Chapter 36 #2
Emma remembered that Andrew’s mother had to run the kitchen by herself.
“Oh, no thank you. I had some at the distillery. Andrew gave me a tour.”
“It’s frightfully interesting, isn’t it?
” Mrs Patterson said. “I don’t understand half of it, and I’m not a big fan of Scotch, but I have to admit that those vats are quite fascinating.
” Her voice was smooth upper-class English, no trace of a Scottish accent, but then Andrew did not have one either.
She turned to Emma. “Would you care to come into the sitting room and wait until Andrew sorts things out?”
“Thank you.” Emma followed her into a room with a fireplace that took up half of one wall. A fire was glowing. “Thank heavens we have the woodland to supply us with endless logs,” Mrs Patterson said. “Otherwise the cost of heating this place would be untenable.”
She indicated Emma should sit by the fire. “Are you also from this part of Scotland?” Emma asked.
“Me? Oh, good Lord no. I’m from Suffolk,” she said. “About as far away as you can get. I met my husband at university at Cambridge. When he said he lived in a castle I was intrigued. If I’d been wise I’d have backed off then.” She laughed.
“Do you find it very remote living here?” Emma asked.
“Of course it is, but I tend not to stay here year round,” she said.
“Or at least until my husband’s father needed looking after.
We have a small place in the south of France, and I used to retreat there for the winter.
Now I’m pretty much stuck here.” She smiled at Emma.
“But you are used to the warmth and sunshine, I suspect.”
“I am. I’m from New South Wales. My family owns a vineyard so I know all about vats of liquids. And I have been seriously considering going home again. This weather can be so depressing, can’t it?”
“It most certainly can. But I’m sure Andrew wouldn’t want you to run off.”
“Oh,” Emma said blushing, “we’re not . . . involved. He was just being friendly.”
“Really?” Andrew’s mother gave a knowing smile.
Andrew’s steps echoed down the hallway. He came in, breathing hard as if he had hurried. “Grandpa is awake, if you want to come up. I didn’t tell him why you wanted to see him. I’ll leave that to you to explain.”
“Don’t tire him too much, remember,” his mother called after them.
“We’ll only be a few minutes,” Emma replied as she followed Andrew out of the door. They climbed the first flight of steep stairs, then a second. Emma could see why Andrew was breathing hard. She was too at the second landing.
“In here.” Andrew tapped on a door and then opened it cautiously. An old man was lying propped up in a high four-poster bed. He watched Emma approach with interest.
“You’ve brought your latest young lady to get my blessing, have you, boy?” he asked. “It’s about time you settled down and stopped sowing wild oats.”
Andrew looked uncomfortable. “She’s not my young lady, Grandpa. She’s a girl I’ve just met and she’s on the island because of a book she’s helping to write. She thinks you might be able to help her.”
“Really?” The old man attempted to sit up.
“So let me make the proper introductions. Grandpa, this is Emma Callander from Australia, and Emma, this is my grandfather, Sir Robert Patterson.”
“How do you do, sir,” Emma said shyly, taking the old man’s hand.
“I’ll leave you two to get on with it,” Andrew said. “I’ve got to grab a bite of lunch before I’m due back at the distillery. I bet you didn’t have to work like this when you were my age, Grandpa.”
“You forget, I started the distillery,” Sir Robert said. “I worked a damn sight harder than you. The family thought I was crazy to have such big ideas. But it turned out all right in the end, didn’t it? One of the finest in Scotland.”
Although his voice was faint and frail his eyes were remarkably alert, focused on Emma as he spoke. “Go on then, away with you. I’d like to speak to this young woman.” He patted the bed beside him. Emma sat, perching on the edge of the bed.
“So you’re writing a book about the island?”
“I’m helping the writer,” Emma said. “Not my story. I’m just filling in facts she doesn’t have yet. It has to do with the death of your sister, Lily. I wonder how much you can remember. Was it a complete shock when she ran off with this Mr Blaine? Did you know she was interested in him?”
He was no longer smiling. He was glaring at her.
“Of course we didn’t know. We had no idea.
I was her brother. I was supposed to be close to her, but she never said a word to me.
In fact I had no idea that she’d ever consider .
. . Do you think for a moment if I had known .
. .” He did manage to sit up now. “Who are you and why are you here? Do you think we haven’t suffered enough?
All these years trying to forget, and you open old wounds again. My God, do you think I haven’t paid?”
His voice had risen to a screeching wail. A nurse came rushing in. “It’s all right, Sir Robert. Calm down. She doesn’t mean any harm. Lie back. There. I’ll get your tonic.”
She frowned at Emma. “He gets agitated very easily these days. You’d better go.”
“I’m sorry,” Emma said. “I didn’t mean to cause you any distress.”
“We didn’t know,” the old man said, his voice shaking. “How could we know?”
Emma retreated, feeling guilty and uneasy.
As she went down the twisting staircase she noticed a slit window in the wall that looked out onto the woodland and the hills beyond.
And she remembered that Iris had described Melrose doing this, wondering if anyone had seen Lucy and Stewart together.
Now the bigger question arose: Had anyone seen Mr Chisholm, or Mr Graham in real life, being murdered?
Both Andrew and his mother were kind and understanding when she apologized. They reaffirmed how easily the old man became upset these days.
“Anything to do with the past can set him off,” Mrs Patterson said. “His wife’s death, the war . . . but he’s never spoken much about his sister’s drowning. Clearly he was close to her and it was a huge shock.”
“I didn’t get a chance to ask him about the man Lily was supposed to marry,” Emma said. “He vanished at the same time. There is no more mention of him in the newspaper. Is it possible that the family knows anything more?”
“Don’t look at me,” Mrs Patterson said, chuckling now.
“I’ve stayed well away from Patterson family history.
I find it all horribly boring and violent.
Battles and being hacked to pieces! It was Alistair Graham, wasn’t it?
Well, the Grahams still live on their estate on the other side.
You could always visit them and find out what they know. I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything.”
So, Emma thought, either they didn’t know that Alistair Graham was buried in their woodland or Iris had created this part of the story. And if the former was indeed true, she had no way of finding out where in that woodland he had been buried or who might have killed him.
“I presume you didn’t find out anything of use,” Andrew said as he walked her to the front door. “I don’t think it would be wise to talk to my grandfather again. You can tell me what you wanted to know and I might be able to find a good time to ask him.”
“That would be kind,” she said. “Thank you for your time today, Andrew.”
“Not at all. I enjoy your company, even if you did bruise my ego by turning me down in the car last night.” He was smiling as he said this.
“Maybe we can see each other again before you go. When it’s not raining quite so hard.
” He peered across the forecourt. “I see your trusty driver has arrived. I’d make a run for it if I were you. ”
“I will. Thank you again,” she said.
“You might talk to me, Melrose,” Emma muttered as she hurried towards the main gate. “Surely you would have found out the truth by now.” She waited. But the only sound was rooks cawing from one of the big trees.