‘Lochandor did you say? Is that her destination?’ And unrolling one of his maps, pointing to the district, he traced his finger down an inch or so to the west. ‘Tarnbrae – now that is a coincidence, it’s where Meg is living now with her aunt and uncle.’ Taking out his wallet, he removed an envelope. ‘Here it is; Joe has taken a position as clerk to the local laird.’
I had to confess I knew very little about Meg’s adoptive parents. ‘Remember I told you, Joe worked in the shipyard on the Clyde, but his health has been poor, and he applied for this job, apparently got it too. Pam said it would be good for them to get away into the country for a change.’
Putting down envelope and map, he regarded me triumphantly. ‘Well done, Rose. Yes, by all means, I think you should take up Mrs Lawers’ offer. Gives you a chance to look in and see how Meg is settling down. And you can give me a full report.’
I said, ‘I was thinking about Meg – in fact that’s how I came to meet Mrs Lawers.’
Showing him the doll, he nodded appreciatively. ‘You can give it to her yourself, that’s even better.’
He sighed and shook his head sadly, and I heard in that sigh echoes of guilt for his neglect of his daughter, the wee girl he had seen no more than for a duty visit once or twice a year since the day she was born, who had been gratefully adopted by her childless aunt and uncle.
‘I would love to go with you, but there are matters at Central Office. I am in court, we’ve got witnesses from Glasgow, a murder investigation on our hands …’
There was to be another, nearer at home, quite soon.
CHAPTER THREE
A month had passed since Jack and I made the annual pilgrimage to the battlefield at Prestonpans. Now the first leaves had changed colour; a riot of yellows, reds and oranges had replaced the massed greens of summer. This annual scene of earthly beauty was breathtaking but transient; already storms were growling over the Firth of Forth, unleashing heavy rain clouds, driving across fields and gardens, while the first icy winds swept down from Arthur’s Seat, hiding its lofty lion’s head under a swirling shroud of mist.
My proposed journey with Mrs Lawers would involve travelling by train to Perth, then by coach across a rural area, to me a virtually unknown and curiously alien land. I hoped that the never-reliable weather wouldn’t mean an early snowfall, bringing with it the yearly closing of the Highland glens and inaccessible travelling conditions. Even close to towns, winter journeys were always hazardous and subject to long delays.
‘The autumn colours will be superb,’ said Jack encouragingly. ‘Only wish I could go with you,’ he repeated. ‘I am so anxious for news of Meg. Tell her I promise I will visit her next summer. Maybe earlier, it all depends,’ he added vaguely.
How far away summer seemed. Sometimes I wondered if his new obsession with the Jacobite Rebellion was his escape from the present, from feelings of guilt for the neglect of the daughter born of that swift unhappy marriage to her mother on the rebound of my rejection. A marriage made in anger and revenge for my refusal to become his wife.
And if this supposition was true, then I too had a share in his guilt: my lame excuse for not agreeing to marry him – that Danny McQuinn might still be alive – had resulted, directly or indirectly, in his hasty union with Meg’s mother, and now I felt a responsibility towards this unwanted child I had never met.
The day of my departure with Mrs Lawers approached. In reply to my acceptance I received a very substantial fee with a note that a hiring carriage would take us both to Waverley railway station.
My absence promised to be brief indeed; merely deliver Mrs Lawers to Lochandor, call on Meg in her new home, perhaps spend the night with her adoptive parents, and return the next day.
Jack would be home each night and Thane was in charge of the Tower as always in our absence. We never locked the kitchen door once he’d learnt how to lift the latch with his nose. He would feed himself, returning to hunting as he had done long before he came into my life. I had no idea how old he was at that time. He seemed young and hadn’t aged at all, so I tried not to remember that a dog does not live for ever and that the lifespan of large breeds was even shorter than small ones.
Except that Thane was more than a dog. I would close my eyes and simply hope that this strange creature did not obey the natural canine laws. He had survived more ‘deaths’ than a cat’s nine lives, a fact that neither of us could explain, and if I ever wondered out loud as to Thane’s background, Jack merely shrugged, shook his head and said, ‘Thane is Thane. That’s all we know of him or ever will. We must satisfy ourselves that we need never expect to know more about him than we do at this moment.’
And so I prepared to leave, heartened as ever that it would take a very brave burglar to face this particular and peculiar resident of the Tower.
At last I was ready, and as a cautionary measure, remembering Mrs Lawers’ fears for her life and safety, however irrational, I decided to be prepared for any emergency and took out of my study desk a small derringer and checked it for bullets, thankful that Jack was not observing my actions.
He would have been scandalised. I had learnt to use guns and rifles from Danny McQuinn in our pioneering days in Arizona. I was even rather a good shot, although I hoped that I would not have to prove that once again. I was prepared only to use this ultimate deterrent in direst necessity.
My small travelling case normally served as my carrier. Jack had devised and made it for me some time ago, to leave my hands free for the handlebars of my bicycle. It fitted comfortably on to the back of the machine and was considerably easier to carry with a shoulder strap than the rather unwieldy large suitcases and hatboxes now considered fashionable by most ladies.
Jack had already departed for the Central Office when I heard the carriage arrive. To my surprise, the woman who emerged was not Mrs Lawers. This must be Hinton, the maid whom I had never met, since she had been away at the time of the missing watch incident.
Looking past the maid, I expected to see Mrs Lawers already seated. But the maid was alone. She came forward rather tearfully and introduced herself. ‘I have sad news. Alas, my mistress is very poorly this morning.’
‘I am sorry to hear that. The journey is to be delayed, then?’
‘We cannot delay,’ was the reply. ‘This is a matter of utmost urgency and you are to proceed immediately as planned to her destination. My instructions are precise; I am to accompany you and I have acquainted myself thoroughly with her map. I know exactly where we are bound for.’ She hesitated and looked at me keenly. ‘You have the small satchel she left with you in safe custody. I am to take charge of that also.’
I looked at her. Mrs Lawers had stressed that it was not to leave my possession and it was now firmly locked away in my carrier across my shoulder. I said, ‘It is safely packed.’
‘Please hand it over, then.’
Remembering my promise, in Mrs Lawers’ absence I felt the momentary stirrings of unease. Something was not quite right.
‘Later, miss,’ I said. ‘It is not very convenient here. Wait until we reach the station.’
She glanced at the travelling case, frowning, as if doubtful about the reliability of such a piece of insubstantial luggage, and as the swaying coach hurtled down the steep hill towards the Pleasance, I added, ‘Has Mrs Lawers someone taking care of her in your absence?’
‘A kindly neighbour will look after her.’
As she spoke, sitting opposite I had a chance to take a good look at the maid Mrs Lawers had described as elderly and infirm like herself. Miss Hinton certainly did not look old, in fact she looked scarcely older than myself. Slim and youthful, apart from somewhat prematurely white hair, glimpsed under the felt bonnet, she was wearing a smart navy-blue costume and black boots, the garb of a lady’s maid. And then there was her cultured accent.
‘I gather you have been with Mrs Lawers for some time.’
‘I have, madam.’ Avoiding my gaze, steadfastly looking out of the window, she seemed
nervous, eager to reach the station as we were held up by a cart which had shed a load of coal. As a delay seemed inevitable, I decided to ask how she had met Mrs Lawers.
‘We met in the usual way of a servant applying for a situation.’
‘But you are not from these parts. You are a long way from home.’
Turning her attention away from the commotion outside, she gave me a startled glance. ‘What makes you think that, madam?’
‘Your accent. You are from the Highlands, are you not?’
‘That is so. I was brought up near Inverness.’ A frowning look. ‘But I believe I lost my accent long ago.’
‘Your accent, perhaps so. But your natural language gave you away – there is no “yes” or “no” in Gaelic. Am I right?’
She smiled wryly. ‘That is correct. You are very observant, madam.’
We had reached the station and as we alighted she stretched out her hand for my bag. ‘Allow me to take that, madam.’
In answer, I slung it over my shoulder. ‘Not at all. I am used to carrying it. It isn’t heavy.’
She stood firmly in front of me. ‘But I insist, madam. Let me take it for you.’
I shook my head equally firmly. ‘Thank you, miss, but I would not dream of letting another woman carry my luggage.’
Ignoring that, she stretched out her hand in an attitude of command.
‘Thank you. But no.’ And glancing past her, ‘I notice we are in good time for the next train. While you purchase tickets, I shall take the opportunity of adjourning to the ladies’ waiting room and avail myself of the toilet facilities.’
I walked ahead, aware of a tightening of her lips, a frown of impatience. My insistence had annoyed her and as we walked into the waiting room and I headed towards the cubicle marked ‘Ladies’ she remained at my side. ‘No need to take your travelling case, madam, I will look after it.’
I pretended not to hear her, went inside and locked the door. There was something about her determination to lay hands on my luggage that made me uneasy. Undoing the carrier’s lock and opening it was quite difficult in such a confined space. I unfastened the strap on the old leather satchel, revealing its contents as a small sealed package.
I remembered my conversation with Mrs Lawers and gathered that it had been in her family’s possession for a long time, handed down generation to generation. It was certainly very old, yellowed with age; the writing on the outer parchment, a faint sepia faded with time, confirmed its value – even if this was purely sentimental, since Mrs Lawers was herself now old and infirm. But that it had some other value to someone else, particularly to her maid Hinton, seemed obvious by that woman’s odd behaviour, her determination to wrest it from my possession.
I had a sudden idea how to ensure the safety of its contents. Transferring the package to the voluminous pocket of my travelling skirt, I concluded my ablutions and returned to the café carrying the satchel to where Hinton waited seated by the window which overlooked the platforms.
Relieved to see me again, the maid’s eyes were immediately drawn to the satchel, and pointing to two cups on the table, she said rather impatiently, ‘So there you are, at last. I decided that as we still had time, we should refresh ourselves, so I purchased tea from the refreshment counter over there.’
I looked in the direction of a small and unprepossessing serving hatch, where a surly-looking attendant operated a tea urn and hovered over some tired-looking scones.
I thanked Hinton for her consideration, however, and she shrugged. ‘Better drink up. You took longer than I thought. We don’t want to miss this train. I presumed that you take sugar?’
I didn’t normally but thought it rude to complain, glad to have even a drink that was oversweet. Watching this enigmatic person, who was perhaps more used to dealing with old ladies, I was somewhat amused by her attitude towards me. I wondered if she was always bossy, used to treating her employer in this manner, especially when she contemptuously declined my offer to pay the few coppers involved for the cup of tea.
The Inverness train for Perth steamed into the station and we took seats opposite one another in an otherwise empty carriage which Hinton had chosen on the grounds that it is nicer for ladies travelling together to have some privacy.
Once inside, I settled down in my corner while she offered to put my two pieces of luggage, carrier and satchel, on the rack above our heads.
‘Thank you, no. It is a short journey, we have plenty of room.’
‘As you wish.’
My movements watched intently and with palpable disapproval, I slung the strap of the carrier over my arm and entwined the satchel over my wrist before settling back and staring out of the window. It was a grey weary day and after a few minutes I discovered that I was feeling very weary too.
My companion was silent. I studied her from narrowed eyes, observing again that her description failed to meet that of ‘old and infirm’ – she appeared to be both young and healthy and had rather large hands and feet. She was also quite tall – but so are most women compared to myself, a couple of inches under five feet.
Eager to learn more about Hinton, I considered polite conversation, but the words refused to assemble; suddenly it was too difficult to summon the energy to talk, and my eyelids were growing heavier, heavier.
I yawned and thankfully closed my eyes. After what seemed like only a minute, they opened again with utmost reluctance as the train jerked to a stop halted by a signal ahead.
Hinton was watching me. She smiled. ‘Did that waken you?’ And when I lied and said that I wasn’t asleep she replied, ‘You seem very tired, madam. You might as well take the opportunity to rest. I will wake you when we reach Perth, then we will take a carriage from the station.’
I found myself hardly listening, yawning again. This overwhelming desire to close my eyes and fall asleep during the day was quite extraordinary. It was only eleven-thirty in the morning and I had a desperate need for only one thing.
All my senses commanded: Sleep!
CHAPTER FOUR
I knew no more until air blasting in from an open door forced open my eyelids, still agonisingly heavy. What on earth was happening to me?
I was being held by Hinton. She was a strong woman, towering above my small stature, her arms grasped firmly around my waist.
I panicked, confused.
‘What’s happening? Has there been a crash?’
Clinging to me, she didn’t reply.
I struggled in vain. Had I been dreaming, opened the door for fresh air and was now in danger of falling out of the moving train?
And then—
And then I was suddenly alert. I was in danger indeed. But not from falling.
I was being pushed – pushed forcibly out of the open door.
Through the smoke, a steep hill, and as the train slowed down to round a corner I was in mid-air – my feet dangling above the rails.
I struggled with Hinton, calling for help.
No one heard me, and suddenly released from her iron grip, I flew through the air and hit the ground, tumbled on to a grassy verge, and began to roll steadily down the hill, my progress accelerated by agonising encounters with small stones, then halted momentarily by a series of tall weeds and shrubs.
In desperation I found one and clung on. Looking up back at the railway track far above me I called again for help. In vain.
The noise and smoke of the train had been replaced by silence as I hung there, trying to sort out my bruises and addled wits.
I was still so tired. There was no sign of the satchel which had contained Mrs Lawers’ legacy at the start of our journey. My travelling carrier, however, had accompanied my fall and I saw it lodged some ten feet away.
I wanted to reach it, but discovered I was too weary to make the effort. All I wanted was to close my eyes again, confident that this was just some terrible nightmare.
Soon I would wake up again. I always did.
Suddenly, my face was wet; I struggled to ope
n my eyes. My face was being licked by … Thane!
No, that wasn’t possible, although the grey hairy face at close range might well have been his. A large dog was at my side, and hurrying up the hill, rifle in hand, a middle-aged gentleman dressed like a gamekeeper.
He rushed to my side. ‘Pilot spotted you, miss. What the devil has happened? Are you hurt?’
‘I don’t know. I can’t remember – I think I must have fallen off the train.’
He lifted me to my feet, very gently. ‘I’m a doctor, miss. Let’s make sure you’re all right. Let’s see, now. Can you walk a few steps?’
I managed, clinging to his arm and stumbling down the hill where he retrieved my carrier and pronounced my progress was excellent.
‘Arms and legs not injured. Excellent. A few bruises, I dare say, but they’ll soon mend,’ he added cheerfully. ‘Fortunate that you fell down a grassy slope. Excuse me a moment.’ He stopped. ‘Would you mind … er … breathing on me please.’
I did so and he nodded grimly. ‘Just as I thought, miss.’
He said nothing more until we were safely on the footpath below, the deerhound, so like Thane, walking at his side.
Releasing my arm, he asked how I was.
‘My shoulder is rather sore and my knee. I think it is bleeding.’ I could feel it sticking to my skirt.
We were in a village street and he pointed to a little cottage, some fifty yards distant, almost concealed by trees. ‘That is where I live. I have my surgery there, and once we have attended to your cuts and bruises, I’ll get the carriage out and take you to the railway station. Where were you heading?’
I told him Perth and he nodded. ‘You’re nearer Edinburgh than Perth; this is Kingmere.’
A brass plate on the door declared its owner was Dr Hugh Everson. The interior was neat and pretty, suggesting that the kindly doctor was no bachelor, confirmed by family photographs on the sideboard.
‘My wife is away visiting a friend in Kirkcaldy, who has been ill,’ he explained, his arm supporting me and leading the way into a small but well-equipped surgery. Removing my cloak, he bathed and bandaged my cut knee and gently examined my arms and shoulders.
Deadly Legacy Page 2
