‘Well, he’s right,’ he said, and Hippolyta heard Durris breathe out.
‘He’s right?’ asked Patrick. ‘But you told me you could not walk!’
‘I’m weak, certainly,’ said Brookes, with an apologetic glance at him. ‘I’m not the man I was, and doubtless my heart will give up soon enough: you have seen that yourself, I know. But I can walk, most of the time.’
‘Then why lie about it?’ Patrick demanded. Hippolyta’s heart went out to him: he looked so hurt that a patient could seek his sympathies, so readily given, falsely.
‘Well, I’ve lied about a number of things,’ said Brookes philosophically. ‘My name, for example, is not Brookes.’
‘Then what is it?’ asked Durris, his notebook at the ready.
‘It is Burns. A small pun, and a convenient one.’
‘Burns?’ asked Hippolyta. ‘The Burns Mortification? That Burns?’
‘That Burns,’ the man agreed. ‘I mortified that money to the parish some years ago. Now that my end is near, I wanted to make sure it was being properly administered before I would write my will to leave the rest of my money to it, too. I have no family, but I was born and brought up in this town before I travelled to the West Indies and made all that money. I always wanted to go to the King’s College in Aberdeen: it’s too late for me now, but at least I can help other young men to do it. Naturally if I went to ask Strachan or Durward or Mr. Strong whether the trust was being run properly, they would nod and tell me everything was fine. I needed to find out for myself.’
‘But did you believe there was something wrong with the trust’s administration?’ Hippolyta asked, excited that her own suspicions might be shared.
‘I have no concrete evidence,’ Burns admitted with a shrug. ‘I just had a feeling, if that does not seem too vague. And I wanted to come home, home to mild weather, healthy air, gentle rain …’
‘So you were at Strachan’s house to do what?’ asked Durris, focussing on the practicalities.
‘I knew the trust papers had been removed from the church,’ said Burns. ‘I could not examine them there: it went against the grain to break into church premises, but anyway,’ he added with a grin, ‘the door is very strong and the lock is large.’
‘Could you not simply have asked the minister?’ asked Patrick.
‘What reason could I have given? He would not recognise me, it’s true, for he was not here when I was young, but he might have mentioned me to the other trustees, and they would no doubt have been suspicious. I went to see if I could see into Strachan’s business room or Durward’s business room in case I could slip into either of them and look at the papers, but then I found that Colonel Verney had been sounded out as a new trustee, and that he had the papers at Dinnet House. I had heard about the murders, of course: the gossip is about little else at the moment, and I also heard that the Colonel’s niece had sensibly left the house with her maid. Naturally I seized the opportunity to take a look for the papers – and there they were.’
‘You broke in through the study window?’
‘Yes, I confess all! But I stole nothing, of course. And I’ll happily pay for any damage.’
‘But did you find any irregularities in the trust?’ Hippolyta pressed on.
Burns frowned.
‘I’m not sure that I did. It all looks in order. I fear I shall have to travel to Aberdeen and make sure of matters at that end. I had planned to leave tomorrow, actually. There is a list in the papers – I have copied it – of the students who have received bursaries. I just want to make finally sure that they all exist – and are in receipt of the money.
‘They won’t be at the college at this time of the year,’ said Durris astutely.
‘No, but I’ll talk to the teachers there and find out what they have to say.’
‘I’m not sure I want you to leave Ballater just at the present time,’ said Durris courteously. ‘You still have not accounted for all your movements about the town.’
‘I’ve confessed to breaking into Dinnet House!’ said Burns in surprise. ‘And I’ve agreed I was lingering around Strachan’s house – done very well for himself too, I have to say. As has Durward: I wonder sometimes why I bothered going abroad to seek my fortune. My friends seem to have found theirs here.’
‘You still haven’t said what your connexion is with Miss Verney, the Colonel’s niece. You met her on the bridge last night.’
‘I did not!’ Burns looked from one to the other of them, then focussed on Hippolyta. ‘You said you’d seen me? You were mistaken, I’m afraid, my dear.’
Hippolyta opened her mouth to argue, but she had to admit to herself that she really was not sure any more. Burns, whether he could walk or not, was certainly terribly thin. Had the figure she had seen on the bridge been so emaciated? She closed her eyes, trying to picture him.
‘Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell us about that assignation?’
‘It was an assignation? I don’t tend to arrange assignations with young ladies, particularly ones I’ve never even met,’ said Burns. ‘Look, I’ve been truthful with you – now, anyway. I solemnly swear to you that last night I was here, tucked up in that bed behind me. I have never had any assignation with Miss Verney or any other young lady on that bridge, or anywhere else in Ballater in the last two decades, and to my knowledge I have never met Miss Verney. Does that satisfy you?’
Durris turned to Hippolyta.
‘I – I think I must have been mistaken,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry to have wasted your time.’
‘That’s quite all right, Mrs. Napier,’ said Burns, settling back on his daybed. ‘It has been a most entertaining interval, I assure you, for life here is not at all interesting. I have enjoyed my night time expeditions. Ballater has changed so much in my absence, though: sometimes I feel like a ghost, returning to haunt the scenes of my childhood.’
‘When did you leave Ballater?’ Durris asked casually.
‘Eighteen years ago on the twentieth of next month,’ said Burns, his eyes closing. ‘Eighteen years ago. A lifetime.’ His voice faded: he was slipping into sleep. Patrick rose and gently checked his pulse, rousing Burns to a grateful smile as his eyes briefly opened again. ‘I am tired, you know.’
‘I know,’ said Patrick, drawing the rug up over his thin chest. ‘Don’t tire yourself further just now, eh?’
A lifetime, perhaps, but less than twenty years, Hippolyta thought, as they gathered themselves to go. He was here when the first murders happened, and he was friends with Strachan and Dr. Durward. Had he competed for the hand of the lovely Miss Tranter, later Mrs. Strachan?
She studied him discreetly for a moment. He looked ancient, yellowed and wrinkled like silk washed too hot. But as he relaxed you could see that his bones were fine and strong, his face showing some traces of a distinguished past. He had been a handsome man, perhaps, twenty years ago. What had he known of Dinnet House and that bloody night?
The dark skies had lifted a little outside, and the walk was downhill, so though Hippolyta was distinctly embarrassed at her mistake in identifying Mr. Burns as Basilia’s lover, her mood was not altogether low. After all, they had solved a couple of mysteries: and in any case there remained the incontrovertible fact that Basilia had had an assignation with someone, even if it had not been Mr. Burns.
Further down the hill, past Pannanich Lodge, they caught up with a familiar figure: Julian Brown was strolling, if that word did not convey too much in the way of energy, down the hill towards the bridge. It was not difficult to overtake him.
‘Good day!’ he said, his hair confused as he removed his hat.
‘Mr. Brown, Mr. Durris,’ said Patrick, indicating them both. ‘Mr. Brown is staying at Pannanich Lodge, I believe.’
‘That’s right.’ Brown was affable. ‘Thank you again for your hospitality this morning: I thought the service went exceeding well, didn’t you?’
‘A shame about the weather, perhaps,’ said Patrick politely.
&n
bsp; ‘That’s certain.’ Brown waved a hand towards himself. ‘Had to change my coat when I came back here: I believe they’re wringing several Scotch pints out of it even as we speak.’ He was wearing a brown coat now, flecked, Hippolyta noticed absently, with white. She had not seen this detail from the back. ‘To be honest, I need to look after that black coat: lost so much at cards recently it’s the only decent one I have left. This one’s far from smart.’ He gave a rueful sigh, and Hippolyta felt herself wanting to sort out his hopeless neckcloth and feed him a good meal. He was quite pathetic.
‘Well, enjoy your stroll!’ said Patrick, as it was clear they intended to walk much faster than Brown. The three of them strode on: Brown was clearly relishing his meander, for he was whistling cheerfully to himself as they stretched the distance between them.
‘Odd: that’s the gavotte from Colin’s Kisses,’ said Patrick, slowing a little.
‘From what?’ asked Durris.
‘A suite of music by James Oswald: not very fashionable just at present, but one of my favourites,’ Patrick explained. ‘He was a –’
‘Cat hairs!’ Hippolyta exclaimed.
‘What?’ asked Durris in surprise.
‘Mr. Brown’s coat is covered in white cat hairs.’
‘Oh, heavens,’ said Patrick. ‘I suppose we all are by now.’
‘But he wasn’t wearing that coat this morning, dearest: he was wearing his black one, didn’t you hear?’
‘Then there must be another cat …’
‘Wait, what are you saying, Mrs. Napier?’ asked Durris. They stopped and looked back: some distance away, Julian Brown was contemplating the birch woods to his left, where a little path led up the steep slope of Pannanich Hill.
‘My husband is not the only one who admires James Oswald’s music: Miss Verney enjoys it, too. You were playing Colin’s Kisses the other night, weren’t you?’ she asked, not quite sure.
‘Well, parts of it, yes. You’d need more than two people to play most of it, though.’
‘And Miss Verney has been living in our house: she is probably as thick with white cat hairs as anyone else in it.’
‘You’re suggesting that the man Miss Verney met last night was not Mr. Brookes - Mr. Burns, that is – at all, but Mr. Brown?’
‘That’s exactly it! I’m sure of it.’
‘Then let us go and ask him about it,’ said Durris, and turned to retrace their steps – but Julian Brown had vanished.
Chapter Nineteen
‘You’d be better to stay here a moment, Mrs. Napier,’ said Durris as they reached the bottom of the path they assumed Brown had taken.
‘But –’ Hippolyta began to protest, but then considered. Brown might of course have popped into the woods for private reasons: Durris was quite right. Durris stepped solidly up the path, turned a corner, and disappeared – but a second later, they heard him exclaim. Hippolyta and Patrick exchanged a look, and ran up the path after him.
Rounding the corner they found an odd little tableau: Durris standing in the middle of the path, one hand raised apologetically. Beyond him was Brown, hat in his hands and a bewildered expression on his face. To one side of him was Basilia Verney.
‘Miss Verney!’ Hippolyta cried out. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Oh, Mrs. Napier too! Yes, I am quite all right now.’ Basilia was breathing heavily, and her hands extended to Patrick and Durris. ‘I believe these gentlemen have saved me! This dreadful man – Oh! Thank goodness you arrived in time!’
‘I’m afraid,’ said Durris, as if he were quite stupid, ‘you’re going to have to be a little clearer than that, Miss Verney.’ She glared at him.
‘This person came upon me in the woods and – and insulted me! He put his hands upon my person!’
‘Good heavens!’ cried Patrick, turning to Brown for explanation.
Brown did not seem likely to give one. He was standing with his chin on his chest, eyes wide, as shocked as if he had met himself coming the other way.
‘I – I – ’ was all he could manage. Hippolyta felt she should slap him, for his own good.
‘You’re accusing this man – this stranger?’ Durris queried, and Basilia nodded quickly. ‘You’re accusing this stranger of assaulting you?’
‘I am, yes,’ she said definitely.
‘I see,’ said Durris. ‘But,’ he added clearly, ‘he is your cousin, is he not?’
There was an awkward little silence. Julian Brown gave Durris a look in which he seemed not yet sure whether to be grateful.
‘Brown is a very common name,’ said Basilia hesitantly.
‘But Julian is not.’
She flashed Durris an odd little look, as if reassessing him.
‘Of course Julian is my cousin. Even cousins can be arrested for assaulting cousins, can they not?’
‘It is not within the degrees of affinity, no.’ Durris agreed calmly. ‘How long have you been staying up here, Mr. Brown? For I conclude you are an Englishman, by your voice.’
‘Oh, yes indeed! Mr. … Durris, was it not? I have been here two and a half weeks, or thereabouts. The air, you know, very good for – for all kinds of things.’
‘I believe Dr. Durward was attending him,’ Patrick put in helpfully. Durris gave him a glance.
‘You are, then, I take it, the nephew of Colonel Verney who is mentioned in the Colonel’s will?’
‘I believe so, sir,’ said Brown, just short of gabbling. ‘Most generous of the old fellow, I should say. I’m his sister’s son: they had a bit of a spat before she died, and he and I … well, he seemed to think a fellow could easily keep control of his spending, you know? He never seemed to see a fellow needs the right clothes and needs to be seen in the right places, you know? But I came up here to see if I couldn’t win the old boy over: well, to tell the truth, he sent me packing before, but I thought I might just be able to try again. But I left it too late.’
‘Then perhaps you could say where you were last Sunday evening?’
‘Sunday evening?’ Brown was thrown: the look on his face said that it would have been rare for him to remember where he had been a day ago, let alone a week. ‘Last Sunday evening … let me think …’
‘Well,’ said Miss Verney, folding her arms firmly, ‘I have to admit that Julian has – has tricked me into meeting with him a few times. I didn’t trust him in the least, but he was trying to talk me into bringing Uncle round to a reconciliation. Of course Uncle had more sense. And then … and then since Uncle died … he kept insisting on meeting me. I was terrified! I had to do as he said.’
‘Basilia!’ Julian’s face was a tragedy. ‘How could you … what are you saying?’
‘You could have told us,’ said Patrick sorrowfully. ‘We would have protected you, of course.’
‘I – I didn’t want to cause you any more worry and trouble, Dr. Napier,’ said Miss Verney, in a voice that made Hippolyta’s skin crawl. ‘How could I, after all you have done?’
‘Nevertheless …’
‘But last Sunday, that was one of the nights he wanted me to meet him,’ she went on to Durris, barely looking at Julian. ‘I know I said I went to bed early, but really – once Tabitha had gone downstairs, I slipped out, myself.’
‘Did you, indeed?’ Durris looked her up and down, and she gave the slightest of shivers. ‘Which door did you leave by?’
‘The front door,’ said Basilia straightaway. ‘I was sure that my uncle would still be in the parlour but Forman could have been there or in the kitchen, and I knew Tabitha had been going to the kitchen. The hall was in darkness – oh! Do you think I could have crept past Uncle’s b … b … body?’ She finished on a whisper, her face aghast.
‘Very possibly,’ said Durris. Hippolyta glanced at him. There was something in his tone that implied he was no longer very impressed by Miss Verney. Hippolyta wondered if Miss Verney had noticed it, too. Surely he did not suspect her of killing her own uncle? But if she had been meeting Mr. Brown, then she could not have kil
led him, presumably. ‘What time would this have been?’ Durris asked without expression.
‘Well … the time I told you before I’d gone to bed.’ It seemed to bother Basilia very little that she was admitting to having lied to Durris before. ‘About eleven, I suppose.’
‘And when did you return?’
She glanced at Julian Brown, who stared back at her blankly.
‘I was not very long … now, why was that? I remember thinking that I should be meeting Mrs. Napier in the morning for our little painting expedition, and that it was not a bad thing that I would be back early … why was that?’ Slowly her eyes opened wide, and her pretty little mouth formed a stunned O. ‘It was because you and I were due to meet at the gate, and you never appeared! That was it! I waited there for – oh, a quarter of an hour, perhaps? But it was growing chilly, and I thought one of those heavy showers was coming, so I thanked Providence and turned to go in! That was it!’ She turned in triumph to Durris. ‘I was hardly out of my room for more than half an hour altogether. There!’
‘So now neither of you has an alibi for the time of your uncle’s death,’ said Durris quietly. ‘You, madam, admit that you were not asleep as you previously told me, but were about the house. You, sir – can you account for yourself? For if you were not engaged in an assignation with this lady, then where were you?’
‘I was – I was –’ Julian’s face was empty of any kind of wit. He stared from Basilia to Durris and back again, lost. ‘I was – I was –’
‘Oh, heavens, you were playing cards with Dr. Durward!’ cried Hippolyta, unable to stand his uselessness any longer. ‘He told me so himself!’
Basilia’s jaw dropped. An expression of surprised delight illuminated Julian’s dim face.
‘Oh, so I was! That was Sunday, wasn’t it? That’s right!’ He turned to Durris, brimming with cheerful confidence. ‘There you have it, sir: Dr. Durward and I were playing cards. He came over to the lodge about dinner time, and stayed – well, pretty much all night, actually! He had brought some very fine brandy, and between that and the cards, he left here about dawn – with a good deal of my money, I have to say.’ He made a face, but the cheerfulness lingered.
A Knife in Darkness Page 24
