Ghost Walk Page 12

  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!

  Chapter Fourteen

  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 th
e 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.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Looking round the tea room of the Eildon Arms, I almost lost my nerve. It was as uninviting as the proprietor. Dingy and depressing with a preponderance of dark brown walls and dark brown tables and chairs, a room which had never seen the gesture of a woman’s hands in a cheering vase of flowers.

  A warning notice read, ‘No Alcohol or Spirits Served Here.’

  It could hardly have provided an enticing prospect for visitors to the Abbey and had it been unoccupied at that moment, I think I would have fled the dismal scene. However, taking courage from the presence of two women with a teapot and cups on the table before them, I sat down nearby.

  The elder of the two women smiled. ‘You have to press the bell near the fireplace there if you want service.’

  Thanking her I did so and a moment later a young lad entered. Obviously hastily recruited and by his surly expressions sharing the same sentiments as Donald, it went severely against the grain having to serve despised womankind in a public house, this hallowed realm of men.

  I ordered a pot of tea and no, nothing to eat. While I waited I considered what to do next and how to contact Constable Bruce with my new findings. It was obvious that as the stranger had not come to the inn here, he had spent those intervening hours in the sentry room at the Abbey with its sordid hints at recent occupation.

  Outside the rain persisted relentlessly. Had it lessened even a modicum, I think I would have given up waiting and braved the deluge. Indeed I had almost made up my mind to do so, when the surly one arrived with a teapot, cup and saucer and a bowl of sugar and set them with an air of disapproval before me.

  It was then I discovered that he had omitted the milk jug needed for what looked like a well-stewed pot of tea brewed some hours earlier and, I suspected, reheated when necessary. However, I felt unable to run the gauntlet once more of those disapproving faces in a return to the public bar.

  At the next table, the younger woman with a small child was taking her leave so I seized the opportunity of going over and asking if I might borrow the milk jug.

  ‘Of course, please take it.’

  Pouring some into my cup I returned it politely.

  The woman smiled and pointed to the window. ‘Easing off a bit now, thank goodness,’ and as I was obviously a stranger to the Inn’s tea room, she added, ‘Taking refuge from the weather, are you?’

  When I said yes, she nodded towards the closed door. ‘They’re not very hospitable. Hardly provide fare for visitors. All very rough and ready. But it’s the best we can do until we can provide a proper tea room or café. But you see our visitors are like yourself, mostly in summer –’

  Then looking at me curiously, she said triumphantly, ‘Wait a moment, I know who you are. You’re Miss Faro, Jack Macmerry’s fiancée.’

  ‘That is so,’ I said weakly. Once again, it seemed that Jack’s mother had been very busy making sure no one knew my dread secret and it was on the tip of my tongue to correct her. Then I thought of the tedious explanation, of being a widow and so forth. I let it go.

  ‘This is your first visit to Eildon.’

  So that was common knowledge, too. I wondered if there were any secrets of our relationship unknown to them.

  ‘Look, why don’t you join me?’ she said indicating the empty chair at her table. ‘It’s no fun sitting in this dismal room alone –’

  Accepting her invitation, I had just moved over when the sound of a horse-drawn carriage had her rushing over to the window.

  A glimpse of black horses, a hearse and a coffin.

  ‘That’s poor dear Mrs Aiden. They’re taking her back to Peebles. She’d have wanted that – to be laid to rest with her own family.’

  Coming back to the table, she sat down, dabbing at her eyes. ‘Poor dear lady. We were great friends. After my ma died, she was like a second mother to me. She will be sadly missed by everyone in Eildon, whether they were Catholic or not. It was all one to her.’

  She was frowning, biting her lip, in the manner of one who has something on her mind and is undecided about sharing it.

  ‘That awful accident, so close to poor Father McQuinn’s heart attack. It doesn’t seem right, somehow, both of them going so quickly.’ She shrugged. ‘I keep wondering – oh, I don’t know.’

  Now her wondering was interesting to me. ‘Did you think there was something unusual –?’ I began.

  ‘Indeed yes. I keep remembering and I’m so worried, you see – well, the whole thing –’ she sho
ok her head ‘– it just wasn’t like her.’

  Pausing she looked across at me as if I might have some consolation to offer. ‘After the wake for the Father I knew she would be terribly upset. I didn’t go – I’m not a Catholic. But I knew I’d never sleep that night after all that had happened. Ned, my man, is a railway guard and he was on night duty, so I waited till our wee lad was settled. He’s ten now and used to looking after himself.’

  And shaking her head, she sighed deeply. ‘I was – uneasy – somehow. So I went back to the church house to make sure she was all right – and I suppose to see if there was anything I could do to comfort her. I’d offer to stay the night if she needed me, although she’d said earlier that she wasn’t afraid of sleeping in the house with poor Father McQuinn lying in his coffin.’

  Staring at the window she said, ‘It was about midnight when I went across and – well, there was something odd. The house was in darkness but the door was open. I went into the hallway. Then I heard voices coming from the kitchen. The door was closed but she had a visitor already. She was talking to someone, a man’s voice and I heard him cough.’

  Again she paused. ‘With my hand on the door I suddenly changed my mind. I didn’t want to intrude on them.’

  And looking at me as if for approval, she said, ‘I thought it might have something to do with the Father’s death, the arrangements for his funeral and so forth. Or perhaps the new priest who was coming to help him had arrived earlier than he was expected. Whoever it was, she had company, she didn’t need me and she’d be all right. So I crept away thinking I’d be seeing her tomorrow morning.’ And burying her head in her hands, she began to weep. ‘But tomorrow was too late,’ she whispered through her tears. ‘She was dead when I got there – that dreadful unnecessary end.’

  She shook her head. ‘I could hardly believe it had happened like that. You see, she was always such a neat, tidy housewife and so careful about being on the lookout for anything that might cause an accident. I can’t imagine her neglecting that stair carpet. Did you see it – torn like that?’