‘Well, the “-que” just means “and”,’ Henry began.
‘Sir,’ said Robert with sudden urgency.
‘And the rest is a verb, third person singular, perfect tense, meaning ... out of something.’
‘Not bad, Henry. Think again about the possible meaning. What does struxit remind you of?’
‘Sir!’
‘Do you know, Robert?’
‘Sir, no, but I do know something else!’
‘Shut up, Robert, I’m trying to think,’ hissed Henry.
‘What do you know, Robert? It had better be useful.’
‘Well, it’s more sort of interesting,’ Robert conceded, as one who had subjected it to close analysis. ‘It’s just that Deborah is going to meet Mr. Tibo tonight, after dark!’
Murray sighed.
‘And are you going to explain why this is in the least interesting?’ he asked, not at all sure he wanted to know.
‘Well, if a girl meets a man after dark, they must be going to get married!’ said Robert with certainty. ‘And that won’t please our cousin Major Keyes, will it, sir?’
‘Robert, this is North Britain. In the winter it is dark for about seven-eighths of the day. Would you have your sister kept indoors like a nun?’
‘But he’s right, sir,’ said Henry, making Murray feel suddenly betrayed. ‘She is meeting him after dark, and it won’t please Major Keyes, will it, sir? Even if Mr. Tibo doesn’t marry her.’
‘I don’t think Miss Deborah is going to commit any errors of etiquette with Mr. Tibo. In fact, if it’s this evening, it’s almost certainly to do with the servants’ dance. Miss Deborah has time for nothing else today. Now, extruxitque, Henry, if you have no further objections.’
‘But we do, sir!’ cried Robert. ‘We want her to marry Major Keyes! Then we’ll have a hero for a brother, and I’ll get a commission and go and kill Hindoos and Frogs!’
‘What an honourable ambition, to be sure, Robert,’ said Murray drily. ‘Even if Miss Deborah is meeting fifty men after dark this evening there is nothing you can do about it, particularly just now. So I suggest you turn your attention back to Tacitus, who has so far put much more effort into this lesson than you have, however many centuries dead he is.’
The next twenty minutes went by slowly and painfully, and Murray began to think wistfully of an hour he had spent as a boy having a tooth drawn. Tacitus’ account of Nero’s reconstruction of Imperial Rome seemed to be taking as long as the original building work, and probably with as many false starts.
‘“Namque ab lacu Averno navigabilem fossam ...”’ Murray dictated.
Robert, propped on his elbow, sighed heavily.
‘Couldn’t we have a ghost story, Mr. Murray? It’s Hallowe’en.’
‘No, we couldn’t. Evening is the time for ghost stories. Namque ab lacu –‘
‘Do you think Mr. Leckie will be walking tonight, sir?’
‘What?’
‘Cocky Leckie, sir. Do you think he will be walking tonight? He’s not long dead, and he died a violent death.’
Murray could honestly say that the thought had not crossed his mind.
‘Mr. Leckie died in an unfortunate accident, Robert. I can’t see why he would walk.’
‘But he might walk to get his revenge, sir.’
‘On what? A cheval mirror?’
‘On us, for making everyone go to the boxing lesson,’ said Henry suddenly. He looked a little pale.
‘You didn’t make everyone go. Major Keyes was going, and the rest of us were kindly invited. And Mr. Leckie liked you, and he was a good man. I don’t see that his ghost would want to cause you any distress.’ He picked up the book again. ‘Namque ab lacu –’
‘But what about Hugh Farquhar, sir?’
He gave a frustrated hiss.
‘Don’t tell me you think he’s going to haunt you now! Why, this time? Did you decline a plate of herring?’
Robert and Henry exchanged glances.
‘Father told him he had to send his sister home. He was cross about it. Grisell said so.’
Murray had hoped that Grisell might have had more important things on her mind at the moment.
‘So you think he’s going to haunt your father?’
‘Well, he might.’
‘He’s more likely to haunt his brother-in-law, I would have thought. He respected your father.’
‘But ghosts don’t have to respect anyone,’ said Henry, with some perception.
‘I assure you,’ said Murray with finality, ‘that if either of you can prove tonight that you have seen the ghost of either Cocky Leckie or Hugh Farquhar, I’ll give you a guinea out of my own money.’
‘If we see both do we get two guineas?’ asked Henry, pedantically.
‘And is that a guinea each, or between us?’ added Robert.
‘It’ll be neither if you don’t finish this passage today,’ said Murray ominously.
‘Couldn’t we do something about ghosts instead?’
‘No.’
‘But we could sing something for Mr. Murray,’ Henry suggested quickly. ‘Mr. Murray likes music, don’t you, sir?’
‘The Twa Corbies would be good for Hallowe’en, wouldn’t it?’ Robert sat back in his chair. ‘Come on, Henry, let’s sing it.’
And with an excruciating failure to establish a mutual key, the boys began to sing something reminiscent of The Twa Corbies. Murray sighed, and shut his book.
Chapter Thirteen
At six o’clock, at last, there was a flurry at the kitchen door and the indoor servants, in an untidy procession, bore the first of the supper dishes across to the barn, to arrange them on the tables set up ready to receive them. Miss Deborah oversaw the operation, smoothing the last wrinkles on the table cloths, making sure the splinters and rough wood were not visible, directing the arrangement with the great side of beef in the centre and the other dishes laid around in a pattern suitable for the table of gentry. The gardeners were putting the final touches to garlands of beech leaves and apples around the walls and along the tables themselves. Beatrix, frowning, was counting at one end of the barn, seeing that they had laid enough places, all provided with cutlery and plates and chairs, checking a list of guests in her hand. The floor was already smooth and sanded for the dancing later, and at one table by the door was laid a ladle and glasses, ready for the arrival of the big bowl of hot punch. In the yard outside, a concentrated flurry marked where various guests, prematurely in their best dress, tried to busy themselves rather than looking as if they were queuing to get in, always with one eye on the great door of the barn. At last everything was organised according to Deborah’s plan, and the girls took a final look around the barn where Andrew was lighting the rest of the candles. It looked perfect. Beatrix could feel her feet itching, longing for a dance, just as the players appeared at the door. She pointed them towards a little dais at the end of the barn, and turned back to find that Deborah was leaving.
‘We have to get changed for supper, I suppose,’ said Beatrix, following her.
‘Yes, the Boothams will be here shortly, again. We’ll have our supper and let the dancers have their first few dances before we come down to greet them, as usual.’
‘Oh, yes. I must hurry, for I have a new ribbon for my hair and I want to arrange it properly.’ Deborah held the kitchen door open for her and examined her face as she passed.
‘Beatrix, you will be careful, won’t you?’
‘Careful? What do you mean?’
‘I don’t quite know. There is something odd about the Boothams, don’t you think? I’m not sure we should encourage them too much as our friends. Or make too much of an effort to please them.’
‘I like them,’ said Beatrix, for once in her life disagreeing with Deborah. ‘I think they are very agreeable guests. I should like to see them every day if I could.’ She marched on before Deborah towards the passage back to the hall, and Deborah stared after her, a worried expression on her face.
T
he Boothams arrived just as Beatrix finished arranging her hair, and she hurried downstairs to find that she was in the drawing room before Deborah.
‘Ah, the lovely Miss Pirrie,’ said Bootham, bending over her hand. ‘Where is Miss Scoggie this evening?’
‘She should be down in just a moment,’ Beatrix explained, nervously. ‘She’s been so busy, you know, today, with things. With the dance. For the servants.’
Bootham smiled, and Beatrix could feel herself blushing. Just then, Murray and the boys arrived in the room like a small tornado, and Major Keyes followed soon after. By the time Tibo had arrived, too, the family had just about assembled, Deborah unusually plainly dressed for someone about to attend a dance, Lady Scoggie giving as always the impression of passing through in a hurry, and Lord Scoggie actually quite excited at the thought of seeing his servants enjoying themselves. For Murray it was an awkward meeting, for though he was expected to stay to supper with the family, he was also expected in the barn. He picked at his food, and hoped they would all go down soon.
In the barn, the company was almost completely gathered, and an odd jittery quiet spread around the barn, as they stared about them at the decorations and the supper, and at each other, strangely dressed, the girls splendid in the best their needles could do in a fortnight, the young men with their shoes polished and their hair brushed into submission, the old men powdered and tidied, looking for comfortable seats with their cronies round the walls. Grisell arrived with Hannah and Mrs. Costane, head held high, a demure smile on her face. Mrs. Costane was to act as hostess for the evening, in a lace cap like a knitted chandelier, and she bowed to left and right in gracious recognition of the attendants before taking up a position near the supper table, the better to survey the room and make sure that everyone had a partner for the first dance. The musicians struck up, tuning wildly for a moment while a little thrill ran round the barn, then gave the first few bars of the first dance and paused, letting the couples arrange themselves. Grisell looked about her, still smiling, peering between the hurrying dancers. She nudged Mrs. Costane.
‘Have you seen Andrew?’
Mrs. Costane frowned, looking quickly around.
‘No. Were you expecting him?’
‘Well, yes. Well –‘
‘Will you dance with me, Grisell?’ asked the eldest gardener’s boy, with a lopsided bow that allowed him to keep looking at her face.
‘Ah ...’ she said, now staring frantically about her.
‘Go on, dance with the lad,’ said Mrs. Costane firmly. ‘You can find yon blondy one later. If you still want to,’ she added, with a wink at the gardener’s boy.
‘Oh ... all right, then,’ Grisell conceded, and allowed herself to be led off, though whether she even knew who she was dancing with was a moot point.
‘So are we all ready?’ asked Lord Scoggie eagerly. ‘We want to be down there before they sit down to their supper, really.’ He had not been able to sit at peace since their own supper was finished, and had a very fine waistcoat on in honour of the occasion.
‘Yes, my dear, I think we could go down now. Mr. Murray, do you want to take the boys up to their rooms, and then follow us down?’
‘Certainly, my lady.’ Murray nodded to the boys and began to shepherd them towards the door.
Deborah rose and smoothed down her dress.
‘I feel a little headache coming on,’ she said. ‘I think I shall just take a little air first, if nobody minds.’
‘But it’s dark, dear,’ said Lady Scoggie. ‘And you’ll have some air on the way over to the barn.’
‘I shan’t be long, Mamma,’ Deborah said, almost as if she had not heard her. She seemed to have her mind on something else, something distant. ‘I shall just fetch my shawl, and I shall see you all shortly.’ Murray pulled the boys back to let her leave the room before them.
‘You don’t need me to attend this dance, do you, Livvy?’ asked Major Keyes, as Mr. Bootham helped Mrs. Bootham with her shawl. ‘I have an awful lot of letters to write - the price of fame, don’t you know?’ He laughed, but without much conviction.
‘Well, if you insist, Alec,’ said Lady Scoggie, frowning. ‘At this rate we shall make a poor appearance in the barn. Come, Beatrix, you at least will come with us, and dance with someone, will you not?’ She took Beatrix’ arm firmly, as if expecting her to escape, too.
‘We are certainly in attendance,’ said Philip Bootham reassuringly. ‘We are greatly looking forward to witnessing this rustic sport, are we not, my dear?’
‘Come on, Henry,’ said Murray. ‘Pick it up and bring it upstairs.’ Henry reluctantly gathered together a box of bones he was trying to articulate back into the form of a hedgehog.
‘Can’t we go to the dance, Mamma?’ Robert asked, dragging his feet dramatically on the floorboards.
‘I thought you didn’t approve of dances,’ Murray pointed out.
‘But it’s Hallowe’en,’ Robert objected, ‘and we’re not having a party.’
And I won’t have a party either, thought Murray, if these two don’t hurry up and go to bed. ‘Come on, Robert, don’t hold Lady Scoggie back.’ At last he managed to manoeuvre both boys out of the parlour and up the stairs, and oversaw, perhaps with less exactitude than usual, their preparations for bed.
‘Why can’t we have a ghost story, Mr. Murray?’ pleaded Robert, once he was in bed. ‘Go on – it’s Hallowe’en.’
‘Please,’ added Henry, appearing in the doorway.
‘Bed, both of you,’ said Murray firmly, and immediately he saw their faces he felt awful. He had always loved Hallowe’en when he was small. ‘Oh, all right – just this once. And only the one ghost story.’
Henry came dancing into the room and bounced on to Robert’s bed, and pulled the eiderdown back to crawl underneath it. Murray cast a glance down at his dancing shoes, pulled a chair over to the bedside, blew out all but one candle, and waited until the boys were settled, eyes wide and gleaming in the dim light. His mind was racing, trying to think of a story that could not possibly involve either fishermen or lawyer’s clerks. He let a silence creep in for a long moment, then began.
‘This is the story of the headless horseman that rides the road to Elie. Have you heard of him?’
The boys shook their heads. Murray could see them calculating just how near the road to Elie was to the castle.
‘Well, I’ve not only heard of him. One night, not so long ago – two years ago to this very night – I saw him with my own eyes.’
‘Oh, you’ve decided to turn up, then, have you?’
Andrew spun round, but he already knew her voice. Grisell was behind him, hands on hips, her face flushed with anger.
‘I didn’t think you’d be fussed either way,’ he said, but he lacked the teasing tone she had been encouraging for weeks. She frowned at him. He seemed paler than usual.
‘Well, no, I’m not for myself. But there are some who have a higher opinion of you who might be concerned, I suppose.’
‘Well, if you’re not bothered, you won’t want to dance with me, I suppose,’ he said, pulling himself together.
‘I don’t – well, I might. Out of pity, you understand.’
‘I understand.’ He smiled at her at last. She was extraordinarily pretty this evening, he thought. The music stopped, and the dancers left the floor in a flurry of applause. The band struck up the first few bars of the next dance. ‘So are you going to dance with me, then? This seems like a good time to decide.’ The idea of slipping his arm around her neat waist suddenly seemed irresistible.
‘Well, all right, then.’ She smiled back. The idea of the feel of his strong arm around her waist suddenly seemed irresistible. She took his proffered hand, and stepped with him out on to the floor, which was turned to clouds under her feet.
Murray softly closed the door of Robert’s room and tiptoed down the passage. The boys were not asleep – if he had done his job properly they would not sleep for hours, he reflected with a grin, listeni
ng for the hoofbeats on the drive until the small hours – but he did not want to break the spell.
There had been some confusion over Mrs. Bootham’s cloak in the hallway, and by the time Murray arrived in the entrance hall the party were just about to leave.
‘Mr. Tibo was quick to get his cloak on. I let him go ahead to tell them we were going to be a little late,’ said Lord Scoggie, full of excitement.
‘I hope Deborah is all right,’ murmured Lady Scoggie. ‘Now, are we all set?’ Without further ado, she took her husband’s arm and led the party out of the front door. The Boothams followed, and Beatrix and Murray brought up the rear, closing the door after them.
Mrs. Costane came to meet them at the door of the barn, along with Mr. Naismyth in all his avian glory. The gentry smiled benevolently, and Mrs. Costane politely found them partners for the two dances for which they would stay. The music was stopped, and in a moment Lord Scoggie led Mrs. Costane out to great applause, followed by Lady Scoggie and Mr. Naismyth.
‘Miss Pirrie, will you do me the very great honour of dancing with me?’
For a moment Beatrix thought she was imagining things, but no: Philip Bootham really was leaning towards her, the light bright on his white-gold hair, his dark brows drawn together with just the faintest anxiety that she might say no. She looked, only for a daring second, into his dark blue eyes, until she thought she would swoon.
‘Of – of course, Mr. Bootham.’
She had no idea how they reached the middle of the floor – flew, perhaps, for all she knew – but there she was, facing him beside Lady Scoggie, waiting for the dance to begin, praying it would never end.
Murray, too, had little idea how he had ended up facing Mrs. Bootham, much against his better judgement. He had planned to dance with Hannah, harmless enough and a good dancer, he knew, after their practice in the kitchen. Failing that, he would willingly have danced with Beatrix, of course. But there she stood, smiling at him, a little toe tapping in time to the band as they played the first few bars. He was pleased, irrationally, to see that she was wearing gloves, as if the touch of her bare flesh could somehow complete the spell that he was trying to escape. He shuddered.
Knowledge of Sins Past (Murray of Letho Book 2) Page 20
