by Kennedy Kerr
‘The Laird’s taken Angus in his boat to get them,’ she explained.
‘Ah. Okay, great. I’ll radio the coastguard, tell them tae shine a light on the guys.’ He made a quick call on the radio and then shook his head. ‘I tell ye, Temerity. I’m definitely too old for this.’ He laughed, sounding relieved. Temerity thought everyone would probably go to bed feeling relieved tonight. ‘I forgot David had a wee craft. Not that he’s used it for a while.’
The ambulance had also arrived; Temerity looked up to the house, seeing a light come on in an upper window. A face looked out briefly at the commotion and then disappeared again; Temerity couldn’t tell if it was man or woman, young or old.
They walked down to the beach with the medics, waiting for Angus and the Laird to reappear. The helicopter was a way down the loch, shining its light down onto the edge of the water. The rain had stopped, at least.
‘So you know the Laird? I suppose you’d have to…’ Temerity asked Hyland as they stood there, hugging themselves to keep warm.
‘Aye. Good man. He’s been ill these past years, so ye won’t have seen him in the village much. Looks old. Younger than me, though.’ Hyland sighed and shook his head. ‘Terrible shame, aye. What with him losin’ both wives, too.’
‘Oh, right.’ Temerity remembered that the awful leaflet purporting to list all the haunted locations in Lost Maidens Loch had said something of the sort in it about the Manor; she’d forgotten, but she thought she’d known the story once. ‘He was married twice?’
‘Aye. Second wife divorced him. I hear she’s livin’ in Italy now, doin’ pottery or somethin’. Their son’s the heir to the lands. Anthony. Lives in London. He doesnae visit very often. First one, now, that was terrible.’
The cold had settled in Temerity’s bones now and she was freezing; she wondered if it would be bad form to ask to go inside the Manor.
‘What happened to the first wife?’ Her teeth were chattering; she tried to stop them, but her body had taken over. The Inspector gave her a concerned look.
‘Look, Temerity, you dinnae need to wait with me. Go up tae the hoose an’ say I sent ye in for a dram.’ Ever since he had interviewed her after Patrick’s death, the Inspector had looked out for her. She knew he respected her and that she was a grown woman now, not a teenager grieving for her lost love. But it was always there between them: the memory of that day. He had always been kind.
‘A drop of whisky would be welcome,’ Temerity admitted. ‘I’ll go up in a minute. What happened to the first wife, though?’ She flexed her hands: even inside her gloves, the cold had made them feel like blocks of ice.
‘I’m surprised ye dinnae remember. She was supposed to have drowned in the loch. Terrible accident, her bein’ pregnant an’ all.’ Hyland exhaled into the cold air; his breath was a white cloud of steam. ‘You wouldae been young then. Maybe five or six.’
‘Maybe. I remember him coming to the shop once.’
‘Hmmm. Well, maybe. Thing was, she was never found. He was out on his boat – that same one, maybe – searchin’ for days after the coastguard had given up. He was a right state, I can tell ye. No wonder. Not the same since.’
‘That’s awful.’ Temerity could imagine some of the grief the Laird must have felt – but losing a baby, too – that was beyond imagining.
‘Aye.’ The Inspector pulled a pipe out of his pocket, fumbled with a packet of tobacco and started to pack the bulb of the pipe with it. ‘A bad business.’
Temerity shivered.
‘Now get up to the hoose. Someone will help ye warm up. I’ll come up with the rest o’ them in a wee while and we’ll give ye a lift back,’ Hyland added.
‘I will. Thanks.’ Temerity was too cold to argue, so she followed the long stone pathway up to the manor and then walked around to the front of the house. She rang the bell on the imposing medieval-style front door and listened to it reverberate through the house.
14
It wasn’t until Temerity was sitting on one of the three large, comfortable tweed sofas, in front of a roaring fire in a large stone fireplace and with a mug of tea clasped between her hands that she started to cry.
It was as if the warmth dissolved her icy limbs and her tears were the melted water. Her freezing body had been holding her sad memories of Patrick stiff and immoveable; in front of the Laird’s hearth, she let them go. There were some that she only let herself remember now and again, as if they were special jewels that would tarnish in the air if kept out too long. There was the first day they met, as children; there was their first kiss under the fir trees. But there were other moments that, in the moment, she sank into. She remembered Patrick when they had gone into Edinburgh one day to watch a show at the festival; before they went into the theatre, he had taken a rose from a nearby flower stall and bowed theatrically, deep from the waist, offering it to her. My lady, he had proclaimed loudly, embarrassing her. She had blushed; she remembered wishing Patrick wasn’t always so theatrical in public. But now, Temerity wished more than anything she could have one more day with Patrick; one more moment where he tried his hardest to make her laugh.
It was a beautiful room. A silent, unsmiling housemaid had admitted her after she’d explained she was with the rescue operation, then disappeared without a word. She had returned in a few minutes accompanied by the housekeeper, a kindly, middle-aged woman who introduced herself as Liz.
Temerity supposed that there had been a time when the Laird’s Manor had had an army of maids dressed in mobcaps and starched white pinnies. The maid, who stood stonily at the edge of the room, was dressed in a black shirt and black trousers, with her light brown hair pulled back into a severe bun. Temerity felt oddly discomfited by her presence; there was no reason for her not to at least look vaguely approachable.
‘Oh, now! Don’t cry, dear! Did you know the people they’re looking for? Friends of yours?’
Liz, by contrast, sat down next to Temerity and put her arm around her shoulders. She wore a plain, olive-green cardigan with a sensible wool skirt, thick tights and brogues, like many sensible Scottish ladies of a certain age – and not unlike Tilda.
Liz disengaged her arm and tucked a tartan blanket around Temerity. She’d arrived with a tray of tea, a thick slice of a delicious coffee and walnut cake and a large glass of whisky, as the Inspector had predicted. He had obviously taken the hospitality at the Manor many times.
‘Now, you just warm up as much as you can,’ Liz fussed. ‘Goodness! It was just as well I was still here; I was about to head off for the night.’
Temerity wiped her eyes and took a sip of whisky.
‘It’s just been an emotional night,’ she said, taking a deep breath. She was feeling a little better. Patrick’s loss was always with her, but most of the time she kept it locked away. Still, a warm fire, a drink and something to eat were helping.
‘Aye, I don’t doubt it! I suppose it must have been years since the coastguard came out. Of course, every time it happens, I expect that David thinks of the first Lady Dalcairney. God rest her soul.’ Liz shook her head. ‘This is going to bring it all back.’ She sat on the end of the sofa and looked sympathetically at Temerity. ‘Of course, that was before my time. But it’s such a shame not to have more children in a house like this. Do you have little ones, dear?’
Temerity shook her head.
‘No.’
‘Ah, well. Still time.’ Liz patted her leg. ‘I was never blessed.’ She sighed. ‘No, it’s just me, Sally here –’ she gestured to the silent maid glowering at them from the corner – ‘Mind ye, Sally’s only been here a short time, she’s only a young lassie as ye can see. Then there’s the Laird, the chef and Lady Dalcairney – oh and if Anthony comes home, of course, not that he’s here more than once a year. He’s a darling.’ Liz smiled mistily for a moment. ‘Nowadays they get a local firm of cleaners to come in twice a week, that’s more than I could do on my own, of course. In the old days they’d have live-in maids and a cook with her own scull
ery and kitchen maids. Very different now. There’s a private chef makes all their lunches and dinners and if they have a dinner party, that kind of thing. I make the breakfast. Other than that, I’m more of a carer. Sally does the nights, generally,’
Temerity put down her glass.
‘Did you say Lady Dalcairney? But I thought she died. In the loch.’
‘Ah, bless ye. No, Lady Dalcairney, the Laird’s mother. She’s quite old now.’
Temerity remembered the face at the window.
‘Oh. I didn’t know.’
‘Oh, aye. Quite a character.’ Liz’s expression inferred this was kind of an understatement. ‘Speaking of the Lady, I’ll have to go up and check on her, if you don’t mind?’ Liz got up and straightened her skirt with both hands. ‘You’ll be all right? If you need the bathroom, there’s one along the corridor there. Second door on the right.’ She pointed out to the door they’d come in.
‘Yes. Of course. Thank you for all this, Liz. I’m so grateful.’ Temerity really was; she thought how nice it must be to have a Liz around all the time to provide tea and reassurance.
‘Ah, you’re welcome. I’ll pop back in when the rest come up, wanting the same!’ The housekeeper walked out and Temerity heard her making her way up the stairs. Temerity realised that she was starving and demolished the delicious cake in no time at all. It was obviously homemade, rich and moist and studded with large walnuts. Temerity washed it down with the golden tea and felt refreshed. Sally remained in the room; Temerity could feel her staring at the back of her head. She turned around and smiled encouragingly.
‘Have you worked here long, Sally?’ she asked, but Sally regarded her mutely, an odd expression on her face.
All right then, Temerity thought.
Now that she was warm, Temerity got up to have a look around. The room was very grand; hand-painted wallpaper featuring Scottish birds covered the walls: Grouse, Ptarmigan, Fulmar. The grey stone fireplace was almost as tall as her and wider than her arms stretched out. The stone mantel was engraved beautifully with leaves and twisted stems, with a deer running in a wood, surrounded by pheasants.
Temerity luxuriated in front of the hearth a little longer before moving on. Above it was a portrait of a man with a white beard – she assumed it was the Laird’s father, perhaps, or another ancestor – in full Scots dress, depicted against the Scottish countryside.
She was drawn to the long windows to her left, which were curtained with thick, luxurious garnet-coloured curtains that swept the floor. The curtains were not fully closed and through them, Temerity could see a different angle down to the edge of the loch. The helicopter had landed on the Manor house grounds, its lights on: Temerity watched as the two medics hoisted one man onto a stretcher and into the helicopter.
Thank the gods they were found alive, Temerity thought.
Her gaze strayed to the gardens at this side of the house. Unlike the manicured lawn with its intermittent bushes that might have at one time been trimmed into precise shapes, these gardens were wilder, lit by occasional lights winding around tree trunks and garden uplights that cast strange shadows here and there. There was a glass door which led onto a terrace and she opened it curiously, stepping back out into the cold.
Without the indoors light reflecting on the windows it was hard to see, but Temerity could make out that this was a mix of overrun kitchen garden, orchard and herb garden. There were maybe thirty or more apple trees at the end of the garden which looked like they had been left untrimmed for a few years, the branches growing into each other to make gnarled canopies. Away from the searchlight at the edge of the loch, the weak beam from a crescent moon shadowed the trees, the black clouds casting them into darkness, moment to moment. Closer to the house, there were cabbages, broccoli and chard growing in raised beds and a greenhouse that needed a good clean, but it was clear that this part of the garden hadn’t been attended to that carefully for a while.
The herb garden sat separate to the vegetables, with plants that had spread haphazardly along the spiral design that was marked out with heavy stones. Temerity recognised mint, parsley, rosemary and lemon balm, but the rest were unfamiliar to her. Tilda would have known. Temerity wondered if this part of the garden was the private chef’s responsibility: she doubted it. A live-in cook and probably a team of gardeners would have once made sure that all of this was kept up to date, but the Laird had let it all go. Temerity wondered if the Laird had money problems.
‘I sent ye up here to warm up, Temerity Love, not freeze yerself into an ice cube again.’ Inspector Hyland’s voice boomed from behind her, making her jump. ‘Come inside. Yer letting all the heat out.’ He waved her back indoors, where Angus Harley was standing with his back to the fireplace and the Laird, David Dalcairney, was pouring whisky from a crystal decanter into four glasses, one of which was hers.
15
‘Well, that was dramatic.’ David Dalcairney sighed and handed a glass to Temerity. ‘Miss Love, I refilled your glass – I hope that’s all right.’
‘I’m sure I’ll manage it. We weren’t properly introduced – I’m Temerity Love, of Love’s Curiosities,’ she added the shop name to see if he remembered that visit.
‘Ah, of course. The antique shop.’ He shook her hand; his hands were still cold from being outside. ‘Sally, Liz – thank you, we’ll let you know if we need you.’ With that, he dismissed his staff.
‘I think you visited once?’ Temerity prompted him: she was curious to see what he would say. The Laird’s brow furrowed as if it was hard to remember.
‘I’m sorry, my memory isn’t what it was,’ he said, politely, but Temerity sensed he was lying. ‘So you’re an antiques expert? I’ll have to remember you if I need something valued for insurance. Most of this has been in the family so long that it’s been catalogued already, though.’ He gestured to the paintings and some vases and glassware in a display cabinet.
‘You have some lovely pieces there,’ Temerity nodded.
‘Thanks so much for your help, sir,’ Angus interjected. ‘We’re indebted to you. Much longer out there and those men might have been far worse off.’
‘How are they?’ Temerity tried not to think of Patrick, face down in the loch. They were luckier than him, anyway. She felt a stab of envy for whoever was waiting for them to return; they’d come home. Patrick never would.
‘They’ll be all right. Exposure. They were very cold and wet, but hopefully no lasting damage. They managed to swim to the rocks and get out of the water, which was what saved them,’ Angus explained. ‘They lost control of the boat in the storm and probably hit a rock this side of the loch; there’s a hole in the boat the size of my head.’
Temerity exhaled.
‘They were lucky,’ she said. The Laird nodded, looking into the hearth.
‘Luckier than some,’ he said, quietly. There was a respectful silence; everyone knew what he was referring to. Dalcairney looked up from the fireplace. ‘Still. Ancient history, eh?’ He drained his glass and poured himself another; it was obvious from his complexion that he was a heavy drinker. ‘I hear you’ve got a murder case in the village. It’s all happening in Lost Maidens Loch at the moment, it would seem.’ He straightened up suddenly, holding his stomach, a look of agony impacting his face. ‘Sorry.’
Temerity thought that the Laird would be better spending his time going to see the doctor about whatever it was that was paining him so badly rather than apologising for it, but she kept quiet.
The Inspector nodded.
‘Aye. Local teacher. Young lassie, too. Terrible shame,’ he said. ‘Ye should probably sit down. Ye don’t want to overdo it.’
‘And what do you know so far?’ Dalcairney enquired, but nonetheless sat down on one of the sofas. ‘Probably just indigestion. Please excuse me.’ The Inspector looked slightly uncomfortable.
‘Well, of course, there’s details we can’t discuss, David.’ The fact that the Inspector was on first name terms with the Laird showed the status
he held in the village; Temerity supposed they had known each other a long time. ‘But it’s a poisoning case. One main suspect.’
‘Oh, really?’ the Laird held his side again: something was clearly giving him discomfort. ‘I shouldn’t drink. Too acid on the stomach. But on days like this…’ He grimaced.
‘Aye, me, too. Supposed to be off the demon drink,’ Hyland agreed, grinning. ‘Easier said than done, though.’
‘So the suspect… can you say who it is?’
Temerity thought that Dalcairney was pushing a little too hard for details, but on the other hand, as Laird, the village was his concern.
‘Not at this stage,’ Hyland said apologetically. ‘I’ll let ye know when we make a charge, though. Shouldnae be long.’
Temerity gave Angus a look, but he was impassive. Who was this number one suspect they thought they had? Beth Bennett? The boyfriend, Ben McKinley? She hadn’t known that they were so far along with the case. But, she had to remind herself, she was just a civilian. Neither the Inspector nor Angus Harley had to tell her anything.
‘Ah, of course. Well, it’s good to know that you’ve got it all under control. Not that I’d expect anything else, Kim.’ Dalcairney got up from the sofa. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me. My stomach’s really flaring up; I think I need to lie down. Well done all, for tonight. Your commitment to Lost Maidens Loch is truly commendable.’ He nodded to them all and left.
‘Poor guy.’ The Inspector sighed. ‘Hard night for him, aye.’
‘He helped me pull those guys into the boat. That was not easy.’ Angus nodded.
‘Aye, well, I was talkin’ about his memories, more, but you’re right. He’s not well, either, by the looks of things.’ Hyland put his whisky glass back on the table and stood up. ‘Come on. Let’s get home.’