The Inspector's Daughter (A Rose McQuinn Mystery)

by Alanna Knight

  I knew what she meant. Believing in fairies and magic was my refuge after Mamma died and everything changed. Pappa was promoted to Chief Inspector and busier than ever, Vince went to university and became busy about passing exams to be a doctor. Emily and I were left more and more in the care of Mrs Brook, until a visit from our Orkney grandmother took in the situation and persuaded Pappa that we should go and live with her.

  'Do you hear from Emily?' I asked.

  'Just a card at Christmas.' She looked at me rather anxiously. 'Sometimes I do wonder whether she is happy. If she did right marrying that widowed man. There are no bairns,' she added darkly, as if the measure of a good marriage was the babies it produced.

  But in a curious way, because she had known us both so well, I realised she was voicing my own fears. I had been expecting an invitation to stay. It had never occurred to me that I would not be welcome, that there might be some other reason apart from our ageing gran, some matter in her personal life that she was unwilling to confide in her own sister, why I should not come to Orkney.

  Watching Mrs Brook brewing more tea, I asked delicately: 'Have you been a widow long?' Even as I waited for the answer I thought of the absurdity of not knowing, since Mrs Brook had been with us all my remembered life.

  She turned and smiled at me, teapot in hand. 'I was about your age when I went to work at Sheridan Place with the old doctor before your father bought the house.' She shook her head. 'There never was a Mr Brook, Rose, dear. There might have been but I had only the one sweetheart and he died at the Crimea. A long while ago.'

  She sighed, her eyes half closed for a moment, as if picturing that lost love. Then she brightened again. 'Mrs is a courtesy title for housekeepers whether married or not. Invented by the master, keeps us a step above the rest of the staff, most just called by their surnames. Supposed to get respect and keep flirtatious menservants - if there are any - at a distance.' She laughed. 'I found it useful once, when the coachman from Peel House was paying me some unwelcome attention.'

  'I met Alice Peel. We were shopping in Jenners.'

  'I remember Alice. You were best friends.' She chortled. 'Little demons you were, the pair of you, sneaking down into my kitchen and stealing my freshly baked buns. And then rearranging them on the tray in the hope that I could not count and find some had gone. She must have missed you a lot, used to come round to the house even after you went to Orkney, always asking when were the school holidays and when would you be back.

  'A lonely little lass. When she married the Bolton laddie I was pleased for her. He was a nice bairn - my cousin Jeannie who died six years back was housekeeper at Peel House and I used to visit her for a gossip on my way to the shops.

  'The tales she used to tell. Matthew was nice but wild, always running away. Once to sea and then to the circus, if you please. The Boltons were frantic, always dragging him back home. They'd made up their minds he was to be a solicitor like his father and grandpa, carry on the family tradition. He was a right little rebel, wanted to travel, to be an explorer when he grew up.

  They couldn't keep him out of trees, he'd climb anything, get stuck, his mother screaming that he'd fall and break his neck.'

  She shook her head. 'The poor lad just hated the idea of settling down. There were great quarrels Jeannie overheard - they never kept their voices down in that family. When he met Alice Peel she had the big dowry and he needed it badly. His father had just died and the firm was in a bad way, so Matthew did the right thing and married her.'

  This was a different version from Alice's story. 'Alice always gave the impression that Matthew was madly in love with her.'

  Mrs Brook shook her head. 'Necessity - like a rich dowry might turn a desperate man into an ardent sweetheart. I'm amazed he's settled down so well. There are two bairns, I hear. Are they happy now?'

  'Alice still dotes on him, but I haven't met Matthew since I got back.'

  I said I'd met Freda Elliott too.

  Mrs Brook nodded. 'She lives where that poor lass was murdered. What a thing to come home to. I'm amazed they can go on living in that house. Or get anyone to work for them.

  'I read in the papers that Foley discovered the girl. Do you remember him. Rose? Such a nice, quiet lad. He and his father, before he retired, did your garden at Sheridan Place. Must have been a terrible shock for the poor man.'

  We were interrupted by a knock on the door.

  'That'll be Nancy now!'

  I could see the affection between Mrs Brook and the tall, slim girl with a calming manner and a pleasant face. Impressed by her appearance, it didn't take much imagination to guess that she would make an excellent nanny, I decided, as Mrs Brook gave me a very flattering introduction.

  Nancy smiled. 'I've heard a lot about you, Mrs McQuinn. I envy you Edinburgh, such a fascinating place to live. I've only visited, of course, but the Castle and the lovely shops-'

  As she talked so wistfully, I got another of my inspirations that day and said: 'I know someone who is searching for a nanny. At Peel Lodge. A little boy a year old - if you're interested, may I give you her name and address? I assume you have references-'

  Nancy clapped her hands, thanked me profusely.

  I was pleased at my cleverness too. While helping Nancy to a situation, it might prove a move in the right direction to find out more about Lily of the Lodge and her possible connection with Matthew Bolton, and a unique chance of discovering some answers to his strange behaviour.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Edinburgh train rattled over the Forth Bridge on the return journey to a more peaceful scene. The wind had died down and there was a splendid sunset ablaze in the western sky.

  I sat back in my seat, content with what had been a very successful day: not only the joy of being reunited with Mrs Brook, but that chance meeting with Nancy, with the possibilities it offered of discovering the truth of the relationship between Lily of the Lodge and Matthew Bolton. I found myself going over the details of Matthew's early rebellion against authority that Mrs Brook had talked about.

  In fact, I was still musing over those details as I left the train and, having decided to walk home via St Mary's Street and the Pleasance, a hiring carriage stopped beside me. 'Rose!'

  The Boltons were so entrenched in my mind at that moment that I was startled to see Alice leaning out of the window, a glimpse of Matthew on the seat beside her.

  'Rose, I thought it was you. Matthew and I are going to a concert at Loretto School. Jump in and we'll take you home, it's on our way.'

  There was no way I could refuse and I took the seat opposite. 'You remember Rose, don't you, Matthew.'

  Matthew looked put out by this intrusion, cold-eyed, his handshake less than cordial, I thought.

  'Dearest,' said Alice, 'why don't we have Rose come to the concert with us?' And to me: 'Do come. There is a very tolerable group playing Beethoven sonatas and there are sure to be tickets-' Turning again to Matthew, she said: 'She must come with us. Do tell her you command it!'

  Matthew had said very little. I had inherited from Pappa the ability to catch on fast to atmospheres between individuals. And, even less reassuring, on entering a room I can feel fairly certain when I have been the subject of discussion.

  Matthew avoided eye contact and I would have been a fool to imagine he shared his wife's enthusiasm for my company. He was displeased, perhaps even angry, that she had made the offer of the concert.

  Had they been a young couple in love I would have understood immediately that he wished to have her all to himself.

  I looked at him and he said rather coldly: 'Of course you must come.' And, with a quick change of subject that left me in no doubt about his real feelings, he asked politely: 'How is your stepbrother?'

  'Very well. I've only seen him once since he came home - very briefly on his way north to Balmoral.'

  'Balmoral! How super. Isn't it exciting for him, Matthew, being a Royal physician?' said Alice to her husband whose lack of even a polite response ind
icated his boredom.

  Feeling very uncomfortable at Matthew's strange behaviour, I said quickly: 'I've been to see Mrs Brook today, Alice.'

  She at least showed some interest. 'That would be the first time you went across our new bridge. Isn't it exciting?'

  I said it was terrifying in a high gale and that I had read about the poor men falling to their deaths.

  Matthew momentarily withdrew his attention from the passing scene beyond the windows. I took the opportunity to smile in his direction and said: 'You need to have a great head for heights, I'm told. The men are very brave, it gives me vertigo just to watch them on these high buildings. I expect to witness fatal accidents every time I walk past.'

  Alice shuddered. She didn't like such morbid conversation. 'You remember Mrs Brook, don't you, dearest?' she said, trying to include Matthew in the retelling of one of many episodes of our early days, involving escapades in the kitchen at Sheridan Place.

  Matthew nodded politely and smiled vaguely, a thousand miles away. I wondered why my presence was so disconcerting. Each time our eyes met he looked away hastily.

  All this was very disturbing and did not fit the image Alice had presented of an eager Matthew coming home early specially to meet me again and have a cosy tea together. Considering his rather chilly manner, I was glad I missed that treat and that we would soon be in sight of Solomon's Tower.

  Then, quite suddenly, I thought I had the answer as I remembered a long-ago encounter with Matthew: a birthday party at Alice's just prior to their engagement announcement - Matthew had been very flirtatious and had tried to kiss me when we met on the staircase.

  Until this moment I had entirely forgotten the incident. But was that what he was remembering, embarrassed and guilty about a stolen kiss more than a decade ago?

  As home approached and I firmly declined Alice's invitation on the grounds that I was rather tired and had letters to write, Matthew's relief at my decision was obvious. He was suddenly quite overcome with animation to the extent of throwing in a few polite and conventional words about meeting again, as well as some quite radiant smiles before we parted.

  His behaviour was very odd. I thought of my day with Mrs Brook and there was something important in the back of my mind that clicked into place.

  For the moment it was swept aside by the discovery of a note from Vince pushed under the front door: 'We are going to the circus tomorrow evening. Do come. Will collect you at five.'

  Happy and excited at the prospect of being with Vince again, I hardly noticed that the weather was changing.

  Despite the glowing sunset, Arthur's Seat was a law unto itself and that night a cold, thick, white haar descended on the hill.

  I awoke next morning to find that I was entombed in an icy, damp palace with nothing visible beyond the dripping windowsill.

  Downstairs I opened the kitchen door and hastily closed it again against the great white shroud that floated towards me. Beyond the garden I could hear the trees dripping, the invisible sheep lamenting this further trial of their uneventful lives. From the direction of the circus came faint alien animal sounds. Obviously this kind of weather spooked them too.

  Far off a dog barked. Was it Thane, I wondered, as I went out across the wet grass with Cat's bowl of milk? Setting it before her, I noticed for the first time remains of fur and bones. A quick glance without any desire for closer inspection suggested a meal of shrews and mice.

  I considered Cat, lying there so peacefully. She never seemed to move from the barn and I suspected that those shaky old legs were well past the ability to trap even the most slow-moving shrews or mice. So how did they get here? Such evidence pointed to the fact that she was surviving on more than bowls of milk.

  Then I thought I had the answer. She was being fed and it could only be Thane, a swift-moving deerhound, capable of catching small animals. A mouthful to him, he was generously donating them to Cat, his natural enemy.

  As I went quickly back into the house I realised here was one mystery I would never solve, since there are questions no deerhound, however clever, is capable of answering.

  Thankful to close the door, I stirred the peat fire and had another glance through Olivia's unwanted wardrobe in the hope there would be something suitable for the circus visit.

  I unearthed an elegant dark-blue velvet skirt, wearable but, like the sleeves of the matching jacket, in need of shortening by a good four inches. I applied myself to this task, after washing my hair so thick and heavy it would take all day to dry in this weather. I would be fortunate to have it looking presentable before Vince arrived.

  As I sewed, occasional glances out of the window confirmed that the mist had not lifted. Noises travel and twice I heard sounds - a galloping horse neighed far off. But who could be on the hill in such weather, especially riding fast? There were plenty of hazards to be avoided even in bright sunlight - boulders, rabbit holes...

  I heard stealthier sounds than horses, nearer at hand. One of the sheep, I thought, but a lost lamb creates a great racket and these sounds were followed by heavy silence. They made me nervous without quite knowing why, I felt the presence outside was human - what if it was a benighted traveller lost on the hill? I bravely opened the door a crack and called out: ‘Hello - is there someone there?'

  Silence.

  'Thane?' I listened, shivering, told myself it was only a wandering animal.

  There were no further sounds and, retreating to the kitchen, I tackled the lengthy business of brushing out the heavy tangle of my still damp curls.

  At last, dressed in my new outfit and with a hat of Olivia's I remembered borrowing for a wedding before leaving for America, I heard the carriage arrive.

  Vince leaped out and hugged me. 'So you got my message?'

  'I wasn't expecting to see you so soon again - this is wonderful.'

  He took my hands. 'Let me look at you. You look lovely - very elegant indeed. Olivia used to have something very similar. It was one of my favourites, but alas, after the children...'

  I explained that this was indeed Olivia's.

  He bowed. 'Perfect for a command performance.'

  'You mean the Queen's coming too?'

  'She is indeed. Jump in.'

  'I thought she would be in Balmoral by now.'

  Vince settled himself and said, 'We never got there. Her Majesty has had endless meetings in Holyrood about the new decorations. We were all set and about to leave when she discovered that there was a circus down the road. She had to see it, every engagement to be cancelled-' And as the carriage swayed and we had to hang on to our seats to avoid another carriage heading for the park, he groaned: 'What weather!'

  The road was still almost invisible through the mist and only the noise of horses would have warned us of any approaching carriage. On that narrow, twisting road, passing would be a nightmare without proceeding the mile ahead into Duddingston village where it widened enough to make turning possible.

  ‘Let me tell you about this evening, Rose. The programme for specially invited guests, notably the baillies of the city and the Royal entourage, had to be chosen by her. She approved the clowns and jugglers, of course, and the magician, but what she especially commanded were lions and trapeze artists. And the savage Indians in the Wild West Show!'

  Listening to him took me back to past circuses and Pappa's days with the Edinburgh City Police, when Her Majesty's passion for watching other mortals risk life and limb on high wires or with man-eating animals was well known. She had a wistful partiality for brave lion tamers in leopard skins. This savage and somewhat primitive form of amusement did not go unmarked among her courtiers, hinting at wry comparisons with other less sentimental tenderhearted monarchs, namely the Emperor Nero and the gladiatorial circus, culminating in throwing a few Christians to the lions.

  No setting was less like the Colosseum in Rome than the gentle one of the Queen's Park, mist or no. And I was thrilled at the prospect of going to the circus at last when, as guests of Her Majesty the
Queen, we were ushered in as very important persons to where the Royal box had been hastily but sturdily constructed.

  A clutch of uniformed policemen in anxious watchful attendance recalled Pappa's involvement in elaborate security precautions: the certainty that there was no access to the Royal box from beneath as was the case for the wooden tiers of seats for the general public.

  There had been many assassination attempts in her long reign and I suspected these were still a nightmare, as well as a considerable expense to the police, for there was Jack Macmerry disguised in plain clothes. He stood near the entrance to the big tent, looking somewhat preoccupied.

  At last Her Majesty appeared and was escorted to her seat, having thoughtfully taken the precaution of travelling incognito by adding a thick grey veil to her bonnet. I guessed from the gasps of astonishment and turning heads of the audience, other than the Edinburgh baillies and officials, that the small rotund figure in black was blissfully ignorant that her disguise fooled no one.

  One of Pappa's recurring horrors had been of the Queen, an easy target, majestically alone on a raised dais in a frail tent in a huge arena, surrounded by a dense crowd of onlookers from which a single fatal shot could be fired, the assassin making good his escape amid the stampede of panic-stricken onlookers. He used to sigh and say that Her Majesty was either remarkably brave or totally lacking in imagination.

  I occupied my time before the performance began by spotting the lurking detectives around us disguised as innocent circus-goers. Sharp-eyed, their hands were never far from pistols in greatcoat pockets.

  The show began with the parade of horses and jugglers. High above on the tight-wire were the clowns. As one of them slipped and - almost - fell, the audience screamed, while Her Majesty applauded politely. All part of the act!