Rose McQuinn 7 - Deadly Legacy

by Alanna Knight

  Hesitating, she looked at me. 'Miss Beth confided in me that you know her terrible story - God knows it's an absolute disgrace, but let's face it, neither of them are Lillie's real parents, and to be quite honest with you, I'm deeply worried about her future.'

  She shook her head. 'Miss Beth ought to tell Adrian the truth but she's scared that if he knows the baby isn't his, well, that might change his mind about getting married.' A sigh and she went on, 'Adrian is a good fellow - but what we call "deep", if you know what I mean. He doesn't wear his heart on his sleeve, neither does his friend Steven, the other actor who lives here - he's very ambitious too, harps on about his ancestral connections.' She paused.

  'The two of them were always a bit wild, you know, gambling and drinking too much, the way young lads are, and Adrian was heavily under Steven's influence until Beth came into his life. Lots of young ladies but never any commitments. That's how Adrian got Miss Beth into trouble,' she added grimly. 'I blame myself for that. They used to meet here. I should have known what was going on - I'm afraid I still thought of her as a stage-struck wee lass, nothing more.'

  Pausing to refill my teacup, she regarded me steadily as if trying to make up her mind about what to say next. 'As a matter of fact, I had in mind a different ending. At seventeen a lass can't see ahead like those of us who have lived a bit longer. It was a pity about the baby, but I've always thought she would be much happier staying in her own class, marrying a fine gentleman like Sir Frederick who is so devoted to her.'

  She shook her head sadly. 'I've seen these other marriages between the daughter of the house and the coachman before, in my own life, and I could assure her they never end in happiness. Perhaps I ought not to be confiding all this in you, a stranger, but from what Beth tells me, I know that we both have her welfare at heart--'

  This soul unburdening was cut short by a knock at the door. A neighbour for whom Nanny was doing some sewing had called to collect it.

  I took my leave, meaning to ask Jack if he could remember which play we had seen Adrian in. The picture Nanny had painted of the handsome actor was not encouraging and I couldn't shake off an unhappy feeling that the prospects for Beth's future were not exactly heartening.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I was busy in the kitchen when Sergeant Con Wright appeared at the back door.

  'I tried the front - but you didn't hear me.'

  Thane bounded to the door and, inviting the sergeant to come in, I shook my head wryly.

  'The bell is somewhat temperamental.' Out of loyalty I didn't add that this was just another on Jack's waiting list of household repairs. Thane was making a great fuss of the sergeant and seemed to find his uniform intriguing. 'I expect it's all those smells of foreign places,' he laughed.

  'Leave him be, Thane,' I said sternly.

  'No, no, maybe he recognises me.'

  'How could that be?'

  Again he laughed, patting Thane's head. 'We had a deerhound once, just the image of him, when I was a lad over in Fife. He was great with us children, and when he left us I never wanted another dog, unless I could have one like him.' He shook his head regretfully. 'But he's not quite the right breed for a single man in police lodgings in Edinburgh - are you, old chap?' And turning to me, 'It's perfect for him here with the hill and all.'

  I wanted to ask him more about that lost deerhound. Had he died, or just disappeared, as Doctor Everson had told me often happened? However, the sergeant's eager expression said he had good news.

  'I've just been in and he seems very much better, Mrs McQuinn. Getting along well and taking a great interest in things again. Asked me to pick up his file - he said you would know the one he meant - and to get him some nightshirts; he's sick of wearing hospital gowns.'

  Leaving him to make a fuss of Thane, I went upstairs to Jack's wardrobe, took out some garments that I thought would please him and collected the Jacobite file.

  Con thanked me and said, 'He's keen to get back on the job. Wants to know all the latest details about that murder enquiry at Duddingston. Especially as there's been a new development. We've traced a relative of the maid Molly Hinton.'

  My heart leapt - could this be the bogus maid? He went on, 'She is being very helpful with the enquiries, was in constant correspondence with her aunty, that's how we got her address--'

  'Where is she now?'

  'Staying at the house next door to Mrs Lawers. With Mrs Dodd. Intends to stay until the funeral.' And gathering up the two parcels for Jack he said, 'I had better go now, sorry to have taken up so much of your time, Mrs McQuinn.' Another pat for Thane. 'But it's been great meeting you, old chap. You take me right back to happy days.' He sighed. 'All gone now, alas. Both my parents - and I was an only lad.'

  He had hardly closed the door when I rushed out to the barn, took out my bicycle and headed for Duddingston.

  At last, I thought, a vital clue!

  Amy Dodd greeted me eagerly. 'You'll never guess ...'

  And although I was aware of the details from the sergeant, I wasn't going to spoil her excitement about the new arrival.

  'Molly Hinton's kin. Name's Jane - she's out at the moment, won't be long. Just a stroll, a breath of fresh air. Keen on walking ...' And breathlessly she added, 'So if you're not too busy, why don't you just sit down and wait to meet her.'

  As those were exactly my intentions, I did so and asked, 'What does she look like?'

  Amy seemed surprised by this question. 'She's a lot younger than poor Molly - a niece in fact. And a lot stronger. A quite robust young woman--'

  That fitted the description of my attacker and the sound of footsteps in the passage indicated that the robust young woman was about to appear.

  Going to the door, Amy ushered me into the parlour. 'I'll be making a cup of tea.'

  I held my breath, waiting for this confrontation with the woman who had tried to kill me - as well as some logical excuses or explanations.

  She came in and removed her bonnet, Amy hovering ready to introduce us.

  We shook hands. This Miss Hinton was of medium height, plump and rosy with curly brown hair, which was enough for me to recognise instantly that this smiling young woman who greeted me bore not the slightest resemblance to the other Miss Hinton.

  I was both disappointed and relieved at the same time, since how I would have dealt with the scene I had envisaged was quite beyond me. She took a seat opposite and said, 'Oh, I am so glad to meet you, Mrs McQuinn. I gather from Aunt Molly's letters that poor Mrs Lawers thought highly of your services.'

  'You knew of me?' That was surprising.

  'Of course; as her only remaining kin, Aunt Molly and I wrote long letters to each other.' She paused and a shadow crossed her face. 'Aunty was a bit of a gossip and she told me everything that went on in the house. Nothing much else to write about, poor soul, seeing she couldn't get about much outside, being lame.'

  I remembered the club foot as she added, 'Aunty knew Mrs Lawers trusted you and that you had once helped her--'

  The door opened. Amy came in carrying a tray, and Jane went on, 'The police are very interested in her letters to me - after this awful tragedy. Asked to read them.' And biting back tears, she shook her head. 'I hope they get the man who did it, but those letters didn't help, mostly just family things.'

  'But she did talk about Mrs Lawers.'

  Jane Hinton smiled. 'Oh yes, it was her way of letting off steam, if you know what I mean. Mrs Lawers was good and kind but a bit, well - eccentric. She had many bees in her bonnet ...'

  'Did she tell your aunt anything about her background?'

  Amy put in, 'I always understood that your aunt and Mary were alone in the world.'

  Jane nodded, thought for a moment. 'We gathered that poor Mrs Lawers had only the one relative, a bachelor living up in the Highlands, as she called it. There was another, but Aunty said she didn't talk about him because he wasn't really family. He had been adopted ...'

  This was interesting, I thought, a new lead, a new
suspect, as she went on, 'He was a distant nephew, and we guessed that reading between the lines, or between the sheets,' she giggled, '- if you ladies will pardon the expression - he was a by-blow from the other side of the Lawers family. Mrs Lawers and her husband were first cousins, you know.'

  'Did this nephew ever come to visit her?' I asked.

  'Once or twice, I believe, and there was a great to-do according to Aunty, who guessed he was hoping to be left everything in her will. Although "everything" didn't amount to much more than the house - and a package of old papers which she guarded with her life.'

  And lost it because of them, I thought sadly.

  Jane's statement had cleared up some of the issues, but I was still no nearer finding out the identity of the bogus Miss Hinton. The only plausible reason was that this unpleasant nephew had a female accomplice.

  At the kitchen table I made a note in my logbook of the meeting with Jane Hinton and noted certain vital theories, including the somewhat obvious connection with that missing nephew.

  If only John Lawers in Lochandor had been amenable and not met such an unfortunate end, he might have been able to shed some light on this family scandal. Certainly Mrs Lawers believed him to be a bad lot and, according to Molly Hinton, after her money. This doubtless included possession of the legacy resting in my sideboard drawer.

  I threw down my pen. So where was this mysterious nephew lurking now? Was he still in Edinburgh?

  I now identified him as Amy's 'bullying man', whose threats she had overheard, determined to obtain the legacy. Threats being to no avail, he had finally lost his temper and knocked them to the ground. Two frail old ladies, one of whom was lame, would have put up little resistance. He then smothered them and, arranging the murder scene to look like a faulty gas connection, began a frantic search of the premises.

  The only other person who seemed interested in the house, apart from the morbidly curious, was the Frenchman. Not being on speaking terms with Mrs Lawers and being despised by her was hardly a motive for murder. Regarded by everyone as an eccentric and a recluse, he must have hated those policemen prying into his affairs. An unlikely suspect, I felt a sneaking sympathy for him.

  But where did I come into all this, what was my role in this scheme of things? It had all happened in a short space of time and when I returned ill from Lochandor the two women were already dead - but for how long had they lain unobserved before Amy Dodd made the grim discovery? There were conceivably times unaccountable for even to the police.

  Perhaps rifling through the drawers had revealed that Mrs Lawers had been a client of mine. Had he guessed that she might have entrusted the documents to a lady investigator and, with his victims already dead, engaged his female accomplice to relieve me of the legacy on the train journey?

  And from my angle, the most important detail was missing. Not the present whereabouts of the chief suspect, the villainous nephew, but the chilling thought that lurking somewhere in the district was the bogus Miss Hinton.

  Wherever she was, she now knew that I still held the vital package. Having uncovered its contents I decided that the safest place of concealment was the secret room until Mr Hayward, the historian, produced the other half of the torn map left by a refugee or a spy in his flight from Solomon's Tower.

  Uneasily, I wondered: how did she know that I was living in that ancient dwelling at the foot of Samson's Ribs? Did she even know of DI Macmerry's existence?

  Hardly a consolation that he was at present disabled, lying in the infirmary. Of course, I had Thane to protect me, but I had now added the precaution of keeping the derringer loaded and close at hand, and I certainly wasn't afraid to use it if necessity arose.

  I still had my letter of authority from Jack and accordingly set off next morning to call on Mr Hayward at his home in the west end of Edinburgh. Despite the library being unable to give me his details, finding someone when armed only with their name is an important skill for a lady detective and some gentle enquiries at the university had produced the professor's address. Parking my bicycle, I walked up the stately steps of number 7 Melville Crescent.

  Alas, I was out of luck. There was no reply, so I scribbled a message that the map was urgently required by DI Macmerry. When would it be convenient for me to call and collect it, or could it be delivered as soon as possible to Solomon's Tower?

  With that unsatisfactory arrangement I had to be content. There was nothing else I could do, staring helplessly at the line of windows in the grand terrace all gazing down coldly upon unwanted callers. Their lofty regard and closed shutters on Mr Hayward's house hinted at a lengthy absence.

  This terrace was not a place that encouraged nosy or even friendly neighbours and I could hardly imagine myself instigating a door-to-door enquiry. However, fortune decided to shine on me. As I was walking down the steps a solemn bespectacled young man briskly approached. I mentioned Mr Hayward, he shook his head and pointed to the letters he was delivering.

  'Away from home. Off to Aberdeenshire for the shooting - we're expecting him back any day now.'

  With no indication as to who 'we' referred to and a stern expression which forbade any further enquiry, at least I now had a time gauge.

  * * *

  I returned home to find a message had been left for me. Mr and Mrs Blaker had returned. They were now in residence and would be delighted to make my acquaintance. One cheery light in the gloom. I was about to meet Meg at last.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  She stood at the door at Mrs Nora Blaker's side. I went forward, extended my hand, and a lot of thoughts rushed through my mind as I gathered that small chubby hand into mine.

  Relief flooded over me. She was so obviously Jack's child, a small female edition in his image, with sandy hair, bright hazel eyes and a wide mouth. When Jack saw her again, infancy vanished into a little girl, his misgivings that he had been trapped into that short loveless marriage could be stilled for ever.

  I smiled delightedly but she was not prone to smiles.

  As we assessed each other in that first cautious encounter, she regarded me solemnly. Was the next move up to me? But I was at a disadvantage. True, I had nephews and nieces from my stepbrother Vince in London and my sister Emily in Orkney, distant and therefore rarely, if ever, met, but this was a new experience, making the acquaintance of a three-year-old.

  Gazing at Meg I knew better than to rush forward and seize her in a fond embrace that would embarrass and terrify both of us. Children, I realised, should be left to make the first overtures after careful contemplation and cautious consideration of these monuments of humanity towering over them. Smaller than average, nearer the ground with my four feet ten inches, was that in my favour as she looked at me so gravely from the side of the two tall people who were to be her new parents?

  Her eyes wandered to my wild yellow curls and less-than-elegant appearance. A flicker of comparison perhaps.

  Meanwhile I had no idea what was expected of me, as we stood statue-like for what seemed a very long time, both, as it were, considering the next move.

  Mrs Blaker's gentle laugh broke the silence. 'This is Mrs McQuinn, Meg. She is a friend of your pa.'

  I gave the tiny hand a gentle squeeze. 'Rose - please call me Rose.'

  She was interested now. A quick glance at the tall couple for their approval, then she left them and came to me.

  She smiled and I choked, for even in miniature that smile was Jack's.

  'Rose,' she said, and stretching up a hand she touched a curl of my hair. 'Pretty.'

  It was a bond; I gulped. Only her father ever called that unruly mop 'pretty'.

  'Did you like the dolly your pa sent?'

  She looked away, nodded vaguely.

  'Oh, she loves it, don't you, Meg?' said Mrs Blaker encouragingly, leading the way through the hallway and up a splendid oak staircase into a handsome drawing room well appointed with soft sofas, plump cushions and an assortment of small tables made childproof by the removal of their precious orna
ments to lofty shelves and mantelpiece.

  Still holding Meg's hand I said, 'What a lovely room. Do you like your new home?'

  Another nod, frowning, evading eye contact. Mrs Blaker invited us to sit down and Meg hitched herself up on a sofa next to me.

  Mrs Blaker knelt down beside us, stroked back childish curls. 'Meg needs a little time to get used to things,' she said softly. 'She has the prettiest room in the house. Why don't you show your room to ... er, Rose, Meg dear?'

  A polite nod, a thoughtful glance in my direction; her tiny hand in mine, she led the way across the corridor.

  Mrs Blaker opened the door. The room was pretty, plenty of lace and satin, and pink everywhere, as befitted a small girl. There were dolls too - lots of elegant dolls, many dressed in the latest fashions. My heart failed me; small wonder she had been uncertain with Jack's gift perched alongside the richly garbed aristocrats of the doll world and looking like a poor relation.

  The Blakers lingered by the door. Piers Blaker, who had followed us upstairs, watched silently, having said not a single word beyond the polite bow at introduction. I wondered if the fostering idea had been his wife's, or maybe he was just overwhelmed by all this femininity.

  I caught his eye, smiled. Mrs Blaker touched a bell pull, and as he bowed and left us to it, a maid appeared.

  'Bring Meg some milk and a biscuit please. It is time for her tea, and her afternoon rest.'

  Meg darted an anxious look at me and sensing dismissal I said, 'Your pa will be coming to see you very soon.'

  A frown - she didn't understand very soon - and I added, 'In a few days.'

  I could hardly explain the delay as she still looked doubtful, frowning, and I wondered how much she remembered of Glasgow and who this man called 'Pa' really was.

  I followed Nora Blaker downstairs and the room seemed strangely empty without Meg's small presence. Mr Blaker was now sitting at his desk, busy with papers, and turned round to join us in the talk about Meg's adoption.