Ghost Walk by Alanna Knight Page A

my new Sunday best summer dress which I had purchased at Jenners spring sale. A bargain, I saw it in the window, fell in love with it and had to have it.
    I’m not normally much of a hand with impractical ladies’ gowns more appropriate to the better-off section of Edinburgh society. But this was a gem of its kind. Ivory muslin, with a satin under petticoat, sprigged with delicate cornflowers. A wide blue satin sash did wonders for my waistline and that was what finallydecided me.
    I felt it did not altogether meet with Jack’s approval. ‘You look like a little girl, all excited and off to her first grown-up party.’
    And as I surveyed myself in the mirror in Solomon’s Tower and smiled at the compliment, he stared over my shoulder, scowled and said very solemnly, ‘It makes you look infernally young. As if I’m marrying a child bride.’
    Then seeing the disappointment on my face he gathered me into his arms. ‘You don’t look like a woman past thirty. You look about sixteen.’
    ‘I wish!’ I suppose I was flattered – what woman wouldn’t be? But whatever the outside shell, inside I was every year of my life.
    In ten years of my marriage to Danny from twenty to thirty, I had lived through every sort of dire circumstance in Arizona. Poverty, deprivation, near starvation, terror from Indians – and bereavement. And the worst that can happen to a mother – the loss of the one beloved only baby after years of being childless.
    And looking ‘infernally young’ as Jack described it could be a considerable drawback in my chosen career. I was well aware of my lack of inches and dressed accordingly, with the care of an actress in a stage play.
    I worked hard at the image of a Lady Investigator, Discretion Guaranteed.
    A dark outdoor costume, tailored and correct, its length adaptable for my bicycle, black boots with a heel to give an illusion of more than my four feet ten inches.
    ‘Which of your bonnets shall I bring?’ asked Jack.
    I thought of the two in my wardrobe at home. Simple, unadorned but reassuringly respectable. Felt in winter, straw in summer, in which my wild mop of yellow hair could be suitably tamed and hidden.
    I laughed. ‘Neither would do. I want a simple wreath of blue flowers,’ I said firmly, ‘and don’t forget my white patent shoes.’
    They too were beautiful, from the sales and as I had very tinyfeet, a bargain although not everyday wear and far less comfortable than my sturdy boots.
    ‘You might well be coming back to Edinburgh before the wedding ,’ said Jack hopefully.
    ‘On the other hand, I might not.’
    ‘Very well. You can leave it to me.’
    I knew I could do just that. Jack was very reliable.
    As the bell rang signalling the train’s approach, he said, ‘I’m relying on you to do what you can to help Ma with the wedding arrangements and – and no bright ideas about that other business . You know what I’m talking about?’
    I nodded in agreement. His stern reminder was unnecessary.
    ‘Behave, Rose. I don’t want you getting into all sorts of complications . Remember my parents have to live here after we leave. You have no idea what village life is like. They’re very proud and have a fine reputation. We don’t want them to be a laughing stock.’
    A rather cruel assessment of my Discretion Guaranteed activities , I thought, but I understood his sensitivity on the subject of his family.
    The train steamed in, hissed impatiently at the platform for its intake of one solitary passenger. With Jack leaning out of the window and that last kiss exchanged, the loftily titled station master in his more lowly role as guard and porter, when required, blew his whistle.
    I stood with my arm upraised until the trail of smoke disappeared around the bend in the track. Wished a polite good evening, the guard, anxious to return home, closed the gate behind me.
    The railway station was on the same side of the village as the Catholic church, and I recognised this as a golden