‘What has happened?’ asked Mr. Helliwell. ‘One of your stable boys came to say that there was a murderer on the loose. Is it the man who killed that poor woman?’
‘We suspect so,’ Murray replied. ‘One of my kitchen maids was attacked as she came along this path this evening, just where the woman was found stabbed.’
‘Oh?’ The minister looked concerned. ‘One of the Duff girls? Is she much injured?’
‘Effy Duff, yes. Not much injured, but gravely shocked in herself. Daniel has gone for Dr. Feilden. Did you not hear anything earlier?’ He wanted it to sound casual, but it came out rather pointedly.
‘I am not long back from the chapel of ease at Pitmen.’ The minister shrugged, and turned to his son. ‘Gilbert, did you hear anything of this attack?’
‘She says she screamed,’ Blair put in helpfully. Gilbert’s face was sullen in the pale lamplight.
‘I heard nothing,’ he said at last.
‘Well,’ said Murray, after a moment, ‘perhaps we should examine the kirkyard. Melville!’ He turned and called back towards the woodland. ‘Robbins!’
Two shadowy figures identified themselves as Melville and Robbins.
‘Aye, sir, what’s your will?’ came Robbins’ voice hollowly.
‘Take some of the dogs and go round the back of the manse grounds when the woodland is checked. Take the Cullessie man and some of our men with you and carry on round the back of the kirk hill houses. Melville, if you could bring your men and come into the kirkyard with us, I should be grateful. Mr. Helliwell, will you accompany us?’
They trod solemnly up the steep kirkyard path and then scattered through the graves, torches making the gravestones lurch and sweep, their figures outlined jerkily against the walls of the church itself. They searched around every corner, under the few trees, and round the north side of the church where paupers were buried, and where the grass was beginning to grow on the soft earth of the strange woman’s grave. Murray twisted his foot on the edge of it and stumbled, muttering an apology. After half an hour it was clear that their search was fruitless, and they trailed their torches back down through the gravestones, like a scene from Burns’ ‘Tam O’Shanter’.
The men gathered again at the end of the path. No one had found anything useful, although a small alarm had been caused by one of the taller stable boys hiding behind a bush and springing out on his companions with a fearful shriek. He was cuffed hard by Dunnet, the head groom, and escorted home with the rest with Dunnet’s hand twisted harshly in his collar. The Helliwells returned to the manse, and the other three parties separated again on the brow of the hill and returned to their homes, thwarted and confused.
X
Robbins was summoned back to the library to talk to Murray the following morning. Neither Mr. Blair nor Mr. Kennedy was there, for which Robbins was quite grateful, as he had a matter to mention, too.
‘Three subjects this morning, Robbins,’ Murray announced. ‘The first is Effy Duff, of course. Mr. Feilden could tell me nothing of much interest last night. How is she this morning?’
‘Calmer, sir. Mary slept in the room with her and we put Iffy in Mary’s bed in the room with Jennet. Iffy was hysterical, and Jennet was not much better, but the effect on Effy was beneficial. I hope you found no fault with the service of breakfast this morning, sir, as a result of the disturbance.’
‘Not at all, not at all,’ said Murray, choosing not to mention the fact that Jennet had burst into tears as she was pouring out the coffee. ‘You will let me know, of course, if Effy remembers anything else of use? And it probably goes without saying, but none of the female servants should be allowed to go to the village alone, particularly if it means walking after dusk.’
‘Yes, sir. I doubt if any of them will leave the sight of the house for a while, sir.’
Murray grinned briefly, but he was still worried.
‘I was going to ask you if you had heard any gossip about the woman who died last
week. Are there any rumours going about? Have the local claiks given her a name?’
Robbins thought for a moment.
‘There are some, sir, that say she is the daughter of Ninian Jack, the Session Clerk. You remember?’
‘Yes, I do. I had wondered if that story was going to come back again. And others?’
‘That is the main one, sir. The manservants of the Sheriff’s officer that stayed at the inn told someone that nobody knew her and that they could find no account of any stranger in the village that night or thereabouts. But aside from that ... Oh, there is a lesser-held theory that she was the long-lost deserted wife of Mr. George.’
‘Of Mr. George?’ Murray laughed. ‘I doubt Mr. George has ever endangered his liberty by having his name published in the banns. Ah, well.’ He reflected a moment, then shuffled some papers on his desk and found a letter, which had arrived on Friday. ‘I am expecting a Mr. Elliot to visit today, and we shall, together with Mr. Thalland, inspect the problems with the servants’ wing. He should arrive in time for dinner, if you could warn Mrs. Mutch, and I should also like someone to meet him at the inn.’ Robbins nodded, making mental notes. ‘I trust that this will not involve too much extra work indoors, where we shall be in the way. But if you hear strange noises outside it will doubtless be our investigations. You had better warn Effy, in particular, in case she thinks she is again under attack.’
‘Very well, sir.’
‘And I think that is all for now, Robbins.’
‘Sir? Might I mention something that is of concern to me?’
‘Certainly!’ Murray was surprised. Robbins looked awkward.
‘Yesterday evening, sir, William was summoned by Mr. Kennedy to carry out some unspecified errand. Now, naturally, Mr. Kennedy’s affairs are no business of ours, but the errand took William away from the house for three hours without previous warning. I am sorry to have to mention it, sir, but we had grown anxious and usually we are all too busy to spare a man for such a space of time.’
Murray looked displeased, and tapped the desk, staring away. He wished Kennedy would leave.
‘Very well,’ he said at last, ‘let me know if such a thing occurs again. I am sorry that you should have been inconvenienced.’
‘Sir,’ said Robbins, much relieved. He had chosen, in the end, not to mention the hour of acrimonious argument that had followed the arrival of the doctor to attend Effy, and that had culminated in a public examination of William’s chest, to find it entirely unscarred.
XI
Blair had enticed one of the more tractable of the stableyard cats to his bedchamber, feeling the need of company while he thought. Normally he would find this company with Murray – but he was busy with household matters at present, these being the hours during which he usually dealt with his correspondence and staff matters – or with some of the servants or farmers, but it was beginning to rain and he wanted to stay in his room as he had things to do, a letter to write to his sister and daughter among them. The bedchamber was furnished in the cool, calm colours favoured by Murray’s late parents, but Blair had made his mark on it, with a bright green Indian shawl over the back of a chair, and a crimson and gold banyan flung across the bed despite the best efforts of his manservant. In addition, there was the clutter of Blair’s various occupations. He moved from task to task, only completing them gradually and haphazardly, setting up his little silver-plated pocket microscope on the windowsill and then wandering away before using it, studying the religious prints on the wall, particularly the portrayal of Job with his neighbours, adding a word or two to the letter, scratching the cat behind the ears while noticing, his focus sliding down, how the cat’s nose was covered in tiny short hairs the colour of caramel, running up from the clean pink of its nostrils. The cat, taken by surprise by the unaccustomed attention, throbbed with purrs and twisted against his hand to find an even better angle for the scratching fingers. But when there came an odd, murmuring sound in the passage outside his room, the cat sprang from the
ottoman where it had been luxuriating and slid under the bed. Blair tutted at it and went to the door, listening elaborately.
‘You have inconvenienced my household, broken my best cane and irritated my other guest. I should be obliged if you would leave immediately. I shall send for the carriage as soon as you are ready.’ Blair’s mouth opened in surprise, but as he continued to listen there was nothing but silence and the pacing of feet, muffled by the carpet. He took a deep breath and opened the door, fumbling the handle. In the passage outside was Murray, who stopped in his pacing as if shot. Blair gave him an angelic smile and ushered him in, and Murray, after a second’s intense blushing, entered the room.
‘I am sorry I disturbed you, sir,’ he said, feeling like a silly schoolboy. ‘As you may have heard – well, Kennedy’s been ... well, he’s not in, anyway.’
‘I see,’ said Blair, mildly.
‘Are you busy?’ Murray asked, looking about him.
‘Not at all,’ said Blair, and made a confused movement which seemed to be an attempt to block the view of the microscope, the letter and the cat’s nose where it protruded from below the counterpane. He ended up blocking only a section of bare wall instead.
‘Oh, you are writing a letter,’ said Murray, apologetic and disappointed at the same time.
‘No, no.’ Blair moved quickly to the desk and tried to make the letter look smaller. ‘Only to my sister and to Isobel.’
‘It is quite all right,’ said Murray, ‘I did not mean to disturb you. But I think you might be interested to know that I am expecting Mr. Elliot the architect to visit today to inspect the problems with the servants’ wing, and I wondered if you would make one of the party with Thalland and me. It will be after dinner, I hope, if the weather grows no worse.’
‘I should very much like to, if I may,’ said Blair with enthusiasm. Murray knew that a plan which smacked of mud and technical details would please Blair. Murray nodded, and noticed the microscope on the windowsill. It was a simple angular construction which Blair’s father had bought fifty years ago from a jeweller in Edinburgh, and Blair was seldom without it, but it needed strong light to work well, and the weather was not ideal. Blair had been contemplating a series of candles and mirrors to help the daylight, but had not put his plans into practice yet.
‘You have been busy indeed,’ Murray remarked. ‘What have you been examining so closely?’
‘Um,’ said Blair, ‘I have not quite – not yet, and in any case I think perhaps that a magnifying glass would be the more appropriate instrument for the task in hand. I wished merely to take a closer look at this,’ he explained, and drew from the pocket of his waistcoat the gold locket he had purchased at the sale of the dead woman’s goods. He handed it to Murray, and left him to examine it while he crouched beside the bed and tried to locate the cat. The cat showed no particular wish to be located.
‘So this is the locket of which Mrs. Helliwell told us, the one that belonged to the murdered woman?’ Murray asked, turning the little oval over in his long fingers.
‘That is so. I purchased it at the roup on Monday.’ Blair returned to peer at it again. ‘What do you think – is it an R or a K?’
Murray looked hard at the engraving, tilting it towards the light.
‘A K, I think, on balance,’ he decided at last. ‘See how on the top right the line does not really loop back far enough to meet the main stem?’
‘Yes, I am inclined to agree,’ said Blair. ‘It is an engraving more elaborate than accurate.’
‘And I suppose, therefore,’ said Murray, ‘that that does not eliminate Ninian Jack’s daughter Kate.’ He was not sure whether or not to be thankful. ‘But there are few enough girls’ names beginning with K, surely, apart from sometimes Katherine and its derivatives.’
‘But they are common enough,’ said Blair, and then suggested warily, ‘It could be instead for a surname.’
‘Surnames ... well, there is Keith, and Kenneth,’ said Murray thoughtfully. He hoped that Blair would state the obvious ones before he himself had to.
‘And Kirk,’ said Blair suddenly. Murray met his eye, and added,
‘Of Cullessie. Yes, a possibility. Perhaps known to the young Misses Kirk, and killed before they could identify her, for some reason?’
‘Or before she could tell them something? Oh, and then there is Kenny. Is that not the name of the schoolmaster?’
‘True, though I know nothing against the man. My father was still alive when he was appointed nearly four years ago, and I have had little, really, to do with him. I believe Mr. George found him in Aberdeen and encouraged his application.’
‘And then,’ said Blair impatiently, ‘there is Kennedy.’
‘Indeed,’ said Murray, briskly. ‘And have you looked inside the locket?’ He fingered the hinge. Blair took the locket from him and gently prised it open, laying it on his broad palm like a little butterfly. The locket was unlined, and held a tightly curled lock of dark hair, looking a little dusty. Murray had studied it for a moment before he realised that there was something else in the locket, too, fitting it so closely at the sides that he had taken it for part of the jewel. He caught the nail of his little finger under it and flicked it carefully out on to his palm. It was a plain gold wedding ring.
‘So this is where she wore it, then,’ he said.
‘It certainly has the air of a secret wedding,’ Blair agreed. ‘But the locket could have been her own name or her husband’s, of course: there is a gold mark inside it, which I have been trying to decipher. See what you make of it.’ He fiddled with the locket until the loop of hair no longer covered the little stamped mark, the same on both halves of the locket. Murray picked it up carefully, and stared in, his head bent over his raised hand.
‘There is a box with initials in it,’ said Murray, ‘that seems to be the maker’s mark, then there are a castle and a thistle for Edinburgh, as far as I remember – though it is a strange Eastern-looking castle – and a head, then a letter in a shield. It looks like a U. I have no idea what it means.’
‘I shall write to an acquaintance of mine in the jewellery trade in Edinburgh,’ said Blair, taking the locket back, ‘and ask if he can interpret this for us. It may be of little use, however. How is your kitchen maid today?’ he asked suddenly, snapping the locket shut and slipping it back into his waistcoat pocket.
‘She passed a quiet night, apparently.’
‘The rain has eased a little,’ Blair nodded at the window. ‘I thought I might take a walk up to the place where she said the attack took place, and see what marks there might be of a murderer’s passing.’
‘An excellent idea,’ Murray agreed, ‘if the rain has not washed all away. Shall we bring the cat with us?’ he asked, with a glancing smile. The cat had backed so far under the bed that its tail could now be seen protruding at the other side. Blair scowled and made a successful lunge for the animal, and handed it to Murray to take away while he changed into boots and coat. Murray, much amused, steadied the flailing cat and took it out to return it to the stableyard.
XII
They walked to the village as briskly as they could in the muddy conditions and light rain. Murray noticed Blair casting curious glances down the soft hillside to Cullessie in its woodland, and wondered if they were stimulated by the memory of the lively Miss Parnell Kirk or by the identification of the initial on the locket.
They slithered over wet stones and mud into the rough woodland where the murdered woman had been found over a week ago now, where Effy Duff said she had been attacked. Blair’s sleeve was already peppered with sweet dots of may blossom. The path itself could tell them little: although sheltered from direct rain by the woods and high walls of kirkyard and manse, its very situation made it damp and it was well-used, not least by the search party the previous night. A few footprints off to the left of the track as they approached the village might conceivably have been made by the attacker, but they were blurry and probably appeared larger than were the feet th
at made them. They were, Blair pointed out, just by the bush where Mrs. Helliwell had found the murdered woman’s bundle, a spot sheltered from the direction of the fields but not from the village side, so it was unlikely that the attacker had waited there, or Effy, even with the light in her eyes, would have seen him. He looked back the way they had come, and noticed something pale hanging damp from the loops of some brambles bent down to the path. Beckoning Murray, who was still trying to learn something from the path itself, Blair went to take a closer look. It was cloth, ripped and caught on a thorn, two pieces apparently from the same garment, but on closer examination the pattern was slightly different.
‘Do you know – that is, is one of these likely to be what Effy was wearing last night?’ asked Blair.
‘Well,’ said Murray, reflecting, ‘her Sunday gown you saw yourself yesterday at the kirk. It is indeed pale yellow, like this, with a sprig of some kind on it. I assume she also wore it to her mother’s.’
‘I confess I still cannot tell her from her sister,’ admitted Blair with a wide rueful smile.
‘Green ribbons,’ Murray explained confidentially. ‘Iffy wears blue ones.’ Blair’s eyes widened and he nodded, taking note.
‘Come,’ said Murray, detaching the cloth fragments carefully and winding them into his pocket, ‘let us see if we can follow our attackers’ trail back into the wood there.’
The trail was patchy, but short. It led to a small gap, hardly a clearing, amongst brambles and ferns, where, evidently, someone or something had lain recently, and had not lain at peace. Fleshy bluebells were crushed and wet underfoot. Murray’s eyebrows rose and he smiled.
‘And the attacker had an open shirt?’ he asked, investing the words with a certain significance. Then the next step occurred to him and his face grew solemn. ‘I hope we do not find ourselves seeking another corpse.’
An Abandoned Woman (Murray of Letho Book 4) Page 9
