Deadly Legacy
Page 22
‘Jack, I think I know where she is.’
Hardly daring to hope we took a carriage and went to Portobello. Nanny Craigle opened the door. Very upset she was, gasping out that she couldn’t believe all this about Adrian and Steven. It wasn’t true, was it?
‘Poor Beth, that lass has suffered so much.’
‘Where is she?’
‘Upstairs in her bedroom with Lillie and the other wee girl, Madge.’
Jack almost pushed her aside and raced upstairs.
The door was open; Beth sat on the bed, tear-stained, tragic, rocking the baby Lillie in her cot. The little girl on her knee saw us, jumped down and ran to Jack.
Laughing, she shouted, ‘Pa!’
He swept her up into his arms and held her close to his heart. I saw his expression. He had not expected this since Steven claiming to be her father had taken her from the Blakers. And yet some instinct, some fragment of memory, had recognised that this man was her real father. Now he held her as if he could never let her go again.
We explained to Beth, as gently as we could, that there was no actress mother. Steven, or Adrian at his behest, had kidnapped this little girl and held her to ransom.
Beth ran to me. ‘Oh Rose, I am so ashamed. Loving a man, giving my heart to such a vile creature. I never want to see him again. And I am so glad that my little Lillie is not his child.’
It was sad, for Meg’s kidnapping was the final curtain on Beth’s tragedy. We left her shocked and disillusioned, unable to offer words of comfort, and we were the only ones with even a crumb of joy in our hearts.
Except perhaps for Nanny Craigle, who whispered as we were leaving, ‘Miss Beth will be all right. Sir Frederick will take care of her.’
Longing to take Meg home with us, Jack had a duty to her adoptive parents. ‘To the Blakers first. The poor woman was distraught.’
At the house in Joppa, a happy reunion. Mrs Blaker took us into the sitting room, Meg frowning, holding on to her father’s hand with both of her own, as if reluctant to be separated from him for an instant.
Mr Blaker was there, solid, quiet. Saying ‘All’s well that ends well,’ he left the rest to his wife. Meg went over politely, sat on her knee, but all the time looking back, watching Jack with that anxious expression I had seen in the orphans, reminding me of stray dogs.
It broke my heart. I felt tears threatening.
‘Welcome home again, dear,’ said Mrs Blaker.
She was wearing a long pendant with a bright jewel. Meg toyed with it, not looking at her.
A clearing of the throat and Mr Blaker said sternly, ‘You had better tell them, my dear.’
Mrs Blaker sighed, looked across at us. ‘We have just discovered from our physician that after all these years we are to have a child of our own.’
Her husband interrupted quickly, ‘In the circumstances, as my wife is somewhat delicate, I am afraid we must decline adopting Meg. It is most unfortunate, of course, but I am sure other adoptive parents will be found, and she is most welcome to remain with us until suitable arrangements are made.’
We waited no longer. We took her home with us. Thane was waiting with a joyous welcome. Almost asleep, Jack carried her upstairs to bed in the spare room.
Thane came with us, sat at the bedside watching as Jack tucked her into bed. Her eyes opened, she pointed.
‘Want doggie,’ she said firmly, ‘Doggie stay.’
Jack was already carrying Thane’s rug from our bedroom floor. I felt that he wasn’t displeased.
There were decisions to be made. As for that legacy and the money which cost so many lives, we treasured our envelope of mouse-chewed paper. The historical documents, including the letters and map drawn by Prince Charlie, would go to the archives. The snuffbox and mourning ring might be valuable but I wouldn’t lay claim to either of them, and we decided that their future lay in a glass case in the history museum.
Jack came in while I was writing letters.
‘Hold on, you can post these for me in town,’ I said.
He looked over my shoulder at the addresses and I explained, ‘Two new cases, prospective clients, Jack, but I’m postponing everything to do with my investigations until we get Meg settled.’
He was silent, nodded, then said, ‘You can’t do this, Rose. It isn’t right.’
I sighed. ‘Meg’s future is more important than a couple of new clients.’
He looked down at me. ‘Listen, Rose, Meg is my problem, I can’t let you sacrifice your career. There must be some other solution.’
As he said the words, Vince’s parting remark flashed into my mind – that the solution was so simple he was surprised it had taken so long for a lady investigator to work it out.
I handed the letters to him. ‘And until we do, I will look after Meg.’
I cut short his arguments. ‘Jack, Meg is your daughter but I have always felt that she is partly my responsibility.’
He frowned. ‘How do you come by that, pray?’
‘I know it is disagreeable for you to remember, but if you can bear to cast your mind back, her very existence is my fault – if I hadn’t rejected you and sent you away, you would never have taken up with Maggie and married her on the rebound. And wee Meg would never have been born.’
‘Don’t be idiotic, Rose. I can’t allow such sentiments. Now let’s be practical.’
‘I am being practical. I have thought of a way …’ I paused, took a deep breath. ‘We could get married – make it legal. Be proper parents.’
Jack stared at me and bit his lip. Not only angry but obstinate. He shook his head, ‘No Rose, I will not marry you against your every inclination, just because of Meg. The idea is intolerable. I will hear no more about it. And that’s definite.’
‘Jack.’ I put my arms around his neck and he backed away, eyeing me coldly. ‘It is not intolerable, because I love you,’ I whispered. ‘I think I have known that for a very long time.’
Silent for a moment, he said grumpily, ‘You might have told me, then. What about your career, always so important?’
‘It still is important, but I want you. There’s plenty of room for you – and Meg.’
‘No, Rose.’ He held up his hand. ‘You have consistently refused to marry me for years – only once did you agree, and, as I found out when you miscarried on the eve of our wedding, that was only because you were pregnant,’ he added bitterly.
‘Yes, I lost that baby, yours and mine, Jack. It seems unlikely that I’ll conceive again; the Faro women are rather doomed in that respect, one child – if they are lucky. The old Orkney selkie curse.’
He gave an impatient shrug as I went on, ‘So having your daughter is the next best thing.’
‘I’m not listening to all this, Rose. Meg can stay with us till we sort something out that is best for her, meantime—’
‘“Meantime” is for always as far as I am concerned. She is your daughter and this is her rightful home, here with you. As for marriage, if you won’t have me, I really don’t care. We are already married under Scottish law – by habit and repute, remember – and I am not greatly concerned about the legal documents, the church wedding or what people think.’
Jack looked at the clock. ‘I have to go. We’ll discuss this later.’ He held up the letters. ‘Sure you want me to post these?’
‘Yes. I want a week or two to spend with Meg, get to know each other while I make some arrangements that will suit all three of us.’
‘What kind of arrangements would those be, pray?’
‘With the convent – the Little Sisters of the Poor across the way.’
‘They have an orphanage?’ It was a question, not exactly an eager one.
‘I’m not interested in their orphanage. They also have a nursery for little girls. And Sister Clare is an old friend. When necessary, if I am working, I can put Meg there, and when she is old enough she will go to the convent school.’
Jack was listening now. ‘You’ve worked it all out, haven’t you?’
&n
bsp; ‘With your approval.’
‘Of course I approve.’ Sounds on the stairs, an excited child’s voice. Meg came in with Thane and rushed over to Jack who swung her up in his arms.
For a moment there was no thought of him rushing away and I went quietly about preparing Meg’s breakfast. I’d try her with porridge, see how we got on.
Jack kissed her again, set her down at the table. Pointing across at me, he said solemnly, ‘This is your ma, Meg.’
And I wanted to cry as she looked at me and laughed delightedly – a wee girl who had been through so much in her three years, radiant, trusting.
Jack put an arm around my shoulders. ‘We are your ma and pa, Meg. Your own family.’
She frowned, not quite understanding what the word meant. A moment later she touched Thane’s head – he had moved to her side – and she nodded eagerly, saying proudly, ‘And doggie too.’
And that’s about all there is.
For now.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Among the many historical accounts and material consulted, I am indebted to The Battle of Prestonpans Heritage Trust for ‘The Prestonpans Tapestry 1745’ published by Prestoungrange University Press with Burke’s Peerage & Gentry, 2010.
About the Author
ALANNA KNIGHT has written more than fifty novels, three non-fiction titles on R.L. Stevenson, two true crime books, numerous short stories and several plays since the publication of her first book in 1969. Born and educated in Tyneside, she now lives in Edinburgh. She is a member of the Scottish chapter of the Crime Writers’ Association, a founding member of the Scottish Association of Writers, and Honorary President of the Edinburgh Writers’ Club.
www.alannaknight.com
By Alanna Knight
THE ROSE MCQUINN SERIES
The Inspector’s Daughter
Dangerous Pursuits
An Orkney Murder
Ghost Walk
Destroying Angel
Quest for a Killer
Deadly Legacy
THE INSPECTOR FARO SERIES
Murder in Paradise
The Seal King Murders
THE TAM EILDOR SERIES
The Gowrie Conspiracy
The Stuart Sapphire
Copyright
Allison & Busby Limited
13 Charlotte Mews
London W1T 4EJ
www.allisonandbusby.com
First published in Great Britain by Allison & Busby in 2012.
This ebook edition published by Allison & Busby in 2012.
Copyright © 2012 by ALANNA KNIGHT
The moral right of the author is hereby asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All characters and events in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent buyer.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978–0–7490–1112–3