Murder Lies Waiting

by Alanna Knight

  He thought for a moment. ‘Ah yes. She is still at Chanonry?’

  ‘She is indeed, and I am rather hoping that I can set some wheels in motion to procure her release.’

  His well-shaped eyebrows rose at that. A rather cynical smile. ‘As a danger to the community, that would hardly be wise, Mrs Macmerry. Or was your visit merely related to your professional requirements?’

  I stared at him in astonishment. How on earth did he know that? Who had told him? But he was shaking an admonishing finger. ‘I know why you are here. Harry tells me that you are an authoress. Asylums are always good for a chapter or two in novels. We need look no further than Mr Dickens.’

  I sighed with relief: ‘I assure you, Doctor—’

  He held up a hand. ‘Please – please call me Tom.’

  I nodded. ‘My visit to Chanonry was merely of polite interest for news to pass on to my Edinburgh friend. But now that I have met you, I would be most interested to hear how Miss Boyd’s incarceration as an inmate came about. She seemed so reasonable. Quite normal,’ I added, omitting the last painful scene. ‘I believe Dr Wills’ locum attended her after her sister’s unfortunate death.’

  ‘Indeed. A heart attack. Sad business, quite tragic…’

  And I was hearing the same story, word by word, nothing new or varying it seemed from the account I had heard from Dr Wills. Every detail intact, from finding Ellen screaming spreadeagled over her sister’s body. The only omission was her claim that Mavis had been murdered.

  As he paused for breath, I supplied that.

  ‘Murdered,’ he repeated, shaking his head sadly. ‘Ah yes, my dear, there is a very plausible reason for that, one we are very aware of in our profession. People suffering from the shock of grief, suffer great delusions. They need someone to blame for this cruel blow, the unexpected death that has removed a loved one, who only minutes ago was laughing, happy and alive.’

  He sighed. ‘And sometimes, or in most cases, I am reluctant to have to admit, it is the doctor’s misfortune to be blamed. For a variety of reasons: the wrong treatment, the wrong medicine being administered, or in the case of young children, frequently not getting there in time. We get a lot of that.’

  He looked thoughtful. ‘Ellen had to accuse someone. In this case it was poor Mr Worth.’ He sighed. ‘You were extremely fortunate to encounter her in one of her more lucid moments.’

  We got no further. Dr Wills arrived and took his place beside us at the table. The menus were once again produced and our orders taken.

  The doctor seemed a little strained, perhaps he had had a gruelling morning and he was tired, but I had an odd feeling that he was uncomfortable in the presence of his fellow doctor, as any conversation ground to a dead end, leaving an absence of topics worthy of discussion. Soup came and was consumed, followed by a main course and a dessert.

  All were suitably commended and removed. Then at last it was over, we were released.

  There had been no further mention of my visit to Chanonry. As we parted, I said to Dr Wills that I had seen Ellen Boyd that morning. A sharp look was exchanged with Dr Richards, who said rather weakly, ‘One of our unfortunate cases, Ambrose.’

  ‘Indeed it was,’ Dr Wills responded.

  I nodded. ‘And still is, gentlemen. I think there is a mite of injustice to be sorted out there,’ I said, and thanking them for lunch, I headed off.

  It had been an interesting encounter. I had learnt something. Dr Wills did not greatly care for his one-time locum. We had that in common. Neither did I.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The storm had been more severe than usual and had wreaked havoc beyond Bute. Although the hotel boats were safe, Gerald had just heard that a boatload of tourists caught on the Kyles had been swept out to sea. Mainland police were still trying to recover bodies.

  ‘We were lucky not to be caught in the eye of the storm,’ said Harry. ‘A terrible thing to happen …’

  ‘Terrible indeed,’ Gerald nodded. ‘But strangers to the area on holiday are determined to enjoy themselves despite the weather forecasts and will put out to sea regardless of the danger, insisting that they know best and will be all right.’

  ‘The coastguards are out searching,’ said Harry.

  Gerald was silent for a moment. ‘Tragic news for the families involved.’

  Harry gave him a quick glance and I remembered Sadie saying he had told her that when Gerald’s parents drowned he, their only child, was left orphaned, and the Clovises adopted him.

  With a complete change of subject, Harry said: ‘Sadie is looking much better, isn’t she?’ He smiled. ‘You might not be delayed as long as you feared if she keeps on improving.’

  Now with our stay in Bute drawing to its close, I knew I had to get in touch with Jack by telephone again. It would be relatively easy once they had left Eildon and were back in Edinburgh, when I could call and leave a message at the police’s Central Office for him to call the hotel.

  Harry asked me what I had planned for the rest of the day and I told him a bit of exploring, a bicycle ride out past St Colmac. He wished me well and off I went to keep that afternoon appointment with Lady Adeline. First down to the square and the shop where I was becoming a regular customer, to be treated with a friendly greeting by the shop owner, a discussion on the day’s weather and how I was enjoying my holiday, as well as a careful repeat of the solemn instructions to be given to a complete beginner who had just learnt to ride a bicycle.

  A pleasant, windless day, I enjoyed the exercise and although the last stretch of the steep hill defeated my bicycling abilities, I reached Vantry without further incident, my thoughts on what the interview with Lady Adeline might reveal.

  There was no sign of the fierce guard dog today as I bicycled up to the front door. Angus was at one of the flower beds. He watched me as I dismounted and indicated the steps. ‘Just go ahead, ring the bell.’

  This time it was answered immediately by Beatrice, smiling pleasantly. I was made to feel welcome, although Edgar looked solemn, lurking nervously in the background.

  Beatrice said she would go upstairs and tell her ladyship that I had arrived. Perhaps I would care for a cup of tea while I waited. Gesturing towards the tray set with its delicate china, she said they had just had theirs.

  Watching her elegant right hand with its handsome antique ring hovering above the teapot, I declined politely. Was I sure? She seemed disappointed and, departing, left me with Edgar, who remained locked in heavy silence. No attempt was made by him to start a conversation while the minutes ticked away on the rather asthmatic grandfather clock, and strangely enough I found myself remembering Ellen Boyd’s words. Had he indeed murdered her sister four years ago? Surly indeed, often speechless and nervous, he didn’t look like a murderer, but then they never did, according to Pa’s vast experience. At last, Beatrice called:

  ‘Edgar!’

  Excusing himself, he left me. The distant murmur of voices indicated that Beatrice was calling him from upstairs.

  When he reappeared it was to apologise for the delay. ‘Her ladyship is having one of her bad days and that means it takes my sister more time than usual to prepare her to receive a visitor.’ With an ominous feeling that this was going to be another useless effort, I stood up, started to say I was sorry and perhaps I could call at a more convenient time, but Edgar held up his hand.

  ‘No, Mrs Macmerry, she is very keen to see you. I am only warning you that she is rather frail, so do not ply her with too many questions. Allow her to do the talking, if you please,’ he added, quite a speech for him. ‘Some days she has little strength and tires easily.’ So saying, he opened the door and ushered me up the notorious great staircase to Lady Vantry’s apartments.

  He knocked on the door and a faint voice called: ‘Enter.’

  ‘Mrs Macmerry to see you, Aunt.’ Pushing the door open, he whispered to me: ‘My sister will see you before you leave, she has an urgent domestic problem about her ladyship’s chimney smoking – t
he cause of the delay – to discuss with Angus.’ With a sigh, he tut-tutted and went downstairs again.

  Lady Vantry was seated back in one of the deep armchairs by the great window, swathed in shawls, veiled as usual. The room was cold, the fire long turned to ashes. She seemed exceedingly frail and hardly raised her head, merely nodded but did not invite me to take the seat opposite.

  I said good afternoon and waited for her response.

  ‘What is it you wish to know, Mrs Macmerry?’

  Had she been misinformed regarding the nature of my visit? As this opening gambit without any preliminaries was in the form of a question, I realised this was going to be in the nature of interviewing a possible servant, rather than an informal, meaningful chat.

  ‘Well?’ Although the note was impatient and imperious, her voice was thin and weak.

  I stated my case briefly, that I was interested in the history of the Vantry family.

  ‘And for what purpose?’

  ‘For a book I am writing.’

  ‘Ah yes, the authoress.’ She made it sound somewhat contemptuous: I detected a sneer in that faint voice.

  I dreaded the next question and the authoress lie about what did I write and so forth but I need not have feared.

  ‘There is a book in the library, which you may borrow. Edgar has instructions and you may return it via the hotel.’ A pause. ‘That is all.’

  She stretched out a long slender hand from the shawls and tried to reach the bell rope. She couldn’t quite make it unaided.

  As I rushed forward to help her, she did not thank me and I noticed she was wearing only one ring today, a large handsome ruby similar to Beatrice’s. Presumably Lady Adeline was liberal with the contents of her jewel box.

  I went towards the door and turned. She seemed to have already forgotten my presence as the sound of the bell echoed through the house, then she dismissed me with a mere: ‘Good day, Mrs Macmerry.’

  Footsteps on the stairs and there was Edgar. He had no words, merely led the way downstairs and ushered me towards the front door, where he handed the book presumably from the library.

  ‘My sister has been delayed.’ It was then I noticed the handkerchief on the hall table. Edgar pointed to it. ‘Presumably yours, Mrs Macmerry? The initial R? You must have dropped it on your last visit.’

  It was mine, lovingly embroidered by Meg. As I had feared, I had dropped it in the gunroom after my sneezing bout. They must have found it there, my snooping activities reported to Lady Vantry, that accounted for my hostile reception by her. Now whatever might have been embarrassment was replaced by indignation, that I had been invited back not to a cordial or at least a polite reception, merely to stand before her in the manner of a prospective servant being interviewed for a job – not even offered a seat. I was angry.

  Angus looked contemptuous too as he watched me mount the bicycle and start down the drive. I glanced up at Lady Adeline’s window, but she wasn’t watching me leave. What a disagreeable lot these Vantrys were and I came very close to certainty that they were the kind of people who would stick rigidly together, be it truth or lies. I was convinced at that moment that Sarah Vantry’s story about being framed was absolutely true, although neither she nor I had the time or means to prove it. I had a low opinion of Edgar, a weak character who was only too eager to do anything that his aunt suggested. And with a sudden enlightenment, I now decided that might well include murder.

  Absorbed and propelled forward by angry feelings I rode fast, hurtling down the steep hill. Aware suddenly that I was going uncontrollably and dangerously fast on a narrow road, I put on the brakes to slow down. Nothing happened. I tried again, something was wrong. Alarmed, I tried to stop, but merely gathered speed, on and on, uncontrollable …

  A motor car was approaching just yards away, driven fast, sounding its horn, and I was heading straight for it. I steered violently to the right, towards the margin of the road, and the force of hitting the raised edge had me catapulted into the air.

  The bicycle went one way and I the other. I crashed to the ground and literally saw stars, stunned by the impact. My face burrowed in the grassy verge, I opened my eyes, dazedly wondering what was broken, and how was I to get back to the hotel pushing a wounded bicycle.

  Bruised and shaken, wondering if any bones had been broken, I heard the motor car brakes and the next moment footsteps and the now familiar face of Dr Richards looking down and asking was I all right.

  ‘I think so,’ I said shakily and he gently helped me to my feet.

  ‘Are you sure you aren’t hurt? Nothing broken? Sure?’ he added, looking me over in his best consulting manner.

  I shook my head and it remained attached. I was still in one piece, my bruised limbs and grazed knees would hurt later.

  ‘You were very lucky,’ said the doctor. ‘What on earth did you think you were doing hurtling down the road like a bat out of hell? You can’t ride like that on these narrow roads,’ he added sternly.

  ‘So I gather,’ I said. ‘I was riding at a moderate speed when the brakes failed.’ He didn’t seem impressed, sighed and said: ‘We must get you back to the hotel. You can’t walk all the way back pushing that.’

  Walking over to where the bicycle lay, its wheels still whirring gently, he added:

  ‘I’ll put it in the car and take you back.’

  Still shaken, I accepted, and glad of his arm, limped to the motor car. ‘No damage as far as I can see,’ he said, helping me into the passenger seat and settling the bicycle behind us.

  We started off with my apologies for delaying him.

  ‘Don’t mention it. I was just going to Vantry, as a matter of fact. I know the Worths and I believe her ladyship was once a patient at my hospital. I wanted to see how she was getting along, although I doubt there will be much improvement.’

  I refrained from telling him of my experience and that he would be fortunate to get more than half a dozen words from her.

  He said: ‘This is a hotel motor car, thought it would help getting around my visiting quota.’ And giving me one of his looks of concern: ‘Thankfully, I was on the hill at the right time to rescue you. Just sit back and relax, we’ll be there in five minutes.’

  Apart from occasionally glancing at me anxiously, he did not try to make conversation. I was glad of that: beginning to feel the delayed effects of my fall, bruises were making themselves felt and it was a relief when I directed him to the bicycle shop. There was a young lad lounging at the door who watched our activities with considerable interest as Richards handed the bicycle over and I stepped down from the motor car.

  I had obviously had an accident and the lad asked: ‘What happened?’

  I said the brakes had failed.

  Pushing the bicycle inside the shop, he said: ‘Boss’s out just now. I’ll tell him when he gets back. They’re good machines.’ And with a solemn shake of his head: ‘He’ll not be pleased.’

  ‘I wasn’t particularly pleased either. But tell him I’ll be back later.’

  Richards helped me back into the car and drove the short distance to the hotel. Escorting me firmly up the steps, before relinquishing my arm at the door, he said anxiously: ‘Are you sure you will be all right?’

  ‘Perfectly sure, thank you,’ I said. ‘And thanks anyway for seeing me back safely.’

  I apologised again for delaying him. He bowed. ‘Think nothing of it, my dear. Glad to have been of help. Any time.’ There wasn’t much a doctor could do for my grazed knees.

  Harry had seen us arrive, and taking in my dishevelled appearance, he said: ‘What on earth happened to you?’

  Wearily I told him about the failed brakes and gave the standard assurances that I wasn’t hurt, just a few bruises that I’d attend to.

  ‘Your husband telephoned when you were out. Left a message that he was back in Edinburgh and would call again at six o’clock.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Sadie was sitting up in bed with a heap of magazines and what look
ed like a box of chocolates, presumably courtesy of Harry. Obviously recovering, she gave me a startled look. ‘Gosh! You’ve been in the wars. What happened?’

  With a sigh I repeated how the brakes had failed on the steep hill and of my rescue by Dr Richards.

  She gave a shocked exclamation. ‘That was a narrow escape. If he hadn’t stopped like that, you might have been killed. And you wanted us both to bicycle there! I’m not as experienced or as confident as you are.’

  I hadn’t a reply to that and she went on eagerly: ‘How was Vantry? Did you see Lady Adeline – and what did you make of her?’

  ‘Not a lot. I was pretty cross, Sadie. She treated me like a servant coming for an interview. A few questions and I was dismissed.’

  She looked surprised. ‘Gracious! She must have changed. She used to talk all the time.’

  ‘People do change in twenty years,’ I reminded her.

  She nodded. ‘How did she look?’

  ‘Frail.’ And I told her Jack had telephoned.

  ‘Yes, Harry came in search of you, said he’s calling again this evening.’

  ‘Good. He’ll want to know if you’ll be well enough to go back to Edinburgh at the beginning of the week.’

  She frowned, looked thoughtful and then stretched her arms above her head. ‘Well, I’m feeling so much better today. And I’m hungry, first time in ages. Think I might pop down to the restaurant, have some tea. What about you?’

  ‘I have to attend to my wounds,’ I said lightly. ‘Some soap and water and sticking plaster should do the trick. Then I must go to the bicycle shop.’

  ‘Yes, indeed you must. Give that man a right telling-off for his rotten machines. He should be giving you compensation. You might have been killed.’

  As she spoke, she jumped out of bed. ‘See you later, then.’

  ‘Don’t overdo it,’ I warned. Having made myself presentable once more I went downstairs. Peter Clovis was talking to Harry and Gerald. They turned when I approached, their expressions serious.