Ghost Walk Page 19

  I could understand that sentiment in a home like Verney Castle, where I felt affection and warmth and friends were pretty thin on the ground and Annette’s new husband, after their catastrophic elopement in New York, would need all the allies he could gather.

  ‘Then please come to our wedding. I’m sure Jack will be delighted.’

  ‘You really think so? Oh, Miss Rose, we will be honoured to be your guests. A wedding, such a romantic beginning for this new chapter in our own lives, is it not?’

  Dr Blayney was approaching, his curiosity aroused by this confidential looking conversation.

  ‘The children are leaving now,’ he told us, but Annette merely shrugged.

  ‘Miss Faro and I have important matters to discuss,’ she said crossly. And turning her back on him, she said, ‘Would you like to see our cottage before you leave, Miss Rose?’

  And so the unhappy man wandered off to where the children were gathering to leave the ballroom and shake hands with Alexander. As they stood in a line of barely suppressed excitement, sternly watched over by Father Boyle, for them the most important part of the afternoon was still to come. The handing over at the front door, by a now unhappy and perspiring Dr Blayney, of a present for each of them.

  Alexander watched them leave thankfully, his arm around Thane waiting politely at his side. In the race for presents, his guests had already forgotten him, but he did not care. For him the ordeal that began with the blue velvet suit was almost over.

  He came over to us and said anxiously, ‘Must you go, Miss Rose? Won’t you please stay for a while.’

  ‘I am walking Miss Rose over to see my new home, Alexander,’ said Annette.

  ‘Will you be bringing Thane?’ he asked me and when I said yes, he turned eagerly to Annette, ‘Please may I come too?’

  She smiled: ‘Of course. You may even show us the way – if you remember.’

  ‘I will be back soon. Wait for me,’ he shouted and raced upstairs, followed by Annette, as I realised this was the perfect excuse, the right opportunity for him to discard the obnoxious velvet suit and change into something more worthy of his age and the outdoors.

  As I waited with Thane I wandered along the hall looking at the portraits when a door opened revealing a smallish, book-lined room that had the look of a study.

  Dr Dalrymple emerged talking in a low voice to Blayney and handing him a small box of pills. ‘These are for his lordship. He knows how to take them.’

  Blayney held out his hand and said anxiously ‘Have you something for me, like I asked, doctor?’

  Putting his hand in his pocket the doctor produced a small phial. ‘Yes, of course. These are for your earache. They should help. A few drops three times a day should help the pain, and once the abcess has burst you’ll be hearing clearly again, the noises will all be gone, I assure you.’

  ‘Do you think it will work?’ asked Dr Blayney miserably.

  ‘Of course it will, old chap,’ was the hearty reply. ‘You’ll be good as new.’

  Thanking him Blayney went back into the study and closed the door.

  Dr Dalrymple was suddenly aware of Thane and I standing in the shadows.

  ‘Good party, was it? Sorry I missed all the fun, it was all over when I looked in with his lordship’s prescription. Everyone enjoyed themselves?’

  I said yes, resisting the temptation to add, Everyone but Alexander.

  The doctor grinned and pointed at Thane. ‘I didn’t realise pets were included on such occasions.’

  ‘Alexander invited him especially.’

  The doctor’s eyebrows raised at that as he considered Thane in a manner that expressed disapproval for such an idea.

  Then with a laugh, ‘He is quite an unusual animal and I just hope he wasn’t tempted to gobble up any of the small guests or her ladyship’s wee dogs.’

  I was used to such nonsense. I smiled politely but Thane gave me another of his despairing looks at the stupidity of humans as the doctor made his way towards the front door.

  ‘Your own happy day won’t be long now. You must be feeling very excited, just hope the weather stays fair. Give my regards to young Jack. I gather we’re giving him a right eve of the wedding send off at the pub.’

  That was news to me. Then I knew the reason why.

  ‘Ladies not invited. A strictly male occasion,’ he added, dashing down the front steps. ‘A lad’s last chance to misbehave before the doors of domesticity close on him.’

  And a final warning as Blayney emerged from his study. ‘Stay clear of this influenza – we have a few cases in the area. Unusual for this time of year.’

  As the secretary went upstairs I thought about his earache. Those scarlet ears and the reason for his intent listening to every word of Annette’s. If he was also somewhat deaf his confusion over Vince’s Latin quotation was easily explained and I felt sorry that my thoughts had been so uncharitable.

  When Alexander rushed downstairs followed by Annette, I said ‘Poor Dr Blayney, he seems to be having a bad time with an abscess in his ear. Must be terribly painful,’ I added hoping that the knowledge would arouse some compassion and perhaps make her pay more attention to the secretary and treat him more kindly instead of that contemptuous manner of pretending that he didn’t exist.

  My strategy was not a complete success or indeed any success at all. She merely shrugged and said rather wearily, ‘Is that so?’

  Then as we walked out of the front door and down the steps she added almost apologetically: ‘He’s such a dull man. Supposed to be absolutely brilliant but he never has a word to say for himself. Heaven only knows why Cousin Quentin chose him as a secretary.’

  I remained silent thinking perhaps he was only tongue-tied by his passion for Annette and that quite brilliant men are often shy socially and have little small talk. Alexander was racing ahead. ‘Come along, Thane!’ he shouted and they raced out and down the steps.

  ‘Take care, Alexander,’ said Annette. ‘Poor child. He was very lonely and Thane has made such a difference. I keep saying to Amelia that he should have had a dog of his own by now, but she doesn’t approve. She is very fond of her tiny lap dogs and argues that they should be enough for him too. She just doesn’t realise that a boy needs a more robust, friendlier animal as a playmate.’

  And so we followed them as Alexander raced ahead, whooping and shouting through the gardens and then across a tiny wood towards the little estate house.

  Annette’s new home had the look of a picture book cottage, but it was a page from Grimm’s Fairy Tales waiting to play the role fate has destined in all of our lives.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The house wore all its attraction on the outside. Despite a gallant effort at furnishing by Lady Verney, the result was a curious atmosphere of trembling uncertainty as if the house itself might find some difficulty in coming to terms of living in a state of harmony with antiques and bric-a-brac that might vanish in a puff of smoke.

  I have a curious awareness not, alas, shared by everyone, that houses absorb the personalities of their occupiers and I wondered if someone had died here recently. Perhaps the last tenant had expired before Lord Verney’s modern refurbishments and the melancholy atmosphere of a funeral wake still lurked about the walls.

  I was relieved to find that Annette was quite oblivious of anything in the least disturbing. She was beside herself with excitement, rushing from room to room, thrilled beyond measure for what was to be her ‘honeymoon home’ as she shyly referred to it and turning to me from time to time for agreement, so that I conjured up the polite and enthusiastic responses that were expected of me.

  Alexander remained outside throwing sticks for Thane who was obliging him in taking part in this somewhat degrading pastime for a deerhound.

  My eyes widened as I glimpsed them from out the window. Here was a Thane new to me, the existence of a Thane I had never dreamed of. I would never have considered throwing sticks for him to retrieve. However, he seemed to be enjoying the new e
xperience and perhaps thereby proving how wrong I had been and that my mysterious deerhound who came from Dear-knows-where and was able to survive on the heights of Arthur’s Seat was just an ordinary animal after all.

  Watching the boy with the hound many sizes too large for him, I realised sadly that time was running out for Alexander and all the joy of these last few days would depart with Thane.

  At that moment I wished with all my heart that Thane was mine, that I owned him and could give him as a gift to Alexander, or at least on extended loan till Jack and I came back from our honeymoon.

  As we said goodbye to Annette, she told me again how excited she was that I should meet her new husband at my wedding. I smiled. Had she ever mentioned his name and I had missed it, I wondered, or did she, after so many tribulations, obtain intense satisfaction in defying her guardian – and everyone else – by referring to him in the proud title of ‘my husband’.

  My thoughts drifted compassionately towards the unfortunate Dr Blayney and his earache – and his heartache too, the latter of which could not be cured by a phial of Dr Dalrymple’s drops but might lessen when Annette’s daily presence was removed.

  As I reached the drive by a short cut through the wood, there was something else nagging at the back of my mind, something vital I should be remembering in connection with the unhappy secretary but it was banished by the appearance of Father Boyle.

  I emerged from the rhododendrons just a few steps away from him. We were obviously heading in the same direction towards Eildon. I guessed he had been returning Alexander’s birthday party guests to their respective homes on the estate and he was walking head down, clearly either praying or preoccupied with his own thoughts.

  He did not look overjoyed at this interruption of his contemplation and looked askance at Thane who, taken by surprise, moved swiftly in his direction.

  ‘Shouldn’t your dog be on a rope of some kind?’ He sounded alarmed.

  Thane came back to my side immediately and I said, ‘He is quite safe, I assure you. Remember how well-behaved he was at the party.’

  Boyle made a grumpy sound of disapproval. I felt sure that he did not want to walk with us, but a measure of politeness demanded that unless he had some ready excuse for speeding ahead, he must accompany us to the village.

  Feeling guilty that I was a relative stranger, not of his religious persuasion, when he would rather have been alone, embarrassment is always the surest thing to make me tongue-tied.

  My mind went blank about some topic to engage his attention.

  I began with ‘All your charges are safely back home again?’

  He merely nodded but I persevered with remarks about how well behaved they were, such nice children, etc. etc. He merely smiled, a trifle grimly I thought, keeping his opinion to himself, his silence indicating that it had been no mean task.

  I tried again and asked how he was enjoying Eildon and his new calling.

  ‘Tolerable,’ he said, ‘tolerable.’

  ‘Have you succeeded in finding a housekeeper yet?’

  ‘Early days.’ His mouth clamped shut on that topic and as further enquiries obviously were not encouraged, the alternative was to end all conversation and walk silently back. So I decided as a last resort to mention his predecessor.

  ‘Father McQuinn was a fine man,’ I said.

  That interested him. ‘He was indeed. A difficult man to follow. I did not have the pleasure, but I have heard a great deal about his sterling qualities.’ A pause. ‘You knew him then?’

  ‘I met him briefly on my arrival at Eildon.’ I did not care to throw cold water over this promising topic of conversation by adding that I had found him dead in the church and that I believed his death was no accident but murder.

  ‘As a matter of fact, we were related.’

  ‘Indeed?’

  ‘He was a relative of mine – by marriage.’

  That got his attention. ‘Related to your family here?’

  ‘No. He was cousin to my late husband.’

  He frowned. ‘Your – husband?’ He managed an unsteady laugh. ‘Forgive me, but I have heard about your wedding – at the end of the week, is it not?’

  ‘Yes, but in actual fact I am a widow. My husband was Danny McQuinn. His cousin, Father Sean, brought him over from Ireland as a young lad. He used to visit him here from time to time.’

  Father Boyle stopped in his tracks and looked at me, as if he was seeing me for the first time. ‘This is very unusual. Why does everyone refer to you as Miss Faro and not by your married name as Mrs McQuinn?’

  I decided that I had better explain. ‘I assure you it is not my wish that I should be presented under my maiden name. It is a whim of my future mother-in-law who, for reasons of her own, preferred that I should be known as Miss Faro. Let us say she did not care for the idea of her only son marrying a widow woman.’

  Father Boyle looked taken aback. ‘There is nothing in the Bible against widows marrying again. Had you been divorced or something of that nature, or have some discreditable association in your past, there might have been an excuse for your mother-in-law’s reactions. But this is quite extraordinary.’

  ‘And very uncomfortable too for me, I assure you.’ I did not add that I suspected my future husband was extremely jealous of my late husband and rather approved of his mother’s behaviour in this delicate matter.

  The priest managed a smile but had he been the clergyman in charge of our nuptials I realised that he could not have been more surprised by this disclosure.

  ‘So you are Mrs McQuinn and your husband Danny was Father McQuinn’s cousin,’ he repeated. ‘Well, well,’ he added with a dry laugh.

  ‘I presume you are used to confidences, Father.’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘Then I will be greatly obliged if you keep this information to yourself. It would greatly upset and severely embarrass my future in-laws. Besides, in a few days I will have yet another name – Mrs Macmerry – and everyone will have forgotten there ever was a Mrs McQuinn.’

  The village was in sight, the main street with its decoration of flags strung across the road in preparation for the Jubilee celebrations.

  ‘How pretty,’ I said. ‘Eildon is quite transformed.’

  The priest merely nodded and we parted, with mutual relief I suspected, but leaving me with some qualms. It had been unwise to confide in anyone, but to confess to a priest or a doctor could not do any harm surely, I told myself, remembering his last words of consolation:

  ‘Feel free to confide in me at any time, Miss – er Mrs McQuinn. Your secret is quite safe with me.’

  As I walked up the farm road towards the house, I wondered how the ladies of Father Boyle’s congregation felt about their new priest, so different from Father McQuinn, who had been loved by everyone.

  I remembered Father Boyle’s reactions to their gallant efforts to take care of him when he took a fever after conducting the funeral of his predecessor, his first official duty, in the heavy rain. No doubt he also had sterling qualities behind that unprepossessing exterior. Perhaps being brought up by Jesuits had something to do with his long silences and his disinclination for social conversation with the opposite sex, but I certainly did not envy his future housekeeper.

  Leaving Thane in the barn where it was no longer considered a necessity to keep him tethered by a rope, I hurried across the yard, still troubled with guilty feelings about my revelations to the priest although I could not see him in the role of a gossip who would spread the news all round Eildon like wildfire.

  But as soon as I opened the kitchen door, all thoughts of Father Boyle were swept from my mind.

  Jack had arrived home.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Jack was laughing, seated at the table before an immense plate of food, benignly watched over by his doting mother.

  He sprang up to greet me, a great hug and kiss. ‘Where have you been, what have you been doing with yourself? How’s Thane?’ A dozen questions in quick fire
without giving me a chance to reply. More kisses and cuddles.

  His mother’s reproachful, ‘Your food’s getting cold, Jack,’ brought him – and me – down to earth again. I sat opposite him at the table while he demolished that plate of food, occasionally stopping to take my hand and devour me with a loving glance while I kept thinking how wonderful it was to have him here again.

  How much I had missed him. As Jess went on to tell him all about the wedding preparations, the little gathering for me on the eve of the wedding as well as his stag night at the local, I was suddenly delighted that come Saturday I would be Mrs Jack Macmerry and we’d be away to London on our honeymoon. Andrew appeared at the door and, seizing her shawl, Jack’s mother said, ‘We’re away to see the Johnstons. For a couple of hours,’ she added tactfully.

  I was grateful to the Johnstons for the prospect of time alone with Jack when Andrew said, ‘The Wards are both down with this influenza, so it looks like they’ll miss your wedding.’ Remembering Mrs Ward’s heavy cold and Dr Dalrymple’s warning, I hoped they hadn’t spread the infection.

  As the door closed on his parents Jack hugged me and sighed. ‘The trial finished last night, thank God. It’s strung on and on and for a while I was sure that I was going to have to miss my own wedding.’

  ‘The same thought occurred to me,’ I said and kissed him.

  ‘I just missed the last train, so I spent the night at Solomon’s Tower,’ and putting his hand in his pocket he took out three letters. ‘These were waiting for you.’

  I scanned the handwriting. From Emily in Orkney, from Paris – Pappa and Imogen. Brief letters, saying what I knew already, how sorry they were to have to miss the wedding – Emily was sending a present and Pappa enclosed a very generous bank draft to buy ourselves something we needed.

  Jack was interested in the one without a postmark. ‘This must have been pushed through the door.’

  I didn’t recognise the handwriting but suspected it might be from Sister Angela, a reply to my note and knowing how persistent Jack could be when his curiosity was aroused, thrusting it into my pocket I said casually, ‘It will be from the nuns at St Leonard’s, in connection with their summer fete.’