At least, I saw with relief, they looked well cared for, dressed alike, in plain grey dresses, like institutional uniforms. They didn’t look cold or hungry but they were well past babyhood – the youngest must have been five or six years old.
The woman reappeared, pushed them aside with a warning growl and handed me a piece of paper, the address this time in Joppa on the far side of Arthur’s Seat, familiar territory and thankfully not far distant from my home.
Now that I had a good look at the middle-aged Mrs Bourne, she was well dressed too and seemed no longer hostile or suspicious.
‘You were misdirected to this house.’ And choosing her words carefully, ‘We merely provide a stepping-off place for unwanted children, orphans mostly, to be found suitable homes, where they will in time be trained to become useful members of a household.’
A kindly way of saying that the children I was seeing were being trained to be domestic servants, their entire young lives spent as cheap unpaid child labour in the kitchens of Edinburgh’s better-off houses. All they would ever get were cast-off clothes and leftover food, their futures decided for them, bleak indeed. No education, rarely even taught to read or write.
A few might be lucky enough or strong enough to escape, but, for the majority, a life of toil and deprivation lay ahead.
The woman was saying, ‘The child Meg was too young, you see – three years old, they can’t do much at that age. They’re just a burden. And I have more than enough to take care of at the moment, without another mouth to feed.’
There was something else I needed to know before I walked down the stairs and escaped into the fresh air again. ‘Am I to presume that you received a fee for Meg Macmerry’s care at the orphanage—?’
She glowered at me and interrupted. ‘Aye, a fee mostly passed down the line to them at Joppa – for their trouble.’
‘Trouble’ was not the word I would have used to describe adoption, a business of delight and joy for a childless couple yearning for a baby.
I left with the expressions in those children’s eyes following, haunting me, as well as the feeling that I had not been told the whole unpalatable truth. But at least Joppa gave me hope, as a respectable suburb easily accessible on my bicycle. And in the right direction to include Duddingston, where I was eager to discover from Amy Dodd the latest developments next door, in which the police and Chief Inspector Gray were showing so much interest.
With considerable effort I summoned up my other role, that of lady investigator. I regarded the contents of the package which had been entrusted to me, and hopefully the clue it contained which would lead to the bogus Hinton who must have been an intimate of the murdered woman. How otherwise could she have known about the legacy?
Before beginning these proceedings, which must inevitably take some time, my most urgent and immediate duty was to track down Meg and bring Jack good news of her.
As I rode towards Joppa my route took me through Portobello, much in demand as a summer playground for Edinburgh folk and a popular seaside resort for those further afield. The added attraction was a season of variety entertainment from popular vaudeville actors as well as the local Portobello Players.
Riding along the promenade, staring across the now-grey Firth of Forth towards the Kingdom of Fife, brought back nostalgic childhood memories of seaside picnics – great adventures they seemed to my sister Emily and me in the charge of our housekeeper at Sheridan Place, our dear infallible, unflappable Mrs Brook, always ready with delicious food, a hug and words of comfort.
And as all childhood memories turn golden with the years, I recalled only the warm sunny days, and never a picnic spoilt by rain and a chill east wind.
At Joppa I gave a sigh of relief as my destination revealed itself as a large and handsome villa, facing seaward, with a gate and well-tended garden, built some sixty years ago in the traditional exuberant style of the late Queen’s reign.
I walked up the path and rang the bell. As it was not immediately answered, the old misgivings returned. I looked at the small box containing the new doll. Was this to be yet another wasted journey, a further frustration? At last the sound of footsteps and the door opened.
‘Mrs Blaker?’ I asked. The woman shook her head.
‘Madam is not at home. I am the housekeeper.’
Again that sinking of the heart, as she asked, ‘May I ask who is calling?’
‘Of course.’ I introduced myself as a friend of Meg Macmerry’s father. ‘I have brought her a present from him.’
The housekeeper glanced towards the box and smiled. ‘The wee girl.’ And I sighed – at least I had come to the right place. Then she shook her head. ‘You have just missed Sir and Madam. They are off to Aberdeen to visit Madam’s sister and have taken wee Meg with them to meet the rest of the family.’
‘When will they be returning?’
‘In a few days. I’m not sure precisely when.’
I left my card and the doll which the housekeeper promised would be given to the wee girl as soon as she returned. And Sir and Madam would be told right away that I had called. No doubt they would get in touch with me.
With that I had to be content. At least both house and housekeeper looked promising, along with the knowledge that Meg was safe at last. In a few days I would be able to meet her and perhaps be permitted to take her to visit Jack in the infirmary.
That should cheer him; one anxiety less would perhaps speed his recovery.
As wearily I cycled homeward, my sense of relief was more than slightly undermined when I considered the effects of all these sudden and bewildering changes of environment on a three-year-old girl. First the move to Tarnbrae, which was swiftly followed by the loss of the aunt who had been the only mother she had ever known. Then the introduction into her life of a large uncaring woman, in the role of her new mother, plus a quartet of rowdy unruly boys introduced as her new siblings. But not for long; suddenly she was uplifted, packed off into a great house full of more strangers, some of them children like herself, with a new set of bewildering unfamiliar grown-ups staring down at her, followed by a long train journey to Edinburgh, a strange city full of high buildings and hills.
Would she remember being carried up all those stairs into the tall tenement, to be handed over to an impatient angry woman who didn’t want her, and children who were subdued and unfriendly? Hopefully these childhood recollections and their nightmare effects would be happily supplanted with this last move to Joppa with no other lasting memory than always being the daughter of a loving family.
But no more Meg for the moment, and although I was anxious for news of Jack, I had to briefly stop at Duddingston. Waiting for Amy Dodd to answer the door, Mrs Lawers’ empty house looked sad and forlorn, as if already the recent tragedy had stamped itself indelibly on its ancient walls. From the house on the further side, a curtain moved, a man’s face appeared at the window and was hastily withdrawn.
I sighed – no doubt the enigmatic French neighbour who kept himself to himself. Pointless to ask him Amy’s whereabouts.
I was about to leave when she appeared bustling down the street, basket over arm. She greeted me breathlessly. ‘Been down to the shops. Come in.’
And seated at the kitchen table, after dealing with the usual polite preliminaries regarding health and the weather, I asked had she seen any more activities at Mrs Lawers’ house.
‘Just the usual policemen who seem to be looking for something. They were talking to the Frenchie. Very annoyed and upset he was. I stood at the door listening, he was protesting like mad.’
That pleased her. ‘Something about a hurt bird that he was looking for. I’ve seen him looking in the windows again, but I didn’t tell the police. Not my business.’
She looked thoughtful. ‘Mind you, maybe they think he had something to do with what happened to poor Mary. Wouldn’t surprise me. He looks villainous enough. Scruffy, wild hair, not like the gentleman he pretends to be.’
A pause and she added, ‘Remembe
r that man I told you about, who was such a bully to poor Mary? Well, he’s been back a couple of times and I’ve seen him walking round the house, staring in at the windows, as if he might be thinking of breaking in.
‘Last night when he was there again, prowling about the back garden, I went out, asked him what he wanted. He kept his head down, turned his back on me. I asked if I could help and he said not unless I had a key to the premises.
‘That made me right angry, I can tell you. I said of course not but what did he want anyway? And that made him angry, he swore at me and shouted it was none of my damned business. Cheeky devil!’
Giving her a moment to calm down, I asked, ‘When is the funeral?’
‘No one’s told us. I asked one of the policemen and he said not until after the Fiscal’s report. About the gas and so forth.’
What were they looking for, hoping to find? I wondered as she added, ‘That big bossy man giving orders, behaves like a policeman but he doesn’t wear a uniform …’ The description fitted Chief Inspector Gray. ‘… he’s been around asking questions up and down the street, all the houses. I could only tell him that we were all friendly neighbours and I didn’t know if Mary had any enemies, but then we didn’t talk about private affairs.’
‘Didn’t you mention the prowler?’
She nodded. ‘I did that. Told him about the man wanting a key but he said probably a prospective buyer who wanted to put in a bid for what was a historic property – you know, associated with Bonnie Prince Charlie and the siege of Edinburgh. He didn’t seem all that interested, especially as there have been other local folk wandering past and peering in at the windows, as well as neighbours like the Frenchie. Not a bit of shame, these other nosy folk from round about, the kind who dash to the scene of accidents full of morbid curiosity.’
I left her and as I headed homewards I couldn’t help wondering what Gray’s reactions would be if I told him about my encounter with the bogus maid who tried to kill me. Jack would say that I was concealing vital evidence.
On second thoughts, aware of Gray’s low regard for my success as a lady investigator, he would probably dismiss that as circumstantial evidence. Besides, I must tell Jack first of all.
* * *
There was no message from the hospital. I breathed a sigh of relief. It meant that there had been no crisis and that Jack was still alive. And if I knew him, putting up a fight for survival.
Next morning as I made my way along the corridor, outside Jack’s ward, I was intercepted by a nurse who asked for my name. I said ‘Mrs McQuinn’ and she shook her head. ‘Family visitors only, I’m afraid. That’s the rule.’
I stood my ground. ‘I am not his wife, but we live together.’ And disregarding her scandalised expression I explained that Jack’s only family were his parents, living at a fair distance on the Borders. They were elderly, didn’t travel and Jack would be relying on me to keep them informed.
As I was speaking, the surgeon Mr Wainland had approached and obviously overheard the conversation. Recognising me, he looked unperturbed by what he had heard and, bowing, said, ‘Of course you may visit.’ And to the nurse standing stiffly at my side, ‘Kindly inform Sister that Mrs McQuinn is to be admitted at any time.’
Turning to me again, he smiled. ‘Our patient is making good progress considering the seriousness of the injury and the loss of blood he sustained. We will have a better report, hopefully in a day or two, and certainly seeing you will cheer him up.’ He wagged a finger at me. ‘But only ten minutes, this first time. See to it, Nurse.’
Opening the door, she ushered me inside. I went over to the bed. Jack’s eyes were closed. He looked pale and wan, far from his normal, healthy, outdoors complexion.
I touched his hands on the counterpane and whispered, ‘Jack!’
His eyes flickered open. For a moment dazed, like one awakened from a dream, he then smiled, a shadow of that old familiar grin. Leaning over, I kissed him.
A chuckle. ‘Steady on there. I am forbidden any excitement, doctor’s orders. Have to remain calm at all costs.’ We both laughed, entwined fingers. Then came the question I was dreading.
‘Have you seen Meg? How does she look? Have they had a photograph taken of her? I’ve asked for one so often. And did she like the doll I sent for her birthday?’
There was nothing else for it. I took a deep breath, and carefully editing out any mention of Lochandor and my frustration and defeat in tracking down Meg, I told him precisely what he was most anxious to hear. That she had found good adoptive parents, with a very nice house in Joppa.
‘Did you see her, then?’
‘No,’ I had to reluctantly admit. And as Jack’s expression turned to one of dismay, I said hastily, ‘The housekeeper told me that the family had gone up north to Aberdeen to present Meg to her new relatives.’
The mention of a housekeeper seemed to impress and I added the reassurance that I would return at the end of the week.
If I had any misgivings, I kept them to myself. I did not care to air them to the invalid, especially an uneasy and growing suspicion that the woman who handed on Meg via the orphanage at Lochandor was perhaps just a step away from the notorious Edinburgh baby farmer in Stockbridge and in Dalkeith Road in the 1880s, just a stone’s throw from Arthur’s Seat.
Jack listened patiently. ‘Well, it all seems very promising. These Blakers people sound like ideal foster parents. However, the final business, signing papers and all that sort of thing – not needed when her Aunt Pam took her – that will have to be dealt with now, all made legal.’ Another sigh. ‘Have to wait until I’m up and about again.’
He moved gently as if to get into a more comfortable position. ‘Have you told my parents yet what happened? About the accident? They’re in the police records – next of kin,’ he added with an apologetic glance as if it should be me. ‘However, I’ve told the doctors about them being elderly and I don’t want some local bobby charging up to their door with bad news …’ He paused and smiled thinly. ‘I said that you were the one to break it to them gently.’
I realised that ‘bad news’ and ‘breaking it gently’ meant that Jack had not expected to survive at all. I shivered and said, ‘I’ve already mentioned the situation regarding your parents to the surgeon, so I’ll send them a letter right away, just saying that you had an accident at work—’
‘A slight accident – stress that, Rose. Nothing serious,’ he put in. ‘Go on …’
‘And that you are meanwhile in hospital but making good progress.’
I felt I should cross my fingers as I said it.
‘That’s the ticket.’ His smile twisted into a grimace, a spasm of pain, then a cough brought the nurse rushing in. Bending over him she took his pulse with a reproachful glance in my direction.
‘Please go now. You’ve had more than your ten minutes.’ And she added severely, ‘Visits tire patients out, you know.’
‘Is he going to be all right?’ I asked.
‘Come back tomorrow. We’ll know better then.’
Walking towards the entrance, picking up my bicycle, I tried to fight back tears which threatened to blind me to the road ahead. Pessimism has never been one of my vices. Even in my darkest hours in Arizona when Danny disappeared and I lost our baby, I had never completely given in to despair. Once again, I had to learn to face facts, however terrible.
But what if Jack did not recover, or, what was uppermost in my mind, did recover, but was left unable to carry on his duties as a detective inspector? Pensioned off with early retirement for him would be the equivalent of dying.
And that other question resolutely forced to the back of my mind refused to be banished. What of Meg, the child for whose existence I also felt a shadow of responsibility?
Back in Solomon’s Tower, I wrote to Andy and Jess Macmerry trying to make Jack’s accident sound as light as possible, just a gunshot wound but healing nicely. That didn’t sound exactly truthful and struck, on reading it over, a note of false cheer.
I sealed the envelope firmly, cycled down to the nearest postbox, and returning considered the thorny question of that other responsibility nagging so heavily on my conscience: Mrs Lawers’ legacy.
There was only one thing to do. Hopefully it contained some clue as to where its future lay and a clue as to why I had been attacked on the Perth train while Mrs Lawers and her maid were murdered to gain possession of its contents.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Thane was absent. The Tower seemed strangely empty, desolate without his presence; although he spent more time out on the hill during the day, reverting as he often did in autumn to being a wild deerhound, hunting, catching and eating his own food, he always returned when darkness fell to take up his role of protecting me, especially when Jack was away from home.
But at the back of my mind I knew the reason for my present unease. Thane had been with me for six years, since I first came to live here on Arthur’s Seat, and despite the curious, almost unbelievable story regarding his breed which Dr Everson had told me, I could not shake off the fear that one day he might grow old and not return and I must lose him for ever.
Thrusting aside these melancholy thoughts, I went across to my desk, where at the back of the drawer lay Mrs Lawers’ package alongside my derringer.
Suddenly there was a ring at the front doorbell. Praying that it wasn’t news from the hospital, I opened the door to find Beth on the doorstep. A very different Beth from the pale shivering girl, so frightened and tearful, I had first met clutching a newborn baby to her heart.
‘I do hope you don’t mind me calling on you unannounced.’ She smiled and went on quickly, ‘But you were so kind to me, I wanted to say thank you again and let you know what has happened …’
I invited her in and we walked across the hall. ‘The kitchen, I’m afraid,’ I said apologetically, aware of present neglect, of floors needing sweeping and a duster vigorously applied.
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