'How will you do it?'
'I don't know. It will come to me when I get to Edinburgh.' He put an arm about her and pulled her close. 'Mom, I love you. Leave it to me. I'll send for you but only if it all turns out right.'
He was not nearly as sure of success as he sounded but he had determination and he had the strength to help Mom and spare her agony. He said, 'I'll see if there is a flight tomorrow. Now let's go and confess to the family.'
It was three days before the order to investigate the death of Sir Gordon Campbell arrived from the Procurator Fiscal's department. Traces of strychnine had been found in the form of small crystals in his spine. The report that landed on Andrew's desk from the forensic men gave only these details and noted the fact that the medicine Sir Gordon Campbell had taken was known to contain the poison but in such small quantities as would make an accidental overdose impossible. Pure strychnine, probably in the form of rat poison, had been administered, or self-administered.
Anger flared in Andrew as he read the report. His hero had died an agonising death. His wife - for he was certain it was she - had chosen the ugliest method of poisoning. He went to the bookcase, took down the reference work and read:
Strychnine: A colourless, crystalline powder with a bitter taste. The substance occurs naturally in some seeds and plants, in particular the seeds of Strychnos nux vomica. Effects: Strychnine attacks the central nervous system. It causes exaggerated reflex effects when all the muscles contract at the same time. Symptoms: The victim's neck and face become stiff. Arms and legs go into spasm. The spasms become increasingly severe until the victim is almost continuously in the arched back position with the head and feet on the floor or other surface. Rigor mortis sets in immediately upon death, leaving the body in the convulsed position with eyes wide open and extreme facial grimace. Death from strychnine poisoning results from paralysis of the brain's respiratory centre rather than from convulsions. Strychnine is frequently used as a poison for rats and vermin.
He would get her for this. No poison had been found in her sister's body when she died, but the violent deaths - of her mother and Elizabeth and now her husband - were more than coincidence. Ruth Campbell had to have put rat poison into food or drink that Sir Gordon had taken on board. Andrew would start by having The Lizzie, which was impounded at North Berwick, examined for traces of the poison.
The funeral was being held on the day after the report came through to him. It was scheduled for 11 a.m. in the little graveyard on the Ingersley estate. Lady Campbell had requested that only immediate family and estate people attend, but Andrew would go and she could not stop him. Under such circumstances a police representative would normally be there.
However, Andrew had loved and admired Sir Gordon Campbell, who would not have wanted him to attend his burial as a representative of the police or cause distress to the family. They would all be questioned in due course, so he would play down his own presence and pay his personal last respects while keeping his eyes open.
On the morning of the funeral, Andrew, wearing a dark grey suit and black tie, was about to leave for the office when the phone rang. It would probably be for him, he thought, and waited until Ma came into the living room, her round face pink, cheerful and surprised. 'It's Robert,' she said. 'Robert Campbell. He's at the airport.'
'Tell him to wait there. Beside the main door. I'll pick him up,' Andrew said. 'Then ring the office to say I'll be in later this afternoon.'
He drove to the airport fast and spotted Robert from a good hundred yards or so. The boy had grown. He was broader, taller, and his hair -Andrew grinned as he shook hands made him look like a pop star. ‘Sorry about your father but it’s good to see you, Robert.'
'You too. All in black?'
'Yes.' Andrew opened the boot of the Zephyr for Robert's guitar. 'It's your father's funeral this morning. Eleven o'clock.'
Robert got in the front, beside him. 'I can't go like this,' he said, indicating the worn jeans, the open-necked cheesecloth shirt, the unshaven face. 'Should I hold back, do you think?'
Andrew wanted to see Ruth Campbell's reaction to Robert's return. He said, 'Of course you must go.' He looked Robert up and down. 'You're about my size. I'll lend you a dark suit and shoes. We'll go to my place and drive down to Ingersley together.'
'I hope old Nanny doesn't die of shock,' Robert said. Then, 'Do you know how my father died?'
'Afraid so,' Andrew said. 'I'll give you details on the way.'
Two hours later, at 10.50, the Zephyr rolled in at the South Lodge gate. Robert looked immaculate in his borrowed clothes. He was lucky, he thought. He and Andrew were very alike - almost like brothers or father and son. Andrew's clothes fitted him. Robert was narrower but they were exactly the same height and leg length. Even his shoes were a perfect fit. Andrew had also been considerate and professional in giving the forensic details and questioning him on Father's habits. Robert now knew that poison had been administered and that Mother was under suspicion.
He tried not to think about it as they got out of the car and walked the two hundred yards to the cemetery, cutting through the parkland of the estate, which, he realised, he had missed. Already he felt more alert, invigorated and alive. The air was cool by Tennessee standards - it was like the very best in air-conditioning, clean and clear. On the breeze could be smelled the sea. And in his heart Robert knew that there lurked under the loss of a great man something unseen and rotten. He had told Andrew that he had been certain for a long time that his mother had periods of madness, of old-fashioned lunacy. They often coincided with certain times of the year. He told him that he had come to expect them without ever admitting as much to himself. He could be sure of erratic behaviour and wildness in Mother in midsummer, with its long, light nights'.
Andrew said, 'Convenient. It won't stand as a defence. However, we have no proof - nothing to suggest anyone other than your father himself administered the poison.' Then Andrew suggested that they get today's funeral over with before police investigations commenced.
They reached the little graveyard where, around the family, hiding them from view, was a crowd of estate staff, maids, farm workers and their relatives. Local tradesmen too were there to pay their respects, so it was not until they were within a few yards of the grave that they were seen by the family.
Robert saw his darling Nanny, looking old and unsteady, leaning on a stick, her back as straight as ever. Her silver hair was drawn tightly down into the nape of her neck and a black velour hat was pulled down firmly, almost to her eyebrows. She looked across and saw him, smiled broadly and tugged at Mother's black-clad sleeve.
Ruth looked up over the gash in the earth where Father's coffin lay. Her face drained of colour as she recognised him. It was clearly, a shock to her. She mouthed the word 'Robert' to Edward, who had his back to them. Edward turned, looked across at them and gave a small, tight smile. Robert and Andrew approached the graveside and stood still, next to Edward, as the priest intoned, 'Ashes to ashes …’
When the crowd of mourners started off back to the house, Ruth turned to him. 'So. You're back! Why?'
Robert towered above her. He was a head taller than Edward, who kept giving him grateful glances as if to say, I'm glad you're home!
'To claim my inheritance. To run my estate,' he said grimly.
'Then you are on a wild-goose chase.' She had recovered her temper. 'There's nothing left of it and nobody can claim a thing until the cause of death has satisfied the procurator fiscal.' She looked at Andrew. 'You have the report by now, I expect?'
'Yes,' Andrew replied.
'You will want to talk to me?' she said. 'I can spare an hour, tomorrow afternoon.' 'We won't discuss it now.' Andrew saw, for the first time, a frightened look at the back of her shrewd blue eyes.
'Two o'clock tomorrow, then.'
Andrew nodded in agreement and fell behind to have a few words with the farm workers he had not seen for so many years.
Robert, too, dropped back to wait
for Nanny, after saying in the cultured, deep Scottish voice that proclaimed his good manners, 'Excuse me, Mother.'
Nanny was walking behind them, and now she took his hands eagerly and held on to him.'You aren't going back, are you, darling?' she said. 'We need you here, you know.'
She had shrunk a little and he had to bend right down to kiss her old cheeks. 'I won't leave again, Nanny. I'm back now - to look after you and Edward.'
He gave her his arm and escorted her into the house, where Mother had ordered a paltry cold spread - tiny sandwiches, biscuits and tea. There, everyone came up to him to say they were glad he was home. Edward particularly would not leave his side and seemed grateful to him that he had returned to take over responsibilities that he'd been afraid would fall to him. Only Mother looked as if she'd prefer it if this were his funeral instead.
Robert asked Phoebe if he could call later and then he saw them off -old man Davey Hamilton, Phoebe and Nanny since Andrew had offered to drop them off at their homes, four miles away.
Outside, Andrew helped Miss Taylor into the front seat while Phoebe and Davey Hamilton climbed into the back. He'd drop Miss Taylor off last and spring the surprise question on her when the others were gone. He said, to comfort her as they drove away, 'Today must be a strain for you. To see Sir Gordon Campbell laid to rest and to have Robert return.'
'I can't believe it,' she said. 'He never gave me his last address.'
'No.' Andrew smiled. 'I found him.'
'I can't believe it.'
Phoebe said, 'Lady Campbell didn't look too pleased to see Robert. She wants the estate for Edward.'
Andrew listened carefully. He'd noticed a lot - that Mike Hamilton and Ruth Campbell were at daggers drawn; that Phoebe too had little respect for her father but saved her iciest manner for Lady Campbell. It was plain now, from her tone of voice, that Phoebe detested Ruth.
'Tut tut,' Nanny Taylor said. 'Lady Campbell always thought Edward would make the better landowner.' She did not regain her composure for some minutes until Andrew turned off to Davey Hamilton's land.
'Those days are gone,' said Davey Hamilton. 'The old estates were doomed long ago. If his sons have his common sense they will sell up.'
Phoebe said, 'We make a profit.'
Her grandfather came back with, 'For how long? The lease expires soon. Young Robert may not renew it. Anything could happen. He could sell it for building, for caravan parks.'
'I don't think Robert will turn us off the land we've farmed for so long,' Phoebe said. Then wistfully, 'Unless he marries.'
Davey Hamilton leaned forward. He tapped Andrew's shoulder. 'Over there,' he said pointing towards Traprain Law.
‘What?' said Andrew.
'Where the Heinkel came down.'
'It must have been exciting all the same,' Andrew acknowledged before pulling up at a farmhouse with a neat, well-kept garden. Davey Hamilton thanked him and with Phoebe's help made it safely to his front door.
Andrew waved to them and drove Miss Taylor homewards. When they had gone a little way and she was relaxed, leaning back and off her guard, Andrew said, 'Do you remember all your patients - your clients, Miss Taylor?'
She looked at him quickly, unaware that he could see every flicker of expression from the corner of his eye, and said, 'Many of them, yes.'
'Do you remember a Flora Macdonald?'
He saw her hands tremble as she put them nervously to her throat and said, 'No. I can't say that I do.’
'She was tall. Red haired. She had a baby which you delivered.'
'No. No. I can't recall a girl of that name,' she protested, but her voice was feeble, her face was pale and Andrew knew she was lying.
He said, as they bumped along the stony path to her door, 'She had a boy on the fifteenth of April, nineteen forty. Fifteenth of April, nineteen forty. The birth was registered in North Berwick on the very day Robert was born.' He pulled up and looked at her. She was chalk white and he knew she would not tell more.
He was much nearer to the truth now; not on a false trail this time. It was not until he returned home later in the evening that he realised that Robert's guitar was still in the boot. He carried it into the flat, rang Ingersley and asked to speak to Robert.
'He's not here,' said Lady Campbell. 'Try Hamilton's farm.' But after a moment's pause, in a voice that had lost its didactic ring so that she sounded now as if she might crack, 'Why can't you leave us alone? I refuse to speak to you! I can't answer any more of your questions.'
'They are necessary, Lady Campbell. And you know they are.' But she had slammed down the phone.
Andrew rang the farm and spoke to Robert. 'You left your guitar,' he said. 'I have it here. It's safe.'
'I don't need the guitar,' said Robert. 'But I need some things that are zipped inside the pocket: my wallet, passport and stuff.'
'I'm coming to Ingersley to talk to your mother. I'll bring it tomorrow,' said Andrew.
'I have to go to Edinburgh to see the lawyer in the morning,' said Robert. 'Could you possibly take the papers to your office? I'll collect them on my way there. You could drop off the guitar in the afternoon, or-' there was a moment's pause -'could I ask for a lift back to Ingersley? I'd like to be there when you question everyone.'
Andrew said, 'Of course,' and put the phone down. He was not looking forward to tomorrow. He knew he would get enough evidence to charge Ruth Campbell, but what damage would this cause to Robert? He could be forced to sell and move away. Edward could lose his place at Dartmouth. And Nanny Taylor would lose all the people she loved.
He unfastened the guitar case, found the zipped pocket and withdrew all the papers it contained. He would find an old briefcase to hold the untidy sheets of music - he put these aside - the newspapers, wallet, passport and letters. Then and it felt as if an electric current had shot through him - he came across an old letter in a parchment envelope and his heart came thundering into his throat.
The writing was familiar. He stared. His hands shook. It was Flora's handwriting, exactly as it was when she last wrote to him. Not all that distinctive, but so well known. He had all her letters still. He'd recognise her handwriting anywhere. He turned it over and there, drawn on the flap of the envelope, was her own signature - the little drawing of a weeping tree. His fingers were trembling as he took out the pages written on ship’s notepaper and under the heading White Empress read:
Dear Nanny,
The voyage was uneventful and the White Empress comfortable but crowded. Our cabin companions were my new friend Joan and her daughter Mary. It made a difference having Joan. We shared the children though she could not feed Alexander. He is thriving - a bonny bouncing baby. He weighs 12 pounds and has been no trouble at all. He is such a contented child. We left Halifax by rail on the CPR to Montreal, setting off at 10.30 a.m. Joan and I had separate sleepers and we arrived in Montreal the next day at 10.30 a.m. We travelled through deeply forested country with high rolling hills and a wide, slow-flowing river that Joan says is used to transport lumber in the spring. I loved Montreal but found it a big disadvantage that I don't speak French. Joan is fluent. She said, 'Good job you aren't going to Quebec.'
Left Montreal at 9.30 and reached Belleville at 4 p.m. then changed trains for Bancroft. Thirteen little whistle-stops and four hours later we arrived in Bancroft. Aunt Dorothy and Uncle John met us and drove us home. They are wonderful people and I thank you for everything. Alexander is being thoroughly spoiled by Aunt Dorothy who says it's nice to have a baby in the house again after all these years. I have said I won’t stay without paying my way, and since they refuse to take the money (I still have nearly £100 left - or rather, $440 - and when you consider that a working wage is $18 a week that makes me rich), I shall make myself useful around the store and house.
I hear the news and read the papers. We got a few British papers though they come weeks late. And I am afraid for you living with the bombs and Blitz and rationing when I am living in luxury in a land of plenty. I wish you were
here, Nanny, out of harm's way. L owe you such a debt of gratitude. It was not until we sailed that I began to appreciate all you have done for Alexander and me. Joan Almond, my friend, told me that there were 210,000 applications for a place on the White Empress and that ugly questions were asked in Parliament, where the organisers were accused of giving places to 'the moneyed classes' while the working class languished.
Mr Churchill did not approve of the evacuation - he deprecates what he calls a stampede from Britain - but there was really not much that I could have done to help. Alexander and I would just be another two mouths to feed. Now I am here I am going to do whatever I can to help the war effort, as well as praying every night for you all. Love, Flora.
'God Almighty!' Andrew breathed when he put the pages down with fingers that had lost all sensation. 'There is even an address. She might still be in Bancroft.' Then, as he thought about the baby, Alexander, with the knowledge that this was his own, only son, his mouth went tight and his eyes filled with tears. He stood, running his fingers through his curly hair while pacing the room.
He could work out the sequence of events now. Nanny Taylor had delivered Flora's baby and, since they had nowhere to go, packed them off to Canada to live with her sister. It did not explain why Flora agreed to this, but now he saw how the connection had been kept up all these years.
Had Robert met Flora and his, Andrew's, son when Nanny Taylor was in Canada, having that holiday with her sister? His Alex? He could not wait until tomorrow to find out. He rang the farm again and was told by a surly-sounding Hamilton that Robert and Phoebe had gone for a walk and he had no time to go to look for them because the hay had to be moved.
'All right,' Andrew said. He'd have to leave it until tomorrow to ask Robert. Well, he'd waited twenty-one years. A day more would make no difference. But right now he'd go and break the news, gently, to Ma, and tell her that as soon as this case was over, he'd take a holiday -he'd take her to Canada, to a place called Bancroft, in Hastings county, and they would try to trace her grandson.
The Weeping Tree Page 34
