Rose McQuinn 7 - Deadly Legacy (20 page)

Was the presence of Chief Inspector Gray significant, lurking about the kirkyard, in company with Sergeant Wright? Had the pair slipped into the back of the church during the service, finding it necessary to attend the women's funerals in search of clues to their murders?

I had just removed my wet cape when I heard the sound of a carriage followed by the front doorbell. To say it rang would be an overstatement; the sound was more like a rusty croak. Wondering if I had got my times mixed up and this was Mr Hayward, I opened the door to Mrs Blaker and, holding her hand, Meg Macmerry.

Full of apologies about the informality of this call, Mrs Blaker said, 'I am taking Meg into Jenners to buy some suitable clothes, and as I was passing the door, I thought we might call and see if Mr Macmerry was at home ...'

It crossed my mind that coming from Joppa via Arthur's Seat would not have been my chosen route or even a direct one to Princes Street. But as Mrs Blaker responded eagerly to my invitation to come inside, I guessed, as she looked around, that curiosity regarding where Meg's father lived was the main reason for the visit.

I smiled down at Meg, who was regarding her vast surroundings wide-eyed and critically, with almost grown-up caution.

'Mr Macmerry isn't at home. He is away for a few days--' And I remembered Jack had promised to write a note saying that he would call on them on the way back. 'Have you not heard from him?'

Mrs Blaker shook her head and I felt a moment's wrath with Jack as they followed me into the kitchen.

Thane rose from his rug politely and waited to be introduced.

'Big doggie,' Meg chortled and rushed towards him while Mrs Blaker cried, 'No, Meg!' and added a shriek of terror.

I put a restraining hand on her arm. 'That is Thane, he is good with children.' A lie, I'd never seen him with children, but it was the best I could think of as Meg had already thrown her arms around him as if she had encountered a more-than-life-sized toy. Thane regarded these overtures politely from under those magisterial eyebrows, with what in human terms would be regarded as a fond smile. He made no move, no licking, nothing. Thane knew his manners.

Mrs Blaker shuddered. 'You're sure?' she asked me. I nodded and she whispered, 'He is fearsomely big for a pet dog, looks as if he might swallow her in one gulp.'

Thane darted an injured look in her direction that said clearly to me 'pet dog, indeed', as she eyed me up and down and added, 'Why, he is almost as big as you, Mrs McQuinn.'

I couldn't deny that.

Meg had lost all interest in the grown-ups. She had found a soulmate and was chattering away to him, twenty to the dozen. Mrs Blaker relaxed, shook her head and looked amazed.

'We have a wee Pomeranian called Posie.' And I remembered having heard distant barking when I called on them. 'But Meg has never shown the slightest interest in Posie.' She shook her head regretfully. 'I fear they will never be friends.'

And that did not surprise me. Doubtless Posie had been suitably spoilt before this new interloper invaded what she regarded as her territory and became one of the household. She had been there first and doubtless was consumed with resentment and jealousy.

Mrs Blaker refused the offer of tea but had taken out a fan and was applying it vigorously.

This surprised me, as the temperature of Solomon's Tower on an autumn day hardly merited such action, although she did look quite pale and said, 'May I trouble you for a glass of water?'

I produced one. Sipping, she said, 'I was feeling a little faint.'

I looked at the richly corseted shape and realised this was a common affliction of highly fashionable ladies that, after my long years as a pioneering woman, had fortunately passed me by.

I asked, 'Are you sure you feel able to continue your journey into Edinburgh? Perhaps you would care to rest for a while.'

She straightened her shoulders, the corsets giving the faintest of creaks as she handed me back the glass. 'Thank you, but I am quite recovered and we have the carriage. We are meeting a friend in Jenners. She also has a small girl, called Teresa, and we hope the two little ones will become firm friends, and my friend's advice will be invaluable on what to buy.' Regarding Meg critically, 'What colour do you think would suit her best?'

I had not the slightest idea but ventured, 'Blue perhaps?'

Mrs Blaker nodded eagerly and said, 'We must go or we will be late.'

I looked across at Meg, so involved with her new live toy, and longed to talk to her. We had never exchanged more than the few words when she had made a flattering reference to my unruly curls.

I realised that I desperately wanted Jack's little girl to like me too. Perhaps Mrs Blaker recognised that wistful smile.

'I am sorry this is a short visit, but please come and have tea with us one afternoon, perhaps with Mr Macmerry when he returns.' She stood up. 'Come along, Meg dear. Time to go.'

Another hug for Thane, a whisper in his ear and Meg came obediently to Mrs Blaker's side, took her hand and stared up at me.

Mrs Blaker put an arm around her. 'Would you like a doggie like that?'

Meg grinned from ear to ear, nodding vigorously. Both looked at me and Mrs Blaker said, 'I don't suppose we could borrow--'

'No,' I said sharply, and although I didn't expect her to understand I added, 'Deerhounds need a lot of space, we have it here and on Arthur's Seat. I would never recommend Thane's breed as a domestic pet. Besides, he is more than that. He is a member of the family.'

She frowned and said, 'Yes, of course.' And to Meg, 'Perhaps Mrs McQuinn will let you come often and see your new friend.'

An eager look and I said, 'Of course, Meg. You come at any time. And your pa will be delighted to see you too.'

That brought a shadow across Mrs Blaker's face. 'Please tell Mr Macmerry we are hoping to get the adoption business completed as soon as possible.'

I opened the door. The carriage was waiting.

'Goodbye, Meg,' I said and held out my hand. She regarded this doubtfully.

'Aren't you going to give Mrs McQuinn a kiss, dear?'

Poor Meg,
I thought. Mrs Blaker knew even less about the feelings of small children than I did, or guessed, seemingly unaware that they perhaps found such demands unpleasant and quite embarrassing.

However, Meg rose to the occasion. I knelt down - I didn't have that far to go to be on her level - and she put her arms around my neck and kissed my cheek. It made me want to cry - I have no idea why - but I hugged her, kissed her forehead and said, 'Please come again, Meg.'

Thane had accompanied the departing visitors and she darted a longing look in his direction and blew him a kiss.

'Bye, Thane.'

If dogs could bow in a gentlemanly manner, Thane would have done so. We watched them go and looked at each other.

'Well, what do you think of that?' I asked, and as Thane had no human words available, there were volumes that had to remain unsaid.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Mr Hayward arrived punctually for his appointment next day, and following me into the kitchen he walked over to the sideboard, and saying, 'May I?', he again took up the photograph of Vince with Pappa and the Queen at Balmoral that had fascinated him on his previous visit. Replacing it, he sighed and shook his head.

'This house is full of memories.' And turning to me he went on, 'There is one other interesting fragment of information regarding the previous owner of Solomon's Tower, my old friend Sir Hedley Marsh.' And from his pocket he withdrew a framed photograph which he handed to me.

'This is Hedley, as a young man.'

I looked at it, looked again, stared. The resemblance to Vince was unmistakeable.

Hayward smiled wryly and said, 'I can see what you are thinking. The same thought struck me on my earlier visit.' Taking a seat at the table, he said, 'I told you Hedley believed he had a son. Tell me about your stepbrother, if you please.'

'Vince was illegitimate; his mother was a servant in a big house in the Highlands, seduced - raped - by one of the guests. She bore Vince, who never forgave or forgot the blight of his birth--'

Hayward held up his hand, shook his head and interrupted. 'He was not the child of rape, or of seduction. Hedley, even as a young man, had high moral principles. This was no philandering middle-aged gentleman; he was the kind who loved only once in his life and that love, if lost, was lost for ever.'

Again he paused, shook his head, his face full of sadness. 'Poor Hedley. He fell deeply in love with that servant girl, came back for her, but found she had left and, as happened with extra servants acquired for the shooting season, no one knew where she had gone. He wanted to marry her and continued his exhaustive search over many years without success, disappointment turning him into a recluse, an embittered old bachelor.'

He stopped and smiled. 'I thought you would wish to know the truth about the previous owner. Whether you tell your stepbrother or not is up to you. Now, I must not detain you further. With your permission, shall we proceed to the reason for my visit?'

And so saying, he opened his case and spread out the documents for my appraisal with a restrained air of triumph that hinted at some success.

'I have been diving into the depths, Mrs McQuinn, and have come up with some interesting facts, some acquired from the National Archives, in fact. The Jacobite Rebellion was a troubled time in our history and there are some facts which have gone unknown to general researchers.'

He paused, sighed. 'Fortunately I have friends in high places.' He produced a pen and tapped the papers. 'First of all let us regard the map, drawn, most likely, by the prince himself, at a table, perhaps something like this one, in the house at Duddingston.' He spread the two pieces side by side, leaving a gap of some six inches between them.

'If you will recall, I believed they were both part of the same map, and indeed, searching my historic map collection, this speculation was correct. Here is an identical-looking map.' And unrolling it he spread it across the table. He then placed next to each other the two portions he had taken away to examine - the right-hand piece the one Jack and I had found in the secret room, and the left included in Mrs Lawers' legacy.

'If you look closely at these two you will see there are some words scribbled across the base, almost illegible and almost certainly in the prince's own hand. But most important perhaps, as you will observe, is that the middle portion is missing. And that portion, Mrs McQuinn,' he said with a triumphant look, 'if you will regard my similar map of the period, encompasses a section of Arthur's Seat which includes Samson's Ribs and indicates Solomon's Tower as it looked originally, a mere pele tower.'

He leant back, smiled and I asked, 'But why had someone removed it?'

He wagged a finger at me. 'Do not be too hasty, Mrs McQuinn. That is something we still have to find out - the crux of the mystery. However, there is a piece of history which may not be known to you which concerns Prince Charles's sojourn in Duddingston prior to the Battle of Prestonpans.

'From the proceedings of the Court of Enquiry, there is a document from Lord Tweeddale, Secretary in Charge of North Britain, or Scotland, and resident in Pinkie House - you may know it, in Musselburgh and near the scene of the Battle of Pinkie fought in the time of the prince's great-grandmother, Mary Queen of Scots.

'Lord Tweeddale offered thirty thousand pounds for the capture of Prince Charles Edward Stuart on the 17
^th
of August 1745. A week later, on the 23
^rd
, the prince offered the same sum for the capture of Lord Tweeddale. A mocking gesture perhaps, but how did the prince come by this sum? The answer lies in the archives of the Court of Enquiry, Tweeddale's report of the disappearance of thirty thousand pounds and his valet, one Simon Reslaw, a Frenchman who my lord realised too late was a Jacobite spy.' He paused. 'The prince was at that moment preparing to lay siege to Edinburgh, cannons trained on it from Arthur's Seat. The city mercifully fell to him without bloodshed on the 17
^th
of September, and the prince proclaimed his father James VII as the rightful king.'

Mr Hayward chuckled. 'There is a story that it was on the same day the prince acquired his nickname. A lady watching the ceremony from her window reported "ladys who threw their handkerchiefs and clap'd hands show'd great loyalty to ye Bonny Prince".'

That was all very well but my interest lay with that thirty thousand pounds. My eyes widened at such a sum.

'A fortune, yes, even in our own time, but in the eighteenth century - impossible to envisage its significance.'

Mr Hayward shrugged expressively. 'How and where did he get the money, have such a fortune available, when he was at the start of a campaign with Highlanders and loyal adherents all desperately in need of cash?'

And taking a drink of water from the jug on the table, 'You are a good listener, Mrs McQuinn, are you still with me?'

I laughed. 'I'm intrigued, please go on.'

'The answer lies with Simon Reslaw who had infiltrated himself into the Tweeddale household. His Lordship was something of a dandy and liked the idea of a French valet. Anyway, the letter indicates in strong words that Reslaw left in a hurry, discharged for theft.'

Again he paused, looked at me. 'You think he went off with the thirty thousand and carried it to the prince,' I said.

Hayward nodded eagerly. 'I do indeed. That is my interpretation. But there is a flaw. I don't think it ever got that short distance that separated Pinkie House from Duddingston or Prestonpans. Something happened en route and either Simon changed his mind, or lost his life. Anyway we lost track of him. His name was among the wounded after the battle when they were taken care of - both sides, English and Scots, for the prince, whatever his faults, was a humane man. So it was unlikely that he was at the disaster of Culloden--'

He stopped, made a grimace and sighed. 'The money was never heard of again.'