Knowledge of Sins Past (Murray of Letho Book 2)

by Lexie Conyngham

  ‘So tell me about Chrissie,’ he said, handing a glass to Murray and nodding him into a chair nearby. Murray gave a quick account of Chrissie’s injudicious marriage and her subsequent disappearance, and Lord Scoggie’s part in the negotiations to return her to her family. Zachariah gave a dry laugh at the end of the story.

  ‘So Hugh was the last to see her: what does he have to say about her?’

  ‘Hugh was lost at sea during a storm a few days ago. The up town men think he hid Chrissie before he left for the fishing, but the down town men think she had been freed and either she is hiding up town to discredit them, or something else has happened to her. Mind you, I couldn’t fault anyone’s work last night. We must have searched every inch of the upper parish.’

  ‘And now it’s down town?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Now that he was warming up, his toes were beginning to hurt, and he jiggled them inside his boots. ‘After we’ve reported to Lord Scoggie.’

  ‘So he’s not out hunting?’ Zachariah looked unsurprised.

  ‘After your brother’s murder, we’ve been careful about guarding the Castle,’ Murray said defensively. ‘The servants are all out with us, but he has stayed at home with the ladies.’ And with Andrew and Philip Bootham, he added to himself. ‘Even Major Keyes, who only has one leg, has come out with us.’

  ‘Major Keyes? The hero of Seringapatam?’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘And the hero of the fight with Tom Baillie?’ Zachariah added, with much more sarcasm.

  ‘I believe so,’ Murray agreed.

  ‘Aye, I remember. I was here then myself. He made a real mess of Tom Baillie, you ken. He lost all control.’

  ‘So I hear. But he seems to have mellowed over the years. He’s to be engaged –‘ he broke off. Would Major Keyes still wish to marry the daughter of the Kinkell household, rather than Miss Deborah Scoggie?

  ‘Engaged? I don’t envy the lady,’ said Zachariah. ‘Have more brandy. You look as if you need it.’

  They sat for a moment in silence, looking into the fire.

  ‘I was sorry about your brother,’ Murray said at last. ‘I hope we shall find his killer and bring him to justice.’

  ‘Aye, well.’ Zachariah wiped brandy from his mouth. ‘It wouldn’t have suited him to die in an untidy way. Appearance was important to him.’

  ‘You didn’t see the same way on things?’ Murray asked, thinking of his own brother.

  ‘Ha! No, not really.’ He leaned forward in his chair, and glanced back at the bed. ‘Och, we got along well enough, I suppose. But I wanted to practise real law, to have different clients, that wanted different things. All he wanted was to be Lord Scoggie’s toady, following in the great family tradition of Tibos through the ages ... It wasn’t my idea of a life.’

  ‘He seemed to be doing well enough out of it.’ Murray remarked.

  ‘Oh, aye, his lordship’s trusted companion, writing out his best law hand, making up the numbers for grand dinners at the Castle, keeping his hands clean – and that gave poor wee Cocky Leckie a neat wee job – and set up to marry his lordship’s daughter. He was doing very well out of it.’

  ‘Oh, he told you about Deborah Scoggie, did he?’ Murray asked, trying not to look surprised.

  ‘Oh, aye. He seemed to think Major Keyes might be a rival, but not a serious one.’ He gave Murray a quizzical look. ‘Was he right?’

  ‘Hard to say,’ said Murray, blandly. ‘Miss Deborah does not confide in me.’

  ‘Of course, I only ever had Nathaniel’s word on all these things.’ Zachariah poured more brandy. ‘A careful man would look out the evidence for the other side of the case, before making rash statements.’ Regardless of the brandy, there was something about Zachariah that marked him out as a careful man. Murray tried to be as careful himself.

  ‘I wondered if Nathaniel had ever mentioned any enemies to you?’

  ‘Of course I’ve wondered that myself.’ Zachariah spun the brandy in his glass, frowning into it. ‘I could not remember anything. But I did wonder ...’ he studied Murray instead for a moment, looking as if he wished he could stir him up like the brandy, see him from all angles. ‘I wondered about Cocky Leckie’s death. The two of them, in such a short time. Could it have something to do with my brother’s apparently gentle work?’

  ‘You said Cocky did his rougher work for him?’

  ‘That’s right. Not that there was anything very rough, but Cocky had an easier way with the villagers. I’ll wager there were more people at Cocky’s funeral than there will ever be at Nathaniel’s.’

  Murray gave a sharp sigh.

  ‘But Cocky’s death was definitely an accident. I was there.’

  ‘Oh, of course you were. My brother mentioned you.’

  ‘Did he?’ Murray was unable to suppress curiosity. Zachariah grinned.

  ‘Aye. You’re the Master of Arts, aren’t you? Nathaniel didn’t like you getting between him and Lord Scoggie.’

  ‘Me? Good heavens,’ As far as Murray was concerned, Tibo had always been closer to Lord Scoggie than he had. It was not something that had much bothered him.

  ‘But you’ll be pleased to know that he dismissed you as a rival for Miss Deborah,’ Zachariah added.

  ‘Well, he was right there,’ Murray agreed, thinking briefly of Beatrix.

  ‘But I still wonder about Cocky Leckie’s death. My brother was his sole executor, you ken. He cleared out his cottage. What if he found something he wasna supposed to?’

  ‘What like?’

  ‘I don’t know. See, I’ve been sitting here on my own all night, thinking about it, and it’s the only thing I can think of that was different in my brother’s life these last few weeks. His clerk died suddenly, then he did.’

  It was certainly compelling.

  ‘Did your brother still have the things he took from Cocky’s cottage?’ he asked.

  ‘Aye, I think so. They’re in his office yonder.’ Zachariah stopped, then asked abruptly: ‘Are you really interested in this, or have I just latched myself on to a good listener?’

  Murray blinked.

  ‘Lord Scoggie is keen for me to look into your brother’s murder.’

  ‘Lord Scoggie? Why? Are you any good at it?’ Zachariah set his glass down. ‘I’m sorry, that was not the right thing to say. I could never manage Nathaniel’s elegance of speech. I mean, does he think you’ll find the murderer? It’s only that – well, I wonder if Lord Scoggie kens more about the matter than he’s letting on.’

  ‘You think Lord Scoggie had something to do with your brother’s murder?’ Murray shook his head. ‘No, no. Surely not.’ But he could not help remembering the time it took for Naismyth to fetch Lord Scoggie when the body was found. Why had it been so difficult to rouse him? What had Lord Scoggie been doing?

  ‘I think we should look at Cocky’s things.’ Zachariah stood up, and looked over at the bed. ‘I suppose we shouldn’t leave him alone. You stay there, and I’ll fetch them over. There’s not much.’ He left the door open and hurried off with the candlestick again, leaving Murray in a pleasant draught. Murray could hear him shifting things in the office at the front of the house, the other side of the hallway from the dining room in which he had spoken to Lady Scoggie. He was back in a few minutes, with the candle perched hazardously on top of a small deedbox. Murray was reminded of Lord Scoggie’s family papers, and leapt up to seize the candlestick.

  ‘I think my brother put them into this,’ said Zachariah, balancing the deedbox on the table by the fire. ‘Cocky was a grand wee fellow, but I don’t think he was the deedbox kind.’ He fiddled with the lock, then reached for his discarded coat and felt in the pockets for a bunch of keys. He tried one or two of the smaller ones, and found one that worked. The box opened easily.

  ‘Pensions ...’ said Zachariah, pulling out the first couple of papers and glancing through them. ‘Old servants still living nearby. This is the kind of thing Nathaniel would pass on to Cocky: no chance of him d
irtying the seat of his breeches in some hovel. In his defence, of course, the pensioners would rather have a yarn with Cocky than stand on ceremony for him.’

  ‘That’s defence, is it?’ said Murray with a grin.

  ‘Aye.’ Zachariah gave a nod of apology towards the bed. ‘Och, it’s not his fault he didna have the common touch. It’s something you’re born with: I don’t think you can grow it on after.’

  Murray wondered if he had it himself. He took a handful of papers out of the box and began to go through them. Zachariah was right: it was mostly pensions, for elderly villagers who had once worked at the Castle and were now past their time. One bundle, tied with string, seemed to encompass those who had died and gone beyond the reach of Lord Scoggie’s charity: Murray recognised the family names, but not the individuals, and the dates of death were scrawled across the front of the folded papers.

  ‘I cannot see how this is very useful,’ said Zachariah, flinging his own handful of papers back into the box and sitting back in his chair.

  ‘Would your brother have given all this work to Cocky?’

  ‘Why, do you think it’s a lot?’

  ‘That’s not what I mean.’ Murray checked another document: a pension to a stableman with a broken leg. Lord Scoggie, as always, met his responsibilities. ‘I mean, would any of it have come from anywhere else? Would Lord Scoggie, for instance, have bypassed Nathaniel for any reason, and given work straight to Cocky?’

  A sly smile passed over Zachariah’s face.

  ‘That wouldn’t have pleased my big brother, I can tell you.’

  ‘Well, insulting your brother might not have been the intention, of course,’ said Murray. ‘I think Lord Scoggie really did hold him in high esteem. What if there was something he did not want him to know?’ He flicked through a few more papers. Here was Mrs. Kinkell’s pension, the one he himself had delivered the other day – yesterday. He opened up the papers to make sure he was right.

  ‘Do you know something?’ asked Zachariah, with the air of a born gossip. ‘What has his lordship been up to?’

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly tell you,’ said Murray with another grin. Flat denial never worked with gossips. He looked through the pension contract for Mrs. Kinkell. It had been instituted eighteen years ago, in 1786. The words ‘faithful servant’ and ‘loyal service’ were standard for all the contracts, and the sum of money was the same as the one Murray had delivered yesterday. He wondered if he would be expected to take on all Cocky’s customers for Lord Scoggie. Certainly a job for which a Master of Arts degree was essential. ‘No, you’re right. These are all pensioners. I can’t see that it tells us anything.’

  There was the sound of footsteps in the hall, and in a minute the door was tapped. It was Major Keyes.

  ‘Just come to say we’ve finished our search here. Good evening, sir,’ he added, and Murray introduced Zachariah to him. ‘Nothing,’ he added to Murray.

  ‘Well, we didn’t expect it, did we?’ Murray set down his brandy glass. ‘We must go now: Geordie will be eager to be off for his breakfast.’

  ‘Geordie Kinkell?’ asked Zachariah.

  ‘That’s right: he’s leading our party of searchers.’

  ‘A grand man,’ said Zachariah. ‘His wife was quite a charmer in her day. Is she still about?’

  ‘She’s not long for this world, I’m afraid,’ said Murray, not meeting Keyes’ eye. The Kinkells seemed to be becoming very prominent locally, all of a sudden.

  ‘Aye, that’s the way of things. Ten years ago, when I was sixteen or so, I could think of nothing but finding a woman like her. Well,’ he pulled himself out of his chair, ‘I shan’t hold you back any longer. Thank you for your company, Murray,’

  ‘We shall be at the funeral, of course,’ said Murray, nodding towards the bed.

  ‘Oh, aye. Tomorrow,’ he said. Keyes looked round the door at the bed, and jumped.

  ‘Forgive me, Mr. Tibo: I had my mind on other things.’ He quickly paid his respects to the corpse, while Zachariah looked him up and down curiously, taking in the wooden leg and the inevitable presence of Tippoo the dog.

  ‘We’d better go,’ said Murray again. He led the way to the front door, and they made their farewells.

  Outside the snow had stopped, and the dawn leaked apricot light across the world, smoothing it like silk. Lone thorns that had been huddled against the prevailing wind were now bolsters on the soft white pillows of the stone boundary walls. Sheep, nosing out the grass as best they could, looked dirty yellow in the pure white of their fields. The furrows, recently sown in the next field, were flat and even now, with no sign of the ploughman’s passing. They followed their own shallow footprints back down to the gate, and turned uphill towards the Castle, and breakfast.

  Even as they stepped through the front door, the castle had the air of an uneasy night. From the noise coming from the Great Hall, they could tell that they were not the first party back, and indeed when they had shed their outdoor clothes and gone in, Murray guessed from the numbers that they were the last party. For once the great table was full, and Lord Scoggie sat gloriously at its head, overseeing the breakfast of his guests. He saw Murray and Geordie Kinkell enter the hall, and beckoned them up to him.

  ‘Any luck?’ he asked, though he could already tell from their expressions. ‘Well, we’ll sort out a procedure for the lower town after you’ve all eaten. There’s plenty: help yourselves.’

  Murray led Geordie over to the sideboard and helped him to slices of beef and eggs: he noticed that neither fish nor pork was available. They returned to the table and found spaces side by side on two chairs brought in from the sides of the hall to seat the extra numbers.

  ‘You’ll be coming with us on the next search, then?’ Murray asked.

  ‘Oh, aye,’ said Geordie. ‘You ken I dinna trust the fishermen. Though last night went as well as it could, I thought.’

  ‘I wonder which part we’ll get.’

  ‘Whatever it is, I want to call in on my wife first. See her settled. I wish I could leave Peter with her, too: I feel he’s slowing us down, but my wife’s not up to him.’ He nodded over to where Peter was crouched near the fireplace, tempting Tippoo with a slice of beef.

  ‘I’m sure no one will mind if you go and see her.’ He paused to eat an egg. ‘Mr. Tibo’s brother was sorry to hear she was ill.’

  Geordie laughed.

  ‘Oh, aye? He had a bit of fondness for her, I reckon, when he was a lad! I’ll tell her. It’ll make her smile.’ He laughed again. ‘She was a beautiful woman, though she could have been his mother, she was that age. Oh, I was lucky to get her.’ Smiling, he seized bread and coffee as they passed from hand to hand round the table. Murray left it at that, but in the doziness brought on by food and warmth, he dreamed a little of Geordie Kinkell’s lovely wife, a young mother, the mother, indeed, of the much-admired Deborah. A lovely woman as late as ten years ago ... eight years after her pension was granted to her.

  All the other recipients of Lord Scoggie’s pensions had been elderly or infirm, the stableman with the broken leg, or old Hunter, Naismyth’s predecessor, hunched with age, or Mistress Farquhar, Hugh’s aunt, who had been lady’s maid to Lord Scoggie’s grandmother and was widely believed to be over a hundred years old. Why had he granted a pension to a young woman making a decent marriage? It seemed overly generous. Could it have something to do with Deborah and Andrew? But the pension was from Lord Scoggie. Could he have known about the children all along?

  Breakfast was drawing to a close, and Lord Scoggie indicated to the villagers that they might have a pipe where they were sitting, in the warm Great Hall. Murray thought he might take the opportunity to see how the boys were, but as he left the hall, Lord Scoggie hurried to join him.

  ‘Going up to the schoolroom?’ he asked. ‘I’ll come too. I haven’t seen the boys this morning.’

  Murray nodded, but he was not pleased. He wanted to see the boys on equal terms, not with Lord Scoggie’s presence forcin
g courtesy on them – and indeed on him. For one thing, he did not know if they had been told the news about Deborah, or whether they were to be kept in ignorance. How would they feel about acquiring an older brother?

  The boys were already in the schoolroom, and so, to the surprise of Murray, at least, was Lady Scoggie. The only time he had seen there before was when she had come to make sure he was doing his job properly, but this time he had a feeling that schoolwork was the last thing on her mind. She was in a low armchair, with her arms tightly round both boys, and had clearly been crying. The boys turned as the door opened: Henry looked upset, Robert merely puzzled. Their mother was not really the hugging kind.

  When they saw who it was, they broke away from her and went to say good morning to their father, followed by some kind of courtesy to Murray. He looked at them carefully as they bowed to him: he was sure no one had told them what had happened at the abortive dinner last night.

  ‘What have you said to them, my dear?’ asked Lord Scoggie, not managing to look at his wife.

  ‘Nothing. I was about to tell them –’

  ‘You aren’t thinking of leaving, are you?’ Lord Scoggie spoke quickly. ‘Please don’t leave.’

  ‘Leave?’ Henry was thunderstruck. ‘Mother, why would you leave?’

  ‘Is it charity work?’ asked Robert. Murray felt like boxing his ears. Robert was about as sensitive as the schoolroom table.

  ‘I don’t see what else I can do,’ said Lady Scoggie. Her face was empty.

  ‘Leaving with him?’ Lord Scoggie cocked his head, presumably indicating Philip Bootham’s position in some guest bedchamber.

  ‘No!’ She was shocked. ‘That is not a mistake I would make twice. I promise you, my lord ...’ She looked desperately at the boys. Lord Scoggie nodded impatiently. It was easier for him to accept her word that the boys were his sons than it was for her to feel worthy of belief. The boys looked bewildered. Murray wondered if he should take them quietly out of the room, or whether he should go himself. This was not his family.

  Was this what had made a pretty, fashionable woman turn to charitable works and a shabby, dated appearance? He thought he saw, suddenly, how she had devoted herself to the needy and turned herself away from her family, the guilt that had driven her through all the years. What a contrast with Philip Bootham, he thought. Any implications of guilt seemed to slide off his smooth golden hair, though he knew and acknowledged what he had done. He would walk away from Jane Croft, too, with no regrets. He looked again at Lady Scoggie, nearly as ill as Mrs. Kinkell, nearly as thin. One of them eaten away, and one untouched. It seemed so unfair.