door and Lucy picked up the mail lying at the back of the door.

  “Anything interesting?” Will peered over her shoulder.

  “Bills,” she muttered. Bills, bills and more bills. And letters from credit card companies. Apart from those, there was some junk mail.

  They went into the living room and flung their bags on the floor. When their mother came in she would give them a row. How many times do I have to tell you …?

  As Lucy put the mail down on the table she saw a postcard lying there. It was a picture of Holyrood Palace. She lifted it up. “Who’s this from?” She turned it over. “Dad!” She had to sit down.

  “Let me see!” Will took hold of the other edge of the card.

  The writing was shaky and almost illegible.

  So sorry. Need time. I love you all. Ranald.

  “I wonder when he posted that?” said Lucy.

  “But he didn’t post it, did he? There’s no postmark on it. And it was lying on the table.”

  “How could it get here?”

  “There’s only one way, isn’t there?”

  “Dad’s been in?” said Lucy slowly.

  “He must have been. He’ll have his key.”

  “He couldn’t still be here, could he?”

  They tore up the stairs and went through every room and cupboard but there was no sign of him.

  “Now we know he’s alive,” said Lucy.

  “Were you thinking he wasn’t?”

  She shrugged.

  They felt more cheerful now, though, and realised they were hungry. They went back downstairs and made grilled cheese on toast and hot chocolate. Neither had eaten much at lunchtime. Afterwards, Will went up to his room to do his homework and Lucy settled at the kitchen table to do hers.

  She had only written one sentence when her mobile rang. She pounced on it.

  “My mum got me the top,” said Julie. “She’d said she wasn’t going to, she says I have enough tops, but when she saw it she thought it was kind of cute.”

  Julie rattled on and Lucy made a face at the wall. Eventually she said, “I must go and get on with my French.”

  “Swot!” said Julie. “See you later!”

  Lucy had just clicked her mobile off when the landline telephone rang. She seized the receiver. The recorded voice of a man came on. It was a very smooth voice.

  “Congratulations! I am calling to tell you that you have been selected for today’s prize draw.” Lucy made another face at the wall and was about to put the phone down when she decided to listen. “You are guaranteed to have won one of the following prizes. One thousand pounds in cash. A five-thousand-pound holiday voucher. A BMW. There are no catches. The draw is valid only for today. You must phone the following number …” Lucy quickly seized a pen and scribbled the number on the back of her French jotter. The call terminated.

  She sat back. The hand that had been gripping the receiver was sweating. The voice had said they were guaranteed to win one of the prizes. Any of those amounts of money would help, even the thousand. Even! They were desperate for any amount of money. And he’d said there were no catches. If there were only three prizes and you were guaranteed to win one then he must be ringing only three people. It wouldn’t make sense for him to ring more since if everyone took up the offer they wouldn’t have enough prizes to go round. It was worth a call, surely? Just to find out.

  Her fingers still damp, she dialled the number. She got another recorded voice. She was listening intently to the next set of instructions when the door opened at her back and Will came in. She covered the receiver with her hand.

  “Who are you talking to? Julie?”

  “No. Nobody.”

  “Must be talking to somebody. What are you up to?”

  “None of your business.” Lucy put the receiver down and turned her jotter over so that he wouldn’t see the number. He turned it back and she grabbed it – but not before he’d seen the first four digits.

  “0906. Not talking to a call centre, are you? Calls to that number cost something like sixty pence a minute.”

  “All right, nosyboots, I”ll tell you! We have just won a prize in a draw – no, wait! It is guaranteed.”

  “Who says?”

  “The man who rang. One of the prizes is a car. We could sell it. Pay off some of Dad’s debts.”

  Will groaned. “Don’t tell me you fell for it.”

  “What have we got to lose trying?”

  “Sixty pence a minute on the phone line. And they’ll keep you on as long as possible giving you other numbers to call. That’s how they make their money. Thousands will phone in. And in the end there will be a catch. They’re not giving anything away for nothing. Why should they?”

  “How do you know?”

  Will was looking a bit sheepish. “I tried it myself one day. I was hoping to get a stereo for my room.”

  Lucy burst out laughing and he joined in.

  They were laughing when they heard their mother’s key in the lock. The first thing she saw opening the living-room door were the bags on the floor but as soon as she opened her mouth to say her usual piece, Lucy cut across her.

  “Mum, Dad’s been in.”

  “What?”

  She, too, had to sit down to read the card. She spoke the words aloud in a slow, puzzled voice and said, “Poor Ranald. Look at his writing. He must be in a very disturbed state. He needs help, that’s obvious.” She shook her head. “I wish he’d stayed till we came in. Has he been in any of the other rooms, do you know?”

  �
��Not that we could tell,” said Will.

  Their mother went to look for herself. They followed her up the stairs into the bedroom. She opened the wardrobe door and trawled along the rail. “A pair of jeans are missing. His new ones. They were there this morning.”

  She looked in all the cupboards and drawers. “I’m pretty sure he’s taken a sweatshirt – the blue and grey one – and his black sweater and some socks and underwear.” She opened another door. “And his trainers. And his sports bag isn’t here.” She sat back on her heels. “It looks like he was planning to go away somewhere.”

  “He might have gone to Orkney,” suggested Lucy.

  “Why would he?”

  “He always says he feels away from it all when he’s there.”

  “He might have gone anywhere,” said Will.

  They went back downstairs.

  The phone rang in the middle of their meal. It often did. This was the time of day when people knew they could catch you at home. Lucy, who was nearly always first at the receiver, answered it.

  “Tell them we’re eating,” said her mother. “And if they’re selling anything don’t waste your breath.”

  “It’s Gran.” Lucy held out the receiver.

  Her mother took it. “We’re all fine, thanks, Mum. Yes, the children are well. I’ve been meaning to ring you. No, I know we’ve not seen you … Sunday? Yes, I think we’re free Sunday.” She glanced over at the children. They looked blank. “Come for lunch. See you then.”

  “I’ll have to tell her,” she said, when she had sat down again.

  “You never know,” said Lucy, “Dad might be home by Sunday.”

  “Somehow,” said her mother, “I very much doubt it.”

  Chapter 10

  Louisa

  We have not managed to see Papa at all during the week even though we have gone down every day and hung around the Abbey Strand. We saw Tam on one occasion and he stopped to speak to us.

  “Did ye find yer faither?”

  William nodded.

  “He’s working as a skivvy in the scullery washing dishes,” I burst out and William gave me a look. I knew he would not have told Tam but I could not help myself. I kept seeing the image of my father bent over the sink. He’d looked as if he had shrunk.