‘Fetch Mrs Gillies,’ McGregor directed over his shoulder.
Mirabelle took off down the stairs and through the kitchen. She crossed the courtyard and met the housekeeper at the entrance to Eleanor’s office. Elizabeth stood beside her. The girl’s eyes were frantic. ‘This place is cursed,’ she said.
‘Hush, lass,’ Gillies berated her.
‘We need you, Mrs Gillies,’ Mirabelle cut in. ‘Please. The constable has been shot.’
The women set off. Back upstairs, McGregor had procured a pair of scissors and was cutting away the man’s uniform from around the wound. Instinctively everyone stood back to let Mrs Gillies in. ‘Go down and boil a kettle,’ she snapped at Elizabeth. ‘I need hot water and antiseptic from the first-aid kit. Miss Bevan, please fetch towels from the linen room. Don’t worry, son,’ she reassured the officer, ‘you’ll be fine.’
Niko looked away. McGregor pulled him aside roughly. ‘What the hell were you doing?’
‘I heard someone in the hallway. I thought it was an intruder.’
‘Are you mad? He’s in uniform.’
‘It was dark,’ Niko spluttered. ‘I thought he had broken in. He had taken off his hat. He was just a man I didn’t recognise, in a dark overcoat. I thought it was the man from the day the maid died.’
‘Don’t you think you should have checked?’
‘Tash had been on the terrace and he was heading up there … she said she thought she’d seen someone in the trees. I thought he was looking for her.’
McGregor was furious. ‘And you didn’t ask him? This is exactly what I warned you about.’
Niko stared at the carpet. ‘I overreacted,’ he said. ‘It was a mistake.’
Gillies cast the men a look that silenced them. Then she turned back, staunching the bleeding with a towel. ‘You’re only winged,’ she said. ‘You’ve been lucky. I’ll clean and dress it.’
Mirabelle’s eyes moved to the area behind the constable. The skirting board was shattered and the plaster above it pockmarked with shot. Mrs Gillies was right. The policeman had had a lucky break. Niko had mostly missed him. Elizabeth arrived upstairs with a steaming bowl of hot water, which she laid on the carpet. She withdrew a bottle of TCP from her pocket and Gillies set to work, bandaging the wound, the antiseptic scenting the air. ‘Thank God for you, Mrs Gillies,’ said Eleanor.
Mirabelle turned. ‘Were you downstairs?’ she asked.
Eleanor pulled her dressing gown around her. ‘Don’t be silly. I was in bed.’
The policeman let out a moan. ‘Now, lad. Dinnae fash,’ Mrs Gillies comforted him.
‘You better get dressed, Niko.’ Bruce put his hand on Niko’s shoulder.
‘I’ll ring the police,’ McGregor offered.
Gillies put the constable to bed in one of the guest rooms. In the kitchen, Elizabeth made a pot of tea and everybody sat around the table staring at the cups in front of them. Eleanor fetched a decanter from the drawing room and one by one they passed it round, spiking their drinks. ‘Sit with us, Elizabeth,’ Eleanor said kindly, and the maid, who had retreated to stand beside the crockery cabinet, shakily sank on to the bench and did not raise her eyes from the table.
They listened to the sound of Mrs Gillies’s footsteps as she approached. She looked annoyed as she put the bloody bowl in the sink and switched on the tap.
‘I don’t know what we would have done without you, Gillies,’ Bruce said. ‘Would you like some tea? Or a brandy perhaps?’
‘Please, sit down,’ Eleanor implored her. In the hallway, the clock struck four times, the tension palpable until Gillies switched off the tap and sat. Mirabelle held McGregor’s hand under the table. She found quite suddenly that she did not want to let go. He had held off the police until the morning, nothing to be gained from a middle-of-the-night sortie to the house. There was nowhere for Niko to go and the injured man was cared for. ‘What will they do to Niko?’ Eleanor asked.
McGregor put down his cup and turned towards the baron. ‘You’ll be charged. I’m sorry – I think it’s inevitable.’
The expression on Gillies’s face betrayed the fact that she thought the baron certainly ought to be. ‘That lad is only twenty-three,’ she said. ‘He’s all the man he’ll ever be, and now he’ll be scarred for the rest of his life.’
‘Damned bad luck,’ said Bruce.
There was the scrape of a chair across the kitchen tiles as Niko got up. ‘I’m going upstairs,’ he announced.
Tash got to her feet in a gesture of solidarity. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Me too.’
‘I know you think I’m a fool,’ Niko said. ‘I just panicked. It’s felt as if we’re trapped here, just waiting for one of us to become the next victim. I honestly thought …’ There was silence. ‘Well,’ he said, unable to finish the sentence. ‘I’ll be in my room.’
Nobody spoke for what seemed like a long time once he’d left. ‘Will he be sentenced?’ Bruce asked.
‘You don’t shoot a policeman and get away with a fine, Bruce,’ McGregor replied.
Eleanor sounded impatient. ‘He should serve a sentence. That poor kid might never recover. A young man like that, disfigured … Oh. Sorry,’ she said, remembering McGregor’s scar.
‘I never thought I’d see the day. Guns in the bedrooms,’ Gillies uttered, as if she was a soothsayer. ‘Gentleman firing in the hallways. I don’t know what has become of this house.’
McGregor turned towards her, respectfully. ‘I know my uncle and aunt would be grateful to you for managing things so well for Bruce, Mrs Gillies.’
Bruce got up. ‘I think we should all get to bed now.’
McGregor followed his cousin, pulling Mirabelle by the hand.
She fell into the bed, propping herself up on the pillows.
‘He’s just terrified of the Russians,’ Mirabelle said. ‘That woman seeing someone in the woods has spooked him. Still …’
McGregor got in next to her. ‘There’s something, isn’t there?’ he said. ‘I need to think.’
She felt the same but she was tired and there were so many details. Eleanor had lied, for a start. In the hallway, she had appeared behind Mirabelle, which meant she couldn’t have come from her room. She must have been downstairs. But why didn’t she say so? She wondered how quickly Bruce had got to the scene of the shooting. Had he already been awake? Were the two of them downstairs together and, if so, why?
‘McGregor,’ Mirabelle started.
‘Shush,’ he snapped sleepily.
Mirabelle turned over. She bit her lip and wondered what it must be like for Niko, in his room, knowing in the morning he’d be arrested and charged.
The sun came up in a burst of rosy light that felt too optimistic. Mirabelle had been dressed for ages. She thought she’d be the first downstairs, but Eleanor was already at the table, in an almost sheer cashmere sweater, a tweed skirt, riding boots and a double row of creamy pearls.
‘Good morning,’ she said, raising a slice of toast. ‘I can’t believe I’m hungry. Gillies said it was the pressure. And look, she’s actually made coffee. Would you like some?’
‘Yes please,’ Mirabelle said. ‘Alan is still asleep. I thought it best to leave him.’
‘This will perk us up,’ Eleanor replied enthusiastically, as she refilled her cup and poured a fresh one for Mirabelle, as if nothing had happened three hours ago. Mirabelle perused the hot plates but decided against eggs. Eleanor, she noticed, despite what she had said, was more toying with her toast than eating it.
‘Are you going riding?’ she asked.
Eleanor looked down at her outfit. ‘I thought I might. I felt like being practical this morning. Tweed is always more practical, isn’t it?’
‘Have you checked the constable?’
‘I put my head around the door. He was asleep, poor man. Gillies is going to take him tea and toast and check his dressing. He won’t get as good attention in hospital.’
‘Gillies really is amazing,’ Mirabelle enthused.
Mirabelle nodded. She sipped some coffee.
‘They call it the gloaming.’ Eleanor gestured expansively out of the window. ‘The half-light. It’s rather beautiful this morning.’
‘I think the gloaming is at dusk,’ Mirabelle corrected her. ‘But it’s the same kind of light, I suppose, whether the sun is coming up or going down.’
‘Oh.’ Eleanor sounded disappointed. ‘Don’t they have a special name for it in the morning?’
The door opened to reveal Niko and Tash. The women murmured their good mornings. There was the sound of more coffee being poured. Mirabelle shifted in her seat. ‘Oh God,’ Tash said, ‘this is torture. It’s like waiting for goddam Godot.’
Niko laid his hand on the girl’s arm. ‘I shot the guy,’ he said. ‘I have to take the heat.’
Tash pushed her plate away. ‘I told him to just go. Run. You’d have made it to Glasgow before the police got here. You could catch a ship or a plane or something. At least you’d be safe. I can bring Nina back.’
Niko sighed. ‘Well, you’ll have to, honey. Won’t you? Either way. Gregory will help you.’
Tash’s eyes clouded. ‘I don’t know what you came for,’ she said.
Mirabelle grasped Tash’s hand. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll help,’ she reassured her.
‘Of course we will,’ Eleanor chimed in.
A single tear drifted down Tash’s cheek. ‘All of this,’ she said, ‘has just been awful.’
McGregor appeared in the doorway and surveyed the situation. ‘Come on,’ he gestured to Niko. ‘Let’s sit in the drawing room. I can’t imagine you want to eat.’
‘I need a lawyer,’ Niko said.
‘I can ask around. Bruce will have a family firm, but they might not have the expertise.’
‘I’ll plead guilty of course. I mean, Jesus, the kid could have died.’
The men left the room. Eleanor looked glassy eyed. ‘I think this is the worst house party anyone has ever thrown,’ she said. ‘And we were so looking forward it. We only wanted to welcome you to the family.’
The police arrived sharp, and with them an ambulance wended its way up the drive to pick up the injured constable. When the man came downstairs, Niko rushed forward. ‘I want to say I’m sorry, old man.’ He held out his hand.
The constable looked nonplussed. Then he smiled. ‘I’m not able to shake your hand, sir.’
Niko looked sheepish. ‘Of course,’ he replied hurriedly. ‘I panicked when I saw you. The last few days – the pressure you see. I can’t believe that I actually let off a shot. And I want you to know that I’m sorry. Genuinely.’
The policeman nodded. ‘The housekeeper told me I’d heal,’ he said, and walked out of the house, draped in a grey blanket. Eleanor waved from the front door as if the ambulance was a cruise liner leaving the dock in a frenzy of flags and champagne. Then a policeman arrested Niko and the inspector ordered one of the constables to drive him to Inverness.
The house seemed suddenly silent. Everybody congregated in the drawing room with shadows under their eyes as the detective inspector lingered in front of the fire. He had not removed his coat. ‘It’s all go today,’ Eleanor said cheerfully. Nobody laughed.
‘I think it’s best if none of you leaves the house from now on,’ the inspector said. ‘I’m not putting you under house arrest, but that’s my advice.’
Bruce eyed the drinks trolley, but forbore suggesting whisky. ‘Has there been any progress with the murders?’ McGregor asked.
The inspector shook his head. ‘We’re bringing up more men.’ He turned to Bruce. ‘I have to ask, what were you thinking, sir. Giving guns to your guests?’
Bruce looked sheepish. ‘He asked and we were all afraid. It’s isolated here and we had two women dead. Everyone has been on edge.’
‘But what good could it do to arm everybody? And with shotguns?’
Tash stared at the man. As far as she was concerned, this wasn’t the point. ‘What about my godmother?’ she asked. ‘Isn’t there any news?’
‘I have it on good authority that Miss Orlova’s body will be released tomorrow,’ the inspector said.
‘Then. I’ll need Gregory.’ Tash was insistent. ‘If Nina is coming home, I’ll need him. Could he move up to the house, Eleanor? I’d like him by me.’
‘Of course, dear,’ Eleanor replied. ‘I’ll have Gillies send for him.’
‘The staff at the morgue will organise an undertaker,’ the inspector offered.
Tash nodded silently. ‘The irony is not lost on me that you’re letting my godmother go just as you take my uncle away.’
‘Miss …’ the inspector objected.
McGregor held up a hand. ‘Miss Orlova is understandably upset,’ he said. ‘I assume you’ll be charging the baron?’
‘We’ll take statements from all of you and from Baron Orlov. I’m confident there will be charges. I’m sorry, miss.’
Tash waved her hand with hauteur, as if dismissing him.
The constables started in the kitchen with Mrs Gillies and worked their way through everybody. Even Eleanor was becoming adept at giving statements. After they had finished, Mirabelle and McGregor slipped outside, as far as the paddock, to lean on the fence and stare at the horses. The light was flat and grey now and the view obscured. McGregor put his arm around Mirabelle’s shoulder. Through the long drawing-room windows they could see Eleanor and Tash in conversation on the sofa, their faces rosy in the warm light from the lamps. The inspector watched them from the other side of the room.
‘He didn’t want us to go outside,’ Mirabelle said.
‘He didn’t. But we’re close enough. Walk round with me?’ McGregor prompted her.
He led her up the side of the house, on to the lane and through the gates to the courtyard. ‘This way,’ he directed, opening the door, bypassing Eleanor’s office and taking the stairs up to the staff quarters.
There was nobody up there, though the air smelled of toast. Eleanor was right. It was cosy. The curtains had a tiny repeat pattern of roses. The carpet was the colour of rope. In one bedroom, Elizabeth had unpacked. A jam jar of fragile-looking snowdrops sat on the windowsill, a knitted teddy bear on the bed, three library books on the table as well as a crossword half completed and a piece of cross stitch that appeared to be a picture of a small cottage surrounded by summer flowers. It nestled in a workbasket full of colourful embroidery silks and small curls of wool. Beside the bed a half-drunk glass of milk smelled as if it was about to turn. ‘You think Mrs Gillies had something to do with it?’ Mirabelle asked him.
‘I can’t put my finger on it and it’s driving me crazy,’ McGregor said. ‘But something is wrong.’
‘You sound like me,’ she smiled. ‘What happened to being logical?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe you’ve given me some kind of virus.’
They both jumped guiltily, hearing a movement downstairs – a shuffling noise on the ground floor. They didn’t want to get caught. McGregor brought his fingers to his lips and together they moved quietly to the head of the stairs, from where they could see Eleanor in her office, setting up her desk for Monday morning, fetching files from the cabinet. Jinx had followed her out and settled on the floor as Eleanor fiddled with something in a drawer. She drew a silver lighter from her pocket and placed it on the desktop, then, across the courtyard Mrs Gillies’s voice called, ‘Madam!’ and Eleanor abandoned what she was doing.
‘Yes?’ she called back.
‘The inspector is asking for you.’
Eleanor disappeared across the cobbles and Mirabelle and McGregor slipped down the stairs.
Inside the office, Jinx got up and, with Eleanor gone, jumped on to her chair behind the desk. Then he let out a yelp, clattering to the floor with a thump. McGregor opened the door. ‘Wh
at’s up boy?’ he said gently.
Jinx whimpered. He sounded as if he was trying to bark but he couldn’t. Instead he let out a strangled whine as he staggered to his feet and then keeled over, yelping once more as he landed next to a leather briefcase tucked underneath the desk. McGregor got on to one knee and put his hand on the poodle’s pelt. The dog was quivering, heaving for breath. ‘What is it, boy?’ McGregor asked again. Jinx panted and then slumped like a huge rag doll.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ McGregor sounded mystified. Mirabelle placed her hands low on the dog’s chest. She felt sick. There was no heartbeat.
‘I think he’s dead,’ she said.
McGregor jumped. ‘Jesus! We should fetch somebody.’
Mirabelle put her hand on his arm to slow him. Her eyes flew around the room. The painting on the wall. The row of books. An old almanac on Eleanor’s desk. ‘Hang on,’ she said slowly. She followed Jinx’s journey from the door to the desk, her eyes falling on Eleanor’s chair. She squinted as she noticed the tiniest dot out of place. Embedded in the thick, tweed upholstery was a point of the wrong colour – it was too pale. Looking round, Mirabelle picked up a leather bookmark from the desk and carefully, protecting her skin, she used it to press down the fabric, exposing a small needle sticking through the tweed. She stared at Jinx’s prone body.
‘Someone planted that. Someone must be after Eleanor,’ she said.
It took a split second and then they moved together, clattering in a rush across the courtyard and through the back door, shouting as they went, ‘Eleanor! Eleanor!’
Outside the laundry, Elizabeth jumped back to let them pass. In the kitchen Mrs Gillies let out a ‘what the blazes …?’ but pointed in the direction of the hallway as she realised their panic must have good reason. As they rounded the corner they shouted again ‘Eleanor!’ And there she was at the front door beside Bruce, seeing off the inspector.
Mirabelle and McGregor rushed across the boards and pulled Eleanor out of the open doorway and into the safety of the house. McGregor began to gabble, trying to explain. ‘It’s the dog. The dog is dead,’ he said. ‘Somebody put a pin in the chair in Eleanor’s study. Jinx climbed on to it. It must have been poisoned,’ he managed, realising as he said it how mad it sounded.
[Mirabelle Bevan 08] - Highland Fling Page 20