‘You must not leave. Where would you go? It is unthinkable.’ Lord Scoggie was trembling, Murray saw with shock.
‘Will you tell them?’
‘Tell us what?’ Robert demanded.
‘If I tell them – if we tell them – there is more to tell them than what you told us last night.’
‘Tell us what?’ Robert said loudly. Henry clutched Robert’s arm, staring at his parents.
‘I have told you everything, I promise,’ insisted Lady Scoggie, her voice urgent.
‘Not you,’ said Lord Scoggie. ‘Me.’
‘What?’ Lady Scoggie looked up at him, finally meeting his eye. He held her gaze. Murray’s head was reeling. He could not take the boys away now. He could hardly move himself.
Lord Scoggie pulled a chair over from the table to sit in front of his wife, their knees touching. He reached a hand out to take her hand, then seemed unsure of himself and folded his hands in his own lap.
‘You were away in London,’ he began, as though feeling for the right thread. ‘I was back and forth, London, Edinburgh, here ... The law case was not going well.’ The stupid claim to the Marquisate of Ballavore, that was why he had been travelling around Murray suddenly realised the enormity of the damage the case had already done. ‘You stayed in London with your aunt, and I was up here. You know when it was.’
‘When I was – betraying you,’ she whispered.
‘When I was betraying you.’ He repeated her words, and for a moment she did not understand. Then she stared at him.
‘Who ... ?’
Lord Scoggie, even the little Murray could see of him from this angle, looked suddenly sheepish.
‘Mary Kinkell.’
‘Mary ?’ Lady Scoggie was breathless. She searched her husband’s face, looking for a clue to this mystery. He nodded.
‘She had a child. My child.’ He took her hand now, as if he needed something to hold on to. ‘I thought it was Andrew. Now I know – it was Deborah.’
‘Deborah is your child?’ Lady Scoggie was almost inaudible.
‘My dear,’ He was still shaking. ‘You exchanged the babies, and Mary never told me. You – tricked me into bringing up my own daughter, instead of your son.’
Emotions chased across Lady Scoggie’s pale face, flickering with disbelief, anger, hope. She took a firmer hold of her husband’s hand, clinging to him with her thin fingers and her bright gaze.
‘What do you mean, your son?’ asked Henry, who looked suddenly surprised that his voice had worked.
‘Andrew is my son, Andrew Kinkell.’ Lady Scoggie was not even looking at him, keeping her eyes on her husband. ‘Mine and Philip Bootham’s.’
The movement was too fast for Murray to catch. Henry hurled himself across the still room, and flung himself on his mother, beating her with his fists.
‘How – could – you?’ he cried. Lord Scoggie half-turned from his wife, and tried to push Henry back. Murray strode over to pull him away, but Henry’s flailing arm lashed out sideways and knocked his father’s face.
‘Ow!’ cried Lord Scoggie as Murray dragged Henry back, trying to pinion his wild arms. Lord Scoggie covered his mouth quickly with his hands, but Robert was staring, aghast. Slowly, Lord Scoggie lowered his hands, and discreetly spat something into them, cupping it secretly. Then he looked up, and gave a little embarrassed smile.
Murray felt his own mouth drop open. In front of him sat a completely different-looking man. Lord Scoggie’s famous, gloriously protruding front teeth were gone.
Chapter Twenty
Lord Scoggie was scarlet. Everyone else stood or sat with mouths wide open, staring either at the huge gap in Lord Scoggie’s mouth, or at the odd bony thing clutched in his hands. Lord Scoggie looked from one to the other of them.
‘You mean you really didn’t know?’ he asked, and a faint glint of delight came over his face. ‘No one knew?’
Murray shook his head, but Lord Scoggie had turned to his wife.
‘We had no idea ... What happened?’ she breathed.
‘When I was in Edinburgh – you know I had an accident in a chair ... I knocked my teeth out.’
‘Oh, my dear!’
The boys involuntarily clutched their mouths, covering their own Scoggie teeth.
‘But the people I was staying with recommended a man who makes these clever things.’ He waved an embarrassed hand with the teeth in it. ‘He glues the teeth into this wooden slip, then glues them into your mouth. But they come out at night, and they take ages to put in again properly: the glue has to set ...’ Everyone looked a little sick. But Murray was thinking back to the night Tibo’s body had been found. Lord Scoggie, roused from his bed by Naismyth’s knocking, had taken a long time to appear. Murray had been tentatively picturing him removing traces of murder from his appearance, but was he simply trying to glue his teeth into his mouth?
‘My lord, the search parties need to be making a move,’ he said suddenly. ‘Geordie has gone ahead to see to his wife ...’ He stopped slowly, as Lord and Lady Scoggie looked at each other once more. ‘I’ll take the boys downstairs for now, shall I?’
There was no reply. He caught the boys by the shoulders, and guided them out of the schoolroom, wondering where he was going to take them out of the way. He was halfway along the passage with them when Robert looked round.
‘Mr. Murray, you’re wearing a sword!’ He peered again at Murray’s coat. ‘And pistols!’
‘Do you think you’re going to have to fight to get Chrissie Farquhar back?’ asked Henry curiously. He was still white in the face, and Murray was happy that he was not just asking questions about his mother’s behaviour. It would take him a long time to get over that shock.
‘No. Your father asked me to carry them until we find whoever it was murdered Mr. Tibo.’
Robert and Henry looked at each other, as they reached the stairs.
‘If you find out who it was, will you kill him?’ Henry asked, with a slight wobble in his voice.
‘I shouldn’t think so,’ said Murray, surprised. ‘Not unless he attacks someone else, and we have to defend them. Even then –‘
‘Would you kill someone who was trying to kill you?’ Robert asked.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Murray. ‘I daresay you’ll find out, if you join a regiment.’
He heard Robert swallow. They were nearly at the bottom of the stairs.
‘It’s just,’ said Henry, lagging behind a little, ‘we think we know who killed him.’ He looked up as he stepped off the last stair, and found himself in the hallway, crowded with the search parties. Major Keyes, with a nod at Murray, was gathering Geordie Kinkell’s search party.
‘He’s off home to see that Mrs. Kinkell is settled,’ the Major was saying, ‘then he’ll join us. So I think we should just follow him down there first, then we go on to the salt pans, I think.’ He waved the party towards the door.
‘I’ll just –’ Murray indicated the boys, and Keyes nodded. ‘I’ll catch you up.’ He turned, and virtually walked into Deborah.
He almost did not recognise her. She was wearing an old, plain dress, with a thick and practical shawl, and her hair was pinned up in a simple roll. Her face had a bleak look.
‘Did he say that Mr. Kinkell had gone home?’ she asked, without looking at Murray.
‘That’s right. He wanted to take Peter home, too: the boy’s exhausted, but he can’t leave him with Mrs. Kinkell.’
‘Then he can leave him with me. Peter is my brother, after all.’ With a grim little twist of the mouth, she began pulling on her bonnet and cloak.
‘Shall I take you there?’ A new voice came from behind her, and Murray looked round again to find Andrew at her arm. ‘Mother might find it strange, if you come unexpectedly.’
‘Thank you, Mr. Kinkell.’ She was ready, and turned to look up at him. ‘You are very kind.’
Murray stood and watched them depart in the wake of the search parties, trying to sort out in his head what Deborah’s posi
tion was now. She was Lord Scoggie’s daughter, and presumably acknowledged, even if illegitimate. There was no reason to doubt that she would be allowed to keep her present status, and could still make a good marriage, even if Major Keyes would no longer take her. The only question was whether or not she would accept her place: Deborah’s pride had been hurt, and she had the look of one who had been caught out in some shameful deception, even though she herself was not the guilty party.
And what of Andrew? As Lady Scoggie’s illegitimate child, he had less chance of adoption into his mother’s rank in society. Bootham would be unlikely to be in a position to help him, even if he wanted to. The chances were that, like many little accidents amongst the Scoggies’ class, Andrew would spend his days in the family’s service. Knowing Andrew, he would be able to use it to his advantage: he was not the kind to fail in life.
‘What are we going to do today, Mr. Murray?’ Robert asked, interrupting his thoughts. He looked down at the boys. Whatever had happened, their situation had hardly changed, and they still needed occupation and education. The schoolroom was busy: he took them across the hall to the library.
He pulled a copy of Shakespeare’s Henry V off a shelf, and took it back to the table where the boys had found seats. He flicked through to King Henry’s great St. Crispin’s Day speech, and handed the book to Henry.
‘I want you both to learn this speech and copy it out – here, there’s paper, and here are some pens. I’ll see how you’ve done when the search parties finish. And if you finish early – and mark, only if you really know the speech – you may go outside and play in the snow.’
Robert’s eyes lit up, and he grabbed the book from Henry. Murray left them, smiling briefly, and returned to the hall to find his cloak in the chaos left by the search parties.
He was still looking for one glove when he heard light footsteps on the stairs. He turned, and found that it was Beatrix. She was wearing a pretty gown that Murray remembered seeing only a few days ago on Deborah, and over it had a blue spencer and a warm cloak. It was not fastened, and she had to set her bulging reticule down on the hall table to tie the strings at her neck and adjust her bonnet.
‘Where are you off to? You look too elegant for charitable work,’ he remarked, smiling in appreciation. She blushed.
‘I’m just – going out.’
The blush made him suspicious.
‘Where is Philip Bootham this morning, then? I did not see him at breakfast.’
‘He took breakfast in his room. He thought it would be very crushed in the Great Hall.’
‘I suppose he thinks he’s going back to Aberardour Lodge today. He’s going to find it difficult: the servants have orders not to admit him.’
She laughed lightly.
‘Yes, I’m sure,’ she said. ‘Of course, he has no intention of going near the place. She can send on anything he needs.’
‘So he’s leaving, then? Good.’ Something about the set of her shoulders suddenly made him ask: ‘You’re not going with him, are you?’
She spun round, and darted over to him. Her eyes were bright as stars, and she seemed to glow.
‘Please, Mr. Murray, if we are friends, don’t tell Lord Scoggie until we are far away!’
‘Beatrix!’ He sank back against the wall, his one glove forgotten in his hand. ‘Beatrix, what are you doing?’
‘Going away with Mr. Bootham. He has asked me to go to England with him.’ An irrepressible laugh burst from her throat, as if what she was doing was perfectly proper, perfectly reasonable.
‘When did you decide this?’ He could think of nothing else to ask: his head was spinning. How did Bootham think he could get away with this? Beatrix had no money of her own. After last night, Lord Scoggie would never give her any, not to marry Bootham. And there was a question – was marriage what Bootham had in mind?
‘He asked me last night. You told me he and – she – weren’t married, so there was no question of him having any responsibilities towards her.’
‘Beatrix!’ He pushed himself upright. ‘This is not you speaking. This is Bootham. How can you think this way?’
‘Well, she has locked him out now, hasn’t she? She clearly doesn’t want him back, and I can – I can make him happy, I know I can.’ She smiled, dreamily. Murray was disgusted.
‘I just don’t see how you can do this. Your home, your friends, your reputation ... and he hardly has a history of reliability, has he?’
‘He says he loves me.’ Her face was defiant, shining.
‘And you believe –’ He bit his lip. It was hardly tactful to express doubt.
‘Well, I haven’t much ground for comparison. No one else has said it to me.’
After a moment he managed to meet her eye. Suddenly she was looking cold and unfriendly, but more lovely than he had ever seen her. But he knew that there was nothing he could do for her. He had nothing to offer her, nothing more than friendship. He sighed.
‘What?’ she asked.
‘I – I suppose I wish ... I wish things were different.’
‘I don’t.’ She smiled again, but not at him. He reached out impulsively, and took her gloved hand in his.
‘Then I wish you every happiness. But Beatrix, please remember: if you ever need help, or a friend, for yourself, will you do me the honour of considering me for the position?’
She laughed, but he was earnest.
‘Oh, very well. I shall remember,’ she assured him. Then she turned, hearing footsteps on the stairs. ‘Here he is!’
Philip Bootham paused on the stairs as they looked up at him, accepting the adulation of his audience. In the dim light, his hair was white gold, his hands, smoothing his gloves, long and suddenly spider-like. Murray shivered.
‘Trouble, my dearest?’ he asked Beatrix. She seemed to grow towards him, like a plant in the light.
‘Not at all. But we had better go quickly. We are to walk to Elie,’ she explained to Murray, ‘to take the coach.’
‘In this snow?’ asked Murray.
‘When there is no option,’ began Beatrix, but Bootham interrupted her.
‘What could be more romantic?’ he asked. ‘A brief struggle through the snowdrifts, to a warm fire and the beginning of our life together.’ He opened the door, and ushered Beatrix out before him, making to follow.
‘You have no shame, have you?’ Murray hissed at him. ‘Will you at least make an honest woman of her?’
‘I cannot do that,’ said Bootham smoothly. ‘I believe, somewhere, my wife is still alive.’
‘Jane Croft?’
‘Oh, good heavens, no. Someone ages before that. I’m afraid I have lost track of her completely.’
Murray felt his hands twitch into fists, but Bootham, probably with years of experience, seemed to sense the danger and slid out through the door, pulling it firmly behind him.
By the time he found his glove and left the castle, Bootham and Beatrix were nowhere to be seen. To make sure he did not catch up with them, he hurried down towards the far end of the lake, over the snowy grass, and slithered over the gap in the wall where Tom Baillie had come in the evening of Tibo’s death. Then he followed the crushed snow where the rest of the search party had headed down the hill towards Geordie Kinkell’s cottage.
He caught up with them just as Geordie emerged from the cottage, on his own. He was frowning, and waved the party on ahead of him, pointing in the direction of the saltpans to the north, along the shore. Murray fell into step with him, one eye on Keyes up ahead.
‘Are Andrew and Deborah with your wife, then?’ he asked quietly.
Geordie jerked his head round to stare at Murray, then shrugged.
‘Aye, I suppose you ken the whole story.’
Murray thought that perhaps he did, but that Geordie himself did not.
‘It’s a bit of a guddle,’ was all he said.
Geordie nodded.
‘It seemed a grand notion at the time,’ he said. ‘We’d had Peter, you ken, and we thoug
ht if we had another son he might be the same – now, Peter’s my son, and if anyone touched him I’d belt them, but I wanted someone who could support us when we were old ... When her ladyship wanted to exchange babbies, and the son she had was a grand strong one, I thought it was the right thing to do.’
‘And Mrs. Kinkell?’
‘Oh, aye, she agreed. She’s always been fond of Andrew, as if he was her own. Well, he’s a charmer, isn’t he?’
Murray agreed. He took after his father.
‘But did you ever wonder why Lady Scoggie wanted to exchange the babies?’
Geordie looked bland.
‘I always thought there’d been a wee indiscretion, ye ken? She’d been away a gey long time in foreign parts, and his lordship hadn’t always been with her.’
‘But you didn’t know who the father really was?’
‘Not till the fella turned up in the parish. And even then ... well, you’re not looking out for it, are you?’
They walked on together after the search party, saying nothing more of the matter. Murray was sure that Geordie thought he was Deborah’s real father. How much longer he would remain ignorant was a moot point.
No one at the saltpans had seen Chrissie Farquhar. Staring silently at the search parties, the families of the saltworkers allowed them to search their thin new houses, finding nothing. They worked their way back along the shoreline, hunting between rocks and amongst fissures, the fishermen at least pleased to be off the snow and on the slippery shore instead.
They met the other search parties back on the main street, and they stood around, scuffling miserably, while the search party leaders debated what to do next, pointing out to each other the houses and outbuildings they had all searched. Murray moved over to Keyes again: there was snow down both sides of his cloak, where he had evidently fallen again. There was no stopping the man: Tippoo shivered by his side, as he balanced on wooden peg and stick to tap the snow out of his boot.
Knowledge of Sins Past (Murray of Letho Book 2) Page 31
