Knowledge of Sins Past (Murray of Letho Book 2)

by Lexie Conyngham

  ‘Come in!’ called a voice, and he turned the handle, and went inside.

  Major Keyes was at the window, which he seemed to be struggling to close. Murray glanced quickly around the room. Apart from Tippoo, sprawled by the fire, the Major seemed to be alone.

  ‘The room was stuffy, and I wanted a breath of air, but now I think the sash cord has caught,’ Keyes explained with a rueful grin.

  ‘Let me see if I can help,’ said Murray quickly. He hauled down at the sash, but it would not move. In the process, he glanced outside. The snow-covered yard, far below the window, was empty. ‘No chance to take the boys out then?’ He nodded at the falling snow.

  ‘No! Pity: I love a ride in the snow.’

  ‘Have you seen Robert and Henry?’

  ‘Not yet.’ The Major was looking away. Giving up on the window, he had settled down on a chair at the little table he had been given as a desk. ‘Is that why you’re up here?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘I hope we don’t have more missing bodies to search for!’

  The use of the word ‘bodies’ was probably not supposed to mean ‘dead bodies’, but for a moment it was all Murray could picture.

  ‘I’m sure they’re around somewhere,’ he said after a moment, trying to sound relaxed.

  The room smelled of wet wool as the fire began to dry them both. The Major had had time to take his coat off and pull on a warm banyan: his coat, draped, Murray saw with surprise, on a spare peg leg, was propped against the wall by the door. The door itself had a long scar on it, from where Tippoo must have scratched to get out at some point.

  ‘Take a seat, anyway, while you’re here.’ Keyes waved to a low armchair by the fire. Tippoo squirmed as Murray sat down and gave a yawn of contented greeting, bright eyes on Murray’s feet.

  ‘I wish I could just go off to bed for a few hours and get some sleep,’ said Murray. ‘Now that the excitement of finding Chrissie Farquhar is over, I’m dead on my feet.’

  ‘Oh, you’re a young man. Imagine how I feel!’

  ‘And you’ve had a fight, too.’ Murray looked down at Tippoo. ‘I was interested by that kick you used. It never struck me that kicking was an option – for you.’

  ‘An old soldier’s trick,’ said Keyes, though it seemed to Murray that there was a tension in his voice.

  ‘You do it well.’ Silence fell. Then Murray nodded his head at the door. ‘I see Tippoo’s left his mark, anyway.’

  ‘He’s a menace, sometimes. It’s only if he’s left alone.’

  ‘Do you know,’ said Murray without expression, ‘I can’t think of a time since you came here that he has not been with you.’

  ‘He does tend to follow me around, that’s true.’ Keyes had a laugh in his voice, but his eyes were assessing.

  ‘So you would have brought him back up here, then, the night of the servants’ ball, and closed him in? You wouldn’t have wanted him following you, not that night.’

  Keyes took a deep breath.

  ‘Ah, I thought you were on to me. Damn you!’ he added, fairly affably. ‘I should have killed you, too, when I had the chance!’

  ‘When did you have the chance?’ said Murray, surprised.

  ‘Oh, at the boxing lesson. I tried a shove in the direction of that great mirror, but Cocky broke your fall.’

  Murray closed his mind to that for the moment: he had to concentrate.

  ‘So you did kill Tibo. No wonder you disregarded my warnings that the killer might have intended you.’

  ‘I was a bit surprised, it’s true. Lord Scoggie had told me – at length – how intelligent you are. You’ll have worked out then, by now, that I killed him because he was going to tell everyone about Deborah’s birth, about her true parents. I couldn’t allow Deborah to be hurt like that. You understand, don’t you?’

  ‘But the information came out anyway.’ Murray was very still. Keyes, on the other hand, seemed relaxed, his usual, jovial self.

  ‘Yes, that was unfortunate.’

  ‘I don’t think you did kill him because of that,’ said Murray. ‘For one thing, how did you find out what Tibo knew? Tibo hardly regarded you as a confidant.’

  ‘He worked out somehow about my cousin and that Bootham man.’

  ‘No, he didn’t.’ Murray felt vulnerable in the low chair. ‘He didn’t know about that. He knew who Deborah’s real father was.’

  ‘Do you mean my cousin had more than one affair?’ Keyes looked shocked. ‘That’s the kind of statement I would have to ask you to prove, Mr. Murray, otherwise I should call you out.’

  ‘No, Lady Scoggie is innocent of that charge.’

  ‘The Kinkell woman, then.’ Keyes sat back. ‘No wonder she was happy to exchange the babies.’

  Murray looked at him, taking in the easy face, the peg leg folded casually over the sound one, the hands crossed and forgotten on his lap.

  ‘You killed him because you were jealous of him, didn’t you? You killed him because he had gone out to meet Deborah.’

  Keyes’ head snapped round, his face suddenly white. Murray’s heart took off like a firework. In a second Keyes was out of his seat, and Murray was pinned back so hard in his chair that the chair tipped over backwards. They crashed in a heap on the floor. There was no question of swords: Murray rolled painfully on to the hilt of his, and Keyes’ was flung on the distant bed. Murray’s pistols, too, were inaccessible, though he hardly thought of them. Floor wrestling was not Keyes’ style, however: he pushed himself to his foot and peg, and hauled Murray after with horrible strength. He clutched Murray by the knot of his cravat, and punched him hard across the jaw. Murray’s head swam, but he struggled to find his balance, and jabbed under Keyes’ arms, in at his unprotected stomach – not a gentlemanly manoeuvre, but one the Pugilistic Chanticleer would have been proud of. Keyes jerked and folded, and Murray managed another blow to his left ear.

  ‘Where are the boys?’ he cried, beating off Keyes’ fisted right hand. ‘What have you done with them?’

  ‘Damn the boys!’ Keyes bellowed. ‘Damn them! They saw me trying to kill you at the boxing, then they were at the lake that night!’

  ‘So what did you do with – oof!’ Murray doubled now, as Keyes caught him off guard. He kicked at Keyes’ leg, but only hit the peg, a glancing blow that did nothing. Keyes seized him by the collar and struck again across his cheekbone. An astounding pain shot through Murray’s head. Keyes swung again for another blow, and Murray wriggled, then let himself drop, out of Keyes’ hands. He rolled rapidly out of the way as Keyes tottered. Keyes clutched the back of his upright chair, but now Murray had scrambled towards the door, panting, trying to clear his head. Tippoo circled him, barking and nipping. He was still on the floor. He turned his head. Keyes was close now: he had grabbed his stick, and balanced himself. He drew his peg leg back, ready to kick.

  Murray felt behind him. He seized Keyes’ spare leg, propped by the wall. Swinging it round fast, he hit Keyes’ good leg a cracking blow. Keyes gasped, staggering. Murray pulled himself fast to his feet, his back to the door, then sprang forward as Keyes tried to steady himself for another attack. The room was small. Two strides brought them both to the window again. But Keyes still had his stick. He struck out with it, beating Murray’s upper arms as Murray tried to use the spare leg to topple him again. Moments passed as blows rained back and forth, then there was a resounding crack. The spare leg, wielded by Murray, had broken the peg leg in two, in a jagged fracture. Keyes looked down, surprised, just as he was transferring his weight to the peg. There was a long second when neither of them seemed to understand what was happening. Then, in silence, Keyes toppled out of the window.

  ‘No!’ Murray lunged, trying to catch Keyes’ arm, or his stick. But it was too late. He saw Keyes hit the ground, with a final crunch: a sprawling scar on the immaculate white snow.

  Tippoo fell silent, staring at the window as if expecting his master to bounce back. Murray turned and ran.

  Down the sta
irs and out the front door, and round the wing that would take him to the stable yard and then the tight angle of the castle where Keyes lay. If he hurried –

  He ran straight into Lord Scoggie at the head of the stairs on the first floor landing. Lady Scoggie was with him, in companionable fashion.

  ‘Keyes,’ he gasped, as they took in his battered face. ‘Fallen out of his window.’

  ‘Keyes?’ Lord Scoggie raised his eyebrows. His teeth were back in place.

  ‘Don’t know what he’s done to the boys.’ Murray glared at his employer, wondering why he did not seem to understand. ‘Keyes murdered Tibo.’

  ‘Is he dead?’ demanded Lady Scoggie.

  Murray shrugged.

  ‘Have you seen the boys?’ he demanded.

  ‘Go and look for them,’ said Lord Scoggie. ‘I’ll see to Keyes. Out of his own window, you say?’

  Murray nodded, and wiped blood from his chin. He turned and ran back up the stairs, to Keyes’ room.

  There was no sign of the boys. He ripped off curtains and bed hangings, and knelt to look under the bed, but there was nothing. He stopped. Tippoo was heading out the door, but Murray could not believe that the dog had any interest in two small boys.

  Where should he try next?

  There was always the obvious.

  He ran along the gallery, and turned into the school room corridor. He stopped, and drew his sword, then listened carefully.

  There was no sound.

  He tiptoed along the rush mat that floored the corridor. At the school room door, he paused again. Then, taking a deep breath, sword at the ready, he turned the handle.

  Robert was sitting on the table, swinging his legs and eating a pie. Henry had a book propped in front of him, which by the look of it was their greasy copy of Cook’s Last Voyage, and was licking his fingers thoughtfully. They were alone.

  They jumped guiltily when Murray came in.

  ‘We’ve learned it, sir, but it was starting to snow, so –‘

  ‘And it was warmer up here, sir. And Mrs. Costane gave us these pies ...’

  ‘Do you want to hear the speech now, sir?’

  Murray could not believe the relief that filled him on seeing his pupils alive and well. He leaned back against the door for a long moment, his head in his hands.

  ‘What have you been doing, Mr. Murray? Your coat’s filthy,’ said Henry.

  ‘And why do you have your sword out? Have you found Mr. Tibo’s murderer?’

  ‘Have you found Chrissie Farquhar?’ added Henry. ‘Someone’s hit you on the face,’ he added, as if Murray might not have noticed.

  ‘Yes,’ said Murray. ‘Yes, yes and yes.’

  ‘Yes, you want to hear the speech?’

  ‘We’ve found Chrissie Farquhar, alive and fairly well. Someone’s hit me on the face. We’ve found Mr. Tibo’s murderer.’

  ‘Major Keyes?’ asked Henry, with a wary look.

  ‘That’s right.’ He could ask them, angrily, why they had not told him. He was too tired.

  ‘He pushed you down at the boxing lesson. We only realised afterwards, but he had gone all white.’ Robert was quite pale himself. ‘We thought he was just upset at Cocky. But then we thought he was really cross.’

  ‘Why was he cross with you?’ Henry asked.

  ‘I don’t know.’ He sheathed his sword, and rubbed a hand through his hair. He took a chair at the schoolroom table. Had Keyes really thought that he, too, was a rival for Deborah? Keyes said Lord Scoggie had sung his praises. It fitted the pattern: the hot temper, combined with jealousy: jealousy over Chrissie Farquhar long ago, or over Deborah now. But Tibo’s death had not been entirely impulsive. If Keyes had not planned something of the sort, he would never have left Tippoo behind, locked up.

  ‘Sir?’ Murray opened his eyes, and looked up.

  ‘Henry’s found another brilliant bit in Captain Cook, Mr. Murray. Do you think, if we pretended this table was the Discovery ...’

  ‘Is there a bit in it where the captive natives fall asleep, at all?’ Murray asked.

  Henry and Robert looked at each other.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Henry, sensing a deal to be struck.

  ‘Then I’ll take it,’ said Murray, and the game commenced.

  About the Author:

  Lexie Conyngham lives in North-East Scotland and has been writing stories since she knew people did.

  If you’ve enjoyed this, the second book in the Murray of Letho series, then you can go straight to the sequel, Service of the Heir: An Edinburgh Murder, here: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Service-Heir-Edinburgh-Murder-Murray-ebook/dp/B006O1GVBQ/ref=pd_cp_kinc_3

  Reviews are important to authors: you can review this book here: http://www.amazon.co.uk/review/create-review?ie=UTF8&asin=B00571NK0O&channel=detail-glance&nodeID=341677031&ref_=cm_cr_dp_wrt_btm&store=digital-text#

  There are several free Murray of Letho short stories, as well as the chance to follow Lexie Conyngham’s meandering thoughts on writing, gardening and knitting, at www.murrayofletho.blogspot.co.uk. There are even a few Georgian recipes, though none of them involves cormorant.

  Finally! If you’d like to be kept up to date with Murray and Lexie, please join our mailing list at: contact@kellascatpress.co.uk.

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