Shrouded In Black

By Lindsay Aylesborough

Cree Douglas's world takes a one-eighty turn. When she finds a young women's body buried in a sacred wooded area, near the ancient grave of King Shaw the leader of the Picts in the Scottish Borders. Cree who is an Antiquities Investigator meets Callum Greives an ex-DCI from Edinburgh. They are both brought together by this event and feel compelled to find the killer of the murdered women. Yet, this unlikely duo will find themselves embarking on a long dark journey. Revealing ugly truths along the way and sending them both down a winding road with twist's and turn's that lead nowhere leaving them wondering who the killer is. The Historic Scottish Borders is the scenic back drop of this murder mystery. Weaving a tale through history, sacred prehistoric sites, picturesque views, Reiver families, suspense and murder.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lindsay Aylesborough
• Release date: Jan 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005042455

Lindsay Aylesborough

Lindsay AylesboroughIs a Professional Genealogist, Historical Interrupter, researcher of history and has worked for a private investigator in the late 80's. She is a lover of crime novels and she has been reading crime stories since she was young. This is her first crime novella in this series. She lives in Scotland.

Book preview

SHROUDED IN BLACK

A Cree Douglas Mystery

Lindsay Aylesborough

Shrouded in Black

Lindsay Aylesborough

Copyright © 2020 Lindsay Aylesborough

Published at Smashwords

Dedication

To John and Nathan

Contents

DEDICATION

CHAPTER 1: The Crop Shire Woods

CHAPTER 2: Concerns, Worry and Questions

CHAPTER 3: Searching for a Witness

CHAPTER 4: Collaborating

CHAPTER 5: Dean’s Village

CHAPTER 6: The MP

CHAPTER 7: Sorting Things Out

CHAPTER 8: Gaia’s Gems

CHAPTER 9: More Insight

CHAPTER 10: The Warning

CHAPTER 11: The Artefacts revealed

CHAPTER 12: Connecting the Dots

CHAPTER 13: The Truth

CHAPTER 14: Conclusion

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CHAPTER 1

The Crop Shire Woods

Cree woke up earlier than anyone else, which was her familiar lately, laid there wishing she could go back to bed. She listened to the sounds of the house, pipes gurgling somewhere in the walls. Creaking noises from the old, rotted wood seem to permeate through the house to her room. The ancestral home was settling and swelling from the long night of heavy rain and wind, or could it be the ghost’s that filled this place from the past, like in a Dickens novel. Cree could see her breath; the house was cold; her room was cold. Even though it was early June, it was still cold. No wonder everyone left to go to Tenerife or South of France they needed heat, they need the sun. Her night of sleep was unrestful. It was going on a week since she slept well; it was the beginning of those long days of summer in the Scottish Borders that was causing her restless nights. The sun came up at four-thirty a.m. and did not set till ten-thirty p.m., ‘I’m going to have to buy blackout curtains,’ she said to know one. Cree casually got up out of bed and turned the ornately Victorian radiator on to heat the room, then walked to the bathroom, switched the light on and stared at herself in the mirror. She felt like she had a hangover. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her face somewhat swollen. Her blood pressure must be up, she thought. Cree rubbed her hand over her face gently, was she ageing quickly or was she only tired, she felt terrible, this lack of sleep was not helping her moods. ‘I have to get those curtains,’ she said quietly to herself. She was still examining her face in the mirror.

Dressed in her riding clothes and ready for her morning ride, she would have to take another shower when she came back to get the smell of horse off her, Cree knew it was weird, but she had a thing about being clean and smelling clean. The hot shower this morning revived her, and she was ready to seize the day. She quietly strolled on down the back stairs and straight towards the kitchen and towards the outside door, she looked up above the entrance to the large black retro clock, it read six-thirty a.m. Cree quietly unlocked the lock and shut the door slowly behind her. Her Aunt Evelyn had ears like a dog; she could hear sounds a mile away. Cree hated to wake her up; she was old and liked to sleep in till eight a.m. Cree stood there near the courtyard gate taking in the vast estate, the outbuildings, the horse stables and the big house and the land beyond. A small river ran down the hill on one side of the property and into the lake not but a mile and half away. From this view, she could see the lush green carpet of the border hills of the Eskdale, intermingled with the emerald green forest looking like large, quilted patches dotting the border hills. The white and black Esk river roaring through the valley to meet at the Kings’ pool.

Three months ago, she was without a home and a job, her life was in chaos. Her Godmother Beryl died from cancer and left a debt that Cree could not pay, the house, the furnishings, everything was gone. Except for the pictures and personal belongings, she kept from the creditors and placed in storage for safekeeping. Those items were the only treasures she had left of her life before now. Cree quit her job as an Antiquities Investigator to take care of her Godmother during her last year. As tears stung her eyes, it panged her heart to think about the loss of the dearest person she ever knew and loved. She gave her a home and love and raised her like her own daughter. That seemed so long ago, and her good fortune was still so unbelievable - living in this country, this new place was still so surreal to her.

She was thirty-eight years old, and up till then, Cree had been unlucky in most of her endeavours. Life was not fair at times. Elkin Abbey was her home now, this ancestral home that had been in the family for about four hundred years, took her breath away. Great Aunt Evelyn told her, it was once an Augustinian Abbey in the Esk. During the dissolution of the church by Henry the VIII, the abbey had been demolished. The people in the valley took stones from the ruined house to reuse. The only part of the monastery left was the barrelled shape building where the monks made beer. A few years later a Pele tower was built by her ancestors who bought the property. The Pele tower incorporated to the large Tudor home, then another extension was added in Georgian style later. Now she shares the history of her ancestry, living on the same land.

Cree laughed at what Aunt Evelyn said, ‘the manor home is a hotchpotch of architecture.’ She averted her eyes towards the east, and she could see the valley below, farm estates on each side of the river and the town of Eskdale. A mist was winding through the town and valley now it reminded her of dragon's breath. The fog had an eerie feeling and made her think of Ancient people walking the valley’s and crossing the river’s as they spoke in their native tongue. She could imagine them erecting the standing stones in the valley; like the Loupin Stanes and Girdle Stanes, building their wattle and daub roundhouses or something more primitive. Fires burning, food cooking and men working on their primitive tools.

Cree walked towards the stables, it was cold, with her riding hat under her arm, and her soft-shell fleece jacket on would keep her warm on her ride. She could hear old Hamish singing a song about the borders in his Scottish border accent so thick, but his voice was a beautiful, sweet tune, that brought chills down her spine.

‘When I die, bury me low, where I can hear the bonny Tweed flow, a sweeter place I never will know, then the rolling hills o the borders.’ Hamish was the estate manager and followed in his father's footsteps he was born and raised on the estate and never wanted to live anywhere else. He knew every inch of this beautiful land and the rolling hills that surrounded Elkin Abbey.

Cree stood just outside of the stable door to let him finish the song. She loved the song even though she was never keen on folk music. Cree was learning everything about the ancestral home she was living in now, even though Cree never knew this place even existed. She knew her father was a Scotsmen, but he never spoke to her about his life in Scotland. It was somewhat of a shock to realise she still had family who lived in the Scottish Borders.

Her mother was an American and knew she met her father while going to University in Edinburgh for nursing. Yet, it did bother her as she grew up not knowing really anything about their lives before she came along. Her Godmother Beryl could not help her with information either. There was not much she knew and besides Beryl only knew her parents for five years. Her Godmother met Cree’s mother at a book club, and they both hit it off. They were both nurses and loved to read books. That is how Beryl became her Godmother through their deepened friendship. The only thing she told her was that every time she would ask about Scotland, her mother would change the subject. It made Beryl think that her mother and father had terrible memories of Scotland. Cree was only ten when her parents both died in a horrific car crash. That was a memory that would never leave her. Cree never got the chance to ask all the questions she desperately wanted to know. But now it was like the universe gave her a second chance to ask.

Cree found out later from her Aunt Evelyn some of the reasons her father never spoke about his family to Cree. A family feud that started between her great-grandfather and her grandfather long ago, that was left