by EJ Lamprey
‘So her brother was in on it too?’
‘Oh aye. He’s their security guard. He found Morrison for her, and he helped with the kidnap of Morrison’s daughter. He was completely behind her setting the trap for Jean then, and killing Tim now. Tim’s older brother died in a car accident, but under the circumstances we’ll be reinvestigating that, too. Turns out a generation or two back the Murdoch Laird of the time got their grandmother in trouble, when she was in service at the house, and chucked her out without a second thought. Long standing bitterness. Helping his sister become the Laird’s lady appealed to his sense of justice. He says he had no idea that she went on using the trapdoor as a way of getting rid of anyone who annoyed or thwarted her, and he did seem genuinely shocked at the number of bodies lifted. I ken you’ll be wanting to tell your aunt some of this.’
‘Not if you tell me not to, you know that.’
Iain pushed his fingers through his hair. ‘Hell, the papers will be spilling a thousand different versions already. You can tell her what I’ve told you so far. However, I also wanted to tell you that Central has agreed you can be on the team for the rest of the investigation, which is a bit of a career move for you. You won’t be able to pass on what you learn from now on, though.’
Kirsty nodded eagerly, eyes shining, and he grinned at her.
‘Looking forward to working with you on this one, Sergeant Cameron. So now tell me, what’s the story with your aunt and Brian Mitchell? When it came up in the interview that she was getting serious with someone, I assumed it was MacDonald. Her and Mitchell, that’s not a couple I’d have put together for a bet!’
‘Donald and she have a funny relationship, to be sure, but I think they both like it exactly the way it is. As for Brian,’ Kirsty waved a hand dismissively, ‘he’s away with Fiona now, Edge said, and she seems pure relieved about it. I thought he was after her money, but, as she pointed out, Sylvia is much better off and he could have gone off with her at any point if he was just looking for a wealthy meal-ticket. Ken, if Pick Up Sticks gets picked up, he might regret letting himself be dragged off. Edge’s agent phoned her five times yesterday, apparently.’
Iain quirked an eyebrow. ‘Aye? And talking about wealthy meal-tickets—you and Rory? Looks like he’s going to be doing pretty well in the future.’
Kirsty composedly sipped her coffee. ‘I never thought he’d really make it to Rory the pop star. I’m glad for him, that it looks like it’s coming together for him at last, but ken, he dumped me without a second thought when he thought he was heading for the top last time. Now he thinks I’m the only woman he ever wanted, but that’ll last what, a month? He’s gorgeous, but my aunt was right: he’s self-centred and even pretty boring. I’ve laughed more, and felt better about myself, in the last few months than in three years with Rory. Drew’s a keeper.’
‘Good.’ Iain said with satisfaction. ‘The wife missed having Rory at parties as window-dressing, but we both like Drew. You need to come visit again soon. The weans were asking after you just the other day. Oh, and you can tell your aunt I checked up on Gerald Fraser, and he’s not Patricia Fraser’s brother.’
‘She already knows.’ Kirsty spluttered into her coffee. ‘Miss P overheard them discussing it on Friday before the party and went straight to Gerald to demand the truth. She was knocking on the door at some unearthly hour on Saturday morning to tell my aunt all was well, and that Gerald wasn’t going to kill her. Poor Edge! She’s really not a morning person.’
‘No more Aunt?’ He raised his brows and Kirsty shrugged.
‘Oh, well, she says it makes her feel old, and she hates that. And you saw those photos of her and Donald making a dash for it. You just couldn’t call that woman aunt. I’m getting used to it.’
‘I like your aunt.’ Iain stood up, smiling. ‘I like all four of them. Sometimes I think hell, I’m already forty-six, time’s running out. Then I look at them and think och, the best is yet to come. This last year has been hectic. ’
Kirsty stood up too, and smiled over her shoulder at him as he held the door open. ‘She says old age is fifteen years older than you are, but that the best thing about being at the Lawns is almost what you just said: that people there who are fifteen years older are still enjoying life very much. Look at Matilda, mentoring Rory! That’s going to be a partnership to watch with interest!’
Final resolution and curtain call
‘Lovely day for a funeral,’ Vivian said bleakly, as they watched the rain bouncing and puddling on the glass ceiling of the conservatory. Edge nodded. She was keyed up and tense, slightly resentful that Fiona had insisted on seeing her. Nothing was simple with Fiona. Everything was a drama to be staged.
‘I just wish she’d—what was William’s phrase? Play it straight. All this build-up, I’m not an actress, I hate it. I’ll have to sit here while she plays out some little scene she’s been working on for days, and pretend that I mind and am pretending not to.’
She stood up restlessly and walked over to stare out across the drenched Lawns, then turned as the Snug door opened and Fiona stepped through, still dressed for Tim’s funeral, her broken arm in a professional sling.
‘Oh, Edge! And Vivian. Jamey’s here, Brian’s just getting him out of the car and into a wheelchair. Do you want to go and say hello? He’s dying to catch up.’
Vivian, with a quick sympathetic roll of her eyes at Edge, allowed herself to be dismissed and Fiona danced across the room to perch on her vacated chair. They had the conservatory to themselves.
‘I’m sorry.’ Fiona didn’t look very sorry and Edge didn’t pretend to misunderstand her.
‘No, you’re not. That’ll teach me; never a good deed goes unpunished.’
‘Oh, shut up. You weren’t in love with him anyway.’
‘That didn’t give you the right to roar in and take him away,’ Edge said crossly and Fiona looked smug.
‘Look on the bright side, you can have a go at Donald now.’
‘Well, that’s true,’ Edge pretended to look reflective.
‘He isn’t interested in you!’ Fiona flared instantly, and Edge cocked her head at her.
‘Not that way. Not yet. But give me time. . .’
‘Huh, that producer’s wife was completely a different type, very Latin and absolutely gorgeous. They made a fabulous couple and even then she had to do all the running. Anyway, you might be right and he is gay, in which case I was thinking of introducing him to Jamey. I think they’d get on very well.’
‘Can you give it a rest, Fiona? You won. Bully for you.’
‘If it helps, I didn’t set out to do it. But when I saw Brian shinning down that rope it was like watching the sun appear after a terrifying storm. The most wonderful sight in the world. I really am besotted about him, you know.’
‘I do know.’ Edge’s face lightened. ‘If you weren’t looking so radiant, I’d probably quarrel with you but you look transformed. And I will concede you’ll make him happier than I ever could, even if only because you enjoy all the bloody walking. You never know, maybe in time we’ll all be friends and look back on this and laugh. Don’t invite me to the wedding, but I’m not one to hold a grudge. Okay? Are we done?’
‘Okay.’ Fiona looked slightly deflated but didn’t try to stop her and Edge, with a last noble attempt to look as if she was trying to hold back tears, hurried out through the dining room into the foyer, through the front door and almost skipped down the stairs. The rain had obligingly paused, and the air smelled sweet and fresh as she crossed to the covered walkway.
Donald was just coming across from his garage and caught up with her.
‘I saw Vivian talking to Brian and a bloke in a wheelchair as I drove in, so I’m guessing you’ve had your meeting. Difficult?’
She shook her head. ‘Not as bad as I thought it would be. I didn’t really let her get into her stride, I couldn’t face it. I feel as though a giant weight has been lifted and I can get back on track with my life.’
‘
Good. I’ve tickets for one of the award-winning shows the night. William’s checking with Vivian but looks like they’re up for it. Want to come along?’
‘Which award?’ she asked suspiciously. ‘There are about fifty of the things. If it’s one of the deeply powerful drama performances that will raise my awareness and leave me wanting to cut my throat, pass.’
‘You have no culture at all. It’s a new play, very highly recommended, not too heavy but not inane. Dress up a bit. For your agent’s sake.’ They reached his door and stopped, and she laughed.
‘The only thing of mine she’s ever approved was the Grease outfit. It makes me feel a bit bad about throwing it out.’
‘Don’t throw it out.’ He smiled lazily at her. ‘I still intend to get you along to my leather club some time, and you’ll knock a few eyes out wearing it there. We’ll get you a decent wig first; that wig was bloody awful.’
‘Says the man who hacked up a Cher wig to look like Alice Cooper. Donald, would you come dress-shopping with me some time? Vivian says you were brilliant the time you took her shopping for clothes.’
‘Oh aye, I’ve wanted to take your wardrobe in hand for a while. You’ll be in terribly nice embroidered twin-sets next, with the sleeves pushed up just so, and two strands of pearls exactly matching your earrings, if someone doesn’t step in. For tonight, wear that Florida outfit you lent to Fiona, and we’ll make a start on the rest tomorrow. We’ll go through what you can keep, what has to go, what we can glam up.’
She blinked, then laughed. ‘Okay. I was thinking I had to change my image slightly. Slightly, Donald.’
‘I’ll rope in your agent to wear you down, now that I know you can be worn down. Nothing drastic, dinna fash, but I will make you stylish. Oh, and the black strappy shoes. Tonight, I mean.’
She took a deep and slightly indignant breath, then settled for clicking her heels. ‘Sir! Yes, sir!’
‘As you were, cadet.’ He grinned at her as he opened his door and Odette danced out, delighted. Edge walked on to her own door, saw the wheelchair party coming along the walkway, and glanced back. He was standing watching her, and as their eyes met he winked. Edge was smiling as she let herself into her apartment.
And afterwards
Fiona and her son Fergus have been invited for the first of what may turn out to be many weekends at the Murdoch country estate, although Fiona defiantly bought herself a Lady of Chaol Ghleann title on Scottishlairds.com to make it clear she wasn’t intimidated. There’s talk of a summer wedding, but the dates will have to tie in with the Caledonian Challenge.
Edge’s agent Sarah was delighted that Edge acted so quickly on her advice, and is making the most of her sudden media exposure. There are some interesting options in the pipeline.
Donald has been as good as his word and Edge’s wardrobe is slowly being transformed. They argue over nearly every decision, but as often as not he wins and she’s rather relishing Sylvia’s grudging wardrobe envy. Sylvia has completely forgiven her since they have now both been dumped by the same man. It does make for a more peaceful life.
Major Horace reverted to type pretty quickly, but has been spotted having the occasional drink with Matilda, when she takes a break from song-writing. She and Rory are experimenting on a new style, so far unsuccessfully, but his first album of original Bluecover songs is in production and is forecast to make respectable sales. Kirsty has been told it will be dedicated to her, and has been promised an autographed copy. Drew thinks they should at least listen to it before giving it away.
Jean Murdoch’s funeral was attended by the elite of the music industry, and Rory sang the last ballad she and Matilda wrote together, reducing many of those present to tears. He told the media afterwards that he felt they had a very special bond, but refused to be drawn further. This unusual reticence was the result of many hours of patient argument and coaching.
The Edinburgh Festival—a combination of the International Arts Festival, the Book Festival, and the Fringe—is an internationally popular annual event, with attendance in the millions. Visitors do have to take their chances with the weather.
My apologies to the town planners for re-writing Edinburgh to fit my story. To the best of my knowledge there are no houses remotely like the Spinner house on the Mile, and although there are courtyards tucked behind buildings, none are ‘my’ courtyard, nor are any built over viable sections of the Old Town. Although the general descriptions are as accurate as I could make them, the specifics are entirely fictional. There’s a bit more about Mary King Close in the next section.
I hope you enjoyed this book: if this was your first Grasshopper Lawn book, there are seven out so far, and Fifteen Sixteen Maids In The Kitchen will be released this summer - if you’d like to get it at the launch price, add yourself to the mailing list on my website, all details at the end of this book. It’s possibly my favourite so far in the series - it is certainly the most conventional, a whodunit in a manor house with a house-party, complete (of course!) with a body in the library ...
Mary King’s Close
There has been a stronghold on Castle Rock for millennia, and some parts of Edinburgh Castle are said to date back to the year 1000. The Abbey at Holyrood, at the end of the ‘tail’ of the volcanic plug that hoists the Castle to its unbeatable vantage point, was founded in the twelfth century. A thriving community grew between the two down the street which is variously Castlehill, Lawnmarket and the High Street, and is better known as The Royal Mile. In the 1400s city walls were built around Edinburgh to defend it against English invaders, and with a growing population, but confining walls, Edinburgh began to grow up – and to dig down. Pastures which have now become the Princes Street Gardens were flooded to create a loch so that the city had all the water it needed. As housing pressure rose, a rabbit warren of cellars in the soft sandstone under buildings extended deeper and linked ever further with time. It wasn’t a healthy place to live, but it was shelter when there wasn’t any other option, and very close to what was then the heart of the city.
In the 18th century the fouled loch was drained and New Edinburgh, owing a great deal to Georgian architecture and particularly to Robert Adam, rose to become one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Princes Street replaced the Mile as the new heart of the city and the old town became something of a ghetto, its crowded insanitary conditions leading to plague and cholera, and to criminal mayhem. Body snatchers Burke and Hare operated in this huddle of narrow alleys and crammed buildings. When some of the older buildings became unsafe the Improvement Act of 1867 allowed for their tear-down and the Royal Exchange was built over subterranean closes. Some were demolished and filled in, but many stone buildings were simply topped with strong arches to provide a sturdy base. Amid the blocks of the tenement buildings ran the threading wynds and closes, alleyways so narrow that an adult could touch both sides at the same time, and which were easily arched over. New buildings have also grown on strong original ones which, in some cases, vanished from sight as road levels rose. Old buildings still surviving from that period are now carefully restored and maintained and some old closes have been re-opened to the public. Most famous of these is the Mary King’s Close, which interleaves with the Pearson, Stewart and Allen’s Closes.
Going underground in the Old Town is an interesting experience which scrupulously recreates the city’s life as far back as the 16th century, and such a tourist attraction that exploration and excavation remains ongoing around the area known as the Royal Mile. When tours first started, visitors had to wear hard hats and probably needed nerves of steel. I went down in 2006, the tour which Edge describes as her experience, then re-did the tour in January 2014. Now it is much less eerie, a progression through rooms and only venturing briefly into the close itself, which is a pity, but the visuals are superb. As I am nearly as claustrophobic as Vivian and Edge, I won’t be able to update you again. You’ll have to do the tour yourself.
The information I have given here was drawn from multiple we
bsites and isn’t intended to be definitive, as even those most knowledgeable on the subject have been known to contradict each other.
Glossary
(Scottish unless specified otherwise)
Birl – to twirl around
Blether – to have a talk, chatter, gossip.
Cailleach – (pronounced ky-ok, or ky-och, as in loch) – old woman
Ceilidh – (pronounced kay-lee) – a social gathering, usually including country dancing
Chap – knock (as in knock on the door)
Dinna fash – don’t worry (also spelled and pronounced dinnae fash, but both in common usage)
Dinnae, and cannae, words ending ae, are pronounced dinny, and canny
Dram – a tot (usually of whisky)
Gie it laldy – give it your all, don’t hold back
Girning – complaining
Glasgow kiss – a nose-breaking head butt
Greet – cry, weep
Haud your whisht – Be quiet, pipe down. Literal meaning, hold your breath.
Hen – the closest equivalent is probably honey, or Missus. Used to women of all ages.
Ken – means variously know, I know, do you know. It’s one of the most versatile Scots words!
Not proven – Scottish law allows for a verdict to be either guilty / not guilty / not proven.
Numpty – stupid person, idiot, although it can be used affectionately.
Phwoar – appreciative description of someone sexually attractive (UK general usage)
Rondavel – pronounced RonDARvill – is the South African term for a round house, usually a single room or sub-divided (as bungalow is an Indian word for a single-storey house)
