Chapter 17
A squall of rain hit the window, rattling the panes alarmingly.
Emma looked up and glanced at her watch.
Almost three o’clock. She wondered if she’d have time to finish the pages today.
She was anxious to discuss the story with Iris Blackburn.
She didn’t see how it could be in any way complicated.
Two suspects, either Chisholm or the Wild Girl, if it wasn’t an accident—which it surely could not be, since this was a crime novel.
Emma sighed, jotted down more notes, then picked up the next sheaf of papers.
They didn’t have to wait long before Sir Henry reappeared, carrying several photographs in leather frames.
“Here,” he said. “These should give you some idea.” He passed the first photograph to Melrose. It was a posed portrait of a young girl, sitting holding a bunch of flowers and looking shyly at the camera.
“That was taken on her sixteenth birthday,” he said. “That was our daughter.”
Melrose thought she was extremely pretty, with wide eyes that showed a hint of amusement and soft curls falling over her shoulders. His immediate reaction was that he would like to have known her.
“Here are some snapshots taken recently,” Sir Henry said, handing over some smaller photographs.
The first was of several figures standing outside in dappled shade.
Two men and two girls. Melrose recognized Lucy, then focused on the other girl.
She looked remarkably similar, not only in dress and hairstyle but in features, too.
Melrose realized that she was obviously wearing Lucy’s clothes and emulating her benefactor.
However there was nothing submissive about her.
She stared at the camera defiantly. The Wild Girl.
Only she did not look as Melrose had imagined her.
She could have passed as a family member, he thought.
They had tamed her after all. He looked up.
“One of these young men is your son?”
“The one on the right. Next to Flora.”
Melrose saw the family resemblance. A bigger, brawnier version of Lucy. The same wide eyes and high forehead. “And the other man? This is Chisholm?”
Sir Henry nodded. Chisholm was tall, good-looking in an effete sort of way—hair parted in the middle and slicked down, neat Ronald Colman moustache and staring at the camera with the same air of arrogance that Sir Henry displayed.
In fact he looked quite pleased with himself—smug, Melrose thought, and he noted he had an arm around Lucy’s waist. Her expression, as far as he could tell, conveyed that she did not like this.
She was gritting her teeth and looked like she wanted to be away from him.
She must have felt trapped, Melrose thought.
Pushed into a marriage her father wanted with a man she clearly loathed.
No wonder she had latched on to Stewart as her chance to escape.
“Do you have a picture of Stewart? The young man who drowned?” he asked.
“Why would I waste good film on a stranger?” Sir Henry asked. “Besides, you’ll see him for yourself. His body is laid out in our game larder. It’s one place guaranteed to be cold enough. I’ll have you taken there when we are through with the questions.”
Melrose was wondering what more he should ask, how to wind up this interview and have a chance to speak with the other family members, when he heard the sound of light feet tapping down the hallway.
The door opened and Lady Hamilton came in.
At least Melrose surmised it must be she—a fine-boned, middle-aged woman with flawless skin and hair in neat waves.
Her forehead was creased with frown lines, although Melrose couldn’t tell if these were from grief.
She wore a severe black dress with a black shawl over her shoulders which made her pale complexion look almost ghostlike.
In fact she almost looked like a ghost as she crossed the room, a figure detached from reality.
Sir Henry frowned. “My dear, the police are here. I’m sure you don’t want to go through this again. Why don’t you wait in the morning room until we are finished?”
“Oh no, Henry,” she said and her voice sounded surprisingly strong. “I want to know everything, hear everything. I want to find out who killed my daughter.”
Melrose gave a nodding bow in her direction. “Lady Hamilton. I am Detective Inspector Melrose from Glasgow, and I will do my very best to get to the truth for you.”
She examined him critically, as her husband had done. “You are not much older than my son, Roland,” she said. “How is it that they sent you and not an experienced man?”
“Exactly what I said, my dear.” Sir Henry spat out the words.
“And I explained to your husband that I might look young but I have worked on murder investigations and feel that I am capable of doing the job. So now that you are here, might I ask you a few questions, your Ladyship?”
Lady Hamilton went over to the fireplace and perched at the edge of the sofa. “I don’t know what I can tell you that my husband has not already said. We had no idea that our daughter was in any way unhappy with our arrangement for her. Or that she was in any way attached to this stranger.”
“Was your daughter chaperoned all the time? Would she have had time and opportunity to meet with this young man alone?”
“She wasn’t a prisoner, Inspector,” Lady Hamilton said. “Although she wasn’t the type to crave solitude. She went out riding, usually with her brother.”
“Was she close to her brother, Lady Hamilton?”
For a second she smiled, the lines vanishing from her face.
“As children they were inseparable. They did everything together, including getting up to mischief. Lucy could run and climb as well as any boy. Her governess kept trying to insist that she learn to behave like a lady, and do you know what she said? She said, ‘When I’m old enough to be a lady, I’ll learn to be one.
’ She had a ready tongue, my dear child. Always stood up for herself.”
The smile faded. “But Roland went away to university. When he came back I saw that their relationship had changed. He was still extremely protective of her, but she did not want to be smothered, as she put it. She resented the fact that he was allowed to study and she was not. She felt it highly unfair when her brain was as good as his. Recently she became much closer to Flora.”
“Ah yes. Flora. The Wild Girl,” Melrose said.
“Don’t call her that. So many unkind things have been said about that child.
It really wasn’t her fault that she was allowed to run wild and was given no care at all.
We worked hard to civilize her when she came to us, and she seemed to take well to all instruction.
A good brain, that’s for sure. And she clearly loved Lucy.
We let her wear Lucy’s clothes and she soon learned that it was nice to get approval by looking pretty.
They looked like two peas in a pod when they went out.
Both of them with their reddish curls. So delightful. ”
She broke off, fished for a handkerchief in her pocket and dabbed at her eyes.
“They went everywhere together. You asked how Lucy would have had time to meet this man alone, and I really don’t know.
As I said, she and Flora were inseparable.
They went for walks together. But apart from that, her former governess was still in residence until very recently.
We have groundsmen and ghillies who would surely have noticed our daughter trying to meet this man in secret outside the castle.
Nobody has reported observing such meetings.
” She gave a deep sigh. “But none of this is relevant. The fact is that she did run off with this person and that somebody did deliberately sabotage their boat, thus drowning both.”
“We are sure of that, are we?” Melrose asked. “It is absolutely clear that it was deliberate? I understand that the sail was ripped. Could that not have happened to old canvas with the force of the wind?”
“It was clearly slashed with a knife, Inspector,” Sir Henry said. “Slashed to pieces.”
Melrose frowned. “So I’m no sailor,” he said, “but if they raised the sail would they not have noticed this and thus not left the harbour?”
“It’s a tight manoeuvre to get out of the harbour here,” Sir Henry said. “A small boat like that would have only hoisted the mainsail once in clear water.”
“Even so,” Melrose said. “If the sail was damaged, wouldn’t it just flap uselessly and they wouldn’t go anywhere?”
“True,” Sir Henry said, “but I understand one of the sheets was also cut through.”
“Sheets?” Melrose pictured laundry flapping.
“Nautical term for ropes. If a sheet that controlled the mainsail was cut through, the sail would swing wildly and easily capsize such a small boat.”
“I see.” Melrose tried to collect his thoughts as he spoke. “The slashed sail indicates an impulsive action, a momentary anger. But cutting the rope so the sail cannot be controlled, that is more calculated.”
Sir Henry nodded. “I agree with that.”
“You say the boat was in the harbour. Did nobody notice someone damaging the sail and cutting the rope?”
“I suspect it was done under cover of darkness that night. And you should note it was not that big a boat, Inspector. We are not talking about a yacht here. It was pathetically small. A mere dinghy, ample for the short crossing but certainly not seaworthy. And I suspect horribly easy to capsize and sink.”
“Was there rough weather that night?” Melrose asked.
“There was a stiff breeze apparently. No moon. A black night if ever there was one. But they could have made the crossing if the man was an experienced sailor. Quite possibly he was not and that contributed to the tragedy.”
“So when was the tragedy discovered?”
“That next morning as the fishing boats went out they found the boat upside down and no sign of the sailors. They towed it in to shore and soon afterward Stewart’s body was found on some rocks nearby.
It wasn’t until lunchtime that we discovered our daughter was missing.
We asked in the village, of course, and one woman thought she saw a couple walking along the waterfront late at night.
The woman wearing a hooded cape. She couldn’t see who they were.
So we then had to assume that Lucy had gone with him.
“We searched Lucy’s cupboards and found that she had taken some of her things, including her jewellery.
That’s when we knew. We had every boat in the harbour out and searching for her.
It wasn’t until a day later that her body was found, floating in the shallows on the mainland side.
The sea creatures had already got at her.
” He closed his eyes and gave a shudder.
“My poor daughter. Poor little Lucy. What a horrible death.”
Melrose nodded, wondering where to go with his questioning next.
“It seems to me that the person who might have some answers for us is this Flora. If your daughter was as close to her as you say, she will have confided in her. I’ll go and try to find her.
And I’d also like to take a look at the boat and examine both of the bodies. ”
“Naturally,” Sir Henry said. “I’ll have my son take you.”
MacDonald stood up. “I really should be getting back to my duties in Portree,” he said. “Can I ask your son to deliver Inspector Melrose back to the Kings Arms when you are finished here today?”
Melrose gave him an inquiring glance. “I thought you said a driver was to be put at my disposal?”
“Aye. Jock from Kyleakin. The local taxi. He should be available unless there’s an emergency.”
“I might need more local assistance to locate Flora,” Melrose said. “Do you have any officers stationed down here?”
“The nearest police station is at Broadford. We’ve two men there.”
“But I can recruit some of my crofters for a search if it’s needed,” Sir Henry said. “Mind you, if the girl doesn’t want to be found you’ve little chance of finding her. She knows these hills like the back of her hand. She can probably survive out in the wild until winter sets in.”
Melrose stifled a sigh. “Let’s take a look at the bodies and the boat, then head for her cottage, shall we?” He was getting a feeling that nobody wanted to be particularly helpful. Were they now trying to shield Flora? Did they suspect she had something to do with Lucy’s and Stewart’s deaths?