‘Feeling more like it now, sir?’ he asked, then turned to me. ‘Can I just ask you what your plans are, madam? You were coming to stay, were you not? Will you put up at the Murray Arms, then?’
I stammered for a bit before I spoke. Of course there would be some official business to be gone through, I supposed, but I was no more than one of the many onlookers.
‘I’m sure Lena and Clemence would be grateful for it,’ said Alec softly. I was shocked. Of course it would suit our purposes to have me installed but it was a bit much, on no more evidence than our shared feeling that something was wrong.
‘The inquiry’ll be at Kirkcudbright, doubtless,’ the police sergeant went on. ‘In a few days’ time, a week at the most. If you could see your way clear to stay till then.’
‘Aren’t there friends they could go to?’ I said. ‘Surely they won’t stay in the hotel.’
The sergeant slid his cap back on his head and stood looking up and down the street, rubbing thoughtfully at the red mark from his hatband.
‘Well, Cardonness Castle is all shut up, madam, seeing Sir William’s away to London as usual in the springtime, and Lady Ardwell is practically bedridden since last winter, poor old lady. There’s always Commander Cochrane at Ruscoe, I suppose, but I don’t know if they’ve ever met.’
‘No, quite, of course,’ I said, before he ran through the whole county. Perhaps, after all, the anonymity of a country pub would be preferable to an invalid lady or Sir William’s dustsheets. I should stay. After all, Lena had an investigation and inquiry to get through and apparently no one around to help her do it.
‘And yourself, sir?’ said the sergeant, turning back to Alec.
‘Has anyone sent word to Edinburgh yet?’ Alec said. ‘Someone will have to tell her father.’
My bags were duly carried from the motor car into the inn and up to a small back bedroom. I assumed Lena and Clemence were already in the best rooms, but I was glad of the plain whitewashed walls and the brass bed with its cheerful quilt; my sense of guilt would not have withstood any luxury.
Before facing the Duffys again, I went to the post office to send a telegram to Hugh. I might have telephoned of course, but not wanting to enter into negotiations, certainly not wanting to bring on a command to come home, I thought a telegram would be more fitting.
The girl behind the desk was weeping.
‘Poor, poor soul,’ she said, shaking her head and letting large tears fall on to the blotter. I bit my lip and nodded. Then she sniffed and composed herself a little, looking expectantly at me through the grille with her pen at the ready.
‘I have no idea what to say,’ I said. I had never read one of these telegrams, thank heavens, and had no idea how they were usually couched.
‘Who is it for, madam?’ asked the girl, professionalism beginning to reassert.
‘Oh, no one,’ I said. ‘I mean, my husband. But no one close. To them, I mean. I just need to say that I’m staying to be with Mrs Duffy and why.’
She had got my measure.
‘“Dreadful fire at Reiver’s Rest,”’ she intoned with relish. ‘“Poor” – it’s Cara, isn’t it, madam? – “Poor Cara tragically lost. Staying in Gatehouse to comfort poor mother.”’ And so on. It became clear that the telegram was not her natural genre, but I managed in the end to remove most of the adverbs and settle on ‘perished’ as an acceptable midway point between her eulogies and my apparently shocking bluntness.
‘Fire at Duffys’ cott. Cara perished. Self unharmed. At Murray Arms Inn, Gatehouse with Mrs D. until further notice.’ She read back to me. ‘Love?’ she asked, pen quivering.
‘Love,’ I agreed, for a quiet life.
There was no sign of the Duffys in the parlour when I returned. The tea-things were gone and the table covered in what must be its usual garb of a dusty chenille cloth and a bowl of wax fruit. I crept along to the bar but, my nerve failing me at the door, decided to search out someone in the kitchen quarters.
‘There now,’ said the landlady, suddenly coming round a corner and almost bumping into me. ‘I wondered where you had got yourself to, madam. The doctor wants to see you.’ She surveyed me briefly and then pronounced her verdict. ‘You’re done in. What say you come and sit in my kitchen and wait for him there? That parlour’s a gloomy spot at the best of times.’ She steered me along the passageway and into the kitchen where the fresh smell of linen sheets drying off on a rack before the fire fought with the aroma of tonight’s stew beginning to bubble, the whole making a welcome oasis of comfort. She tucked me into a Windsor chair and set about tea.
‘I’m that glad you’re back,’ she said. ‘They just went to pieces. After you and the young man left. Jim Cairns left them for two minutes to come and speak to me and when he went back they had gone straight to pieces. Couldn’t say which was worse. The poor mother roaring and crying and the young one shaking all over like nothing on earth. And so he goes for you, Jim Cairns, and I sends the lad for the doctor to see can he give them something and gets them off upstairs to lie down and as soon as these sheets are aired they’ll be in their beds where they should be and maybe get some rest, eh?’
She sounded as relieved as I felt that the ladies had finally begun to behave as they ought, and she looked hopefully at me to see if I was about to break down too.
‘I don’t really know them all that well,’ I said, in my defence. ‘I just happened to be coming down on a visit.’
‘And a very good thing, madam,’ she said, putting a thick cup of dark tea down before me on the table. ‘Now, I’ll just need to get on if that’s all right.’ She sat down opposite me with a bowl of carrots and spread a newspaper for the scrapings. Soon a light spray of carrot juice reached me as she set about them and since my tweeds were flecked with orange and it was rather refreshing, I let it.
After a while we heard the stairs over our heads creak with a heavy step descending and presently a large man, in the rather collapsed tweeds so universally associated with the country doctor that one suspects there must be an outfitter somewhere supplying them, let himself into the kitchen.
‘Mrs Gilver?’ he asked, putting out his hand and taking mine. ‘Dr Milne.’ He sat heavily and shook his head a few times before speaking again. ‘I’ve settled them and left them something. A hot bath and a good night’s rest, Mrs McCall. You’ll can do more for the poor ladies than I can tonight.’ Mrs McCall abandoned her carrots without another word and, wiping her hands on her apron, she gathered up the sheets and left.
‘And you’ll stay, won’t you?’ he asked, once she had gone.
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘But you know, I’m not a close friend. I wonder if perhaps we should send for someone else.’
‘Mrs Duffy asked for you,’ he said. ‘More than once, she asked if Mrs Gilver was still here.’ This was curious.
‘What is going to happen?’ I asked. ‘And what did happen? Does anyone know?’
‘Well, there will be an inquiry,’ said Dr Milne. ‘But we’ll never know exactly. These wooden houses, you know. I never could understand why houses by the sea are so often made of wood. They dry out like kindling in the sea breeze.’