Aunt Toffy and the Ghost Page 3

  “Do you have any idea where he goes and what he does?” She would not be so bold with anyone she did not trust, but Crosbie was more family than servant, having been with her and Toffy before they came to this house at her marriage.

  “I have heard in the market he was seen digging on Ard Na Said.”

  “He is discussed in the market?”

  “Of course, ma’m. All the lodgers are. The fish monger, the collier, the costermonger, they know all about everyone who lodges. It is said he is digging.”

  “Digging? Lord, tell me he is not robbing graves? Have we opened our house to a murderer?”

  “Not likely if he is digging in the light of day and not likely to be finding fresh bodies on Ard Na Said. The only burials there, if indeed there are any would be ancient. The local legends say Arthur and his knights sleep there, but their bones would be much too dry for the anatomists to use. And his tools are not right.” Crosbie laughed at his own humor.

  “Tools? What sort of tools? In what way are they not right?”

  “That leather bag is full of tools, tiny spades, brushes of all sizes, made of animal hair. No, I don’t think he is robbing graves—at least not any fresh ones.” Crosbie chuckled again.

  “What do you mean? You are thinking something—tell me.” Adorna caught the glint in Crosbie’s dark eyes.

  “Some of the merchants think he may be searching for treasure. If the legends are true and knights of old are buried on Ard Na Said, then perhaps he is digging for grave goods of some value. Perhaps he hopes to find Excalibur or the Holy Grail. There is some speculation that he has a map—that will lead him to a king’s ransom in wealth.”

  ****

  Sunday morn dawned fine and sunny. The promise of summer was truly evident as young birds sang, flowers sported new buds, and the fuzz of green was everywhere.

  “’Tis so fair we can walk to the kirk again.” Toffy told Adorna while she tied her bonnet bow under her chin. She was wearing her gray silk with the small roses at the neck.

  “Aye, and I can take a fresh flower to put on Mr. Miggin’s grave.” She took her cloak from the peg by the door. Adorna was wearing a plain plaid dress with tiny rosettes of ribbon around the hem.

  “Would it be permissible for me to join you for services?” Mr. Rawlings deep voice caused Adorna to start. “Oh, I am sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you.”

  “Of course you may join us,” Toffy said with a smile that transformed her wrinkled face into an elfin mask.

  “Will Mr. Scrum and Mrs. Wise also be joining us?”

  “He has gone ahead, and Mrs. Wise woke with a megrim.”

  “I consider myself fortunate to have the company of two such lovely ladies all to myself. Miss Toffy, may I take your arm?”

  Rawly tucked her gloved fingers into the crook of his elbow, and they started off. He offered his other arm to Adorna almost as an afterthought.

  “Tell me, Miss Toffy, how is the garum going?”

  “I have the fish in the jug and have it in the sunniest spot.”

  “Well now we will just have to wait,” he said.

  No more was mentioned about it as Aunt Toffy pointed out gardens, closes, and local anecdotes as they walked. As they approached the kirk, she suddenly turned the topic of conversation to ghosts.

  “We have many ghosts here in Grayfriars.”

  “Is that a fact?” Rawly asked.

  “Aye, Bluidy Mackenzie is said to walk the crypt at night. So if you venture to the kirkyard at night, beware,” Toffy warned Rawly with a wicked grin.

  “Is he really so fierce?” He was also grinning. Adorna kept silent. Surely such a man as he did not believe in spirits roaming among the headstones.

  “Aye, many is the person who has had injury from the ghost. He is a bad one.”

  “Perhaps all ghosts are foul tempered, do you suppose?” His voice was light and teasing.

  “Nay, I know some of them are quite biddable and passing good company. Some of them like wine and bannocks.”

  Adorna nearly choked, but mercifully they had reached the kirk. “Here we are. My that was a brisk walk, wasn’t it? Perhaps I should find a carriage to take us home after services.” Adorna took her aunt’s hand and started guiding her toward the door. She didn’t want Toffy spinning more stories for Rawly’s benefit.

  “But Adorna, the cost—”

  “Hang the cost, Aunt, I don’t want you getting overtired. Thank you Mr. Rawlings, we will see you at tea.”

  Rawly nodded his head and watched while the young woman bustled her aunt inside. He was back to being Mr. Rawlings. He had done something to offend her though he could not imagine what that might be. The pretty young widow seemed a little overprotective of her aging auntie. Or was it just that she did not want him talking to Toffy? And why could that be?

  The usual sequence of events was the elderly maiden aunts did not want gentleman talking to young, pretty widows. Here was the reverse. The young, pretty widow did not want the gentleman conversing with the aging aunt.

  Surely she did not think he had some nefarious design on the old woman!

  ****

  When services ended, Adorna hustled Toffy out of the kirk and found the first carriage available. The trip home was quick. Life was bustling on the streets, church bells ringing all over the city.

  Mrs. Scrum was still abed with her aching head. Adorna pitied her.

  “Meg please take up a cup of honeyed tea. Toffy and I will take our tea in the parlor, please,” Adorna said as they hung their cloaks on the pegs in the entry.

  “Would you like a bit of something stronger in your tea, Aunt? I could add a bit of whisky if you’d like,” Adorna offered.

  “No dear, I think I will try the watered wine again. Meridius is convinced it has beneficial properties.”

  “Aunt, you know you don’t have to invent a ghost to try new things. If you want wine, then simply ask me.”

  “I did ask, dear. Just as Meridius suggested.

  Adorna chuckled. Her aunt had always been a bit eccentric and since Henry died, she had become more so. Still if it kept the old dear happy, she was pleased to indulge her—she just didn’t want it becoming common knowledge. Wagging tongues could do them harm.

  So far the conversations with Rawly had been innocent enough, but there was something about him that made her uneasy. Perhaps it was simply his strange desire to keep his activities secret. It made her suspicious and fearful—though if she was honest with herself he had done nothing but be kind. Still—a man who kept his vocation secret might be up to no good.

  After a cold luncheon with just Adorna and Toffy at table, the day had grown ever more cloudy and gray. It was so dim inside the house that Crosbie had lit the candles. The room had the glow of light and soft shadows played along the walls all afternoon.

  “Aunt, why don’t you tell me your latest story about Meridius.” Adorna settled herself in her chair and listened. When she was a small girl, Toffy would spin yarns of mystery and charm, but they had never been about ghosts.

  “He has told me that he was a simple farmer. I am not sure of the details, but he wrote something, evidently. Soon he found himself on a ship.”

  Adorna was amazed at her aunt’s story-telling ability. She had such detail in her fantasy. “That is a wonderful story, Aunt. Perhaps you should start writing them down. You are every bit as imaginative as Mr. Fenimore Cooper.”

  Suddenly all the candle-flames enlarged. They flared brighter as if fed by an invisible gust.

  “He came to a new land; we call it Scotland, but of course they called it something else. Meridius missed his home, and he hated the cold. He still does. That is why he needs the occasional nip of wine.”

  Adorna laughed. She couldn’t help herself. “I have noticed the wine bottle is getting a bit low. I would hope that anyone in the house knows they have only to ask. They don’t need to sneak a nip.”

  “You simply do not believe me do you? You think I am a foolish old
woman.” Toffy frowned and leaned forward in her chair. “Really, dear, I expected better of you.” Then she tilted her head as if trying to hear something far away. “Meridius suggests you put him to the test to end this foolish doubting.”

  “And how does Meridius suggest we do that?” Adorna kept her face straight—barely.

  “Go to the sideboard, and pour out a dram. You will soon see.”

  Adorna rose with a sigh, but she did as instructed. The amber liquid glowed within the glass. Toffy was clearly annoyed with her. They never quarreled, and she hated to think she had upset her aunt. The apology was on her lips when a cold rush of air swept through the room. All the candles guttered and died. It took a moment for her to get the stick on the sideboard relit. When the candle flared to life, she looked toward the glass again.

  It was completely empty. The whisky had disappeared.

  “Now, what do you have to say, Adorna? Do you believe that Meridius is here?”

  ****

  Adorna had avoided the subject completely for two days. She had risen, gone about her duties, and tried to forget what she had seen—or rather what she had not seen.

  The dram of whisky had just vanished. As if consumed by an invisible spirit?

  Respectable widows with respectable lodging houses simply did not have Roman ghosts traipsing about the hall.

  There had to be a logical explanation for the disappearing whisky.

  All her life she had hoped for a quiet respectability. She thought she had finally achieved that tenuous goal—but now?

  Her father’s job as grave-digger had kept her slightly on the thin side of genteel society. They had enough to sustain them, and they lived in a comfortable cottage provided by the council. But she was never accepted like a merchant’s daughter would have been.

  When she married Mr. Miggins, she had become his wife and nurse almost in the same heartbeat, and she had no time to meet her neighbors and cultivate friendships and connections in her new role as a married woman of moderate means.

  Then she was suddenly a widow. The lovely stone house, with six bedrooms, a spacious below ground kitchen, maids’ rooms in the attic, and the enclosed back garden was hers.

  Now, with Mr. Scrum and Mrs. Wise living in her house, she was finally becoming a staid, respectable widow, accepted as such. She could not let that slip away for a ghost that might or might not exist.

  This was a progressive century; the superstitious Scots were a thing of the past—weren’t they? Toffy spoke of Bluidy McKenzie, but those were old stories, told by ignorant folk a generation ago. And who ever heard of a Roman ghost? There had never been Roman settlements north of the English border.

  No, this had to be a story concocted from Toffy’s imagination. Surely nobody with half a brain and one eye in this century believed a Roman ghost was living in a lodging house!

  ****

  The next day dawned exceptionally warm. The house was opened to air. Curtains fluttered at windows throughout, and Adorna convinced herself she had not seen anything supernatural. She found herself in a good mood which only improved when she received a visit from a local vicar, Mr. Raeburn. The vicarage had been unaccountably invaded by vermin, and he and his good-wife were in need of temporary accommodation. Between Mrs. Wise and Mr. Scrum, her house had been chosen.

  She was over the moon. Not only would it be good to have the income, but a man of God in her house would surely prevent Toffy spinning stories of wraiths and spirits. Toffy would soon move on to another subject for her tales.

  ****

  The bustle of someone new coming into the house was always exciting chaos. The vicar Raeburn was a small, quick man, spare of hair and body but fast to smile. His wife was a rotund, substantial woman with kind brown eyes and dimples in her round face. They made a charming contrast.

  “I am so thankful you are able to take us in. I do not know where we would be else wise.” She talked as she walked and was a little out of breath climbing the stairs to their accommodation. She wore full skirts and her sleeves were tight near the wrist and full at the shoulder. She took a deep breath and continued.

  “We did have offers from members of the kirk of course, but most of them are fair cramped with their bairns and relations.”

  The vicar, dressed in unrelenting black, down to the stockings on his reed-thin legs, followed silently, but he did agree with a fast nod. His thin neck reminded Adorna of a capercaillie. She opened the door ahead of them, and Crosbie brought in their bulging carpet bags.

  “’Tis bright and bonny!” Mrs. Raeburn exclaimed as she rushed to the window and peered out. “Och, ’tis a lovely wee garden. We will be happy and comfortable here.”

  “Until God deems we needs must return to the vicarage.” The Reverend Mr. Raeburn reminded solemnly.

  She tamped down her enthusiasm. “As you say, husband, as you say. God has provided us with a fine house. I am mindful of that—even though at this time it has a few uninvited habitants.”

  Adorna smiled at them. They were the kind of couple most married folk aspired to be—considerate of each other, in step and happy.

  “I will leave you now; we will be serving tea at four of the clock. Please let me know if there is anything I can provide to make your stay more comfortable.” Adorna hurried down the hall. She needed to speak to Cook to make sure they laid a board that was up to snuff for their new boarders.

  Tea was laid out nicely. Fresh scones and bannocks, which of a sudden Toffy always wanted, were on a small plate. Cook had made some clotted cream and had a small dish of preserves. The bottle of wine on the sideboard seemed to be a little more empty.

  “Och, ’tis wonderful. We are having tea fit for the queen.” Mrs. Raeburn settled herself in a chair like a contented hen settling on a nest.

  One by one the rest of the household wandered into the parlor. The day had been warm, and no fire was in the grate. But before Adorna had even poured out the first cup, heavy clouds gathered. The day turned gray. Rain began to patter at the windows, and soon Crosbie was lighting the candles.

  Mr. Scrum and the vicar were engaged in conversation regarding the cost of providing for the poor and indigent of the city. Mrs. Raeburn and Aunt Toffy were sharing tips on lace tatting. Rawly was the last to appear covered with mud, dripping dirty water in the entry as he shed his leathern bag and hung up his grimy cloak. Clearly he had got caught in the downpour. The ends of his hair were dripping, and he ran his hand through them, setting most of it spiking out at odd angles around his head.

  “Tea, Rawly?” Adorna asked when at last he entered the parlor, ignoring his condition.

  “Nay, I will just nibble on a bannock. Ah, there is only one left. I see someone else likes them as much as I do.”

  Adorna thought that was exceedingly odd. She had not seen anyone eating bannocks. There had been a plate full when Crosbie set it out. The scones and clotted cream had been everyone’s favorites. What could have happened to them? Rawly reached out and picked up the last bannock and took a big bite.

  Adorna had poured a cup of hot tea for Rawly. She passed it to him and was ready to refill her own cup. As she reached for the teapot, there was a strange ripple in the room. She glanced at the candles and saw all the flames bent toward the cold fireplace as if someone had walked by them swiftly.

  “My, it is turning cool,” Mrs. Wise said, gathering her shawl more tightly around her shoulders.

  “Aye, ’tis as if someone just walked over my grave,” Rawly said shivering visably. He took a sip of the hot tea.

  “You are soaked—I hope you do not take a chill,” Adorna said, watching as he took another bite of bannock.

  It happened at once; the candles went out. There was a thump, a bump, and Rawly went face down onto the wool rug. He lay sprawled on his face on the floor.

  “Oh! Is he hurt?” Mrs. Raeburn asked.

  “Quick, Crosbie, help him up!” Mr. Scrum ordered.

  “Grab a cloth—for the blood!” Toffy advised.

/>   “Blood? Dear Lord is there blood? Do we need to send for the physician?” Adorna asked as she did her best to pull back the curtains and get some more light into the dim room.

  In a nonce they had the candles lit, the room righted, and Rawly seated with a cool, wet compress on his face.

  “It was as if someone gave me a shove.” Rawly held the cloth to his bloody nose.

  “Surely you simply tumbled from the chair. Who would shove you? Do you think your nose is broken?” Adorna asked.

  “Crosbie, please send to the ice house for some chunk for his nose. Oh, Rawly, I think it is broken, it is a bit—crooked. The ice will take down the swelling—but it is no longer straight.”

  He hissed in a breath and closed his eyes for a moment, then he took hold of his nose and moved it with a discernible crunching sound. Adorna felt a little faint. It took a moment, but then he opened his eyes and gave her a wink of bravado.

  “It is not the first time my nose has been somewhat rearranged. I will survive it. Please do not give it a second thought. Whomever or whatever sent me to the floor, I doubt you had aught to do with it.”

  She reddened at his observation. “In any case, I apologize, again.”

  “No need, the injury ’tis a long way from my heart. I shall not die of it.”

  “Mayhaps we should have the vicar perform a cleansing of the house whilst he is here.” Mr. Scrum laughed heartily at his joke. “Since we can find no reason for the mishap, perhaps is some vengeful spirit that needs casting out.”

  “Please do no jest about such matters,” the vicar chided seriously. “’Tis not a subject to be taken lightly.”

  The vicar’s wife and Mrs. Wise clucked their agreement. Adorna looked at the candles, remembering how they had all blown out simultaneously. A niggling worry started at the back of her mind. Toffy was sitting nearest to Rawly, and she had been quite close to the branch of candles on the side table as well. Could Aunt Toffy have done this in an effort to prove her spirit was real?

  ****

  “It seems your house doesna’ care for me overmuch.” Dawn was breaking, and Adorna had come down to the dining room early. Rawly’s nose was black, blue, and bulbous. But it did look straight. He talked as if he were speaking through cotton wool, and Adorna knew he must be tender even though he had kept the ice on it until it all melted away. The rest of the house had yet to appear.