Knowledge of Sins Past (Murray of Letho Book 2)

by Lexie Conyngham

  ‘We were going to frighten the people at the dance,’ Robert explained, his teeth chattering only a little.

  ‘That’s why we had the sheets,’ Henry added. Here the ground had been completely disturbed by the trailing sheets and the boys’ panic. ‘We were going to be ghosts.’

  ‘And I said if we were ghosts we could go down to the lake on our own and no one would know it was us,’ said Robert.

  ‘Of course not – just any two small boys under bedsheets,’ said Murray grimly. ‘Go on.’

  ‘We got to here, and Robert thought he heard a horse snuffle,’ said Henry, with a shiver. ‘And of course we knew it was the headless horseman, so we ran towards the trees to hide.’

  ‘To watch him from a place of concealment,’ Robert corrected. ‘But then we tripped over – that.’ He pointed, and he and Henry drew together, stopping where they were. Andrew went to hurry forward, but Murray put an arm out to stop him. He wanted to see clearly first, before the crowd gathered.

  As he focussed on it in the wavering lantern light, it looked as if the cloaked figure had been lying face down when the boys had found him, but they must have pulled at his shoulder to see who it was or whether or not he was all right. Now he was lying half-flat, his left arm tucked awkwardly under his chest, his head slumped on his outstretched right arm, legs splayed out, giving the unpleasant impression of an unequal struggle lost. He was bare-headed, and even from a few paces away Murray could recognise Tibo, and see that he was indeed dead.

  He had seen dead bodies before, of course, but still the sense of shock was almost palpable. There must have been some part of his mind, of all their minds, that had not believed the boys, or had thought that they had exaggerated, but even Robert and Henry could not have mistaken the white, glazed face for anything but the mask of death.

  ‘The headless horseman must have got him, Mr. Murray,’ breathed Robert.

  ‘It seems unlikely, Robert,’ said Murray. It was time to stamp on that, or there would be nightmares for months to come. ‘Headless horsemen traditionally behead their victims. It would be a pretty poor headless horseman that only managed to knock a man’s hat off.’ Indeed, Tibo’s tall hat was several feet away, already showing traces of frost on the upturned brim.

  ‘Was it an accident, then?’ asked Henry. ‘Like Cocky Leckie?’

  ‘Quite likely,’ said Murray briskly, though he was wondering that himself.

  ‘What should we do?’ asked Andrew, turning to Naismyth. The steward had one hand pinned hard over his mouth, and over the clamped fingers his eyes goggled.

  ‘I think,’ said Murray hurriedly, ‘that Mr. Naismyth should tell Lord Scoggie what has happened.’ Naismyth nodded, without looking in Murray’s direction. ‘His lordship would take it badly from anyone else. Andrew and I can stay here with Mr. Tibo. Mr. Naismyth, would you mind taking the boys with you when you go in?’

  Naismyth removed his hand for just long enough to say,

  ‘Come along, boys,’ before slapping it back in place, and the boys scuttled after him in their clumsy sheets as he strode with long stork strides as fast as possible back up the hill. They could see the jerking grin of the neep lantern, nodding and bouncing up through the bright darkness.

  ‘I think he’s going to puke,’ said Andrew, with a nervous laugh.

  ‘Are you?’ asked Murray.

  Andrew shook his head a little too quickly, but he seemed to be all right. Murray inspected his face briefly with a raised lantern.

  ‘So what happens now?’

  ‘I think Lord Scoggie should see what has happened here. Then I expect we’ll take the body into the castle for now – we can’t leave him here. While we’re waiting, I’ll just take a closer look ...’ There were no clear traces of anything amidst the leaves around Tibo’s body: his own cloak had swept some of them along to tumble around his legs, and the rest were heaped or scattered about, damply crisp. Murray took the lantern closer to Tibo, and knelt on one knee beside the body.

  The light from the lantern flickered orange, making Tibo’s features seem to stir, and Murray’s heart skipped a beat. Blood dried black where Tibo had bitten his lip, and his teeth gleamed secretly in the dark hole. His eyes were white slits, as if they had been cut to the bone, but the real wounds were on the side of his head. His temple and the skull above it were broken like an eggshell, with what looked like one long blow. Murray traced its line with his eye, seeing how it ran downwards towards the back of the neck. Blood had run from the wound through the neat grey hair, down the side of his face, and must have formed a dark stain on the ground, but it was dry now and tight across the sagging white skin. When the boys had turned him, he must already have been cold.

  There was no frost, or even leaves, on his back. Murray noticed this with a start, seeing the clean lines of the dark grey cloak as if for the first time. The wound was on the back of his side of his head, but he had fallen on to his front, and not rolled. Could he have hit his head on a branch? Murray looked up and tried to assess the height of the trees nearby, but none was really close enough, and there was no branch that Murray would have ducked for. It was beginning to look as if Tibo’s death had been no accident.

  Murray glanced around, but he could not see anything that might have served as a weapon. Tibo’s hat, as he had noticed, was a little distance away, as though it might even have been dislodged by the blow. His gloves and cloak, however, were still in place. Murray tried to think when he had last seen the lawyer. At supper, was it not? He himself had gone to settle the boys, and when he came down Tibo had already gone ahead to the dance, to let them know that Lord Scoggie’s party was going to be a little late. Had he done so? Had anyone at the dance seen him? Murray had no idea. He tried the nearest source.

  ‘Andrew, did you see Mr. Tibo appear at the dance?’

  ‘At the dance?

  ‘Yes, he was supposed to go over to the barn before the rest of us appeared.’

  ‘Ahm ... I’m not sure.’

  Murray glanced up at him. Andrew looked distinctly cagey.

  ‘You were there, weren’t you?’

  ‘Ahm, yes, of course! Mostly.’

  Murray continued to stare at him. Andrew shuffled, swinging his lantern.

  ‘I sort of had my mind on other things, you see.’ He stopped again, but Murray did not look away. ‘Och, it’s Grisell, you ken. I suppose everybody kens. I’ve been after her for weeks, but as soon as she shows a bit of interest in me – well, it’s not as easy as I thought it was.’

  ‘Not easy? What’s so difficult about it?’

  Andrew’s handsome faced screwed up like a wrung-out cloth.

  ‘Things have changed a bit, that’s all. I found out – and she doesn’t know – and ...’ He seemed to be completely twisted up in his thoughts, and Murray decided to let him off the hook for now. He looked away, and thought back again to the scene in the hall as they had left the castle for the barn.

  Though there had been so much fuss trying to find Mrs. Bootham’s cloak, the gentlemen had not bothered with outdoor wear for the short walk over from the castle to the barn. He himself had come out without coat, gloves or hat, and was feeling the lack of them. Had Tibo been particularly feeling the cold, or had he planned to stay outside longer than the others?

  Behind him, Andrew stirred uneasily, and Murray realised that his own knee was starting to freeze.

  ‘I think my neep’s going out,’ said Andrew, peering at it disconsolately. ‘Are we to be here much longer, do you think?’

  ‘You know as well as I do,’ said Murray, standing up and brushing mud off his leg. He stared down at the body. A familiar sensation came over him. Here was Tibo, helpless, defenceless, and, which was probably worst for Tibo, not looking his well-groomed best. He had been out here for some purpose, and someone had come between him and that purpose, and struck him dead. Murray felt the writhing sense of injustice inside him, his stomach uneasy with the unfairness of the taking of a life. He knew what would h
appen now. He could already feel his mind starting to tick over with possibilities. Who had wanted Tibo dead?

  ‘Look!’ cried Andrew suddenly. ‘I see a light!’ He waved his lantern enthusiastically at the distant gleam, and his neep finally gave up the ghost. The crooked grin glimmered, and died.

  ‘Wave yours,’ said Andrew, ‘or he won’t know where we are.’

  Murray lifted his lantern more cautiously, and the other lantern could be seen to jiggle slightly in response. Its bearer made slow progress down the long, frosty slope towards them, and Murray’s neep was almost burned out by the time it showed itself to be a proper lantern, with Major Keyes attached. Tippoo the dog scuttled at his side, paws uneasy on the cold ground.

  ‘Hallo, there,’ he said, presumably to Murray and Andrew, though his eyes were already drawn to Tibo’s body on the ground. ‘Naismyth said there had been some kind of accident. Of course I came at once.’

  ‘We’ll have to wait for Lord Scoggie,’ said Murray. ‘Tibo’s dead.’

  Keyes nodded, his mouth hard.

  ‘That’s what Naismyth said. Come away from that, Tippoo!’ The dog had sniffed once in the direction of the body. ‘What happened him?’

  ‘It looks like a blow to the head,’ said Murray, pointing with his lantern.

  ‘And he’s definitely dead?’ asked Keyes.

  ‘See for yourself.’

  ‘It’s just – with head injuries. I’ve seen men walk around for hours afterwards, sometimes. They’re funny things. I’d hate him to be –

  ‘I don’t think he’ll be walking around anywhere.’ Just like Cocky Leckie, he thought. But Cocky’s death was definitely an accident, he had seen it himself. And this – this was surely not. Unless Tibo had wandered after hitting his head on a branch. As Keyes had pointed out, head injuries were funny things, but it would be impossible to tell until daylight.

  ‘So was Naismyth fetching Lord Scoggie, then?’ he asked at last, aware that he had been a little abrupt.

  ‘Aye, he was beating at Lord Scoggie’s door. That’s what roused me to come out and see what the matter was. I think my cousin Scoggie must be getting a wee bit deaf in his old age! It took me a wee while to ready myself, for I had to strap my leg back on.’ He grinned, slapping the appropriate thigh. Andrew, steady at the sight of a corpse, looked a bit queasy at this. ‘Then the cloaks downstairs were in some disorder. It took me a while to find mine. All in all, I expected Lord Scoggie to be here with me, if not before me.’

  ‘Maybe he’s waiting for Mr. Naismyth to throw up,’ Andrew suggested helpfully.

  ‘Are you one of the servants?’ Keyes asked, studying him with lifted lantern.

  ‘This is Andrew. He only arrived a day or so before you, didn’t you, Andrew?’

  ‘Sir,’ said Andrew, without much sign of subservience, though he had his eye on the dog.

  ‘You’ve had a fine welcome to the neighbourhood, then,’ said Keyes. ‘Three men dead in a week! You might as well have joined the colours.’

  ‘I’m maybe thinking of it,’ said Andrew, partly to himself. Murray, thinking of Grisell, smiled. Keyes, unable to resist any longer, turned and stepped carefully towards Tibo’s body.

  ‘It really is him, then,’ he said, bending down to peer more closely against the half-seen face. ‘I suppose one always hopes that it is some stranger, though that is only to move the tragedy to others’ doorsteps.’ He straightened, his eyes still on Tibo. ‘You believe that this is a deliberate act, then?’

  ‘I think so,’ said Murray, ‘but it will be up to Lord Scoggie to make the decision.’

  ‘The body will be difficult to move soon,’ said Keyes contemplatively, with the expertise of the professional. ‘And we should consider the safety of the ladies. If there is some violent miscreant wandering the neighbourhood, they should be warned.’

  ‘That’s a good point, Mr. Murray,’ said Andrew unexpectedly. ‘Whoever it was, they could be planning an attack on the house. Burglars, or French forces, or anything!’

  ‘Or headless horsemen,’ Murray could not resist adding. ‘No, you’re right: Tibo might well have disturbed someone who was going to try robbery, or perhaps someone who robbed him and hit him a little too hard.’

  ‘My cousin Scoggie wouldn’t be best pleased to think that footpads came this close to the ancestral fortress,’ said Keyes. ‘Is that him, now?’ He turned at a noise, and waved his lantern in the direction of the castle. In response, another light winked and bobbed as two figures made their way down the slippery slope to the lake. In a moment, they resolved themselves into Lord Scoggie and Naismyth, frost-white in the face and smelling very slightly of brandy.

  ‘Let’s see, now, let’s see,’ said Lord Scoggie briskly, as though he had to fight his way through a crowd of bystanders. Keyes and Murray drew back: Andrew was already at a decent distance. Naismyth held the lantern for his master, but did not look anywhere near the corpse. Lord Scoggie, hands on his knees, braced himself to examine the body of his lawyer.

  ‘Behold an Israelite, in whom is no guile,’ he murmured softly, greeting Tibo and pronouncing his epitaph in one breath. For a long moment no one spoke, and only Lord Scoggie moved, slightly, as he looked from the top of Tibo’s head to his toes, scraped into the damp leaves. At last he straightened.

  ‘Mr. Murray, have you looked at this?’

  ‘My lord, I have looked at the wound on his head, and the cleanliness of the back of his cloak, and the way he has been moved long after he stopped breathing. I think that was done by Robert and Henry, my lord.’

  ‘Aye. You have some experience of such things.’

  ‘Of poisonings, my lord, to my regret, yes. Of head wounds I know very little.’

  ‘Of brutal deaths, untimely deaths, deaths without mercy – you have knowledge of them.’

  Murray thought of the men he had seen lying dead before their time, and the dreadful urge he had felt to find their killer.

  ‘Yes, a little.’

  He felt Andrew and Major Keyes eyeing him, and hoped it was too dark for them to see him blush.

  ‘What would you do, then, Mr. Murray?’

  ‘I would bring the body indoors, and send word to the sheriff.’

  ‘That cannot be faulted.’ He looked away finally from Tibo’s corpse, and glanced about him. ‘I see no sign of a struggle.’

  ‘He could have hit his head on a tree, cousin,’ Major Keyes pointed out. ‘Head wounds are strange beasts. He could have wandered some distance ...’

  ‘But he only seems to have bled in one position,’ said Murray suddenly, realising that his own thoughts on this were wrong. ‘See his collar? It is quite unstained. The blood flowed only down his cheek, as he lay face down, until it dried. Surely if he had still been on his feet after he was injured he would have bled down over his ear and into his collar.’

  ‘You are quite right, Mr. Murray,’ said Keyes in admiration. ‘I had not thought of that. Poor Tibo.’

  ‘Well, then,’ said Lord Scoggie, ‘we must get him indoors. Can we carry him between us, do you think?’

  ‘Not without a hurdle, my lord,’ said Naismyth hurriedly, horrified at the thought of having to touch the body.

  ‘We can use his cloak as a stretcher,’ said Keyes. ‘I have often seen men do it on the battlefield. If we roll him over on to his back and roll the edges of the cloak up tight, then hold it each with both hands ... I’ll show you, it’s hard to explain.’

  ‘Then by all means show us, Alec,’ Lord Scoggie urged. ‘It’s too cold to stand out here discussing it. Naismyth, give Major Keyes the lantern. Now, Mr. Murray, help me to roll him over ...’ Tibo was already stiff, but fortunately was lying fairly straight. With a little difficulty about the legs, Lord Scoggie and Murray managed to manoeuvre him on to his back. Murray tugged the cloak straight under him.

  ‘Now roll the edges in towards him, tight. That’s right,’ said Keyes, watching from the foot end of the body. ‘Now if two of you stand near the head,
and two down here, one on each side – that’s the way.’

  ‘Who are you?’ Lord Scoggie asked suddenly, and everybody paused, and stared at Andrew.

  ‘This is Andrew, my lord, the new boy,’ said Naismyth quickly. ‘I mentioned him last week. We have been busy, or I would have brought him for you to see him.’

  ‘Oh, all right. Andrew. I’ll take a better look at you in the light. Now, then, Keyes: what next?’

  ‘You bend and pick the cloak up, cousin. But do it all at the same time. Your hand that’s nearest the end of the cloak go well to the end, to support his head and feet. Where you hold it in the middle, cross your hands with the man next you. Aye, that’s the way! Grand! Now, easy up the slope.’

  ‘Go you ahead with the lantern,’ Lord Scoggie nodded at him, ‘and show us the way.’

  Keyes swung his wooden leg about and slithered round to head the little procession up the hill, closely shadowed by Tippoo. Murray, walking crablike next to Naismyth, kept his eyes on the limping, cloaked figure with his swinging lantern. So did Naismyth, who still could not look down at what he was helping to carry. Andrew and Lord Scoggie, their wrists crossing on the other side of the stretcher, were also concentrating hard, on clenching their fists on the thick cloth rolls of Tibo’s cloak, and on not slipping on the frosty grass. In silence they carried him up the hill, and in silence Major Keyes limped ahead to light the way.

  At last they reached the front door, and Keyes fumbled with the handle, then stepped back to let them into the candlelit hallway.

  ‘We’ll lay him on the library table,’ said Lord Scoggie, who must have been thinking about it on the way. Keyes made his way awkwardly past them to open that door, too, and they clumsily edged through the doorway into darkness. Keyes hurried round, lighting some of the sconces and candlesticks, allowing the great high business table to come into view. It was empty, and with a little effort they lifted Tibo higher, and slid him on to the old oak surface. Lord Scoggie drew a handkerchief from his pocket, and after a second’s consideration, laid it gently over the lawyer’s dull white face. The relief of no longer seeing the slit eyes was considerable.