Enter Second Murderer by Alanna Knight Read Free Book Online Page B

Faro dashed to her assistance and a delicate violet perfume assailed him. No sooner had he reached her side than her own fierce struggles released her. There was a final rending of cloth, and a moment later hat and veils were being firmly re-anchored.
    But not before Faro had glimpsed a face of haunting beauty. He knew that he had met few truly beautiful women in his life. Now he and this stranger looked into each other's faces for a split second of time; the next instant, she turned away. He hovered still. Was he dismissed without one word of thanks? Sadly, that was the case. But there was more. He recognised the gesture as oddly furtive too. She did not wish to be recognised or remembered.
    Turning on his heel, he walked away from that back so rigidly turned from him. He was a man in a dream, his heart thudding against his ribs, with a picture of red-gold curls, eyes of cerulean blue and a warmly seductive mouth sketched indelibly on his mind. Afterwards, trying to describe her to Vince, he could find no adequate words beyond: "Beautiful—exquisite."
    "Young or old?" was the practical response.
    "Neither. I mean, she could have been any age."
    "Could she have been one of Tim's lady-friends?"
    "Perhaps."
    Vince sighed. "You aren't a great deal of help, Stepfather. Where are all those remarkable powers of observation."
    "Blown to the four winds, I'm afraid."
    "And taken your wits with them, if I might say so. Why, you're positively besotted. Exit bereaved husband, enter lovesick swain," he added cynically.
    "That is hardly fair, Vince. I don't suppose I shall ever see her again—"
    "I certainly hope not, if that was her effect upon you. How long did you say you stared at her?"
    "Seconds only—a mere tantalising glimpse. But to use one of your modern terms, she was an absolute stunner."
    "Well, there's another little mystery for us. What a pity we have no excuse for including this lovely lady in our investigations. I don't suppose you'll ever find out who she was, unless you're prepared to spend a considerable time in Greyfriars Kirkyard."
    "It stands to reason that she must return to her unhappy vigil," said Faro firmly. "I shall go back next week at the same time, try and strike up an acquaintance." Vince's heavenward glance clearly indicated what he thought of his stepfather's infatuation.
    The mysterious woman haunted Faro's dreams. He pursued her through the kirk-yard, but when he seized her veil it was poor dying Maureen Hymes who clung to him, weeping, murmuring over and over, "Promise . . . promise ..." Even as he supported her, the flesh melted from her skull and he found himself holding his dead wife. "You wept, begging me not to die. Begging me to return to you. Now you have your wish." The nightmare continued with Faro's bizarre reasoning as to how he was to reintroduce the decaying corpse of his dead wife to Mrs. Brook and, worst of all, wondering if her son would notice how his mother had changed.
    Mercifully he awoke at that moment of horror. He was sweating, he felt sick and ill as he had done so long ago in Orkney when he knew that he had seen beyond the veil of death. His grandmother had been recovered from the sea at Orkney, by repute a "seal" woman, and his own family were endowed—or perhaps the better word was tainted—with that unhappy gift of second sight she had brought them. The dreadful nightmare from Greyfriars could neither be dismissed nor forgotten. It belonged to that unearthly no-time between sleeping and waking. And it could only be interpreted as a warning.
    But of what?

Chapter 5
     
    The Convent of the Sisters of St. Anthony belonged to an earlier age than the newly sprouting villas on Edinburgh's undeveloped south side. As the sixteenth-century Babington House it had enjoyed notoriety. Belonging to a scion of the Catholic family whose ill-fated plot for the escape of Mary, Queen of Scots had cost Anthony Babington a cruel death and had signed the death warrant of his queen, the