Murder Lies Waiting

by Alanna Knight

  With a sigh he picked up his bag. ‘Now I must rush to my next patients. I have had three calls this morning, more than I get in a whole week normally. They are usually a healthy lot here.’

  He frowned and added: ‘I am just hoping there will not be more in the course of the day.’ A weak smile. ‘Alas, Mrs Macmerry, a bad time to make your visit to the island when we might be on the threshold of an influenza epidemic. No need to worry, merely a question of rest and care for the young and healthy, like Miss Brook and yourself.’ He shook his head. ‘It is most serious, and indeed often proves fatal, only for the very young and the very old.’

  Harry was waiting downstairs obviously anxious for the verdict. Dr Wills said: ‘I am afraid you will have one of your guests for a little while longer. I think Miss Brook may have influenza and it will be a week at least before she is fit enough to travel back to Edinburgh.’

  Watching him leave, Harry slumped down at one of the tables, looked up at me and groaned. ‘This is all my fault, Mrs Macmerry, if I hadn’t taken her to the film the other night she would have escaped this. I know when there is influenza about on the island we should avoid crowded places, but it is my fault,’ he repeated. ‘I just love going to the pictures.’

  Sadie had told me that was his favourite pastime, twice a week if the programme changed on a Wednesday. She had smiled. ‘He would love to be a film star, and he certainly has the looks, although the only acting he has done is in the local drama group. He’s got all the young people interested and even tried to get the Worths involved, particularly Beatrice.’

  Harry was saying: ‘That evening we were packed in like sardines, lucky to get the last seats. A young boy with his parents squeezed in beside us and all three of them seemed to be sniffling and blowing their noses, the lad sitting next to Sadie worst of the lot, coughing and sneezing all through the film.’ He looked at me despairingly. ‘We are always warned that the influenza is highly infectious. Poor Sadie, she must have got it from them. I am so sorry.’

  I tried to reassure him that he could hardly be blamed when the doctor had said there was a possible epidemic brewing up on the island. ‘But what will you do, Mrs Macmerry?’ he asked. ‘This is a setback to your plans. I know you won’t want to leave her, but I can assure you Gerald and I will look after her, and when she is fit again, we’ll make all the arrangements for her to travel back to Edinburgh.’

  I shook my head. ‘That’s very good of you but no, thanks. I must stay here until she is well enough for us to travel back together.’

  He opened his mouth to protest, but I cut short his words. ‘You are very kind, but taking care of Sadie is my responsibility.’

  As I said the words, I thought again quite desperately of Jack and Meg with Thane and the elder Macmerrys preparing to leave the farm and heading homewards to Solomon’s Tower, expecting to see me waiting to welcome them and, I was sure, looking forward to Sadie’s excellent cooking.

  ‘I must let my husband know,’ I said to Harry. ‘Have you a telephone?’ Telephones were a rare luxury, still a novelty confined to big businesses that only the wealthy could afford.

  With all their modern installations, of course, The Heights had a telephone. My problem was how to get a connection to Jack at a remote farm like Eildon.

  The Macmerrys looked in awe upon telephones, considering them an unnecessary extravagance that they wanted none of. Farmers had horses to ride and carry messages as they had always done. There seemed no need to make such a radical change in the manner of country life that had lasted for generations past.

  I didn’t quite see the significance of horses and telephones in emergencies as I told Harry I had no idea of the name of anyone near the Macmerry farm.

  ‘Then the local police station will send someone to the farm.’

  I would have to seek their help, and heading in the direction of the Rothesay police station, with a fierce wind now blowing from the unruly sea, I could just imagine Jack and his father watching a strange policeman coming up the path – fortunately neither of them were subject to panic attacks.

  Sergeant Clovis was at his desk. He looked up and greeted me with a wan smile. ‘Sorry about the ferries.’

  ‘That’s not my only problem.’ I went on to tell him about Miss Brook taking ill and ignoring his look of concern explained the situation as briefly as I could while he opened up a drawer and searched through some sheets of paper. A moment later he was dialling a number on the telephone and handing me the instrument. The person at the other end asked for the address of the Macmerrys’ farm and the telephone number at the hotel where I was to be contacted. Sounding very competent, he said they would get in touch immediately.

  Aware of my anxiety, Peter said consolingly. ‘It shouldn’t take very long. They are quite efficient,’ and while my imagination still wrestled with this marvel of our modern age, he continued, ‘I’m sorry to hear that Bute has let you down on your holiday. Not only our weather and the cancelled ferries, but now the added complication of Miss Brook taking ill.’ He frowned. ‘There is a lot of this influenza strain about. Hardly to be described as an epidemic, though, more of a seasonal outburst, but very inconvenient.’ He looked at me. ‘And you must take care to avoid it.’

  There was nothing more to be said except to thank him once again for his help in this emergency. He saw me to the door and said: ‘If you are to be around for a day or two, perhaps we might meet again.’ I said I would like that and he asked: ‘Have you any plans?’

  ‘I haven’t had much time to make plans. Miss Brook being ill came as something of a shock when I returned from St Blane’s.’

  He gave me a quizzical look. ‘The authoress at work, doing research?’

  This gave me an idea. As that was the generally accepted reason for my visit to Bute, it might provide a good excuse for appearing at Vantry and being accepted, even welcomed, calling informally on Edgar and Beatrice Worth. After all, writers did that sort of thing, at least male writers did but I was not sure how far this concession applied to females.

  However, I had no idea how long the police station would take to reach Jack and with neither the wish nor the patience to sit around the hotel waiting for a call from the far distant Borders, I decided to leave a message with Harry. If Jack should telephone in my absence, he was to be briefly told of my possible delayed return, the cancelled ferries, that Miss Brook had a chill but I was well, and this change of plans was a mere inconvenience and no cause for anxiety.

  Leaving the police station I had already the beginning of a plan in mind: my present circumstances of an enforced stay provided the perfect opportunity to meet Lady Adeline and see if any clues still existed that might be used to prove Sarah Vantry’s innocence, for although I had a strange feeling, based on observation, that her future with Captain Robbie was no longer uppermost in her thoughts, I had my own reasons now for wishing to solve this mystery. After all, as Peter Clovis had once pointed out unknowingly, crime was a policeman’s bread and butter, but it was more than that: for me it was the very air I breathed every day, my raison d’être.

  As I walked back to the hotel, the weather had improved slightly, with even a hint of blue in the sky. A sudden shaft of sunlight on the mainland far across the bay touching those wild waters brought hope that they might soon be stilled enough for the ferry services to resume.

  But whatever tomorrow brought, it was still too early for Sadie to be fit enough to travel to Edinburgh.

  With the probability of a few more days of freedom, my feelings of anxiety suddenly vanished in a cloud of elation, the challenge of solving a mystery.

  It was as well I did not know at that moment what dangers were hidden in the future or I might have decided on an immediate retreat with a book to one of the hotel’s luxurious armchairs, beside the potted palm.

  Safe enough there, to quote those words that haunted me.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  My first thoughts on returning to the hotel were of Sadie. Harry was i
n reception and he looked grave. When I asked how she was, he looked worried, and said she stayed about the same, with no improvement in her condition.

  ‘Dr Wills is going to keep an eye on her. There don’t seem any new cases of the influenza so far, so we’re hopeful that this is a minor outbreak, not an epidemic, which would be very bad for the tourist trade. Even late in the season, we expect visitors from abroad,’ he smiled wryly, ‘trying to escape from hot weather, like those from the Antipodes. Many of them have ancestral connections with the Hebrides.’

  I went upstairs and looked in on Sadie. She seemed to be asleep and I didn’t want to disturb her, so I left a note that I was going out to Vantry and would see her later, hoping she felt better.

  Ready to leave, I met Harry in the corridor outside, he was carrying a tray and said: ‘A few goodies for her and some milk, when she wakes up. She has eaten so little, I really despair. She needs to keep her strength up.’

  He seemed very awkward, and I realised that he had little experience in taking care of the sick when I reminded him of the old adage: ‘They say feed a cold and starve a fever.’

  With an anxious glance at the tray, he frowned: ‘Is that so?’

  I opened the door of Sadie’s room for him and passed on my instructions. Should Jack telephone, I would be out for the next few hours. ‘What is the weather going to be like?’ I added.

  ‘It’s not good. Where are you heading?’

  When I told him I was going to visit Vantry, he frowned again. ‘I’m not sure about the tramways today. You have missed the morning one and that’s quite a walk from Bannatyne. Have you seen the timetable?’

  ‘I have. But I don’t need it. I’ll get a bicycle again.’

  ‘It’s a long way and a lot of it uphill. Besides, you might get very wet. Best take a rain cape – we keep one hanging behind the door in the reception office.’ He raised his eyebrows, a clear indication that he thought this woman was mad, and with a despairing shake of his head he vanished inside with the tray.

  I wasted no more time. The man in the bicycle hire shop seemed surprised to see me again and issued the usual warnings about the weather and so forth, which I ignored. Soon I was on my way, up the road through Ardbeg, then Port Bannatyne. As I wasn’t sure of that shortcut, and there were no visible pathways, I didn’t want to risk another puncture, for there would be no obliging Mrs Forsyth with a blacksmith on hand this time, so I rode on along the tramway route to the terminus at St Colmac and followed the steep hill up to Vantry. It was hard going on the bicycle and I had to get off and push most of the way, a cold, strong wind hampering my progress and adding to my problems. Was this perhaps an omen regarding the kind of welcome awaiting this alleged and, from the Worths’ point of view, presumptuous authoress?

  By the time I reached the gates and started down the rhododendron drive, which at least was decently paved for carriages, my confidence was ebbing. I had a bad feeling about this place as I remembered the frightened man not wanting to be seen and darting into the bushes on the drive as Sadie and I approached. The same man, I was certain, who had lingered outside the hotel by the pony cart while the Worths had lunch in the restaurant.

  What had become of him, I wondered? If his business was legitimate, then he would certainly have gone into the hotel, but even at a distance there was something furtive about his behaviour that suggested he was not expecting a warm welcome from the Worths. I was still cross at not having watched their departure from my window. Had they taken him with them in the pony cart rather than risk an argument or a confrontation in public?

  At last I reached the gravelled entrance to Vantry, propped up the bicycle, climbed the stone steps and raised the brass knocker on the ancient door. Although it reverberated loudly through the house, apparently no one else heard it. Perhaps there was no one at home, but even if the Worths were absent, surely Lady Adeline who didn’t get around much would have heard the sound? As she moved slowly I gave her a few minutes. Still no response, so I decided to try the servants’ entrance.

  The house seemed to watch me as I pushed my bicycle round to the back premises. I was conscious of that strange deserted feeling and the back door was ajar. I knocked again, called loudly: ‘Anyone at home?’

  Another wait, still no response.

  Behind me, a scraping on the gravel and I turned to see a huge black and tan dog rushing towards me, snarling. I remembered too late the Beware of the Dog sign and now I was face-to-face with the fiercest dog I had ever met. No gladiator in the Roman arena facing lions could have been more scared, for I had always been terrified of big dogs until Thane came into my life. But strange ones still have that effect. Now I stood paralysed, could think of nothing. He had a savage, wicked look suggesting that kind words would not deter him.

  And then, when he was two yards away, he stopped dead. He lay down, rested his head on his paws, stared up at me. I went forward boldly now, stroked his head and said: ‘Nice dog.’ At that he seemed satisfied, leapt off and disappeared again from the same direction he had appeared.

  Very odd, I thought, as pushing the door open I found myself in a very untidy scullery that smelt of dust and stale food, beyond it a glimpse into an equally unkempt small kitchen. The grimy state of affairs, the unwashed dishes in the sink, made the absence of servants apparent and I began to have misgivings about the food they served in the huge room now furnished as a cafe for the tourist excursions. I was glad I had not seen the premises where the tea was prepared on that first visit.

  Even as I thought of it, I knew it was wildest folly but the house was empty and a glimpse of that corridor ahead leading into the main rooms was very tempting.

  There were three doors ahead of me, one leading directly into the reception area at the entrance, and my footsteps echoed on its marble floor overshadowed by the great oak staircase, gloomy even in the morning light, the sun not having yet travelled round to the south of the house.

  I stood and listened to the silence. The house was definitely empty. Not only empty but there was a faintly sinister feeling, the kind one might feel in an allegedly haunted house, and my voice sounded unnaturally loud and echoing as I called out: ‘Hello! Anyone there?’ I was not expecting an answer and there were no footsteps from above.

  I looked around, wondering what to do next, and a little demon whispered: having come this far, why not explore? Here’s a great chance, you can look around at your leisure and be off before anyone appears.

  Sniffing the air, I was remembering my first visit.

  Vantry smelt old. Like all ancient buildings, the strange medieval smell of age called up in me a sudden homesickness, a longing to be back home in Solomon’s Tower. I allowed myself a moment’s hope that Jack would have been in touch with the hotel before I returned, as I wandered from room to room, followed by the remembered and now ghostly voice of Angus, the tour guide.

  I would have been happy with some of those people at my side now. The rooms were dull and uninspired, a strange combination of furniture that was merely old rather than antique, with the occasional objet d’art that had been removed from the original castle and now sat ill at ease at the side of shapeless, misshapen and shabby armchairs with squashed seats and once handsome Aubusson carpets now dirty and threadbare. Family portraits glared down at me, and once again I was looking at the one reminding me of Sadie.

  Back in the reception area, my footsteps unnecessarily loud on the marble floor, the pièce de résistance, the great oak staircase, looming above me. The tour had been restricted to the ground area. We had not set foot in the upper regions and I lacked courage to wander upstairs, open doors, although I was certain the house was empty and Lady Vantry was not at home. From outside, the guide had indicated her massive bay window, the best room in the house he had called it, looking down over the drive, with horizons stretching way beyond Bannatyne to Kames Bay and the sea.

  I was tempted. At the foot of the staircase, I shook my head. Should anyone return it would be easier t
o explain my presence on the ground floor than in the upper regions of the house. I had been fortunate thus far, better not stretch my luck, so I retreated back the way I had come.

  Once again opening the door to the kitchen regions, there were three doors, two of which were cupboards. Opening the third, I realised that this must have once been the gunroom, for there were rifles on shelves and a dazzling and rather horrid display of disembodied animal heads: stags, foxes, wildcats and other animals, small and large, including a tiger, all grinning glassily down at me from the walls.

  The room had been turned into a kind of museum, for there were other displays of animals, some of them quite huge in glass cases, and the curious rather acidic chemical smell of animals long stuffed that no amount of glass casing can conceal. I seemed to be allergic and whatever it was resulted in a violent bout of sneezing surrounded by this panorama of the jungle, with here and there a nod toward civilisation. That was achieved, also confined to glass cases, by various robes and costumes, worn by ancestral Vantrys at celebrations over the passing centuries. Some models were seated in armchairs, the robes spread about them realistically but rather weird sans heads.

  The collection was brought up to date by robes plus an elaborate wig and headdress worn by Lady Adeline at the coronation of King Edward in 1902, according to the photograph on the wall alongside. That must have been just before her accident.