Dangerous Pursuits (A Rose McQuinn Mystery) Page 12

  A situation too good to last. Mutiny broke out over the choice of boots. Tessa hated the style and Torquil, not to be outdone, said the ones Nanny selected as suitable made his toes ache.

  Nancy in exasperation summoned an elderly and somewhat motherly shop assistant who had dealt with many such situations. She soon applied reason and persuasion by slipping some barley sugar into the argument.

  In our roles as bystanders, Nancy indicated the newspaper. 'Read that. Rose. The name of the man who was killed,' she whispered.

  I said, 'I already know he's Peter McHully-'

  There was no possibility of further discussion as the children, now mollified, were ready to leave. Instructing the shop assistant to parcel up the expensive coats and shoes, which thanks to their uncle's generosity had cost more than would have been necessary to clothe an entire family of ten for a year, we headed upstairs to the tearoom.

  As we waited for our order, with an eye on the children sitting on the opposite side of the table and swinging their feet from the chairs, Nancy whispered, 'I'm dying to tell you, but we can't talk here. It'll have to wait until we get back to the Tower. Perhaps we could have a chat before I leave.'

  And to the children, who were listening intently: 'Drink up your lemonade. We'll be going soon.'

  Tea, lemonade and scones consumed, signs of restlessness became evident in an outburst of horseplay between the children. Nancy wearily announced, 'Do behave. We'll be going soon.'

  'Now, Nanny. Now, please,' they chanted.

  The bill paid, also by kind courtesy of the General, we led the way downstairs through briefly glimpsed departments where Nancy and I without our small charges would have been greatly tempted to linger.

  As we attempted to leave through the swing doors, the children decided this was an unexpected lark and insisted on going round and round several times much to the exasperation of customers attempting to make dignified exits.

  Apologizing for their behaviour, we grasped small hands firmly, while Nancy stared up and down Princes Street.

  'I told him an hour. This is too bad.'

  When Nancy released them both to put on gloves and hand over some of the parcels, which I had offered to carry, the two little dears found a convenient lamp-post and chased each other round it.

  While I dealt firmly with that situation, my authority as a complete stranger being recognized more effectively than that of their nanny, Nancy peered up the street, anxiously watching for the carriage which - fortunately for all of us, and particularly for the less fortunate passers-by - appeared at that moment.

  The coachman was full of apologies. A coal cart had been upset, its contents strewn across the road delaying all traffic.

  Rose bundled the children inside and on to the seat opposite where they gathered up the picture books that had entertained them on the way from Carthew House, but their eyes darted eagerly towards the windows. I wasn't fooled by this apparent good behaviour, certain that they were containing themselves very well, but always on the alert for further opportunities of mischief.

  'It's like catching mice at a crossroads,' said Nancy with a weary sigh. 'I had no idea bringing them into town would be so exhausting.'

  Once or twice, keeping her voice low, Nancy whispered close to my ear, but all I got were the words 'Peter McHully was-' and lost the rest. I doubted whether, had she shouted at the top of her voice, I could have heard her above the noise of the horses' hoofs as the wheels clattered along the cobbled streets.

  As for myself, remembering how often and in what unpleasant weather conditions I had struggled back to Newington on my bicycle, I sat back against the comfortable leather upholstery. In no hurry, I was content to experience this small sample of luxury as enjoyed by wealthy Edinburgh citizens with carriages at their disposal.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Outside the Tower the coachman was told to wait. Nancy followed me indoors, the children despatched not unwillingly to play in the garden for a while.

  'Don't get dirty and don't make too much noise.'

  They dashed off shouting gleefully at this unexpected bout of freedom and, with a sigh, Nancy sat down at the table and spread out the newspaper.

  'At last. I've been dying to tell you. This Peter McHully - I wouldn't forget a name like that. Mrs Laing told me about him. He used to work in the stables at the Carthews'. A right bad lot.'

  Pictures were filtering through my mind, the scene of a man being shot down that I would never forget and the scene of two men in constables' uniforms talking earnestly, heads together, at the Pirates rehearsal...

  I was so excited by this threshold of discovery and revelation that I was losing the thread of Nancy's story.

  '...and Yvonne Binns wasn't much better.'

  ‘Who was Yvonne?’

  'Binns was her ladyship's personal maid,' Nancy explained patiently.

  'The one who went away to look after her sick mother?'

  Nancy shook her head. 'That's what Mrs Laing was told to say. But she told me in confidence that things had gone missing. She suspected that Yvonne was a thief, helping herself to her ladyship's jewels and getting McHully to sell them in Edinburgh. She'd seen him lurking about the stables. They obviously thought they'd get away with it since poor Lady Carthew seldom has cause to open her jewel box these days, or any reason to wear valuable necklaces, much less a tiara.

  'Then, according to Mrs Laing, one day there was a terrible row. She didn't hear all the details only that there were angry voices raised in the study. Next day, Lady Carthew told her Miss Binns had been sent for to look after her mother in England.'

  She paused dramatically. 'What a lie!'

  I decided that I must take a careful look at the cook-housekeeper's ears when we met, since they must have been especially adapted for applying to keyholes.

  'What was this Yvonne like?'

  Nancy shrugged. 'I hardly ever saw her. A fleeting glance on the stairs. Mrs Laing said she was a snob, thought herself too good to mix with servants.'

  I thought I detected a note of unmistakable regret at having missed the details of this heavy domestic drama as she went on:

  'Mrs Laing heard from the stable lads that after being sacked by the General, he'd got work at Leith docks. She was prepared to guess that he took Binns to live there with him. Married or not! Mrs Laing was quite shocked, I can tell you.'

  Again my mind did another rapid calculation. And this time I was baffled for even if McHully was also the bogus constable Smith it did not sound as if his victim would be Yvonne, his bride.

  More likely, considering his dubious character, he could have been hired, paid by the murderer to get rid of an unwanted wife, namely Nora Marks.

  'But the best is yet to come, Rose,' Nancy whispered. 'I didn't know the connection with Lady Carthew's maid, or any of this scandal, until Mrs Laing read about McHully in this morning's paper.'

  She paused dramatically. 'You see, I already know him. I meet him regularly. He works the stage lights at our Opera Society and as one of the men fell sick, he was offered a part as one of the constables in Pirates.

  'I can hardly wait until the next rehearsal,' she said excitedly. 'This news will be a sensation. What a small world it is, Rose.'

  It was indeed. And again into my mind flashed the picture of the two constables in uniform, the feeling of triumph that I was on the right track at last. For here was a simple explanation for the stolen uniform that had bedevilled me.

  How easy for McHully to take the cape and helmet home.

  I was certain I had the identity of the dead woman: Nora Marks, murdered by Peter McHully at her husband's instigation.

  No wonder Desmond was so sure of himself. Both murdered and murderer were now safely dead.

  Nancy got no further with her tale. Any speculations were cut short by screams from the garden.

  Torquil dashed in, closely followed by Tessa.

  'I found it!'

  'Give it back!'

  'Won't - it's m
ine,' roared Torquil.

  There were further screams and grapplings.

  'Children, children,' shouted Nancy, pulling them apart. 'Torquil, show me...' The little boy immediately thrust his hand behind his back. 'Torquil - at once.'

  A look of defiance.

  'If you don't give it to me this moment, I shall tell your uncle and there will be no fireworks party for you on Guy Fawkes Night.'

  This produced a wail from Tessa. 'It's my birthday - the fireworks are for me' she sobbed. 'Uncle promised.'

  The threat was enough to mollify Torquil who handed Nancy a key.

  A key I recognized. It was for my back door.

  I said, 'This belongs to me.'

  Nancy handed it over, demanding from Torquil, 'Where did you find it? Did you take it out of the door?'

  'No, Nancy. I mislaid it - I must have dropped it outside.' I had a sudden sense of shame for the fuss I had made, for my ridiculous theories...

  Except...

  'Please show me where you found it,' I said.

  Tessa sprang forward. 'It was me, Mrs McQuinn. It was lying on top of the garden wall - over there.'

  'Show me, please, Tessa.'

  Nancy was clearly baffled by all this as we dutifully followed the two children down the garden to where an ancient rose bush grew, sheltered by a projecting stone on the far wall which separated the Tower garden from the hill. Stubbornly surviving wind and weather, growing wilder year by year, this supposedly delicate plant was uninhibited by any gardener's attempts at cultivation. It bloomed late in the year, fat pink roses one associated with cherubs on a Rubens painting.

  'The key was there, Mrs McQuinn,' said Tessa putting out her hand. 'It was lying on that stone.'

  'You are sure?' I asked. Two heads nodded in reply.

  'There now. Just as well you found it, children,' said Nancy, giving me a questioning look.

  'Thank you,' I said but I was thinking about fingerprints, that new science which had helped me solve my first case. I looked at the key, thought of the tiny hands that had struggled over it and knew the result would be useless.

  'You must have dropped it, Rose,' said Nancy with her usual confidence. 'Someone found it on the hill and placed it there for you to find.'

  But I had a much more sinister interpretation that I was not prepared to discuss. I observed that a branch had been broken off and a rose hung loose from its stem, a clean break for which no storm had been responsible. As we walked into the Tower I carried the rose with me and placed it in a glass of water. It was after all my only evidence that someone had climbed the wall and left the key on the stone...

  An intruder who had opened my door last night, dropped it when he scrambled over the garden wall. By accident or design...

  At the exact spot where Thane had set up his crescendo of barking.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jack and I went to the theatre that evening to see Dan Leno, and as I laughed at this great comedian's antics, I realized I had almost forgotten what it was to be light-hearted and enjoy myself. To be one of a great throng of well-dressed people out on the town enjoying themselves.

  Merriment, bright lights... On the surface Edinburgh was in party mood, the beggars and poverty in the closes off the High Street and in Leith remote as something on a distant planet. I had laid aside my social conscience for a few hours. Who knows, perhaps Jack was right and I took life too seriously.

  And - dare I say it - walking over Waverley Bridge with the street lamps glowing along Princes Street, I could have convinced myself that my obsession with the dead woman I had found was a mistake.

  She had merely fainted. But that still didn't account for PC Smith, I certainly hadn't imagined him.

  Still, I resolved firmly to put such matters behind me on this lovely starlit evening. With a full moon rising we headed towards the Pleasance. There was no wind, the air was wine-clear and walking arm in arm we discussed the theatre, laughed at Dan Leno's jokes.

  As we approached the hill we saw groups of people, mainly men and boys, carrying bundles of sticks and logs, a long line heading to the crested top of Arthur's Seat. Jack told me that they were preparing for the annual Bonfire Night on 5th November, when effigies of the first Guy Fawkes would be ceremonially burned.

  'There'll be fireworks - and plenty of carousing. In my young day at Peebles the whole village was expected to add rubbish and any old broken wood to the blaze. After the guy was burned we roasted chestnuts in the embers of the fire and for days before the bairns went from door to door, collecting "a penny for the guy".'

  I had almost forgotten, and distant memories of Sheridan Place came back to me. Not that we ever had a bonfire in our garden, or were permitted to go to one. But I remembered other children in the neighbourhood and their excitement for days before.

  'We must go!' I said to Jack.

  He shrugged. 'You can go if you wish, but I'll be there anyway since the police have to put in an appearance, to keep order and the rowdy dangerous element in check. As always with bonfires, they can get out of control and there can be nasty accidents.'

  I told him about the Carthew children and how they were having fireworks too and incidentally I mentioned, quite casually, that they had found my missing key in the garden.

  'There now! Didn't I tell you it would turn up?' said Jack triumphantly. 'All that fuss when you must have dropped it taking your bicycle out of the barn. And you imagining all sorts of things, getting all worked up about nothing.'

  I smiled sweetly and let it go at that. I'd keep my darker thoughts to myself about exactly where it had been found. Certainly I hadn't dropped it at the far end of the garden on a flat stone, fifty yards away from the barn.

  Jack was going back to his lodging that night as he had to be up at four, something to do with a ship smuggling illegal imports. The police had a tip-off that it would be arriving at Leith on the early morning tide.

  I thought in the circumstances it would have been better to have had supper in Edinburgh after the theatre, but he was quite determined to see me safely home.

  'A glass of ale will suffice,' he said.

  I soon discovered the reason for his insistence. Sitting at the table he said casually, 'By the way, a woman's body was washed up last night. Down by Granton.'

  At last, I thought. The missing corpse.

  'Before you get excited, they believe this was a suicide or an accidental drowning. There were no marks of violence.'

  'How long had she been in the water?'

  Jack shook his head. 'We haven't seen the pathology report yet.'

  'I don't suppose there was any identification either, then.'

  'Nothing on her clothes and anything else would have been swept away by the sea.' Tapping his finger on the table he frowned, his face a masterpiece of indecision, an expression I knew.

  'Well?' I asked.

  'Well what?' He looked confused, pouring himself another glass of ale.

  I smiled gently. 'Isn't there something else you want to tell me. Jack?'

  He laughed. 'Not really, except that we had Desmond Marks in right away.'

  'And...' Was this what I had been waiting for?

  'And he said it was definitely not his missing wife. He was in a bad way, big strong man like that. Never seen a drowned person or apparently even a dead person before. Quite extraordinary. He nearly fainted away. We had to bring out the smelling salts.'

  As I listened I also thought privately that such emotions might be the sign of guilt or remorse. And I added a notch to my growing theory that Desmond had paid McHully, who wasn't so squeamish about violence, to kill Nora for him.

  'Was Marks the only one you called in?'

  'No, we had all the contacts for those on our missing persons list. The drowned woman didn't fit the description of the old lady or the young girl. The two most likely were the young married woman and the missing schoolteacher.'

  He stopped and said rather archly, 'As you well know.'

  'Wha
t - what do you mean? Why should I know-'

  He held up his hand. 'Because a young lady had called on Miss Simms to enquire after church on Sunday. She volunteered the information without being pressed-'

  'Pressed by whom?'

  He bowed. 'Me, of course. Who else?' Leaning across the table he took my hand. 'Dear Rose, I knew exactly what you were up to the other night when you slipped out of bed and took a sheet of paper out of my jacket pocket. I heard you go downstairs and when you came back, you replaced it and climbed into bed again-'

  I was appalled, guilty - caught in the shameful act.

  'You were pretending to be asleep,' I said accusingly.

  He laughed. 'I do it all the time. But I should warn you the springs on that old bed creak like the very devil on your side. You should do something about them.'

  I looked at him speechless. 'And you have never said a word.'

  He shook his head. 'I like to keep you on a long rein, Rose of my heart,' he said softly. 'Once I tighten it, I know I'll lose you.'

  There was nothing I could say, because it was true and we both knew it.

  'I guessed you'd go after the two most likely and I could have saved you a journey. Mr Winton had been into the station that morning to say his wife had returned - though she's already gone off again, to her mother. A fairly regular domestic matter, it seems. According to Miss Simms her sister is still missing from the school. She was very upset at having to see the corpse but greatly relieved too that it wasn't her sister.'

  'Jack, I'm sorry. I don't usually pick pockets,' I said contritely.

  'No harm done, love.' He patted my hand. 'All is forgiven. But don't make a practice of it, will you?' And he came round the table to give weight to forgiveness with a kiss.