The Convenient Murder

by Clare Jayne

  MacCuaig led McDonald into the drawing room and Ewan tried to dismiss his worries. The butler checked whether they required anything more and then left them alone.

  McDonald took one look at him and said, “Is your valet on holiday?”

  So much for putting the subject from his mind. Ewan touched his chest self-consciously. “I am not sure where he is. How bad do I look?”

  McDonald glanced him over with a pained expression. “Well, I would not leave the house if I were you.”

  Ewan grimaced. “What brings you here so early?”

  They sat down and McDonald said, “I wanted to ask your advice. I was thinking of investing in a business and would be grateful for your suggestions. Something exciting.”

  It was a good thing Ewan was currently seated or he might have fallen down in shock. McDonald generally viewed the idea of excitement as a dangerous condition that should be avoided at all costs. “May I ask what has prompted this decision?”

  McDonald fidgeted and looked away before facing him again with a resolute expression. “As a matter of fact, I have a wish to marry. It is time to do so but I have recently come to think that a young lady might find me... a little dull.”

  “Nonsense,” Ewan disagreed at once. “I am sure many women would consider you an ideal husband. You have a great many fine qualities.”

  “That is good of you to say but... I do not wish to seem overly conventional or old-fashioned.”

  An idea was forming in Ewan’s mind that McDonald had one particular lady in mind and Ewan thought he might even have a suspicion of who that might be. “I fear the only safe business investments that I can think of are the usual ones: banks, industries and buying from abroad. Perhaps an interesting outing would be a way for a lady to see a more entertaining side to you.”

  “Yes, that might be helpful.” McDonald’s expression brightened as he contemplated it. “Perhaps a...”

  He broke off as Ewan’s second footman, Angus, came in and coughed slightly to get their attention. The expression on his face made all Ewan’s fears rush back. He knew, before a word had been said, that something bad had happened to Rabbie and he waited restlessly to hear how grim the situation was.

  “Please excuse the interruption, sir, but Simeon’s found Rabbie unconscious. We think you might wish to have a doctor fetched for him.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “HOW BADLY is he injured?” Ewan asked the physician, Ishbel and Mr McDonald standing beside him. They should have learnt by now that having people investigating them made guilty people violent, but she had never anticipated that Rabbie would be in danger. It made no sense.

  The physician – a middle-aged man who still wore an old-fashioned white wig – was frowning as he answered, a hard crease between his dark eyebrows, which made her bite her lip, afraid of what he was going to say. “I am concerned that he was unconscious for so long. The blow was a severe one that caused bleeding and a swelling on the back of the young man’s head, so I have given him a herbal tincture to relieve the pain. It is possible that there might be bleeding within the skull, which could prove fatal. He must remain in bed quietly and I will watch him for the next couple of days for signs of further trouble. Let him eat when he wishes to but if he starts vomiting send for me immediately.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Ewan said and the second footman led the physician out. Ewan turned to Ishbel and their friend. “I should never have sent him alone to ask questions.”

  “We are both responsible,” Ishbel said, “but the physician is being cautious, as he should. We must remain hopeful that he will recover. Rabbie might be unnerved by the physician’s examination, so you should reassure him and then we will leave him to rest.”

  He nodded and went into the room. She could hear the sound of his voice and Rabbie’s answering one, but they spoke too quietly for her to hear what was said.

  “If he does not recover Ewan will never forgive himself,” she said, more to herself than her companion.

  “I am sure the lad will be fine,” Mr McDonald said. He knew nothing of the sort yet the certainty in his voice still reassured her. “Perhaps I should leave.”

  “No.” She turned and put a hand on his coat sleeve. “I would be grateful if you would stay and help me distract Ewan from worrying. There is nothing we can do for Rabbie except let him sleep.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  She was glad that he was here with them while all this was happening, as calm and dependable as always. He often seemed to fade into the background when seen with his friends: Ewan, so handsome and charming, like a medieval knight, and Mr Chiverton, so full of life and exuberance. Mr McDonald’s qualities were quieter – easy to miss – but Ishbel had grown to respect him a great deal over the last couple of years.

  The bedroom door opened and Ewan came out into the hall, shutting it quietly behind him, worry visible in expression and movements.

  “How does he seem?” Ishbel asked at once.

  “A bit disoriented and sleepy. Too pale. He wanted to tell me what he had discovered from Gell’s servants but I would not let him – I did not wish to agitate him. I asked if he had any idea who had hit him, but he did not.”

  She touched his hand, wanting to ease his concern. “The physician’s medicine could be part of the reason for Rabbie’s confused state, but the more he is able to rest the better. We should leave him to do so.”

  They walked downstairs and the footmen and even the usually severe butler, MacCuaig, asked after Rabbie. Ewan answered, unable to give them much comfort at this stage, and Ishbel suggested that some cold food be taken up to Rabbie, for when he felt like it, and that a maid should sit with him in case he experienced further difficulties.

  The three of them then went into the drawing room and sat down, the initial silence extending. Ishbel found herself going over what Rabbie had been asked to find out, trying unsuccessfully to work out how it had gone so wrong. Perhaps he had somehow got closer to the murderer than they had anticipated and it was lucky that he had not been killed. Not that they could be sure at the moment that his injuries would not prove fatal.

  “I am sure he will recover,” Mr McDonald said again, as if he had read her mind or, more likely, as if he had correctly interpreted their expressions. “You should both try not to worry.”

  “It is entirely my fault,” Ewan said.

  “Nonsense,” Mr McDonald disagreed before she could say the same thing. “You were not the one who struck him and you could not know this would happen.”

  “I should have realised it was possibility.”

  Mr McDonald looked helplessly at Ishbel, who felt at a similar loss over what to say. She felt just as responsible for Rabbie’s injury as Ewan did.

  Mr McDonald said, “Would you like me to go to the tavern and try to find out who did this?”

  “No,” Ewan said at once, sharply, lifting a hand as if to physically prevent him from leaving, before letting it drop to his lap. “If Gell is responsible, it could put you in terrible danger. We must do nothing for now.”

  The room became silent once more and they waited.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “THE DOCTOR’S a fool,” Rabbie said, propped up in bed in a guest room in Mr MacPherson’s house. “I’m fine apart from a sore head. I should go back to my duties.”

  “You’ll do as the physician tells you,” his mam ordered, sitting on the bed beside him the next day. He was so used to being surrounded by fine furniture and antiques that he found her obvious discomfort here strange. He could barely recall his own nerves from when he first got a job in the house, the years of working for such a friendly, kind-hearted employer making him entirely easy in his surroundings. “You’ve scared us all enough without getting up and collapsing again.”

  “Tell Dad and the children I’m well.” He took her hand. “Really. It’s my head: I’d know if there was something wrong with it.”

  She leaned forward and kissed his forehead as if he were a child
. She must have been truly concerned to have taken time out from her job to come here and fuss over him and he felt guilty at the thought of distressing his family. With his own generous wages and those of his older brother, the family had enough money to no longer worry about how to survive – something that had always been a fear as he was growing up – but with eight children, there was always someone ill or in trouble, always a reason for his parents to worry. He looked at his mam with fresh eyes and saw an overly thin woman of thirty-eight whose hair was more grey than brown and who had permanent lines around her eyes and mouth. The gentry did not grow worn out and haggard so young, but Rabbie was of a cheerful, optimistic nature and he quickly forgot about the vast division between the different classes, not dwelling on things he felt he could do nothing to change.

  His mam got to her feet. “We’ll see you again as soon as you’re allowed to come home.”

  “I’ll be back tonight.”

  She gave him a stern look. “You’ll obey the physician and Mr MacPherson.”

  He grimaced. “All right, Mam.”

  She left him to rest, as if he had not already done more than enough of that lying about all day yesterday. At least Maisie, the general maid, had been there to keep him company, having been told by Mr MacPherson to watch over him, so they had gossiped for several hours until old MacCuaig caught them talking and sent her back to work. MacCuaig had sat down in the chair she had left and told Rabbie to sleep, as if that was possible with MacCuaig glaring down at him like a vulture.

  The door to the bed chamber opened once again and Rabbie looked up hopefully, ready for more company. It was the master himself, creeping into the room as if he was a burglar.

  “How do you feel, Rabbie?” Mr MacPherson asked in a whisper.

  “A bit shocked at the sight of that neckcloth.”

  Mr MacPherson grimaced as he touched the linen. “Yes, I have had difficulties with it, but that is not important at the present time.”

  “I’d have to be dead and buried before I let you go around in that state, sir,” he said and gestured for his master to approach.

  Mr MacPherson knelt down beside the bed so that Rabbie could re-tie the length of material. He did so with only a small – understandable – feeling of satisfaction that the master had got along so badly without him. “I should never have sent you to the tavern.”

  Rabbie grinned as the other man got up and sat on the nearby upholstered chair. “I wasna complaining.”

  “You could have died.”

  Rabbie saw the signs of worry on his face. His master was far too kind and sensitive but Rabbie counted himself lucky to work for someone who cared about his welfare. A couple of his friends worked in houses like this one but their lives were the opposite of his, with tales when they met up of being expected to work for fifteen or more hours each day for half the salary he received. One man had even been flogged for accidentally dropping a plate. It had occurred to Rabbie when he heard of that that his own experiences were rare: he had never received a beating, either as a punishment from his father or by order of an employer.

  Indeed, looking at Mr MacPherson now – a man only a couple of years older than him – he thought of him more as a respected friend than an employer who held Rabbie’s wellbeing in his hands. His master clearly blamed himself for Rabbie’s injury and that was not fair so he said, “Any of us could die any time, but we can hope it willna be for a long while yet. Besides, I think it was my own fault.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I was flashing about the money you gave me to get Mr Gell’s footmen to like me and to answer my questions and I think a couple of thieves must have seen it.”

  Mr MacPherson looked startled by this. “You do not think it was Mr Gell’s doing?”

  “Hardly. How could he? The footmen I spoke to certainly weren’t the ones who attacked me and I dinna comprehend how their master could have possibly known I was speaking to them. I didna see the men’s faces clearly in the darkness but their clothes were completely different from the footmen’s.” If there was anything Rabbie knew about, it was clothes.

  “I see.”

  Before Mr MacPherson could leave him, he added, “Now it’s really time that I got moving and tidied your bed chamber.”

  Mr MacPherson’s gaze was sympathetic but determined. “Not until the physician allows it.”

  Rabbie slumped back against the pillows, thwarted. “Then at least let me tell you what the footmen said.” When the master hesitated Rabbie added, “You’ll find it interesting.”

  Mr MacPherson smiled. “Go on.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  MISS CHIVERTON’S heart sank as she saw Mr Gell approaching her from across the ballroom. She had never seen him before their stay at Lord Strand’s house and now this was the second time in a week that she encountered him. She should not have encouraged his attentions, even for a murder enquiry.

  “Miss Chiverton,” he said, bowing to her. He was a handsome man, she thought as she curtsied, and his manners were perfect, so she could not have explained why his interest had no effect on her. Perhaps her experience with Lord Strand had put her off charming gentlemen. “I had hoped you would be here tonight. Might I claim two dances from you?”

  Two dances were the most any man was permitted with an unmarried lady and even that much might encourage speculation from the people around them. “I fear I can only spare you one.”

  Her mother appeared at her side as he asked, “Did you receive the flowers I brought?”

  “Yes. That was exceedingly kind of you. I was sorry to have missed your call.” She had actually been relieved. There really ought to be some way of telling a gentleman one was not interested in him without actually saying those offending words.

  She introduced her mother to Mr Gell and then the rest of her family strolled over to join them. Mr Gell had met Henry and Anne at Lord Strand’s house but her father’s severe countenance seemed to intimidate him, which was good. He left her, promising to return for their dance.

  “Who is that gentleman’s family?” her father asked Mama, exasperating Fiona all over again. She certainly did not want her father expecting to be asked for her hand in marriage by Mr Gell.

  “I believe he is related distantly to Lord Mountford,” Mama said.

  “Good.”

  “I think he was simply being gentlemanly in asking me to dance,” Fiona said. “His attentions to me have not been marked in any way.” Thankfully, Mama did not tell him about the flowers.

  “Then you should encourage him.” He waved his hand, indicating the people around them. “There are plenty of young respectable men here. Find one. You have already had one season with no result and I have no intention of wasting even more money keeping you lavishly dressed for such frivolities when you will make no effort with the gentlemen you meet. I want you engaged before this season is over.”

  “Yes, Papa,” she said, her cheeks flushed at the thought of anyone overhearing this conversation. It was bad enough for Henry and Anne to be here. She had known her father’s patience with her was running out, but she had put off thinking about it because there was no one she wished to marry. Panic rose in her at the prospect of being given away to some stranger like an unwanted doll.

  “Good evening.”

  She turned and saw with relief that it was Mr McDonald who had spoken. He bowed and took everyone’s attention off her with his enquiries over everyone’s health and her parents’ recent problems with the family estate. She breathed shakily, grateful for the interruption. Not wanting to be left to face any more comments about marriage from her father, she heard the music starting up and said to Mr McDonald, “Is this our dance?”

  He did not even falter at this deception. “It is.” He held out his arm and she took it gladly and walked away from her family.

  “MacPherson and I were discussing enlivening the winter with a group outing of some sort,” he said and she nodded, noting that Mr Gell was watchin
g them. She hastily turned all her attention upon Mr McDonald as he added, “I hope you will join us.”

  “I should be glad to.”

  “Perhaps your brother and sister-in-law would be interested too.”

  She hoped not. Henry would certainly squeeze any pleasure out of the day with his orders and criticisms. “They are quite busy these days, being newly married. However, Eddie is due home any time.”

  “Indeed? I look forward to hearing of his activities. I mean, his public activities.”

  She stifled a giggle at his discomposure over the thought of her brother discussing his more personal activities with Alex. For once she had no wish to see him further flustered, so she said, “Yes, he is fortunate to have been able to see more of the country. I am sure he will have many stories to tell about his travels.”

  His relief at her comment was equally entertaining. “Exactly, yes, that was what I meant.”

  They joined the large group of dancers and spoke only of trivialities in the snatched conversation they had while moving about, sometimes parted by the steps of the dance before coming together again. The music had barely stopped before Mr Gell appeared and she saw the recognition in Mr McDonald’s eyes as he doubtless realised where it was they had met him and why she wanted to spend time with him. Mr McDonald had been insistent that she not involve herself in solving the murder, his reaction probably one of concern rather than an attempt to interfere. His expression was cool as he walked away and she found that she regretted the loss of his company and wished that Mr Gell had stayed away.