The Grey Lady Of Caputhall.

Duncan Campbell looked from behind a chestnut tree along the mist shrouded Bangour Road, he was still a good distance behind. The Autumn mist coming from the Forth hid him, as he sneaked behind the young woman.She held the empty reins of two Irish deer-hounds in her hands, which she playfully swung in time to her quiet crooning of what Campbell took to be a Highland love song.
It was the seductive swaying of her enticing hips that drew Campbell to be here this late afternoon.
He was intent on having this wench, whether she wanted him or not.

Last evening at dinner, he watched as Jeannie, dressed in a very low cut gown, revealing her ample and mobile bosom, danced and cavorted with The Prince,laughing and curtsying, while swinging and thrusting her hips provocatively,showing off her ample charms.
At one point, when she thought no one was watching, he watched, as she adjusted her clothing, pulling down her dress and adjusting it,to lift her bosom, revealing more of her charms.
'She was a harlot' he thought to himself, 'a slut with ambition, ambition that would get her no where'.
The Young Pretender, Charles Edward Stuart, was only toying with her and would bed her, and shed her, as the Aristocracy always did.She was only the daughter of a Highland Laird and no prize for a future King Of Britain but he would tame her ,he would have her soft voluptuous and willing body writhing below him, he would be her Prince.

The hounds barked playfully and ran on into the mist, only to turn back when Jeannie McGregor, daughter of Gregor McGregor Chief of that Clan and Earl Of Alpine called them.
The dogs had done well Yesterday and had helped to bring down two massive five pointed stags and three large boar for last nights dinner. The McGregor's had played a vital part in the victory at Prestonpans against the Hanoverians and The Young Pretender, wishing to honour her Father, had asked for his company on this important visit to Bathgate, the original seat of the Royal House of Stuart.
Jeannie her father's only daughter, never left his side.

Now three weeks later at Caputhall or Deans House, the home of well known Jacobite, George Holmes Norval, Baron of Caputhall, Jeannie, unaware of her follower, called the dogs to run and herself chased after.She turned right and ran downhill towards the bridge at Drumcross, her red hair long and wavy, flowed behind her.Suddenly, from nowhere, a stag jumped high in front of her clearing the path and disappearing with a crack of branches into the forest.
The well trained dogs caught the scent and chased noisily and at speed after the deer, running into the trees and away.

Jeannie stopped, she knew she had no chance of following them,so she continued to walk now, downhill to the bridge. The dogs would chase the deer till tired and with no one to kill the beast or spur them on, they would soon return to Deans and their place at the fireside.
Campbell sneered to himself. He had routed the beast when he tried to cut the corner to get in front of Jeannie. While cutting through the trees he had startled the deer and much to his amazement the stag, by taking the dogs away, had solved a major problem for him, making his task easier.
The Lord he now knew was on his side.

He watched with excitement rising, he could feel his heart pounding. His breathing getting heavier.
Jeannie wasn't turning back even though darkness was falling.
She continued on down towards the bridge, still crooning and sometimes skipping, he could see her hips still swaying and her full breasts heaving beneath her clothing.He smiled in anticipation.
Campbell followed hidden by the twilight and the close trees, covered now in a grey wet mist.

At the bridge, she stopped and leaned on the parapet with both hands, looking down to the fast flowing stream. Now was his chance. He stepped out from cover,
'Hello Jeannie, a cold night for a beautiful wench like yourself to be out alone, aren't you afraid someone might try to do you harm?'
I,-- I wasn't alone, she blurted, 'I had the dogs with me but they ran off after a deer, they'll return soon Sir,-- Blackie, Sharky, here boy's, come bye,'she called.

He pounced, grabbing her arm and twisting it behind her back, Jeannie was strong ,she began to turn towards him, he could smell her sweet perfume and could feel her hot breath warm on his ear.
He twisted with all his strength bringing her arm round behind her and bending her over the bridge-side, he could feel her firm buttocks beneath her clothing,as he pushed her arm higher she cried out in pain. 'stop, stop, what do you want?
Let me go' she pleaded but when Campbell, his breath coming fast and with what she could feel pushing now behind her and when he licked her cheek and bit her ear, Jeannie became terrified, she slumped in dire fear. Campbell threw her to the ground tearing her dress and after forcing her legs apart, he roughly and mercilessly violated her.

When the deed was done, he guiltily helped her to her feet. Jeannie was very quiet, her head hung low and she was sobbing. Turning on him suddenly, she swung her dirk towards Campbell, who being a hardened veteran of many cattle raids and street fights caught her wrist and disarmed her easily.
He turned the long knife against her, grabbing her long hair, he bent her head back and drew the sharp knife across her throat, the blood spilled over her bosom and the light of life left her beautiful green eyes.
She fell over the side of the bridge and a slap was heard as she hit the water ten feet below.
Duncan jumped after the body, he landed lightly in the fast but shallow water and dragged Jeannie's corpse to the side, where in the soft wet mud and shingle, he quickly buried her.

Campbell was part of the young Pretender's army, he carefully walked back to Deans house and entered the kitchen. lying warm next to the blazing log fire were the two dogs, still steaming from their chase and licking their nether regions, oblivious of the fate of the woman who lay beneath Drumcross Bridge, their names still on her dead lips. Much was made of Jeannie's disappearance but with no clues to what happened and the army being short of time had to move on and Campbell went with it, onto Culloden Moor where he met his death by musket shot.
Jeannie was a restless corpse and would make herself known in her own time.
That time came one year later.

Rab Singleton, resurrectionist and long carriage-man, greased the cast-iron gate of the churchyard and looked up toward the Livingston Inn, the candles burned brightly inside the windows and drunken singing could be heard from within. The door was tightly closed against the chill October night, he scanned the road for watchers and seeing no-one, continued about his dirty business.

He had already unlocked the old padlock and needed to open the gate quietly, as it was so close to the Inn he didn't want to attract attention or to be seen going into the graveyard at this time of night.
He opened the gate slowly, drawing it back and forth to work the Goose-fat. It moved easily and most importantly silently, he closed the gate and returned to his cart.
The Horse had been unhitched and left hidden half a mile away in a copse on the side of the Almond River, in the care of his accomplice, Albert Scrymgoure and his one-eyed Jack Russell dog Cyclops.

Rab Singleton, was commonly Known as Goliath, because of his tremendous size. He was six foot seven inches tall, with huge and wide shoulders, his hands were twice the size of a normal man and he had a vile temper and an even worse reputation.
His head was massive with a neanderthal brow and a long hooked nose, set above a full set of long black beard and mustache. The giant carrying a long handled shovel and two hemp sacks, returned to the gate and entered silently into the Graveyard. The night was dark and visibility was poor, ideal circumstances for this macabre business. He stopped at a newly filled grave and began removing the earth. His practiced technique gaining him quick access to the prize below.
When he reached the coffin he stepped into the grave and using the side of the shovel he levered off the lid, he threw the shovel onto the edge and leaning into the coffin slid his hands underneath the body and lifted it easily. He put the body in the sack and after throwing it quickly and easily over his shoulder, the ghoul carried it to the cart and placed it gently inside.
Damage to the body would reduce its worth. He returned to the open grave and filled it in. He resurrected another body and with both bodies stowed, he pushed the cart out of sight and covered it with branches, hiding it, until he returned with the horse and his accomplices.

Half an hour later Goliath and his two partners with their gruesome cargo, headed along the Deans road, passing Tailend Loch, bound for Holy Robins Inn, where they intended to spend the night, before heading on to Edinburgh's College of Surgeons in the morning. A light rain was falling as they headed through the Chestnut and Hawthorn trees lining the old Salters road leading to Drumcross. As they turned onto Drumcross road, Cyclops started to yelp and bark, he was clearly afraid,his tail was between his legs and he was pushing himself against Goliath's leg looking for comfort.
A sharp slap across the ribs and a flick of the giants hand throwing the dog hard against one of the sacks was all the comfort it was going to get.
'Be still ya mutt' yelled Goliath,' wheesht yir yelping or you'll go in the sack wi the deid, cos that's what you'll be DEID'. The dog knew to be quiet he had suffered Goliath's anger before, Scrymgoure remained silent as always.

As they approached the bridge, strange blue lights seemed to float and fly silently through the air, appearing at random, some quickly and some very slowly, like bats or birds swooping, now hovering, before shooting off into the sky. The three sat in the cart transfixed by this light show which began to dissipate leaving suddenly to reveal, a woman, very thin and dressed in white.
She turned her head towards them, the air chilled and a strange green mist began to swirl slowly around her. The apparition had pale grey features with deep sunken eyes, her thin wispy hair clung to her skull, sticking to the long open wound round her neck, which still seeped with dark blood, which was being absorbed into an old satin dress hanging loosely from her thin skeletal shoulders.
The lady raised her hand and pointed at the two men saying in a very guttural voice, 'Yie have corpses in your cart i see, and yie have plenty room for another. Below this bridge my mortal remains lie. disinter me and deliver my bones to the grave of my Father Gregor McGregor, Earl of Alpine, who lies with my two brothers, all killed fighting a lost cause at Culloden and yie shall have this ring'.

She lifted her left hand to show a large gold ring with a cross of diamonds protruding from a bed of emeralds, easily worth enough to pay for what she was asking. Goliath terrified, stared at the ring and imagined its worth and even though afraid, he began to nod his head in acceptance of the wraiths request.
The ghost floated towards the cart, her hand outstretched, she stopped very close, Goliath could smell the scent of the grave from her, a scent he knew only too well.
He opened his palm and the specter dropped the 'payment' into his hand and was gone.

The night was silent and the rain fell lightly on Goliaths face, he lifted his hand to wipe the water away but it wouldn't open, the hand holding the ring was closed tightly as if cramping, he had to concentrate hard before he was able to eventually open the hand allowing him to wipe his brow and bring himself to his senses. Shaking, he wrapped the ring in his filthy handkerchief and put it inside his coat pocket.
The dog whimpered and crawled below the sacks in the rear, Scrymgoure was trembling and tears were running down his face. 'Go', screamed Scrymgoure, get us off this accursed bridge'.
Goliath snapped the reins, the horse pulled too quickly, his hooves slipping on the wet road before the cart lurched forward and up the long tree covered hill to the Bangour Road and sanctuary at Holy Robins Inn.

They ran the cart into the stables at the back, quickly unhitched the horse and closed him into a stall, then after covering the cart with a tarpaulin,they composed themselves and walked into the Inn.
A log fire was blazing in the fireplace, an old Gaberlunzie ( Storyteller and licensed beggar ) dressed in his obligatory thick blue coat, was stoking the flames with an iron bar. The room was smoky and dimly lit with candles and reeking oil-lamps.
Thick wooden stools and benches sat beside roughly carved tables, occupied by shadowed drinkers, who lowered their clay pipes and stared bright eyed at the newcomers.
The eight or so drinkers filled the small room. The Landlord, James Ferguson, looked the two weathered men over with a knowing eye,
'Goliath and Scrymgoure, whit brings you two grave-robbing bastards intae my premises this late in the night'?
Goliath stared the big man down and answered,
' whit dae yie think we want here in this rat infested shite-hole? make it a tankard of guid ale for a start, then maybe a flea infested bed, like the last time I slept in this stinking hovel.
I've been scratching a new hole for my arse ever since'.

This was said as he and Scrymgoure sat themselves in a space made available by men who moved away from them, turning their backs and moving closer to the fire not wanting to be in their company.
Cyclops growled at an old collie sheepdog which rose and cowered away with head held low, allowing him access to the better spot at the fireside. Ferguson came from behind his bar saying, 'I have one room at the back Yi'll huv tae share wi that gibberin idiot there at the fire' pointing at the Gaberlunzie, as he slid two foaming battered tankards of ale onto the table. Goliath dropped three Scot's merks, the landlord scooped them up and walked back behind the bar.

The Gaberlunzie removed his long pipe from his mouth, cleared his throat and spat into the flames.
Later in the back room the old storyteller spoke up,
'Goliath, I have been dragging this auld frame alang the roads for many years and I know a frightened face when I see it, you two, when you came in here the night, had that look, did something happen on the way here'?
'Shut-up and go tae sleep ya smelly auld bastard or I'll put you to sleep forever, Yir bodies auld but still worth a shilling tae people I know and they widnae ask me where it came from'.
The Gaberlunzie, well practiced at wheedling out tales from people, persevered at great risk but his age may have helped him and before the night had gone, he was in possession of all the gruesome and terrifying details. Details which would keep him in beer and bed for sometime to come.
The tale of The Grey Lady as he called it, was told in every way-house and Inn from Glasgow to Edinburgh.

Singleton sold the ring for a good price, the money from the sale being enough to set him up in business, selling milk and eggs around the Lothians, which he did for five years.
One night he was delivering eggs to Dechmont a village close to Drumcross, on the way back he dropped in to Holy Robins Inn. He hadn't been near the Inn since that fateful night, and as he stepped over the threshold, the Landlord recognizing him, called out.
'Well here we are boys, this monstrosity that's walked in the door, is none other than the famous Goliath, I say famous, because maist men only go into a grave once, this evil bastard standing before you, is in and oot mair often than a randy buggerers bell-end'.
The men sniggered and stared at the newcomer expecting a response. Goliath glared at Ferguson and after spitting on the floor, he stormed out, slamming the door behind him. He could hear the laughter behind the closed door.

Angrily he jumped into his cart, he whipped the reins hard and the horse pulled quickly away, trotting along the Bangour road and before he noticed what he was doing, he was heading down the hill to Drumcross bridge and darkness had fallen,- too quickly. The cart approached the bridge, the blue lights again appeared swirling and pulsing, flying here and there fascinating Singleton.
Standing in the middle of the bridge cloaked in a green mist was the Grey Lady. She seemed to Goliath more solid than before, more intimidating and her face was angry.
'Ah you have the nerve to return to me Goliath, bold you are for a grave robbing coward. Come ' she said.
She raised her bony arm and crooked her finger, the cart without the need of the horse or the wheels to turn, drew silently nearer to the angry wraith. Goliath stared at the horse, it seemed to be asleep but still they drew nearer and nearer, stopping level with the keystone of the bridge and right in front of the corpse that was Jeannie McGregor.

She floated silently, her eyes never leaving his, and stopped at Goliath's side of the cart. He couldn't move, he was paralysed with fear and he could feel a cold sweat on his forehead.
The Ghost leaned in to the face of the frightened resurrectionist and said, 'You made a pact with me to take my bones from here to Culloden. You took this ring', she held her hand up to his face, the diamond and emerald ring had miraculously reappeared on her finger. She suddenly, and with great strength, grabbed his head with her right hand while pushing the ring hard into his left temple.
' I lay a curse on you Robert Singleton, you will not last the year, your evil ways will deliver you to the Hell-fire that awaits you.

Goliath awoke at dawn, he was still sitting in the cart which hadn't moved since Jeannie had stopped it in the middle of the bridge, he gathered himself and shivering badly, he made his sorry way the three miles to Bathgate. He went home, but as he entered his house, his wife Morag asked ' Rab, where have you been? I was worried and what has happened to your face? what is that welt on the side of your head?
A deep red cross was impressed into his left temple, the exact shape of the diamonds from the ring, this 'mark of death' put there by the Grey Lady, stayed on his head for weeks, before eventually disappearing.
Four months later Goliath had taken to the bottle, his business and his marriage suffered badly and he had gotten heavily into debt. As a last resort, Singleton in dire need of quick money, had resorted to his old profession of resurrectionism. He left the house and after two days he hadn't returned,Morag informed the village factor, who sent men out to search for him. Aware of his past life they searched the cemetery.
There they found him lying below a large and heavy headstone. Goliath had been removing a body from it's resting place, when the wet soil had slipped, the stone toppled onto the hapless resurrectionist, killing him instantly. When the stone was lifted off Goliath's head, a deep red welt corresponding with a carved cross on the headstone, could be seen exactly on the place the mark was placed by the Grey Lady's diamond and emerald ring. Jeannie at last had justice.