A Death by Arson by Caroline Dunford

before they put the new plumbing in. Apparently, the last Laird lost a butler that way. He was doing his business when she fair breezed through the wall. Said he wouldn’t stay in a household where the geists had nae shame!’
    She laughed heartily at this last joke.
    â€˜You don’t find any of these apparitions disturbing?’ I asked curiously.
    â€˜Och no, miss. Lots of folk in the Highlands have the sight. We’re quite used to such things and it’s not like they ever do anyone any harm.’
    â€˜Have you actually seen one?’
    â€˜Well, I’m not sure,’ said Enid, thoughtfully. ‘There was that nicht Jimmy McCowan got me to try his ma’s homemade wine. I thought I heard the piper then, but afterwards I reckoned what the noise was, was the bootboy, who’d also got himself a bottle, little blighter, retching up his guts.’
    â€˜Well, it all sounds most entertaining,’ I said, turning my page and applying myself once more to my story.
    â€˜It is, miss, but the Wailing Nanny is back, and me and some of the other staff are feart if Miss Lucinda hears it she might persuade Sir Richard to sell the castle on, and who knows when we’d find another decent master.’
    I barely suppressed a snort.
    Enid misinterpreted my response. ‘You might sniff, miss, but the Wailing Nanny is always an omen o’ bad fortune.’
    â€˜Then I suggest you do not repeat the belief in her existence to any other guest.’
    â€˜The thing is, miss, we were wondering, seeing as how you and Miss Lucinda get on so well, if you might not have a wee word reassuring her.’
    â€˜Me?’ I asked as the realisation dawned that our meeting was no coincidence.
    â€˜It’s not as if the baby died, like everyone thought. Of course, he didn’t exactly have a great life, what with the castle burning down, but they did find him again.’
    I shook my head in puzzlement. Enid sighed, ‘I’m not that good at explaining things, miss. My ma says how I always have two tongues once I get going. The Wailing Nanny, miss, was nanny to the last Laird when his son was a wee bairn. Tot must have been only two or so. Anyway he ups and gets out of the castle – climbing out one of the windows, they think,’ I shuddered, remembering Amy’s recent exploits, ‘and goes and finds himself a tinker’s caravan to hide in. The tinkers only found him when they had moved on tae another village.’
    â€˜Tinkers? Do you mean gypsies?’
    â€˜Aye, ye’d call them that, miss. Anyway, the tot not bein’ able to talk properly, it takes them a couple of days to work out who he is. That’s what they said, anyway. Most folks reckon they kept him a day or two in the hope that his late Lordship would reward them well for returning him.’
    â€˜But he came home safe?’
    â€˜Oh, aye, but the Wailing Nanny, she never saw that. The family put about a story about her packing her traps in the nicht and leaving, but everyone knew she had thrown herself off the castle ramparts in shame. It’s said the gardeners had to scrape her up with a shovel! Now, she wanders at night, crying and looking for the bairn. It’s said she can’t rest until she finds him. My nan said how a nanny that loses a bairn can never get intae heaven. It’s the worst sin ever. She was a nanny herself. She knew the Wailing Nanny. They’d both applied for the position, but she didn’t get it. My nan, that is.’
    â€˜So this is all recent history?’
    â€˜Och, no, ancient!’ said Enid with the sublime disregard of a fifteen-year-old, ‘It must have been thirty years ago or more!’
    â€˜That’s not a lot of time for a ghost to build up a reputation,’ I said.
    â€˜Och, I left out the best bit, miss! It was her crying and wailing that alerted the servants when the castle caught fire. Without her waking them they’d