A Spell of Murder

by Kennedy Kerr

  ‘I know, but I feel terrible.’ Temerity sniffed.

  ‘Terrible, terrible. Murdered!’ Hebrides squawked.

  ‘Hebrides! Not now!’ Tilda scolded the parrot, who made a clicking noise and returned to eating his seeds. ‘Is the Constable all right? You said he came out on a stretcher.’

  ‘He’s all right, apparently. Just minor smoke inhalation, so he’ll have a cough for a little while, but that’s all. He did pass out just as he got outside the building, though.’ Temerity didn’t add that when she had seen Angus being wheeled out with an oxygen mask on his face, her heart had skipped a beat and a terrible sense of dread had filled her. She also didn’t describe the relief she felt when the Inspector had called her earlier in the morning to let her know that the Constable was all right and to enquire after her own health.

  ‘So, d’you think Liz was the murderer?’ Tilda made Temerity sit down at the kitchen table and sat opposite her, holding both her hands.

  ‘It’s the only logical conclusion. She panicked when she saw that someone had been in the shed. She must have suspected it was Angus and me; we’d visited unannounced. Liz could easily have doctored the love potion Lady Dalcairney made for Ben McKinley and she could have lied about him stealing the mirror.’

  ‘Good grief.’ Tilda shook her head.

  ‘She didn’t want us to see what she was up to, so she enchanted the scrying mirror – probably one she’d stolen from Lady Dalcairney and blacked out herself to turn it into a witch’s mirror – and gave it to Ben when he visited that day. Muriel was used to Liz being courier for Lady Dalcairney’s powders and potions, now that the Lady was more or less bedridden,’ Temerity continued.

  ‘Liz! Murdered!’ Hebrides repeated, flapping his wings.

  ‘He’s getting upset. Picking up on your emotions,’ Tilda said, clicking at the parrot and holding out her wrist. ‘Hebrides. Come to Tilda. Cuddles.’

  Hebrides flew to Tilda, who stroked his wings gently and crooned a little tune until he settled.

  ‘But I don’t understand why Liz wanted to kill Molly Bayliss – or keep Lady Dalcairney under her control, either,’ Tilda continued in a quiet voice, handing her sister a muffin with her spare hand. ‘Go on, eat. You’re too thin.’

  ‘That’s what we need to find out still, about Molly, anyway.’ Temerity frowned. ‘I got a feeling when I was in that shed. There was terrible loss, sadness. Jealousy, too. Maybe Liz was jealous of Lady Dalcairney. You know, the haves and have-nots. Liz was a maid there all her life. It must have made her bitter. Taking care of the rich all her life.’

  ‘Hmmm. I don’t know,’ Tilda mused, drawing the bowl of seeds to her so that Hebrides could eat them again. ‘She could have found another job. Something kept her there. I think she was in love with the Laird and he didn’t love her. Remember? The Inspector told you Liz and the Laird went to parties together, even though she was in service at the time. Alf told me once that David Dalcairney broke a few hearts in the village when he was younger.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Temerity said. ‘But that doesn’t explain it. Why kill his mother and a teacher she had no connection to?’

  ‘Maybe the Laird was having an affair with Molly,’ Tilda suggested. ‘Liz was jealous.’

  ‘He was a bit old for her.’ Temerity made a face. ‘If I’m being honest, I don’t see it.’

  ‘But he’s a powerful man. Rich, titled. Molly might have gone for him.’

  Hebrides made a rude noise.

  ‘There’s been no suggestion they were seeing each other, but I suppose it’s possible…’ Temerity mused. ‘I’ll mention it to the Inspector. But now he’s got Ben McKinley in lock up, he thinks the murder’s been solved. The fire was an unfortunate accident.’

  ‘Really? What about the shed, the Russian dolls?’

  ‘Coincidence for the dolls and one person’s spiritual proclivities. He says the shed obviously belonged to Liz; she might well have been up to no good, cursing the Lady, but they’re both dead, so case closed. That information hasn’t been released to the public. He doesn’t want to add fuel to the gossip mill. No point bringing it all up now, he says.’ Temerity shrugged.

  ‘Protecting the Dalcairney name.’ Tilda shook her head.

  ‘Well, not necessarily.’ Temerity had thought of that, but she didn’t think that was what was going on. ‘There is no point going over all that if you genuinely believe that what happened at the house wasn’t connected to Molly Bayliss’s murder.’

  ‘But you don’t believe that, do you, Tem?’ Tilda peered into her sister’s eyes. They both had brown eyes, but Temerity’s were deep brown and Tilda’s were more of a hazel. Temerity shook her head.

  ‘No. They’re connected, but I don’t know how. And it’s suspicious that Sally wasn’t there when the fire happened.’

  ‘The one who hates you,’ Tilda observed. ‘But she wasn’t supposed to be there, you said. Night shift.’

  ‘I know, but it’s suspicious that the fire starts at about the same time she would have left to go home, isn’t it?’ Temerity brooded.

  ‘I’m sure the Inspector will check it out,’ Tilda said.

  ‘Liz. Murdered,’ Hebrides said, followed by one of his little songs; part of a jingle he’d picked up from the radio. You’ve tried the rest now try the best: Abercrommmm-beeees!

  ‘Hebrides, shhh.’ Tilda shushed the parrot. ‘I’m going to let him out for a fly. I think he needs it. Go and do some work.’

  ‘Hmmm.’ Temerity played with the paper muffin case. ‘If I take my mind off things, a connection might appear.’ She thought of her multiplying inbox as clients from all over the world emailed her with their provenance requests.

  ‘Probably a good idea,’ Tilda agreed as she went to the back door and opened it, letting in a burst of wind. Hebrides flew out. ‘There. That should help him settle down. I’m going for a bath.’

  Temerity hardly noticed her sister as she padded back through the kitchen and up the stairs. She had opened her laptop and was looking at her emails. The first one was from Angus Harley.

  33

  Dear Temerity,

  I’m in Edinburgh at General Register House, where they’ve been helping me continue researching Molly Bayliss’s family. I thought you would want to know what I found out and the Inspector says it’s okay for you to know, as long as it’s kept confidential.

  It seems likely that Molly Bayliss was David and Emma Dalcairney’s daughter. As you’ll see from the attached certificate, Emma Dalcairney gave her maiden name of Ross on the birth certificate. Your visions of the stag were correct – there was a connection between Molly and the Dalcairneys.

  We can surmise that the then-pregnant Emma obviously didn’t drown in the loch, but left David Dalcairney. Either they had a row and she left and maybe he started the rumour that she had drowned, or she left and he believed the rumour started by someone else.

  ‘Well, I didn’t see that coming.’ Temerity muttered to herself as she read the scanned birth certificate attached to Angus’ email.

  She went back to the email.

  Emma gave Molly up for adoption as soon as she was born and Molly grew up with the Bayliss family in Ayr. She was adopted as a baby.

  They were very upset when I spoke to them on the phone earlier. The family hadn’t spoken to her for a few months; she’d fallen out with them when she left Ayr for Lost Maidens Loch. They didn’t say what the argument was about and it was difficult to ask – I’d just told them their daughter was dead, after all.

  However, Mrs Bayliss did say something I thought you’d find interesting. When Molly was quite young, this middle-aged woman had turned up on the doorstep saying she was Molly’s natural aunt. She had some kind of paperwork with her that made them believe she was genuine (I don’t know what this was and Molly’s mum couldn’t remember, only that it seemed official). She visited Molly a few times and brought her presents. Said she was a nice woman, Scottish, conservatively dressed and wore a thistle pin on her cardi
gan.

  ‘Liz!’ Temerity exclaimed and sat back, amazed. It certainly sounded like her. Had Liz been the one that had given Molly the Russian doll? Temerity had seen in her vision something of that memory: it could have been her.

  If Liz Maitland had visited Molly Bayliss as a child and given her the Russian doll that had sigils drawn inside it, what was the purpose of those visits? To monitor her development, maybe? To keep an eye on her, maybe on the Laird’s instruction? But why the sigil? It had felt restrictive and dark to Temerity. Not something protective and good.

  We have no way to prove that Liz was the visitor, of course, especially now that she has passed away, although I will visit the Bayliss house in person and see if Mrs Bayliss can identify Liz from a photograph.

  It seems likely that the shed was Liz’s, given the doll connection. And, now that we have a renewed connection between Liz and Molly Bayliss – and the new knowledge of Molly’s parentage – the Inspector is reopening the case.

  We will keep McKinley in custody for now, as he certainly had some involvement in the murder.

  However, as you can appreciate, there are now complexities that should be explored.

  I’ll see you soon but the Inspector (and I!) wanted to get this news to you as soon as possible, in the event that you had any other insights.

  I will be attending the funeral, as I think you and Tilda will, so I will look forward to seeing you there or before,

  My regards,

  Angus

  If nothing else, this is proof that I should read my emails daily, Temerity thought, as the details from Angus’s email embedded themselves in her mind.

  If Molly Bayliss was Molly Dalcairney, then she was the heir to the Dalcairney estate after the Laird’s death, as the child from the first marriage. There was a son, Anthony, in London. The son of the second Lady Dalcairney, Claire.

  The Laird had been ill. Temerity didn’t know exactly how ill, but she guessed that if his condition was reasonably bad, then inheritance started to become a potential reason for murder.

  Temerity chewed the end of a pencil thoughtfully, then pressed Reply.

  Dear Angus,

  Thanks for the email. Most illuminating. Questions:

  Can we find Emma Ross? If we can talk to her about why she left Dalcairney, I feel that it might shed a lot of light on the investigation.

  Ditto Claire, the second Lady Dalcairney. Liz told me once that Claire lived in Italy.

  What do we know about Anthony? Could he have found out that Molly existed and threatened his inheritance?

  What do you know about the Laird’s health? If he has something serious, I’m sure, like me, you will have realised that this whole case could be about inheritance.

  More of a comment than a question: I believe it’s considered bad form to arrange a date at a funeral. I’m a witch, not a ghoul.

  Best regards,

  Temerity

  She stared at her laptop for a few moments, then pottered upstairs to Tilda’s library.

  She had some research to do.

  34

  It took a while to find the right ones, but eventually Temerity found the Laird’s name in her mother’s Book of Shadows.

  There was a row of notebooks in varying sizes that ranged along one of Tilda’s shelves. Some were plain black or green or blue, held closed with a rubber band; some were more ornate, with patterned covers. However, all of them contained her mother’s slanted handwriting, diagrams and drawings.

  The cats, Scylla and Charybdis, snaked around her ankles as if they were deliberately trying to trip her up.

  ‘Carrie-cat! Scylla!’ Temerity chastised them, but they ignored her. It was unusual for them to be so active; on the whole, they resented having to get out of their fluffy cat beds to eat, never mind be playful. Temerity looked out of the sash window – there wasn’t a storm coming in, either. ‘What are you so interested in?’ she mused. ‘Do you want to see Mum’s books?’

  She sat down on the floor and opened up the notebook in her hand. The cats purred and pushed their heads against the books, scent-marking them. Scylla reached out a paw and seemed to stroke the pages, but Charybdis butted the book with her head suddenly so that it fell on the floor.

  ‘Naughty!’ Temerity tutted and picked up the notebook.

  A Book of Shadows was the name popular since the resurgence of modern witchcraft in the 1960s of a magical record: a journal of sorts that tracked a practitioner’s dreams, vision work, ritual, seasonal celebrations and other related information.

  The book had fallen open on a page which read like a diary entry and Temerity raised her eyebrow in disbelief when she scanned the page and found David Dalcairney’s name. She frowned at the cats, who purred and nestled against her.

  ‘Thanks.’ She stroked their heads and read the page.

  May 5

  We received David Dalcairney again today. He is a seeker of wisdom, he says and is a broken man. He has lost his wife in mysterious circumstances. Rumours say that she’s dead, but I scryed for her presence in the spirit world and Rory and I enacted a calling to her spirit, but there was no answer. I have the strong feeling that she is alive and have told Dalcairney this, but he is too deep in despair to believe me. (Note: Hebrides squawked, Alive, alive! when I asked him. He is becoming a knowledgeable and trusted familiar.)

  He says he thinks there is a curse on him, though I could not detect one with an initial scrying. I offered to undo it. I asked David who would have set this curse on him? He said he didn’t know, but I detected something hidden about him. He is a very charming man, even in his grief, but there is something underneath it.

  I have suggested to him that he comes to us regularly to be trained. He has a natural gift for magic: a strong imagination, a strong league of spirit around him (his ancestry, for the most part), a strength of character. If he gains in craft and power, he is all the more likely to be able to lift this curse himself. He has agreed.

  Temerity flicked further through the book, looking for David Dalcairney to be mentioned again. Her gaze was caught by her regular acronyms recorded in her mother’s slanted handwriting; she surmised that DD meant David Dalcairney.

  June 1

  DD came for what we have jokingly started calling a coven meeting. We are also working with Elen, who had already come to us for training and taken her witch name. We started on some of the basics, setting space and the elemental powers. The energy was good between us all. DD seemed withdrawn at first and then lost his inhibitions. Elen has few inhibitions to begin with.

  Temerity wondered who the person described as Elen was and whether she still lived in the village. She read on.

  June 21, Midsummer

  DD and Elen joined us for a solstice celebration. As the weather was good, we went out onto the moors and enjoyed what turned out to be a very spirited affair. DD and Elen have a definite chemistry and Rory and I both felt that they enjoy being able to express it within the confines of our little group. We have talked to them about attraction and magical power and how magical partnering differs greatly from friendship and romantic relationships. They seemed to understand, though DD is more reluctant than Elen to put aside his hang-ups about the social niceties.

  We stayed up to see the sunrise over the moors and were blessed to see the sun catch the old menhirs at Kirkgraig Ring.

  Temerity flicked through the pages leading to the end of that notebook; the cats had by now spread out, dozing, on the carpet. She wished the diary entries were more detailed, but it sounded as though the Laird had certainly been more involved with magic than she thought. He hadn’t mentioned anything about the regular meetings her mother was describing.

  The last entry in that notebook was written in Temerity’s father’s upright handwriting.

  August 18

  Dalcairney has ‘given us our notice’ and will not be attending our meetings henceforth. He has not given us a reason why, but we suspect it is something concerning Elen, who is continuing
the training. Maria is disappointed he will not be continuing on the path, but I am somewhat relieved. I do not know if Maria and I should be teaching magic to these village folk, Laird or otherwise.

  Rory Love had always been the more conservative and cautious of her parents, Temerity thought as she closed the notebook thoughtfully. What had happened to put David Dalcairney off his magical training? How far had he got? And who was Elen, who, she assumed, had continued with whatever her parents had taught?

  35

  The bells of St Peter’s Church echoed across the flat surface of Lost Maidens Loch, which was shrouded in heavy mist.

  Temerity stood next to Tilda inside the small stone church where, it seemed, the whole village had gathered to pay their respects to Liz Maitland and Lady Dalcairney. Next to them in the long wooden pew, Alf Hersey and Harry Donaldson rubbed shoulders with Muriel from The Singing Kettle and Ms Hardcastle, the school Headmistress. Temerity caught Angus’s eye across the aisle; he stood next to the Inspector and Mrs Hyland, a rather glamorous woman in her early sixties with softly curled blonde hair, red lipstick and a smart black skirt suit.

  There were the usual stares as they walked in; dressing in black, even though it was customary for a funeral, just made Tilda and Temerity look that much witchier. Temerity caught Kerry Cohen’s eye, who looked away without smiling. She hadn’t mentioned that day at the library to Tilda; what would have been the point? She didn’t want to hurt her sister’s feelings.

  ‘Did Liz have much family?’ Temerity whispered as the pews continued to fill up; soon there was only standing room at the back.