44 Scotland Street - Alexander McCall Smith [126]
“I thought this was a coal cellar,” said Pat.
“Indeed it is,” said Domenica, pushing the door open with her foot. “But it is something over and above that – something which only I and one or two other long-term residents know about.”
She shone the beam of her flashlight into the dark space behind the door.
“It still smells of coal,” she said. “As you will notice. But that door at the back there gives access to the tunnel. And if you follow me, we can go inside and take a walk.”
Domenica stepped forward decisively. Angus Lordie indicated to Pat that she should follow her and that he and Cyril would bring up the rear. “Cyril is utterly without fear,” he said,
“which unfortunately suggests that he has little imagination. The brave are usually somewhat unimaginative, don’t you find?”
There was no time to discuss this intriguing proposition, as Domenica was now inside the tunnel and the light from her torch was playing against the opposite wall. Crouching, as the cellar door was not high enough to walk through unbent, Pat made her way into the tunnel, feeling immediately the cooler air on her skin, smelling the slightly musty odour, not unlike the smell of a garden shed that has been left unopened for some time.
She looked up. Domenica was directing the torchlight towards the roof of the tunnel. There, growing from the blackened masonry, were clusters of small stalactites, white against the dark background, like colonies of fungi. The 264
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tunnel was high – over twenty feet, Pat thought – and it was broad too, to allow for a footpath on either side of the track. Domenica shone the torch up the tunnel, in the direction of Drummond Place. “We should start walking,” she said. “And watch your feet as you go. This is fairly steep. The gradient is actually one in twenty-seven. And the distance in this tunnel, by the way, is measured in chains.”
“You are immensely well-informed, as ever,” said Angus Lordie. “Where did you pick up this arcane knowledge?”
“From the organist at St Giles,” replied Domenica. “My friend, Peter Backhouse. He knows everything there is to be known about railways, and he knows all about the old lines of Edinburgh. He can tell you all about Bach and Pachelbel and so on, but he also knows all about track gradients and signalling systems and the Edinburgh, Leith and Granton Railway Company. Remarkable, isn’t it? I’m always impressed by people who know a lot about trains.”
“I’ve always thought that the Church of Scotland was a bit unsound on railways,” said Angus Lordie. “Did you ever hear Professor Torrance talk about trains when he was moderator?
You did not. And now that we have a female moderator, well, I’m afraid there’s likely to be little improvement. Women tend not to be interested in trains in quite the same way that men are. Or at least some men. I have no interest in trains myself, of course.”
“That’s because there is a large part of the female in your psyche,” said Domenica. “You’re in touch with your feminine side. You’re a new man, Angus.”
For a few moments they walked on in silence. It did not seem to Pat that Angus Lordie was a new man at all; in fact, it seemed to her that he was quite the opposite. And Cyril was certainly not a new dog – not with his liking for beer, his reputed chasing after lady dogs, and his tendency to wink. None of these was the attribute of a new dog.
“Where does this tunnel lead?” asked Pat suddenly. She did not usually feel claustrophobic, but now she began to feel a slight In Scotland Street Tunnel
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unease as she realised that they were getting some distance from the cellar door which had admitted them. They only had one torch with them – what would happen if that torch failed?
Would they have to feel their way along the side of the tunnel until they found the opening? And what if