Allegra Fairweather_ Paranormal Investigator - Janni Nell [2]
Hoping Douglas’s problem would have an equally happy outcome, I asked, “Have there been any new developments since you contacted me?”
He thought for a moment before replying. “Old Mrs. Ferguson’s had some more nightmares about drowning.”
“Let’s focus on the rose for now,” I said, making a quick note to interview Mrs. Ferguson later. “I’d like to see it immediately.”
I got to my feet and followed him out of the pub and onto the main street.
When he spotted my rental car, he said, “Do you mind driving? My car’s off the road at the moment.”
“Sure,” I said. “Get in.” By the time I slid into the driver’s seat he was sitting beside me buckling his seatbelt.
I drove along Loch Road until Douglas told me to pull over near some scrubby vegetation. The Dedfield Rose was nowhere in sight. Hoping I wasn’t the victim of a hoax—it’s happened before, believe me—I glanced questioningly at Douglas.
“The rose is this way,” he said, getting out of the car and moving down a path that led through low-lying scrub to the gray water of the loch.
The Dedfield Rose was surrounded by a barren circle of damp earth, as though the other plants feared to get too close. And who could blame them. The rosebush was twisted into a shape so grotesque and painful I almost expected it to groan. A chill whispered across my bare neck, making my shoulders spasm in an involuntary shudder. Something evil had happened here. You could hear it in the absence of birdsong, smell it in the stench of decay coming from the tightly closed buds. I touched one. The petals were cold as death. When I squeezed gently, bright red drops oozed onto my palm. They stank like fresh blood.
Douglas said, “I tried to send some away for analysis, but…”
He didn’t need to explain. The drops were already evaporating. It took less than a minute for them to disappear completely. The only evidence that I had ever held them was little circles of wrinkled skin on my palm.
I pulled out my notebook and scribbled down the features of the rose. It might seem strange that I use a pen and paper instead of an iPad or whatever, but I find that when dealing with the elusive world of the paranormal, handling solid writing implements is oddly comforting. Like an anchor for a boat that’s bobbing around in a choppy sea.
After trying and failing to photograph the Dedfield Rose—its image refused to be captured—I spent some time looking around the area until Douglas said, “I’ve done a bit of research since I emailed you. There’s a passage in one of the history books about dozens of Dedfield Roses springing up before the Battle of Furness in the eighteenth century.”
“Uh-huh?” I murmured, still studying the land around the rose.
“During the Jacobite rebellion,” Douglas went on. “The battle was a disaster, huge casualties on our side.” He walked around the rosebush, leaving footprints in the wet soil. “There’s going to be another disaster. More death. That’s what the Dedfield Rose means, doesn’t it?”
“According to the legend, yes,” I said evenly, “but since there’s only one bush here it’s unlikely there’ll be a disaster on the scale of the Battle of Furness.”
Douglas took a deep breath. “I love this village. And the villagers should be able to sleep safe in their beds. Allegra, I don’t have a lot of money, all I can offer you is free bed and board. Will you stay and solve this case?”
“Well…” I hesitated.
Oh, who was I kidding? I’d decided the minute I stepped on the plane that I’d do everything possible to save the village from whatever disaster the rose heralded. Yeah, I’m that kind of girl.
I met Douglas’s eyes. “Done.”
We shook on it, and then he said, “We should be getting back to the village. It’s almost evening. Mac’s will be starting to fill up.
He was right. I heard the hum of voices before we entered the pub. As I pushed open the door, a middle-aged waitress hurried past carrying a tray of drinks.
“Where’ve you been, Douglas?” she muttered. “I’m run off my feet.”
“Sorry Bess. I’ve been showing Allegra Fairweather the rose.” He introduced us.
Bess MacGregor was his