An Abandoned Woman (Murray of Letho Book 4)

by Lexie Conyngham

  ‘I had forgotten just how badly he took drink,’ he went on, seeing Blair wave for another glass of wine.

  ‘Were you closely acquainted at university?’ asked Blair, with a wariness that did not surprise Murray.

  ‘Not at all,’ said Murray. ‘We were in the same year, of course, but so were a score of other men, and he only did a couple of years. As bejants, in our first year, we were near neighbours in our bunking, and he was sometimes among the people I met with. I remembered him, I must confess, as being better company than he has been these past few weeks. But it is one of those curious things, that one’s closest acquaintances after one leaves a place are people one scarcely knew there, and friends from whom you believed you would never be parted, who were with you through every day, you lose sight of as if they were no more.’ He spoke lightly, but he could not help thinking back to some of his acquaintances at university who were indeed no more. Daniel helped him to potatoes.

  ‘So how was it that you renewed acquaintance with him?’ Blair asked.

  ‘Oh – thank you, Daniel, that is quite sufficient – it was he who made a move to renew the acquaintance. He wrote from Somersetshire to say that he had business to attend to in Glasgow, but after that he would like to call on me and perhaps to visit St. Andrews again, as it is not far away. I do enjoy having guests here, as you know ...’ he tailed away, for he had not enjoyed having Kennedy. ‘This house benefits considerably from an influx of people, and I confess I am greatly looking forward to the arrival of your sister Mrs. Freeman and Isobel. Perhaps having lived so long in southern England Mrs. Freeman and Kennedy may well have acquaintances in common. I hope they will take pleasure in each other’s company.’ Or better still, Kennedy would find Mrs. Freeman unbearable and leave. He hoped Blair understood.

  V

  After dinner, Blair and Murray retired to the parlour where slices of sunlight edged through the windows. Robbins brought in brandy and some of Mrs. Mutch’s lemonade with herbs in it, which Mr. Blair liked, and left them there. Murray browsed through a collection of Burns’ poetry, and Blair dozed on a chintz window seat with his head in a ray of sunshine, warm as a cat. Robbins crossed the stone hall and wound through narrow passages to the servants’ wing. In the main kitchen, Effy was tying on her bonnet.

  ‘Where are you off to?’ he asked her, causing her face to crinkle in anxiety.

  ‘Home, sir. Mrs. Chambers has gived me the afternoon off.’

  ‘Given,’ he corrected her, taking a seat at the table where the servants’ own dinner was laid. Mrs. Mutch appeared from the garden with a basket.

  ‘There, now, and the bread’s in the bottom,’ she said, poking at the contents of the basket as she handed it to Effy. ‘And you tell your mother we’re all thinking about her, the poor soul.’

  ‘What’s wrang wi’ her?’ asked Daniel, casually.

  ‘She has rheumatics!’ said Iffy dramatically. ‘She canna bake nor nothing!’

  ‘Why aren’t you going too?’ Daniel asked her. ‘She’s as much your ma as Effy’s.’

  ‘Well, someone has to stay here and work!’ said Iffy, with a degree of pride.

  ‘Aye,’ said Mrs. Mutch, ‘and it might as well be you, for Effy has done twice your work this fortnight and it’s past time you made up for it.’ Iffy opened her mouth to respond, but fortunately Mrs. Mutch went on. ‘If you put half the energy into work that you do into claiking and giggling and gallanting with any young man that comes to the door, you could be kitchen maid in three houses and still have time to cook for yourself.’

  ‘I do not gallant, Mrs. Mutch!’ said Iffy, shocked.

  ‘Don’t answer me back, girl. You’ll have a name like that Nan Watson if you don’t watch your behaviour, and that won’t keep you a position in this household, whatever certain other households might do to employ such jilts.’

  ‘I’m away off now,’ said Effy quickly and quietly, trying not to draw any more attention to herself than was absolutely necessary. ‘Thank you for the food, Mrs. Mutch.’ She gave a little curtsey, and all but bolted through the kitchen door and along the passage, her wooden soles rattling along the stone floor.

  VI

  Sunday was a quiet day for the servants, as a rule, which was how Effy could easily be spared. As the minister did not preach his afternoon sermon at the parish kirk but at a chapel of ease some distance from the village, and as visiting preachers were few and far between in such an unimportant place, the schoolmaster Mr. Kenny would occasionally preach on the green in good weather, and Robbins or another literate servant would read from a book of sermons in the kitchen. The book had been presented to the servants by Mr. Murray’s grandfather, along with a heavy Bible, which served also as a teaching aid for those servants who had managed not to learn to read in the village school. The supper, particularly in this weather, was cold and already laid out in the pantry, and Murray their master scarcely bothered them. In the distance, through the open kitchen door, they could hear sounds from the stables, and perhaps even from the mains farm beyond, but people rarely rode or travelled far on the Sabbath if they could help it, and the sounds lacked their weekday bustle. At around five, when Mary and Jennet had carried the tea into the main house and returned, Mr. Kennedy’s bell rang and Daniel made to answer it, but a thought had struck Robbins and he stopped Daniel, nodding to William to attend to Mr. Kennedy instead. William made a surprised face and went. Robbins cleared his throat, and Daniel waited.

  ‘You’ve heard Nan Watson is with child again, have you?’ Robbins asked at last, forcing himself to meet Daniel’s eye with authority. The other servants, who had been quiet anyway, fell silent, with the exception of Jennet. Mary was teaching her to read as they both sat in the sun at the kitchen doorstep, and Jennet’s last hard-won word echoed into the silence from the minister’s morning text.

  ‘In – ee – quee – tie,’ she said carefully, then heard it rebound and turned scarlet.

  ‘I have heard about her,’ said Daniel at last, having decided that a plea of ignorance would not have been convincing. ‘But it’s no mine.’

  ‘Were you not going with her?’ Robbins asked.

  ‘Not for a year now.’ Daniel had begun to fidget. ‘And even when I was going with her, there was nothing like that between us. She’s no such a racer as everyone thinks she is!’ he added, with a defiant look at Mrs. Mutch.

  ‘No a racer?’ said Mrs. Mutch incredulously. ‘She has two fatherless bairns already!’

  ‘But that was both to married men that could not wed her. It was not her fault they could not wed her,’ said Daniel, then realised that this was perhaps not the best defence of his young woman. Robbins looked like thunder.

  ‘If it’s yours you’ll marry her,’ he ordered Daniel, ‘and no running away.’

  ‘It’s no mine!’ Daniel insisted.

  ‘But what if she names you before the Kirk Session?’ put in Mrs. Mutch.

  ‘She’ll no,’ said Daniel. ‘It’d be a damned lie.’ But he looked frightened. Robbins gave him a long, hard stare, then shrugged.

  ‘You’ll join Jennet and Mary in their reading for the rest of the afternoon, then, unless you’re called for. Both your reading and your ideas could do with improvement.’

  Daniel reluctantly took a creepie stool from near the fire, and went to sit on the sunny doorstep with the maids. At least William was not there to laugh at him, he thought.

  VII

  In fact, William’s whereabouts began to be a cause of some concern when he did not return either to help serve supper to the master and his guests, or to eat his own with the other servants. Mr. Kennedy, who had originally rung for him, was seen to be at supper with the others, but Robbins felt it would be difficult to ask him about a missing manservant. In any case, he had only been gone for a couple of hours.

  Another hour later, it was growing duskish and Robbins was beginning to contemplate consulting the master about the problem, when William appeared through the door at the end of the
corridor that led to the main house.

  ‘I’m starving,’ he announced without formality. ‘Is there any supper left for me?’

  ‘And just where have you been?’ asked Robbins, rising solemnly from his chair. William was a head taller than he, but the expression on Robbins’ face made up in authority what he lost in height. William was at once reduced to juvenile awkwardness.

  ‘I – I canna say,’ he muttered.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Robbins, shocked.

  ‘I’ve been tellt not to say. Mr. Kennedy, sir, he sent me on a message, but I’m not to say where.’

  ‘Oh, Mr. Kennedy told you, did he?’ Robbins was coldly angry. ‘And if I went through now and found Mr. Kennedy and asked him about this, what do you think he might say, eh? Why should I believe your story that a gentleman should send you out for three hours with no warning? Is that likely?’

  ‘But he tellt me, sir!’ pleaded William.

  ‘Maybe he was fou’,’ suggested Daniel, and received a withering look from at least three of the other servants.

  ‘He was not fou’, sir. He was still bad from last night, but he was sober, sir. And if you go and ask him, he’ll be mad at me even for telling all I’ve told you.’

  ‘Oh, very clever,’ said Robbins. The trouble was, it had the ring of truth about it: William was not much for tricks, and Mr. Kennedy’s standing in the servants’ quarters was very low indeed. After a moment’s thought, he asked, ‘And did he pay you for this message?’

  But before William had a chance to reply, they heard a resounding crash from the far end of the corridor, where the door led out towards the drive. This was followed by a confused scrabbling sound and a scream of pain. Robbins, William and Mary, nearest to the kitchen door, ran out. At the corner of the passage, on her knees, was Effy, her empty basket tumbled on the floor, her bonnet ripped back from her head, hands bloodied, and her breath coming out in huge, sobbing gasps.

  The other three stopped, stared. Then Mary stepped forward, calmly, knelt beside the girl, and neatly, without any fuss, slapped her white face. The shock had some effect, and Mary took the girl in her arms and gave her a quick hug.

  ‘Come on, now, Effy. Did you trip over the bags of sand?’

  Still breathing hard, Effy nodded. Tears were oozing from her puffed eyes.

  ‘It’s a bit of a shock, is it not? Now, are your knees hurt?’ Effy nodded again. ‘And your hands?’ Mary turned the palms up to the light from the one tallow candle, and peered down at the torn skin. Then she glanced up at Robbins. ‘I think we might have need of Mrs. Chambers, Mr. Robbins.’

  William went running for the housekeeper, eager to redeem himself. Robbins, shielding the sight of Effy from the other servants crowding at the kitchen door, moved forward to look down at the hands Mary held. The scratches on finger tips, heels and palms were not made by a tumble on a smooth flagged floor, and nor were the tears on her dress. Pieces of broken twig were caught in her hair, and the look in her eyes was one of sheer, wild terror.

  VIII

  It was some time later when Robbins appeared in the parlour to ask if he might have a word. Murray, contentedly reading as both his companions were asleep in armchairs, took Robbins back out into the hall so as not to disturb them and asked what the matter was. Robbins stood with his hands behind his back and asked Murray’s permission to send for Dr. Feilden from the village.

  ‘The doctor? Why, what has happened? Of course, you must send for him at once, and tell me why after.’

  Robbins nodded, and stepped across to the front door. Daniel was waiting outside, and at Robbins’ signal he left at a trot for the path to the village. Robbins closed the front door gently and turned back to his master.

  ‘It is Effy Duff, sir. She is not badly injured, but she is upset. She says – as far as we can tell, sir, for she is close to hysterical even now – that the murderer attacked her.’

  ‘What?’ exclaimed Murray, deeply shocked. ‘Wait, I shall fetch Mr. Blair and we shall go into the library.’

  Blair surfaced gently and Murray, gesturing to him not to disturb Kennedy, indicated that he should follow Murray out into the hall. Blair, delighted by the air of mystery and urgency, followed as bidden.

  Robbins had sensibly collected a taper and lit the lamp at the centre of the library table. Arranged standing around it, their faces glowed with sudden colour while their subdued Sabbath clothes faded into dusk. Robbins explained where Effy had been, and told of her sudden reappearance.

  ‘Mary and Mrs. Chambers got her to bed with a hot brick, but she would not let them leave her alone, and when she could finally bring herself to speak, the whole story came out.’ Robbins flexed his hands on the back of the chair in front of him. They had a skeletal look in the lamplight. Murray was so still that even the watch chain on his chest reflected steady points of light. Blair fidgeted with his waistcoat buttons. ‘She says she was on her way back along the path by the kirkyard – it would have been evening, sir, and the light, what there was of it, was in her eyes. She says a man stepped out of the rough woodland there, right in front of her. I can imagine there might have been a degree of surprise on both sides, but she says the man grabbed her by the arm and began to drag her towards the wood. She fought him, and I should say she scratched him, too, for there was blood under her fingernails. That’s what Mary noticed first. Her dress was torn, too: she thinks she caught it on a bush as she fled. She ran all the way home, convinced that the man was in pursuit, but we have seen no sign of it.’

  ‘The buildings and probability of friendly people would have frightened him off,’ suggested Murray.

  ‘If that is so,’ said Blair, ‘it is a wonder that he first attacked her so close to the manse.’

  ‘True,’ Murray agreed, staring at the bright heart of the lamp. ‘Could she give any kind of description of the man?’ he asked Robbins. Robbins gave a little sigh.

  ‘He was against the light. She says he was tall, but against the light would make a man of middle height look taller. And anyway, to Effy most people are tall. He had a coat on, but no hat, and he wore gloves – she particularly remembers seeing his dark hand across her sleeve, and that seems to upset her. She says it was like a spider. His shirt was open, for that is where she scratched him. I don’t think she managed to look at his face. It could, I think, have been someone she knew to see, and she would not have recognised him.’

  ‘So we are not much further on, then,’ Blair remarked. ‘Except that someone will have scratches on his chest, and will have been out alone tonight.’

  ‘You are quite satisfied,’ said Murray slowly, ‘that she saw what she says she saw? That a bush did not become a bear, for example, and alarm a mind made nervous by the stories of the last week?’

  ‘There was the blood under her nails, sir,’ Robbins reminded him. ‘And Effy is not as daft as her sister. She takes things harder, maybe, but if she says she saw a man, I’d believe her. She has improved since I last saw her,’ he added, probably in response to Blair’s smile, ‘but Iffy is as bad as ever, or maybe worse as she has now discovered the pleasures of flirtation.’

  ‘Well,’ said Murray, smiling in turn, ‘there is little else we can do now. Will you have Dr. Feilden come and see me when he has examined her?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Robbins made to leave.

  ‘Oh, there’s a thought,’ said Blair, ‘or maybe not. Did Effy say that her attacker said anything to her?’

  ‘She did not remark on it, sir. She may have been screaming too much to notice. I think, though, that she may have mentioned hearing laughter.’

  ‘Laughter? Ah.’

  ‘I trust Mrs. Chambers is with the staff, Robbins,’ said Murray. ‘I am sure she has a great deal to do to calm some of them.’

  Robbins’ prominent eyes rolled very slightly and he bowed an acknowledgement, but waited.

  ‘So, she screamed,’ said Blair blandly.

  ‘Which makes one wonder,’ Murray continued, ‘if anyone
ran from the manse to help, and if so, what did they see?’

  ‘And if they did not,’ added Robbins deferentially, ‘why did they not?’

  There was a reflective pause.

  ‘Well,’ said Murray, pulling himself together, ‘call round the outdoor servants. Send messages to Cullessie and to the manse, and bring the dogs and torches, and let us see if we can find any trace of this savage.’

  IX

  They gathered remarkably quickly on the carriage sweep, excitable dogs and twisting torches flickering on faces with expressions torn between solemnity and the thrill of being out in the darkness with a purpose. Blair appeared in a vast waxed cloth coat of his own contrivance in which he looked ready for anything, and his heaviest boots and a round, hard hat that clamped his wig firmly on to his head. The men of Letho Mains farm and Letho House set out across the park, striding through the darkness in a line of scuffing boot noises and tarry torch smell, the dogs eager and everywhere. Murray’s three water spaniels made Blair their focus, hurrying away from him and back to circle his ankles in little arcs of tails and ears. Murray’s beloved deerhound, Atalanta, stayed dignified at her owner’s heels, and her wet nose was an occasional reassurance against his sleeve.

  On the brow of the smooth hill before the village they were met by the dutiful Melville and his farmhands from Hill of Letho farm, and by a reluctant representative from Cullessie, who had evidently drawn the short straw in that household. The three parties converged on the little wood beneath the kirkyard, and from a dark shapeless form it was translated into woven black branches against golden torches and colourless tracery of lit branches against darkness. The wood was not large enough to hold them all, but some surrounded it while others went in and combed the undergrowth for hidden miscreants. The sharp smell of crushed ramsons filled the air. Some men, surplus to this operation, continued to hunt along to the left, to the north side of the kirkyard. Murray and Blair, amongst those who went instead to the right along the path into the village, met there the minister and his son Gilbert, advancing carefully with a hurricane lamp between them.