A Step So Grave

by Catriona McPherson

  Privately, I agreed. This room had blue walls and white linen and no more flowers than a very few peonies worked into an Aubusson carpet.

  ‘But then,’ Mallory went on. ‘Daddy is not as superstitious as Mummy always was. She never chose flowers for the look of them, you know. They were always working hard to cast their magic and protect us.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I said. ‘Lavender for sweet slumber and the like?’

  Mallory, unpinning her hat, caught my eye in the dressing table looking-glass. ‘I’ll tell you if you promise not to think she was peculiar and I might have inherited it,’ she said. ‘It was just her Highland way, really. She wasn’t feeble-minded and nor am I.’

  I nodded with what I hoped was an encouraging look upon my face but, to own the truth, an assurance of sound mind tends to raise the question even while it seeks to quash it.

  ‘Mummy knew we needed a road,’ Mallory said. ‘It never occurred to her that the road-makers would move the burn. I can still remember the day she found out. We were out on a lark together, she and I and Cherry. On one of our favourite fairy walks. Up round the caves and down by the kelpie pool. We were laughing and talking and we didn’t notice how quiet it was until we were almost at the waterfall. The pool at its bottom had the coldest water I’ve ever known and we always used to dip our toes in and then snatch them out when we felt the kelpie nibble.’

  ‘What fun,’ I said, mindful of my promise not to question her mental state.

  ‘But when we got there that day,’ Mallory went on, ‘the waterfall was gone. The face of the rock was dark green slime going pale as it dried and the water in the pool was quite still and lower than it should have been. It was still emptying out down the hillside, you see, but was no longer being replenished.’

  ‘Because of the culvert,’ I said. ‘To make the road with just one bridge.’

  ‘Exactly. It’s the most terrible bad luck to strand a kelpie in sour water. It angers her and that’s when she climbs out of where she belongs and walks the land.’

  I opened my mouth to respond but came up short.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that, Dandy!’ Mallory said. ‘I’m only telling you the story.’

  ‘It’s not a story I’ve heard before.’

  ‘There are remedies,’ Mallory said. ‘Kelpies don’t belong on land and so they are helpless against myrtle and rowan and lots of other dry-land plants. And it’s only maidens that interest them. And if they ever get back to the sea they’re perfectly happy again. It was Applecross House being slap bang in the path between the stagnant pool and the open bay that worried Mummy so terribly. And she was very angry! I’ve never seen her more furious. I’d never heard her shout at anyone, but that day she screeched at the Roderick boys like a banshee.’

  ‘The Roderick boys?’ I said.

  ‘Men in their fifties, really,’ Mallory said. ‘Mrs McReadie’s brothers. They had made the road. Well, they were in charge of it, with a team of navvies over from Ireland to do the heaviest of the work. And it’s the heaviest work I’ve ever seen anyone do. Nothing in the crofting year comes close. So Mummy filled our rooms with a witch’s brew of flowers and put in that knot garden and, of course, the pier was going to be no end of help too.’

  ‘Was it?’ I said. ‘In what sense exactly? For the kelpie to slither down?’

  Mallory blinked and bit her cheeks to keep from laughing at me. ‘No,’ she said. ‘So that we could get away without having to wait for high tide and willing arms. A nice long jetty with boats tied up would mean that we could be out at sea as soon as we heard it coming.’

  I felt a slight warmth rising from my collar and decided not to answer. ‘What about all the little girls along the street and in the cottages?’ I said. ‘All the crofting maidens?’

  ‘Their mothers all know very well how to look after them,’ Mallory said. ‘And none of them has Maelrubha’s blood in their veins. The kelpie set on vengeance would want Maelrubha’s daughters ideally.’

  ‘And why would that be?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, it was Maelrubha who made the sanctuary of Applecross Bay,’ she began. ‘It was the flood of his tears that tricked the kelpie. She swam in salt water and didn’t know she was stranded until the flood went down.’

  ‘Ah,’ I said. ‘And do you suspect the Roderick brothers of ignorance or malice? Do they believe this tale? Did they decide to put you and Cherry in harm’s way? Moving the river’s run like that.’

  ‘To be perfectly frank, I don’t know what the Roderick brothers were thinking. McReadie refused to talk about it and Mrs McReadie was pretty tight-lipped too.’ She heaved a sigh as though tired out by all this talking, as I could imagine she might be.

  ‘Rest, dear,’ I told her. ‘I’ll send up a tray of supper and see you in the morning. Breakfast’s at nine.’ I kissed her cheek and left the room, with my head reeling. Kelpies and curses and mediaeval monks danced through my thoughts and threatened to drown out the very real question of the Roderick family’s doings and Mrs McReadie’s part in it all.

  Grant was in my room, unpacking so fast I could tell she wanted to be done with me and get onto Mallory’s bags as soon as she could.

  ‘I’ve heard from Mallory’s own mouth what you picked up in the kitchens,’ I said. ‘And in English too. So I can probably confirm it.’

  ‘She knew?’ Grant said.

  I frowned. ‘Knew what? About the kelpie? Of course she knew.’

  ‘What kelpie?’ said Grant. ‘What are you talking about, madam?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘The plan that David Spencer scuppered,’ Grant said. ‘There was a secret plan. Not the scheme we uncovered. Not the break-up of the estate and the move back to sanctuary in the manse. Something else. It was hatched a while back but it had to wait until Miss Cherry and Miss Mallory were both settled in homes of their own and then it was all set to go ahead. Only, David Spencer wrecked it.’

  ‘What was it?’

  ‘I don’t know in any detail. Everyone who spoke of it knew what it was so they didn’t need to elaborate. The most they ever said was that “she loved him”. She “truly loved him”.’

  ‘Whom? Spencer?’

  Grant shrugged. ‘Lairdie said it one night after a few drams. “The sin of it is that she loved him”. But I think he said “sin” meaning “pity”, not “sin” meaning “sin”.’

  ‘So perhaps the thought was that she loved Spencer and if he’d been patient and willing to wait until Mallory was married, she might have agreed to go away with him. But he rushed things and spoiled— No, it makes no sense to say he spoiled his own plan. He’d only have to go back to waiting again. And Spencer’s plan can’t have been Lady Love’s plan. Hers was long-established, you say. And he came up on her birthday to present his.’

  I sat down on my bed. Bunty was already installed there, curled up in as small a ball as a Dalmatian can ever make, tired out by the journey.

  ‘You have a very peculiar look upon your face,’ Grant said. ‘But at least you’re not frowning for once.’

  ‘I’m shocked by my own thoughts,’ I said. ‘I suddenly realised I was inwardly cheering that we’re going to get a third crack at solving this, when we go back for the wedding.’

  ‘What’s shocking about that?’

  ‘I shouldn’t even be thinking about agreeing to the wedding going ahead while there’s still a mystery to be solved. In case its solution concerns Mallory. Mr Gilver and I should be bringing all our influence to bear on Donald to get him detached from the Dunnochs and then using all our persuasive powers to make him forget he ever saw Mallory.’

  I did not notice Grant signalling until it was far too late. Donald had entered my bedroom without knocking and stood, pale and still, in the doorway.

  ‘Is that what you’re planning?’ he said. ‘To separate Mallory and me? I shall just elope, Mother. I shall just take her to Gretna Green and present you with a fait accompli.’

  ‘Y
ou don’t have to go down to Gretna Green if you’re already in Scotland,’ I said.

  ‘And it would be wicked to make that poor girl marry without a wedding dress and trousseau,’ Grant put in.

  But there was no consoling Donald. He marched into the room and strode up and down on my bedroom carpet in his outdoor shoes, slapping his hand against his leg in a display of irritation. ‘Good grief. Her poor mother is killed because she’s so loyal and proper that she won’t give the time of day to an old flame. Then her devoted servant, who can’t bear seeing the man get away with it, avenges her. And a whole village who loves her decides that he’s a hero rather than a villain and you think all of that makes Mallory – Mallory! – unsuitable? I think it makes her even more splendid. And her father! Her father risked his life to save the son of a servant and is putting him through Oxford. Her father learned to walk again and kept it up his sleeve for a birthday surprise. And her sister! Her sister is as sweet and unspoiled and charming a girl as I’ve ever met. She knows more about farming – well, crofting – than even Father does. I’d like to hear what anyone in this family has ever done that stacks up against any of that? I’m lucky Mallory is willing to settle for me!’

  ‘Very well put, dear,’ I said. ‘I agree. Tell me, do you know anything about a secret scheme or plan that was being hatched, that was scuppered by Lady Love’s death?’

  ‘No,’ said Donald.

  ‘Would you ask Mallory if she knows?’ I said. ‘She made references to complicated matters that could be simplified by frank discussions. Would you open one of those discussions with her, for a change. Instead of ranting at me.’

  ‘No,’ Donald said. ‘I won’t do your dirty work, Mother. If you want Mallory grilled, you grill her.’ He gave me one last glare and then slammed out.

  ‘Well,’ I said. ‘That’s me told then.’

  Grant’s eyes were misty. Passionate declarations of love were much to her taste.

  ‘I’m going to keep digging,’ I said. ‘And if I find scandal in the Dunnoch family before they say “I do” I shall take great pleasure in putting a stop to it. In fact, I’ve always rather wanted to stand up in the middle of a wedding service and say, “Yes, vicar. I have a reason”. Meanwhile, on we go.’

  Grant tried to look sober, but I knew she was thinking of tulle and lace and seed-pearl embroidery. Of underclothes and bathing suits and evening gowns.

  ‘Did you know,’ I said for sheer spite, ‘that they’re honeymooning in Norway?’

  PART 3

  Summer

  21

  21 June 1935

  Mallory was long gone home again, of course, by the time the Gilver party made its third pilgrimage to Applecross one balmy midsummer afternoon. She had been thoroughly kitted out by Grant, on three trips to Edinburgh followed by many quiet evenings of pinning and trimming, and had departed with exactly twice as many articles of luggage as when she arrived. The wedding dress itself was under strict embargo and if Mallory had not been such a very sensible girl, not to mention having thirty summers to her name, I should have been worried. As it was, I had extracted assurances from Grant that it was white, that it reached the floor all round and that it was a dress, and had to make do with that.

  The change of season from spring to summer had wrought another miracle in the glens. Those wobbling knock-kneed lambs from Easter were now lusty and muscular, no longer racing around and bouncing with joie de vivre. They had settled into their lives as sheep, eating steadily and ambling unconcerned across the road no matter how one leaned on one’s horn. As we reached the summit of the bealach na bà, Alec turned off onto the cropped grass, finding a flat spot between the outcroppings of rock, turned off the engine and stepped out.

  ‘Glorious day,’ he said.

  ‘I hope it lasts until after tomorrow,’ I replied.

  Alec tutted. ‘Do you know, Dandy, that you have managed to get Donald’s wedding into seven out of ten conversations since this morning? I’ve been counting.’

  ‘I’m glad I gave you such innocent diversion on the long drive,’ I said. I swung my arms and lifted my face into the breeze, breathing deep the sweet-scented air.

  Alec sneezed. ‘Haymaking going on somewhere,’ he said. ‘We did not need innocent diversion. We had pressing matters to discuss.’

  I groaned. ‘We have discussed our pressing matters to death. I can recite them like a creed. “When exactly did Lady Love die? Did Spencer move her from the flower room to the knot garden? Why? Was it someone else? Why? Or was Mitten Tibball lying about where he saw her? Why? Or was he perhaps right that she wasn’t dead and she came round and wandered outside herself? And if she was killed in the flower room, was there a peat-cutter—”’

  ‘Lawn-edger.’

  ‘“—was there an implement used for cutting peat and edging lawns that just happened to be in there? Why? It’s not a tool store. And if it wasn’t in there already, did David Spencer bring it to his rendezvous with Lady Love? And why?” There are no revelations to be got from saying it all again and again.’

  I was wrong, of course.

  ‘And on the subject of David Spencer,’ said Alec. He had filled his pipe and lit it and now he leaned back against a sun-warmed rock and waved it around. ‘Since Lady Love refused to go away with him and he killed her in a fit of frustrated rage, why on earth did he not immediately hop it and put as much distance between him and the Dunnochs as he possibly could? Once the story of the tramp was established – and I can’t say I think much of the Inverness constabulary for that one, I must say – why did he not scarper? Why on earth stay put until Mallory’s engagement party and risk discovery?’

  ‘It was a bold strategy,’ I said, nudging him until he moved over and then leaning against the rock beside him. ‘Staying put and hiding in plain sight. Not to mention leaving on a trip with someone who adored Lady Love. But at least he was leaving, at long last. It wasn’t going to work, of course. If McReadie had somehow got wind of what had really happened to her, Spencer would have been lucky not to get himself tipped overboard.’

  Alec stopped, mid-puff, and spat his pipe out. ‘What did you just say, Dan? He was leaving “at long last”. We think he should have gone at once, but he was leaving at last.’

  ‘So?’

  I watched awareness dawn on Alec’s face. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open as a new idea filled his mind.

  ‘What? What?’ I said.

  ‘We’ve made a mistake, Dandy,’ said Alec. His voice was solemn but I could hear excitement bubbling away somewhere underneath. ‘Not the first time, of course,’ he went on. ‘but this one’s a whopper.’ He drew in a deep breath and prepared to lay it out for me. My own thoughts were a jar of bees, ricocheting uselessly around my head as I tried to see what, in the tangle, I had overlooked. ‘He was free to go,’ Alec said. ‘David Spencer didn’t have to wait for anyone’s permission to set sail to New Zealand as his only means of getting away! In fact, he didn’t have to go on that trip to get away at all. Unless, for some reason, he wanted to. Do you see?’

  ‘No.’ It pained me to admit it.

  ‘He was free to go. He didn’t need permission.’

  ‘As opposed,’ I said slowly, ‘to Samuel McReadie.’ I still could not see where this was leading.

  ‘Who couldn’t just up sticks and leave without it raising suspicion. Who had to persuade Lachlan Dunnoch to let him go on the trip. To fund the trip, in fact.’

  ‘What are you saying? That McReadie wanted to go on the trip to get Spencer alone and avenge Lady Love’s death?’ I mulled it over briefly. ‘But how could McReadie expect Spencer to join the expedition? And anyway, when he made his plans to go, he didn’t know Spencer had killed Lady Love, did he? He found out at Mallory’s party, when he and his sister-in-law danced so close to Spencer and me and he overheard us talking. The trip was much in his mind even before that. And when he did find out, he didn’t take his time, or go on any trip and tip Spencer overboard. He bashed his he
ad as soon as he heard the bombshell and killed him with a pruning saw minutes later.’

  ‘Yes,’ Alec said, infuriatingly. ‘It doesn’t seem to make any sense, does it? But think, Dandy. One of the two men could have left at any time but didn’t. The other – a servant – had to set up a trip to get away.’ He waited. ‘One of them might have wanted to tip the other overboard on some quiet stretch of an ocean. The other lashed out at great personal risk.’ He waited again and then took pity on me. ‘One of them killed Lady Love and the other one knew.’

  ‘Good Lord in heaven,’ I said, turning to face Alec and staring at him, knowing I was now his mirror image, my eyes wide, my mouth open. ‘We’ve got them the wrong way round. Samuel McReadie killed Lady Love.’

  ‘Yes. And when he discovered that Spencer knew, he killed Spencer as well.’

  ‘But why, Alec?’ I said. ‘Why would McReadie do such a thing? He adored her. And they had a grand old time of it together in that garden. Why? At least with Spencer we had a motive. He was a spurned lover.’

  ‘True,’ Alec said. ‘He was. And I don’t know the answer to your question, Dandy. But now we’ve got a better motive for McReadie killing Spencer, haven’t we? Not to avenge his mistress – and why wouldn’t he simply have told the police, if that were the case? – but to save his own neck!’

  We were quiet for a moment then, testing the theory to see if it held. It almost held, with a few loose knots.

  ‘Why though,’ I began, ‘between Valentine’s Day and Easter did David Spencer not simply tell the police that McReadie had killed Lady Love? Why not put it in the hands of the law instead of what he was planning to do? Taking off on a jaunt with the man.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Alec said. ‘Perhaps to protect her reputation? The family’s reputation?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ I said. ‘I do wish I understood more about this “scheme” that Spencer spoiled. It occurs to me that perhaps that’s what he was keeping under wraps by planning to exact revenge instead of letting justice rain down. This plan, or secret, whatever it was.’