A Knife in Darkness

by Lexie Conyngham

  It was early when Hippolyta woke, though Patrick was evidently already up and about. She decided to dress before breakfast, and not to ring for Ishbel: she and Mrs. Riach would be busy enough this morning, besides having their own parish church to attend. Hippolyta wrestled bad-temperedly with her stays, and slumped, as much as they would let her, at the dressing table to try to arrange her own hair. She did not feel it was a great success, but gave up in the end with a style a little too plain for Edinburgh salons but still, she hoped, more interesting than Miss Verney’s pale blonde locks.

  Hm, she thought sharply, Miss Verney. Flirting with Patrick and meeting Mr. Brookes at the same time: what kind of a person was she? And Mr. Brookes must be old enough to be her father, and sickly besides. But at least that would mean that Basilia’s attentions were not wholly focussed on Patrick. And Patrick’s attentions?

  She glared at herself in the mirror, the mirror she had sat before in her Edinburgh home since she was a child, the mirror her maid had smiled and wept at her in, the morning of her wedding. Had those tears been a bad sign? Had she made a mistake? Was Patrick not the man she had thought he was?

  Well, she decided, even if he was not, she was certainly not going to go running back to Edinburgh. This was her home now, and Patrick was her husband, and whatever was wrong would just have to be sorted out, and that was that.

  She gave herself a firm nod, poked her hair once more, and abandoned the mirror to go and see Mrs. Riach.

  Mrs. Riach’s good mood of the previous night was lingering still, and even Hippolyta’s suggestion that the cats be kept out of the parlour after breakfast earned her nothing more than a dark, throaty chuckle.

  ‘Aye, that’d be for the best,’ she agreed. No doubt Ishbel had told her of the unfortunate blackbird.

  ‘Indeed. By the way, Mrs. Riach, the ham last night was delicious. Dr. Napier particularly remarked on it.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Mrs. Riach with deep satisfaction, ‘he’s never liked ham.’

  Before Hippolyta could comment, she curtseyed stiffly and left, with Hippolyta gaping after her.

  At that moment, Basilia came into the parlour, yawning prettily, and Hippolyta shut her own mouth.

  ‘Dear Miss Verney,’ she heard herself saying brightly, ‘I hope you slept well?’

  ‘Very well indeed, thank you, Mrs. Napier! I always do in this house. And congratulations again on the success of yesterday’s dinner: despite everything, I think it went splendidly.’

  ‘I’m so glad you enjoyed it.’ They exchanged glowing smiles, while Hippolyta thought, ‘“Despite everything”?’ so crossly she was afraid she had repeated it out loud.

  Patrick slipped into this happy moment, and cast an anxious glance at the parlour table, and at Hippolyta.

  ‘Shouldn’t we be having breakfast? This room will have to be rearranged, will it not?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Breakfast will only be a moment.’ She looked at her husband: he seemed dishevelled, though he was in his Sunday coat and had shaved. His honey-fair hair that she loved so much was all on end. She longed to smooth it then and there, but the presence of Basilia was more than inhibiting. She bit her lip, and went to the window instead, aware that Basilia was watching her.

  ‘Not a very welcoming day for the poor clergyman, nor for the congregation,’ she said, touching the glass. The window was cold, a steady grey rain falling outside.

  ‘They’ll come nevertheless,’ said Patrick seriously.

  ‘We’d better make sure we have plenty of room for wet hats and umbrellas and so on.’ Hippolyta sighed, turning back as Mrs. Riach entered the parlour with the breakfast things. ‘Can we do that, please, Mrs. Riach? Perhaps they could go into the side passage in the servants’ quarters.’

  ‘I’ll see.’ Mrs. Riach’s few hours of co-operation seemed to be at an end. She landed the dishes on the table with more force than style. She left the room, and they sat to eat.

  ‘Will it be the same clergyman?’ Hippolyta asked Basilia.

  ‘Probably: he said last week he would see us soon,’ said Basilia, then her lip wobbled a little. ‘So much has happened in a week! I cannot believe it.’ She took refuge in her handkerchief, an impractical little scribble of lace. Patrick gallantly handed her his rather more efficient linen square, and Hippolyta gritted her teeth rather too hard on a piece of toast. She brushed crumbs from her sleeves, trying not to show her irritation.

  ‘What will the clergyman require? A room to robe in – the dining room, perhaps? A communion table, a white cloth …’

  ‘This table won’t do, of course,’ said Patrick, who was eating much faster than usual, evidently unsettled by the whole thing.

  ‘Of course not: whoever saw a round communion table? But I thought perhaps the hall table would be a suitable size.’ She had said so before, but she refrained from mentioning it.

  Basilia and Patrick nodded, eating.

  ‘Does he bring his own communion set?’

  ‘Yes: he has a travelling one, in a case.’

  ‘And wine? And bread?’

  ‘He’ll bring that.’

  ‘Good.’ Hippolyta thought through a service as best she could. ‘Who chooses the hymns?’

  ‘Oh, we’ve already done that,’ said Basilia innocently, with a look at Patrick. ‘We had a little think about it yesterday morning. You were out, I think.’

  ‘And who will play?’ Hippolyta asked, trying to focus on the practicalities and not her sudden deep desire to slap Basilia’s broad, white face.

  ‘Oh, I shall,’ said Patrick. ‘I shall just play the piano.’

  ‘And we can bring through the chairs from the dining room, or as many as we think we’ll need,’ said Hippolyta briskly.

  ‘As soon as we’ve finished breakfast,’ Patrick agreed. She smiled at him, pleased to have established some kind of connexion. He wiped his mouth with his napkin, and met her eye without expression. ‘Shall we start?’

  Mrs. Riach and Ishbel, summoned by the bell, removed the breakfast things, and then Ishbel helped shift furniture and arrange a clean white linen cloth on the hall table, which they set against the fireplace, having no need for a fire despite the rain. The chairs were arranged in rough rows, while Mrs. Riach watched, arms folded, lips pursed disapprovingly. Patrick brought out the large Bible that lived in the parlour, and set it on the table, opened the piano, and shuffled some sheet music absently as he surveyed the room. Then he nodded.

  ‘I think we’re maybe ready.’

  ‘Then we’ll be off, Dr. Napier,’ said Mrs. Riach grimly, with the air of leaving them to their fate. ‘We have the kirk to go till.’ She seized Ishbel by the shoulder and marched her off towards the kitchen, and when Hippolyta glanced through the parlour window a few minutes later she saw them, bonneted and cloaked against the rain, marching across the green to the centrical church.

  Not a moment later, their own congregation began to arrive, one or two in polite bewilderment, trying to find a place that was new to them, and others grasping Miss Verney by the hand, telling her again how sorry they were for her loss. Miss Verney sat in the front row of the chairs, while Patrick waited in the hall for the clergyman: gradually the parlour filled with the smell of wet cloth, and Hippolyta, hovering at the parlour door to fend off the occasional cat, found herself torn between hostess and worshipper as she greeted newcomers. Most she had seen the previous Sunday, and some again at Colonel Verney’s funeral. One or two were new to her, strangers staying in the town who had been directed to them for an English service. The clergyman arrived in a hurry, just as last week, and shot off without question into the dining room to change. While they were waiting for him, there was another quiet knock at the door and Patrick opened it again. Outside, his black coat drenched, was the young man Dr. Durward had introduced to them, Julian Brown.

  ‘Room for another one?’ he asked sheepishly, in a quiet voice, as if he feared the service might already have started.

  ‘Of course!’ Patrick bowed,
and ushered him in. ‘May I take your hat and gloves? We are not quite used to hosting the service yet, and our servants have gone to the parish church.’

  ‘Oh, yes, yes.’ Julian looked blank, but at Patrick’s outstretched hand he snatched off his hat and gloves, and adjusted his soaking coat. ‘I hope I don’t ruin … anything, Mrs. Napier,’ he said, with a shilpit grin.

  ‘Not at all, Mr. Brown. Would you rather take off your coat and borrow a shawl? I should hate to think of you catching cold, and there is no fire, you see.’

  ‘No fire? Oh, yes, of course there wouldn’t be. August already, eh? August already, and look at it. The river’s rolling along like sixpence,’ he added obscurely, and wandered in to the parlour. He perched on the edge of a hard chair near the back, and as an afterthought bent his head in prayer.

  The clergyman shot out of the dining room like a pigeon from a dovecot, all flapping surplice, surveyed the parlour professionally, and raised his eyebrows at Patrick. Patrick edged his way past the congregation to the piano, and played a rousing chord, and everyone rose to sing. Hippolyta paused, chose to leave the front door open for latecomers, and joined in at the back.

  The clergyman announced that the service would be Morning Prayer instead of Holy Communion, as he had left his communion set in Aboyne, so the congregation stayed at their places throughout rather than joining in the polite, silent parade to the front to receive bread and wine. The clergyman made up for the loss with a twelve minute sermon instead of a six minute one, and a particularly passionate blessing and dismissal at the end. Then he swept to the parlour door to bid them all good day, while Patrick played a soft voluntary in the background. Basilia, acting the part of leading worshipper, paused a moment and then turned from the front pew to follow the clergyman out, glanced in Hippolyta’s direction, and sank to the floor in a faint.

  ‘Oh, good heavens!’ Hippolyta hurried forward, and managed to clear a space around Miss Verney. Most of the congregation sensibly started to leave the room, and someone seated near it opened the window a little to clear the air. Patrick left off playing and came to kneel and take Basilia’s pulse.

  ‘Just a faint,’ he said. ‘Her heartbeat is quite regular.’ He did not quite meet Hippolyta’s eye.

  ‘She has not been sleeping well, I think,’ said Hippolyta.

  ‘Oh? She told me she was sleeping very well,’ he replied. Hippolyta opened her mouth to tell him that Miss Verney might not be absolutely honest, when Miss Verney stirred and tried to sit up. ‘One moment, Miss Verney: sit up slowly, please. You have had a little faint.’

  ‘Have I? Oh no!’ Basilia put her hand to her forehead. ‘I have caused you so much trouble, haven’t I? I am so sorry!’

  ‘Not at all, not at all, Miss Verney. Here, let me help you up on to this chair.’ He slipped a hand under Basilia’s arm while Hippolyta copied him on the other side, though he could no doubt have lifted her himself. Basilia sighed, and glanced about the room.

  ‘And it was such a lovely service, too,’ she added, though Hippolyta was sure she was looking for someone, someone specific. Had she been expecting Mr. Brookes? But then why would she pretend to faint? For she was sure that a woman who pretended to faint once was pretending to faint the next time, too, however unfair that might have seemed.

  ‘All well?’ asked the clergyman briskly, reappearing at the door as the last of the congregation, presumably reunited with their cloaks and hats, departed into the drizzle.

  ‘Oh, yes, yes, quite well, thank you!’ Basilia rose slowly and put out a hand to him, and he began the usual condolences, adding remarks about his gratitude to Colonel Verney for his accommodation of the Episcopalian services over the last couple of years.

  ‘Though of course, this has been very well arranged, too,’ he added, with a half-bow to Hippolyta and Patrick. ‘May we impose on you again next Sunday week?’

  ‘Of course!’ Hippolyta smiled, though she felt Patrick twitch a little beside her. She refused to look at him. ‘An honour, and no trouble at all. Can I offer you a glass of wine, or some tea? I’m sure you are in a great rush, as usual, but the rain is perhaps easing, and if you give it a few minutes more you might have a drier ride.’

  The clergyman leaned back and took a look out through the front door.

  ‘If I may, a glass of wine would fend off the weather very nicely, Mrs. Napier. I’ll just go and remove these robes again – is the dining room still suitable?’ He bustled off, and Patrick quickly helped Hippolyta rearranged some of the chairs, taking the table, now bare, back into the hall, desanctifying the room to make wine and tea seem more in place there. As if they knew, a couple of the cats reappeared and settled on a sofa, washing off rainwater with steady pink tongues. Hippolyta hurried to the servants’ quarters to find wine, remembering that Mrs. Riach and Ishbel would not have returned yet.

  The clergyman did not stay long, hurrying out with the wine almost still on his lips to retrieve his horse from the inn stables and head back down Deeside to his next service. When they had waved him off, Basilia gave another of her delicate little yawns.

  ‘I think I must excuse myself, dear Mrs. Napier, and go and rest for a little. I fear I must not have rested as well as I thought I had.’

  ‘You should certainly lie down for an hour or so, Miss Verney,’ said Patrick solemnly. ‘It is early days yet: you still don’t have your full strength.’

  Basilia sighed and retreated to the stairs, as if reluctant to admit to her own weakness. Hippolyta went back into the parlour and began to sort out the chairs, setting the heavy dining chairs to one side to be returned to the dining room. Patrick, in silence, took them one by one across the hall to their place. Both of them jumped when there came another knock on the front door.

  ‘Surely not someone late for the service?’ Hippolyta joked, though it fell rather flat. Patrick merely glanced at her, and went to open the door. On the doorstep, with that strangely humble sense of entitlement that seemed to characterise him, was the sheriff’s man, Durris.

  ‘Good day to you,’ he said, lifting his hat a little, blinking behind rain-smeared glasses. ‘I apologise for disturbing you on the Sabbath, but you’ll know that we want to make some progress with this case.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Patrick, stepping back to let him in, though Hippolyta thought she detected some reluctance in his tone. She felt her spine stiffen: she could not allow Mr. Durris to drag Patrick off to his study again, all on his own. She had to deflect the attack, if attack it was going to be.

  ‘Please come in, Mr. Durris: we were just tidying the parlour after our morning service. Will you join us for some tea?’ She was sure she had heard the back door, so with any good fortune Mrs. Riach was back and she would not have to go and see to things on her own, leaving Patrick defenceless. Durris blinked at her.

  ‘Some tea would be most welcome, Mrs. Napier,’ he said after a moment. ‘I’d like a word with Dr. Napier, if I could …’

  ‘Of course,’ she said briskly. ‘We are always at your disposal, Mr. Durris.’ She rang the bell and sat expectantly at the parlour table, business-like. With a look from one of them to the other, Durris also sat, pulling out his notebook for support. Patrick took another seat as if he were afraid the table might bite him. He folded his hands tightly in front of him. Durris stared at his notebook – Hippolyta could see that the page was blank – then said to Patrick,

  ‘Well, Dr. Napier, have you given any thought to what I asked you? Have you anything further to tell me?’

  Patrick opened his mouth, but Hippolyta leapt in, her mind racing.

  ‘Oh, yes, we do! Well, I do. Did you know, Mr. Durris, that Miss Verney has been meeting Mr. Brookes by night?’

  ‘Has she?’ Durris asked, and Patrick cried,

  ‘She hasn’t! Has she?’

  ‘Hush!’ Hippolyta made a little bit of a show of going to the parlour door, opening it suddenly on an empty hall, and shutting it again softly.

  ‘What are you imply
ing?’ Patrick demanded. ‘Miss Verney is a lady: she would not eavesdrop!’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ said Hippolyta, to Durris more than to Patrick. ‘But she has definitely been going out at night on her own –’

  ‘She was sleepwalking.’

  ‘She told you she had sleepwalked as a child, and you believed her,’ said Hippolyta patiently. ‘But I’m convinced she only pretended to faint that night, because she unexpectedly came upon all of us in the hallway when she returned. I saw her eyes just before she fell.’ She met Patrick’s shocked gaze, and turned back firmly to Durris. She might have felt treacherous, telling of her friend’s night time assignations like this, but Patrick’s instant defence of Basilia irked her thoroughly, and the thought of Basilia’s snakelike flirting with her husband – her husband! – wiped all other feelings of guilt from her heart. ‘The other night I looked out and saw a man in our garden. I’m not sure who he was, but he very quietly let himself out through the front gate. Then last night I heard her go out again, and this time I followed her.’

  Both men jumped.

  ‘You did what?’ asked Patrick.

  ‘You really should not have put yourself in any position of danger, Mrs. Napier,’ said Durris, looking alarmed.

  ‘Danger? From Basilia? I hardly think so!’ Hippolyta was dismissive.

  ‘Never mind Miss Verney, there is still a murderer about the town!’ cried Patrick. His hand hovered above hers, as if he should have liked to have taken it in his. What was stopping him? His feelings for that minx Basilia? ‘If anything had happened to you …’

  ‘Quite,’ said Durris, slightly waspishly. ‘Dr. Napier, may I ask, where were you when this was happening?’

  ‘I … well, I … To tell the truth, I had been working late in my study. I must have fallen asleep: it was very late when I went to bed.’

  ‘And it did not occur to you, Mrs. Napier, to fetch your husband rather than to wander the streets of Ballater on your own in the middle of the night?’