House of Strangers (10 page)

Chapter 19

Flora crossed the room to where her hostess was now seated on a brocade sofa, scanning the room through her lorgnette. ‘Now there you are,’ she said. ‘I do wish to know more about you. So you have been conversing with our tame detective.’ Flora’s eyes opened wide.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Will’s aunt. ‘There have be robberies round here and I asked the Inspector—a friend of mine—if he could spare a policeman to stand at the gate and a young constable to circulate among my guests. You can’t be too careful.’ She patted the place on the sofa beside her. ‘Do sit down, my dear, and tell me all about yourself. You are a relative of dear Miss Dunbar, I think.’

‘A cousin,’ said Flora who was becoming a little tired of explaining her role in Cousin Chris’s household.

‘Ah yes.’ There was an awkward pause. ‘And how did you come to know my nephew?’

‘He picked me up after I fell, getting off a tramcar,’ said Flora, who saw no reason not to be entirely frank.

‘Dear me.’ Mrs Philp was nonplussed for a moment. ‘A very unusual way to meet.’ Her glance strayed to the girl in yellow, who was still talking non-stop to Will. ‘And before then?’

Flora gave a brief account of her stay with Aunt Mina. ‘I don’t know the family but your uncle, you say, was in business…’

Dear Uncle John, thought Flora. How could she possibly explain his kindness and generosity to this silly snobbish woman?

‘And your father? I gather you were an orphan, when your uncle and aunt gave you a home?’ Mrs Philp persisted.

‘He was a fisherman,’ said Flora.

There was a silence. Will’s aunt clearly didn’t know what to make of this. Flora cast a desperate glance in Will’s direction, but to her annoyance, he seemed to be listening intently to the girl to the yellow dress.

‘Oh,’ said Will’s aunt after a pause. ‘And how did he die?’

‘He was lost at sea.’ Flora still found it hard to say. She bit her lip.

‘And so your uncle and aunt took you in? And now you live with your cousin, Miss Dunbar?’

Too many questions, thought Flora. She nodded briefly. Then to her relief, she saw Will coming across the floor.

‘Ah!’ his aunt greeted him effusively. ‘Your little friend and I have been having such a pleasant chat.’

If you could call it that, thought Flora grimly.

‘You will know that delightful young lady, Miss Gilchrist,’ Will’s aunt continued. ‘I hope she and my nephew will soon get to know each other better—much better,’ she said knowingly.

How can I possibly escape? thought Flora. I should never have come. Her dress, though pretty and becoming to her, looked, she had to admit, homemade beside some of the others. She glanced across the room to where Mr Chambers was circulating among the guests. He saw her and raised his hand in a wave.

‘Who’s that?’ asked Will.

‘My tame policeman,’ said his aunt. ‘I asked my friend the Inspector if he could spare a constable for the evening. I feel so much safer.’

‘What…’ Will was about to say ‘nonsense,’ but he stopped in time and took Flora’s elbow. ‘Excuse us, aunt. I want to show Flora the conservatory.’ He steered Flora away from his aunt who had already caught sight of someone else she wanted to talk to. ‘Would you like to see the conservatory?’ he asked.

‘No, thank you,’ said Flora in as chilly as tone as she could manage.

‘I don’t mean look at the flowers,’ said Will hastily, ‘but I just wanted to talk to you. I haven’t had a chance.’

‘And is that my fault?’

‘I’m sorry.’ Will was apologetic. ‘I got caught up with that girl, Miss Someone or other. I couldn’t get away from her.’

‘I didn’t notice you making much of an effort to escape.’

‘Don’t be silly, Flora. I’ve hardly met the girl and she isn’t my sort anyway.’

‘You do surprise me. Your aunt seemed to think you and she are ideally suited.’

‘Oh, you know my aunt.’

‘I don’t,’ said Flora, ‘and on tonight’s slight acquaintance I have no desire to know her better.’ She stopped, rather shocked by what she had just said. After all, Mrs Philp was her hostess and she should have kept her opinion to herself.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Will again. ‘I know she was quizzing you about your family She does that to any girl I’ve brought home.’

‘Indeed?’ said Flora. ‘Well, I gather she thought me very lower class, and I couldn’t bear it when she started asking about my father. I was proud of him - he was a brave man and how dare that woman, an unbearable snob, look down her nose at my parents.’

‘Here, I’m sorry.’ Will gave her a spotless white handkerchief from his breast pocket.

‘I’m not going to cry,’ said Flora. ‘I am not the crying sort. But I’ve never been so insulted in my life,’ she gulped, forgetting for the moment how often she had been snubbed and patronised by Aunt Mina’s friends. Will tried to put his arm around her shoulders, but she pushed him away. ‘I think,’ she said carefully, ‘that I’d like to go home quite soon. I will say goodnight to your aunt,’ she added, remembering her manners.

‘All right. Let’s get your coat, and I’ll call a cab.’ The evening was ruined anyway, Will thought.

‘I can walk home.’

‘No, you cant. I wouldn’t let you.’ Will escorted her out by a side door.

As they passed through the hall, Flora was slightly embarrassed to see young Mr Chambers staring moodily at a picture of Highland cattle.

‘Hallo,’ Will called. ‘Still detecting?’

Flora gave him a watery smile and he nodded gravely at her.

‘I’ll come with you,’ Will offered.

‘No, thanks,’ said Flora as he handed her into a cab. ‘I can manage, thank you.’

Mr Chambers looked after them. A pity, he thought. He would have liked the chance to get to know a girl like that. If only…

Will gave the cabbie the address. ‘May I call tomorrow?’ he asked.

Flora shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. Let’s leave it for a bit, shall we?’ She felt quite unreasonably tired and shaken by the way she had spoken to Will. I have never in all my life, she thought, spoken to anyone like that. Though I often felt like it.

To lose one’s temper, to flare up was often thought as a good thing. It cleared the air. It made you feel better. But it didn’t make her feel better. She felt utterly miserable, and ashamed. What a silly quarrel, and it was all my fault, she told herself.

Chapter 20

It seemed very strange the next week when Will did not call in after work. ‘So where’s your young man, eh?’ Nelly asked.

‘He’s not my young man,’ Flora snapped at her and then felt sorry. ‘I expect he’s busy,’ she added lamely.

Meantime, she decided that she would follow Mr Chambers’ advice. She would go ahead on her own and do her best to find out about Dougal. She had passed the local library sometimes when out shopping, and she remembered going into the impressive public library in Ayr when she had visited the town. Now she paused on the steps of the library. I can only ask, she told herself as she hesitated in the entrance hall.

‘Can I help you?’ She looked up at the tall figure in uniform. He must be some sort of commissionaire, thought Flora. She looked about her wildly.

‘I wanted to look up an address,’ she said, trying not to look as nervous as she felt.

‘You’ll want the reference department,’ the janitor said, pointing to a door at the far side of the hall before turning to chase away some youngsters who were jumping down the library steps. ‘Away ye go, you young de’ils,’ he shouted.

Some of them took heed, others hid round the pillar at the foot of the steps and shouted back at him, ‘Old Janny Mackay!’ He shook his fist and turned away, trying to recover his dignity.

The reference library was very quiet. One or two earnest-looking men were huddled over large books spread out on the tables, or studying even larger tomes propped on upright stands. Sometimes one would cough or sneeze and others would look round in disapproval.

‘Can I help?’ The young man at the desk wore a dark suit with a high collar. He took off his glasses and looked enquiringly at Flora

‘I’m looking for an address—I’m trying to find someone in Aberdeenshire,’ she said.

‘Which particular area?’

‘I don’t really know,’ said Flora, feeling a little foolish. ‘He probably moved there a very long time ago. It was somewhere called Carrdale, I think a name like that.’

He reached behind him and pulled down a gazetteer. ‘This might help.’ He spread the gazetteer open on the desk in front of him. ‘This is the area you want, I think.’

‘I don’t know much about the farm…’ Flora held out a slip of paper. ‘It may not even be there anymore.’

‘It could be,’ he said, ‘if the deeds have been transferred to the new owner. Or do you think it might be still in the family?’

‘I don’t know,’ confessed Flora. ‘It was about 40 years ago. Someone suggested the parish minister might know, but I have no idea where to start.’

‘Yes,’ said the young man, ‘that’s a possibility. You could try writing to the local minister and ask if he knows the family. He will have parish records, and,’ he gave a little cough, ‘will be able to find if your friend has, er, passed away.’

He lifted down another tome. ‘Here, you see,’ he said, ‘there are all the names of the parishes and the present minister and his address. I’d suggest you write to him and he may be able to help.’

‘Oh, thank you! said Flora, more loudly than she had intended. An old man, crouched over a newspaper, looked up crossly and glared at her. ‘Sorry!’ Flora mouthed. ‘Sorry!’ Turning back to the young man, she said, ‘I’m so grateful. You’ve helped such a lot.’

‘That’s what we’re here for.’ He smiled at her. ‘Good hunting.’

*

Flora started here letter: Dear Rev. Maclean –

She sucked her pen nib and thought. How did you address a minister? Dear Sir? Dear Mr Maclean? She decided to leave it as Dear Rev. Maclean.

I would be grateful if you could give me any information about someone called Dougal McCrae, who I think was a member of your congregation in the 1860s or 1870s. He came to Edinburgh, but I have no trace of him since. I am writing on behalf of my cousin, Miss Christina Dunbar, who would welcome news of him.

She paused and inserted the word ‘elderly’, which she thought an improvement. ‘My elderly cousin’ sounded better. He might be sympathetic to the idea of an elderly lady hunting for a long lost friend, rather than a young woman possibly in pursuit of a missing fortune.

As far as I know
, she went on,
his family had a farm in your parish
. She added all the details she could think of and finished,
I would be most grateful for any help you could give.

Well, she said to herself, we’ll see what that brings.

Chapter 21

‘We are to have a new lodger,’ said Cousin Chris one morning, looking over her mail.

‘Really?’ Flora was surprised.

‘I’ve been asked to take him by an old friend,’ said Chris a little apologetically. ‘Well, she isn’t really a friend. I hardly know her, but she knows I have guests and a spare room, so she asked if I’d have him for a couple of months.’ She went on, ‘I gather he’s some kind of traveller, so he may be away quite a lot. I’m not sure what he travels in.’

‘When is he coming?’ said Flora, trying to be practical.

‘Next week, dear. Monday, I think.’

‘And his name?’

‘Mr Macpherson.’

‘And have you told your friend the terms?’ asked Flora. Really, Cousin Chris could be quite impractical at times.

‘Yes, of course,’ Cousin Chris said a little sharply. ‘What do you take me for?’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Flora. ‘ I didn’t mean...’

Cousin Chris smiled. ‘You are quite right, my dear, to make sure things are run in a business-like way. I don’t know what I should do without you.’

Flora explained to the other guests that there would be an extra for meals. ‘I hope he won’t be loud,’ said Arabella. ‘And I hope he likes music.’ Mr Turnbull snorted, but Arabella paid no attention.

‘I know nothing about him,’ said Flora. ‘But we’ll try to make him welcome.’

That first evening, she wondered if she had made a mistake. Mr Macpherson was not at all the quiet respectable traveller she had expected. He wore a suit in loud checks, he had mutton chop whiskers and a bulbous nose. ‘A little too fond of the bottle, if you ask me,’ said Arabella in a whisper to Margery Craig.

He did not speak much at first, but shovelled his food into his mouth in a way that made Arabella shudder. Then he wiped his mouth with his napkin and looked round the table. ‘So!’ he said. ‘We’ll soon get to know one another. I’m Mr Macpherson to my customers, but you can call me Mac.’

Mr Turnbull ignored him and Margery nodded briefly. Arabella simply stared at him.

Oh dear, Flora thought, this was going to be difficult.

Nelly came in to remove the plates and Mr Macpherson caught her apron strings. ‘I beg your pardon!’ Nelly could be distinctly frosty when she liked.

‘Oh, I’m just one for a bit of a laugh,’ he chortled. ‘ You don’t look the sort of folks that like a good laugh. I’ll soon change that.’ Nelly removed the plates and whisked out of the room.

He’s very loud, thought Flora, trying hard to smile.

‘So you’re the young lady housekeeper,’ he said, turning to her. ‘Bit dull for you here, isn’t it? Among all these old folk.’ Arabella bridled and Flora said nothing. ‘Never mind,’ said Mr Macpherson. ‘Just you wait. I’ll ginger things up.’

The next few days were no better. And mealtimes, which had been fairly tranquil with only the odd argument between Mr Turnbull and Margery Craig (which both would have admitted, they rather enjoyed), became fraught and difficult.

Oh, dear, thought Flora, what are we going to do? She could imagine, in despairing moments, the other lodgers deciding to move out. She tried to find out where Mr Macpherson had come from.

Cousin Chris was a little vague. ‘I believe he had stayed with Miss Grey for a few weeks, but he decided to move and she asked me if I could help.’

Or perhaps he was asked to move, thought Flora a little grimly. She tried to be tolerant. He’s not bad, she told herself, just a bit loud—and maybe he finds us all rather staid. Though, she thought, no one could call Arabella staid, as she appeared at table in a flowing garment of vivid electric blue with a scarlet toque.

Mr Macpherson had stared at her for a few moments, but said nothing—to Flora’s relief, She felt that Arabella would be a match for him. There were several days in the month when his firm sent him on visits to shops around the country, to Ayrshire, to Troon, and further to Largs and Ardrossan, and north through Arbroath and Montrose to Aberdeen. He would come back with extravagant stories of how he had been greeted as an old friend, of meeting cronies in the local pubs, and of his employers’ gratitude when they saw his order book.

‘I don’t believe a word of it,’ murmured Mr Turnbull.

But Mr Macpherson was not put off by the silence which greeted his boasts. ‘Bet you‘ve missed me, eh, Miss Murgatroyd?’ he said to Arabella.

‘Hardly,’ said Arabella, in a tone that was meant to be dismissive.

‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ he laughed and turned to Flora, attempting to grab her round the waist. Flora ducked out of the way and busied herself at the far end of the table.

Should she complain to Cousin Chris? But perhaps she was being prudish. She had no experience of this sort of behaviour and maybe this was fairly common.

It all came to a head one Saturday when she was carrying a pile of linen to the rooms upstairs. Mr Macpherson appeared on the landing above. Flora tried to squeeze past him without a word, but he caught her by the arm. ‘Hey there, Missie, not so fast! Got no time for me this morning?’

‘I’m busy,’ said Flora.

‘Not too busy for a wee kiss. Come on, Miss, you know I’ve taken a fancy to you.’ She tried to duck out of his grasp, but he pressed her against the wall. ‘Come on, now, just a wee kiss for poor old Mac.’ Flora attempted to wriggle free. She could smell the beer and tobacco on his breath and turned her head to the side.

She dropped the pile of linen and with both arms used all her strength to try to push him away. ‘Leave me alone!’

‘Oh, now you’re playing hard to get! I like that.’ His hands forced her head backwards. Flora was so afraid she couldn’t even scream.

Then suddenly, footsteps pounded up the stairs. Macpherson was grabbed by his jacket and Flora caught a glimpse of his face, red, sweating and astonished as he was punched on the jaw and tumbled over the pile of linen to fall at the foot of the stairs.

‘Is he dead or injured?’ Margery Craig had appeared from the dining room just in time to see Mr Turnbull swinging a punch at Macpherson. She looked at the figure lying prone.

‘Not him.’ Mr Turnbull rubbed his knuckles. He pulled Macpherson to his feet.

‘You’ll leave her alone, right? And if you don’t, I’ll hit you a lot harder next time.’

Macpherson looked blearily at him. ‘Oh, it was only a bit of fun.’ His voice faded as Mr Turnbull gave him a shake.

‘I’d be out of the door within the hour if I were you,’ Mr Turnbull said.

‘Oh, don’t worry.’ Mr Macpherson rubbed his jaw. ‘I know when I’m not wanted.’

‘I think you were wonderful,’ Margery looked at Mr Turnbull with admiration.

‘I did a bit of boxing in my younger days,’ Mr Turnbull admitted.

Flora shakily gathered up the pile of linen. ‘You were simply splendid,’ Margery said, gazing at Mr Turnbull admiringly. ‘I’d never have guessed it of you.’

Later that day Flora wondered what to do. Should she tell Cousin Chris? But there was no need. The unwelcome guest was spotted with his suitcase slinking out of the front door. Then she went into her cousin’s room.

‘I’m afraid,’ she began.

‘You don’t need to tell me,’ said Chris.

‘Miss Craig has already been in—you poor girl, are you all right?’

‘He didn’t harm me,’ Flora said, ‘thanks to Mr Turnbull.’

‘Thank goodness. Miss Craig has told me they all want him to go.’

‘He’s already gone,’ said Flora. ‘And left without paying this week’s rent.’

‘A small price to pay. Who would have thought it of Mr Turnbull? Miss Craig was most impressed,’ said Chris. ‘I’m so sorry, my dear. I’ll be more careful in future not to take in just anyone.’

‘It’s all right,’ Flora tried to reassure her. But she felt suddenly sad. Cousin Chris was not herself. Only a year ago she had been alert and kept an eye on all the comings and goings in the house. But now - she was quieter, a little remote.

Flora was worried about her. Could she be ill?

*

The atmosphere in the dining room returned to normal, but now Mr Turnbull was something of a hero to the others. ‘It was nothing,’ he protested.

‘You are much too modest,’ said Margery. ‘Saving poor Flora as you did—you were a proper hero.’

Nelly gave him an extra-large helping of stew. ‘You deserve it,’ she said.

‘And so say all of us!’ Arabella piped up.

Mr Turnbull shook his head. ‘That’s enough.’ How peaceful it was now that Mr Macpherson had gone. Mr Turnbull nodded and smiled at them all and picked up his knife and fork.