“Do sit near the fire. It’s so cold today. We were saying earlier, weren’t we, Beth, how cold it’s turned. We’ll have more snow before the week is out, you’ll see, and then we’ll all be housebound. Now dear, would you like some tea? Freshly made and from tea leaves. Beth and I can’t abide those teabag things, can we? No, they have no flavour at all” she said in a breathless voice before carrying on without waiting for her sister’s response. “How about some biscuits or a slice of cake to go with it? I’ve made a nice Dundee fruit cake. My fruit cakes are famous!”
Cassandra didn’t know whether to feel bemused or amused by Lorna’s frenetic personality. As well as talking with hardly a breath in-between sentences, she never kept still. Her head darted around on her neck as she looked from Elizabeth to Cassandra, her eyes small black dots of feverish activity. She reminded Cassandra of a rather large chicken.
“Er, tea would be lovely,” Cassandra managed before wandering further into the room. Elizabeth hadn’t said a word since her sister joined them, and Cassandra wondered if she too found Lorna overwhelming. She turned to her once they were both seated.
“I gather from my sister’s solicitor I have you to thank for finding Susan that day. I’m afraid I never knew her well. When I visited here before, we never really got to speak.”
“No. Lorna and I decided to leave you in peace. We thought you had a lot to sort out.”
“There wasn’t too much, nothing vital.”
“Mr Triggs indicated you’d probably sell the cottage. We don’t get many people visiting the valley as it’s so isolated. A young woman like you would be lonely on her own.”
There it was again. This was the third time the sale of Susan’s cottage—her cottage now—had been mentioned. Why were people so keen on her leaving the village? An involuntary shiver ran through her.
“Cold? I’ll put more coal on the fire,” Elizabeth removed the fireguard and placed a few pieces of fuel onto the glowing embers. “No. There’s not much to do in Inverdarroch unless you like fishing and shooting.”
“What brought you two here?” Cassandra couldn’t resist. The sisters were not farming people. Neither was born locally, judging by their accents. The house was a puzzle; inside, it was completely opposite to the others she had visited in Inverdarroch. Although all the cottages kept the character of their age, the Blackmores’ place was stripped of anything old. It reminded Cassandra of a new bungalow on the south coast of England, but it wasn’t quite right—the whole house looked cold and clinical. There were few personal things lying around: a small bookcase and a couple of muted watercolours on the walls. Cassandra would have expected ornaments, a row of china flying ducks over the mantelpiece, or a set of Toby jugs on the windowsill. Apart from a vase of silk flowers, the place could have been the reception in a doctor’s surgery.
Elizabeth shot her a swift look before replacing her frown with a smile and took a seat opposite. “It was Lorna. We needed somewhere quiet to retire, and this place was as good as any.”
Cassandra thought there was mystery there but decided not to push; she was a guest after all. “How well did you know Susan? You see, Susan left home when she was a teenager, and I didn’t find out about her until much later.”
Elizabeth looked interested. “To tell you the truth, we didn’t know she had any surviving family. Susan rarely mentioned anything about family things, and we assumed she was all alone in the world.”
“Was she a friend of yours? I’m sorry to persist, but you see, because I never got to know her, I’m keen to find out what I missed during all those years. What type of a woman she was. We only shared a few weeks together before she returned here and passed away.”
Elizabeth paused and stared out of the window. Two coal tits were scrapping over a peanut taken from the bird table. “She was ill, apparently.”
“I know Susan was diagnosed with a brain aneurysm. Mr Triggs told me. I wondered about her depression? The inquest said she died of an overdose. Did you know she took medication for it?”
The older woman darted a look in Cassandra’s direction. “I know nothing about pills or depression. We weren’t very close.”
Cassandra smiled. “No, I’m sure Susan will have kept that to herself. Depression is very personal and hard to deal with, especially when you’re living on your own.”
“She spent most of the time making her sculptures. Occasionally, she’d paint and take an easel out if the weather was fine. Or just a sketchpad…she seemed to like walking. Sometimes she’d be out for hours and would get home late. I’d see her passing by. I would have invited her in, but I know Susan would have refused because she kept to herself, mostly.”
“Angus told me there’s an exhibition of Susan’s work in Edinburgh. He thought I ought to go and see her work first-hand. Apparently, the pieces which are left in the cottage are only a few odds and ends. I thought some were quite strange, actually.”
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “In what way were they strange?”
“Well, considering she was an artist of repute, some of the pieces she left here are…quite amateurish. Not at all what I expected. You could even say they are childish in their execution. I’m no judge of art, but apart from the animal sculptures, there’s nothing there I’d have paid money for.”
“I don’t know what you’re referring to.”
When Elizabeth said nothing more, Cassandra wondered whether she had bored her with talk of Susan and her work. Out of politeness, she asked, “You say you came to live here because of Lorna…how long have you been here?”
Elizabeth cast a quick look in the direction of the kitchen before she spoke in a low voice. “We’ve been here for just over twenty-two years now. Lorna was suffering from depression, and it culminated in a nervous breakdown. Afterwards, she was desperate to live somewhere new, where we could start all over again, with no one knowing us. She likes it here and is adamant she wants to stay. I doubt if we’ll ever leave.”
Cassandra glanced away after seeing Elizabeth’s despondency…and something else. She thought it was loneliness. Poor woman. If she had been in the same position, she would have felt like climbing the walls. What on earth did she do to fill her day apart from looking after Lorna? “I understand. Perhaps we all would benefit from living quietly for a time. Do you ever leave the village? I mean apart from shopping for supplies, do you visit anyone socially or go away on holiday? This is such a small community, you must get lonely.”
She laughed. “Oh no, we couldn’t leave the place. Lorna would hate it. I confess I do sometimes get lonely though. It would be nice to have the occasional visitor, but we’ve let things drift with the few members of the family we still have. Besides, Lorna isn’t very good around a lot of people. She’s rather excitable, and I have to calm her down. I suppose years ago she would have been called highly strung.”
“I’m sorry, it must be hard. I don’t know whether I could do it.”
“It’s not a matter of knowing whether you could. You just do. Lorna is my responsibility, and I’d never leave her to cope on her own. She couldn’t.”
“Yes, I understand. Where were you before here?”
“Our family comes from Gloucester. We have a few cousins still living there, but nobody we really know. I was a chemist and Lorna owned a flower shop. We sold the two businesses and moved here. We had to because of Lorna. She couldn’t stand living there anymore. There were too many memories for her. It was the child, you see. It was all very sad, tragic and…and it shattered Lorna’s life. We decided she would feel better if she got away from everyone who knew.”
Elizabeth sighed and shifted her weight in her chair. “Of course, afterwards I couldn’t leave Lorna by herself each day, so it was just as well we sold up. We saved some money between us and pooled everything and bought this house. Anything left over, I invested. We’re okay, Lorna and I. We understand each other and get along.”
Cassandra stifled her cries of heart-wrung sympathy; Elizabeth must ha
ve heard plenty of those over the years. A dead child. Poor Lorna. And she thought she had worries. “That’s very distressing. I’m sorry,” she said.
“I assume you’re unmarried?” Elizabeth asked.
“Yes. I’ve never met the right person, but I live in hope! I’m sure he’s out there somewhere, just waiting for me,” Cassandra laughed.
Elizabeth smiled. “I’m sure he is. We all need someone to love.”
“Here we are at last! Tea for three, and I thought as it was so near lunch time, I could tempt you with a sandwich or two,” interrupted Lorna as she bustled into the living room carrying a laden tray. “Elizabeth, dear, if you would be so kind and pull the coffee table out. Yes, that’s lovely. Now I’ll just fetch the rest of the things.”
Cassandra and Elizabeth looked at each other and smiled. It was barely midday. “I hope you have a healthy appetite because Lorna doesn’t do things by half where the kitchen is concerned.”
By the time Lorna finished bringing food and china in from the kitchen, there was a small feast laid on the oblong table set before them. Cassandra didn’t know whether she should be dismayed or pleased at the prospect of so much food. As well as the promised sandwiches and cake, Lorna prepared bowls of steaming soup, scotch eggs, sausage rolls, and a small dish of salad.
“My goodness,” Cassandra murmured. “I didn’t expect this.”
“Have the soup while it’s nice and hot. It’s a favourite of ours and completely Scottish. It’s called Cullen skink. It’s a thick soup made of smoked haddock, potatoes, and onions. I’m sure you’ll love it.”
Cassandra shot a sympathetic look at Elizabeth, thinking how she had to put up with Lorna’s erratic behaviour every day, but the older woman chose to ignore it. Instead she made room for Lorna on the settee next to her, arranged a cushion to support her back, and insisted she took something to eat herself.
Cassandra noticed Lorna picked at her food, all the time talking and fidgeting while keeping watch on their guest’s plate. “Have another sandwich. Egg and cress, Elizabeth’s favourite. No? Well I have cream cheese and cucumber if you prefer.”
Cassandra resisted a strong urge to laugh. “I can’t have any more,” she said. “I’m almost full. You’re a super hostess, Lorna.”
“There’s cake. I’m sure you still have room for cake. I always think we must have a separate stomach for pudding or cake. Don’t you agree, dear?”
Cassandra weakened, knowing Lorna wouldn’t keep still or quiet until she placed a piece of Dundee cake on Cassandra’s plate. “Just a tiny slice. No, really, I wouldn’t want to waste it.”
“I’ll cut you off a segment to take home too. You can have it later on.”
Cassandra was about to object when she caught Elizabeth’s eye and the almost imperceptible shake of her head. “Thank you. That would be wonderful.”
“You know, you have a look of her about you,” she said, switching tack without warning.
Cassandra stared for a second before realising what Lorna was talking about. “Oh, you mean Susan, my sister?”
Lorna nodded, her head bobbing about like a cork in water, her black eyes bright and feverish. “Are you a sculptor, too? Is that the right word, Elizabeth?” she turned to her sister with a frown.
“I believe so.”
“No. I’m a photographer. I can’t paint or draw or make things out of clay. I tried it once, but my pot always slid off the potter’s wheel long before it resembled anything.”
“Shame. It’s funny I would have assumed art ran in families, though I suppose photography is a form. I just remembered, we have a picture of Susan’s. I don’t think she painted many, but she did one for us.” Lorna rushed to the other side of the room, returning a few seconds later holding a framed picture measuring about two feet by one.
“Look! Isn’t this beautiful?”
Cassandra looked and indeed it was. In fact, it was unbearably beautiful. After seeing Susan’s small animal sculptures, she guessed the standard of her work was high, but she was unprepared for this. The picture was of a child, a boy sitting on a moss-covered rock with swirls of mist behind him. It was the boy’s eyes which held Cassandra’s attention. They were huge and violet-coloured, perfectly matching the tufts of heather growing at his feet. A basket of toys lay beside him, and it was this which held the clue. The boy was about ten years old, but the toys were for a much younger child. Should there have been another child playing alongside the boy in the heather? It was a mystery, and Cassandra knew it was one she couldn’t ask without upsetting Lorna.
Lorna sniffed and looked at Cassandra. “Susan hadn’t been well because of the flu, and Beth and I kept her supplied with food. She painted the picture as a thank you. It’s one of my most prized possessions, especially since Susan rarely painted anything. She said she much preferred to work on a sculpture of some sort.”
Cassandra felt Elizabeth’s eyes upon her, and she wondered if the picture reminded poor pathetic Lorna of the child she lost. She was curious to know about the boy, but something told her she should keep quiet on the subject.
She knew that when Angus escorted her to Susan’s exhibition, she would have to get him to tell her everything he remembered about her sister. For the first time, she felt Susan was reaching out, and she was on the brink of knowing her.
Chapter 16 January 2013, Inverdarroch
As she walked home, not only was Cassandra aware Elizabeth and Lorna were watching her departure from behind their net curtains, but she was sure several other hostile stares were following her. Out of the corner of her eye she looked for tell-tale twitching curtains or vague reflections on the glass. She suppressed a shudder…she never considered herself a dramatic person, but she couldn’t rid the feeling that her every move was being watched…ever since she had arrived, in fact. It was odd and unsettling; why was she being watched? She shrugged off the thoughts, thinking it was to be expected in a small, insular village.
Back at the cottage, she glanced at her watch, resolving not to be idle. There were still a few good daylight hours left to get on with her walls. She changed into some old jeans and a pair of tatty trainers to match, before tying her hair back with a band.
Sorting out some brushes and a paint roller she looked round for the paint and remembered she had left the can in the shed. Cassandra went back outside, pushed open the door, and gasped in horror. Wherever she looked, every wall and surface was daubed or splattered in globs of sticky white paint.
Who on earth could have done this? Shocked, Cassandra staggered back from the mess, shaking all over. She knew real fear back down in England; her job in the early days occasionally led her into places she would rather not have gone. But this was a blatant trespass on her property. Not only that, it was wanton destruction. Someone didn’t want her in Inverdarroch and was hell-bent on getting rid of Cassandra by trashing the house. Thank God she had locked the cottage up before leaving that morning. Heaven knows what wreckage would have been done if the culprit had entered her home.
Home! She called the cottage ‘home’ for the first time. And this seemed to deepen her resolve. She didn’t know who had done this or when, but she wasn’t going to let it drive her away.
She found an empty bucket, a brush, and some cloths. Hot water and a great deal of scrubbing would clean up some of the mess.
About an hour later, Cassandra heard someone knocking on the door. Pushing her hair out of her eyes, she left the shed and went to see who was calling.
A familiar lean and rangy figure stood on the step looking outwards at her unkempt garden. Cassandra felt her heart give an unexpected jolt when he directed his deep-blue gaze on her. For the second time in his company, she wished she was wearing something more attractive. This was ridiculous, she chided. She was an adult, but the sight of an attractive man such as Angus standing on her front doorstep set her heart racing and her knees go weak and wobbly. For the first time in ages, she felt entirely feminine and something bordering on pathetic.
>
“Angus.”
He must have sensed something by her posture or in her voice. With two long strides he was by her side and peering down at her with a look of concern in his eyes. “What is it? Has something happened, Cassandra? You’re filthy and covered in paint. Have you had an accident?”
His words brought back memories of the morning, and she found her knees shaking even more. Horrified, she felt like bursting out crying, and to her dismay, two large fat tears slid down her cheeks. For goodness sake, she never blubbed in front of strangers! What was happening to her?
Angus stepped closer, and Cassandra felt his arms on her shoulders. He scrutinised her face, gently lifting her chin with his fingers, and raised his eyebrows in concern. “Hey! Please don’t cry. Tell me what’s troubling you.”
Unable to trust herself to speak, she jerked her head back in the direction of the shed. Angus dropped his arms, turned and strode into the building with Cassandra on his heels. He took one look around the place and shot her a questioning look.
“I was out this morning and came home sometime after twelve and found this. I found a can of paint earlier and planned on freshening up some of the walls. Angus, who would do this horrible thing?”
He looked back at the mess, shaking his head. “I’ve no idea. This is awful. How long were you out? I take it you didn’t lock up.”
“The cottage was, but not here. I left home about ten-ish.”
“Who knew you’d gone out? Did you see anyone as you left?”
Cassandra thought back to her morning’s activities and shook her head. “Not when I first left the house. I went along to Donald and Fiona’s. She came round this morning and invited me over for coffee. I stayed there for about three quarters of an hour. Then I called in at the farm and saw Mrs Campbell. Two of her sons were in the yard. Shortly after, I was on my way back here when I saw Elizabeth Blackmore in her front garden. We chatted and then her sister joined us and invited me in. Unfortunately, I stayed longer than I’d have liked, as Lorna…well, it doesn’t matter. The point is if I’d come back sooner, I might have caught whomever did this in the act.”
ON DEVIL'S BRAE (A Psychological Suspense Thriller) (Dark Minds Mystery Suspense) Page 8
