In this mystery novel, a female Police Constable is sorting through archives at modern day New Scotland Yard in England, when she finds comes across a series of case notes, the facts of which were never made public ...
Back in 1888, on Christmas Eve, a Chief Inspector arrives at a Police Station in Edinburgh, Scotland. His task is to make observations of the various Locations scheduled fo Queen Victoria's Christmas Holiday.
News comes through while in the station of a dilemma: the relief keeper of the Bell Rock Lighthouse has been locked out. Essential as a beacon for the Royal Yacht arriving later that evening, the Inspector and the relief keeper travel to the Rock to investigate.
Inside the lighthouse they discover a locked door and two dead bodies inside ...
Excerpt:
In the year 1888 Queen Victoria had 13 years left on the throne. In the Strand Magazine the first Sherlock Holmes story had been published and the Police and Intelligence forces were engaged in the hunt, through the dark streets of London's East End, for Jack the Ripper
It was getting late; the tube wouldn't wait for her. The house was a mess, not in its normal state of pristine tidiness.
She heard the clank of the milkman. The wall clock showed eight thirty five. The milk was late, and if she did not hurry, so would she be.
It sometimes amazed her how she made it to the tube station on time every day. She pushed these thoughts and those of the previous evening out of her mind and fixed her mental energies on finding the jacket to her black trouser suit.
She knew that the steaming cup of coffee she carried around as she searched would go untouched as would the two slices of toast on the kitchen table which were already going cold, uneaten.
The jacket located, the coffee abandoned she closed the door behind her. The Yale lock snapped as the door slammed shut. The house was now empty and quiet. The coffee still steaming in the mug, the toast going cold on the kitchen table.
The night before had started well. The restaurant was quiet; after all it was a Sunday night. The lack of clientele gave them a chance to talk, a chance to get to know each other a little better. He of course had chosen the location and had shown a degree of taste; could this bode well for the future?
Their first meeting was fraught with the awkwardness of mutual attraction and the burden of age pressing on their very souls. An eternity of exchanged glances had passed between the two of them. Who would make the first move? As tradition dictates he made the primary contact. A rendezvous had been arranged and now here they were, sitting either side of the three-foot by three foot square of wooden table top, the rules of engagement were beginning to be drawn.
His opening gambit had been the usual male tack. His likes - cricket, golf, football, basically sport in general. There were no surprises either in his choice of favourite consumables - real ale and curry. His career, however, did have a spark of something out of the ordinary. - A TV producer. She pursued this part of conversation asking what he had worked on? It emerged, nothing outstanding; Open University, a handful of children's programs - none of them known to her.
Apart from the TV Producer aspect of his tale, he could have been any member of the male species recounting his interests.
The main course arrived, holding off the approaching moment when she must respond with her story of loneliness. To her colleagues and friends her apparent lack of male attention was a mystery. She was, after all, an attractive woman, although she had seen thirty four summers, she could well have been mistaken for ten years her junior.
As their plates began to empty, so her tale began to unfold. Having graduated from Oxford with a first in history she gravitated towards a career in academia. After one year of C.V.'s, interviews and rejection letters she hadn't received any serious job offers and was becoming despondent.
It had been her mother, always logical, always right, that had come up with the idea of a career path for her daughter.
The question was finally asked, he seemed interested to know. The truth came out.
After the dessert, coffee and a promise to arrange another meeting, the couple parted. The capital flashed past as the taxi headed home. In her heart she knew that they would not meet again, not as a couple. So what! She had work in the morning and what was another one down. She'd enjoyed the meal and yes, even the company. It would be easy for her to be upset or even chastise herself for not trying harder to impress him, but why, it's his loss.
The next morning she passed the answer phone machine and didn't give it a second glance as the light flashed continuously. It was getting late; the tube wouldn't wait for her. The house was a mess, not in its normal state of pristine tidiness.
She heard the clank of the milkman. The wall clock showed eight thirty five. The milk was late, and if she did not hurry, so would she be.
It sometimes amazed her how she made it to the tube station on time every day. She pushed these thoughts and those of the previous evening out of her mind and fixed her mental energies on finding the jacket to her black trouser suit.
She knew that the steaming cup of coffee she carried around as she searched would go untouched as would the two slices of toast on the kitchen table which were already going cold, uneaten.
The jacket located, the coffee abandoned she closed the door behind her. The Yale lock snapped as the door slammed shut. The house was now empty and quiet. The coffee still steaming in the mug, the toast going cold on the kitchen table.
