Play@YSDC

Main Road, Strathmorn, Inverness-shire
Thursday 19 March 1931. 2.45pm



The concierge arranged for a Hansom cab to run Bonnie home to pick up her car and she was back with half an hour, which was sufficient time for Dr Douglas to procure a torch and for Hamish to get his mam’s permission to leave town.

Making a stop at the Columba to collect Father Ó Shaban’s case, they were soon on their way to Strathmorn. Despite the smirr, they made a steady 30 mph, climbing up out of Inverness and heading inland, skirting the dark waters of Loch Ness in places.

A hour and half after they departed, just as everyone was starting to shuffle and twitch with having been cramped in the car, the sign ‘Strathmorn - 5 miles’ was spotted by the wayside. That was enough to raise the weary spirits of the travellers and just ten minutes later, they were driving into the village itself.

The stone-built dwellings looked compact, except for the hotel and the kirk, which were the tallest buildings in the village. Eyes were drawn however to some distance from the village where, wreathed by trees, stood the reputedly haunted manor, glowering over the homes below...

"Well that's certainly a forboding sight, gives me the Willie's. Nae wonder they say it haunted." Dr Douglas says as he gazes up at the mansion.

The Father Ó Shaban, that if nothing was weird was accompanied still by a payed scottish laddie, seemed happy to finally be able to get out of the vehicle.

"Ze man of ze west live forr ze auto, but man was not made for ze sbeed. No combanions. No. Walking is the way of ze man. And camels sometimes."

The sound of a motorcar - most likely still a rarity in such a rural location - had drawn one or two villagers to their doorways, where they looked on with equal measures of curiosity and suspicion.

"Och, well, this woman was made for speed," says Bonnie, giving the villagers a cheery wave. The car looked even more out of place than a normal vehicle, especially with the radio antenna sticking up from it. "This is just cruising speed. Matt can go a lot faster than that. That's his name. It's an acronym, actually. It stands for MacKenzie Automotive Two Thousand. He's the car of the future. The body's a Rolls Royce 20/25, but I've made some modifications." She has her gun case in the boot, along with a toolkit, a hunting knife, and an electric torch.

Ignoring the mutterings of his companions, Rourke circles the automobile and whistles in renewed appreciation. "This is a fine vehicle and no mistake. I freely confess my jealousy. As we are heading into mortal danger, will you promise to leave it to me in the event you do not survive the week? In front of these witnesses?" Rourke's (cheery) deliver suggests this kind of joke is commonly made in his line of work.

"Thank ye kindly," says Bonnie, "but in the event of my untimely demise, Matt will be left to my family."

A few more locals emerged to see what was going on. ”A wimmin driver?! Whitever next?!” commented one bewhiskered old man, leaning on the bottom half of his stable door, looking out into the street.

Rourke sighs. "Oh well, it was worth asking, eh?"

"Right, lady and gentlemen, the first priority of any hunting expedition is to set up camp." He indicates the hotel. "Once that's done, we might think about some scouting missions."

Gathering his trunk, Rourke gives the locals a cheery wave. His clipped colonial African accent sounding very obvious, he calls out, "Good day to you all, you have a most beautiful village, eh?"

Rourke will head into the hotel as quickly as possible.

Dr Douglas grabs his bags and follows Rourke.

”Whit sorta accent was that? At least he’s nae a sassenach…” Ascot heard the old man grumble as he lead the way to the Strathmorn Hotel.



The hotel turned out to be more of a coaching inn but at least it had a separate entrance so they didn’t have to tramp through the bar. A woman in her 40s, dark hair shot through with streaks of grey, greeted them as they entered. ”Welcome to the Strathmorn Hotel,” she said. “Four of ye’s, is there? Would ye be the guests the telegrams were aboot?”

"Aye, that's us," says Bonnie, who needs help with her luggage due to her lack of strength. "I'm Miss Bonnie MacKenzie."

"I'm Dr Ruairi Douglas" He offers to take one of Bonnies cases, motioning towards the young man with the Father " would you be good enough to help Miss MacKenzie with the rest of her luggage laddie?"

Somewhat over-eager to help, Hamish tried to pick up all the cases and promptly got stuck in the doorway. The proprietor looked on, lips pursed, shaking her head sadly.

Looking back to Bonnie, she looked at the four men then back to her again. ”Is it Miss Mackenzie? Aye, well ye’ll be in the double room. Ye gentlemen will be in the two twin rooms. I’ll leave ye tae sort out the details.” She smiled. “I’m Mrs MacPherson, by the way. If there’s anything ye need while ye’re here, just ask.”

"Thank ye kindly, Mrs. MacPherson," says Bonnie, smiling back. "I'm sure ye know all about the goings on in Strathmorn, and the people here."

Rourke looks at Douglas. "Looks like we're sharing, Doc. We'll let the, ah, priest and his assistant share a room, eh?"

Hefting his rifle case and trunk, Rourke heads off to their room.

"Jolly good!" replys Dr Douglas gets the key(s?) From Mrs MacPherson and follows Ascot.

Father Ó Shaban wasnt going to dispute him and the scottish laddie being in the same. That was easier after all. So he took the relevant key and continued on.