Ghost Walk (13 page)

When I came down, Thane was still investigating cracks in the stone floor. I could see nothing. Dark and gloomy, I hated the foetid odour, smells which indicated that it had been used for less pleasant purposes than a temporary sleeping place.

I called to Thane who seemed reluctant to abandon his
inspection
of that bare stone floor. Later I was to regret not sharing his enthusiasm for a more careful search.

As we left the sentry room and went back down the spiral stair, I had the satisfaction of having solved one mystery.

This was most likely where Father McQuinn’s killer had spent those missing hours while he lay in wait to murder his next
victim
: Mrs Aiden.

Constable Bruce would no doubt be very interested in my findings, I decided, as we set off in the direction of the police
station
.

Thane had no need of a rope. I knew he was happy to be free of restraint as he walked close to my side but the absence of a lead
clearly alarmed some of those we met who were of a nervous
disposition
.

After all, he was a very large dog and I was conscious that he was almost as tall as myself.

‘You’re walking very well, Thane,’ I said, ‘all things
considered
.’

He looked up at me. Indicating his now healed paw I said:

‘How did you manage that?’

He looked away. In a human I would have said, he shook his head, if dogs were capable of such gestures.

The reactions of the cows in the Abbey field I considered quite normal. But at our approach some of the village ladies who had dogs on leads looked mildly hysterical, seeing that he could have gulped down some of their small charges in one mouthful.

But what interested me most was the reaction of the dogs themselves. Large and small alike, they did not approach him, or bark warningly, depending on their dispositions. They merely melted obligingly and respectfully into the sidewalks as if royalty progressed through their midst.

By their behaviour I realised that dogs, perhaps cows and all animals, recognised the mysterious quality in Thane that was quite beyond human interpretation. Some additional sense, some fragment of consciousness lost long ago.

We reached the police station without incident. To find there was no one at home. At least that was the impression we were to be given, although I could have sworn that the lace curtain twitched and Mrs Bruce remained silent behind it.

Perhaps her children were having a midday nap. Perhaps she was afraid of large dogs. Or was it more likely that she was afraid I was to be a bad influence on her husband and might, by our mutual efforts, succeed in putting a dangerous criminal – a
murderer
– behind those frail bars in the prison cell!

Back at the farm, Mrs Macmerry was watching our approach along the lane. ‘You haven’t got That Dog on a rope,’ she said accusingly, pointing out the obvious.

‘He isn’t used to walking with a lead,’ I replied.

She sniffed. ‘All dogs except for our two and Rex have to have leads whether they like it or not, and That Dog is no different from any others.’

I smiled and thought, how surprised she might be if she knew the truth.

Taking my smile as defiance she said, ‘There’s soup waiting for you and tea in the pot. Once you’ve tied That Dog up again.’

Smiling sweetly, I said that was my intention.

And Mrs Macmerry marched indoors, her lips tighter than ever, looking a little disappointed at my lack of argument as if she had been hoping for a disagreement and spoiling for a fight.

After seeing Thane settled once more and promising him another walk soon, I went into the kitchen to be met by a
delicious
smell of baking.

Jack’s father was seated at the table with the weekly local
newspaper
spread before him.

As I sniffed the air appreciatively he grinned. ‘That’s your
wedding
cake, lass. Jess has a friend in the village who is great at
decorating
. All three tiers.’ And then with a guilty look, he added, ‘I wasn’t supposed to tell you. It was to be a secret.’

I smiled and said consolingly, ‘I’ll pretend that we never had this conversation and knew nothing about a wedding cake.’

We heard footsteps and I immediately sat down at the table and we both tried to look innocent.

‘Perhaps you’d like to read all the local gossip,’ said Mr Macmerry.

‘Not much for a city lass, Andrew,’ said his wife, ‘there’s only
farm and church news, the parish pump at its best.’

‘True enough, Jess. But there’s something stronger for the headlines this week. Look at this.’

Mrs Macmerry leaned over his shoulder and read, “Body of an Unknown Man near Berwick.” Well, I never. Wait till I find my glasses –’

‘Don’t bother, I’ll read it for you, Jess. “The body of an unknown man was found on the railway embankment near Berwick Railway Station. The police are investigating a suicide or the possibility that he fell by accident from the evening train to London from Edinburgh on Monday.”’

‘Oh, that was the day before our Jack came home,’ said Mrs Macmerry dramatically.

‘Listen to this,’ Mr Macmerry went on, ‘“A railway guard reported that the communication cord was pulled soon after the train left Berwick Station. When he went to investigate the
compartment
was empty and the carriage door down to the railway line was lying open. He saw nothing amiss but reported the
incident
to the rail authorities, as was customary. It now transpires that this was within a short distance of where the man had made his death leap.”’

‘Would you believe it, Andrew, that’s the very same train our Jack gets when he comes to see us. You’re not safe anywhere these days – as for those carriage doors –’ said Mrs Macmerry with a shudder, as if Jack might be a future victim of just such an
incident
.

A knock on the kitchen door announced Dr Dalrymple. ‘How’s my patient today?’ he asked Mr Macmerry and I learned what he had been at pains to conceal, that Jack’s father had a suspected heart condition. He was becoming increasingly breathless on the hill to the up-by field and just the other day he had taken what he described as a queer turn.

Mrs Macmerry was in a state of shock over this. Why hadn’t he told her, why had he kept it a secret? As if he had had a bad bout
as she described it, just to personally inconvenience her.

Dr Dalrymple was put out at this revelation and the
consternation
it had caused. ‘Andrew, I just looked in in passing. I
presumed
you had told Jess. I am sorry –’ he added, looking anxiously at Jess who was on the brink of tearful hysteria.

On the other side of the table Andrew remained calm and smiling, shaking his head, stoutly maintaining that it was nothing for any of us to worry about.

‘Let me be the judge of that,’ said the doctor sternly. ‘Now, now, Jess – there, there. Don’t upset yourself,’ he added with poorly concealed impatience.

As he opened his bag and withdrew a stethoscope, I tactfully withdrew to my bedroom feeling that the scene I had left
suggested
that he might now have two patients on his hands and would be handing out pills to both instead of the one he had come to visit.

I left my door open until I heard him leaving.

Smiling as I came downstairs, he waited in the hallway and, taking my reappearance as natural concern for his patient, he said:

‘He’ll be fine, lass. Nothing I can see for you – or Jess here – to get alarmed about. Don’t worry, Andrew will be fighting fit for your wedding, aye and we’ll see him dandle his grandchildren yet.’

I followed him down the lane. He didn’t find it necessary to use a carriage, he said. Walking was good for him and for patients who lived further afield, well, he had a splendid horse who also needed the exercise.

I had a sudden idea and asked him if he could give me
something
for indigestion. I explained that I was a martyr to heartburn and that I was also sleeping badly.

He raked me over with a doctor’s shrewd gaze and shook his head. ‘First diagnosis, you’re too thin, lass, and not used to Jess’s grand meals, I expect. Second diagnosis, for what it’s worth, it’s
wedding nerves that’s wrong with you. Stop worrying about all those wedding arrangements, lass. Rest assured, it’ll all go like clockwork and you’ll sleep fine after your great day.’

To my wan smile, he added, ‘I can give you something from my dispensary if you’d like to come back with me. Just along the street.’

As I waited in the immaculate white-walled clinically-shelved room that would have done a hospital proud, he counted out pills, put them in neat little boxes and talked about the Macmerrys as if I needed reassurance about my future in-laws.

What a fine family they were, generations of splendid farm folk, while I racked my brains for a suitable opening to Mrs Aiden’s recent demise. Guiltily I realised I didn’t really need the pills either, well aware of the reason for my heartburn, but asking for a prescription had occurred to me as a fine subterfuge. I could hardly accost him in the surgery saying: ‘There’s nothing wrong with me, doctor, I simply wanted to ask you some questions.’

I certainly couldn’t admit I might be pregnant. The village
gossip
would certainly find its way back to Jack’s mother. So taking a deep breath, I interrupted the flow of reminiscences regarding boyhood days with Andrew Macmerry.

‘You have had a busy week, so far.’

He agreed, and I continued: ‘Was Mrs Aiden badly bruised by her fall?’

He stopped writing in his prescriptions book to stare at me over his spectacles. Obviously taken aback by such a question, he said: ‘Her neck was broken, lass. Wasn’t that enough?’

I wanted to say that there was not nearly enough evidence that her neck had been broken by falling down five stairs and that Constable Bruce and I had reason to suspect that her accident had been murder. But I held my tongue.

‘Here are your pills,’ he said handing me the boxes, just a trifle impatiently, refusing payment and when I insisted he said, ‘I’ll settle with Jack.’

He saw me out rather briskly, and I was very conscious that he was probably thinking Jack’s future wife was a bit odd.

That mismanaged interview was not to be my last embarrassing encounter for the day.

The sky had darkened. A sudden shower of rain turned into a veritable cloudburst. Still some distance from the farm I was unprepared for such an eventuality, having left the farm in
sunshine
, without a cloud in the sky, with no thought of either hat or umbrella.

Looking round, desperately searching for shelter, I spotted the Eildon Arms and, remembering that they boasted a tea room, I dashed inside.

And of course found myself in the Public Bar where a large selection of the male inhabitants enjoying their mid-day glass of ale stopped mid-sip to stare belligerently at this female intruder in their midst.

None more so than the owner Donald, who I had been warned about.

Coming towards me, he said very loudly so that all could hear: ‘Not in here, madam. No – ladies –’ (that produced a snigger all round!) and beaming on his customers he repeated: ‘No ladies permitted in the public bar, if you please.’

Outraged I stood my ground and faced up to him, all four feet ten inches of righteous indignation.

‘And where then does one make an enquiry regarding
accommodation
?’

‘Follow me.’ Somewhat mollified he led the way along a
corridor
into a reception area, with a second door that led out into the street and which I had not noticed in my hasty arrival.

Positioning himself behind the desk he said: ‘And when would you be wanting this room, madam?’

That was a tricky question. ‘Not for myself, for – for a friend who was arriving from Edinburgh two nights ago.’

Taking out a register he consulted it, frowned and said: ‘We had no guests that night.’

Squinting over the counter, it was obvious that there were no entries in the register for several days.

‘No matter,’ I said with a feeling of triumph, for that part of my question was answered.

Donald was frowning, giving me very odd looks indeed. Aware that I was floundering in very deep waters, I decided to make my exit with as much dignity as possible and drawing myself up to my full height once again, I added, ‘There must have been some misunderstanding, doubtless he will get in touch with us.’

‘You are not requiring a room for yourself, madam?’ he
sounded
disappointed at having lost a potential guest.

‘No. I have accommodation, thank you.’

A sudden gleam in his eye, a flash of recognition. He knew who I was. I could read his thoughts. What was Jack Macmerry’s bride-to-be doing testing out the Eildon Arms? Was she having problems with her future in-laws – already? There was no quick escape from an embarrassing situation. Beyond the window the rain was heavier now, running in streams down the street.

Beyond the desk I saw a glass door marked ‘Tea room’.

‘Are refreshments available?’

Closing the register in an impatient gesture he said coldly, ‘If you wish. Take a seat and I will send someone to take your order.’

‘A cup of tea will do excellently.’

Again the faintest gleam of interest. Why was Jack’s intended wanting a cup of tea in the village? Had she quarrelled with Jack Macmerry or his rather formidable mother?

As he walked away I guessed that my advent at the Eildon Arms would make interesting discussion for his cronies in the public bar which would hardly endear me to Mrs Macmerry when, as it would, the gossip reached her ears.

I realised uneasily that I was not making a success of my approaching wedding either and once Jack’s family got wind of my investigation of what I believed were two murders in their quiet village, I could hardly expect my popularity stakes to be high with my in-laws or their respectable friends and neighbours.

Not a very auspicious start to a happily married life for the future Mrs Jack Macmerry.