Page 4 of Fiendish Delights
A tiny frown creased Otis’s brow. ‘It was only two minutes ago. Of course we remember.’
‘You promised,’ Hester reminded me.
Not in so many words. ‘Mmm,’ I grimaced. ‘Well, about that…’
Chapter
Two
Edinburgh is the sort of city where you can turn a corner and trip over an old cemetery. They’re all over the place, often where you’d least expect them. Many no longer accept new burials or cremations and are filled with scattered headstones and graves that are hundreds of years old.
Saughton Cemetery, not far from where I lived, was one of the less dramatic sites but it still organised burials. It was a peaceful spot occupied not only by the dead but by any number of crows, magpies and scurrying mice who mostly stayed out sight. I’d walked past it a thousand times but I’d never passed through its gates until now.
‘Where’s the grave belonging to the child’s mother?’ Hester enquired.
I shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
Otis flew ahead. ‘Was there anybody else nearby who might have taken her doll?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Is there anything, anything at all, that youdoknow?’ Hester asked
I considered the question. ‘The blob of toothpaste that sits on your toothbrush,’ I said slowly, ‘is called a nurdle.’
‘Oooh,’ Otis said. ‘That’s interesting.’
Hester only stared at me. I grinned. ‘Come on,’ I said. ‘The graves to the right look more recent, so we’ll start over there. Sophia’s mother can’t have been buried here for long.’ I turned, and with both brownies joining me, checked the inscription on each headstone as we passed.
‘At least tell me that you know the child’s last name,’ Hester demanded. I didn’t look at her. She hissed, ‘Daisy!’
‘She said the doll vanished when she went to get water for some flowers,’ I said helpfully. ‘Look for a grave with fresh flowers on it.’
‘This is ridiculous,’ Hester muttered.
I turned my head. Although her words were familiar, her tone was different to usual; there was an angry tension to her voice that I’d rarely heard. Hester had made a sport out of complaining, especially in recent weeks when I admit there had been a lot to complain about. But this sounded more serious than that.
I watched her for a moment or two. Her tiny shoulders were stiff and her wings were vibrating more than necessary. Ah. She might use funereal black as a fashion choice, but I reckoned that Hester was feeling distinctly uncomfortable. ‘What?’ she snapped. ‘Why are you staring at me?’
‘You’re not a fan of cemeteries, are you?’
She sniffed loudly. ‘The dead creep me out.’
‘Do you want to wait by the entrance?’
‘I’m not afraid!’ She half-yelled the words, suggesting that she was very much afraid. It was a sentiment that I could empathise with; while I found the cemetery a peaceful place, I knew what irrational fear felt like. I was much the same in small dark spaces.
‘Hester,’ I began.
She shook her head violently. ‘No. I’m staying. Let’s find this damned doll and get out of here.’
‘You’re alright, Hes,’ Otis soothed.
‘I know I’m alright!’ Her voice dripped with the desperate rancour of the terrified. She jerked her head to the left. ‘There’s a grave over there with fresh flowers on it. Come on!’ She took off, flying at high speed away from us.
Otis winced then started to follow her. I bit my lip before doing the same.
The headstone was plain but there was something elegant about its simplicity. However, while the flowers –a collection of red roses, white lilies and some pretty fern-like foliage – were indeed freshly laid, this wasn’t the grave of Sophia’s mother. Not unless her mother had been an eighty-two-year-old man called David.
