‘What a pity we can’t talk to your mother about it,’ said Nora smoothly. ‘But you know she’s become quite ill and has been taken to hospital. I’m sorry, Charlie, but I’m told they won’t let anyone visit, even you. She’s going to be fine, but she may be there for some time, so you need to work on recovering fully yourself, so you can get back out to the dig. You haven’t been for several days, have you?’
We could see Charlie processing the information about his mother. Concern and relief chased across his face. ‘You’ll tell me when I can visit?’ he said.
‘The very moment, I assure you. Meanwhile she’s getting the best of care and doesn’t need a thing, so you’re not to worry.’
‘Well, then.’ He took a deep breath. ‘What day is it?’
‘Thursday,’ I replied. ‘The first of July.’
He got agitated again. ‘But that’s dreadful! I’ve been away for days. And the museum! Who’s been looking after the museum?’
‘It’s all right, Mr Norquist,’ I said soothingly. ‘They’ve closed it since you went away. They know no one else could run it properly, you see.’ I thought we’d better not tell him about the missing artefacts until we had to.
‘Who closed it?’ he asked sharply. ‘No one had the right to do that.’
I was somewhat taken aback. ‘I suppose it must have been Mr Larsen, as president of the Friends. They’re the trustees, aren’t they?’
‘Yes, but I must tell him … I must …’ He tried to get out of his chair, but fell back, clutching his chest.
I didn’t have to be told to ring for a nurse.
TWENTY-EIGHT
‘They say it was a minor heart attack,’ I told Alan hours later. Nora and I had accompanied Mr Norquist to the hospital and endured the harsh words of the doctors. I, for one, felt we’d earned them. I had forgotten about Norquist’s heart condition. Now I was back at the flat, sitting by the fire with Alan, trying to sort out what I’d learned. ‘It was too much for him, all that stress on top of those awful days in the shed. We should have known better. It’s really a wonder it wasn’t worse. He must have a stronger constitution than meets the eye.’
‘Don’t blame yourself too much, love. How were you to know what would upset him? You say it was about the museum?’
‘Apparently. There was something he felt he had to tell Larsen, something about the museum or the trustees, or maybe the collection. I have no idea, really. I just know he tried to get out of his chair, and then he turned sort of blue and collapsed, and I was scared to death. I thought we’d killed him, and we sure got a tongue-lashing from his doctors.’
‘You can just be glad his mother wasn’t there. She might have given you a cane-lashing.’
‘Oh, that reminds me. Aside from whatever bothered him about the museum, there was one very interesting thing that turned up. We got him talking about the ancient rites, and sacrifice, and all that, and he went into some detail about what the sacrifices might have been. Well, he didn’t say might, but …’
‘He was probably as authoritative as he could be, which is considerable. Go on. What was so interesting about it?’
‘He got into a bit of a lather about the idea of human sacrifice, and said that Abraham was a barbarian, or something like that, and then he said that the Aztecs and the Incas might have practised human sacrifice, but never the Neolithic Orcadians, never, never – and this is the interesting part – “no matter what my mother” and then he broke off and got all panicky, and Nora had to assure him that the witch couldn’t come and get him. She didn’t say that in so many words, of course.’
‘“No matter what my mother says.” You think that’s how he would have ended it?’
‘I’m nearly certain. Because he was obviously terrified at the idea of contradicting her, even when she wasn’t nearby, lest somehow she find out. I think he thinks she’s a seer, or a witch – a real one, I mean.’
‘And I’m not so sure he’s wrong,’ said Alan. He adjusted his position in the chair, trying to ease pressure on the various welts Mrs Norquist had inflicted back at the shed. ‘I trust they’re going to see that she’s kept from doing any more harm to anyone.’
‘Especially her son. Alan, that poor man hasn’t been able to call his soul his own for … well, probably ever.’
‘I hope,’ said Alan soberly, ‘that he still has a soul of his own. A mother like that can destroy a person so utterly that he can never be healed.’
‘That’s what Nora said. Remember? She said she’s the sort that eats her young. But he still has that spark of rebellion. That gives me hope that he still may have a persona of his own. He wouldn’t agree with her about sacrifice, even though the dissent terrified him.’
‘Well, we just have to hope that the doctors can get him to the point that he can make a cogent statement. We still don’t know why he was in hiding, and that’s what matters most just now.’
‘And,’ I said, ‘if we’re to be in on it, it needs to happen soon. We have this flat for only a few more days.’
‘Our holiday hasn’t worked out quite the way we’d planned, has it, love?’
‘But then,’ I said, smiling at Alan, ‘they seldom do, do they? We do seem to attract trouble wherever we go. At least it isn’t dull. And Alan, I want to come back here one day. There’s something about this place … I don’t know, it’s got a grip on me.’
‘Probably some of your ancient forebears lived at Skara Brae. Didn’t you say you have some Scandinavian in you?’
‘My mother was an Anderson,’ I admitted. ‘Spelled with an O, though, so Swedish, not Norwegian.’
‘Or changed by time and/or your Ellis Island authorities.’ He yawned.
I yawned in response. ‘Do you want to take Watson out, or shall I?’
‘I think I’ll let him out, rather than taking him, given the weather. If I can persuade him to go, that is. You go on up to bed.’
‘I’ll do that, after I pray for a miracle of healing for poor Charlie.’
I was asleep before he came upstairs.
The miracle came just as we were finishing breakfast the next day, and it was typical of the perversity of my nature that I didn’t welcome it.
The weather was no better than the day before. Watson was getting short shrift in the matter of exercise. I’d been first out of bed, so I’d let him out onto the patio for his hygienic necessities. He would much rather have stayed in, had it not been for the urgency of nature’s call, and he answered it as rapidly as possible and whined to be let back in. If he could have spoken in English, I’m quite sure he would have had some opinions about indoor plumbing for dogs.
‘I agree completely, old boy,’ I said, shivering in my bathrobe. ‘Here, let’s dry you off, and then we’ll get some breakfast into you, and some coffee into me, and we’ll both be happier.’
Alan came down shortly after that, and we lingered over our oatmeal. ‘For,’ I’d said, ‘it may be the beginning of July, but it feels like the middle of winter, and I want something hot and sustaining inside me.’ Alan, like a true Brit, called it porridge and took it with just salt and milk. I loaded mine with brown sugar and raisins, and would have indulged myself with cream if we’d had any.
We were just thinking about getting showered and dressed when my phone made those peculiar noises that meant a call was coming in. It irritates me. Old fogey that I am, I think a ringing phone ought to sound like a ringing phone. ‘Yes?’ I said into it, in a snappish tone.
‘I’m sorry if this is a bad time, Dorothy, but can you both come straightaway?’
‘Nora? Come where?’
‘The rectory.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Charlie is here, and I think you need to hear what he has to say.’
I looked out the window. I could barely see the huge ferry at the dock, so blinding was the rain.
‘Oh, dear. I mean, that’s wonderful news, but we slept late this morning, and we’re not even dressed yet.’
‘I think it’s important,’ she r
eplied. She sounded as calm and serene as she always did, but there was a hint of steel in her voice. She Who Must Be Obeyed was speaking.
‘We’ll be there as soon as we can,’ I said, and clicked off.
‘You know,’ I said to Alan as I got to my feet and began to clear the table, ‘As much as I want to get to the bottom of this mess, I’m getting just a little tired of crises having to do with Charlie. That was Nora. She wants us to go to the rectory right away. I can’t say the prospect of more alarums and excursions thrills me.’
‘Have another cup of coffee, and then go get dressed,’ said Alan. ‘I’ll wash up.’
I grumped upstairs. Charlie Norquist was developing into a prime pain in the neck, and for once I didn’t want to see Nora, either. I wanted to stay home and nurse my bad mood.
I remembered what had happened the last time I’d felt sulky. Nora had sent us to the Italian Chapel, and I’d been shriven. As contrary as I was feeling just now, she was likely to have the cure. I sighed, finished my coffee, and headed for the shower.
Alan has put up with my moods for long enough that he knows better than to try to jolly me out of a really good snit. He spoke very little until I was finally ready to go, and then said only, ‘We’ll drive up.’
‘That’s ridiculous! Where on earth will you park?’
‘Don’t know.’ He opened the door to the attached garage. ‘In you go.’
It took longer to drive up to The Street than it would to walk. Traffic on the narrow street was awful, even though, or perhaps because, very few pedestrians had ventured out. Alan stopped in front of the steep, narrow passageway leading to the rectory. ‘You’ll have to walk from here, I’m afraid. Here’s my brolly; it’s bigger. I’ll be with you in a tick.’ He all but shoved me out of the car and drove on before I could argue.
Despite the big black umbrella, I was very wet indeed when I rang the bell and opened the door of the rectory. Nora came to meet me. ‘My dear, I know you’d like to strangle me, but this really is necessary. Did Alan not come with you?’
‘He drove me up. He’s trying to find a place to put the car.’
I was trying not to sound the way I felt. I dropped the umbrella in the stand with rather more force than was necessary and shook my raincoat with extra vigour, spraying rainwater around the entry almost as efficiently as Watson. My hostess only smiled and offered me a pair of slippers. ‘I’m sure your feet must be soaked.’
They were, in fact. I slipped out of my shoes and into the slippers, beginning to feel ashamed of my ill nature. What was it with me these days, anyway? Nora took my coat with no care against getting herself wet and hung it on the rack. ‘Charlie’s in the sitting room,’ she said softly. ‘I talked them into releasing him from the hospital into my care. They’ve given him something to calm him down, and he’s really quite himself, but they couldn’t say for certain how long the effect of the drug will last. I wanted you to hear what he has to say while he’s still … well, you’ll see.’ She turned toward the sitting room.
‘Nora, wait.’ I had, I thought, figured out what was really wrong with me. ‘I need to know what I’m getting into. Can Alan and I ask him questions without sending him into another heart attack? Because I don’t think I can take much more drama. I … you see, my first husband died of a sudden heart attack, and … actually, I didn’t realize until this minute why I was so loath to come and see Charlie.’
‘I understand, and it’s all right. I mean, your reaction is reasonable, but it will be all right to say anything you like to Charlie, as long as you’re gentle about it. Just now he’s eager to tell his story. You’ll see why. Ah, here’s Alan.’
Alan was as wet as a man can well be, short of drowning. ‘You had to go back to the flat, didn’t you?’ I said accusingly. ‘And without your umbrella.’
‘I won’t melt,’ he said. ‘Dinna fash yoursel’, lass.’
His Scottish accent was a lot better than his American, but it still sounded strange coming from his very English lips. I smiled almost in spite of myself, and he stepped toward me and then backed off. ‘I’ll not give you a hug, my love. You’re reasonably dry. Let me just rid myself of this coat, which weighs approximately fifty pounds, and I’m at everyone’s service.’
Charlie was looking much, much better than the last time I’d seen him. His cheeks weren’t exactly rosy, but they were back to his normal colour, and his expression was the normal prissy one. ‘Good morning, Mrs Martin, Mr Nesbitt. I hope we can get this over quickly. I am exceedingly concerned about the museum. It’s most irregular for it to be closed at the height of the tourist season, and there is much I must see to.’
‘I believe some of the volunteers have been keeping it at least partially open, sir,’ said Alan. ‘In any case I doubt there’d have been many visitors today. The weather is not conducive to a pleasure outing.’
‘All the more reason why I should be there. I have no doubt there are things that have been left undone since I have been away. However, I wished to acquaint someone with several important details about the recent disgraceful events surrounding High Sanday. Mrs Tredgold tells me you have the ear of the police, and I would rather deal with you than with them.’
He’d have to deal with them eventually, but I saw no reason to tell him so right away. ‘We’re eager to hear your story, Mr Norquist. We’d both like to know why you went away.’
‘That’s soon told. I went away to avoid being murdered by Mr Fairweather.’
‘I expect you’d like some tea,’ said Nora into the sudden silence, and slipped away.
Alan was the first to recover his aplomb. ‘And why did you think that Mr Fairweather intended to murder you, sir?’
‘I assure you, it was not a matter of “thinking”. I knew quite well what he intended. I was a danger to him, you see. But perhaps I had best begin at the beginning, though I hate to take the time.’
‘Please do.’ Alan sat back with the air of one who had all the time in the world, and I tried to assume the same manner.
‘It’s somewhat difficult to know where the beginning really began, if you follow me,’ said Charlie in his dry, pedantic way. ‘I suppose it really goes back to when Mr Fairweather was hired to direct the dig. I was not in favour of his appointment, for he seemed to me to lack the requisite single-minded commitment. An endeavour such as this one can become a life’s work, and Mr Fairweather did not, I thought, quite understand that. However, I am not an influential voice in the Friends, though one would think I ought to be. I voiced my objections. I was overruled. Mr Fairweather was hired.’
Nora came in with a tea tray, poured out for us all, and sat down noiselessly.
‘The trouble actually began when Mr Carter interested himself in the dig.’ Charlie sipped his tea nervously, pausing after every sentence to refresh himself. ‘He was not a sympathetic character, and I could see at once that his motive was self-aggrandizement rather than the furthering of knowledge. Again my objections were ignored. Archaeology is expensive. He had money. He was embraced by Mr Fairweather and, to a lesser degree, by Mr Larsen. Might I have a bit more tea, Mrs Tredgold?’
None of this was new information, of course. I was impatient for Charlie to get the point of being an almost-victim of murder, but a look from Alan made me bide my time.
‘I could see,’ Charlie went on, ‘that Mr Fairweather was growing more and more disenchanted with Mr Carter, as was I, and really, everyone who knew him. He was a most unpleasant man. He thought he could buy everything and everyone, and he knew nothing, nothing at all, about archaeology. He became obsessed with digging deeper and deeper at High Sanday, without regard to what might be destroyed in the upper layers. He was foolish enough to think he would find gold, Viking gold, when the Vikings were of an entirely different period, much, much later than the dwellings we were finding. They were finding, I should say. I, of course, was simply an observer.’
There it was again, his not-so-veiled irritation at being shut out of the inner circl
e. How much of his statement now was motivated by that envious anger?
‘The night of the meeting was when it all came to a head. Mr Fairweather seemed to handle himself well, but I knew he was beside himself. He was so upset he did something he had never done before. He invited me out for a drink. He said he needed to calm down, and said he thought I could use what he called “a little tranquilizer” myself.
‘Now, I am not a drinking man, but I did not feel I could turn down an invitation from my superior in the Friends. He was, in a way, my boss, though of course Mr Larsen as President of the Friends is really the head of the museum. At any rate, Mr Fairweather took me to a pub. I was at the time grateful that it was in a rather remote village, where I might not be recognized. My mother … that is, I should not have wanted anyone I know to see me drinking.’
‘Mr Fairweather mentioned that you and he had a drink or two,’ I said. ‘He told us in confidence, you understand, to help us in making sense of Mr Carter’s death.’
‘And did he tell you the extraordinary proposition he made to me?’
Alan and I looked at each other, then shook our heads. I realized I was sitting on the edge of my chair, and scooted back. Charlie didn’t notice, but went ahead with his narrative.
‘He told me he was going to the dig that night at midnight. It was the solstice, you remember. He said he had heard that there might be some activity at the site. “Goings-on” was the term he used. I wasn’t altogether sure I knew what he meant by the term, but I didn’t care for any of the possible meanings. He suggested that I might care to go with him, in order to prevent what he called “blasphemies”. I told him I would think about it and let him know. I would have had to go with him, as I do not own a boat. He quite urged me, and bought me several drinks. I do not have a strong head, as I am unaccustomed to spirits. At last I managed to break away. Fortunately, we had driven separately, so I was able to make my way home, and I have to say that I am grateful I met with none of the constabulary on the way home, for I was certainly in no condition to drive. And that is virtually all I remember until I was awakened the next morning with the news of Mr Carter’s death.’
Shadows of Death Page 23
