Deadly Legacy Page 17

  A grim and unprepossessing sight, hardly lighter by daytime than when I had abandoned the idea last night. The illumination provided by my battery of lights was minute indeed.

  I persevered with my search, pushed aside an ancient chair and a table. There was no bed; whoever slept here had to make his own provision. The deserting Jacobite or Hanoverian had most likely slept on the floor – Jack and I had found the remains of a palliasse on first entering the room – wrapped in the uniform cape which he had left behind in his hurried departure.

  I tried to reconstruct that scene from a hundred and fifty years ago as I walked gently across the wooden floor searching for a loose board, but, even down on my hands and knees, detected none that might be concealing thirty thousand pounds – that vast and unimaginable fortune.

  I tried a quick calculation – and failed – of its present staggering value. Turning my attention to a set of shelves in a recess originally intended to house a fireplace, but abandoned for lack of a chimney—

  I was interrupted. Suddenly I heard a muffled sound, a creaking board. I listened. The echo came from downstairs. There was someone in the Tower.

  I panicked. I was alone. Where was Thane?

  Extinguishing lamp and candles, I closed the panel and with my hand on the derringer went soft-footed down the spiral stair through the Great Hall and into the kitchen.

  There was a man, a stranger, tall with his back towards me, leaning against the table, his deep breathing erratic.

  An injured man.

  But he wasn’t to be taken by surprise. He heard my approach – damn those boards – and turned. ‘Good day, madame.’

  ‘What do you want?’ I demanded.

  He staggered forward, tried a bow, but without the support of the table, almost fell and I found myself face-to-face with the Frenchie, Mrs Lawers’ obnoxious neighbour and the most hated man in Duddingston.

  Alarms were sounding – was I now trapped by a murderer, a man arrested by the police but who had escaped? My hand tightened on the concealed gun, but wait a moment – Thane was there standing beside him.

  Where were the threatening barks, showing his teeth, leaping up at this stranger he had let into the Tower? I gave him a reproachful glare. He was certainly slipping of late. First the burglar, now an escaped convict. At this rate I’d soon be protecting him.

  On second glance, the fugitive didn’t look as if he would be capable of attacking anyone. He looked quite awful, his jacket torn, clutching an injured wrist. His right hand bleeding.

  Thane came over, whimpered gently. He was trying to tell me something.

  The fugitive tried another bow. ‘I do beg pardon, madame, for intruding on your property. I am afraid it was necessary.’ He pointed to the window. ‘I have been out on the hill all night.’

  I thought of him lost and bewildered in that mist-shroud as he paused and indicated Thane. ‘Your fine dog here found me this morning and led me here.’ He shook his head. ‘He seemed to know my distress; my wrist – I fear it is broken. I fell several times. The mist, you know. I had no idea.’

  He stopped again, his eyes on Thane, and I thought of the police station at Central Office. Imagined the alarm, saw him followed by armed police, hunted down as he slipped from their grip, escaped, trying to reach safety. Where was that? Home to Duddingston with those angry neighbours thirsting for his blood.

  ‘You must have walked some distance,’ I said. I’d take a chance on him. He certainly did not look threatening, nursing that wrist, hardly able to stand with weariness and certainly no match for a deerhound and a woman with a gun.

  As I put on the kettle, started the porridge, cut bread, I went back and forth to the table, but he never moved, statue-like, staring in front of him. A man in late middle age who was younger than the straggling beard implied, hair too long, unshaven, one cheek grazed and sore-looking, from a fall no doubt. A pathetic sight, too weary to put words together.

  ‘Please sit down and I will give you some refreshment.’

  He almost fell into the chair. As for Thane, he had retreated to his rug but was taking it all in, contemplating the scene. I was safe enough; one word from me, one hint and he would have had that poor shivering creature by the throat down on the floor.

  ‘I will take a look at that wrist while we wait,’ I said.

  He stirred. ‘Please, madame, do not exert yourself on my account. It is nothing.’

  I ignored him and filled a basin with warm water, took out ointment and a bandage. He made no resistance as I took his arm gently, rolled back a shirtsleeve grey and much frayed. He winced as I took his wrist very gently.

  ‘It isn’t broken, sir. The cut isn’t deep. It will soon respond to this salve and should no longer be troubling you in a few days.’ The ointment was in constant use for my frequent bicycling bruises.

  He nodded, a relieved smile. As I set the porridge before him, poured out cups of tea, he looked at me and sighed. ‘You are so very kind, madame, the first kindness I have been shown for a very long time.’

  And I saw through his tired eyes, those suspicious neighbours, even the normally kindly Amy Dodd, the whispering campaign he had endured for years, all because he was different – a foreigner. And I felt the loneliness, the desolation that Hedley Marsh had also known in this very house. But for M Debeau there was no solace of an army of cats to share his four-poster bed at night.

  He ate eagerly, hungrily, accepting more porridge and bread.

  ‘How did you come to be on the hill, sir? It is a long way from town.’ I found myself talking with that careful enunciation as if he didn’t understand English.

  ‘The town, madame? You are mistaken. I left my own home just down the road to take a walk last night.’ He stopped, frowned. ‘There has been an unfortunate incident next door to where I live, two poor ladies died in what your police call “suspicious circumstances”. We have all been questioned, but for some reason they took me to the station for more questions.’

  And why was that, why was he selected? I thought angrily. Because his neighbours had voiced their suspicions, added fuel to what little fire existed.

  ‘The police brought me home again, but those who live nearby were very angry at this. They are afraid of me and threw stones, knocked at my door and shouted.’

  He paused. ‘I was afraid of them. I could not stay in the house. I had to escape so I went out on to the hill. I walked and climbed; it was not until too late I saw the mist. It came on very quickly and soon I was lost. I could see no path, I stumbled, fell, hit my head. I thought I had broken my wrist and perhaps had a more serious injury, for the blow to my head knocked me unconscious for a while.’

  He stopped, looked across at Thane.

  ‘I was very cold and scared when this great beast appeared, I tried to shoo him away. But no, he came to my side, ran forward a few steps, turned, looked at me – as if he was beckoning – then he repeated this performance and I thought he might be trying to help me.’

  He smiled, shook his head. ‘I might have died out there, had it not been for that dog of yours. He saved me.’

  I looked at the window. The mist was unlikely to rise immediately and it seemed that my unexpected guest would be trapped here for some time. Realising that I was in no danger from this harmless man, who I suspected was more sinned against than sinner, I wanted to know more about him.

  Asking how he came to live in Duddingston, he smiled sadly. ‘Ah, that is a long story. My late wife was Scottish. We met in Paris but she never liked France and always longed for home. We never had children but we were very happy, very close, and when she died I felt the need to be with her …’ He paused, searching for the right word. ‘I felt entirely lost without her and thought I might find her spirit … be close again … in the place where she had grown up and loved so dearly.

  ‘For a while I stayed in Musselburgh but moved to Duddingston when the owner of the house I now live in, a much-loved old man, had died. I was prepared to be friendly, but a
las!’ Again he paused, sighed. ‘I must confess that, being childless, I am not particularly fond of small children, particularly the ill-behaved ones. I am a gardener and I cherish flowers and neat lawns. Imagine my distress when my premises were being freely used by children who regarded it as an area for playing football.’ A Gallic shrug. ‘A few harsh words of protest from me and that was all that was needed. “How dare this foreigner who does not know his place tell us how to live our lives or raise our children? How dare he?” I regret to say, considering what has recently happened, the tragic accident, that Mrs Lawers was the main voice against me.’

  He stopped, again smiled sadly. ‘That is the story, madame, and I realise that I must leave my little home – reluctantly – as soon as I can find other accommodation.’

  ‘Do you like living there?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘What about your neighbours, would you be happy to stay if they were friendly?’

  Another shrug. ‘Either friendly or indifferent. I just wish to be left alone and not … not persecuted by them.’

  ‘Then stay – defy them. Don’t allow them to drive you away.’

  I went to the window again. I could now see as far as the garden wall.

  ‘Good news, the mist is clearing and the road should be visible for you to return home in safety.’

  He looked reluctant, almost scared, so I added, ‘I will go with you.’

  ‘No need, madame.’

  ‘I have business to conduct with Mrs Dodd and I wish to see Miss Hinton before she leaves.’

  He bowed. ‘Then I will be grateful for your company. You have been so kind, I can never thank you enough for showing such kindness.’

  As I put on my cloak I said, ‘If life ever becomes unbearable you are more than welcome to drop in for a chat.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  As I headed along the Duddingston road with M Debeau, there were other travellers who had seized the gap in the mist to resume their daily tasks and I noticed that my bicycle was no longer an object of astonishment. Although still something of a novelty for women, it had become the accepted way of travel for many working men whose journeys lay outside of the local horse omnibus routes. Those who were better off were already considering motor cars to replace their carriages. What would happen to the horses, I thought, if all those hiring gigs became obsolete?

  Turning into the Causeway, I saw Amy was in her garden. Her jaw dropped at the sight of the Frenchie walking at my side. He bowed, and unlocking his front door, vanished inside.

  Amy stared at me. ‘Well – of all things, that takes the biscuit. Never expected to see you talking to that creature.’

  Ignoring that I said, ‘May we go inside? I have come to see Jane before she leaves.’

  ‘She’s out at the moment. Shopping.’ Amy’s face remained a picture of shocked indignation. ‘That man you were with. I’m surprised – we all are – that the police released him. We may now have a murderer on our doorstep. I don’t know what they were thinking, threatening our safety.’

  We were in the kitchen, and indicating a chair, I said, ‘May I?’ Still looking cross she sat down opposite and I continued, ‘You very nearly had another killing on your hands – all of you good people.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, Amy, that by your collective hostility you drove Monsieur Debeau from his house out into a deadly fog on Arthur’s Seat where he fell, hurt his wrist and a blow to his head knocked him out. He lay there for hours and could have died from exposure.’ I paused. ‘How would you all have lived with your consciences then?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re on about,’ she said huffily.

  ‘Well, listen carefully and find out, if you please. You’re a kind good woman; it isn’t in your heart, or I’m sure in your good God-fearing neighbours’, to be cruel to man or beast, but you have ganged up against a man just because of his objections to your children and animals ruining his garden.’

  She gave a shrug at that. ‘Mrs Lawers didn’t like him either and look what happened to her.’

  ‘Which had nothing at all to do with him.’

  ‘The police—’

  ‘Were questioning him as they do with all neighbours – indeed, like yourselves.’

  ‘We weren’t taken away – arrested.’

  ‘And neither would Monsieur Debeau have been had you not given the police cause for suspicion – hints that he might have been involved.’

  Her face reddened. ‘Well, it seemed possible.’

  ‘Thane – my dog – rescued him lost in the heavy mist. I bandaged up his wrist and gave him some breakfast – and in return he told me his story.’

  She listened, frowning as I told her about the Scottish wife dying and so forth. At the end she said, ‘Well …’ And looking a little ashamed, ‘It was his own fault, though. He should have told us.’

  The door opened and Jane entered, unloading a bevy of parcels. ‘All to take home. Edinburgh is such a good place to shop – I envy you.’

  The conversation was general after that, and as I prepared to leave, she said, ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help about Aunty’s letters and all. The police returned them, and when I get home I’ll reread and see if there is anything useful.’

  Amy said, ‘There’s the pageant about Prince Charlie at the Pleasance Theatre on Saturday. The Portobello Players do it every year around the time of the Battle of Prestonpans. It’s quite an occasion and the Duddingston folk support it. Will you be going?’

  It sounded splendid and I promised to be there.

  As I shook hands with Jane, she said, ‘Such a pity I missed the chance to see your lovely Tower – I’ve passed by it so often on the road.’

  I looked at Amy who had never been inside either. ‘If you have time before you leave, why don’t you both come over later and have the tour? Tea will be provided, of course.’

  The invitation was eagerly accepted. We all laughed and Amy walked me to the door.

  ‘Thanks for telling me about … him.’ She gave a contrite glance towards the Frenchman’s house. Shaking her head, she added, ‘If he had told us all this in the first place, it would have been different. But he was always so aloof, seemed to think himself too good for us.’

  I took her arm. ‘For “aloof” read “shy”, Amy. Make it different now. Try and make it up to him.’

  She smiled. ‘We could make a start by inviting him to the Jacobite play.’

  ‘Good idea, a nice friendly overture.’

  And I left her, wondering if Beth’s Adrian, a member of the Portobello Players, would deign to take part in the village drama.

  In the Tower I decided, as I was to have visitors, I might bake a few pancakes, the one domestic activity I excelled at. I had just completed the first batch when the rusty front doorbell rang.

  I glanced at the clock – I hadn’t been expecting Amy and Jane this early – and opened the door to Beth. As always, she was full of apologies for this informal visit, gabbling that her news was important and the next day postal service too long.

  She followed me through to the kitchen, and declining my offer of tea said, ‘Adrian and I have made it up, Rose.We are betrothed again. He is so sorry that he had doubts, all because he wasn’t sure that he could support a wife.’

  Her face darkened for a moment. ‘I always suspected that he was influenced by Steven – his actor friend. As you know, he also boards with Nanny and I’m afraid he absolutely disapproves of me.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  She shook her head. ‘It’s not in what he says, he is always polite, even a bit flirtatious sometimes. But I know what he is really thinking – that I am too young and silly for Adrian and his career.’

  Pausing, she looked at me. ‘It’s quite an instinctive feeling one gets about some people, especially ones like Steven, who despite his good manners, objects to a baby in the house.’

  She sighed. ‘But now I’m sure Adrian’s determina
tion has overcome Steven’s objections, especially as he is sure that his expectations are about to reach fulfilment. He is very excited but says it is still a secret – he wants to surprise me with it. Oh Rose, I just had to tell you. I knew you would rejoice with me at this change in my fortunes, this great news.’

  I said I was happy for her and she took my hand. ‘I knew you would understand, and I’ve arranged for Adrian to meet me here. I hope you don’t mind.’

  I said of course not. I was keen to meet Adrian.

  ‘He is at rehearsals at the Pleasance Theatre just now. We will take the local train back home.’ She paused, a relieved laugh. ‘He knows all about you.’ And wagging a finger at me, she said archly, ‘You are a sly puss, Rose!’

  ‘I beg your pardon!’

  ‘Not telling me about yourself or your famous father and a stepbrother in royal circles. I am so impressed.’

  That left me wondering how on earth she had come by all this information. I had not even told her that I was a lady investigator. Waiting a moment for my reactions, she went on, ‘Adrian and Steven are friendly with a policeman who works with your detective.’ She paused. ‘When I heard that Inspector Macmerry was a widower with a little girl, I realised why you had such sympathy for my plight.’ Touching my arm, she smiled sadly. ‘As I do for your own – I mean, you not being married.’

  I was embarrassed, taken aback and more than a little keen to know more about this overfriendly policeman who knew so much about Jack and me.

  But it was not to be. A ring at the bell announced the arrival of my next batch of visitors. Amy and Jane.

  Introductions were duly made, polite questions and answers exchanged and my batch of pancakes, buttered and jammed, ready to be demolished.

  Feeling intensely gratified, I decided this unusual occasion was worthy of the grandeur of the Great Hall which Amy and Jane were keen to see.

  Beth, keen to help, abandoned her pretty shawl and helped carry the trays through from the kitchen. All at once it seemed everyone was happy and getting on well, the atmosphere warm and cheerful, my pancakes duly praised and eaten, recipe demanded. Very domestic, the sort of things ladies talk about and I have always missed out on somehow.