‘Only that the puir gentleman must hae crept down there to get himself anither drink, as you said about Mr Macbeth. In my experience, when a man is fou, all he thinks about is how to get his hands on anither bottle. Doubtless that would be the finish of him, gin he’d been clouted over the head – skian-dhu or no skian-dhu.’
Dame Beatrice agreed that this was very likely.
‘There is one other point,’ she said. ‘Do you know whether young Mr Grant told Mr Macbeth at the time that he’d found the body in the cellar?’
‘Why else would the laird be piping first a lament and then a reel?’
So you knew what was in the will, thought Dame Beatrice. Aloud she said, ‘One more question, Corrie. The man who helped you with Mr Bradan that night was the porter from Tigh Osda, I take it? He was driving the car.’
‘He was.’
‘I see. Well, I have met him and I cannot believe that he had guilty knowledge of Mr Bradan’s death. Are you and your wife prepared to stay on and look after Mrs Gavin and myself for a week?’
‘It will be a pleasure – forbye we have naewhere else to gae.’
‘Right. Then I want you to take the boat across and bring back my chauffeur.’
‘At once, ma’am?’
‘Yes, please – and you had better tell your wife about the new arrangements.’
When he had gone, Laura said:
‘What do you make of this business of the body in the cellar?’
‘I think that Corrie’s explanation is probable, although I have another, even more likely one.’
‘You do believe, then, that Bradan was not only alive but blind tight when they brought him home?’
‘It is possible. It would explain a good many things. It might even explain why, after a knock on the head which was obviously meant to kill him, he was able to crawl into the cellar. I do not profess to explain it, but it seems to be a fact that when a man is very drunk he can sustain injuries which, in a sober person, might be fatal.’
‘Do you speak from experience?’ asked Laura, cheekily.
‘Professional experience,’ said Dame Beatrice, whose only tribute to the grape was an occasional glass of sherry. ‘I wonder how Mrs Corrie will react to the news that she has two women and an extra man to cater, cook and clean for, in place of the one man to whom she has been accustomed.’
Two men, surely?’ said Laura. ‘At one time, before he was turfed out, young Bradan must have lived here, and, for a bit, I suppose Bradan and Macbeth must both have occupied the house. Besides, one assumes that a Mrs Bradan would have been included, if young Bradan is really Bradan’s son.’
‘How right you are,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘Of course, if he isn’t…’
‘I didn’t mean to infer that he wasn’t!’
‘It might help to explain the disinheriting.’
‘I thought the reasons given already were enough to explain that.’
‘Anyway, it is no concern of ours. What is interesting, though, is that Mr Bradan was not in Edinburgh, but in Inverness.’
‘Yes, it explains how he was able to get back here that night.’
‘Of course, the medical evidence must always leave a margin in determining the time of death, and the waters of the loch must be extremely cold at this time of year.’
‘I’ll say they are!’ Laura had swum in them. ‘I see what you mean. The body being in the tub, rigor mortis might have set in earlier than if it had been left in the cellar.’
‘Corrie is not an entirely reliable witness, but there is one suspect who certainly could have been in Inverness that night, and that is Mr Bradan’s son.’
‘I suppose he could. He was on the loch-side ringing bells and turning lanterns, quite well on in the afternoon, but you think he went to Inverness after that and hit Bradan over the head, do you?’
‘It is a possibility.’
‘But, if so, he must have known he hadn’t killed him. There’s no doubt that Bradan got on the train and was met at Tigh-Osda. Of course, Grant of Coinneamh was also in Inverness that night, and told a very fishy story of kidnapping, which he’s since denied. If the other story is right – that there was bad blood between him and Bradan – there’s every reason to think that Grant may have done the job, isn’t there?’
‘We must keep open minds. Open your keen ears, too, and tell me whether I am imagining I hear the chink of teacups and the footsteps of the excellent Mrs Corrie.’
Dame Beatrice was imagining nothing, for Mrs Corrie entered bearing a tray. She was followed by her husband, who pushed a tea-trolley loaded with scones, cakes and jam.
‘What a spread!’ said Laura. Mrs Corrie dismissed her husband with a curt nod of the head and, as he closed the door behind himself, she exclaimed:
‘My man is no murderer, I’ll tell ye.’
‘But we did not suppose he was,’ Dame Beatrice remarked in her beautiful voice. ‘Tell us more, Mrs Corrie. Get another cup and saucer and let us go into conference.’
Mrs Corrie appeared to hesitate. Then, with a grim chuckle, she went off and reappeared with cup, saucer and plate.
‘The scones took,’ she announced. ‘Ye’ll do nae better than the scones.’
Dame Beatrice poured tea and for a few minutes there was silence. Judging that this was foreign to Mrs Corrie’s nature, Dame Beatrice broke it.
‘What do you think of Mr Macbeth’s defection – or is there another explanation of his absence?’ ske asked. Mrs Corrie put down her cup.
‘That one is up to his tricks,’ she said. ‘What caused ye to hold Tannasgan at feu?’
‘For fun,’ replied Dame Beatrice.
‘And games,’ added Laura, inexcusably. Mrs Corrie nodded, accepting Laura’s interpolation as a genuine contribution to the conversation.
‘It was always supposed there was something to be found on Haugr,’ she said, ‘but maybe folks were just havering.’
‘Haugr? A burial mound?’ said Laura. Mrs Corrie took up her teacup, looked wise, and sipped thoughtfully. Lowering the cup, she said:
‘I haena the Gaelic. All I ken is that the laird was awfu’ careful whom he let land on Haugr.’
‘That is the small island with the trees on it?’
‘It is that same.’
‘Mrs Corrie,’ pursued Laura, breaking in on another silence with some suddenness, ‘who was the piper the night I left here?’
‘The piper, Mrs Gavin? I dinna recollect ony piper,’ She turned a suspiciously mild gaze on the questioner.
‘Oh, well,’ said Laura, ‘I don’t suppose it matters.’ Privately she decided that it mattered a very great deal that Mrs Corrie should lie. She added, ‘Just tell me one thing, though. Who helped your husband put Bradan in the cellar?’
‘Naebody put the laird in the cellar. If the laird crawled down intil the cellar, he went of his own free will. It wouldna be the first time.’
‘So, according to you, Mr Bradan must have been alive when your husband and Ian, from the station at Tigh-Osda, landed him here?’
Mrs Corrie looked aggressively and fearlessly at her, and then addressed Dame Beatrice.
‘My man is no murderer,’ she reasserted. Dame Beatrice spread much-bejewelled yellow claws and nodded.
‘Should I really be employing him, although only for a week, if I thought he were?’ she demanded. This casuistry did not shake Mrs Corrie. She laughed. At the same moment there came a vigorous thump on the door. It was opened by Corrie, who had knocked, and behind him the stolid, reliable George filled the rest of the aperture.
‘Ah,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘George will be staying the night. I suppose you can fix him up?’
‘His wee bag is in the hall and the bed is aired,’ replied Corrie.
‘Splendid.’
‘And there’s a pot of tea ready to infuse in the kitchen, and scones and bannocks for ye,’ said Mrs Corrie, addressing her husband.