A Death in the Loch (13 page)

‘But that’s wrong.’

‘Safety of the realm and all that,’ said Bertram. ‘It’s not as if anyone seems to have liked her much.’

‘But … but …’

‘I know. I feel the same,’ said Bertram. ‘I’m going to stay up tonight and do some drinking with the other gentlemen. I’ve been avoiding that, but I’ll say I feel it’s my duty as a host to do something special under the circumstances tonight. Keep our spirits up. I’ll get out some of the best wines and see if I can’t get a few tongues wagging.’

‘You mean you’ll investigate?’ I said.

Bertram gave me a lop-sided smile. ‘Isn’t that what we do best, Euphemia? Mind you, I’m still going to be hoping it was a silly accident.’

‘What about Rory?’ I asked.

‘He’s in a difficult position with this Kiel Canal thing. It might be fairer not to get him involved at this stage.’

‘I agree,’ I said, knowing I was taking the easy way out.

‘Is Merry all right?’

‘She’s sleeping like a baby. Must be the shock. It really knocked the stuffing out of her.’

Bertram placed a hand on my arm. ‘She’ll be fine. Our Merry is made of stern stuff.’

A team of two local bobbies led by a much subdued Constable McClintock arrived a few hours later. It seemed the reality of a dead female body and having to deal with it had poured cold water over his enthusiasm. I was about to describe where she was, when he interrupted me. ‘I ken you’ve duties in the house, Miss St John, but we’d all feel more comfortable if you would accompany us. None of us feel right about manhandling a female. Being kirk-goers like.’

I was on the point of saying that I thought this was unnecessary under the circumstances when he added, ‘Please, miss. I’m sorry about last night. I ken I got a wee bit carried away, but none of us has even seen a dead body before. The village midwife deals with the dead, but we’ve orders to carry the body to Doc Stuart’s house. There’s folk saying the police might ask him to cut her up. They’ve strong feelings about that sort of thing up here. We don’t do it.’

‘You’re thinking if I’m with you there would be less likelihood of trouble.’

Constable McClintock gave a small smile and suddenly looked very young. ‘We’ve been told Jock’s up there with his cleaver. I reckon if we have someone like you from the Lodge with us, we’ve covered most angles.’

I told Susan. She wasn’t happy with my going, but Rory took off his jacket and offered to muck in with the cleaning up in the kitchen and if need be the dinner if Jock wasn’t back in time. Susan was so taken aback at the idea of a butler cooking that she raised no more objections.

I led the little band through the woods. We found Jock sitting on the bank looking mournful. He’d dragged the body out of the loch and covered it with an old tarpaulin he’d brought with him. ‘I wouldn’t go looking under that, Euphemia,’ he said. ‘Fish have been at her.’ At this point one of the younger bobbies bolted into the forest and we heard him all too clearly reacquainting himself with his dinner.
[14]
McClintock had gone paler, but he and the other bobby were manfully trying to hold themselves together.

‘It’s all right, laddie,’ said Jock. ‘I’ve rolled her in tight in yon tarp. Yer willnae need to see her. Even the coffin maker won’t need to undo it. I take it it’s Fraser will be doing it?’

‘We have to take her to Dr Stuart,’ said McClintock.

‘I can assure you she’s verra died,’ said Jock.

‘The police asked …’ McClintock trailed off.

‘You’re the police,’ said Jock.

‘We’ve an inspector coming up.’

Jock heaved a big sigh. ‘Do whatever you have to, laddie, but if no one will be sitting with the lady tonight at least get the doctor to light a candle.’

‘Aye,’ said McClintock. ‘Aye, I’ll do that, Jock. And thank ye,’ he gestured to the body. ‘Thank ye for doing that.’

‘I’m an old soldier, laddie,’ said Jock, taking me quite my surprise. ‘I’ve seen worse on the battlefield. At least yon lassie was dead when the fish began their meal. From what I could see from what was left of her face she looked verra peaceful.’

This was too much for McClintock and his other companion. They both bolted into the woods. We soon heard them being overcome with the same malady as their fellow.

Jock looked at me. ‘Strong stomach,’ he said approvingly.

‘My father was a vicar,’ I said. ‘I’m no stranger to being around the dead. Though I am very grateful you covered her poor face.’

‘I didnae take to her much meself, but it’s always a sadness when the young get taken. Have they told her poor parents?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said. I hadn’t thought about Miss Flowers having a mother or father. Suddenly I felt a wave of pity for them and their daughter. Tears started to my eyes.

Jock heaved his bulk to his feet. ‘I’ll be going and getting the wee laddies. Then we can get this poor lassie inside.’

I admit at that point I shed a few tears, but I don’t feel any the worse for that. I think it is right that we cry over the dead. It’s a form of tribute to them. My father used to say grief is nature’s (and God’s) way of reminding us not to take the living for granted and for appreciating what the dead did for us. Miss Flowers hadn’t done anything for me, but it’s rare to find a human being in this world who is loved by no one, even if it is only their mother. We’re all babes once, and babes are loved and looked on as signs of hope and future joy. Sometimes how we lead and end our lives does not live up to those early hopes, but once we all had that potential – or so I believe, and when it comes to a sudden end like this it is always a tragedy.

The pale-faced constables got Miss Flowers safely to Dr Stuart’s home, who promised that he would indeed light a candle. By the time Jock and I got back to the Lodge it was well past time for dinner, so Rory must have managed something. Lights were burning in the library and there was the sound of loud male conversation, so I assumed Bertram had gone through with this plan. Susan was nowhere to be found, so refusing Jock’s offer of an omelette I took myself off to bed. If the men needed anything further Rory would have to manage again. My day had already been too full.

That night I dreamt of rows of young men marching through fog. As the mist swirled I saw they wore army uniforms and even in the dream I wept to think of the war that might be coming. But when they reached me they passed straight through my body. Then I realised they were not marching off to war. They were ghosts heading rank after rank into the darkness.

[14]
Dinner being the midday meal the ordinary folk round here took.

Chapter Nineteen:

An inspector calls

I woke slightly before dawn. Despite the coldness of the room, my body dripped with perspiration. Blood pounded in my ears. I knew I had to remember if I had seen Rory’s face among the dead. The grey light that peeked through the curtains thinned, but images from that dream hung around me like veils or clouds. I could see Merry stirring in the other bed, but I could also still see the ranks of men marching past me into the receding night.

I must have spoken aloud without realising it for Merry suddenly appeared at my side. ‘Wake up! You’re having a nightmare,’ she said.

‘I’m not asleep,’ I replied. ‘I can see you, Merry. And I can see them, so many of them, passing me into death. I have to watch. I have to see if Rory is there.’

At least I think that’s what I said. These were certainly the words I formed in my mind. I saw confusion cross Merry’s face. Then resolution. The next moment I was soaked and gasping. She’d emptied the wash basin over me. I sat up among my sodden blankets, spluttering for breath and furious.

‘Has it gone?’ asked Merry cautiously from the other side of the room.

‘What?’

‘The night terror. Has it gone?’

I was about to ask her, quite crudely, what she was talking about when I realised the faces of the dead were gone. I also found I could not recall if Rory had been among them. I burst into tears.

‘Gawd almighty,’ said Merry, coming over and gingerly giving me a hug. ‘I was the one that discovered the bleedin’ body.’

I pushed her gently away and stripped off my wet nightclothes. The grey had totally gone from the new day and I knew we both had duties to attend to. ‘Let’s get on with things,’ I said. ‘I don’t know about you, but I need to feel I’m doing something normal.’

‘It’s this place,’ muttered Merry, pulling on her uniform. ‘Every time we come up here something terrible happens.’

No, I thought, it’s not the place. It’s what we bring with us, but I didn’t share this thought with Merry. If she thought that when we left the Highlands we’d leave all this behind then I wanted her to go on thinking that as long as possible. After last night I had no doubt that death stalked me and it would not be long before it stalked us all.

You can tell, I imagine, that I did not dispense coffee and tea in the breakfast room with the brightest of smiles.

The atmosphere in the kitchen had been sober. Susan and Jock had barely exchanged a word. But the atmosphere in the breakfast room was something else. Bertram spent much of breakfast holding his head in his hands and groaning softly. Rory was coldly reserved. Mr Nose, Mr Beard, and Mr Bald ate little and what they did eat was interrupted frequently by one of them suddenly whispering urgently and the others pushing their heads so close together they almost touched. The whole thing reminded me of some kind of human tortoise that was occasionally poking its head and limbs out of its shell and then withdrawing again. Merry’s eyes were wide with wonder at the performance. ‘What are they doing?’ she mouthed to me as she tried to dodge between them and their actions to remove the dirty plates. I had a little more experience of this sort of behaviour, so I was able to mouth back, ‘Hung over.’ Merry gave a little giggle which she had to stifle quickly when Rory shot her a furious look.

It was fortunate that we had not only loaded the dirty dishes into the dumb waiter, but also dispensed the coffee cups before the rest of the party joined us. My back was to the door when it opened. I was offering coffee from a silver pot to Mr Nose. Merry was meant to be pouring tea for Bertram, but she looked up when the door opened and poured the greater part of it on the floor. Bertram, head still in hands, did not notice and most surprising of all Rory, that most professional of butlers, looked shocked at the sight of whatever stood in the door way. It took an extreme effort of will for me not to turn round.

When the two gentlemen, Mr Ministry and Mr Short, passed me, I saw nothing amiss. However when they seated themselves at the table I saw that Mr Ministry sported a wide, barely scabbed cut along his left cheekbone and Mr Short had a spectacular black eye of the sort rarely seen in anyone aged over eleven.

Merry stopped pouring tea on the floor. A quick glance at Rory told her she had got away with it.

‘Would you like me to fetch some fresh steak from the kitchen for your eye, Mr Sh-Smith?’ she asked in a totally expressionless voice. At that moment the doorbell rang and Rory was forced to subtly excuse himself.

He returned a few moments later and whispered in Mr Ministry’s ear. I wasn’t close enough to hear what was said, but I could swear I saw a moment of distress cross the seated man’s face, but it was gone as soon as it has appeared and the government man was back to an impassivity that rivalled Rory’s.

Mr Ministry said aloud, ‘Thank you. We should prefer to be left alone now.’

‘I will clear the cups for you, sir.’

‘No, go now,’ said the other man sharply.

Rory made an irritated ushering motion with his hands at me that was both entirely unnecessary and offensive. Bertram appeared to be aware of nothing but his hang-over.

Back in the kitchen, I turned on Rory, ‘You don’t have to shoo me out of a room like a stray dog!’

‘Might I remind you, Euphemia, that at this time you are a maid and that is no way to speak to the butler of your household.’

‘Oh, pah!’ I said and gave a loud and unladylike snort that would have made my mother faint.

‘Who was at the door,’ asked the practical Merry.

‘An Inspector Walker,’ said Rory. ‘I imagine he will want to speak with us all in due course. Purely as a matter of routine,’ he added seeing Merry beginning to frown. ‘The Inspector has taken up residence in the library. Perhaps you could get one of your girls, Mrs Simpson, to take him and his sergeant a cup of tea.’

‘It’s still early,’ said Jock. ‘Do you think they’ll fancy a wee bit of breakfast. Got to be nasty working on this case.’

‘An hospitable thought, Jock,’ said Rory. ‘I think in the first instance we should send the tea and enquire if they would like further refreshment.’

‘Yes,’ said Merry, ‘it’d be kind of difficult interviewing someone with your mouth full of bacon sarnie.’

Rory frowned down at her, but Merry merely shrugged and set about making the tea. Rory retired to his parlour. ‘What’s got into yon mannie?’ asked Jock, who I felt was becoming quite the conversationalist. Or maybe he was finally warming to us folk from ‘down south’.

‘I think he had quite a rough night with the gentlemen last night,’ said Susan. ‘He told me he didn’t get to his own bed till past 4 a.m. He also seemed to take it badly that you’d gone off to show the police where the poor woman was, Euphemia.’

I shrugged.

‘What kept him up so late?’ asked Merry over the kettle’s whistle.

‘I’ve told you a thousand times, Merry,’ said Susan. ‘You dinnae let the water boil for tea. It doesnae taste the same.’

Merry gave me a look behind Susan’s back that couldn’t have more clearly said that she didn’t care.

‘It seems your Mr Stapleford gave a wee party,’ said Jock. ‘And it all got a wee bittie out of hand.’

‘Oooh! That sounds interesting,’ said Merry.

‘Take the tea up, Merry,’ said Susan firmly. My curiosity had also been awoken. But first while the gentleman divided their time between finishing their breakfast and seeing the Inspector I decided I would go and tidy their bedrooms. This task was usually either undertaken by both Merry and I. We would work on these rooms together as an issue of personal safety in case any of the gentlemen acquired ideas. Not that this group seemed to be up to the kind of ‘doings’ that can happen above stairs. It had meant, however, that I had never had a proper chance to search any of the rooms. Merry was scrupulous in not going through any guest’s belongings. She might have a natural inquisitiveness, but she was utterly honest and despite the many shortcomings of Stapleford House would never have taken as much as a pin. She had never even read Richenda’s diaries when she had the chance.