Aunt Toffy and the Ghost

by Linda Lea Castle

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Praise for Linda Lea Castle

  Aunt Toffy and the Ghost

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  “Not the Roman again, Aunt Toffy.”

  Adorna rubbed her gloved hands along her arms, trying to encourage warmth, wishing she could brush off her favorite aunt’s foolish notions about having a spectral friend.

  “I know you enjoy spinning wild stories, but you really must stop pretending you can speak with a Roman ghost. It just isn’t seemly.”

  “He has been trying to tell me something for a fortnight, and I simply cannot understand him. I have learned much, but that strong accent of his is still difficult to ken.”

  Adorna glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone heard, but then she checked herself. The only inhabitants here in Grayfriars were dead as the proverbial door-nail and long since past revealing secrets of any kind.

  Still she worried. Her aunt was a well known and much loved eccentric in the mews below the castle, but Adorna knew how cruel and judgmental people could be. It was amusing now, but she feared their opinion might shift. Mad-houses were filled with those that could no longer function within society or those considered to be too mad to allow free run of the city. She would do anything to protect Toffy from that.

  And there was the matter of the lodging house. People did not wish to lodge with the mad or the murderous. Burke and Hare had brought far too much dark scrutiny on all boarding houses. Their livelihood depended on the lodging house.

  Praise for Linda Lea Castle

  “Fresh and compelling, a wonderful read.”

  ~Award winning author Patricia Potter

  on Abbie’s Child

  ~*~

  “…a wonderful, complex, intense love story…”

  ~Romantic Times

  ~*~

  “Touching and emotional, portrays a love that heals all.”

  ~Romantic Times on Fearless Hearts

  ~*~

  “…a very different love story guaranteed to tug on your heartstrings.”

  ~Award winning author Marilyn Campbell

  ~*~

  Linda is a Double Lorie winner, a Rita Finalist, and a winner of a Romantic Times Reviewers’ choice award, as well as a USA today best-selling author and a Finalist for the AUDIE.

  Aunt Toffy

  and the Ghost

  by

  Linda Lea Castle

  A Mrs. Miggin Mystery, Book 1

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Aunt Toffy and the Ghost

  COPYRIGHT © 2016 by Linda Lea Castle

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by Debbie Taylor

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Mainstream Fantasy Edition, 2016

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-0874-6

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0875-3

  A Mrs. Miggin Mystery, Book 1

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  For the Lord God,

  who is the beginning and end of everything.

  Chapter One

  “Aunt Toffy, did you fall into that grave?” Adorna adjusted the hood of her cloak and peered down into the freshly dug hole.

  “No, dear, I climbed down into it.” The silver haired woman peered up at her, looking quite satisfied with herself.

  “Get out of that grave at once. Have you taken leave of your senses? After the Burke and Hare incident you might exercise a bit of caution. What if someone sees you?”

  “Posh! They would think nothing of it. I’m not removing a body from a grave, I am just laying in an empty hole.”

  “Would it be amiss to inquire why?” Adorna pulled her cloak hood up higher. The swirling mist was creeping across the ground, roiling over the edge of the grave down toward her aunt. She could feel the chill around her ankles.

  “When I am closer to the spirits, it helps me communicate with Meridius Wiggus Gracus. I have tried everything I can think of, but lately our understanding of each other has been thin.”

  “Not the Roman again, Aunt Toffy.” Adorna rubbed her gloved hands along her arms, trying to encourage warmth, wishing she could brush off her favorite aunt’s foolish notions about having a spectral friend.

  “I know you enjoy spinning wild stories, but you really must stop pretending you can speak with a Roman ghost. It just isn’t seemly.”

  “He has been trying to tell me something for a fortnight, and I simply cannot understand him. I have learned much, but that strong accent of his is still difficult to ken.”

  Adorna glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone heard, but then she checked herself. The only inhabitants here in Grayfriars were dead as the proverbial door-nail and long since past revealing secrets of any kind.

  Still she worried. Her aunt was a well known and much loved eccentric in the mews below the castle, but Adorna knew how cruel and judgmental people could be. It was amusing now, but she feared their opinion might shift. Mad-houses were filled with those that could no longer function within society or those considered to be too mad to allow free run of the city. She would do anything to protect Toffy from that.

  And there was the matter of the lodging house. People did not wish to lodge with the mad or the murderous. Burke and Hare had brought far too much dark scrutiny on all boarding houses. Their livelihood depended on the lodging house.

  Since the death of her husband, Adorna had become ever more sensitive to public opinion. When Mr. Miggins was alive, he was a buffer between her and the risks women alone faced daily. Her small boarding house afforded her and Aunt Toffy a modest living, but she was dependent upon good custom and a flawless reputation. A single woman was scrutinized by all and sundry. It would not do to let Toffy’s harmless notion become unmanageable. Wagging tongues could ruin them.

  “Adorna, dear, I need your assistance.”

  She turned to see her aunt’s gloved fingers waggling above the edge of the grave. Obviously a woman her age would need help getting out. If only she had considered that before she got in!

  It took some minutes of unladylike grunting, tugging, and pulling to get the elderly woman clear of the grave. She dusted herself off with supreme dignity, straightened her lacy bonnet, and then smiled sweetly. Her cloak was a little muddy on one side and would need a good brushing.

  “I am ready now dear. Shall we return home, mayhap Meridius will be waiting.”

  “Auntie, your ghostly friend’s name does not conjure images of a mighty Roman. Perhaps you want to give him a more stern name, it would make your story more robust.” She slipped her arm gently
around her aunt’s frail shoulders.

  “I didn’t give him the name, dear, and he was not a warrior, Adorna. He was more of a scrivener I think, but I cannot be sure I understand.”

  “Really?” Adorna could not help but draw her aunt into conversation. The tales she spun of her imaginary friend were quite engaging. It amazed her that her elderly relative had so fertile an imagination. Each day she supplied new and quite extraordinary details about the fictitious Meridius.

  “Yes, poor Meridius never aspired to become a traveler. He was more content to stay at home and tend his grapes, drink his wine, and grow fat, but you see he angered someone in power, and quick as a cat winks, he was on a ship headed for our isle. Poor Meridius.”

  “Poor Meridius indeed,” Adorna said with a smile.

  They walked down the fog swirled path and paused long enough to leave the customary small spray of wild posies on Mr. Miggin’s grave before they moved on through the kirkyard.

  Had it really been a year and four months since Adorna had buried Henry and donned her widow’s weeds? They stepped outside the gates of Grayfriars and turned up the street. Adorna frequently visited Henry’s grave, and since his death Aunt Toffy insisted she come to visit with the spirits. She loved her aunt and would indulge her in almost anything.

  It was strange that her preoccupation with the afterlife and a haunt that was not quite at peace coincided with Henry’s death—or perhaps it was because Toffy had outlived all of her family with the exception of Adorna. At her age mayhap the thought of death was always nigh.

  “That visit to the grave was not as successful as I had hoped it would be. Meridius has not made contact.” Her soft, wrinkled face showed concern.

  “Perhaps after tea he will make an appearance. I’ll have Cook prepare bannocks, I know how much you—I mean, he enjoys them,” Adorna said.

  “What? Oh, yes, quite so. Meridius has said he likes them almost as much as the grape.”

  Adorna smiled inwardly as they set off toward Prince’s Street a gathering breeze caught her cloak. Her interest in spirits had also coincided with her request to have wine in the house. Adorna suspected her aunt had become a secret tippler. But at her age, she was entitled to a small secret vice.

  The wind lifted the urban stench of people, animals, and coal fires. It brought the clean fresh scent of the sea to the old town while it tore the fog apart. For a few moments, Adorna could see far up the cobbled street to the GrassMarket. Merchants were rushing to and fro. Barrows of fish were being hawked. Wagons of the earliest spring produce brought into the city from the farms rolled by. The sound of pigs and cattle blended with the bark of dogs and squeal of children.

  Adorna stopped at a stall and selected a fat hen from the wicker crates. The proprietor dispatched the bird and plunged it into boiling water. With deft fingers he soon had the feathers off and the bird dressed. It was deposited into her basket. With a few greens purchased on the way they would have a fine meal.

  A drift of gray clouds blocked the sun and brought a smattering of rain pelting down on their heads. Adorna adjusted her hood and made sure Toffy did the same. They passed a warren of stinking closes and scampering dirty children in the street. They were either headed for home, or more likely, the urchins were seeking the shelter of a doorway till the rain stopped. Adorna and Toffy walked beyond the Cowgate.

  Suddenly there was a loud commotion before them. Adorna halted and pulled Toffy near her lest they be trampled in the rush. They stood in the lee of a squalid building and watched as two burly men pushed, pulled, and dragged an old, poorly clad woman up from a dark close, the narrow, passageway that ran between buildings. Her hair was wild and matted, her eyes unfocused.

  “What has happened?” Adorna asked a well dressed gentleman with a tall hat and walking stick who had paused nearby.

  “Voices. She hears voices. Poor, mad soul. She is to be taken to an asylum. She had no family to prevent it. I had hoped with the Duke of Wellington being made prime minister last year we might have seen some compassionate reforms. I hope when I fall into decline that I break my neck on a loose stair tread rather than end up in one of those hells.” He shook his head and moved on in the steady rain. The chill of his words remained after he had disappeared into the gray wetness.

  Adorna was silent as they hurried toward home. Edinburgh was the seat of learning, but there was also ignorance and intolerance for those who had not the means to protect themselves. They rounded a corner, and the neat storied house was a welcome sight to her. She had been shaken by the stranger’s words and sought the sanctuary of her cozy home.

  Crosbie opened the door as they reached it. “Ma’m, I saw you coming up the lane. You are both wet. Let me take your cloaks. I will see they are properly dried.”

  “Thank you. Tell Cook to put the kettle on the hob, Crosbie, ’tis tea and bannocks I’m thinking.” Adorna said to the tall man who was servant, butler, and man of all work. He was dark of eye with skin the color of honey. He had been with her before she married, having a place in her father’s home and business. Crosbie was as much family to her as Toffy.

  Aunt Toffy hung her shawl and bonnet on the peg by the door. Adorna saw an unfamiliar greatcoat on the rack. A battered leather bag of the type a tinker might sling over their shoulder rested on the floor still shedding water from the fresh rain.

  “Do we have a new tenant?” She put her own things beside Toffy’s.

  “Aye, ma’m. A Lowland gentleman. Mr. Rawlings. He brought a letter of recommendation from Mr. Scrum at the bank, so I took the liberty of putting him in the blue room upon his return.”

  “Of course, Crosbie, you did well. We can sore use another tenant. The blue room will serve nicely.” Adorna was happy to hear they had a new lodger. The horror of Burke and Hare and their trial had cast a pall on respectable houses as well as the doss houses and tenements of Edinburgh. Her purse had been tight of late. Mr. Scrum, who clerked at the Bank of Scotland, and the widow, Mrs. Wise, were permanent fixtures here at Adorna’s house, but the other two rooms needed to be kept full in order to keep candles on the table and coal in the hearths.

  If they put on a good face and laid a nice table, perhaps this new man might decide to stay a fortnight at the least. That much coin would partially refill the larder.

  “He will be sharing supper,” Crosbie added as he put another chunk of coal to the fire in the drawing room. “I have asked Cook to make it a filling meal.”

  “Thank you, Crosbie. You have fair anticipated my thoughts.” Adorna’s cares began to evaporate at the sight of her home. She silently complimented herself for finding just the right balance of comfort and practicality while maintaining thrift. She wasn’t mean with her money, but she was a Scot to the bone. Mr. Miggins had left her the house and a very small annuity, and with careful spending and the supplement of lodgers, she was hopeful she would be able to keep her and Aunt Toffy well enough.

  Adorna waited until Toffy had settled herself into the softest chair near the fire. She put a small pillow on the floor and rested her aunt’s tiny feet upon it. There was a little swelling at the ankles, probably the result of the walk and the exertion of climbing from an open grave, but Adorna worried. Toffy was a few years older than Adorna’s father, and he had been in the grave for many a year now. She was somewhat shocked when she totted up Toffy’s age in her head!

  “Thank you, dearie.” Toffy leaned back and shut her eyes.

  “Will you like to go upstairs and have a little sleep?” Adorna asked.

  “No, but if I sit here quietly and concentrate, perhaps Meridius will come to me. Perhaps later you can read to me, that is always so relaxing.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, that will be fine then.” Adorna waited beside the chair. It was only a moment before Toffy was snoring lightly. Perhaps her friend Meridius came to her in dreams. At her age she was entitled to have pleasant dreams.

  The smell of cabbages told her what was for supper. Adorna went below to see if they had m
ore appealing to offer the new lodger.

  “Cook? Crosbie has told me we have another for table tonight.” Adorna peeked into a steaming pot and was happy to see a joint of meat. So there was something a bit more palatable than just cabbage, thank the Lord. Cook was also whipping something light and frothy, her cheeks pinking with the effort. “Will there be enough?”

  “Aye, Crosbie told me, and I added a wee bit here and an extra pinch there. It will be plain but filling. I sent Meg upstairs to freshen the room a’fore the gentleman returns. The tea will be ready shortly, with bannocks for Miss Toffy.”

  Adorna smiled and gave cook the chicken. She was poor as a church mouse in money, but rich in household, all had been with her before Henry passed on. She had Cook, Crosbie, and Meg, who was the maid-of-all-work. A few more mouths to feed and house each month, but the house ran smooth even when she wasn’t about. Meg and Cook shared a room in the attic, and Crosbie had a tidy room off the kitchen. He was a solitary man and the backbone of the lodging house.

  “Thank you, Cook.”

  Adorna was just climbing the back stairs to return to the main hall when the front door opened on a gust of chill wind. She heard deep voices. Crosbie was speaking with another man. When she stepped into the hall, they both turned to her.

  “Ma’m, let me present Mr. Tobias Rawlings. Mr. Rawlings, this is Mrs. Miggins.”

  The hatted stranger bowed elegantly at the waist, and she had a moment to appraise him candidly. His clothes were new and the height of Scottish fashion. Trim trousers of a dark cloth, buttoned on the sides, skimmed over slim hips. His black boots shiny, also new, the hunter green coat expertly tailored. Everything looked as if it was the first wearing.

  He wore a gentleman’s clothes and had a gentleman’s manners, but when he finished his bow and fully swept away the hat, she was taken aback at how brown and weathered he was of both face and hands.

  He was clean shaven, but his face was not the smooth, pale skin of a gentleman who spent his time indoors. Beneath sun-kissed thick brows, a pair of intense, green eyes twinkled at her. His sun-kissed hair was neatly cut, but she thought there was the look of a pirate about him.