Elaine began. “Listen, all. Ian suggests we pretend to sell up Tachnadray.” She held a fragile hand to shush the murmurs. “I’ve summoned you to judge the merits. You all know our difficulties. Income’s too little to keep the seat of our clan intact. At best we’ll last a twelve-month. Then it’s the bailiffs and a boardinghouse—”
“Never!” Robert growled, fists clenched, glaring.
“Whist, man! We have some reserve antiques still—”
My cue. I rose, ahemming. We were arranged round the hall on a right mixture of chairs and benches. I had no notes, standing at my customary hands-in-pocket slouch.
The cultural shock had been too much for us all. Truth time.
“Sorry, Elaine. There’s no reserve antiques.” I spoke apologetically, but why? “Not a groat’s worth.”
“That’s quite wrong.” Elaine held out her hand imperiously. “The list, Duncan.”
Duncan’s gaze was fixed on the floor. He made no move as I went on, “The list is phony, love. Duncan and the rest made it up, probably to reassure you. They gave you some cock-and-bull story about the upper west wing being exactly right for storing the remainder of your antiques.”
Everybody tried to talk at once. Elaine cut the babble with a quiet “Go on, Ian.”
“Tachnadray is broke now, not next year. So, with the last genuine antique gone—”
“Well I mind that day,” Mac suddenly reminisced through his stubble. “Aye. Me and Cousin Peter from Thurso took it. Your father’s grand four-poster, Miss Elaine—”
“Shut up, you old fool,” Duncan said. “The past is past.”
“It’s a familiar story,” I went on. “Youngsters drift to the cities, a few adherents cling to the past. We’ve empty villages in East Anglia for the same reason. Tachnadray’s marsupialized. It’s a rock pool inhabited by crustaceans and sea anemones—
yourselves—after the tide’s ebbed.”
“Is this true?” Elaine demanded quietly. Nobody answered. She gazed at each in turn, waiting calmly until heads raised to meet her penetrating stare. She even gave me one.
Suddenly I was the only honest crook on the campus. “Continue.”
“There’s only one way out now. We pull a paper job.”
They listened, doubts to the fore, while I explained the rudiments. Duncan’s pipe went out. Michelle was enthralled, leaning forward and clearly excited by the whole thing.
Robert sank into deeper caverns of hatred. Shona was still getting used to my resurrection.
“We start the papering with a pawnbroker.” Murmurs began, thunder from Robert, but I was fed up with their criticism and raised my voice. “Not to use. To buy from.
Pawnbroking law changes, when items exceed fifty quid. The trick is to find a pawnbroker who’ll value even the Crown Jewels at forty-nine ninety-nine. In other words, the meanest. We take his stock-rings, necklaces, clothes—”
“And pretend they are Tachnadray’s heirlooms?” Elaine asked. “Isn’t that rather hard on the widows and orphans?”
“Yes.” My answer led into a vale of silence. I was a dicey Sherpa in treacherous mountains.
“Will that be sufficient?” Elaine must have been painfully aware of the outraged glances from the others.
“No. We’ll need more. But pawnbroking’s gone downhill these sixty years. There’s only a couple of hundred left in the entire land, which narrows our choice. We’ll want an entire convoy of antiques from somewhere, especially furniture. I’ve already started raising the dealers.”
“And told them here?” Shona was on her feet, furious.
“Don’t be daft.”
She subsided. Twice she’d absently reached out a hand as if about to pat a loyal hound.
Both times she’d looked about, distressed. More grief was on the way, poor lass.
“I’ve one problem, how to bring the antiques in. It’ll be a sizable convoy.”
They waited. Elaine waited. And so did I, examining their expectant faces.
“Well?” Elaine’s telepathy trick had gone on the blink.
“Air, road, or sea?” I asked. “Same as usual?”
And Old Mac, bless him, said, “Och, yon sounds a terrible lot for a…” Hector shut him up by a double nudge.
“. . . for a wee ketch like Jamie’s,” I finished for him, nodding. “And your old lorry, Mac.
I’d better organize a road convoy. The airport at Wick’s too obvious.”
Elaine was smiling. “Congratulations, Ian. We can’t be blamed for trying to conceal our method of delivery. I hope you don’t think us too immoral. The fewer people know, the better.”
“Is it agreed, then?”
“Yes.” Elaine’s pronouncement gained no applause. The atmosphere smoldered with resentment. “How long does this… papering take?”
“A month. First, we need a compliant printer.”
“Hamish in Wick is clan,” Elaine said.
“Next, I’ll need a secure helper. Can I choose?”
“Of course,” said the young clan leader, and everybody looked expectantly at Shona.
Shona spoke first. “I can start anytime.” She gave me her special bedroom smile.
“Thanks,” I said, beaming most sincerely. “But no, ta. Ready, Michelle?”
We were given an office in the empty west wing. Hector and a couple of men fetched some rough-and-ready rubbish for us to use as furniture. Michelle was awarded a desk: a folding baize-topped card table. They found a lopsided canvas chair from somewhere, and unbelievably for me a discarded car seat nailed to a stool. An elderly lady appeared from nowhere and contributed a brass oil lamp. Elaine ordered herself carried upstairs by Robert to inspect our progress.
“I’m ashamed this is the best Tachnadray can offer, Ian.” She directed Robert as an infant does its dad, by yanking on his nape hairs. She held a fistful of mane.
“I’ve done nowt yet, love. Got some carrier pigeons?”
“The phone was… discontinued. I’m sorry. Mrs. Buchan will gong your mealtimes. I’ve sent for writing paper.”
Just then it arrived, two incomplete schoolbooks and half a letter pad, and a bottle with an ounce of ink dregs. Michelle was pink with embarrassment. Even Elaine, who was anti-prestige, looked uncomfortable. But to me rubbish is about par.
“One thing, Elaine. I’ll want to ask questions occasionally. If Robert assaults me every time we’ll get nowhere.”
“Robert,” promised our chieftainess, “will not hurt you. Ask away.”
“Question one: nearest telephone?”
“Dubneath.”
“Two: nearest stores which’ll give us credit?”
“Innes in Dubneath.”
“No, love. I’ve had to pay for everything there.”
“We never shop in Wick,” Elaine said, aloof but mortified.
Lucky old Wick, I thought. “Then I’ll break with tradition. Three: transport. Old Mac’s lorry, I suppose?”
Elaine hesitated. “There’s the laird’s car. It’s old.”
Laird? Presumably her late dad. “Tell Old Mac to siphon petrol out of his wagon, enough for a run to Wick. I’ll manage after that. And four,” I added as Robert became fidgety at my peremptory manner, “I must be given a free hand. Okay?”
An instant’s thought, then Elaine’s see-through gaze turned on Michelle. “Very well.
You, Michelle, will be responsible for his movements. Entirely. You do understand?”
“Yes, Miss Elaine.”
I didn’t, though the threat was evident to all. Michelle and I stood and watched the red-haired giant clump down the corridor. I reached out and shook Michelle’s hand. She was puzzled.
“Yes, Ian? What…?”
“Welcome to the antiques game, love,” I said. “It’s murderous, packed with deceit, wonderful. We begin, you and I, by making a promise to each other. I tell you everything I’m doing, and you do the same for me. Deal?”
That took a minute to decide. She nodded at last, and smiled, but with that familiar despair hidden in her face. It occurred to me that she was as imprisoned as Joseph, in her way. Interesting thought, no? I laughed as she flapped her hand helplessly at the room.