A Death in the Loch (11 page)

‘If either of you dare to say this is beyond my little brain I shall do something drastic with that poker!’

Bertram slumped back into his chair. ‘Well, it’s certainly beyond my little brain.’

‘You’re telling me you’ve no idea what the Westminster government is planning to do with my country?’

‘Rory, do I strike you as a political figure? I’m never going to be a man of the state. Why, I can’t even keep my roof on my own home.’
[13]

Rory stopped scowling. ‘I suppose it would be more believable if your brother was in involved in this.’

‘And you know how likely I am to do him a favour,’ said Bertram.

‘Aye, all right,’ said Rory. ‘Maybe ye dinnae ken, but you’ll no be one to be stopping it.’

‘What? For heaven’s sake, what?’ My voice verged on the edge of a scream.

‘They’re only going to go and cut Scotland off from the rest of Great Britain. Annex it like some forgotten county. No doubt leaving us all up here to rot.’

‘That’s ludicrous,’ said Bertram. ‘What are they going to do? Build a wall?’

‘Aye,’ said Rory, still sounding ridiculously Scotch as he does when he is very upset. ‘Only the Highlands, mind. They’re keeping the rich southern areas that are fine for farming. The rest is cast off.’

‘Good God, man!’ exclaimed Bertram. ‘No man in his right mind would do that. Where would one go for the shooting? Where would we get pheasant to eat?’

‘Nice to hear you appreciate my country for something,’ said Rory sarcastically.

I attempted to be the voice of reason once more. ‘Rory, you’ve obviously seen something. Can you show us?’

‘I didnae take the maps. That would have aroused suspicions.’

‘But you are sure you saw them,’ I persisted. ‘Some dreams can have the semblance of reality.’

Rory addressed Bertram, ‘When you left me in here you said you were off to find someone to shed reason on tonight and you got her?’

‘I thought you might be more likely to talk to her. And you have been.’

‘Were you searching Miss Flowers’s room for the maps?’

‘Aye, I thought with her missing I wouldnae be disturbed. And she was secretary like so I thought it was a good chance she kept watch over the papers.’

‘And you assumed he was going to remove evidence rather than search for proof.’

Bertram nodded.

‘Well, it all seems very simple to me. We must all go and search Miss Flowers’s room.’

‘But the police …’ protested Bertram.

‘Exactly. They will be back tomorrow. And if you take a look through that window you’ll see we are fast heading towards dawn. We must act quickly.’

There was some more ranting about who believed whom and who had been unreasonably suspicious of whom. Bertram also went off a fair bit about messing with police procedure. I left them to it, crossed the hall and quietly opened Miss Flowers’s bedroom door. I went over to the window and drew back one of the drapes. The blue-grey light of the early morning flooded the room. Traces of the night’s darkness lingered and the light did not seem to fully reach the corners of the room. The scene had a strange, dream-like quality. The natural colours were all changed in a way that made the room look as if it was underwater.

There’s a feeling rooms have when someone is gone. I’ve noticed it before when I have entered into the room of a deceased person. You might say it is my imagination, but to see all their things laid out as they were last used, used by an owner who had no doubt he or she would be using them again, left lying forlorn, does something to my insides. I picked up Miss Flowers’s hairbrush. A cheap sort with harsh bristles and a wooden back, strands of her hair still clung to it. Absent-mindedly I picked them out and put them in the waste paper bin in much the same way as she might have done. I sat down and looked into her dressing table mirror. No shade looked back at me. I saw no reflection but my own. I was simply intently aware of her absence. I knew she was dead.

On the dressing table was set out a cheap but gaudy collection of facial cosmetics. I felt a twinge of sympathy for the woman that had nothing to do with whatever her fate had been. I had judged her unkindly. As someone else had said, she had been a poor girl trying to make good. And look where it had got her! Secretary to someone in the government. Not, I thought, a proper civil service type of job, but note-taking, tea-making, and being useful. Being so useful, in fact, that she was brought to a secret meeting in the Highlands when such pains had been taken to keep the rest of the world at bay. Had it all been too tempting? Had she somehow taken advantage of the situation? Taken advantage, but been caught?

I knew how ruthless Fitzroy could be. He did not hesitate to kill if he felt it was in the interests of his King and country. Could someone here be like him? But, none of the men I had encountered had struck me as having the cold compassionless steel within them that Fitzroy could display. If I hadn’t known better I would have thought the four Smiths were no more than businessmen. Not in any way connected to the government. Almost like superior tradesmen. Could Rory be right? Could they actually be building a wall? Bertram’s protests, were of course, ridiculous, but I couldn’t think of a single reason for such a huge undertaking unless there had been some epidemic of illness in the Highlands and the government sought to protect the rest of the population. My heart thudded harder at this as I thought of the strange creature I had fled from in the forest. Could there be some kind of Highland plague?

I felt panic about to engulf me. Could a government do such a cruel thing to its people? Condemn some to die so the rest might live? Fitzroy would say it was necessary not cruel. A bead of perspiration trickled along my hairline and down onto my forehead. Was I already ill? I half-rose, ready to bolt back to the study, to safety – but none of us would be safe …

The cold reason of sanity cut through my morbid imaginings. I could almost hear Rory shooting down my suspicions with ‘Do you really think such a meeting would be arranged within the infectious area?’ No, of course, it wouldn’t be. I sat back down and began going methodically through the dressing table drawers. My heart still beat too fast. I felt tired, edgy, and longed for nothing more than to see Richenda’s long horsy face and hear her demanding more cake.

There was nothing in the dressing table that I did not expect to find. The men still had not joined me, but at least they had had the sense to lower their voices. I could no longer hear their bickering and that was some relief.

I went next for her wardrobe. I searched both the clothes, including pockets and went through her suitcase. I tempered my urge to get out of the room with an attempt not to overly disturb things. Nothing.

As is always the way just as I was about to give up I found them. Under the mattress. Of course, the natural hiding place of all those with few resources. A small flat satchel. The catch opened easily, unlocked. Within I could see neatly folded squares of paper. This had to be it. I took one last look around the room. It did not look to me as if it had been disturbed. Perhaps an expert like Fitzroy would have known, but our local constable was as close to his league as a dung beetle was to a phoenix. I closed the drapes, and taking the satchel with me in its entirety, closed the door on Miss Flowers bedroom. I heartily hoped I would never have to enter the room again. I would find some favour I could exchange with Merry, so she would be the one to clear it when the police allowed.

I returned to library to find Bertram and Rory on their feet, fists up, facing off at one other. Behind them the sun rose in the sky, flooding light across the room and sending their shadows tapering long and thin against the walled shelves.

‘I have it,’ I said. They both turned to look at me. As one their eyes locked on the satchel I held up. ‘But it is daybreak. We will have to discuss this later.’

Then I turned on my heel, the satchel under my arm, and headed as fast as common sense allowed for my bed. I might yet gain a full thirty minutes of sleep before my duties summoned me. As I hurried away, I sensed the frustration of the men left behind. After all the trouble they had caused me they could wait a few hours to sort out this nonsense. Of course there would be no wall.

[13]
This was a reference to Bertram’s hugely mistaken purchase of his home in the fens, White Orchards, which had begun to fall down as soon as it was put up.

Chapter Sixteen:

In which Bertram shows an unforeseen talent

We managed to gather shortly after breakfast in Rory’s parlour when the meeting upstairs began again in earnest. Merry had followed me intrigued. I was counting on Rory to send her on her way. I thought my discouraging her would only make her more inquisitive. Her eyes widened when she saw Bertram sitting with his feet up on Rory’s side table. Rory, fastidious as ever, did not look too happy, but said nothing. At least Bertram had not yet brought out his pipe.

To my surprise neither man bade Merry leave. Rory reported there had been a hushed and urgent conversation over breakfast on whether the police should again be contacted. ‘Yon ministry man made it clear he felt they had wasted enough time. He said they had been informed and it was not their duty to do more.’

‘Mr Bald was right grumpy about that,’ said Merry who had served morning tea.

‘Mr Who?’ said Rory.

‘I can’t go on calling them all Mr Smith, can I?’

‘To their faces, I sincerely hope you can,’ said Rory.

‘Obviously,’ said Merry.

‘What do you call them?’ asked Bertram. I could see his curiosity was torn between seeing the satchel (which I had hidden in easy reach, but neither of the two men had found) and delving into the remarkable inner world of Merry.

‘Mr Bald, Mr Beard, Mr Nose, and Mr Short.’

They were all instantly recognisable. It had been Mr Short who had sent me with the letter. ‘I reckon he fancied his chances with her,’ said the plain-speaking Merry.

‘Do you not have duties to attend to?’ said Rory disapprovingly.

‘What about Euphemia?’ protested Merry.

‘Euphemia is senior staff,’ said Rory stiffly. ‘We must discuss what has happened.’

‘She’s a maid, like me!’

‘You know that isn’t true, Merry,’ said Bertram gently. ‘It really would be better if you left.’

‘You lot are up to something, aren’t you?’ cried Merry indignantly. I knew her well enough that she had no problem with us being up to something. Her problem was solely with not being included. ‘I’ll tell Susan if you don’t let me …’

‘Enough,’ said Rory fiercely. ‘You know me well enough, lassie, to know I would never respond to blackmail.’

‘But you can’t exclude me!’ said Merry. ‘I’m Stapleford Hall like the rest of you.’

‘This time, Merry, we can and we will,’ said Bertram gently but firmly ushering her out of the door. She might have pushed against Rory, but she would never do that with a Stapleford. She had been with the family since childhood. Bertram closed the door behind her. Shortly afterwards we heard the kitchen back door slam.

‘Oh dear,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t get rid of her without raising her suspicions. I thought if we were boring enough she might wander off, but you proved far too interesting, the both of you.’

‘The maps, Euphemia,’ said Rory through gritted teeth.

I reached behind him and pulled the satchel from behind a small bookcase. ‘Good grief, do you mean,’ he began, but I was already spreading the maps out on the small table. Rory was right. They were of the local Highlands and two strong lines were drawn across the breadth of the Scottish mainland. They diverged slightly, but completed much the same path.

‘Two options?’ I suggested.

‘That’s what I think,’ said Rory, his face dark with anger.

Bertram drew up a chair and sat down. ‘Good gracious me. I’d never have believed it.’

‘I telt ye,’ said Rory.

‘It’s impossible,’ said Bertram. ‘Quite impossible. That something like this could be considered is remarkable. What a feat of engineering.’

Rory gave a low growl. ‘It’s a Great fuckin’ Wall, man, not some fuckin’ automaton.’

‘Rory!’ I cried, horrified.

‘How would you feel it they wanted to wall you in, Euphemia?’

‘It isn’t a wall,’ said Bertram flatly.

‘What do you mean, man?’ demanded Rory. ‘Yer can see the line for yerself.’

‘Yes, I can,’ said Bertram. ‘In fact I’ve seen quite a lot of these markings in my time. You might be a sublime butler, Rory, but you have no idea how to read a map.’

‘So what is that, then?’ said Rory. He traced the line along the top map. ‘This bollocking great line that splits my homeland in half.’

‘That,’ said Bertram, with complete confidence, ‘is a canal.’

‘A canal,’ I echoed blankly. ‘Are you sure?’

‘The Fens are littered with canals and lifetimes of attempts at draining water away. If there’s one thing I’ve learned to recognise on a map, now I live in that dratted swampland, it’s a man-made waterway.’

The colour drained from Rory’s face. He sunk into hard-backed chair by the table. ‘But why would they do that?’ He asked. ‘Are they trying to turn Scotland in an island? That’s worse than a wall.’

Bertram leaned forward over the map studying it. ‘It’s a wide canal,’ he said, ‘it’s true, but see this here?’ he pointed to a smudged marking. ‘I think that’s some kind of bridge. And that and that. That might even be a tunnel. None of those markings look quite how I think they should. No idea what the dotted lines mean.’

‘Why would they want a canal through Scotland?’ said Rory. ‘I ken the English are all a wee bittie daft …’

‘Where does it start?’ I asked. ‘Does that tell us anything?’

Bertram peered closely. (He is slightly short-sighted.) ‘Near the Clydebank area.’ He paused. ‘Oh, God,’ he said. ‘I was hoping this was some sort of stupid hoax, some political prank Fitzroy’s people might be playing, but I can think why they might do this. Why some people might want it done.’ He face filmed with sweat and he went white around the mouth.

‘Quickly,’ I said to Rory, ‘loosen his collar! Bertram’s about to have one of his turns.’ I ran into the kitchen for water. Bertram had moved to the more comfortable wing-back by the fire. I wondered if Rory had lifted him. His collar was open and his tie askew. He took the glass from me with slightly shaking hands. ‘It’s all right, Euphemia. I’m not going to have a heart attack this time. It’s just a shock realising what this must mean.’