Loch of the Dead

by Loch of the Dead (retail) (epub)

  It will not last much longer,’ I grumbled, wrinkling my nose and barely containing a retch.

  ‘Look a’ that!’ Nine-Nails said, looking utterly fresh all of a sudden. ‘I’ve never seen a dead body do that.’

  ‘How on earth can you stomach this, yet the shortest trip over water turns you the colour of this man’s bile?’

  ‘Och, don’t be so sensitive, Percy. How long d’ye think he’ll last?’

  ‘I am at a loss. This place is cool enough; I thought it would be longer.’ I shook my head. ‘At this rate it will not be more than a couple of days before we must dispose of him.’

  ‘We should have reinforcements here very soon, including a forensic man. Maybe tomorrow morning. Is there anything ye can do to preserve him ‘til then?’

  I took a step back, remembering my first conversation with the Miss Kolomans. They’d mentioned their father had given them silver chloride for their diffraction experiments.

  ‘Perhaps Mr Koloman has the right chemicals . . .’

  Konrad Koloman had a small yet excellently well-appointed laboratory. It was also in a basement, this one on the opposite wing of the manor, directly underneath the girls’ Shadows Room.

  The shelves and benches were crammed with vials, flasks and beakers, all glinting in the dim light that filtered through the barred windows. On the central bench there was a large distillation set – two large flasks connected by a long condenser. It was empty at the moment, but its convoluted glass tubing was stained a nice shade of purple.

  Boyde was the only soul around. He was sitting on a low stool, meticulously dusting a handful of sealed test tubes. I remembered that the first time I’d met him he’d given off a hint of a chemical whiff. The young man seemed unusually excited by the dull job, looking intently at the colourful crystals and liquids contained in the vials.

  ‘I need some light,’ said Mr Koloman, feeling for a switch on the wall. ‘My eyes are not as good as this young chap’s.’ And suddenly the place was inundated by golden light from incandescent bulbs on the ceiling.

  ‘Are those electric?’ I asked.

  ‘Indeed,’ said Mr Koloman with an air of pride.

  ‘How do you generate –’

  ‘Sodium batteries. I learned how to synthesize them after I read Verne’s Vingt mille lieues sous les mers.’

  ‘Whah?’ cried McGray.

  ‘Some stupid Frenchman who has written a good deal of dull-witted nonsense,’ I said. ‘Why, you might like his books!’

  ‘Why don’t ye use candles?’ Nine-Nails asked. ‘Like . . . normal folk.’

  Mr Koloman took this as a compliment. ‘Oh, we are far from normal, Mr McGray. And I have a keen interest in chemistry. Purely recreational, of course.’

  I took a step closer to Boyde and had a look at the chemicals. Some labels read copper sulphate, mercuric cyanide and aqua regia – hardly the sort of materials I’d leave in the hands of a seemingly illiterate young servant.

  I frowned, and McGray knew exactly what was going through my head.

  ‘Aye,’ Nine-Nails said, ‘purely recreational.’

  ‘I do not have formaldehyde,’ Mr Koloman was saying as he went through his shelves. ‘Would ethanol help?’ And he showed me an amber bottle that contained scarcely a few ounces.

  ‘Is this all you have?’

  ‘Indeed. Natalja uses a lot to clean her lenses and prisms. Very versatile, ethanol. If I was told I could keep only one chemical. . .’

  I could not care less about his digressions. ‘In a manor like this you must have ice.’

  ‘Yes, we usually do,’ explained Mr Koloman. ‘To cool down champagne and oysters, you see. Every winter we bury a good deal to last us the year, but it is late summer now and we did throw a large party. I’m afraid we’ve depleted our reserves.’

  I grunted, pondering my choices. ‘Mr Koloman, I know this is too stupid a question, but given your affluence . . . do you happen to own a photographic camera? At least I could document the state of the body, in case our reinforcements arrive too late.’

  Mr Koloman winced. ‘I did buy a Gandolfi for Veronika a few years ago – that’s why I still keep some of that silver chloride. Alas, she lost interest very soon. Natalja dismantled it and used the components for her diffraction experiments.’

  I cursed inwardly. ‘Would she be able to reassemble it?’

  ‘Maybe. I can ask her. And we do have a few plaques left. You wouldn’t need more than that; you could take them with you and have them developed by the police elsewhere.’

  ‘Indeed. That will be very useful, Mr Koloman. Thank you very much.’

  We rushed back to the cellar-turned-mortuary, where a very nasty job awaited.

  I dabbed the body with ethanol as best as I could, especially around the wound on the neck. I knew the organs would go on decomposing at the same rate, but at least the forensic man would be able to assess the most crucial elements of the crime. And since we still did not know whether Natalja would be able to rebuild the camera (she was doing her best in the Shadows Room at that moment) I decided to undertake a more thorough inspection of the body before it was too late. McGray took notes as I dictated.

  ‘Ye’ve checked that bloody toe three times already!’ he finally protested, after two hours of work.

  ‘I need to be absolutely thorough, Nine-Nails.’

  ‘If ye missed something – which doesnae seem likely – ye’ve missed it. Come on, let’s discuss all this mess o’ shite over some nice spirit.’ He sneered at the amber bottle. ‘Nicer than that.’

  Uncle Maurice found us on our way back to the astronomy room and followed us, even though nobody had invited him. We only let him join our discussion because he was carrying two bottles of red wine under his arm. McGray triple-checked nobody was eavesdropping before locking the door behind us.

  ‘Very well,’ I said. ‘We need a plan of action in case the CID fail to arrive, and if Miss Natalja cannot –’

  ‘Calm down, calm down!’ Uncle interrupted, pouring glasses for us all – there seemed to be Bohemian goblets at the ready in every room of the manor. ‘Have you two considered it might be time you stepped down?’

  ‘Step down!’ I repeated. ‘Are you truly suggesting we should simply sit back and do nothing?’

  ‘Ian, you two have done far more than was required. This is neither your jurisdiction nor did you come here on an assignment to investigate the local atrocities.’

  ‘Uncle, has Mr Koloman been washing your brain?’

  ‘He might have said those very words over luncheon, but I was of the same opinion even before we spoke. Ian, you and Mr . . . Nine-Fingers here have done all that could be expected of you. You have examined the corpse and preserved it as well as the circumstances allow. You have chased, captured and isolated the most likely suspects. You have questioned every single soul in this house and recorded their statements. Nobody in the police force could ever accuse you of dormancy. You have behaved admirably.’ As he concluded he put a glass in my hand. ‘Both of you,’ and he gave McGray the other drink. ‘Let the bloody constables come and do their job. Let the inquest follow its due course. Drink up, for goodness’ sake!’

  McGray and I did so, as if reprimanded by a grumpy father.

  ‘Uncle,’ I said after a moment, ‘what would the world be if we all refrained from action simply because it is not our duty?’

  Uncle shook his head. ‘Ian, that very attitude is going to take you to an early grave. That is why you ended up in Scotland, and with a broken nose and a burned –’

  ‘Nae,’ McGray jumped in, ‘those wounds were just ineptitude.’

  ‘At least come and have dinner,’ said Uncle. And a quiet sleep. You do seem to need it.’

  I was more tired than I cared to admit, so I agreed and followed Uncle to the door.

  ‘McGray, are you staying here?’

  ‘Aye, let me finish this one on my own,’ he said, raising his glass and turning to the window. I did not insist he
follow us; I knew he had a lot to ponder on.

  27

  Dinner was a tense affair.

  Mrs Koloman had changed into an exquisite grey dress, her skirts an intricate work I can only describe as origami in silk. Her husband boasted that Veronika had designed and made the garment herself, for they could not find a seamstress skilled enough. The lady looked refreshed and as beautiful as her daughters, yet more sombre than ever before. And her mood only worsened when I told her Benjamin had refused to dine with them.

  Mr Koloman’s spirits, on the other hand, had lifted, and he was almost as enthusiastic a host as he had been before the murder. He announced a first course of smoked oysters (he’d been saving the tins for a special occasion but said he’d begun to crave them after mentioning them in his laboratory) and was magnanimous with the wine as the servants cleared our plates.

  ‘It will all be all right now,’ he told his wife after a rather long swig. ‘It is obvious Lazarus did it.’

  She did not reply but chewed on with a tenser jaw.

  Natalja placed an assuaging hand on her mother’s arm, her sharp eyes ensuring her father did not notice. The girl then looked at me furtively, but when our eyes met she said nothing.

  Again they served us kid meat as a main course, only this time curried. I noticed everyone ate with distrust – even McGray. We all seemed to be thinking the same: these goats had all come from Juniper Island, bred and slaughtered by a murder suspect. Natalja could not finish hers.

  ‘May I be excused?’ she asked at last, clenching her cutlery.

  ‘Of course, darling,’ said her mother. ‘I am sure the gentlemen will understand.’

  ‘But of course,’ said Uncle. ‘It has been a long couple of days.’

  The girl stood up and we all rose. She came straight to me and offered a hand to shake. ‘Good night, Mr Frey . . .’ And I felt how she dexterously placed a piece of paper between my fingers. I put it in my pocket whilst she shook hands with McGray and Uncle – the latter tried to kiss her but Natalja pulled her hand away and walked out briskly, never looking back. I waited until Mr Koloman and Uncle Maurice were deep in earnest conversation, their eyes off me, before discreetly looking at the note:

  Meet me at the door to V’s bedroom at 12:00. Not a minute later.

  ‘Terrible!’ said Mr Koloman, making me jump. ‘Simply terrible!’

  I shoved the note in my pocket. ‘Wha . . . What?’

  ‘What an ordeal we’ve all been through,’ he answered, again pouring wine most liberally. It seemed to be going to his head. ‘My daughters are strong girls, but this has been a little too much.’ He saw the tension in my face. ‘I am sure Natalja will restore that camera tomorrow morning, Mr Frey. She did her best before dinner, but I’m afraid she needs some rest now.’

  I nodded rather than spoke, fearing that my voice might betray my nerves. It probably made me appear resentful, for Mrs Koloman leaned forward. ‘Mr Frey, I would like to apologize for my behaviour.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You are too polite to make any remarks, but I know I have been curt and disrespectful, while you simply were doing your job. The things I said to you when you were attempting to help my child!’

  ‘It is of no consequence, ma’am,’ I said, feeling rather awkward. Given the apology, I was tempted to ask her permission to examine Veronika again, but something in the way she looked at me told me this would in fact be the worst moment.

  I looked away, realizing how intently I’d been staring at her.

  ‘My apology was sincere, Mr Frey,’ she reiterated. ‘If there’s anything I can do . . .’

  ‘Course there is,’ McGray jumped in, and then he also jumped from his seat. He walked around the table and whispered something in Mrs Koloman’s ear.

  She frowned. ‘I . . . I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Just ask ‘im that,’ McGray insisted.

  Mrs Koloman looked at me with utter befuddlement. ‘Would you . . . would you like a lavender bath?’

  Boyde was pouring the last bucket of boiling water into the copper tub. Tamlyn had already added a cupful of scented oil, so my entire bedroom was full of the perfume.

  ‘You did not have to do this,’ I said for the hundredth time. All the servants were now giggling at my expense, yet I could not refuse lest Mrs Koloman should feel offended.

  Boyde at least attempted to keep a straight face. ‘Served, sir. Ring the bell when you want me to take the stuff away.’ He bowed and left.

  I was wearing one of Dominik’s brocade dressing gowns. The inner lining was of the softest merino wool, so warm and comfortable I cursed the entire Koloman family. I cursed them again as I plunged into the deliciously hot water, and cursed all their ancestry as I dunked a butter biscuit in the aged brandy they had left within easy reach.

  My muscles took in the heat, my entire body unwinding. I inhaled the scent and let my mind wander. I could easily forget I was in the middle of the Scottish wilderness, miles and miles away from the bustle and the smoke of the towns and cities, and yet basking in the most luxurious comforts our civilization has to offer. No wonder the Kolomans retreated here and seemed so content locked up in their very own microcosm: eating, drinking, walking, and devoting their time to their books, their artistic clothes and their scientific experiments. I might do the same one day.

  I could have fallen asleep in the water, so I forced myself to open my eyes. I looked at the ceiling and its carved beams. I had not realized how Gothic that room was: with its four- poster bed, its rugs and its heavy tapestries it looked like one of those oil paintings that were so in vogue, depicting romanticized scenes of the Middle Ages.

  The tapestry hanging right in front of me was the most convincing element. It was either very old or had been aged on purpose: its dark red weaving was embroidered with a small hunting scene, right at the foot of a majestic oak that filled most of the surface. Amidst lobed leaves and acorns I espied little faces framed in shields, expertly integrated into the branches. It looked like a faded family tree.

  ‘I adore that too,’ someone said behind me.

  My heart jumped as I looked back, nearly twisting my neck. It was Miss Natalja.

  I drew in air, but the noise I made was akin to a piglet’s squeal. ‘Miss, what on earth are you –’

  She put a finger to her lips, bidding silence as she walked around the bath. She moved as stealthily as everyone else in this house. I realized with horror that there was nothing to hand I could use to cover myself – not even bubbles in the water.

  ‘Miss, get out, now!’ I hissed.

  She walked quite casually towards the tapestry, neither peering at the bath nor avoiding it.

  ‘Would you like to peruse our family tree? Our lineage goes back the best part of a thousand years, to the rise of the Ottoman Empire and beyond. I can recite all the names.’

  I have faced murderous lunatics, poisoning, blizzards without shelter, vicious witches, Scottish food – yet never, never has my heart thumped as frantically as then.

  ‘Miss, this is entirely inappropriate!’

  Natalja frowned, looking if anything more angelic. ‘What do you mean?’

  She dropped her shawl. She was still wearing one of those indecent dresses of fine material. No stays. From where I sat I could even see the fabric hugging her ribs and narrow hips, an elegant Greek sculpture that could have belonged to any age but mine.

  ‘Miss, I cannot fathom what you are doing here.’

  ‘Can you really not? Shall I tell you how it all works?’

  I grunted. ‘Miss, I have nothing against these newfangled notions of female independence, but I shall not be the one to muddle your reputation!’

  She let out a soft, musical laugh. ‘Oh, Mr Frey, how delightfully Victorian you are.’

  ‘What . . . what did you call me?’

  ‘Why should I need a reputation? I have ample money, no hypocritical society to answer to, and no wish to ever marry.’

  ‘You . . . y-
you are very vulnerable at this moment. . .’

  ‘Are you implying I don’t know what I’m doing? Why, you insult me, Mr Frey.’

  She knelt by the bath and I recoiled like a frightened child, ashamed of my irrepressible movements. I strived to cover as much of myself as I could – which was in fact very little.

  Natalja’s hand rested on my temple. Her skin was cold but soft, and she smelled as beautifully as the bathwater. ‘You studied some medicine, did you not?’

  ‘What does that have to do with –’

  She ran her fingers along my eyebrows with the most delicate touch. ‘So you’ve studied God’s marvels. You know how our eyes turn lifeless light into colour and beauty.’ Her hand went to my nose and mouth, where she felt my agitated breath. ‘You know how our lungs use mundane air to refresh, and nurture, and purify.’ Her hand went to my neck, and it was as though her touch sent electric sparks through my skin. She went on, placing her small hand on my chest, my warmth swiftly seeping into her skin. ‘You know how your heart pumps life-giving blood to the furthest corners of your body, every minute of every day, until you die . . .’

  I gulped. ‘Miss, you had better leave now. . .’ I began, but I only half meant it.

  ‘What a masterpiece these bodies are,’ she whispered, smiling. ‘What miracles we all are . . . even more precious because our bodies last for such a little while. Why let them go cold? Or hungry? Why keep them in the dark?’

  And her hand slid down my torso, reached the surface of the perfumed water, and then went further . . . and then –

  I jumped to my feet with dazzling speed. Natalja fell backward as half the water spilled out of the bath. I groped about, found a hand towel and desperately covered my most intimate miracles.

  ‘Miss Koloman –’ I squawked as I pointed at the door, and then cleared my throat and managed to roar, ‘Get out! Or I’ll drag you out!’

  The girl was curled up on the floor, trembling and unable to meet my gaze. She made me feel terribly guilty.

  I tried to speak. ‘I . . . I –’ I realized how poorly I was covering myself. I reached for the thick dressing gown, wrapped it tightly around me and stepped out of the bath. Miss Koloman was shaking, and I offered her a hand. ‘Miss Koloman, please . . .’