‘Yes, please. I can’t wait to show them off when my friends come over for our weekly coffee morning.’
Fraser eyed the mugs she’d chosen. ‘Aren’t there matching plates to go with those?’
Roberta’s eyes lit up. ‘Are there? Where?’
‘Here,’ Maura said, stepping towards the shelves at the back of the stand.
‘I’ll take four,’ Roberta said.
Beside him, Fraser heard the faintest of sighs from his father.
‘There’s a discount if you’re buying the mug and plate set,’ Maura said.
Roberta fired a triumphant look Micky’s way. ‘A bargain, then. Thank you.’
Fraser watched as Maura carefully wrapped the mugs and plates, and tucked them away for collection later. When it was time to pay, he stepped quickly forward, his card already in his hand. ‘My treat, Mum. Let’s call it an early birthday present.’
Roberta folded her arms. ‘But it’s not until September.’
‘A very early present, then,’ he said, smiling as he tapped the card on the reader. ‘As long as you don’t expect me to do the same at every stall.’
His mother enveloped him in a hug. ‘You’re a good lad, Fraser Bell. You’ll make someone a wonderful husband one of these days. Naomi doesn’t know what she’s missing.’
From the corner of his eye, he saw Maura’s expression soften and he wondered whether it was from pity or sympathy. He cleared his throat. ‘Do you need anything, Maura? A cup of tea or a snack?’
She tapped the lid of a thermal mug on the stand. ‘I’ve got one, thanks. Although it’s probably lukewarm now.’
‘Want me to bring you a fresh one?’ he offered.
She shook her head, as he’d known she would. ‘Don’t worry. With a bit of luck, I’ll be too busy to drink it.’ She paused for a moment, then her expression suddenly shifted. ‘Oh, I almost forgot. Did you know there’s a link between Agnes Sampson and this castle?’
He blinked. Agnes Sampson was a respected Scottish healer who had been burned as a witch after confessing to a plot against King James VI. She featured in the ghost stories Fraser told on his tour and was the inspiration for the first Edinburgh ghost Maura had created. ‘Is there? She’s meant to haunt the Palace of Holyroodhouse, not Craigmillar.’
‘I know, but according to one of the guides I was chatting to, Agnes was accused of hiding a charmed wax image in one of the turrets here, to bring harm to the local laird’s brother,’ Maura said. ‘Luckily for him, it didn’t work.’
Fraser thought back to the historical records he’d read when he had first taken over Dead Famous. The sixteenth century witchcraft trials had begun in North Berwick and had made for grim reading, involving gruesome torture and unbearable humiliation for scores of men and women from Edinburgh and the surrounding area. Their supposed crimes seemed ridiculous to modern eyes – the summoning of contrary winds and consorting with the devil – but many had confessed, presumably to make the torture stop, and had been executed without mercy. It was not, he concluded, Scotland’s finest moment.
‘Not so lucky for poor Agnes,’ he said, and raised an eyebrow. ‘If she was truly guilty of everything they accused her of, she’d have met herself coming the other way.’
Maura offered a wry smile. ‘As you’d expect from a witch.’
‘Who will the next ghost be?’ Roberta asked. ‘Have you decided?’
‘Not yet,’ Fraser said. ‘It’s probably something we should start thinking about.’
Was it his imagination or was there a flicker of hesitation in Maura’s eyes before she nodded?
‘Sure.’
‘It would be handy to pin it down before the storytelling night later this month,’ Fraser said, thinking ahead to the prestigious event he’d been invited to at Edinburgh Castle. ‘I might be able to sneak in a mention or two while I’m talking about the castle ghosts.’
Again, he caught a glimpse of something indecipherable in her expression. ‘Good idea,’ she said. ‘Let’s discuss it once the ScotPot dust has settled.’
She glanced at the crowds milling past as she spoke, and Fraser wondered if they were the reason for the slight reticence he’d detected; she was there to sell her work, after all. ‘Okay. We’ll stop by again before we go, to pick up the mugs Mum bought. You might be in need of a cuppa by then.’
Maura tipped her head, grimacing. ‘I’ll probably be in need of something stronger.’
‘Just say the word,’ Fraser said. ‘There’s a horse box decked out as a gin bar in the food area – message me and I’ll bring you whatever you want.’
