Rose McQuinn 7 - Deadly Legacy (3 page)

'I am sorry to hear that. The journey is to be delayed, then?'

'We cannot delay,' was the reply. 'This is a matter of utmost urgency and you are to proceed immediately as planned to her destination. My instructions are precise; I am to accompany you and I have acquainted myself thoroughly with her map. I know exactly where we are bound for.' She hesitated and looked at me keenly. 'You have the small satchel she left with you in safe custody. I am to take charge of that also.'

I looked at her. Mrs Lawers had stressed that it was not to leave my possession and it was now firmly locked away in my carrier across my shoulder. I said, 'It is safely packed.'

'Please hand it over, then.'

Remembering my promise, in Mrs Lawers' absence I felt the momentary stirrings of unease. Something was not quite right.

'Later, miss,' I said. 'It is not very convenient here. Wait until we reach the station.'

She glanced at the travelling case, frowning, as if doubtful about the reliability of such a piece of insubstantial luggage, and as the swaying coach hurtled down the steep hill towards the Pleasance, I added, 'Has Mrs Lawers someone taking care of her in your absence?'

'A kindly neighbour will look after her.'

As she spoke, sitting opposite I had a chance to take a good look at the maid Mrs Lawers had described as elderly and infirm like herself. Miss Hinton certainly did not look old, in fact she looked scarcely older than myself. Slim and youthful, apart from somewhat prematurely white hair, glimpsed under the felt bonnet, she was wearing a smart navy-blue costume and black boots, the garb of a lady's maid. And then there was her cultured accent.

'I gather you have been with Mrs Lawers for some time.'

'I have, madam.' Avoiding my gaze, steadfastly looking out of the window, she seemed nervous, eager to reach the station as we were held up by a cart which had shed a load of coal. As a delay seemed inevitable, I decided to ask how she had met Mrs Lawers.

'We met in the usual way of a servant applying for a situation.'

'But you are not from these parts. You are a long way from home.'

Turning her attention away from the commotion outside, she gave me a startled glance. 'What makes you think that, madam?'

'Your accent. You are from the Highlands, are you not?'

'That is so. I was brought up near Inverness.' A frowning look. 'But I believe I lost my accent long ago.'

'Your accent, perhaps so. But your natural language gave you away - there is no "yes" or "no" in Gaelic. Am I right?'

She smiled wryly. 'That is correct. You are very observant, madam.'

We had reached the station and as we alighted she stretched out her hand for my bag. 'Allow me to take that, madam.'

In answer, I slung it over my shoulder. 'Not at all. I am used to carrying it. It isn't heavy.'

She stood firmly in front of me. 'But I insist, madam. Let me take it for you.'

I shook my head equally firmly. 'Thank you, miss, but I would not dream of letting another woman carry my luggage.'

Ignoring that, she stretched out her hand in an attitude of command.

'Thank you. But no.' And glancing past her, 'I notice we are in good time for the next train. While you purchase tickets, I shall take the opportunity of adjourning to the ladies' waiting room and avail myself of the toilet facilities.'

I walked ahead, aware of a tightening of her lips, a frown of impatience. My insistence had annoyed her and as we walked into the waiting room and I headed towards the cubicle marked 'Ladies' she remained at my side. 'No need to take your travelling case, madam, I will look after it.'

I pretended not to hear her, went inside and locked the door. There was something about her determination to lay hands on my luggage that made me uneasy. Undoing the carrier's lock and opening it was quite difficult in such a confined space. I unfastened the strap on the old leather satchel, revealing its contents as a small sealed package.

I remembered my conversation with Mrs Lawers and gathered that it had been in her family's possession for a long time, handed down generation to generation. It was certainly very old, yellowed with age; the writing on the outer parchment, a faint sepia faded with time, confirmed its value - even if this was purely sentimental, since Mrs Lawers was herself now old and infirm. But that it had some other value to someone else, particularly to her maid Hinton, seemed obvious by that woman's odd behaviour, her determination to wrest it from my possession.

I had a sudden idea how to ensure the safety of its contents. Transferring the package to the voluminous pocket of my travelling skirt, I concluded my ablutions and returned to the cafe carrying the satchel to where Hinton waited seated by the window which overlooked the platforms.

Relieved to see me again, the maid's eyes were immediately drawn to the satchel, and pointing to two cups on the table, she said rather impatiently, 'So there you are, at last. I decided that as we still had time, we should refresh ourselves, so I purchased tea from the refreshment counter over there.'

I looked in the direction of a small and unprepossessing serving hatch, where a surly-looking attendant operated a tea urn and hovered over some tired-looking scones.

I thanked Hinton for her consideration, however, and she shrugged. 'Better drink up. You took longer than I thought. We don't want to miss this train. I presumed that you take sugar?'

I didn't normally but thought it rude to complain, glad to have even a drink that was oversweet. Watching this enigmatic person, who was perhaps more used to dealing with old ladies, I was somewhat amused by her attitude towards me. I wondered if she was always bossy, used to treating her employer in this manner, especially when she contemptuously declined my offer to pay the few coppers involved for the cup of tea.

The Inverness train for Perth steamed into the station and we took seats opposite one another in an otherwise empty carriage which Hinton had chosen on the grounds that it is nicer for ladies travelling together to have some privacy.

Once inside, I settled down in my corner while she offered to put my two pieces of luggage, carrier and satchel, on the rack above our heads.

'Thank you, no. It is a short journey, we have plenty of room.'

'As you wish.'

My movements watched intently and with palpable disapproval, I slung the strap of the carrier over my arm and entwined the satchel over my wrist before settling back and staring out of the window. It was a grey weary day and after a few minutes I discovered that I was feeling very weary too.

My companion was silent. I studied her from narrowed eyes, observing again that her description failed to meet that of 'old and infirm' - she appeared to be both young and healthy and had rather large hands and feet. She was also quite tall - but so are most women compared to myself, a couple of inches under five feet.

Eager to learn more about Hinton, I considered polite conversation, but the words refused to assemble; suddenly it was too difficult to summon the energy to talk, and my eyelids were growing heavier, heavier.

I yawned and thankfully closed my eyes. After what seemed like only a minute, they opened again with utmost reluctance as the train jerked to a stop halted by a signal ahead.

Hinton was watching me. She smiled. 'Did that waken you?' And when I lied and said that I wasn't asleep she replied, 'You seem very tired, madam. You might as well take the opportunity to rest. I will wake you when we reach Perth, then we will take a carriage from the station.'

I found myself hardly listening, yawning again. This overwhelming desire to close my eyes and fall asleep during the day was quite extraordinary. It was only eleven-thirty in the morning and I had a desperate need for only one thing.

All my senses commanded:
Sleep
!

CHAPTER FOUR

I knew no more until air blasting in from an open door forced open my eyelids, still agonisingly heavy. What on earth was happening to me?

I was being held by Hinton. She was a strong woman, towering above my small stature, her arms grasped firmly around my waist.

I panicked, confused.

'What's happening? Has there been a crash?'

Clinging to me, she didn't reply.

I struggled in vain. Had I been dreaming, opened the door for fresh air and was now in danger of falling out of the moving train?

And then--

And then I was suddenly alert. I was in danger indeed. But not from falling.

I was being pushed - pushed forcibly out of the open door.

Through the smoke, a steep hill, and as the train slowed down to round a corner I was in mid-air - my feet dangling above the rails.

I struggled with Hinton, calling for help.

No one heard me, and suddenly released from her iron grip, I flew through the air and hit the ground, tumbled on to a grassy verge, and began to roll steadily down the hill, my progress accelerated by agonising encounters with small stones, then halted momentarily by a series of tall weeds and shrubs.

In desperation I found one and clung on. Looking up back at the railway track far above me I called again for help. In vain.

The noise and smoke of the train had been replaced by silence as I hung there, trying to sort out my bruises and addled wits.

I was still so tired. There was no sign of the satchel which had contained Mrs Lawers' legacy at the start of our journey. My travelling carrier, however, had accompanied my fall and I saw it lodged some ten feet away.

I wanted to reach it, but discovered I was too weary to make the effort. All I wanted was to close my eyes again, confident that this was just some terrible nightmare.

Soon I would wake up again. I always did.

Suddenly, my face was wet; I struggled to open my eyes. My face was being licked by ... Thane!

No, that wasn't possible, although the grey hairy face at close range might well have been his. A large dog was at my side, and hurrying up the hill, rifle in hand, a middle-aged gentleman dressed like a gamekeeper.

He rushed to my side. 'Pilot spotted you, miss. What the devil has happened? Are you hurt?'

'I don't know. I can't remember - I think I must have fallen off the train.'

He lifted me to my feet, very gently. 'I'm a doctor, miss. Let's make sure you're all right. Let's see, now. Can you walk a few steps?'

I managed, clinging to his arm and stumbling down the hill where he retrieved my carrier and pronounced my progress was excellent.

'Arms and legs not injured. Excellent. A few bruises, I dare say, but they'll soon mend,' he added cheerfully. 'Fortunate that you fell down a grassy slope. Excuse me a moment.' He stopped. 'Would you mind ... er ... breathing on me please.'

I did so and he nodded grimly. 'Just as I thought, miss.'

He said nothing more until we were safely on the footpath below, the deerhound, so like Thane, walking at his side.

Releasing my arm, he asked how I was.

'My shoulder is rather sore and my knee. I think it is bleeding.' I could feel it sticking to my skirt.

We were in a village street and he pointed to a little cottage, some fifty yards distant, almost concealed by trees. 'That is where I live. I have my surgery there, and once we have attended to your cuts and bruises, I'll get the carriage out and take you to the railway station. Where were you heading?'

I told him Perth and he nodded. 'You're nearer Edinburgh than Perth; this is Kingmere.'

A brass plate on the door declared its owner was Dr Hugh Everson. The interior was neat and pretty, suggesting that the kindly doctor was no bachelor, confirmed by family photographs on the sideboard.

'My wife is away visiting a friend in Kirkcaldy, who has been ill,' he explained, his arm supporting me and leading the way into a small but well-equipped surgery. Removing my cloak, he bathed and bandaged my cut knee and gently examined my arms and shoulders.

'All present and correct, madam. May I know your name?'

'Mrs McQuinn,' I said. 'Thanks to you, Doctor, I've survived - I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come along.'

He smiled.'Your thanks belong to old Pilot here.'

And before I could tell him the coincidence of Thane he stood up and regarded me sternly. 'One more thing I must ask ...' He hesitated a moment. 'Tell me, Mrs McQuinn, are you on some kind of drugs?'

'Drugs? Of course not.'

'You are absolutely certain. No kind of medication?'

'No. I assure you I am perfectly healthy.'

He nodded but looked rather doubtful. 'Very well. If you have any problems, then you can consult your own physician when you return home. Meanwhile I will make us a restoring cup of tea before you continue your journey - in safety this time.'

Dr Everson placed the cup of tea before me and proffered milk and sugar, which I declined. The first sip and the mists of confusion began to clear.

'I was perfectly fit until I boarded that train for Perth. But I have not the slightest idea why I required fresh air, opened the door, and fell out of the train.'

Now as I said the words, the pieces of the puzzle began to fit together. Those last moments - the maid Hinton's strong arm around me, my cries for help unheeded ... and the thought came sharp as a knife: did I fall or was I pushed?

'Your questions intrigue me, Doctor. Is there some point to them? Do I look as if I might be an opium addict?'

He smiled. 'Far from it, Mrs McQuinn, but many ladies take laudanum for relief from pain - our late Queen set a lamentable fashion.' He shook his head. 'As I lifted you, it was not opium or laudanum I detected on your breath but a substance much more dangerous.'

And as I raised the cup again to my lips, I thought of that other time in Waverley station. Hinton with the two cups of tea.

'Then I know the answer to your question, Doctor. I was travelling with a woman who tried to rob me.' I told him about the refreshments and he said firmly, 'It is obvious that she put something in the tea to drug you, and when it took effect, she pushed you off the train. What did she steal?'