A Death in the Highlands Page 14

  The male sex is often a mystery to me, but I could not conceive of the kind of man who calmly dines with another he intends to kill shortly afterwards. Would there not have been some sign of this in his behaviour at lunch?

  I tried to recall who had been eager to return to the shoot and who reluctant. I remembered first that Rory had repeatedly urged Lord Richard to return and even attempted to withhold the wine. I knew in my heart I wanted Rory to be innocent and I could imagine he was doing no more than attempting to prevent drunken men from handling dangerous weapons. However, he had also forced a confrontation with his master, and few servants as keen to preserve their positions, as he claimed to be, would have done that.

  I remembered too that Muller had been eager to return. Mr Bertram had been uncomfortable throughout the meal, but then he had displayed a high level of discomfort since the guests had first arrived. I carried within me the sad disappointment of knowing he followed on his brother’s coattails in search of material wealth. Had I sadly misjudged him? I did not think him a murderer, but I knew from bitter experience he was capable of looking the other way, whatever he had said to the weeping Susan.

  Of the others, I recalled Tipton had wanted to stay on and drink. Could it be he had intended inebriation to be a reason why he could not return to the shoot and the potential danger of an exploding gun? Or was he simply looking for an excuse to remain behind and accost me? Had that always been his intention or had the drink loosened his morals?

  McGillvary had attempted diplomacy and suggested Tipton should be supplied with his drink. He had appeared to have had no preference either way as to returning to the shooting.

  I did recall that when Mr Smith had exited the table early, as I had interpreted it, to escape the increasingly uncomfortable situation, Fitzroy had immediately decided to accompany him. Could his intention have been to plant the wrong cartridges then on Mr Smith? Had he been deliberately misleading me all along?

  Rory and Tipton were the two who struck me as behaving most oddly. Muller had no issue with returning to the shoot and could thus be ruled out of expecting any danger and by extension of the murder.

  I would very much have liked to have had cause to suspect Lord Richard, but he had been no other than his usual, blustering, bullying self.

  It was true that many people had opportunity to tamper with the bags, but those with the easiest access and opportunity were Rory and Fitzroy. Although Rory’s opportunity was greater.

  It struck me also that this murderer must be a person of nerve. There had been more than one false cartridge found on Mr Smith. The only conclusion I drew from this was that the murderer did not mind it being known as murder. I pushed my damp hair away from my furrowed brow. This lent credence to Mr Bertram’s theory that it was politically motivated. Possibly even a warning to others. Certainly it ruled out Susan, who – even in the height of her passion – would have not wanted the crime detected for the sake of her children.

  No, the man who had perpetrated this crime was as cool-headed as he was intelligent. He was confident the evidence was so tangled he would never be exposed and he was content to sit and watch us run around like headless chickens. My stomach turned over as I realised the inappropriateness of my metaphor.

  The mist was clearing. The site before me no longer bore any sign of the events of the 12th. I leaned back against the gnarly tree and closed my eyes. The only conclusions I had been able to draw were unwelcome ones and also ones that were difficult to substantiate.

  ‘Euphemia!’

  My eyes snapped open to see Rory running across the field towards me. I blinked twice thinking I must be dreaming.

  ‘Thank goodness I’ve found you. Merry told me of your plan. I was worried for your safety.’

  His bright blond locks had been darkened by the rain, but not so his green eyes that smiled so warmly down at me. I felt a cold shiver run down my spine. I could not think of any circumstance that would induce Merry to reveal our plan.

  ‘She told you?’ I asked.

  ‘Aye,’ said Rory. ‘Lord Richard was looking for you.’

  ‘This early in the morning?’

  ‘Aye. What’s wrong, Euphemia?’

  It was at this moment that Mr McGillvary broke into the clearing carrying a gun. ‘Miss St John,’ he cried. ‘Step away from that man! Come to me!’

  I rose.

  Rory grabbed my arm. ‘Euphemia, you can’t believe it was me!’

  I looked into his eyes and saw nothing but honesty and warmth. ‘Did you check the cartridges in Smith’s bag before the shoot?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes,’ said Rory. ‘I didn’t check the man’s pockets, but I checked all the ammunition before it went up to the site.’

  ‘A pretty clear admission of guilt,’ said McGillvary. ‘Step away, Miss St John.’

  ‘Why did you abandon your place as loader?’ I asked.

  ‘I saw the way Tipton had been looking at you at lunch. When he didn’t join the others for the afternoon shoot, I became concerned for you.’

  ‘And Smith didn’t mind you leaving him?’

  ‘I think he’d noticed the same thing. He told me not to worry, that he often shot without a loader. He scooped out some cartridges from the bag. Told me to leave it at his feet. He made some joke about needing fewer shots than the others.’

  Finally my thoughts came into focus. ‘What if,’ I said slowly, ‘the 12 bore cartridges were never in the bag? What if they were only ever in his pocket?’

  ‘You mean he brought them himself?’ asked Rory blankly. ‘He was a skilled shooter. He’d never have made that kind of mistake.’

  McGillvary met my level gaze. He said nothing. A slow smile spread across his face.

  ‘No, Rory,’ I said sadly. ‘He didn’t. It was done by the only man who asked for hand-warmers to keep his fingers nimble. The man who practises magic tricks for his nephew, who produced a flower from behind Susan’s ear on his first day here. It was done by a man skilled in sleight of hand. Such a very small trick, to tip a cartridge or two into his friend’s pocket.’

  ‘Oh well done, Euphemia,’ said McGillvary. ‘I knew you were smarter than Edward. If anyone was going to figure it out it was going to be you.’

  ‘You’re the one who has been stalking me,’ I said. ‘You tried to get into my room last night. You were in the corridor. You tried to get to Rory and then Susan before their innocence could be proven!’

  ‘You have been so terribly difficult to get alone,’ said Mr McGillvary, ‘but now it seems I will be able to kill two birds with two shots and solve all my problems.’

  He levelled his gun at us.

  6 It was one of his most popular sermons among the poor

  Chapter Ten

  Of King and Country, Love and Jealousy

  There was no chance of escape. McGillvary had come through the woods from the opposite side of the clearing. Rory had come from my left. That way the trees thinned out. This and the clearing itself could only be considered a killing ground. There was a tree pressing into my back, while behind me the trees and surrounding scrub were too dense to allow flight. There was no way to escape McGillvary without running in front of his gun.

  ‘Why? Why did you kill him?’ I asked frantically, trying to buy us more time. I had little expectation he would answer me, but he did. He still had that slow, satisfied smile plastered across his thin lips.

  ‘You never suspected me, did you?’

  ‘No,’ I said still thinking furiously. ‘How could you? He was your friend.’

  ‘That was the beauty of it. I could get close to him and no one thought anything of it.’

  ‘But why?’ I was running out of questions.

  ‘Because someone asked me to, Euphemia. Someone who could put a number of advantages my way.’

  ‘Chopsticks,’ I said suddenly. ‘Lord Richard said you dealt in chopsticks. You have business in the Far East, don’t you? What happened? Did you run aground?’

  McGillvary sna
rled and I realised I had hit the mark. ‘It’s none of your business. Enough talking. Let’s get this over with.’

  ‘You’ll never get away with it!’ I cried. ‘You’ll never be able to explain both our deaths! The roads are still out. You can’t get away!’

  ‘I won’t need to,’ said McGillvary smoothly. ‘Unlike you, my dear Euphemia, I always have a plan.’

  ‘She’s right. You won’t get away with this, McGillvary!’ said Rory.

  ‘Oh, I think I will,’ he replied. ‘You see, I shall say Euphemia told me of her plan to visit the site and, fearing for her life, I came after her, but sadly I was too late. You, McLeod, dastardly villain that you are, had already shot her. You turned the second barrel on me and, in self-defence, I shot you. I have another gun behind the tree which I shall discharge for verisimilitude after I have given you one barrel each from this gun.’

  ‘That’s a ridiculous tale,’ I said. ‘No one will believe you. I’ve already spoken to both Mr Bertram and Mr Edward about my suspicions.’

  ‘But you never suspected me, did you?’

  I tried to keep my expression level, but he saw the truth in it. I had no idea how I would get out of this.

  ‘They won’t believe you,’ I urged again.

  McGillvary laughed. ‘Let us see. You are a servant. He is a communist. And I am a gentleman. Who do you think they will believe?’

  I realised he did intend to kill us. From what Donal Strachan had told me, running towards a shotgun would only ensure death. The tree was at my back. If Rory and I ran quickly in different directions one of us might get beyond the distance at which fatality was assured.

  These thoughts flashed through my mind in an instant. There was no time for discussion. There was no time at all.

  McGillvary slid the safety catch off. ‘Now, which one of you shall I shoot first?’

  I did not want to abandon Rory. Neither did I want to die like a coward. But above all I did not want to die at all. I prepared to run.

  ‘I think I’ll shoot the girl. You’re a mouthy wench, my dear, and the world will be more peaceful for your absence.’

  Looking into that long, dark barrel I felt my legs grow weak. McGillvary nestled the gun further into his shoulder and lowered his face to the gun. I had to run now, but where? Which way would give me the best chance? Any chance. I had to move now!

  It was then that Rory thrust me aside and stood in my place. I fell to the ground. I had one last look at his determined face as he stood over me and then the gun fired. So close the sound was deafening. The smell of cordite filled the air.

  Except Rory didn’t fall. To his obvious astonishment and my own, he stood there perfectly intact. Then I saw understanding dawn on his face. He put out his hand and helped me up. It was only then I understood. McGillvary lay bleeding on the ground, his gun flung from him across the grass.

  Mr Fitzroy emerged from the clearing, holding a smoking shotgun. He went forwards and calmly checked that life was extinguished. He broke his gun and put it on the grass. Then he did the same for the second gun.

  ‘You were lucky that didn’t go off,’ he said conversationally to Rory. ‘That was a very brave and gentlemanly thing you did. Brave, but stupid.’

  ‘How …’ My brain was unable to finish the sentence.

  Mr Fitzroy indicated the first gun. ‘This?’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ I said. My tongue felt thick and leaden.

  ‘McGillvary kindly left this behind the tree. Weren’t you listening, Euphemia?’

  ‘I was rather busy trying to think of how I might survive,’ I said, finally finding my proper voice. ‘And I don’t think Rory was in the least bit stupid. He was terribly brave.’ I took his arm and smiled up into his face. ‘Thank you,’ I said sincerely.

  Rory blushed.

  Mr Fitzroy sighed. ‘How romantic and yet so shortsighted. There are worse things for a woman than being dead and with Mr McLeod out of the way there was no reason for McGillvary to keep his distance. I’d say shooting you first was an almost chivalrous act, Euphemia, except I know how very annoying you can be.’

  ‘Sir, we are both extremely grateful, but I don’t think there is any call to insult the lady.’

  Fitzroy grinned. ‘You don’t know her very well, do you?’ he said.

  ‘Why are you here?’ I asked. ‘This isn’t an easy place to find.’

  ‘I think it’s best if you take a leaf out of Mr McLeod’s book and merely express your gratitude.’ The smile was still on his face, but his eyes had hardened.

  ‘You were watching McGillvary!’ I said in a moment of realisation. ‘How long had you suspected him?’

  ‘In my line of work I find it is healthy to suspect everyone.’

  ‘You are a spy!’ I exclaimed. The glittering look he gave me frightened me almost as much as the gun barrels had earlier. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said quickly. ‘I won’t say that again.’

  ‘I’d advise you not to,’ said Mr Fitzroy, with a calm I found extremely unnerving. ‘In fact, it would be better for all concerned if you both entirely forget today’s events. I will need your word on that.’

  ‘But we’ve seen a murder,’ protested Rory. ‘I’m grateful and all. You saved our lives, but you didn’t even give the man the chance of laying down his gun.’

  ‘Such chivalry,’ muttered Mr Fitzroy. ‘It really will get you killed. He would undoubtedly have fired on me first and then yourself, trusting he could finish Euphemia with his bare hands.’

  ‘Aye, but is it not still murder?’

  ‘It was an execution,’ said Mr Fitzroy bluntly. ‘Mr Edward will vouch I was merely doing my job.’

  ‘Are you here to check out Lord Richard?’ I asked.

  ‘My dear girl, your wisest course of action would be to rid yourself of this incipient rampant curiosity. It is most unhealthy.’

  ‘But we can’t just leave him here,’ said Rory.

  ‘That is exactly what you must do,’ said Fitzroy. ‘The matter will be dealt with. I am leaving now. I suggest you make your own way back to the lodge. Mr Edward will no doubt help you overcome any lingering scruples.’

  He tipped his cap to me, turned on his heel and strode away into the forest leaving McGillvary and the guns lying on the ground.

  It took Rory and me some time to make our way back to the lodge. We encountered no one else. It was a difficult and muddy walk. Rory was kind and assiduous in helping me over the obstacles that lay in our way, but we said little to each other. It might have been supposed, with the departure of Fitzroy, we would discuss at length our fortunate escape, but in my mind lay many unanswered questions. At least some of these were questions that I felt frightened to pose.

  I could see bewilderment in Rory’s face. This was his first murder. It was my third and I suspected in some dark way this lessened my shock. The curious – I might say barely credible – speeches by Mr Fitzroy opened up more questions than it closed. Both of us, I had no doubt, had the imprint of this morning’s events etched in our minds for ever and yet neither of us understood what we had seen.

  I had heard my father often say that angels came in many guises, but my heart told me Mr Fitzroy was no angel.

  To my astonishment Mr Edward was waiting for us in the kitchen. He looked quite at home, sitting by the range-side, munching on a poached egg sandwich and, between mouthfuls, discussing football with Jock.

  ‘Ah, the wanderers return,’ he said, rising. ‘If you would be so good as to accompany me to the library.’

  Rory began to speak, but Mr Edward merely said, ‘Not here,’ and walked out of the kitchen.

  I saw no option but to follow him. Rory fell into step behind me. Mr Edward took us into the library. He closed the door and gestured to us to be seated. He then poured us both a whisky. I had less difficulty with this than Rory, who was clearly unused to such blurring of the social lines.

  ‘Lord Richard,’ said Rory helplessly holding up his glass.

  ‘All matters will be taken c
are of,’ said Mr Edward calmingly. ‘However, I am afraid I shall have to ask you to report on what transpired on the hill. I trust the fact Mr Fitzroy is not accompanying you is not an indicator he was injured?’

  ‘Fitzroy, no,’ said Rory and swallowed a large mouthful of whisky. ‘But McGillvary is dead.’

  ‘Was Mr Fitzroy responsible for his demise?’

  ‘Fitzroy, yes,’ said Rory swallowing some more.

  Mr Edward turned his attention to me. ‘Miss St John, you have never had a problem expressing yourself. Perhaps you might tell me what transpired?’

  I stared into the fire and shivered.

  ‘Drink a little of the whisky,’ urged Mr Edward. ‘It will do you good.’

  I took a small, cautious sip. Though it burned, I found the whisky bracing. ‘Last night I decided to head out to visit the scene of the original crime. When I was telling Merry of this I wondered if I was overheard. Last night someone also tried to break into our room.’

  ‘Euphemia, you didn’t say anything of this?’ exclaimed Rory. ‘You put yourself in mortal danger!’

  ‘I cannot but agree,’ said Mr Edward.

  ‘Perhaps I was foolish to go ahead with my plan,’ I said. ‘But I wasn’t sure I had been overheard and for all I knew whoever tried to break into our room was merely an inebriated or over-amorous guest.’

  ‘I think you knew neither of those to be true,’ said Mr Edward.

  ‘Perhaps,’ I admitted. ‘But it was clear to me the situation was getting worse. There was too much unexplained and you were all too eager for Susan to take the blame. I thought if I visited the site it might help me make the mental connections necessary to come to the truth.’

  ‘Did it?’ asked Mr Edward.

  I sighed. ‘No, I only understood McGillvary was both the intruder and the killer when he levelled his gun at us.’

  ‘I take it you followed Euphemia when you heard she had gone out alone?’

  ‘It was pure chance that Merry told me. She had obviously risen straight after Euphemia and was occupying herself rearranging the kitchen. I heard a crash …’