Cauldstane (32 page)

He
looked confused, but then he turned, brushed away some snow with his hand and picked up the journal. ‘Is this it?’ he asked, still in his child’s voice. ‘Does it say in there what happened?’

‘Yes.’ I
took the book and opened it at random. It was too dark to see anything, but I pretended to read. ‘
Alec wasn’t to blame. It was all my fault. I frightened Liz’s horse, she fell off and she died. It was nothing to do with Alec. He wasn’t even there
. Did you hear, Alec? You weren’t even there!’

‘Is that book true?’

‘Completely true.’

‘I
t
wasn’t
my fault?’

‘No, it was Meredith’s fault. And your father knows it wasn’t your fault.’

‘Does Ferg know?’

‘Not yet, but we’re going to tell him.’

‘Does Wilma know it wasn’t me?’

‘No, but we’re going to tell he
r too. We’re going to tell everyone, just as soon as we get back indoors.’

‘Does… Did Mummy think it was my fault?’

My voice failed me then, but I recovered quickly. ‘No, she didn’t, Alec. She knew it couldn’t possibly be your fault, because you weren’t even there.’

‘But she
saw
me. She was lying on the ground and her eyes were looking up at me!’

‘They were
n’t, Alec, my love. She was already dead, but her eyes were still open. She died before you fell off your bike. Before the horse galloped past you.’ I squeezed his trembling hand. ‘You must have been so frightened.’

‘I t
hought I was going to die. And then… then I wished I
had
died.’ I threw my arms around him, doubting that the meagre warmth of my body would make any difference to the chill of his, but I held him anyway. His body felt rigid, then he suddenly sagged against me and started to sob. To my utter relief, I realised this was the man crying. He clung to me and I made soothing noises, stroked his wet face, told him I loved him and I don’t know what else. Then a shaft of bright light fell across the courtyard. The back door was open and someone was coming out. A long, thin shadow was cast across the courtyard and Sholto stepped into the light, making an entrance like an actor onto the stage, except that he was wearing pyjamas, dressing gown and slippers.

R
aising his stick and holding it aloft, he announced, in a clear voice that echoed off the ancient stones, ‘I, Sholto Alexander James MacNab hereby declare war on all the powers of darkness. I will
not
be moved from this, my ancestral home – not until I leave it in a coffin! I solemnly swear that I will renounce all fear and fight in a manner worthy of the name MacNab to protect my family, my home and all those who shelter beneath my roof.
Timor omnis abesto!
Let fear be far from all!’

Alec had sat up
at once, alert at the sound of his father’s voice. He now got to his feet and I followed, my limbs stiff and numb with cold.

‘
Dad, what the hell are you doing out here? Get back inside before you fall and break something! Where’s Wilma? She’ll give you a row if she finds you out here in your jammies.’

Sholto peered into the darkness.
‘Alexander? Just the man I wanted to see. I regret to inform you that I’ve changed my mind. I have decided to take Cauldstane off the market. I refuse to be driven out by that
whore
, so I shall be sitting tight until the bailiffs remove the last chair from beneath my skinny backside. Sorry if this decision fails to meet with your approval, but my mind is made up.’ He brandished his stick again and shouted, ‘Let that harpy
do her worst! I shall be ready for her.’

‘Mr Sholto
!’

Sholto
turned to see Wilma standing at the door, clutching a raincoat and an umbrella. She trotted across the courtyard, scolding, then opened the brolly. She wasn’t quite tall enough to hold it above Sholto’s head, so Alec took it and put an arm round his father to steady him. Wilma scampered back and took refuge once more in the doorway.

Sholto stared at his son.
‘My dear boy, you’re
soaked
. Don’t tell me you fell in the river too? Which reminds me – where
is
that girl?’

‘What g
irl?’

‘The one you ought to marry. Good looking. Talks a lot of sense.’

‘You mean Jenny?’

‘
That’s
the one!’

I ste
pped forward into the light, shivering convulsively. ‘I’m here, Sholto.’

His face wreathed in smiles now, h
e beckoned me to come under the umbrella. ‘Splendid! Thought you’d run away. No need, my dear. Nothing to fear now. We’ll sort this business out, you’ll see.’

‘Mr Sholto
!’ Wilma pleaded from the doorstep. ‘Will you come away inside? You need to see a doctor!’

‘No, Wilma
, I need to see a
priest
.’ Sholto laid a hand on my shoulder. ‘Find me one, Jenny. Find me a priest and bring him to Cauldstane.’

‘I already did
.’

‘I beg your pardon
?’

‘
I hope you’ll forgive me, Sholto, but Rupert Sheridan is actually a minister. I brought him to Cauldstane because I think he can help us. If you’ll give your permission.’

‘Sheridan
? You mean the bird watcher?’

‘Yes.’

‘But he said he was a scientist.’

‘
He’s a minister now, but he used to be a scientist. A very clever one, actually.’

‘Good!
He’ll need his wits about him if he’s going to tackle Meredith. She’s cunning, you see. Always was. Ran rings round me. But not any more, eh?
Timor omnis abesto!
Let that be our watchword.’ And with that Sholto marched back into the castle, leaving us with the umbrella.

Alec
looked down at me, his white face pinched with cold. ‘Looks like I’m beaten.’

‘No, you’re not beaten, b
ut you have no choice now but to fight.’

He shivered convulsively, then said,
‘You and me, Jenny… We have a chance. Don’t we?’

‘
Yes, we do! Whatever happens. But I know we can do this, Alec. Trust me. Trust Rupert. Love
has
to be stronger than hate.’

The wind got up
then and a vicious gust sent the snowflakes spiralling. The pages of Meredith’s abandoned journal turned as it lay in the snow, making a wet, slapping sound. Alec thrust the handle of the umbrella into my hand, ducked out and retrieved the sodden book. He returned and held it up to show me. In the light from the open door we could see the pages were now almost illegible. The thick black ink had run and, as we watched, words dissolved, to be replaced by grey, spreading blots.

‘I wonder,
’ he said, his voice quite calm now. ‘Did that woman ever shed a tear for anyone other than herself?’

‘I
very much doubt it… Can we go in now, Alec? I’m cold. And so tired.’

He
shut the journal and tossed it away, into the snow. It landed in a drift by the wall and sank at once. ‘OK,’ he said putting an arm round me. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

He
pulled me to him and we walked together, towards the light and warmth of Cauldstane.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Alec and I were soaked and thoroughl
y chilled. We took refuge in the kitchen where we clung alternately to the Aga and each other. Wilma fussed and tried to shoo us upstairs in the direction of hot water. She said whatever time we presented ourselves, we’d find a venison casserole in the Aga and celery soup on top. She’d also made my favourite blackberry and apple pie which now sat on the kitchen table, its purple juices oozing at the edge of a spectacular golden crust.

It was to have been a special family
dinner and my last at Cauldstane. As it was, no one had the heart or energy to sit down to a formal meal. Over the next hour or so, people helped themselves to whatever took their fancy, which in some cases was just pieces of the bread and cheese Wilma had set out for those with no real appetite.

Sholto had been taken in hand by Zelda.
He’d insisted she ring NHS 24 to cancel the request for an emergency visit. She protested but complied, then produced fresh pyjamas and insisted on putting him back to bed with supper on a tray. It returned to the kitchen untouched. I know because I was still in the kitchen putting my ruined shoes to dry by the Aga when Wilma brought the tray back. With an exasperated sigh, she set it down, reached for a bottle of whisky and poured a generous dram. I’d never seen Wilma touch alcohol, so I assumed events at Cauldstane must finally be getting to her, then she placed the glass on a smaller tray with a jug of water and set off upstairs again. Sholto had evidently asserted himself.

Alec and I dragged ourselves away
from the Aga eventually – he to the shower, while I ran a bath. By the time I was out and dressed, the dead silence in his room was starting to unnerve me, so I knocked on his door. There was no answer. Concerned, I went in and found him asleep on the bed, still wrapped in a bath towel. It looked as if at some point he’d tried to pull the duvet over his chilled, damp body, but he’d managed to cover very little. Gently, trying not to disturb him, I dragged the duvet up. He didn’t stir. In fact he lay there so pale and lifeless, I stood and watched his chest for a few seconds to reassure myself he was alive.

Reluctant to leave, I gazed
round the room for something to do. I picked up Alec’s discarded wet clothes, folded them roughly and put them on a radiator. Looking up at the sword placed in the window and others elsewhere in the room, I thought he ought to be safe, but still I didn’t want to leave. In the end I switched on a bedside lamp, turned off the top light and took up a position on the sofa where Alec had once slept while I occupied his bed. It felt like a lifetime ago, but it was only a matter of weeks.

I kept watch
and was very nearly completely happy. Alec was alive. He was safe – for now. We were together. If my faith in God was debatable, my faith in Rupert was considerable. I was pretty confident he’d pull us all through this.

But if he coul
dn’t?... To distract myself from this unanswerable question, I gazed at Alec’s sleeping face: the long dark lashes that flickered occasionally as he slept; the slightly parted lips I wanted to kiss; the reddish-brown stubble that was beginning to shade his face. I studied the undulating curves of his shoulders as they rose above the duvet and had to restrain myself from touching him. He needed to sleep. Alec was enjoying the first guilt-free sleep he’d known since he was eight. Every precious minute would heal. And for every precious minute, I would watch and wait, happy to do what I could to protect that sleep. As Sholto had said, ‘Let that harpy do her worst.’ I would be ready. And when he woke, so would Alec.

~

While I watched Alec sleep, Sholto was not idle. Rupert was summoned to his bedside and there ensued (so Rupert told me later) a long and painful discussion in which Sholto related the sordid and miserable details of his marriages and the violent deaths of both his wives. At some point, he must have asked Wilma to bring him Meredith’s incriminating journal. When she knocked on Alec’s door, I jumped up and went out into the hall. I explained he was asleep and asked if I could help. In hushed tones Wilma said, ‘Mr MacNab wishes to show Mrs MacNab’s journal to Mr Sheridan.’ When I hesitated, she explained, ‘Mr Alec was the last person to see the journal, I believe.’

I struggled to recall what Alec had done with t
he book, then realised it had now been sitting in a snow drift for a couple of hours.

‘He
left it outside, Wilma. In the snow. It will almost certainly be illegible by now.’ Despite a lifetime exercising professional tact, Wilma looked shocked. ‘Would you like me to explain to Sholto? Or I can go out and look for it with a torch. But it could be buried under the snow.’

She declined both my offers and
scurried back upstairs, while I resumed my watch over Alec. It was gone midnight and I was shattered. I longed to climb into bed with him and sleep for a very long time, but after a few minutes there was another knock on the door. It was Wilma again with a request that Alec and I should join Sholto in the library.

‘Does he
have to come right away? He really needs to sleep.’

‘I
did tell Mr MacNab, but he just said, “Wake him.” He seems to think the matter’s urgent. He was quite agitated when he spoke. And he seemed very upset about the journal.’

‘
Well, could you tell Sholto we’ll be along in a few minutes? It might take me a while to rouse Alec.’

Wilma wrestled visibly with her conscience for a moment, then set discretion aside. ‘Something’s wrong, isn’t it
, Jenny? Badly wrong. I’ve never seen Mr MacNab in such a state. Not since the first Mrs MacNab died.’

‘Yes, something
is
wrong and it’s been wrong for a very long time. But I think all wrongs are about to be set right. Mr Sheridan is a minister and a very old friend of mine, so Sholto’s in good hands. You don’t need to worry about the MacNabs, Wilma – any of them. But I’m not at liberty to say more, I’m afraid.’

She
still looked anxious, but said, ‘If there’s anything I can do to help – anything at all – you’ll be sure to let me know?’

‘Of course. Just stand by
for now. I suspect we could be in for a long night.’

~

I sat on the edge of the bed and shook Alec gently, then harder when he didn’t stir. When he finally opened his eyes and saw me, he looked startled, then smiled. A fleeting happiness relaxed his features before memory closed in and bodily tension returned. He sat up, suddenly alert, and looked round the room.

‘H
ow long have I been asleep?’

‘A while. You obviously needed it.’

He got out of bed and started to dress. I told him we’d been summoned to the library by Sholto and that Wilma knew something was up. Alec said nothing, but just before we left the room, he grabbed hold of both my hands and said, ‘Thank you, Jenny.’

My laugh was nervous. ‘Whatever for?’

‘Everything. For being brave. And stubborn. And for caring so much about my family. And me.’ Too choked to speak, I lifted my head and repaid his thanks with a kiss. ‘It means a great deal to me to have you by my side.’

‘That’s just as well
,’ I said, brushing tousled hair back from his eyes. ‘Because I’m not leaving now, whatever happens. We’re in this together – is that understood?’

‘Understood. Come on – we mustn’t keep Sholto waiting
.’ At the door, he suddenly turned to me. There was a strange light in his eyes, something combative, even dangerous. ‘It’s begun, Jenny… And I’m going to finish it.’ He pressed my hand to his lips and together we ran upstairs to the library.

~

When we got there we found Fergus and Zelda waiting with Sholto. Neither greeted us as we entered. Fergus looked shattered and to judge from the crumpled handkerchief in her balled fist, Zelda had been crying. I assumed Sholto must have informed them of the manner of Liz’s death, but I wondered how much they knew about Meredith’s continuing presence at Cauldstane. Rupert wasn’t there. He’d retired to pray and had asked that we all reconvene at 2.00 a.m.

Sholto was brief.
His hand shook a little as he refilled his whisky glass, but his speech was clear and his thinking incisive. I wasn’t really surprised. He was used to being responsible for big projects and many men’s lives. Though he’d never have chosen to shoulder the burden now his, there was no doubt in my mind that, grief-stricken, aged and infirm as he was, we were in a safe pair of hands. In that moment I loved Sholto almost as much as I loved his son.

‘My a
pologies for the uncivilized hour, but I want this business settled as quickly as possible, especially as there’s a faint possibility that if I sleep on it, I’ll wake up in a more rational frame of mind and manage to persuade myself Cauldstane is neither cursed nor haunted. It
is
. I’ve suspected as much for some time, but thought I was going senile. Jenny has helped me see what’s really going on here – and what went on many years ago. For this painful knowledge, I’m profoundly grateful. I wish to acknowledge before you all Jenny’s courage and persistence, which she’s demonstrated despite great personal risk.

‘Wilma knows nothing
, of course. Well, I’ve
told
her nothing, but I’m not sure how long we’ll be able to maintain her ignorance. She’ll be as upset as the rest of us by these revelations. My silence is simply an attempt to spare her. Unfortunately Zelda and Fergus could not be spared. As MacNabs, they needed to know the truth.
Believing
it is, of course, another matter.’ Sholto glanced at Zelda who’d started to sniff ominously, but she mastered her emotions by staring fixedly into the fire. ‘I’ve instructed Wilma to prepare the Great Hall for our meeting. It seems only right that on an occasion as momentous as this, the MacNabs should assemble as we’ve always done, in our ceremonial hall, beneath the Cauldstane claymore. But I suggest you all get some rest now. Eat something, if you can face it. Wilma says there’s plenty of food in the kitchen.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘We’ll meet again at two with Rupert Sheridan. Any questions?’ No one responded and Sholto looked relieved. ‘Good. Stand firm, everyone. Remember the MacNab motto.
Let fear be far from all.
’

As we began to file out of the library
in silence, Sholto called my name. I turned and he beckoned me over to his desk. He waited until the others had left, then said, ‘Jenny, would you mind bringing your laptop to the meeting? Rupert told me you’ve been receiving intimidating messages from Meredith. Cyber-bullying. Isn’t that what they call it?’

‘When it’s done by living people, yes. I’m not sure there’s a name for what Meredith’s been doing.’

‘Ah – quite. If you don’t mind, I’d like to have the laptop standing by as… well, as evidence. And – just in case…’

‘In case she
wants to communicate with us?’

Sholto
winced slightly, but when he spoke, his voice was firm. ‘There is that, of course. I don’t know whether we should give her the opportunity, but frankly, I don’t expect her to go down without a fight.’ He shook his head and murmured, ‘She was always one for having the last word.’

‘I’ll bring the laptop. It’s
no problem. I thought we should have it with us. Meredith seems keen to communicate directly with me for some reason.’

‘I don’t think it’s a good reason
– not good for you, I mean.’

‘No
, but I’m not afraid of her. Not any more. I’m far too angry to be afraid.’

Sholto’
s smile was wan but I was glad to see it. ‘That’s the spirit. Best get some rest, my dear, if you can.’

As I left the library, I heard Sholto mutter, almost to himself, ‘I wonder if
she
ever sleeps?...’

~

Just before two I presented myself, with laptop, in the Great Hall. Eight dark and massive Jacobean oak chairs had been placed round an equally dark and massive table set before the fireplace, over which the Cauldstane claymore presided. A large and ancient book sat in the centre of the table – the family Bible, I presumed.

A log fire was burning in the grate and had evidently been
alight for some time, dispelling the Hall’s usual chill. The room was lit by an eccentric chandelier constructed of antlers and bearing fake candles, but the real thing was also in evidence. On either side of the fireplace and in the corners of the room stood huge church candles on floor-standing holders, almost as tall as me. More burning candles stood on the mantelpiece beneath the claymore and the air was scented pleasantly with wood smoke and beeswax.

I w
as hesitating, wondering where I should sit, when all four MacNabs entered, led by Sholto. The sight brought a lump to my throat. The men were all dressed formally, in kilts and black jackets. The MacNab tartan is bright, basically red and green, and as the family entered, the room looked almost festive. Zelda brought up the rear, also dressed for a formal occasion in a long silk MacNab tartan skirt with a sash of the same fabric tied across her body. I felt seriously under-dressed in my jeans and baggy sweater.