Chapter 24
A sudden gust of wind swirled down through the chimney, sending sparks flying and making Emma look up from her reading.
Rain peppered the window, and she realized that the daylight had almost faded.
If the weather did not abate she wouldn’t be looking forward to going over to the main house for dinner.
But she couldn’t expect poor Maggie to brave the storm if she asked to have a simple meal brought over to her.
And why had Iris put her here? There must be spare bedrooms in the main house, and that would have saved the maid from making the trip across in the rain.
But why had Iris insisted on her staying here at all?
Surely she could have travelled down to Iris for the day and then gone home again to the flat at night?
Iris had plenty of money. She wouldn’t have begrudged a taxi from the nearest station.
Perhaps Iris wanted to make sure that Emma never mentioned to anybody what she was reading.
She wanted her safely under lock and key.
It wasn’t all bad, she decided. Staying in Iris Blackburn’s guest cottage sounded enticing and romantic, something she could tell her friends about.
“When I was staying with Iris Blackburn and we were working on her book . . .” Emma smiled at the thought.
She had never been one to give herself airs, always thought of herself as ordinary and still couldn’t believe that Iris had chosen her, singled her out.
She stared down at the remaining pages on the sofa beside her.
Had she really decided to take on finishing this book?
And what about the editing that would be needed?
How would someone of Iris Blackburn’s stature take suggestions or even criticism from a nobody like herself?
she wondered. What if they didn’t agree on an ending or what happened to a character?
It could be unpleasant, and Emma shied away from drama. Her mother had been prone to it.
Oh well, she told herself, better read to the end and talk to Iris about what still needed to be done. Then she’d make her final decision. She went back to the manuscript:
The Wild Girl, Chapter 14
After the heavy front door was shut firmly behind him, Melrose crossed the forecourt, heading for the main gate.
He would like to have asked the kitchen staff if Lucy had eaten her soup that evening, but he decided not to chance his luck at sneaking around to the staff entrance again.
He was glad Sir Henry had chosen not to accompany him on his exit as he veered off to the right and back to Chisholm’s cottage.
The faint odour of some kind of pomade or cologne still lingered.
Now alone Melrose examined the room more thoroughly.
What he observed made him conclude that Chisholm had definitely packed in a hurry.
He went over to the desk, hoping to find an incriminating note left imprinted on the blotter, but unfortunately there was nothing of interest. He then went to the back of the cottage to see if Chisholm could have spied on the lovers or overheard their tryst. But this too proved futile.
The back of the cottage was built into the wall, separating the bailey from the outside world.
With a sigh of frustration he rejoined Jock.
“Did ye find anything?” Jock asked.
“Not much. Only that the young lady might have been getting together with her sweetheart in the woods.”
“So not the pure young thing we had thought her to be?” Jock gave a chuckle. “So what next, sir?”
“I think probably go and chat with the people in the cottages on the waterfront, see if any of them might have noticed someone damaging that boat, or witnessed what time the couple set off.”
Jock nodded. “Although if it was after dark you won’t be in much luck. People here keep their curtains tightly closed when the sun goes down. There is still a lot of superstition about what might be abroad in the night.”
“Fairies and ghosties and things that go bump in the night?” Melrose looked amused.
“Precisely. When you live on Skye you take things like that seriously.”
“Like suggesting that Flora’s real father was a kelpie?” He was still grinning.
“Aye. Things like that. We don’t mock the supernatural here. We’ve all too many stories of things we can’t explain.”
They drove off, bumping along the track through the woods.
Melrose glanced around, wondering where the pair might have found enough privacy for a tryst. Later he’d come back and look, although he didn’t see how it could help his case.
It seemed to him that the one person who could help was Flora.
If she and Lucy were as close as everyone had said then Lucy would surely have told her of her attraction to Stewart and of their plans.
And that must have been why she was conveniently far away on that night, so that when questioned she could truthfully say that she had no idea that Lucy had run off.
Somehow he had to get her the message that she was safe with him.
The wind was blowing strongly off the strait and the boats in the small harbour bobbed up and down, their ropes creaking and groaning.
He must find out exactly what the sea had been like when the couple attempted that crossing.
Waves lapped at the low wall along the waterfront, sometimes sending spray onto the narrow road.
“Do you know who lives in the waterfront cottages?” he asked Jock.
“Some of them,” Jock said. “That first one would be Dan MacLeod, and a bit further along is Callum MacLeod.”
“All MacLeods, are they?”
“Mostly.” Jock grinned.
“It might be smarter for you to introduce me, if you know Dan MacLeod,” he said. “Is he a relative?”
“No, just a fellow clansman,” Jock replied. “I don’t really know him. I’ve driven his wife to the hospital a couple of times. He’s a good man. I doubt you’ll find him at home during the day, though. He’ll be out on the boat, won’t he? Still Jinty will be there. His wife.”
They went to the front door and knocked. It was opened almost immediately by a large man. “What’s this then?” he asked. Then he spotted Jock. “Oh, hello, Jock.”
“Hello,” Jock said. “I didn’t expect to find you at home at this time of day.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve come with designs on my wife, thinking I’d be gone.” He laughed heartily. “No, I’ve been out five days in a row. The herring are plentiful at the moment. But the nets are needing some work, so I didn’t go out this morning. It’s been a good catch this week. Can’t complain.”
“I’ve brought someone to see you,” Jock said.
“This is surely not a visitor looking for a room at this time of year?”
“No, it is not, Dan,” Jock said. “This is the inspector from Glasgow, come about the sad accident.”
“Oh aye?” Dan examined Melrose, summing him up.
“Hello, Mr MacLeod,” Melrose said, holding out a hand. “Inspector Melrose. We’re trying to get to the bottom of this sad business, and we were wondering if you and your neighbours could shed any light on it.”
“You’d better come in then and have a wee strupak,” Dan said. “Woman, we’ve got visitors.”
They stepped into the cottage. The door was low enough that Melrose had to duck his head, and he wondered how many times big Dan had hit himself on it.
Inside the small room was delightfully warm with a glowing peat fire and spotlessly clean.
The opposite of Flora’s father’s cottage.
The window was framed with bright curtains and looked out on the seawall and the mountains across the water.
A youngish woman with round, red cheeks and hair back in an old-fashioned bun turned from the stove to greet them.
They were seated by the fire while she poured tea from a pot on the stove and cut slices of currant bread.
“I baked that this morning,” she said. “Nice and fresh. I must have expected visitors.”
They ate in silence, Melrose enjoying the fresh bread and hot tea. He didn’t say anything until they had put their cups down. “That was delicious, thank you,” he said. “Just what the doctor ordered.”
She gave an embarrassed smile and offered more. Melrose thanked her but turned it down. “I’m afraid I’ve still got a lot of work to do, Mrs MacLeod,” he said. “The laird is desperate to find out who killed his daughter.”
“I should have thought the sea did that,” Dan said. “The young man was no sailor, and the tides can be tricky here for those who don’t know them.”
“But their boat had been damaged,” Melrose said. “The sail had been slashed in many places and a rope that held the sail appeared to have been cut.”
“Both could be explained away,” Dan said. “If that sail was rotten a stiff wind would do the trick, and the same with sheets. Ropes don’t last long with the salt.”
“That’s possible,” Melrose said, “but I’m told the sail was fairly new. Also two people are now missing, which has to raise suspicions. There are those who did not want the couple to elope together, including her suitor, Mr Chisholm.”
“He hasn’t been found then?” Jinty MacLeod asked, pulling up a ladder-back chair to join the group.
“He has not. Neither has Flora MacLeod.”
“Well that’s no surprise,” Jinty said, giving a frown of disapproval. “Flora has always come and gone on her own terms. If Miss Lucy drowned then she’d see no reason to stay at the castle and she’d be off, God knows where.”
“You haven’t seen her then, since?”
“I have not,” Jinty said.
“Can you think when you last saw her?” he asked. “We were told that she took a bowl of broth to her father the day before there was all the drama and the young pair ran off. Did she not come this way then?”
“I didn’t see her,” Jinty said, “and I’m usually aware of someone walking past. The window is open most days and I hear the feet coming. We’re lonely enough here to be interested in outsiders.”
“So let me ask you this,” Melrose said. “Did you spot anyone working on that boat during the day, anyone who shouldn’t have been in the harbour?”