Bonnie Macbird - Unquiet Spirits - Whisky, Ghosts, Murder

Before she could answer, Holmes barked out, ‘Your husband either is, or you imagine he is, having an affair. I do not deal in marital squabbles. Kindly close the door behind you.’ He moved sharply away to a bookcase and stood there, his back to her.

She remained seated.

Holmes paused and turned around. ‘Really, madam, I beg you. What would your family think of this visit?’

‘It matters little what my family might think of my visit. I am quite on my own in this matter. Your opinions, while incorrect, are of moderate interest. Do enlighten me as to your train of thought.’

She had opened Pandora’s box. ‘Madam, mine are not opinions, but facts,’ he began in his didactic manner.

‘Go on,’ said she.

‘Holmes!’

‘If you insist. You have recently lost weight. For you, this may be considered beneficial. I observe that your dress has been taken in by a less than professional hand. However, something has changed. You have had your hair elaborately done and now are buying new clothes. The latest fashions are little valued in the Highlands, rather the opposite, and it is too cold for most of them. You are either having an affair here – but not likely as you are wearing your wedding ring – or trying to remake yourself to be more attractive to your husband. The jewellery I have explained. Now please, go away.’

‘You are wrong on several counts, Mr Holmes, but right on two,’ said she. ‘I do wish to make myself as attractive as possible. For women, it is sadly our main, although transient, source of power. Perhaps that may change some day. And yes, Alistair is my husband.’

Holmes sighed. ‘Of course.’

‘However I have not lost weight, this dress has always been too large, and I have fashioned my hair myself. I shall take both errors as compliments.’

Holmes nodded curtly.

‘Why, Mr Holmes, do you have such disdain for women? And what is that smell? Never mind. I wish to get to business. I am here to consult you on a case. I see that you are a bit low on funds, so perhaps you had better hear me out.’

Holmes exhaled sharply. ‘Pray be brief, then, madam. What exactly is puzzling you?’

‘One moment, Mrs McLaren,’ said I. ‘What makes you think Mr Holmes is in need of funds? Surely you are aware of several of our recent cases which have reached the news.’

‘Yes, and I do look forward to your full accounts of them, Dr Watson.’

Just then a sharp noise came from under the wet cloth and it suddenly slid off Holmes’s chemistry table. Holmes leapt to replace the blanket over the crude homemade still but not before the lady had a clear look.

‘An experiment,’ said Holmes sharply. ‘Will you not tell us your problem?’

She appraised him with cool eyes. ‘In a moment, sir. First I will answer Dr Watson. I see clearly that Mr Holmes requires cash. He has recently had his boots resoled instead of buying new. His hair is badly in need of a barber’s attentions. And his waistcoat, trousers, and dressing gown should be laundered, and soon. This does not fit with your description of Mr Holmes. He is either despondent or conserving money. His spirit bottles on the sideboard are empty, and he is rather ridiculously attempting to refill them with homemade spirits. Therefore the latter, most likely.’

‘It is a chemical experiment,’ snapped Holmes. ‘If you require my assistance, please state your case now.’

Isla McLaren reclined in her chair and flashed a small smile at me.

‘There have been a series of strange incidents in and around Braedern Castle,’ said she. ‘I cannot connect them and yet I feel somehow they are linked. I also sense a growing danger. Braedern Castle, as you may know if it appears in your files Mr Holmes, is reputed to be haunted.’

‘Every castle in Scotland is said to be haunted. You Scots are very fond of your ghosts and your faeries.’

‘I did not say that I thought that ghosts were at work. Quite a few of my fellow Scots demonstrate the capacity for rational thought, Mr Holmes. For instance, James Clerk Maxwell, James Watt, Mary Somerville …’

‘Yes, yes, the namesake of your college at Oxford. I see the charm dangling from your brooch, Mrs McLaren.’

Oxford! Isla McLaren grew in stature before my eyes. Somerville College for women was highly regarded, and the young ladies who attended were thought to be among the brightest in the Empire.

‘As I was saying, our small country has contributed a disproportionate number of geniuses in mathematics, medicine and engineering.’

Holmes at last took a seat and faced her, his aspect suddenly altered. ‘I cannot contradict you, Mrs McLaren,’ he said. ‘Forgive me. Let us address your problem.’

Mrs McLaren took a deep breath and regarded my friend for a moment, as if trying to decide something. ‘There have been a series of curious events at Braedern. Perhaps the strangest is this. Not long ago, a young parlour maid disappeared from the estate under unusual circumstances.’

‘Go on,’ said Holmes, as he opened and once again began to flip through the file.

‘Fiona Paisley is her name. She was a very visible member of staff, quite beautiful, with flame red hair nearly to her waist.’

‘Is? Was? Be clear, Mrs McLaren. Where is she now?’

‘Back at work, but—’

‘Continue. An attractive servant disappeared briefly but has returned. What is the mystery?’

‘She did not simply return. She arrived in a basket, bound, drugged, and with her beautiful hair cut off down to the scalp.’

This had at last piqued Holmes’s interest.

‘Start from the beginning. Tell me of the girl, and the dates of these events.’

‘Fiona disappeared last Friday. She returned two days later, three days ago.’

‘Why did you wait to consult me?’

‘Allow me to tell you this in my own way, Mr Holmes.’

Holmes sighed, and waved her to continue.

‘Fiona was flirtatious and forward, quite charming in her way. She had many admirers. Every man in the estate remarked upon her. We thought at first she had run off with someone until the servants appealed to the laird en masse, insisting that she had been kidnapped.’

‘Why?’

‘No one else was missing. She would not have run off alone. And then her shoe was found near the garden behind the kitchen. A search party was sent out, but discovered nothing else.’

‘But she has returned. What was her story? Did she not see her attacker?’

‘No. She could offer no clues.’

Holmes sighed and rose to find another cigarette on the mantle. He lit the cigarette casually. ‘Very well. Every man in the estate noticed her. Might your husband have done so?’

‘“Every” means “every”.’

‘Then you suspect an affair? Perhaps retribution? Is it possible that you or another woman in the house felt threatened by the girl?’

‘Why would I have come to you if I were the perpetrator?’

‘Mrs McLaren, believe me, it has been tried. Let us be frank. There is a certain degree of conceit in your self-presentation.’

‘I would describe it as confidence, not conceit. Will you hear me out, or is your need to put me in my place so much greater than your professional courtesy? Or, perhaps more apropos to you, your curiosity ?’

To his credit, my friend received the reprimand with grace. ‘Forgive me. Pray continue, Mrs McLaren. The shoe that was found near the garden. Was there no sign of a struggle, nothing beyond the one object?’

‘None. I made enquiries and undertook a physical search of my own, but her room yielded nothing and the area where the shoe was found was by then so trampled that it was impossible to learn anything.’

‘Do you mean you played at detective work yourself, Mrs McLaren? Would not a call to the police have been in order?’