The Three Kings

by Doris Davidson

  Henry being free again, she murmured, ‘All right, tonight, though it seems awful to be doing something like this when we’re both in our forties.’

  He grinned. ‘The prime of our lives, my dear.’

  It wasn’t only their age that worried her, however. For the rest of the afternoon, all she could think of was how Angus would react.

  George had not come back, and Katie had lost interest in everything. She couldn’t believe that he would condemn her for what had happened before they were courting, and a faint hope persisted that he would change his mind once he’d had time to think things through properly. She didn’t know if he had signed on someone else’s boat or if he was still with his mother – she couldn’t bear to think that he was living in Buckie with Lizann – so when someone knocked at the door, she ran to answer it, believing it was George and ready to welcome him home. Her heart sank when she saw who it was. ‘Oh, it’s you, Dennis.’

  He laughed as he walked past her. ‘You sound disappointed. Who were you expecting? Another lover? You must have learned a lot more about pleasing a man by this time. You know, when I’m in Queen Street in bed with my wife, I sometimes compare you with her and laugh at how innocent you were.’

  Alarmed at the trend his thoughts were taking, and hoping it would stop him pestering her, Katie said, ‘George found out our savings were all gone, and I’d to tell him why. You may as well leave, for there’s nothing you can do to me now. He knows everything.’

  ‘Everything? Are you sure? Does he know what you and Sammy got up to? You said he raped you, but my guess is you and him had been at it for years.’

  ‘He did rape me!’ Katie shouted, forgetting all caution in her anger at Dennis. ‘It was all your fault … and I didn’t know if it was his baby or …’

  His eyes glittered at her abrupt, horrified stop. ‘Now it all comes out,’ he gloated. ‘He put you up the spout? That’s why you wouldn’t let me touch you? Well, well!’

  ‘It could have been yours,’ she muttered.

  ‘But you weren’t sure. What did you do? Get rid of it?’

  Realizing that she had placed an inescapable noose around her own neck, she nodded miserably.

  ‘Better and better! Naughty, naughty Katie! I’m sure you don’t want hubby to know that, though he’ll be glad Sammy’s dead and can’t rape you again.’

  Her heart cramping, she whispered, ‘How did you know Sammy was dead?’

  ‘A letter from Ladysbridge that Ella Brodie gave me to send on to you. I read it and burned it. Why should I pay a stamp for … ?’

  ‘So that’s why I never got it!’ Katie cried. ‘I thought the superintendent just made up an excuse for not notifying me. It was awful going to see him and finding out he’d died more than a year before. Oh, God! I hate you, Dennis McKay!’ Her voice rose to a scream. ‘I hate you! I hate you! Get out of my house!’

  ‘Not so fast. Aren’t you forgetting one little thing? If you don’t cough up some cash, I’ll tell Georgie boy you had to get rid of Sammy’s baby.’

  Beyond reason now, Katie yelled, ‘I can’t get any more and I wouldn’t give it to you supposing I could! I’m going to do what I should have done the first time you showed your face here. I’m going to write to your wife!’

  ‘She wouldn’t believe you.’

  Katie could detect a shade of doubt in his voice. ‘I’ll make sure she will. I’ll tell her everything.’

  This deflated him completely. ‘You wouldn’t?’

  ‘I will! A man like you shouldn’t be allowed to walk the streets.’

  ‘Don’t tell her, please, Katie?’ He was begging now. ‘You don’t know what … she’ll likely toss me out and I’ll have nothing – no home, no job, no …’

  ‘No wife, like I have no husband, for George walked out on me.’ Katie strode over to the door and held it open. ‘Go on! Get out of my sight!’

  He made one last, feeble plea as he slunk past her. ‘Oh, Katie, please? Don’t write to my wife.’

  She banged the door behind him then went over to take her writing pad and envelopes out of the dresser drawer.

  Angus was about to carve the joint he had roasted when he heard the car door slam, and when he heard a second slam a moment later, he wondered if his ears had started to play tricks on him, as well as his brain. Then he laughed at his fears. Betty must have opened the door again to take out something she had forgotten. He lifted his head when his wife came in, his smile changing to a puzzled frown when he saw the man behind her. Their wary expressions warned him that he was in for a surprise – a very nasty surprise by the look of it.

  ‘This is Henry Ferguson, Angus,’ Betty said, a little too brightly, and when neither man made any acknowledgement of the introduction, she went on, less confidently, ‘We thought … it would be best … to tell you together.’

  His fingers closing more tightly around the knife, Angus snapped, ‘Tell me what?’

  Henry came forward now. ‘I know this will come as a shock, Mr Gunn, and there is no easy way to say it. You see, Betty and I … well, we love each other, and we …’

  ‘Love?’ Angus shrieked, taking a menacing step towards him. ‘You have the audacity to come into my house and tell me that you love my wife?’

  ‘We couldn’t help ourselves,’ Betty cried.

  His rough push sent her crashing against the table, and Henry, smaller though he was, grabbed him angrily by the shoulders. ‘There was no need for that, Mr Gunn. We’ve been open about it, when we could easily have run off together without telling you …’

  ‘Take your hands off me!’ Trying feverishly to think what to do, Angus glowered at the interloper. If only his head would stop spinning, his ears stop buzzing, the red lights stop flashing behind his eyes …

  What happened then was not clear to him. He did not know why the carving knife suddenly felt much heavier, as if some weighty object was attached to it, doing its best to drag him down. But he did not mean to let it. All he had to do was release his grip. Opening his hand, he felt the burden, whatever it was, sliding down his leg to the floor. Then his ears were assaulted by eerie screams and he put his hands over them to shut out the noise.

  It was no use, he could still hear it. Dropping his arms, he saw that it was coming from his wife and he wondered why she was kicking up such a din. She was kneeling on the floor beside a strange man, who was lying flat on his back with something sticking out of his chest. Her fiendish screams tailing off, she turned her head. ‘You’ve killed him,’ she moaned. ‘You’ve killed Henry.’

  Angus bent over calmly and pulled the handle, wincing when he saw blood dripping from the blade down on to his clothes. Revolted, he raised his arm to fling it from him, but before he could, Betty began to scream again.

  Chapter Thirty

  Dennis had meant to be up in time to destroy Katie’s letter before his wife saw it, but he had been so frantic with worry that he had not fallen asleep until the early hours. When he did wake up, it was too late, for Beth had already gone downstairs.

  She greeted him with the usual kiss when he went into the kitchen. ‘How do you feel this morning, Dennis?’ she asked solicitously.

  ‘I’m a lot better.’ He had relaxed a little at her easy manner, and tried to sound offhand as he said, ‘Was there any mail today?’

  ‘Nothing important.’

  His spirits soared. That was all he needed to know, Katie had been bluffing. ‘It’s funny what a good night’s rest can do,’ he laughed, putting his arm round his wife’s waist. ‘I feel on top of the world. I even feel like taking you back to bed and …’

  ‘Now, now,’ Beth smiled, turning back to the cooker. ‘Sit down and eat your breakfast. We can go to bed early tonight … if you still feel up to it.’

  Having breakfast in the kitchen, Angus knew that there was something he should remember, if only his mind was clearer. He could not think where Marguerite was, but he had a vague feeling that she had gone off with another man, which should have dist
ressed him since she had been frigid with him for most of their married life, but, strangely, did not upset him in the slightest. He had slept much later than usual, and whilst shaving he had noticed that his old scar looked red and angry – he had become so used to it that he scarcely noticed it any more and could not think how he came by it.

  Laying another slice of toast on his side plate, he looked at the pearl handle of the small knife already there. It was all wrong. It should have a bone handle and a much longer blade … He gave his head an irritated shake. Why on earth had that come into his mind? He tried to figure it out, but all he could think of was his breakfast. After spreading his toast lavishly with butter, he was biting into it when the image of a small pair of scissors lying against a skirting board swam into his consciousness.

  The picture worried him, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not rid himself of it, and gradually other details came back to him. He had spotted the scissors one day months ago in one of the garrets. He could recall picking them up and burying them in the garden, but whose had they been? He was so bewildered that the answer eluded him, and he allowed the scene to unfold in his memory. He had returned to the garret and rifled through the chest of drawers, where he had unearthed some items of underwear – ladies’ underwear – and, under the lining paper, a small amount of money which he had left untouched.

  He had totally forgotten the incident until now, and was at a loss to think who had been the owner of the items. It must have been some woman – or a girl? A girl! Angus almost choked as the solution hit him with the impact of a sledge-hammer. Katie Mair! She had used the nail scissors to score his face! That was why he had the scar!

  Unable to eat another mouthful, he leaned back in his chair, his innards bubbling as if they were fermenting in yeast. How could he have forgotten? It was his need to take retribution on her that had made him concentrate all his activities in the garret where she used to sleep. This was what he had been trying to remember – the reason for the ropes, the sticks, the whip! He had sometimes thought that it was Marguerite he was meaning to punish for the years she had withheld her favours, but it wasn’t Marguerite at all, it was that flipperty-gibbet, Katie. He took a deep breath and was relieved that everything remained as clear to him as before. All he had to do was to bring Katie Mair to Fenty, and he was almost sure that he knew where to find her! It was all to the good that Betty was not here to stop him.

  ‘Where did she put the car keys?’ he muttered, when he stood up. ‘They are usually lying on … yes, here they are.’

  When he went outside, a strange car was sitting behind his, but he had something far more important on his mind than to fret about a trifle like that. When he opened the driver’s door, his arm ached as if he had been overworking it, but so many unexplained things had been happening to him lately that he thought nothing of it. He was on his way to bring about the culmination of the hatred he had nursed for many years until his mind had betrayed him – and nothing else was of any consequence.

  ***

  The letter would have been delivered this morning, Katie reflected – there could only be one Mrs Dennis McKay in Queen Street, Peterhead. Would she show it to Dennis and believe his lies when he denied everything? Or did she know he wasn’t to be trusted?

  Lifting the letter she herself had received, Katie read it again and was surprised that it didn’t upset her as much as it had when she read it first. George had said the next time she heard from him would be through a solicitor, and he had meant it. He had a nerve, though, expecting her to divorce him so he could marry that Lizann he was living with – it just showed he had double standards. He had condemned her for sleeping with somebody she wasn’t married to, but it was all right for him. She’d a good mind not to release him from the vows he had made on the day of their wedding, but what was the point? He would never come back to her.

  Determined to submerge herself no longer in useless self-pity, Katie stood up to start on the housework she had neglected since her husband walked out, and the kitchen was shining spotlessly when someone knocked at the door two hours later. She contemplated not answering – it certainly wouldn’t be George – but curiosity got the better of her. ‘Mr Gunn!’ she exclaimed, stepping back in alarm.

  ‘You seem surprised to see me, Katie,’ he smiled.

  He looked much older, his face grey as if he had been ill, and there was something about his eyes that alerted her to danger and made her keep a firm grip on the half-open door. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I came to … ask how Sammy is.’

  Gathering that he didn’t know his son was dead, she couldn’t help being sorry for him and impetuously opened the door a bit farther. ‘You’d better come in. I’ll light the fire and put the kettle on for a cup of tea.’

  He followed her inside. ‘Do not bother. I mean to leave as soon as you tell me about my son.’

  ‘Sammy died a long time ago, Mr Gunn,’ she said, quietly. ‘I thought they would have told you.’

  ‘I was notified by the police when he was committed to Ladysbridge but I had no communication from the institution itself, not at that time nor at any later date.’ A sly smile stole over his face. ‘Nevertheless, I did know that he was dead. Your young man told me, and although he swore that he did not know where you were, I guessed that you must have come back to Cullen.’

  A muscle jumped in his cheek as he stared over the table at the unlit fire – set with sticks she had gathered from the shore some days before and had stacked in the yard to dry – then he said, ‘I did not come to ask about Sammy.’

  She could feel the hairs on the back of her neck standing up in fear, his eyes were so glazed. ‘Why did you come?’

  ‘The reason escapes me for the moment. My mind is not clear about many things that have happened to me lately, so if you let me talk until I can organize my thoughts, I shall probably remember what brought me here.’

  She was about to ask him to sit down, but he carried on, ‘I had a housekeeper, I can recall that … but for some time now I have been looking after the house myself. My wife …’ He stopped, his nose wrinkling and his eyes turning up to the ceiling. ‘I cannot seem to … not Marguerite … another woman … Betty!’ He focused on Katie again. ‘Betty has been running the shop for me.’ He ran his long fingers through his greying hair. ‘There was a man … he wanted to take her away from me … I could not let him get away with that, so I … I …’ He broke off again, shaking his head in agitation.

  It passed through Katie’s mind that Sammy had inherited his mental instability from his father, for Mr Gunn’s brain had obviously snapped, and she felt it would be better not to interrupt his train of thought, confused though it was, so she waited for him to continue.

  Frowning deeply, he said, as if he were outraged by it, ‘Blood was dripping from the knife on to my trousers.’

  Her own blood running cold at this, Katie steadied herself against the table and wondered if she should make a dive for the door. Unfortunately, he was nearer to it than she was, and he might …

  ‘He was dead. Yes, I remember that clearly. Henry Ferguson was dead … and no one will ever find his body.’ He smiled at her unexpectedly, a smile which sent shivers of ice shooting down her spine. ‘I do not know if you are aware that Sammy used to hide in a tree?’

  ‘I knew he’d a secret place,’ she began, then decided it would be safer to deny any knowledge of its whereabouts. ‘He never showed me where it was.’

  ‘Good. Was it not strange that my half-witted son provided me with the means of disposing of my wife’s lover?’ He did not wait for her to reply and went on, ‘Betty helped me to hide his body, you know.’

  ‘Is your wife … still alive?’ Katie had to find out – he was capable of anything in his present state.

  His eyes clouded again. ‘Marguerite is dead.’

  ‘No, I meant your second wife.’

  ‘Betty? I cannot remember … there is a long blank. She was not in bed with me when I woke
up, that is all I can tell you, and I do not know where she is. Perhaps she went off with that Henry fellow, after all.’

  Katie had just time to think that his wife could not have gone off with the other man if he were dead, and she could not have escaped, either – otherwise she would have gone to the police and he would have been arrested – when he looked at her accusingly. ‘Why did you let Sammy make love to you and refuse me? I never understood.’

  She felt as though she were being entangled in a net from which there was no escape. ‘I didn’t. I was never anything more than a friend to him.’

  ‘You took him into your bed.’

  ‘I was comforting him … he was scared of the thunder.’

  ‘Comforting?’ The word came out with a horribly sarcastic smirk. ‘That is a peculiar way to describe what you did, but perhaps you are right, it probably did comfort him. Yet you would not comfort me when I came to you the next night.’

  Conscious that she was on thorny ground, and that he was ready to misconstrue anything she said, Katie murmured, ‘I was scared of you.’

  ‘Scared? Of me?’

  ‘I thought … I thought you were going to … kill me.’

  He looked at her for a moment letting this new concept run through his mind. ‘Why should you have thought that?’

  Katie tried to think of an explanation and decided to tell the truth. ‘I was only sixteen, remember, and I’d seen you hitting Sammy, and Mrs Gunn had bruises …’ She broke off knowing that she had made a mistake, because his brows had shot down and he was glowering at her furiously. She waited fearfully, watching in astonishment as the anger in his eyes was slowly replaced by puzzlement.

  ‘Betty was not at Fenty when you were there,’ he said, at last, adding uncertainly, ‘At least, I do not think so.’