Ghost Walk by Alanna Knight Page A

stranger who carried him into the house was most likely his killer.
    Was this the same man who had concealed himself in the confessional when I was about to discover the body?
    And however Jack Macmerry felt about it, this as far as I was concerned was one of my cases now.
    Not a Discretion Guaranteed investigation for a middle class Edinburgh client, whose fragile reputation lay dangerously at stake, but a full-blown murder enquiry.

Chapter Nine
    Over breakfast next morning Jack broke the news that this was just a fleeting visit, to see that Thane got proper attention for his wounded paw and to discreetly check the security arrangements at Verney Castle for the Royal visit.
    ‘This is strictly confidential, Rose. Not a word to my parents. The Chief Constable thought as I lived in the area it could be accomplished without raising too many alarms or suspicions.’
    ‘Suspicions of what? Are they expecting trouble?’ I said anxiously .
    Jack shook his head. ‘We have wind of Fenian activities in the area. May be just a rumour, of course.’
    ‘Your father told me that the Verneys were an old Catholic family, loyal to the Stuarts. And that they had Irish connections.’
    ‘That applies to a lot of us,’ was the wry reply. ‘But there are Irish men and women loyal to the Crown. I don’t expect that his lordship has a Fenian terrorist hidden away in the priest hole. Nothing as dramatic. He has a blameless record but where Royalty is concerned, the police always take rumours seriously.’
    Pausing, he wagged a finger at me. ‘And you should know that from your early life with an illustrious Chief Inspector.’
    I shrugged. ‘On the contrary, he never confided in his family .’
    ‘A wise move,’ said Jack. ‘Discreet surveillance is the word. And the reasons for my visit home have provided the Borders police with the perfect answer. I shall have to report back to Central Office – briefly, of course,’ he added casually, ‘as there is another pressing matter which fitted in very neatly to my secret mission.’
    ‘And what would that be?’ I asked, knowing perfectly well.
    His eyebrows raised mockingly at that. ‘I can’t believe you have forgotten our wedding arrangements. Counting the days we arenow,’ he added with a happy sigh. ‘How many is it?’
    I ignored that. The reminder had not been strictly necessary. ‘So I’m to be left here on my own while you go back to Edinburgh,’ I replied rather sharply.
    ‘Hardly on your own,’ he said reproachfully. ‘After all, you have Ma and Da to take care of you.’
    ‘Take care.’ How I winced at the words. He made me sound like a little girl, which I bitterly resented as he went on sternly: ‘You can make yourself useful. Ma will need someone to give her a hand.’ And that final note of self-righteousness, ‘After all, weddings are a woman’s business.’
    Never a good actor, he was relieved at having a man’s excuse to avoid all the wearisome details and preparations. I felt angry, not for the first time, that I was marrying a man who didn’t know me at all, aware again of those vast uncharted areas in our relationship . Heaven only knew what this version of the Rose McQuinn he loved and wanted to marry was like. I was certain I had never met her, or at best had only a fleeting acquaintance and, had I recognised her, suspected I would most likely have despised her.
    Married friends of course would have all the answers. Soothing tales that such pre-wedding anxiety was common to all brides. But did all of them at frequent intervals put words to the question burning in their innermost hearts: Were they doing the right thing? Was it too late to step back?
    I had the answer to that one. In my case, it was.
    Besides I was different, I had no married friends on hand and I was no quaking virgin bride being led to the altar with the terrifying prospect of the ‘wedding-night-and-what-to-expect’ spoiling the glamour of pretty gowns and extravagant