Chapter Five #2
Turning her attention back to Fraser, Maura saw him raise the lantern. ‘Now, if you’re ready, we’ll go to meet our first spirit on the aptly named Fleshmarket Close. Stay together and get to know the stranger beside you. There’s a chance you may need them before our journey is complete.’
He set off down the Royal Mile, his light bobbing as he held it high.
The rest of the group broke into excited murmuring.
Some hurried forward to speak to Fraser; Maura guessed they were real ghost aficionados who wanted the inside scoop on the stories Fraser was going to share.
Maura had to admit she was impressed by what she’d seen so far.
She’d known he must be good but she hadn’t expected to feel a tiny shiver of apprehension as they entered the narrow alleyway of Fleshmarket Close.
It wasn’t possible to walk side by side – by necessity, they moved in single file through the shadows.
At the top of the stone steps, beside the Halfway House pub, Fraser paused and gathered his audience in close.
‘The year is 1842 and we find ourselves on Fleshmarket Close, in the heart of the city’s meat market.
Times are hard, especially for those with little money but one butcher in particular could always be relied upon to find a decent cut of meat for a good price.
His name was Stuart MacBinnie, also known as Stuart the Slice.
’ He gazed around soberly. ‘Now, some of Stuart’s neighbours are becoming resentful of his success.
They want to know how it is he can undercut their prices and supply his meat so cheaply, when the slaughterhouse dictates the price they all pay.
Around the same time, a number of mysterious disappearances happen, mostly from the infamously licentious vaults beneath the South Bridge.
It’s not long before one of the butchers, Jack Furness, starts to eye Stuart the Slice with suspicion.
He breaks into Stuart’s backroom and makes a horrific discovery.
Not only is Stuart behind the disappearances, but he’s also disposing of the evidence by passing it on to his unsuspecting customers to eat. ’
A faint moan escaped the woman beside Maura but Fraser didn’t stop.
‘But just as Jack is about to make his way to the authorities, Stuart comes back and finds him. A desperate fight follows, during which Jack is mortally wounded. He manages to drag himself out here, where Stuart catches up with him. Just as he’s about to strike the blow that will finish Jack off, a pistol shot rings out.
The bullet pierces Stuart’s heart and he tumbles to the ground, dead before he even hits the pavement.
‘Who killed him, you may ask?’ Fraser went on, gazing around at his rapt audience.
‘No one ever knew. Rumours flew that it was the lover of a missing woman from the vaults, who had deduced Stuart’s guilt and had come to take his revenge.
It must be said that the authorities did not waste much time trying to catch the mystery sniper.
But the other butchers began to report an unnatural icy chill around the spot where Stuart had died.
Others felt a malevolent presence they couldn’t explain, as though an evil spirit watched them. ’
‘My money’s on Stuart,’ Kirsty whispered to Maura. ‘But I suppose it could have been Jack.’
Maura tipped her head. ‘Or it could have just been winter, combined with some overactive imaginations.’
‘Spoil-sport,’ Kirsty said, rolling her eyes.
‘Whatever the truth, visitors lingering in Fleshmarket Close have been known to experience the same phenomenon,’ Fraser said, as several members of the crowd began to glance uneasily around.
One or two rubbed their arms, as though suddenly cold.
‘Perhaps we shouldn’t linger, either. Come, let’s continue on our way and leave these dark deeds behind. ’
It didn’t matter how much Maura reminded herself that the story could not be true, she was still glad to reach the bustle of Cockburn Street and she suspected the rest of the group felt the same.
Conversations broke out as Fraser led them up the hill and then took a sharp left down Warriston’s Close stairs.
‘He wasn’t joking about the afflicted of limb bit,’ Kirsty said as they traversed the steep stone steps. ‘My Fitbit is going to love me.’
Back in the shadow of St Giles’ cathedral, at the site of the Old Tolbooth, long since demolished, Fraser regaled them with tales of the truly terrifying plague doctor who had undertaken the grim task of caring for Edinburgh’s many sick and dying during the 1600s.
Amazingly, he had survived the plague but when he approached the city councilmen for the handsome payment they had promised him, they had refused to pay.
He battled for years but eventually died penniless.
Legend had it that he had haunted the council’s offices at the Old Tolbooth, demanding fair payment for his services.
‘He might be there even now, had the building not been turned to rubble.’
They passed by Mary King’s Close, where those suffering from the plague were said to have been walled in and abandoned for fear of spreading the infection.
On the corner of Lawnmarket, Fraser pointed out the gold symbol in the pavement that marked the site of the old gallows, where one half of the infamous Resurrection Men, William Burke, had met his end after being found guilty of murder and grave robbing.
The last stop was in Greyfriars Kirkyard, but Fraser was true to his word and it was not the grave of the little dog that he took them to.
Instead, he led them to the Covenanters’ Prison, where Bloody George Mackenzie maltreated and executed over a thousand prisoners for their religious beliefs.
‘I hope we’re not related,’ Maura murmured to her sister as the story unfolded and Fraser described some of the terrifying poltergeist activity that had been experienced on the site ever since.
‘So do I,’ Kirsty said. ‘The ghost might pick on us first.’
It seemed some of the other audience members harboured similar concerns, judging from the way they huddled nearer.
But Maura could only applaud as the tour drew to its close.
She had been entertained, frightened and altogether captivated by Fraser’s storytelling and, from the rapt expressions on the faces of those around her, she guessed everyone else felt the same.
‘You were brilliant,’ she said, when Fraser had at last finished accepting thanks and made his way over to where Maura and Kirsty waited.
‘Completely monstrous, of course, but also brilliant.’
‘Thank you,’ he said, grinning with delight. ‘I’m glad you enjoyed it.’
‘We did,’ Kirsty said fervently. ‘Even if I will struggle to sleep tonight.’
He laughed. ‘Then my work here is done.’
‘Maura tells me you’re an actor,’ Kirsty went on. ‘It really shows. At one point, I thought you actually were William Burke.’
Fraser looked gratified. ‘Thank you again.’
‘It really was great,’ Maura said. ‘Thanks for inviting me – us – to join you.’
‘My pleasure,’ he replied warmly. ‘No need to ask if you know your way home. Will you be okay getting out of here? I can walk with you if you’d like?’
Maura thought Kirsty might accept so she shook her head fast. ‘No, don’t trouble yourself. Get away home – Naomi will be wondering where you’ve got to.’
He laughed. ‘She’s in Paris. I don’t think she’ll be missing me.’
‘Oh. Well, thanks again,’ Maura said, feeling awkward without knowing why. ‘See you, Fraser.’
‘Who’s Naomi?’ Kirsty asked as they made their way out of the graveyard. ‘An impossibly beautiful girlfriend, I suppose.’
‘Got it in one,’ Maura confirmed. ‘You didn’t think he’d be single, did you?’
‘No,’ Kirsty said with a sigh. ‘And you went to school with him? How come I never heard you talk about him?’
Maura shrugged, hoping her suddenly too-warm cheeks didn’t give her away. She’d never told anyone what happened the last time she saw Fraser, outside the Strawberry Arms, least of all Kirsty, who had been away at university herself by then. ‘We weren’t friends.’
Her sister eyed her. ‘But you are now.’
‘Not exactly.’ Maura wasn’t sure she could describe Fraser as a friend – if anything he was a customer, albeit one who had put forward a business proposal.
If she agreed to work with him, she would certainly see more of him and it was possible friendship would follow.
Was that something she wanted? ‘I think I’d call us acquaintances. ’
‘Well, he certainly knows how to make an impression,’ Kirsty declared. ‘He’s got presence, which I suppose is quite handy for an actor.’
Maura smiled. ‘Probably. Have you got time for a drink before you head off?’
Kirsty lived in a small village across the Firth of Forth, near their parents’ house, which was convenient for babysitting but less so for nights on the town. She checked her watch and nodded. ‘I’m not ready to go home yet. It turns out being terrorised by the dead actually makes you feel alive.’
‘Who knew?’ Maura said, laughing. ‘Come on. It’s your round.’
‘What on earth are you making?’
The question came from Cordelia, a silver-haired sixty-something with a penchant for blood red glazes.
She was gazing at the board in front of Maura with something approaching horrified fascination and Maura supposed she could hardly blame her.
The prototype ghost she was currently working on was just as tall and slender as the ghost Fraser had given her as a reference point, with a rounded head and scored lines to suggest folds of fabric, but that was where the similarity ended.
In trying to make something the same but different, Maura had only succeeded in moulding the clay into a shape that was vaguely ghost-like, if she squinted a bit, but also undeniably… well, phallic.