Aunt Toffy and the Ghost Page 5

  “That will do nicely.” Basil smacked his lips in appreciation.

  She cleaned the dough from her fingers and wiped her hands off. Then she went to the larder and soon had two big platters piled with enough food for ten men. For good measure she had some dried apple slices from last harvest.

  “So what happened?” Rawly asked.

  Basil chewed noisily. Then he took a drink. “Bart met a woman—a woman of the church.”

  “And you are not happy with his choice?”

  “I was at the beginning. But then she revealed that she was going with her father and brothers to spread the word of God. Bart couldna’ abide to see her go. She refused his offer of marriage. So he followed her.”

  “He will either give up the chase or he will catch the lass.” Rawly knew his brother was as stubborn as a Glasgow mule. If he was a betting man, he would put a guinea on Bart.

  “Grandfather you are looking quite well,” Rawly commented, settling into a wooden chair.

  “Do not be fooled. I’m sure the reaper is waiting for me. I canna go to my reward with things unsettled. It would be a betrayal to our ancestors to leave Dullinmuth before I have seen an heir born.”

  “You will outlive us all, Grandfather.”

  “Nay, don’t try to flatter me.”

  Rawly chuckled at his grandfather. He was prickly as a thistle, strong as Highland stone.

  They left the kitchen to Mrs. Guinty and her rising bread.

  Their footfalls echoed through the empty rooms as they made their way through the hall.

  They settled in a matched pair of tall backed chairs in the ancient library. The room smelled of peat fire, musty books and home. The huge double doors allowed a clear view into the front hall and a wonderful aspect of the wide curving stairs.

  It was a balm to Rawly’s soul. Through the diamond shaped, lead rimmed glass of the window he watched gloaming settle on the vale. Gray, mauve and blue painted across the heath and the crags of the moor. Soon the tree tops were only a vague suggestion on the horizon.

  “Now, Grandfather,” Rawly said as the whisky bloomed inside him. “Tell me what has happened to put the black dog upon you.”

  “Bart has taken up with a woman.”

  Rawly barked a laugh. “Isn’t that what you have hoped for? Bairns to dandle on your knee? A Rawlings heir to carry on? You should be dancing a jig while the piper plays. Put on your finest kilt and show the world your braw bony knees! At last you will have your heart’s desire.” Rawly chuckled.

  “Aye, it was what I ha’ hoped,” He looked sad. “But this woman is so prim, proper and tightly laced it would be a wonder if she would provide a bairn. No, she is all for the church and not for the marriage or continuing the Rawlings line. Bart speaks of nothing but heaven and the angels now.”

  “Och, I believe I see.” Rawly had an uneasy suspicion he now understood the point his grandfather was about to make.

  “She has managed to woo him away with her, but not with marriage in mind ye see. She has a Bible in her hand, intends to civilize savages, and wi’ have none of Bart. Aye, it is up to you now, Tobias. Bart has gone off to Morocco and then into the wilds of the jungles to spread the faith to the ignorant. If I am to see an heir to carry on the line, you must find a woman and marry. Sooner rather than later, to my way of thinking. Right now I think wi’ be best.”

  Rawly was about to point out the many flaws in the plan, not the least of which was the lack of a willing fiancée, when he was interrupted by the shrill skirl of bagpipes. The mournful tune grew louder and louder until it filled the very walls with sound.

  He sipped his dram while he turned his head slightly and listened to the well remembered, long dirge. He focused his gaze at the top of the stairs and watched as the piper descended the stone treads, made a sharp turn at the bottom and finally disappeared through the solid far stone wall.

  “I see the ghost is still on time.” Rawly said with a yawn.

  “Aye, precisely eight of the clock, everyday. ’Tis nice to know some things wi’ never change. At least the family ghost is a follower of tradition, unlike your brother. Now toss some more peat onto the fire. And tell me is there a woman that you can marry quickly, for I’ll brook no arguments Tobias. You must get ye wedded and bedded proper.”

  ****

  Adorna stared glumly at the bowl of porridge. They had tightened their purse strings and every day was the same. Porridge to break the fast, a thin soup that was more broth than anything else. And whatever cook could create from turnips and little else.

  This was to be their life until she acquired more lodgers?

  “Take heart, dear, it will improve,” Toffy said brightly.

  “How do you know?”

  “I just do. You simply have to keep your faith.”

  Adorna tried to smile but it was difficult. She swallowed the lump in her throat that signaled tears were not far away. If Toffy could do it, so could she.

  ****

  Rawly stared skeptically at the trunk as it was loaded into the carriage. How had it all come to this? His time had been spent trying to wheedle and wrangle, and in the end the old laird had still gotten his way—as usual. Rawly thought he now knew how maidens must feel when they are told to wed with no thought to their feelings. He felt a bit like a prize ram being sent into the meadow to service the ewes.

  “Really Grandfather, there is no need for you to come to Edinburgh.” He had tried every tact to prevent his grandfather accompanying him.

  “Nae need? I canna agree, Tobias. You speak as if some evil spell has befallen Edinburgh, and there is not a marriageable woman to be had. I will come to the city. I will find you a wife, and you can get on with it. There can be no delay and no excuses.”

  “But Grandfather—”

  ‘Nay. But me no buts. There is no title to worry with since Bart will still get that. But our good name to carry on and the estate itself, and a tidy sum as well, with a few other properties scattered here and there, so while your brother ’tis in the grip of madness, you shall give me a male heir. And I am getting no younger—you must hurry along with the details, Tobias.” He narrowed his eyes and stared hard at Rawly.

  “What are you not telling me? Grandfather, is there something else I should know?”

  “’Tis nothing… The physicians say I should still have enough time…”

  Rawly knew this wily old fox well. It was probably just a ruse on his part…still he was not a young man. Could there be something else besides Bart’s sudden religious conversion? Could he be ill?

  “Och, dinna waste a minute. Mount up and get that great brute of a horse to Edinburgh. Rough shod or smooth shod, I care not—just ride, man, ride. I will be beside you all the way.”

  “You will wreak your carriage if your driver tries to keep pace with this animal.” Rawly swung into the saddle and held the reins in a tight control. The horse danced, eager to be off. “If you must do this Grandfather, then meet me at Mrs. Miggins boarding house when you arrive. I gave the direction to your driver. We will see if she can help make arrangements for your lodging. Perhaps you should reconsider until I can obtain rooms for you.”

  “Nae, I will not delay. I will be in the city by nightfall.”

  Rawly let the stallion have his head. “You may be sleeping rough in a manger to pay you for your trouble if Mrs. Miggins has no room—I cannot guarantee your comfort.”

  “I will do what I must—even if I must take up residence in a posting house. Dullinmuith must have an heir.”

  And with a determined wave of his feathered plaid cap, he climbed into the sprung carriage and firmly closed the door. Rawly had no idea how he was going to turn the old gentleman’s thoughts from this folly, but he must, for he had had no notion to marry and produce an heir. He had his own pursuits, and they didn’t include running tame about the house and sitting by the fire in Dullinmuth. Still, the old gentleman had wrung a promise from him, so until God took pity, Rawly was on his dreary way to the
marriage bed.

  “It would be wonderful to have a little more coal, wouldn’t it—now that the weather has taken a cold turn again?” Mrs. Wise smiled and Adorna felt the grip of conscience. The room was more than a little chilly. Even using their shawls, it was not comfortable. It was supposed to be spring but—Scottish spring. The weather had not warmed as she hoped it would. Now with gloaming the air was sharp and cool.

  “When you find a lodger for the other room, we might even have another joint each week, mightn’t we?” Mrs. Wise suggested with a wistful sigh. She was obviously feeling the thrifty pinch.

  Before Adorna could open her mouth to say a word, Mr. Scrum added, “I hope we have not lost Rawly altogether, he is a canny fellow, good company, and a gentleman. It is not just his custom being missed.”

  Toffy nodded enthusiastically, and Adorna nearly groaned. She felt so guilty. If only there was some way to let the right kind of people know that she ran a good, clean—if somewhat thrifty—lodging house.

  “I hope he has not come to harm, to have left town so suddenly,” Toffy said with a frown.

  “I expect we will hear from him presently,” Mr. Scrum assured her. “At least that is my fervent hope.”

  “He has only been away for a few days. I don’t think there is cause for alarm.” Adorna tried to assure them but she also worried. The expense to restore the parlor had taken the little savings she had. They were now living very close to the bone. She didn’t want to burden Mrs. Wise or Mr. Scrum with her difficulties, though she assumed they had more than an inkling, so she raised her chin and smiled.

  They were old friends of Mr. Miggins, and she knew they lodged with her only from loyalty to her dead husband. But even that had its limits. If the house was cold and the board serving only porridge six days out of seven, how long would they remain?

  “Ma’m, shall I tell Cook we will be the usual count for dinner?” Crosbie appeared at the door. “Or shall I wait up and see if Mr. Rawlings comes home this night?”

  “Tell her to cook a bit extra,” Aunt Toffy said. “You might have Cook keep a kettle on the warmer in case he needs a hot cup of tea when he returns.”

  “A man would most enjoy a dram, I think, my dear.” Mr. Scrum touched the side of his nose as if he were wise to the ways of men.

  “Mr. Rawlings has not come home yet. I think there is little reason to think tonight would be different. Tell Cook not to go to any extra trouble,” Adorna said, but on the end of her words they heard a noise at the front door and then a knock. Crosbie vanished and soon a familiar deep voice could be heard.

  “I believe Rawly has returned.” Mr. Scrum rose to his feet with a happy smile. “Come in, come in my boy. You have been missed.”

  Rawly entered the room, his cheeks flushed, his clothes travel stained, the blush of health exuding from every pore along with the scent of fresh air. Adorna’s stomach relaxed a bit with relief. She was just as excited to see him as the rest of the house—though her reasons were financial, not emotional. At least that was what she told herself.

  “Forgive my appearance,” Rawly set down his carpet bag. “I came straight here after I left the livery.”

  “Nonsense, we are just happy you have returned. Gave us a bit of a turn, I don’t mind telling you,” Mr. Scrum told him. Toffy and Mrs. Wise’s heads bobbed in agreement. “We feared we might have lost your company.”

  “I had a family matter to attend to.” Rawly ran his hand through his tousled hair and moved toward the fire.

  “I do hope all is well.” Mr. Scrum’s smile had faded in empathy. “No bad news?”

  “Aye—nay. In a manner of speaking it is a bit of both. However, I do need to make a request of Mrs. Miggins, and I hope I am not imposing too much on you when I ask.” He turned to her and of course everyone in the room was hanging on his every word.

  “Please, make your request.” Adorna was so grateful to still have a lodger she was quite ready to grant him a boon.

  “My grandfather will be arriving in the city later, probably before nightfall. His coach is not far behind me, but they must travel much slower than the horse I was riding—a spirited beast. He will need a place to lodge—my grandfather, not the horse. Can you recommend a posting inn? Or—”

  “Adorna, that would be an answer to your prayers,” Toffy gushed before Rawly could finish. “With the other room filled again, you won’t have to be so thrifty. Oh, how wonderful we can add some coal to the fire!”

  “My grandfather can be a handful, and I don’t know how long he intends to remain in the city, I don’t want you to put yourself into…”

  “He must stay here.” Toffy clamped her lips. “He simply must. Say no more about it.”

  “It seems it is all decided, Mr. Rawlings. When your grandfather arrives, he may take the room next to yours.” Adorna rose from her chair. “And thank you. We—I do appreciate your custom. I will go make sure the room is ready.”

  Adorna had turned down the bed and made sure it was clean and tidy. She opened the window to air it a bit, but it was too cool and she shut it quickly. It was still very early in the day, but she felt fatigued. She longed to go to her room and take a rest, but she had much to do including her usual visit to Henry’s grave. She was on the landing when Aunt Toffy’s cap-topped head appeared around the corner.

  “May I have a word?”

  “Of course.”

  “It is Meridius,” Toffy said softly. “He wanted me to tell you that he is not at all averse to having these two new gentlemen in the house.”

  “How kind of him to approve of my domestic arrangements.” Adorna cringed at the acid in her voice. How could she treat dear Toffy like this? “I’m sorry, it has just been a chaotic week and with what happened in the parlor. I apologize for sounding short…” She let her words trail off. What more was there to say?

  “He doesna’ dislike Rawly you see, it is quite the other way round. He has been trying to reach him. Each time he tries something happens. It is the miniature mosaic that Rawly gave me that caused such a commotion. He didn’t mean to make a dog’s breakfast of everything. Meridius recognized it you see—”

  “Recognized it—the mosaic you mean?”

  “Aye, it is a mosaic of his home. He had it commissioned by an artisan before he came to Britain.”

  “What are you saying—?”

  “Meridius had the miniature with him when he left his home. He cannot remember how it came to be here in Scotland. He is hopeful Rawly could tell him how he came to have it. Meridius thinks Rawly might be able to help him solve the mystery of his death if he could only communicate with him. So you see, Adorna, Meridius is very pleased to have Rawly staying here with us. He wants to try and reach him—across the veil. He has tried everything. The accident with the glass—pushing Rawly down and breaking his nose—none of that was planned. He was trying to be seen or heard, like I can hear him. Nothing has worked so far.”

  Chapter Four

  Spring in Scotland was unpredictable. It could shine one day and be a misery the next with rain falling sideways, wind to chill the blood and fog so thick one could cut it.

  And so it was that this day turned gray and cold as a stormy front pushed in from the cold restless sea to the north of the craggy shore. In the manner of things in Edinburgh, every coal fire was lit, and soon the thick smoke mingled with fog and made the city a gray aspect where one could barely see their hand in front of their own face.

  Even though it was scarce the noon hour, Adorna was forced to pull her cloak tighter around her head as she made her way, more by instinct than by sight, to Grayfriars. She had a few straggly posies, plucked from her own garden, since she could not afford to buy, to put on Mr. Miggin’s grave.

  It was clear Toffy believed in the Roman ghost, but try as she might, Adorna simply could not allow herself to think he was real. Adorna was shocked when she encountered a warm barrier in the thick fog.

  “I beg your pardon,” a deep and somewhat familiar voice
said. She realized she had walked into a man—Rawly—in the enveloping fog. She was near him; she could make out his features and see he had his old leather bag slung over his shoulder. His clothes were smudged with dirt.

  Was Crosbie right? Was he digging for treasure within the confines of the city? In a kirkyard? Surely she was not housing a grave robber. She needed the money but she could not bear to think—

  “Mr. Rawlings—Rawly—” she croaked.

  “This is an odd place to see you Mrs. Miggins.” He was a wavering apparition as the fog swirled, rose, ebbed, and fell between them.

  “I could say the same of you. And for me ’tis not so odd, I visit my late husband’s grave on a regular basis. What brings you to a graveyard. Do you have some love one buried in Grayfriar’s?”

  “No, I know no one buried here. I simply lost my way in the fog and found myself among the gravestones. Do you not find it disconcerting—walking among the spirits? I remember Toffy’s story of the ghost who brings violence to those who encounter him.”

  “Surely you do not believe in such fiddle faddle?” She was slightly uneasy. His explanation was plausible, but was it the truth?

  He regarded her solemnly for a moment. “You do not believe in ghosts, Mrs. Miggin? You do not believe there are some spirits that are anchored to a place in time?”

  “Of course not. Are you saying that you do?”

  His lips lifted in a mirthless smile. “If I said yes you would you hold me in lower regard?”

  “That was impertinent of you, Mr. Rawlings. You are a lodger in my house. To ask such a question is to imply that I think of you in some manner beyond that arrangement. I do not—such feelings would be highly improper.”

  He inclined his head as if in apology. “Forgive me for my impertinence. You are correct, I have overstepped the mark. You are a respectable widow. I am your tenant. There is no more to it than that. Please accept my apology.”

  “I do. Think no more of it.”

  “Would you like for me to escort you to your husband’s grave,” he asked politely, taking half a step away from her as if their words had erected an invisible boundary that should not be breeched.