Virginia's footsteps, always just out of earshot? The very idea was spooky. What did she want? Why could she not leave people alone? And why, beyond Virginia's irritation, lurked, like a ghost, a sense of presentiment, a foreboding of fear?
Ridiculous. She pulled herself together. Imagination. It was only Edie's cousin, avid for company. With some effort, Virginia put a friendly expression on her face. "What are you doing here, Lottie?"
"Fresh air belongs to everybody, I always say. Looking at the water?" She moved to Virginia's side, to lean over the wall as she had been doing. But she was not as tall as Virginia and had to stand tiptoe, and crane her neck. "Seen any fish?"
"I wasn't looking for fish."
"Been to Mr. Honeycombe's, haven't you? Lot of rubbish he's got in there. Most of it only fit for a bonfire. But then, there's no accounting for tastes. And as for what I'm doing, I'm out for a walk, same as you. On your own, Edie tells me over dinner. Edmund gone to America."
"Just for a few days."
"That's not so nice. On business, is he?"
"He wouldn't go for any other reason."
"Oh, ho, ho, that's what you think. Saw Pandora Blair this morning. Thin, isn't she? Like a scarecrow. And that hair! Looks like dyed to me. Called out to her but she didn't see me. Had dark glasses on. Could have had a good old chin-wag about the old days. I was up at Croy, you know, resident housemaid. Old Lady Balmerino then. She was a lovely lady. Felt sorry for her, with a daughter no better than she should be. That was the time of the wedding. Lord and Lady Balmerino, but they were Archie and Isobel then. There was a dance at Croy the evening of the wedding. What a work. So many people staying you couldn't turn round. Course, Mrs. Harris was cook, old Lady Balmerino didn't have to cook. There were some fine goings-on, but no doubt you've been told."
"Yes," said Virginia, and tried to think of some way in which she could escape this unwelcome flood of words.
"Scarcely out of school she was, Pandora, but she knew a thing or two, I can tell you. Men. She'd eat them for breakfast, and leave them chewed. A right wee whore."
She was smiling, her tones inconsequent and chatty, almost approving, so that the archaic word caught Virginia unawares and surprised her into saying, quite sharply, "Lottie, I don't think you should say that about Pandora."
"Oh, you don't?" Lottie was still smiling. "Not pleasant, is it, hearing the truth? Nice Pandora's back, everybody is saying. But if I were you, I wouldn't be too happy. Not with your husband. Not with her. Lovers they were, Edmund and Pandora. That's why she's back, mark my words. Come back for him. Eighteen years old, and Edmund a married man and the father of a wee bairn, but that didn't stop them. That didn't stop him, rutting in her own bed. Night of the wedding it was, and everybody dancing. But they weren't dancing. Oh, no. They were up the stair and thinking nobody noticed. But I noticed. Not much missed me." Pink spots burned on Lottie's sallow cheeks, her boot-button eyes were like a pair of nails, hammered into the sockets of her head. "I went after them. Stood at the door. It was dark. I heard. Never heard anything like it. You didn't guess, did you? He's a cool fish, that Edmund. Never let on. Never say a word. Just like the rest of them. They all knew. Well, it was obvious, wasn't it? Edmund back in London and Pandora sulking in her bedroom, face swollen with tears, wouldn't eat. And the way she spoke to her mother! But, of course, they're all thick as thieves. That's why Lady Balmerino gave me my notice. Didn't want me around. I knew too much."
Still smiling. Hot with excitement. Mad. I must, Virginia told herself, keep very calm. She said, "Lottie, I think you are making all this up."
Lottie's demeanour, with quite startling suddenness, changed. "Oh, am I?" The smile was wiped from her face. She backed away from Virginia and stood, four-square, facing up to her as though they were about to engage in a contest of physical strength. "And why do you think your husband's suddenly taken himself off to America? You ask him when he comes home to you, and I'll doubt you'll enjoy his answer. I'm sorry for you, do you know that? Because he'll make a fool of you, same as he did his first wife, poor lady. There's no streak of decency in him."
And then, abruptly, it was over. Her venom spent, Lottie seemed to slump within herself. The colour seeped from her cheeks. She pursed her lips, brushed a scrap of lichen from the front of her cardigan, tucked a wisp of hair under her beret, patted it into place. Her expression became complacent, as though all were now well, and she was content to prink.
Virginia said, "You are lying."
Lottie tossed her head and gave a little laugh. "Ask any of them."
"You are lying."
"Say what you please. Sticks and stones may break my bones…"
"I shall say nothing."
Lottie shrugged. "In that case, what's all the fuss about?"
"I shall say nothing and you are lying."
Her heart was banging in her chest, her knees trembling. But she turned her back on Lottie and began to walk away; walking steadily and without haste, knowing that Lottie watched, determined to give her no satisfaction. The worst was never looking back. Her scalp crawled with terrified apprehension, the fear that, at any moment, she would feel Lottie's weight leap upon her shoulders, dragging her to the ground with all the inhuman strength of a clawed monster from childhood nightmares.
This did not happen. She reached the far bank of the river, and felt a little safer. She remembered the dogs and pursed her lips to whistle for them, but her mouth and her lips were too dry for whistling, and she had to try again. A tiny piping sound, a pathetic effort, but Edmund's spaniels had had enough of abortive rabbiting, and almost immediately appeared, bounding through the bracken towards her, trailed with goose-grass and with twigs of thorny bramble entwined in their feathery fur.
She had never been so glad to see them, so grateful for their instant obedience. "Good dogs." She stopped to fondle them. "Good to come. Time to go home."
They ran ahead, down the lane. Leaving the bridge behind her, Virginia went after them, her pace still resolutely unhurried. She did not allow herself to look back until she reached the bend of the river, where the lane curved away beneath the trees. There, she stopped and turned. The bridge was still visible but there was no sign of Lottie.
She was gone. It was over. Virginia took a deep breath and let it all out in a whimpering sigh that was not far from panic. Then the panic took over, and, without shame, she bolted for home. Ran to Edie, to Henry, to the sanctuary of Balnaid.
Back to the beginning.
You are lying.
Two o'clock in the morning and Virginia was still awake, her eyes, scratchy with fatigue, wide open, staring out into the soft darkness. She had tossed and turned, been either too hot or too cold, fought with pillows lumpy with pummelling. From time to time, she got out of the bed, wandered about in her night-gown, fetched a glass of water, drank it, tried again to sleep.
It was no good.
On the far side of the bed, Edmund's side, Henry slumbered peacefully. Virginia, defiantly breaking one of Edmund's strictest rules, had taken her son to bed with her. Every now and then, as though for reassurance, she put out a hand to touch him, to feel his gentle breathing, his warmth through the flannel of his striped pyjamas. In the huge bed, he seemed small as a baby, scarcely alive.
She'd eat them for breakfast and leave them chewed. A right wee whore.
She could not get the appalling scene out of her mind. Lottie's words went on and on, round and round like some scratchy old gramophone record, worn with playing. Circles of torment, never ceasing, never coming to any sort of conclusion.