The House at Ettrick Bay: The Isle of Bute Mystery Series, #1

By MYRA DUFFY

Alison Cameron's friend, Susie, unexpectedly inherits a house on the Isle of Bute. But someone is unhappy about Susie being the new owner of Ettrick House. When an accident turns out to be murder, Alison realises she and Susie are in danger.

A discovery at a nearby archaeological dig confirms her suspicions. There are others on the island with an interest in Ettrick House.

And one of them is prepared t

• Language: English
• Publisher: Adams and Straiton
• Release date: Feb 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9781913461102

Book preview

OTHER TITLES IN THE ISLE OF BUTE MYSTERY SERIES

Last Ferry to Bute

Mysterious deaths at a nursing home and a shady antiques dealer.

Last Dance at the Rothesay Pavilion

Past events cast a shadow over the present as the Pavilion is renovated.

Endgame at Port Bannatyne

The world of film-making hides a deadly secret.

Grave Matters at St Blane’s

A proposal to build a theme park is the catalyst for violent events.

Death at the Kyles of Bute

The Bute Hydro Hotel re-opens, but someone has murder in mind.

Bad Blood at Rothesay Castle

A party of American tourists is on Bute, but a killer is stalking them.

Deadly Secrets at the Standing Stones

A family wedding is not what it appears to be.

When Old Ghosts Meet

Dangerous events are sparked off by a chance sighting. (Prequel).

*

The Motley Crew and the Mystery of the Queen of the Inch

Who has stolen the Bronze Age necklace from the Bute Museum?

*

Also by Myra Duffy

The Lunch Club at George Square (Contemporary).

Love is Another Country (Romantic Suspense).

MYRA DUFFY

THE HOUSE AT ETTRICK BAY

Adams and Straiton

Copyright © Myra Duffy

Second Edition

The author asserts the moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

––––––––

All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

British Library C.I.P.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN:

Characters in this novel bear no relation to any persons living or dead. Any such resemblance is co-incidental.

For Peter, who loved Ettrick Bay.

THE ISLE OF BUTE

The Isle of Bute lies off the west coast of Scotland, fewer than two hours from the city of Glasgow. It has been occupied for over five and a half thousand years but rose to prominence in Victorian days when its proximity to Glasgow made it a favoured spot for the wealthy to build summer houses and the not-so-wealthy to enjoy the delights of the seaside in the many rooms available for rent during the holiday season.

The northern part of the island is Highland in appearance, but the southern part is lowland and fertile. Ettrick Bay is on the western side of the island and here the mile curve of sandy beach looks over the tiny island of Inchmarnock to the Sleeping Warrior of Arran.

PROLOGUE

At Ettrick Bay, the sun is going down, the rippling light casting long shadows across the water. Along the sand, the oyster catchers gather, shrieking in the gloaming. No boats disturb the tranquillity of the steel grey waters lapping at the shore.

The cattle in the fields beside the long path look up, startled by the sound of plough horses returning home. In the darkening sky, the stars appear one by one as the pale crescent moon casts a ghostly light across the fields ripe with corn.

High above the bay, Ettrick House stands brooding, steadfast against the autumn winds. Couch grass and bindweed choke the once well-tended flower beds and the long sweeping drive is pitted and potholed. The windows are shuttered, dark.

Alone in the silence of the empty house he sits nursing a glass of whisky, gazing at the pictures he sees in the flickering flames of the fire set against the chill of the evening.

Now, in his old age, the ghosts come back to haunt him. They give him no rest. And he wonders if tonight will be the night when she will at last be found.

ONE

She lay on her side, as though asleep, one arm crooked under her head as a substitute for a pillow. Sunlight filtered into the deep trench at the bottom of the lower gardens, illuminating her outline.

She looked quiet, at peace, in this most tranquil of places high in the hills above the calm waters of Ettrick Bay far below. If you looked closely you could see a few bits of what looked like pottery in the grave beside her, tiny remnants of a life lost. Her legs were curled up under her like a child’s, though even my untrained eye could see she was a fully-grown adult.

‘How do you know it’s a female?’ I asked.

Morgan Connolly, the archaeologist in charge of the dig, looked up. It was hard to make out his expression behind the long red beard and mass of curly hair he favoured. But he seemed happy to answer my questions.

‘You can tell by the shape of the pelvis,’ he said, bending down to my height as he pointed it out to me. ‘And the shape of the skull also helps, though that’s less useful.’

How long she had lain there, I wondered, as I watched the team go about their work. It must have been a long time. All that remained now were the bare bones of what had once been a living, breathing person.

Little bits of lichen clung to her feet and a tiny creature or two scuttled away into the remaining darkness, fretting at being so disturbed.

The archaeologists clustered round the trench did not share my concerns as they chattered excitedly about this discovery.

‘Stand back.’ The order from Morgan was firm. ‘It’s essential the site isn’t contaminated.’

My daughter Deborah moved away reluctantly and came over to join me.

I turned to the slim young woman standing beside me. A terrible thought had suddenly occurred to me. ‘Is it a murder victim?’ I whispered.

Penny Curtis smiled and shook her head. She pushed back the lock of long brown hair which had fallen over her face, leaving a little streak of mud on her forehead. Her large grey eyes were shining.

‘Doubtful, though Morgan will be able to tell soon. It’s much more likely to be an old skeleton.’ She waved her trowel around, spattering earth over her yellow safety jacket. ‘It’s possibly a very old skeleton indeed.’ She frowned and consulted a map she pulled out of her back pocket. ‘But there’s no record of a cemetery anywhere round here, so it is unusual and a great discovery.’

She smiled at me again, ‘There’s nothing we archaeologists like better than finding something like this. Don’t worry.’

She looked over at Morgan who was talking animatedly to the other member of the excavation team. Brian March was still in the trench, standing beside the skeleton. In complete contrast to Morgan he was stout, which made him look smaller than he was, and his head was shaven. A single gold earring glittered in the light as he scrambled up out of the trench, hoisting up his faded blue jeans as he did so. He looked more like a professional wrestler than an archaeologist.

Penny said, almost as though speaking to herself, ‘Morgan will be incredibly pleased.’

‘Why?’ I could understand a find like this would be important to an archaeologist, but she spoke as if this skeleton was very special indeed.

She folded up the map and sighed. ‘Morgan’s been searching for the big discovery for some time now. He’s had this theory for years that there was a Roman settlement on Bute somewhere. This high ridge is one of the more likely spots. No one else credits his idea so if he’s proved right, it will be a major coup.’

I looked around me. Yes, I could well understand this stretch of land, high in the hills, would be an ideal site for a community to settle and to feel safe.

As though reading my thoughts she pointed over the fields to where the land began to curve steeply upwards. ‘You can see the raised beach from here. A great place to build a settlement in ancient times.’

I knew enough about the academic world from my husband Simon to realise that if Morgan was proved right and this was the major find he had so long sought, his reputation would be made. Papers by the score, conferences in overseas universities: he would be an expert whose opinions would be sought on every occasion. The academic world would be at his feet.

I became aware Simon was speaking. ‘What happens next, Morgan?’

Morgan frowned and scratched his head. ‘First we have to excavate the skeleton and discard any extraneous material. You often find bits of animal bone in an old site like this. Then we have to date the skeleton and assure the local police it’s ancient enough for this not to be a murder enquiry.’

I looked away from the activity of the trench and down the sweep of hills towards the half circle of the bay. It was shaping up to be a perfect West coast afternoon. The sun blazed down from a cloudless sky and the heat was becoming so strong you could almost smell it. But I shivered in spite of the warmth and draped my jacket back over my shoulders. This might be all in a day’s work to these professionals, but it was the first time I’d seen anything like it. How had the skeleton come to be here, in the grounds of this house at Ettrick Bay?

I heard my husband’s voice again, as though from a distance, so engrossed was I in pondering this puzzle.

‘Alison, are you all right?’

I turned to face him, shaking my head.

He grasped my elbow. ‘Perhaps we should move away from here and let them do their work?’

I stood immobile, unable to move. Simon was concerned about this discovery. And so was I.

How could I have known when we agreed to help my friend Susie with this house at Ettrick Bay it would turn out like this?

TWO

It began with a call from a friend asking for our help. It wasn’t the first time she’d asked for help, but Susie Littlejohn and I have known each other for a long time. We’ve enjoyed the highs and lows of life together since we first met many years ago at teacher training college.

And it’s not every day someone you know well unexpectedly inherits a house.

‘Please, please Alison,’ Susie implored me across the miles, ‘if you and Simon could go down and check it out for me. I’m sure it will all be straightforward. There can’t be many problems with a holiday home on Bute. I can’t possibly leave America at short notice.’

How could I refuse? A trip to the island, even in February, would make an enjoyable day out and I was sure Susie would be happy for us to make use of her holiday home over the summer.

Her exchange to a school in America from Strathelder High, where we both teach, was proving a great success and for whatever reason (though I had my suspicions) she was reluctant to make the journey back at the moment.

Surely it wouldn’t take much time to check out the house Susie now owned. She’d helped me out on so many occasions in the past, it was the least I could do.

‘I don’t remember much about it,’ she’d said, ‘but we did spend a lot of time there during the summer months when I was very young. I must have been about five or six last time we visited. It’s a sort of lodge house I think.’

She paused. ‘Some distant relative or other of my father owned it. I do remember there was plenty of space to play outside the house. I can’t believe I’ve inherited it.’

Can’t you remember anything else?’

‘Not really.’ She paused. ‘I can’t recollect why we stopped going. I haven’t been back to Bute since.’

We chatted a little more about the house, then wandered on to other topics.

I crossed my fingers Simon would be happy to come with me when I explained the circumstances. I was now eager to make the trip: Susie’s vagueness had made me more than a little curious about her inheritance.

So, one misty February morning of damp and rain (not the weather I’d have chosen) we found ourselves in the offices of Laidlaw and Cummings in Montague Street in Rothesay, the main town on the island of Bute. It seemed as if the meeting would go much more smoothly than I’d originally anticipated. Susie, to give her credit, had managed to deal with much of the essential documentation by fax and by e-mail. We anticipated few problems.

It had been a rush to leave Glasgow. Although it was half-term at Strathelder High, where I teach English, there was still a lot of catching up to do before I could thankfully close the door of my classroom and take advantage of the few days’ break.

Thankfully I’d managed to fit in a trip to the hairdresser before we left. At my age it gets harder to keep up the illusion of naturally blonde hair and though I keep it short, the grey seems to be showing through with increasing frequency.

I was even luckier Simon had, after a fair bit of persuasion, decided to come with me. As he is stockily-built, a legacy no doubt of his early youth when he played a lot of rugby, I find his presence re-assuring in all sorts of ways. His dark hair and colouring can make him look menacing, though he’s really very good-natured. He’d be helpful in dealing with the lawyer should there be any difficulties.

Simon works in a college which seems to exist in a state of permanent crisis. If it’s not funding issues, it’s a problem of too few students or too many students or students wanting to do courses that aren’t available. Sympathetic though I am, I’ve learned over the years to tune out much of what he says.

His mind was made up after yet another difficult staff meeting. He said, ‘I feel I deserve a rest before the next assault,’ and so we made the journey together from Glasgow to the ferry terminal at Wemyss Bay for the short crossing to the island of Bute.

The offices of Laidlaw and Cummings, set halfway along Montague Street, were more spacious than they appeared from the plain wooden entry door, the highly-polished brass nameplate its only adornment.

We were greeted on our arrival by a young woman, slim and delicate-featured, her long blonde hair tied back severely in a knot on top of her head. She was clad in a short blue skirt and a white tee shirt that barely covered her midriff, very much at odds with the severity of her hairstyle and her lack of makeup. The outfit was most unsuitable for the weather, never mind the staid offices of a lawyer.

Cassie Milne, as she introduced herself, was cheerful enough. ‘I’m Mr Laidlaw’s secretary,’ she said, smiling at us. ‘He’s expecting you – I’ll take you straight through.’

We were ushered up a narrow stairway into a room decorated in cool tones of blue and cream. The décor and the pale furniture made it look bright, even on an overcast day such as this. But though the furniture looked good, it was not exactly comfortable, as I discovered when I sat down on one of the high-backed chairs. Mr Laidlaw was happily ensconced in a large black swivel chair of battered leather which looked very comfortable indeed.

I soon realised why Cassie was so lightly clad. The temperature in the room was hot, very hot. I shrugged off my rain jacket as I went in.

‘Mr and Mrs Cameron,’ Cassie said loudly and then slowly retreated from the room. She didn’t close the door completely, though Mr Laidlaw didn’t seem to notice.

The lawyer was a desiccated man of rapidly advancing years, judging by his white hair. He looked at us over his glasses as he stood to greet us.

‘I think you’ll find everything there,’ Simon said, passing a folder thick with paper over the desk to him.

We sat in silence as Mr Laidlaw carefully withdrew each document and examined it scrupulously before adding it to the collection of papers already sitting on his desk. Over many years of teaching, I’ve learned the trick of reading upside down and I could see Susie’s signature on several of the documents already on his desk.

As we waited for him to finish, I gazed around the room. A few certificates hung on the walls and there were several framed photos of Bute, but apart from these the room was extraordinarily bare.

‘Everything seems to be in order,’ Mr Laidlaw said as he continued leafing slowly though the large pile of papers.

Out of the corner of my eye I had seen him glancing up as Simon and I quietly discussed the best way to get to Ettrick House, but he said nothing. He continued to countersign and fuss over the never-ending number of documents seemingly essential to the transaction.

He paused and tapped his pen on the desk. ‘Does your friend know exactly what it is she is inheriting?’ He gazed at us expectantly.

I shook my head. ‘We’re only here because Susie is unable to return from America at the moment.’

Mr Laidlaw smiled again. This time a low chuckle came from somewhere deep in his throat. ‘Best to prepare her, I would think.’

‘Prepare her for what?’ I said.

I could see Simon was becoming restless with the slow pace of this meeting, but I was intrigued by the lawyer’s remarks.

Mr Laidlaw hesitated for a moment. ‘Well, it’s likely some work will be done up there soon ...she might want to know...’

Simon shifted restlessly in his seat, clearly anxious to be off and he wasn’t interested in what might be no more than local gossip. ‘Yes, yes, well, I’m sure Susie will investigate everything when she comes back,’ he said.

Mr Laidlaw grimaced and continued to shuffle the papers. ‘As you wish.’

We’d obviously upset him by our lack of interest, but Simon had determined that once we’d had a quick look at the house, as Susie had instructed, we would catch the evening ferry back to the mainland. However, we were rapidly discovering time on the island was more or less elastic. Or perhaps Mr Laidlaw was being over-cautious, even for a lawyer.

‘You don’t know anything about the house?’ The lawyer was trying hard to engage our attention again.

‘Only what Susie remembers,’ I said, anxious to break this deadlock. ‘I think she spent a lot of time there as a child. Her mother was widowed young and some of her father’s relatives helped out by having Susie to stay during the long summer holiday.’

I frowned, trying to recall anything else of interest Susie might have told me but that was about as much of the essentials of the story as I could remember.

He chuckled again; his good humour restored. ‘It’s a well-known house on the island. A wonderful place in its heyday, though latterly it was allowed to go to ruin. The last Mr Ainslee was a bit of an eccentric, you know. The family never really recovered from that business with his aunt.’

‘Yes, yes,’ Simon butted in, looking pointedly at his watch, obviously fearing Mr Laidlaw might embark on a long history of the house. While this might be of interest to Susie, it wasn’t to us, his look said.

The lawyer looked a little crestfallen again at this interruption but all he said was, ‘Well, it would seem that your friend Ms Littlejohn was the only heir who could be tracked down. I warn you, the place has been empty for quite some time.’

Behind me I was sure the door creaked slightly. This time, Mr Laidlaw heard. ‘Yes, yes, Cassie, what is it?’

For a moment I thought that she was going to pretend she hadn't been listening, but she suddenly realised we knew she was there because she came right into the room, her face noticeably flushed. ‘I wondered if you’d like some tea.’

Mr Laidlaw looked at us over his glasses. ‘Well, would you?’ It was clear he felt he’d now been cornered into making this offer and it would be rude to ignore Cassie’s question.

To Mr Laidlaw’s evident relief Simon shook his head and looked again at his watch.

This instruction of Susie’s, ...to drop into the lawyers and pick up the keys, was rapidly turning into a full day’s work.

Mr Laidlaw waved her away and this time I heard the door shut firmly. ‘No thanks, Cassie, we’re fine.’

Mr Laidlaw looked apologetically at us. ‘I’m not from here myself, so I still find it strange how much the island likes to know all the details of everyone’s life.’

Cassie’s behaviour didn’t upset me. In a small community, any small community, it’s good to know who your next neighbours are going to be.

He returned briskly to the business in hand. ‘Anyway, let’s get you started.’ He pulled out a map from the top drawer of his desk which, like his chair, was a very battered affair, much out of place in these sleek modern offices.

‘I’ve marked the way up to Ettrick House on this map and I’ve written down some directions. I’m sure you’ll find it easily. Any problems just give me a ring.’

He traced the route on the map with his finger as Simon said impatiently, ‘It all looks straightforward.’

This time Mr Laidlaw stood up and shook each of us by the hand.

As we left his office in a flurry of goodbyes, I was surprised to see Cassie scuttling back to her chair.

It was no concern of mine what she was up to and I dismissed it from my mind. Probably she was keen to have the most up-to-date gossip to pass on to her friends.

By twelve o’clock we were back out in Montague