Loch of the Dead

by Loch of the Dead (retail) (epub)

  McGray seemed delighted though, helping himself to huge mouthfuls and smacking his lips rowdily – I could not expect less from a man who dribbles over haggis. Veronika, to my utter surprise, seemed to like it just as much, eating with an appetite her ladylike manners could barely conceal. She seemed as though . . . nothing had happened.

  Natalja sat next to me, and noticed how I stared at her sister.

  ‘You are not blinking, Mr Frey,’ she whispered, hiding her lips behind her glass of wine.

  I pretended to reach for the salt cellar and whispered as low as I could: ‘I know what you did last night.’

  She dropped her glass, splattering wine all over the table. All the other conversations stopped.

  ‘Nat, what happened?’ Mrs Koloman asked, as Boyde ran over and began mopping up the red drink.

  Natalja blushed intensely. ‘I . . . I am so sorry –’

  ‘There, there,’ I said. ‘It was just an accident . . . was it not?’ I felt so much delight in those words that some guilt instantly invaded me. I steered the conversation away from the spilled wine, looking quite the gentleman. ‘Thank you for sharing your excellent table with us yet one more night. I hope we will not have to intrude in your home for much longer.’

  ‘The constables are certainly taking their time,’ Mr Koloman said then, attempting – very poorly – to sound pleasant.

  ‘Indeed,’ I said. ‘If they are not here by mid-morning tomorrow, I will ask my uncle to take a note to the nearest town with a decent constabulary.’

  ‘The nearest proper town would be Inverness,’ Veronika said. ‘That is sixty miles away. It is a full day’s journey each way.’

  McGray’s full mouth did not hinder his reply. ‘Indeedy, but we cannae wait any longer.’

  ‘If it comes to that,’ said Mr Koloman, ‘I will accompany him. It is my son’s freedom that’s at stake.’ He took a sip of wine. ‘In fact, I will ask Smeaton to ready the carriage first thing in the morning. Just in case.’ He nodded at Boyde, who bowed and left the dining room to pass on the instructions. ‘If Dominik and Calcraft were not imprisoned, we could have used their steamer; it would take us just as long to sail to Thurso.’

  The recrimination was still there, barely contained. Mrs Koloman changed the subject swiftly.

  ‘You have hardly touched your beef,’ she said to Helena. I’d already noticed the girl had been pushing the thick slice around her plate. ‘If you don’t like it, we can prepare something else for you. Anything, dear.’

  She timidly shook her head and, like me, took only a mouthful of pastry.

  ‘Are you worried about your father?’ Benjamin asked in the gentlest of tones; something he might have picked up from the late priest.

  Despite his kindness, poor Helena lost all her composure. She dropped her cutlery and covered her face with both hands, weeping so miserably I felt a lump in my throat.

  Mrs Koloman jumped up and comforted the girl with a motherly embrace. Helena nestled her head on the lady’s shoulder, almost as if nobody had consoled her in her entire life.

  ‘He must be so . . . so frightened!’ the girl said between sobs.

  ‘Your father?’

  Helena nodded. ‘Lazarus goes to Isle Maree every evening to talk to him and give him food. He didn’t go yesterday. If nobody attends him tonight, I’m afraid my father –’

  She could say no more.

  ‘Can we help at all?’ McGray asked. ‘We have the two wee boats at the pier – the inn’s and Lazarus’s. We could send him food.’

  Helena’s eyes filled with hope. ‘Oh, could you?’

  ‘Indeedy,’ McGray replied. ‘I’ll go myself if need be.’

  I chuckled. ‘With your seasickness, Nine-Nails? So that you can gag and vomit in the middle of the loch?’

  He opened his mouth, closed it, reopened it as he pointed his knife at me . . . and closed it again. ‘Och, ye win again!’ But he had the perfect revenge. ‘Looks like ye’ll have to go yerself, Percy!’

  Half the sky had cleared, promising – without the need of Mr Koloman’s extravagant instruments – that a bright day would follow. As McGray and I stood by the pier, however, the only light we could see came from the stars and that indigo strip just above the horizon. The air was quite cool but still rather pleasant, and the tranquillity of the place invaded me once more. It was almost as if its waters were a magnet that soaked up all the noise and worries in the world.

  Neither of us spoke for a while; we simply watched how Miss Fletcher jumped into the Nellyses’ scruffy boat, carrying two baskets full of unperishable food and a few flagons of wine. As Helena had pointed out, we simply did not know when anyone would be able to go there again, and Mr Koloman had instructed Mrs Plunket to provide any articles the girl requested for her father.

  Mr Koloman came out from the manor, bringing a nervous Helena with him. The girl carried a large lantern, shedding its golden light all around us.

  Keep a good eye on them,’ I muttered to McGray before they reached us.

  ‘I think I can manage, Frey. Yer the one who should be careful.’

  I could not argue, for Helena and Mr Koloman were now by our side.

  ‘Go to the boat, child,’ he told her with an encouraging smile. When the girl was out of earshot he spoke in a worried whisper: Inspectors, this will strike you as utterly unusual. . .’

  ‘Ha! Try us,’ said Nine-Nails.

  The man bit his lip. ‘Well . . . Benjamin has insisted we take him to see his father’s grave.’

  McGray snorted. ‘He’s what?’

  ‘As you heard. He is adamant, I’m afraid. He wants to see it now.’

  ‘Now?’ I repeated.

  ‘Indeed. Since there will be a boat going there –’ He shook his head. ‘Sorry, I should have mentioned this before. We buried my brother on Isle Maree.’

  I covered my brow. ‘Oh Lord, just what we needed.’

  Only then did I notice that Miss Fletcher had heard what Mr Koloman was proposing. She went so pale her face almost glowed in the dim light, and before I could say anything the woman turned on her heel and rushed back to the boat.

  ‘I thought the boy –’ I was about to say despised but reworded my sentence in time. ‘I thought he had troubles coming to terms with his father’s character.’

  ‘Natalja and I talked to him this morning. We’ve told him of the more redeemable qualities of my late brother. Benjamin is curious, which is only natural.’

  My patience was wearing thin. ‘Mr Koloman, that sad-looking boat will not take more than three –’

  I turned to point at it, only to find that Miss Fletcher was already rowing with all her might, the boat and Helena’s light quickly drifting away from the shore.

  I ran to the pier, calling her back, but she ignored me.

  McGray followed me and spoke in my ear. ‘That poor woman keeps running away from her son.’

  ‘We still have the inn’s boat,’ said Mr Koloman, nodding at it. ‘And I assure you that Isle Maree is as safe as –’

  McGray had to raise both hands and bid him to shut up.

  ‘Och, I am so sick o’ yer whining! Very well, the dandy here will take the boy.’

  ‘McGray!’

  Benjamin arrived just then and McGray pointed a finger at him. ‘But youse will only stay there for a few minutes, and ye must stay where the flimsy English flower can see ye. D’ye understand? No wandering off, and if I hear that ye’ve but whispered, “Oh, one more minute, please, sir. . .”’

  I would have argued further but I knew it would be to no avail. The decision had been made.

  While they fetched Boyde I peered into the deep darkness ahead, hoping that we’d not just signed somebody’s death sentence.

  I wish I’d known then that the true tragedy was about to begin.

  PART 3

  ‘Take from my hand this cup of the wine of wrath . . .

  They shall drink and stagger and be crazed because of the

  sword th
at I am sending among them.’

  Jeremiah 25:15–16

  35

  What an eerie procession we were. Four stooped men in a silent boat, all looking grim, all carrying lanterns whose feeble light only heightened the immensity of the loch. The waning moon offered little help: it was but a silver line in the sky, and tomorrow it would not be visible at all. Boyde was staring at it, his lantern between his legs, projecting eerie shadows on his face as he rowed. I noticed the almost black rings under his eyes, as though he’d not slept in days.

  Benjamin sat between his uncle and me, still wearing the very elegant black suit and white bowtie. He clenched his bull’s-eye lantern with both hands, his bony fingers fidgeting on the rusty steel. Both Mr Koloman and I looked nervously in all directions, and I kept my hand on my breast pocket, ready to draw my gun.

  Once more I felt as if we were drifting into another world, as if Boyde were the Grim Reaper and this boat were taking us into the thick shadows of purgatory. I shook my head at those thoughts. I would achieve nothing by alarming myself.

  Again we rounded Juniper Island, and then I spotted a speck of light coming from Isle Maree. At first I thought it was Helena’s lantern, and that Miss Fletcher must be taking her back to the manor before we could reach them. As we drew closer I realized it was not one but two sparks.

  ‘They’ve lit that blasted skull again,’ Mr Koloman grunted.

  I instantly recalled the deer skull nailed to the tree.

  ‘Who are they?’ I asked. ‘The witchcraft people Miss Fletcher told me about?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What do you know about them?’

  ‘Very little. Only that they come and go as they please. And they always leave that ghastly thing as you see it.’

  I watched the sinuous shape of the antlers emerge very slowly, the pale bone reflecting the glow from those eerily wide eye sockets.

  Boyde jumped out and pulled the boat ashore. As I disembarked I could see the candle stubs and their dancing flames, looking like the vertical pupils of a serpent, guarding against our arrival.

  I pulled Benjamin closer to me. ‘As I said, we will only stay here for a few minutes.’

  ‘Shall I pull that down?’ asked Boyde, his smudged eyes staring anxiously at the skull.

  ‘What for?’ replied Mr Koloman. ‘They’ll only put it back again.’

  ‘It looks like it has been burning for hours,’ I said, walking closer and inspecting the candle stumps, which were almost completely burned away. I looked around, peering through the twisted branches of oak and holly. Beyond I could see the graves, some of them reflecting the light from our lanterns, but the best part of the island was still swathed in darkness. ‘I hope they made their ritual and left.’ Indeed, I hoped that skull had been placed there by mere madwags; I did not wish to encounter the more vicious variety of witchcraft practitioners.

  I gave Benjamin a gentle push, and then unsheathed my gun and raised my lantern to light the terrain ahead. The sooner we visited the blasted grave the sooner we could leave.

  We ascended the gentle slope, pushing branches and leaves aside, and the first graves we stumbled upon were the three little tombstones that had unnerved Uncle Maurice so much. I remembered his sad face and his confession, and felt so sorry for him. I would spend a couple of weeks with him in Gloucestershire, as soon as we’d left this case in the hands of the local police – whether McGray liked it or not.

  ‘Those are the graves of the Nellyses’ first children,’ said Mr Koloman, standing right behind me. ‘None survived more than a few months.’

  Benjamin frowned. ‘Why? What happened to them?’

  ‘He can tell us later,’ I said, though I felt as curious as the boy. ‘I do not want to linger here. Mr Koloman, where is your brother’s grave?’

  He walked solemnly amongst the tombs and pointed to a black granite stone, its edges carved to simulate natural rock. ‘Here.’

  There was a small oak sapling planted right next to it, so that, as it grew, its trunk and roots would fuse with the stone, where leaves and acorns were sculpted. We might all be long dead before that tree became the haunting, living memorial originally intended. Just as well; Maximilian Koloman now had an eternity to wait.

  At first Benjamin stood still, simply staring at the grave and its Gothic engraving. He took a cautious step forward, as if he were looking at an intimidating, much alive tyrant. And then he knelt down, moving his lips in a silent prayer. I could only wonder what he might be pleading for – mercy for his father’s sins, perhaps.

  The scene made me think of my own deceased ones: my dear mother, first of all. She now lay in the family crypt in Gloucestershire, in a quiet corner of my uncle’s estate, where I myself hoped to rest when my time came. I thought I’d pay her a visit too.

  Benjamin’s trembling voice seemed to echo my thoughts. ‘And where does my mother –’

  A horrendous scream tore the air, chilling our blood. It was a male voice, soon followed by the most desolate female whimpers. Benjamin rose at once, and I pointed my gun towards the source. I saw a faint gleam coming from the other side of the island, from where old Mr Nellys lived.

  ‘Stay here!’ I barked, though I knew they’d ignore me, and ran across the graveyard, jumping over tombstones and dodging roots and rocks, my lantern projecting maddened shadows all around.

  I ran around the shack and found its door ajar. Helena’s lantern lay lonely on the ground, the leaves around it starting to catch fire. I kicked the door open and found the girl utterly distraught. She was curled up on the floor, covering her mouth with both hands, and crying and moaning in the most unnerving way. Miss Fletcher stood next to her, leaning over a shapeless bundle of blankets. I knew it was Mr Nellys only because another awful scream came from beneath the manky shroud.

  ‘What happened?’ I asked, but did not wait for an answer. I knelt by the man and uncovered his face. He looked so pale, blemished and ravaged by ill health my heart jumped. He was clenching his brown teeth, his face distorted by searing pain.

  I pulled away the blankets and saw his hands were pressed tightly to his ribcage. His fingers were stained dark red. I tried to pull them away and inspect whatever lay underneath, but he looked pleadingly at me, silently beseeching me to leave him alone.

  The pain overwhelmed him and he had to let out another howl. I took the chance to pull his hands away and tear aside the ancient, stinking shirt he wore.

  Helena let out a sharp whimper, and Miss Fletcher and I gasped. Mr Nellys’s abdomen was covered in wounds, dozens of perforations all over his skin, some of them scarred, but many of them still open, the skin around them raw, oozing blood and some of them pus. The entire shack reeked of infection.

  ‘How did this happen?’ I demanded. ‘Who did this to you?’ I remembered McGray’s words. ‘Bites?’ I mumbled, rather to myself, but Mr Nellys nodded as he growled in pain again. The wounds themselves were not fatal, but my instinct still told me this man would not live for much longer.

  Miss Fletcher was embracing Helena, whispering soothingly in her ear, and then the flapping door was opened by Mr Koloman. Behind him came Boyde . . . and . . .

  ‘Benjamin,’ Miss Fletcher let out, looking straight into the boy’s eyes. Though her voice was low everyone went quiet, as if time had stopped. Even Mr Nellys ceased his grunting.

  Miss Fletcher’s chest swelled, her eyes burning with a swirl of uncontainable emotions. I read shock, confusion, shame – even a brief flicker of joy.

  I looked at Benjamin. The boy was giving her a confused stare, but his expression already showed a shadow of understanding.

  Was he seeing what we all saw, what to our eyes was so glaringly obvious? Though Benjamin shared the Kolomans’ blond hair and fine jaw, he and Miss Fletcher were of the same height; their eyes were of the same colour and shape; they even had the same freckled face and ungainly shoulders.

  The boy quivered ever so slightly, and in that movement his eyes caught a glint
from the fire. A mere twinkle, but for Miss Fletcher it was enough to betray sixteen years of sworn silence.

  ‘My father’s eyes,’ she said, unable to contain herself. ‘You have –’

  She covered her mouth at once, looking now at the enraged Mr Koloman, and then a lonely tear rolled down her cheek – something I would have never thought possible.

  Mr Koloman let out a hissing breath, his face as red as a demon’s, and what little joy might have been in Miss Fletcher’s eyes gave way to sheer terror.

  Benjamin gulped painfully. ‘It’s you,’ he whispered, with misty eyes and oblivious to his uncle’s fury. ‘Why didn’t . . . why . . . ?’

  He could say no more. He cried copiously, unable to move, and we all stood around in awkward silence, not knowing what to say or do.

  It was Helena who reacted first. She nudged Miss Fletcher, gave her a reassuring little smile and pulled the giant woman closer to her long-lost son.

  But before they managed to say a word, or to touch hands, Mr Koloman made his voice heard.

  ‘Fletcher, take that man to the house! Minerva will know what to do.’

  For a moment it was as though he’d spoken in another language. Miss Fletcher started, turning her face to her master but seemingly unable to take in his words.

  Mr Koloman turned red.‘Fletcher, do as I say, dammit!’

  What happened next was rather disturbing. Benjamin turned to face him very, very slowly, clenching his fists as he moved. There was fire in his stare, a murderous expression I had seen in only a handful of people. He planted himself between his uncle and his mother, shuddering with wrath. The skinny, meek boy was being replaced by a blazing fiend. He mopped his tears with his sleeve, and when he spoke his incensed voice still trembled with self-doubt.

  ‘She . . . she is not a servant.’

  His uncle’s jaw had dropped. ‘Benjamin, please let me deal with –’

  ‘She’s not a servant!’ Benjamin roared. We all jumped and Mr Nellys let out a pained groan. ‘She is my mother! And you’ll treat her with respect. You and everyone in the manor!’