Ghost Walk by Alanna Knight

once been a working quarry.
    ‘And that,’ said Jack, ‘is where the men who built the Abbey in the thirteenth century got their stones from. Can you imagine this as a hive of industry, a thriving community, long before Eildon ever came into being. Thanks to the economic use of the ruined Abbey’s stones by some enterprising farmers, they had no need for the quarry and it’s been abandoned for years now. We were warned it was unsafe, a forbidden place and therefore extremely attractive as a place of adventure in my boyhood.’
    Even in gentle sunshine it did not strike me as a place were I would care to linger or to explore alone.
    Jack’s next words confirmed that. ‘There are all sorts of dangers , unseen hazards. Deep pits and caves and where most of the stone was taken out, a bottomless – so they say – pond. Two lads were drowned when Da was at school and that earned it a bad reputation with parents. There was also a gloomy suggestion that when anyone walked out of the house and disappeared, that was where you would find them – at the bottom of the quarry pond.’
    ‘Not a great place for a picnic?’
    He shook his head. ‘It still gives me the creeps, but I thought you’d want to see it, intrigued as you are by unsolved mysteries. Besides there would have been no famous Abbey if it hadn’t existed so conveniently close. Shall we drive on?’
    We followed more twisting tracks which emerged at the course of a sparkling burn. This was Jack’s favourite childhood haunt.
    When he wanted to get away from everyone, having been naughty, which he said, was often, or just disagreeable and out of sorts with the world in general, he would retreat to this dear spot.
    ‘The number of times I fell in and went home sobbing, a drowned rat, my clothes ruined,’ he laughed as sitting on a large stone as we dabbled bare feet in the burn.
    A very isolated place and, as it turned out, very convenient and secluded for the benefit of lovers as Jack’s motive for the picnic became evident.
    Feeling particularly bruised by recent events I was glad of some physical expression of my future husband’s devotion and our lovemaking, always perhaps the most successful and united part of our relationship, left me feeling breathless, very fulfilled and at peace with all the world – and with Jack in particular.
    By the time we went back to the farm I had almost forgotten my intention to investigate Father McQuinn’s murder as soon as Jack boarded the train. I was very concerned, though, about Thane. He was never far from my thoughts, nervously wondering  how he was coping with his new environment.
    Did he feel trapped, as I did – did he long for home, for Arthur’s Seat as I did? In the stable, Thane looked less forlorn and Jack’s father indicated a neatly splinted paw. ‘Intelligent animal, knows it’s for his own good. Never made a bit of fuss, most dogs would need a muzzle. A wee bone fractured, painful and could have lamed him for life. But we’ve sorted that out, haven’t we, old lad. You’ll be right as rain soon,’ he added, ruffling Thane’s ears and his dignity.
    I put my arm around Thane’s neck. ‘How long will it take?’ I asked.
    ‘A week or so and we’ll take the splint off. Jack can come back for him.’
    So I was to be a prisoner too for another week.
    ‘He shouldn’t walk much, mind you,’ Mr Macmerry added and I was relieved to banish from my imagination that ghostly herd of panic-stricken sheep with Thane in full pursuit and every farmer’s gun at the ready trained on him.
    ‘What is he eating? I mean, what are you feeding him?’
    Mr Macmerry seemed surprised at the question. ‘Usual wholesome food we give all our dogs. Grand appetite he has.’
    I looked at Thane who confirmed this by licking his lips.
     
    I was allowed to see Jack off alone that evening. As we walked to the station I gave him strict instructions that next time he came he was to bring my wedding gown, or more correctly