The Ghosts of Tullybrae House (7 page)

She brought Emmie farther into the field where the rest of the team was working. A young woman and a late-middle-aged man were in the trench closest to Famke. Both were equally dirty, and both were blissfully content scraping away layer after layer of compacted soil.

“Sophie, Ewan. Emmie Tunstall has come out to see us.”

The man looked up from beneath a khaki bush hat to reveal a face covered with a full, brown beard. “Ah, yes. The elusive Emmie Tunstall” he noted in a Northern English accent. “We almost came to bets on whether or not you actually existed.”

Emmie glanced sheepishly to Famke. “Oh. I… Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude, I—”

“You’re awright. I’m just teasing, love. Ewan Brown.” He extended his dirt-caked glove.

“Emmie.” She smiled and shook his hand.

The girl next to him clucked her tongue. “C’mon now, Ewan. Look at the state of you. You can at least take off your dirty glove.” She removed her own glove, and extended a short-fingered hand with chewed nails. “Sophie Miner,” she said in a thick, cockney accent. “Pleased to meet you.”

“It’s all right. I don’t mind.” She shook Sophie’s hand as well. “I’ve been hearing that backhoe for a few days now. It’s nice to have the quiet back.”

“I’ll bet,” Sophie acknowledged.

“So how do you know when to stop with the backhoe and start on the manual excavation?”

Ewan’s eyes lit up. “That’s a good question. You see here?” His hand swept over the far wall of the trench. “This ridge of discoloured soil? That’s usually our cue to switch gears and start with the more delicate hand work.”

“Don’t ask him too many questions, you’ll be here all day,” Sophie warned.

“I’ll behave,” Ewan promised. “You should come out to see us more often.”

Emmie surveyed the field. “Yeah, I don’t know about that. I’m kind of avoiding the cameras.”

“They don’t come out too often,” Famke explained. “And they call before they come out anyway, so you won’t be caught by surprise if you are here and they do show up.”

“And besides, you need to sign a waiver before they’ll use any footage of you,” Sophie added. “That Rotherham lady was quick to sign, wasn’t she?”

Ewan huffed. “Thought she’d scratch right through the paper, she was so chuffed.”

“She’s a right piece of work, she is.”

“Soph,” Ewan chastised.

Sophie ignored him. “I mean, really. Did you see her prancing about with Iain, flirting and laughing? I swear, she couldn’t get enough of us when he was here, and now that he’s gone, we haven’t had even a whiff of her.”

“She’s…” Emmie pursed her lips, searching for the word, “unique.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Famke agreed. “I think she’s nice. Flaky, but nice.”

“She’s awright,” Sophie admitted reluctantly.

Their conversation was interrupted when the last two members of the crew came bounding over. Both were young men, in their late twenties, Emmie guessed. She smiled hesitantly as they approached, waiting politely for an introduction.

“Who’ve we got here, then?” asked one of the young men in the same cockney accent as Sophie.

Famke sighed. “Behave yourself Adam. This is Emmie Tunstall. Emmie, this is Adam Flett and Dean Walker.”

“Cor, if I’da known you were hiding in there, I woulda found a reason to check the place out sooner,” Adam guffawed.

“For the love of shite, man, you have a girlfriend,” Sophie complained.

Adam fixed her with a charming grin. “Only fun, love. Only fun. You’re not offended, are you?”

Emmie shrugged dismissively.

“See, Soph? She’s a good’un.”

“Well then, move over and let the man who doesn’t have a girlfriend have a chance.” The one called Dean shoved Adam out of the way, and offered Emmie his hand. “Dean Walker.”

Emmie took his hand. “American?”

“Texas, born and raised, ma’am.” He winked.

Famke and Sophie rolled their eyes.

“Laying it on a little thick there, aren’t you, Deano?”

“Why you gotta call me out like that, Soph? You can never lay it on too thick, you know that.”

“And on that note, why don’t you go put on some cologne,” Adam put in. “You reek, man.”

Dean swung a toned arm around Adam’s neck, and pulled his head down for a good, firm knuckle rub.

Their boyish, over-eager banter was infectious. Emmie found herself laughing along with the others while Adam and Dean rough-housed playfully.

“I’m Emmie Tunstall,” she offered, when they were finished and standing upright again. “I’m curator here at Tullybrae.”

“Oh aye, we know,” Adam nodded. “We were wondering when you were going to come out and see us. We were starting to think we’d frightened you away, or summut. I know we’re dirty now, but we clean up good, love. I promise.”

“I’m sure you do. Anyway, I don’t want to keep you guys from your work. I just came out to say a quick hello.”

“You can keep me all you want, love. I don’t mind.”

“Oh would you shut
up
, Adam.” Sophie chucked her spade at him. He dodged it easily.

“Ah, I’m only teasing. You don’t mind, right?”

“In small doses, no,” she relented. “I’ll let you guys get back to it. See you soon.”

She started to turn but Famke called to her. “Emmie, what are you doing this evening?”

“The usual, dinner with Lamb. Why?”

“We’re all going to have supper at the pub in the village. You know, being Friday and all. Would you like to join us?”

Emmie’s hesitated. Her first inclination was to say no, to go back to hiding now that she’d gotten the introductions out of the way. But the thought of spending time out with people closer to her own age (with the exception of Ewan, who was likely closing in on sixty) was suddenly appealing.

“Um… yeah, sure. That sounds good. Thanks.”

“Great. So seven o’clock, then, at The Grigg?”

“Where’s The Grigg?”

“Just up the road that way a bit.” Famke pointed in the direction of the road. “Turn right at the end of the driveway, and go straight for about ten minutes. You can’t miss it.”

Emmie nodded. “Ok. I’ll see you there.”

THE FIRST THING
Emmie did when she got back inside was find Lamb. Going out with the dig crew meant she’d be skipping out on their dinner routine for the first time since she’d been here, and she wanted to make sure it was okay with him.

She was sincerely coming to enjoy their quiet meals together.

“I can cancel if you don’t want me to go,” she added once she told him.

Lamb’s bushy white brows drew sharply together. “Don’t you dare. I’ll not lie, I’ve grown fond of your company in this short time, my dear. But I won’t stand in the way of your night out. You young people need time to let loose every now and then.”

Emmie was touched. “Aww, that’s the first time you said you enjoy my company.”

He gave her a bashful glance. “I would have thought it was obvious.”

“You big softie.” She pulled him in for a quick hug. He hadn’t expected it, and his arms bent stiffly at the elbows, not embracing her but not resisting. His wrinkled face was notably pink when she stepped back.

“Okay, then I’ll go. But we’re still on for roast beef tomorrow, right?”

“That we are.”

At five o’clock, Emmie retreated to the third floor to shower and change. Even her ‘going out to a pub’ outfit was mindfully selected. A casual plaid fitted shirt, slim-cut denim jeans, and clean-as-a-whistle Ugg boots made the perfect statement. Casual, but composed. After a final primp in the mirror to make sure her hair was still secured in a purposely messy top knot, she transferred her personal effects to a canvas satchel-style purse, and was off.

She took the main staircase from the second floor, traipsing past the portraits of Tullybrae’s dead. Perhaps she was just imagining it, but she thought their eyes held a measure of approval. Like they were pleased for her that she was getting out for a night. In fact, the entire house was intangibly lighter, even though the sun was starting to set and Lamb hadn’t yet turned on any of the corridor lights.

She climbed into her Fiat Panda, and made the short journey into the village. Famke was right. Emmie couldn’t miss The Grigg if she tried—it was the only pub in sight. The Grigg was a one-story building with a Tudor-style front, and a chalk-board sign on the curb outside announcing the night’s specials.

She parked on the street across from the establishment, climbed out of her car, and smoothed the wrinkles from her shirt. The night was crisp, but not unpleasant. Somewhere in the vicinity, someone was burning a wood fire. She pulled in a deep breath, savouring the smoky fragrance. The same sense of contentment she’d felt on her Saturday off in Aviemore came over her again.

“I could definitely get used to living here,” she whispered to the night.

Inside, the air was thick with cigarette smoke. Wooden benches with high backs and long tables lined the walls of the lower seating area, which was reduced to half its size to accommodate a live band. It was more crowded than Emmie expected for a remote village pub, and the people who were there looked like they came out specifically for the music. The band was good, an older group of gentlemen playing traditional Scottish tunes. The audience nodded their heads and tapped their feet along with the familiar melodies.

Two shallow steps, located about halfway into the building, led to a raised seating area at the back with individual tables and chairs. At the far corner, next to a narrow, stained-glass window, were the excavators from the University of Edinburgh.

“There she is,” Adam called happily. He flung his arms into the air like he was signaling a touchdown.

The others turned expectantly. Pints of ale in various hues occupied the surface of their table.

“Hope you don’t mind,” Sophie said, flicking a finger at her pint glass. “We got here a bit early.”

“Of course, no worries.” Emmie took the empty seat next to Famke at the end of the table. She glanced back over her shoulder to the bartender. He was as thorough a Highlander as one could want, with ruddy, weathered cheeks and a mane of shaggy, graying hair. Catching her eye, the man acknowledged her with a tip of his chin, then sent one of his three waitresses over.

“You eating, too, love?” inquired the middle-aged woman, pre-emptively handing Emmie a laminated, four-paged menu. She had bleach blonde, spiky hair, a tight, black tee-shirt, and the look of someone who was perpetually tired.

“Thanks.” Emmie took the proffered menu. “I’ll have a pint of Kilkenny, please.”

The waitress gave a listless nod and left.

“Kilkenny,” Dean noted approvingly.

“I had you down as a cider drinker,” Sophie put in.

Emmie tilted her head. “Cider’s okay. But I like the strong stuff better.”

“I’m with you,” Famke agreed. She lifted her pint of stout in salute.

Ewan snorted. “The only Dutch woman in existence who doesn’t like Dutch beer.”

“So tell us,” Dean said, leaning forward. “What’s it like working with that Lady Rotherham?”

“We already had this conversation,” Ewan answered, swallowing the last of his pint. “I’ll have another,” he told the waitress, who had come to deliver Emmie’s Kilkenny.

“I didn’t hear this story,” Dean protested. “So? Lady Rotherham?”

Emmie took a sip of the thick, creamy red ale. “She’s… enthusiastic.”

“Cor,” Adam exclaimed. “She’d barely shook my hand before she was off, scampering about like a dog being let out of the house. Totally dismissed me, she did. I was like, ‘Eh, careful lady. Don’t wanna go pissing me off, or I might just cut your water line while I’m digging in your yard.’”

Sophie scoffed. “Give over, man. You couldn’t cut through chicken wire with those bony arms of yours.”

“She’s really not that bad,” Emmie insisted. “Just excitable.”

“My nephew’s excitable. Wees himself when he gets worked up.”

Emmie laughed at Adam’s quip despite herself. “I think her plans for the house are different than the late Lord Cranbury’s. She’s eager to get started on it all, now that she’s free to do what she wants with the place.”

“Cranberry?” Famke asked, confused.

“Cran-
bury
. I know, I thought she was saying ‘Cranberry’ when I talked to her on the phone, too.”

Adam took a long swallow of his Tennent’s. I say ‘Cranberry’ anyway. I want to see if she’s paying attention. She never is.”

“Just don’t say it to Lamb. He caught it when I first met him. He may look old, but he’s sharp as a tack.”

“Oh, he’s a sweetheart,” Sophie declared. “I like that man. Makes the best shortbread bickies, he does.”

Emmie smiled tenderly. “Yes, he is a sweetheart.”

The waitress came back to take their orders. Emmie hadn’t yet looked through the menu. While the others were ordering, she opened the laminated pages and quickly scanned her choices. They all looked like possibilities, but in the end, Famke’s order piqued her interest.

“I’ll have the Thai curried beef, too, please,” she told the waitress when it was her turn. “Can I get my rice on the side, though?”

The waitress bobbed her platinum head as she scribbled on her notepad. Then she collected the menus and returned to the kitchen. Ewan’s eyes followed her retreating backside.

“Ewan, you dirty old man.” Sophie, who was sitting next to him, shoved him lightly in the arm.

Ewan didn’t miss a beat. “I am not old.”

Emmie listened to their easy banter appreciatively. Together, this group had found the kind of comfort that came from years of working together. She envied it a little; she had never been close enough with any of her previous teams to know this kind of effortless company. She was glad to be a part of it tonight, though. Their high spirits raised her own. They were a lot of fun, this eclectic mix of archaeological excavators. And they made an effort to include her in their conversation. Even if it was just making eye contact to let her know they were speaking to her, as well. She began to settle into the group, and by the time the food came, she’d even allowed herself to be pulled into their good-natured bickering.

“Ooh, that looks good. Why didn’t I get that?” Dean leaned over the waitress as she placed two Thai curries in front of Famke and Emmie.

“Shoulda, woulda, coulda, mate.” Adam eyed his own plate of loaded nachos with an eager grin.

Just as he was reaching for his first chip, Dean’s hand shot forward and snatched the cheesiest, meatiest chip from the top. Before Adam could protest, he pushed it into his mouth.

“Eh, get off.” Adam pulled his plate away, cradling it like a child. “Touch my crisps again and I’ll kill you in your sleep. Just watch, mate.”

Dean grinned at Emmie through a mouthful of nacho.

“Don’t even think about it,” she warned, pulling her own plate close to her.

Sophie barked a laugh. “He wouldn’t dare. He’s still trying to impress you. It’s you, Famke, that’s gotta watch your plate.”

“So when’s someone going to ask her about these ghosts we keep hearing about?”

Emmie’s hand stilled over her rice. She stared at Adam, who chewed a mouthful of nacho with a glint of humour in his eyes. When he saw the expression on her face, he sobered.

“Eh, you okay, love? Sorry, did you not know about the ghosts? I thought you did.”

“I— Um, yes, I know about them.”

“Are you all right, Emmie? You look very pale.” Famke studied her with genuine concern.

Emmie shook her head and forced a smile. “Yes. I’m fine. Sorry about that, you just caught me off guard.”

“So then? Tell us about them,” Adam prodded.

“Adam, have some tact,” Ewan grunted.

“What?” He shovelled another cheese-and-bean-laden taco chip into his mouth.

Sophie tossed him a disgusted look. “Could you be any more of a pig?”

He grinned sloppily. “That a challenge?”

“Really,
really
no.”

Emmie laid her fork down on her plate and folded her hands in her lap. “Why don’t you tell me what you’ve heard, and I’ll tell you if it’s true or not.”

“We were told on debriefing that there were two ghosts at Tullybrae,” Famke answered, somewhat chagrined by her own curiosity.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Yeah, they didn’t say much,” Dean added. “Only that there were two, and that they were friendly.”

“Is it true? Have you seen them?” Sophie leaned over her plate, eager to hear more.

“It’s true. I haven’t
seen
them, exactly. I may have… I’m not really sure how to describe it. I may have
encountered
one. At least I think I did.”

“Really?” Dean leaned forward, too, mirroring Sophie’s wide-eyed awe. Then, as quick as lightning, his hand snapped out and snatched a few French fries from her plate.

“Deano!” She slapped his hand, and scooched her chair away from him, dragging her plate with her.

Dean laughed. “I totally had you, Soph. Seriously, though, Em. What happened?”

“Not much happened. Just that a candle flickered when there was no draft. It had been burning for a while and hadn’t flickered once. That’s not a big deal, I know. But it happened at the same time that I smelled a rose-scented perfume. I don’t know where it could have come from. I didn’t have anything
rosy
around, and I know Lamb uses lemon-scented cleaners religiously. But that’s what I was told happens when the Countess of Cranbury is around. People smell roses.”

“Do they know which Countess of Cranbury it was?” Even Ewan was engrossed in her story. His hands rested around his half-drunk pint, and he listened just as intently as the others.

“The sixth, I’m told. She lived at Tullybrae through the sixteen hundreds.”

Sophie sat back and exhaled through puffed cheeks. “Wow, that’s fantastic. Man, if I were telling this story, I’d be right into it, with voices and sound effects and I dunno what. I don’t know how you can be so nonchalant about it.”

“Nonchalant,” Adam teased. “Look at you, using big words.”

Sophie pulled a face. “You’d know some big words, too, if you ever read anything other than Playboy.”

“I read it for the stories,” he guffawed.

“What about the other one?” Dean interrupted. “Do you know anything about him? Or her?”