A Step So Grave

by Catriona McPherson

  20

  We made our arrangements to leave the next morning. Inspector Snell had given his consent, barely pausing. He knew where to find us, his casual wave seemed to say, but we were beneath his notice. All of his quivering attention was on the telephone that would bring him news of McReadie apprehended at the port of Leith.

  It was breakfast time when at last the telephone rang. After Snell snatched it up, there came a silence, then an angry cry and the sound of the earpiece crashing into the cradle hard enough to shatter it. Mallory let her knife and fork fall to her plate with a clatter and Lord Ross half rose from his seat.

  ‘They’ve let him get away,’ she said.

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ I told her. ‘I rather think the inspector has just been told the ship sailed without him and has only now realised his mistake.’ I took a sip of coffee. ‘I ought to have shared my suspicions on that score, I suppose.’

  The truth was worse than any of us expected. The inspector was too angry to speak of it, and the sergeant entered into his feelings so far that he too drew a veil. It was left to Constable Petrie to regale us, when sergeant and inspector had pulled their remaining shreds of dignity about them and left.

  Alec and I sat in the kitchen, watching Mrs McReadie ice a loaf of gingerbread and drinking it in. Petrie had his helmet off, his tunic unbuttoned and a saucerful of strong sweet tea before him.

  ‘You would hardly credit it,’ he said, ‘but it’s true. They warned the port polis that a Mr Samuel McReadie might try to board and should be stopped. They never said anything about a David Spencer. Well, why would they? The man’s dead.’

  ‘And yet he presented himself with a passport, boarded the ship and took to his cabin,’ Alec said.

  It had not occurred to me either that McReadie would simply pretend he was Spencer and begin his journey. ‘He took a terrific risk,’ I said. ‘How could he have dreamed he’d get away with it?’

  Alec gave Mrs McReadie a stern look. ‘Perhaps he was told the police were only looking for McReadie,’ he said. ‘Perhaps someone overheard the inspector telephoning to Leith and got word to him.’

  ‘Me?’ said the cook. She was scraping round her mixing bowl with a palette knife, making an ungodly screeching sound that set my teeth on edge. ‘I wouldn’t help him run away, even though he is my own husband. I wouldn’t give him the steam off my porridge after what he did. And anyway, it would never have crossed my mind. If it never struck an inspector and two famous detectives, why would it strike a servant?’ She spread the last of the icing over the dark loaf. It was the perfect consistency, just runny enough to drip down the sides but stiff enough to stay thick and white on top. For a moment it reminded me of the snow turning to glass in my dream and I shivered.

  ‘And they’re not turning back,’ I said. ‘The line office was very clear about that, although they might try to put him off at the first port, if they can get the consulate organised in time.’

  ‘And if someone owes someone a favour and the stars align,’ Alec said. ‘But if it’s Gibraltar I think we can forget it. Lachlan was just telling me that Lady Love’s father was in India for a while with the current ambassador’s grandpa, all very chummy. There will be little appetite in that quarter for bringing her avenging angel to justice.’ He was watching the gingerbread with close interest, and he smiled as Mrs McReadie took a breadknife and began cutting thick slices from it. ‘No,’ he said, comfortably, ‘I think “David Spencer” – Samuel McReadie as was – has got clean away.’

  I was watching the woman’s face, and had half an eye on her cutting hand. The one was calm and the other steady. ‘I’m very sorry for your troubles, Mrs McReadie,’ I said.

  She nodded, but every bit as calmly. ‘We’ll do all right, his lordship and me,’ she said. ‘We’ll do fine.’

  Something was not right. I knew it, Alec knew it, even the constable knew it somewhere deep in his placid soul. But all we did was take a slice of gingerbread each and turn our faces away.

  Lord Ross and all four Tibballs were on the front step the next morning to see us off. It was a gusty day, with puffs of white cloud scudding across below the banks of grey cloud and the tide in the bay dancing. I was glad the bealach na bà was open and that we would not be upon the water. By night we would be back in the bosom of our Perthshire valley and I would be glad of that too.

  ‘I am most grateful to you for taking Mallory,’ Lachlan said. ‘I can’t be worrying about both of them all day long.’

  ‘Are you especially worried about Cherry?’ I said. ‘She’s in fine fettle as far as I can see.’

  ‘I worry about her lugging those Highland cattle uphill and down dale by their horns,’ he said. ‘And lifting yearling lambs over walls to save driving them round by the gates. I’ve seen her at it. And of course, I’ve been worrying even more about her since I found out about the baby coming. That was the darkest day of my life and yet had such a bright spot in it. Losing my wife and getting tidings of my first grandchild. The gods do like to laugh, don’t they?’

  ‘Indeed they do,’ I said. ‘But put your mind at rest. We shall take very good care of Mallory. Except that Grant might wear her out with shopping trips and fittings. And you can always come down for a while and stay yourself. Have a look at where she’ll be living.’

  ‘I think I’ll stick here,’ Lord Ross said. ‘With LL and McReadie both gone, someone will have to keep at the under-gardeners if we’re to have the place fit for a wedding come midsummer. But I’m grateful for so many things.’

  As well he might be, I thought to myself, although I said nothing. Mallory’s mother had spurned a lover and been killed by him in a jealous passion. The killer had been unmasked by a devoted servant and meted out rough justice. None of it was to Lady Love’s detriment, much less poor Mallory’s. Still, she was under a cloud and would remain under that cloud for many years. Even when I was white-haired and wrapped in shawls and Donald’s children were grown and going to parties, people would look at them – these imagined grandchildren of mine – from behind lowered eyelids and drawl to one another that was there not some story or other there, from ages back, of course, but what was it exactly?

  ‘It was very odd, was it not, that McReadie took the implement with him?’ I said. That was still troubling me for reasons unknown and I thought that Lachlan’s debt of gratitude to me should at least buy me the right to talk things over as I saw fit.

  Lachlan stiffened as though he had been turned to stone.

  ‘Not now, Dan,’ said Alec, perhaps feeling more kindly.

  ‘Took it with him?’ Lachlan said.

  ‘The long-handled pruning saw,’ I said.

  ‘Was it?’ he said. He shook out his handkerchief and used it to do something I could not quite identify. He was neither wiping his mouth, blowing his nose nor even mopping his brow. He was, I realised, simply hiding his face. The entire operation lasted only a moment before he refolded his handkerchief carefully and put it back in his pocket.

  ‘Here we go,’ said Hugh as Lairdie came round the corner of the house in Alec’s motorcar. It was piled high with Mallory’s suitcases and hatboxes. ‘Goodbye, Ross. We shall ring up to let you know we’re home safe and sound. And we shall see you soon.’ He waited. ‘Dandy? Have you changed your mind? The boys can go with Osborne if you’d rather sit with me.’

  I was watching Mallory and Cherry saying goodbye and one of the many things that had been troubling me was closer than ever.

  ‘Write every day, darling,’ Cherry said. ‘Or you know – ring up, if it’s easier.’

  ‘I shall ring up and write,’ Mallory said. ‘I promise, dearest. You will be sick of the sound of my voice.’

  ‘Impossible,’ said Cherry. ‘Darling Mallory.’

  ‘Dearest Cherry.’

  ‘Not now, Dan,’ I repeated. Then in a louder voice, I said, ‘Cherry. What did your mother call you?’

  ‘Call me? She called me Cherry like everyone else does. Why?’
/>   ‘No, I mean you call Mallory “darling” and she calls you “dearest”. What did Lady Love call you?’

  ‘She called both of us mo ghoal,’ said Mallory and her eyes were awash with instant tears at the thought of it. ‘We should start trying it out, Cherry. Keep it alive.’

  ‘And when you went to your mother’s room on the morning of her birthday,’ I said, ‘you asked to be let in and you thought she said “not now, my sweet”, is that right? About twenty minutes past eleven.’

  ‘Dandy, what is this?’ said Hugh. Even Alec looked uncomfortable and Donald was bright red in the face with his brows drawn down together. Teddy alone watched with simple interest to see what I was up to.

  ‘It can’t have been your mother in her bedroom, calling to you through the door,’ I said. ‘Because by that time … well. Who was it then? A woman’s voice? So either Biddy or Mallory.’

  ‘Or Mrs McReadie,’ said Cherry. ‘It was muffled. I thought she was dressing, perhaps towelling her face even. It might have been Mrs McReadie. I was translating, you see, Dandy. I knocked and said, “Foot me heen a sty, mammy?” meaning “Are you all right, Mother?” and a voice said “Hunn ooten drasda, mo ghoal.” Which means “not now, my sweet”.’

  ‘So it wasn’t me,’ said Biddy. ‘I never took to the Gaelic like Lady Love.’

  ‘Nor me,’ said Mallory.

  ‘I wonder what Mrs McReadie was doing in her mistress’s bedroom,’ I said. All eyes were upon me. ‘She it must have been, since there are no maids at Applecross.’ Lairdie had climbed down from the motorcar and was holding the door open. ‘I wonder there was no sign in the room that Lady Love’s bags were packed and gone. Her jewel case. Her writing case.’ Cherry shifted from foot to foot. Perhaps she was beginning to feel uncomfortable standing for long periods. I hoped Biddy Tibball would soothe her and comfort her through the months ahead, which would be so much worse when the summer heat came. Finally, human kindness reasserted itself within me. I might even have blushed a little. ‘Forgive me,’ I said. ‘Mulling is an occupational hazard, but that’s the last of it.’ I pecked Cherry’s cheek, shook Lord Ross’s hand and then from the very depths of me a thought bubbled up fully formed.

  ‘How did you know Cherry was pregnant?’ I said.

  Hugh, pushed beyond his capacity to tolerate me, stamped off down the steps and round the side of the house to seek out his own motorcar and begin a few glorious hours of masculinity without me dropping bricks and letting off bombs.

  This time, though, I was not alone. Alec had not been here in February but he had learned our book of hours and he was nodding.

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ he said. ‘That day. The day of the cú sith and the feannag. Cherry told the womenfolk her news round the hall fire at teatime. Lady Love went upstairs to her room, supped up there, slept up there, breakfasted up there and died. Lord Ross, your room was downstairs. You were keeping the news of your walking as a birthday surprise. So you, presumably, did not go up the night before. And yet you claimed your wife told you Cherry’s news, isn’t that right?’

  ‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘Cherry came into the breakfast room talking about snowball fights and you advised against it. She asked how you knew and you said “Mummy told me”. Does no one else remember?’

  Everyone else, on the contrary, was looking aghast at Alec and me.

  ‘Does it matter?’ said Mallory.

  ‘We like to have all the loose ends tied up,’ I said.

  ‘She came down to say goodnight,’ said Lord Ross. ‘She always came down to say goodnight to me and that night was no different.’

  ‘She did?’ I said. ‘What time? And did you tell the police? Do they know that you saw her last, and long after the time we’ve been navigating by?’

  ‘Good God,’ said Ross. ‘No, I don’t expect so. What possible difference does it make?’

  ‘It makes all the difference in the world!’ I said. ‘The question of where Lady Love was and when and who spoke to her is absolutely of the very essence. Perhaps she never went back upstairs. Perhaps she went outside then, after saying goodnight. If we had known this before, perhaps—’ I finally caught my lip and managed to stop talking.

  ‘I’m glad you brought it up, Dandy,’ said Cherry. ‘Daddy, I never knew Mummy used to come down to say goodnight to you. I love knowing it. Thank you!’

  They were still smiling at one another when Mrs McReadie came round the side of the building where Hugh had disappeared. She was wiping her hands on her apron.

  ‘Mister said you’ve got a wee question,’ she said. ‘About how the news got up and down the stairs when her ladyship didn’t and his lordship couldn’t. There’s a simple explanation, Mrs Gilver. I told his lordship. I told him when I went in with his hot water. Just on ten o’clock it was, sir, don’t you remember?’

  ‘This will never do,’ said Lord Ross. ‘We’re both telling stories now. The truth is, Mrs Gilver, that I can’t remember and neither can our good Mrs McReadie. It was a very strange night and the next day was even stranger. Me mind is quite a blank about a great many things that took place around then. I want nothing more than to put the whole boiling behind me. Life goes on, my dear lady. Life goes on and we must live it.’

  Mrs McReadie was nodding, in satisfied agreement. The Tibballs began nodding too and Cherry caught it until the whole lot of them looked like a chorus of puppets, unnerving in the strangest way.

  I gave Cherry one last peck on the cheek and then fairly bolted for Alec’s motorcar.

  We were silent all the way up the twisting road past the graveyard and the walled fields, all the way up to the high tops where the sheep and cattle ran free. We were just as silent all the way down the other side to Lochcarron too. When we got to flat ground and were trundling along the side of the loch, Grant took a deep gathering breath, but Alec got in first.

  ‘This case is not over,’ he said. ‘When we get home we need to have a pow-wow. I have no idea what is going on, but something certainly is.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘If I’d had to try to persuade you I think I would have run mad, because it’s nothing I could put my finger on. But it’s no less real for being somewhat ineffable.’

  ‘Like a gas leak,’ said Grant. ‘And you haven’t even heard what I picked up in the kitchens yet. Some of it was in Gaelic and will need checking but if I’ve got them aright, there’s more here than the police know.’

  ‘Is Mallory part of it?’ I said.

  ‘Not in the way you mean,’ said Grant. ‘Master Donald has nothing to fear from her. She and Miss Cherry – that is, young Mrs Tibball – are the innocents here.’

  Never have I been happier to turn off the Dunkeld road and onto the lanes of Gilverton. Usually, upon returning from a trip, the deep valley, the gloomy shade of the elm trees and the dripping damp of the mossy hedgerows depresses my spirits, whether it is city lights, sea breezes or southern meadows with which I am comparing them. But, set against the bleak, scoured landscape of Applecross, our valley was like a familiar armchair, soft to drop into and moulding itself to my shape with the ease of long years. The sight of Gilverton’s lighted windows, the disdainful lift of Pallister’s eyebrows as he descended the steps to meet us and even the joyous yips of Hugh’s dogs as they dashed out onto the drive and plunged about the motorcars, scraping paint and preventing the opening of doors – all of it made me want to weep with the relief and contentment of coming home.

  I was keenly aware, though, that Mallory alone of our party was not enjoying a homecoming but an awkward introduction to her future, too late to change her mind if it failed to appeal to her. Rather than flopping onto a sofa in my sitting room, I would need to show her round, settle her in and entertain her.

  She stepped down rather stiffly after the long journey, but made a tremendous first impression by greeting all of Hugh’s dogs with neither a gush of affection nor a cringe of anxiety. She simply patted each one firmly on its head and glared at the pair of terriers for ju
mping up and putting paws on her tweed skirt. Hugh nodded approvingly.

  ‘Come in, Mallory dear,’ I said.

  Pallister did not turn his head but he fairly sprained an eyeball following Mallory’s passage up the steps and into the house.

  ‘Donald doesn’t have a butler, you might be relieved to hear,’ I said. ‘He shares a factor and steward with Hugh and inside he has a darling of a cook and a very pert head housemaid who needs taken in hand. I can help, of course.’

  ‘And I can help if you’re going to look for a maid of your own,’ said Grant, on our heels. ‘Drafting the notice for The Lady, interviewing candidates. I could take care of the whole enterprise if you’d rather.’

  ‘Gosh, it will be lovely to have a maid!’ said Mallory. ‘If we can affor— I mean, I’m not accustomed to it and I’ve managed beautifully without one. But …’

  ‘What is the nature of the Applecross ban on maids?’ I said, but Mallory had that fixed look on her face that we call ‘needing to wash one’s hands after a long journey’ and so I waved off her attempts at an answer and showed her to the cloakroom by the stairs.

  ‘That’s what I was trying to tell you, madam,’ Grant said. ‘That’s what I heard in the kitchens. They haven’t had maids at Applecross since they changed the course of the rivers to build that road. They cut off the sanctuary from the house, you see. So’s not to have to build two bridges. They diverted the burn into the river upstream. And now they’re seaward of where the streams converge.’ She was waving her arms around like a windmill as she spoke, clearly trying to draw a map of Applecross in the air for my edification.

  ‘What on earth are you raving about, Grant?’

  ‘Sea monsters,’ she said, unhelpfully.

  Before I could interrogate her any further, Mallory was back. I tucked her arm in mine and drew her upstairs to the best guest bedroom to let her rest. ‘It’s not nearly as pretty as the bedrooms at Applecross,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, all those flowers!’ said Mallory. ‘Poor Daddy nearly had a fit when he climbed the stairs again and saw what Mummy had wrought. This is lovely.’