Cauldstane (7 page)

‘Really?’

‘Certainly. Historical swordsmanship is his passion. He’s not too keen on the idea of this book, but I’m sure he’d be happy to show you the claymore. If you’re interested.’

‘
I most certainly am.’

A
n image of Alec came to mind: Alec as he sprang across the courtyard, attacking the air with a rapier. That image was succeeded by another: a snapshot Sholto had shown me of Liz with her two small boys, in which an eight-year old Alec appeared to defend his family against a foe the others couldn’t see. I wasn’t looking forward to asking Sholto about the accidents that killed both his wives. I would probably have to talk to Alec too, despite the possibility he didn’t want me around. Undaunted, I returned to the cheery subject of summary execution.

‘So the errant MacNab wife was despatched with the Cauldstane claymore?’

‘
Correct. Probably had her head lopped off. Or she might have been sliced in two. Ask Alec. He’d know exactly how you kill someone with a claymore.
Not
something he learned at Gordonstoun, I hasten to add… Anyway, that’s when the real trouble started.’

‘It gets worse?’

‘But of course!’ Sholto said gleefully. ‘The wife’s mother was reputedly a witch. When she heard what had happened to her daughter, she cursed all MacNabs, past, present and future. She declared that early death or barrenness would befall any bride not of the blood. So then the mother was condemned as a witch – and probable supplier of the aforementioned herbal draught – and they drowned her in the river, here at Cauldstane. She died cursing the family. Comprehensively.’

We sat in respectful silence for a moment – I felt slightly stunned – and I noticed that when Sholto wasn’t talking, I could hear the
sound of the river in the distance, rushing over the rocks. It wasn’t a soothing sound, so I focussed on work again.

‘Do you know the
actual wording of the curse?’

‘No
. It belongs to an oral tradition. If it was ever written down, the document would have been burned or lost. But I doubt any MacNab would have dared commit the curse to parchment or paper. Asking for trouble! In any case, tradition has it the words were preserved on the Blood Stone.’

‘
The
Blood Stone?
Oh, now you’re teasing me, aren’t you?’

‘Not at all
! The Blood Stone is the one in the middle of the river bed. By the bridge. It’s visible whenever the water level is low. The condemned witch was tied up, then hurled from the bridge, into the river. She smashed her skull on this stone. Legend says, once her blood and brains were washed away, the words of her curse were visible, etched on the stone in blood-red letters. They’re conveniently illegible now of course, but there
are
strange reddish marks on the stone, even I have to admit that. Believers in the curse say the marks are all that’s left after hundreds of years of the river eroding the stone.’

‘Y
ou must point it out to me. Could I wade in and have a look?’

‘Don’t you dare! Not without being attached to a rope with someone on the othe
r end. The river’s fast-flowing. The Blood Stone’s close to the surface because it sits on a rocky outcrop. That disguises the fact that the river’s deep in the middle. In any case, there’s nothing much to see. There are red veins in the rock that look something like a faint cursive hand. But I’ve no doubt a geologist could account for the marks.’

Struggling to absorb the impact of Sholto’s grim story, I looked down at my notebook
, scanned my list of prepared questions and adapted one. ‘What was it like growing up with all these tales? Being surrounded by magic stones and ancient swords… You must have been less sceptical as a child, surely?’

‘My father believed in the curse, so naturally I didn’t, as a matter of principle. Two staid and fearful parents produced three non-conformist children who were det
ermined to live life to the full. I suppose we were all explorers in our different ways. Zelda was perhaps the bravest.’

‘
You mean marrying a racing driver?’

‘No, my dear
– marrying a
foreigner
. My father would have preferred to see her enter a nunnery than marry a Frenchman. Zelda had no choice but to live abroad. And poor old Torquil was told he’d driven his father into an early grave with his homosexual exploits. It was made clear to me that I should be the one to produce a proper Cauldstane heir. As I had no intention of doing anything other than marrying for love, I couldn’t afford to believe in the curse. But I do remember as a boy being tremendously excited by the legend of the Cauldstane claymore.’

‘
There’s a
legend
as well?’

‘Yes. You must get Alec to tell you about it.’

‘I want to know now!’

Sholto
rolled his eyes and muttered, ‘Will I ever get my morning coffee?’ Then he grinned, obviously enjoying himself. ‘The claymore is supposed to have supernatural powers, power to protect the MacNabs from evil, but as is usually the case with these magical devices, there’s a strict limit to the number of times the magic can be invoked. Our sword can be used only once more to defend the lives and honour of the MacNabs, then, inexplicably, its power expires.’

‘How many times has it been used?’

‘Twice. The execution of the adulterous wife was the first time.’

‘And the second?’

‘1975. When Torquil attacked a burglar.’

I couldn’t help laughing.
‘He attacked a burglar with a priceless antique?’

‘It was probably the priceless antique the burglar was trying to steal.
God knows, we don’t own much else of any value. Not any more. And there’s quite a market for old weapons now.’

‘What did Torquil do?’

‘He said he was too drunk at the time to realise the implications of using up the sword’s magic quota. He just grabbed the nearest heavy object. He hadn’t a clue how to handle the thing – a claymore would make the strongest of fellows look limp-wristed – but the intruder thought Torquil knew what he was doing and turned tail, then broke his neck falling down a turnpike stair. There’s an uneven step, designed to trip the unwary – one of those built-in security measures you get in castles. The family know about it and outsiders don’t. Simple but effective. The poor fellow went flying head first and that was that.’

‘
So the claymore apparently exerted its power again.’

‘That’s what believers
said.’

‘
But now, thanks to Torquil, it can only be used once more.’

‘
According to the legend.’

‘
This is wonderful stuff, Sholto! It can go straight into the book, just as you tell it.’

‘You think so? W
ill readers be interested in these ridiculous stories?’

‘Of course they will!
’

‘Well, if you say so.
It all seems a bit ho-hum to me because I grew up with it. I never really took any of it seriously.’

‘Never?’

‘No. Well, not until Meredith died.’ Sholto clasped his stick tightly. ‘I did wonder for a while then. I mean, losing
two
wives… It would make you think, wouldn’t it? But accidents happen. Especially when people are drunk. And Meredith was very drunk. I didn’t realise she’d driven off on her own. It was Alec’s wedding reception and Cauldstane was heaving with guests. I didn’t notice she’d gone. Not until it was too late.’

‘Why did she drive off on her own? Do you know
?’

Shol
to didn’t speak but he looked at me, as if assessing what he should say. I returned his gaze and waited. I’ve learned to wait.

‘I’ve no idea
why Meredith was so drunk, but she got into her car and drove off because Alec had told her to go to hell. Which I fear, poor girl, she duly did.’

As if on cue
, a mournful bell began to toll and Sholto sat up, galvanised. ‘Ah! That’s Wilma telling us coffee’s served.’

‘That bell has a wonderful cracked note. Full of character. Is it very old?’

‘No, Zelda rescued it from the local primary school in the days when there
was
a local primary school. It’s a holiday home now.’ Sholto struggled to his feet, then stood swaying a little. ‘There’ll be coffee in the summer house and some in the drawing room. Take your pick. I’m going indoors. The chill gets to my bones these days. You’d think a lifetime of roughing it would make you tolerant of cold and damp. Rather the reverse, I’d say. I hated it at Eton and I hate it now. Used to lie in my tent in Antarctica, trying to warm myself up, thinking about how I almost died of heatstroke in the Sahara. Didn’t work. Still perished.’ He stood staring at the ground, apparently reluctant to move. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded as cracked as the bell. ‘Poor Meredith... Bloody awful way to die.
Christ
, she was a mess...’

With that he turned and walked away, setting a brisk pace that I’m sure must have caused him physical pain. I let him go on alone and headed
instead for the summer house.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Sholto had indicated that t
he summer house was in a corner of the walled garden at the junction of the south- and west-facing walls. I didn’t head in that direction immediately. Concerned he might fall, I watched until he was out of sight, then gathered up my things and shoved them into my bag. I turned and followed the path, wondering why I couldn’t see the summer house. I caught sight of Mrs Guthrie on the other side of the garden, trotting off in the direction of the castle. I was about to call out and ask where the summer house was when I found it, almost obscured from view by an enormous shrub rose, taller than a man, which grew beside it. The roof and walls were additionally camouflaged by a canopy of what I later learned was a clematis, so that the wooden building resembled something from a fairy tale, a sort of tree house on the ground.

As I
approached, I noticed a faint but continuous buzzing noise. I looked up and saw that the yellowy-green bell-shaped flowers of the clematis thronged with bees. I stood for a moment with my eyes shut, feeling the sun on the side of my face, listening to the hum of the bees. I inhaled the climber’s elusive scent and knew a moment of sheer and simple happiness. That was dispelled a moment later when I opened my eyes and looked through the open door of the summer house. Alec MacNab, dressed for work in his worn leather apron and steel-capped shoes, was seated on one of the battered Lloyd Loom chairs, his long legs extended, his feet resting on another chair. My immediate thought was to turn and walk away, but I felt sure he must have heard my approach on the gravel path. As I stood, undecided, he turned his head and smiled, but didn’t move.

‘Good morning. Will you join me for coffee?
’ He indicated a large thermos coffee pot on the table. ‘Wilma just delivered, but no one else seems to want to brave the elements today.’

‘Sholto and I have been in the
garden all morning, but he was tired. And a bit cold, I think. So he went back to the castle.’ I hesitated in the doorway. ‘You’re sure you don’t mind if I join you? I’d love some coffee.’

‘Sit down and
I’ll pour you some.’ He stood up and brought a chair forward and placed it in the doorway. ‘If you sit just there, you’ll have a good view of the roofline of Cauldstane. On a day like today, you might see a red kite if you’re lucky.’ He looked at me, checking I understood. ‘Not the kind flown by wee boys.’

‘
I know,’ I said, smiling as I stepped inside the summer house which was warm and musty and seemed rather dark after the bright sun outside. I sat down on the chair Alec had arranged for me. ‘I have a friend who’s a keen birdwatcher and some of it’s rubbed off. He was quite jealous when I told him I’d seen a kite at Cauldstane.’

‘They’re magnificent creatures. The wing span is almost two metres.
You don’t notice that from the ground.’ Alec poured me a mug of coffee and said, ‘Milk and sugar?’

‘Just milk, please.
’ He handed me the mug, then as he picked up a plate, I raised my hand in protest. ‘Don’t even think of offering me one of those biscuits! My willpower is non-existent when it comes to Mrs. Guthrie’s home baking.’

‘Resistance is futile,’
Alec said as he took a biscuit from the plate. ‘How’s it going with Sholto? He seems to be enjoying himself.’

‘You think so?’ I tried to ignore the tempting crunching noises
and averted my eyes from the biscuits.

‘H
e’s in his element, re-living the past, dusting down the old traveller’s tales. And it’s doing him a power of good. We’re very grateful to you.’

‘Oh, it’s nothing to do with me. I just sit there with the tape recorder.’

‘It’s everything to do with you that he’s enjoying himself. He wasn’t looking forward to it. And we all had mixed feelings about raking over the past.’

‘
There is rather a lot of past, isn’t there?’

‘Hundreds of years. But if you just look at Sholto’s three score years and ten, there’s a hell of a lot of ground to cover. Some of it
pretty bumpy. That he’s prepared to do it and appears to be enjoying the process is a testament to your tact and encouragement, Jenny.’

‘Thank you.’

‘You sound surprised.’

‘I suppose I am a little.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, I don’t think I can take all the credit.’

‘And?…’

‘And?’

He narrowed his eyes and said, ‘There’s something else you’d like to say, but you’re not sure you should.’

I laughed to hide my surprise and embarrassment.
‘Am I that easy to read?’

‘In some ways, yes. In others, no.’

I waited for Alec to continue, but he just sat drinking his coffee, regarding me, as if waiting for me to speak. The silence was becoming awkward, so I took a biscuit from the plate and bit into it, playing for time. I chewed and swallowed, then said, ‘Well, if I’m being honest—’

‘Why
be anything else?’

I broke off some small pieces of biscuit and tossed them outside where some chaffinc
hes were strutting on the path. ‘I suppose I wasn’t really expecting your approval.’

‘Why not? This project is good for Sholto. And if the book sells in sufficient quantities, it could help with some
of our financial difficulties. Has he told you just how bad things are?’

‘No
, but he’s dropped hints.’

‘You’ll find it hard to get him to talk about it. Well,
I
do.’ Alec studied the contents of his mug. ‘But things are bad. Fergus thinks we should put the castle on the market. For three million.’

‘But it’s your inheritance!’

‘Aye, but Fergus is our business brain – the only business brain in the family – and he says Cauldstane’s a money pit. And he’s right. Which is why we’d never get three million for it. But my hope was not to have to sell up in Sholto’s lifetime. That’s where your book might help, you see. A wee cash injection could buy us a bit of time, enable us to maintain the fabric of the building so it would still be worth selling after Sholto’s gone.’

‘T
hat’s all so sad. I can’t bear to think of Cauldstane going out of the family, so heaven knows how you must feel.’

Alec shrugged.
‘It’s an eventuality I’ve had to consider for half my life. Inheriting is the easy part. It’s hanging on to a place that’s hard. But why did you think I’d disapprove of you?’

I
could think of no suitable reply. A certain reticence on his part on the day of my interview, the bitterness about Meredith – these could be ascribed to grief on the anniversary of his wife’s death. But tampering with my laptop?... Looking at Alec now, his face calm, his eyes cool and enquiring, it was impossible to believe him capable of such an act. But if it hadn’t been Alec, who could it have been?

I turn
ed away and said, ‘I just got the impression you weren’t very keen on the idea of the book.’ It sounded lame, but it was all I could say without asking him outright if he’d come into my room while I slept and deleted my notes.

‘Did Sholto say
I might be a problem?’

‘No, not
at all! He just warned me that – well, that you’d had some very bad experiences.’

‘And he
did that because, at some point, if you do your job properly, you’re going to have to ask me to sit down and talk about death. My mother’s, for a start. Because I was the sole witness. Also the cause.’

‘
You were only
eight
.’

‘Aye, so they tell me.
You’ll also want to know about Meredith’s death. And no one apart from me will discuss with you whether or not I was indirectly responsible for that too. But one thing they
will
all tell you is that my wife committed suicide. Which isn’t actually true, though I can never prove it.’

‘It
wasn’t suicide?’

‘No.’

‘So was it … an accident?’

‘
Another
accident? Aye, well, that’s the inevitable conclusion, is it not? There were no injuries to her body. No sign of a fall. No broken bones or blow to the head. Her lungs were full of water, so that means she drowned. The bruises and scratches on her body were the kind that would have been inflicted as she was swept along. There’d been heavy rain for several days before she died and the river was in a dangerous condition. Her coat was found on the river bank. So it was assumed Coral waded into the river with the intention of taking her life. I understand why folk thought that. She’d fought a battle with depression for a couple of years and depression was winning.’

‘Was
it something to do with the Cauldstane curse?’

Alec cocked his head to one side and regarded me. He looked terribly pale.
‘You know about the curse?’

‘Sholto told me about it this morning. It must
have been a dreadful thing to have to live with.’

‘The existence of the curse certainly didn’t help
because the main cause of Coral’s depression was our inability to conceive a child. We’d both had tests and it seemed there was no reason why she shouldn’t conceive. She just didn’t. So everyone assumed she took her life in a fit of despair. The more fancifully inclined concluded she was a double victim of the Cauldstane curse. She was barren and destined to die young.’

‘But you don’t believe that.’

‘Damn right I don’t.’

‘Why
? What else could have happened? How can you be so sure it wasn’t suicide?’

I watched as his chest rose and fell with a great sigh
, then he said, ‘Three reasons. One – there was no note. Two – her camera was missing.’

‘Her
camera
?’

‘Aye.
I gave Coral a camera to encourage her to get out and walk round the estate. I thought the fresh air and exercise would do her good. That camera was missing when she died. We lived in a wee house on the estate when she was alive and I turned the place upside down looking for it. I never found it and it’s never turned up in the castle. That suggests to me she had it on her when she drowned.’

‘And no one contemplating suicide would go out with
a camera.’

Alec shot me a look of something like gratitude, then went on. ‘T
he camera wasn’t found with her body, so it’s just a theory.’

I waited for him to continue but he said nothing, then suddenly set his coffee mug down on the tray. It made a jarring sound that startled me and the flock of small birds that had congregated around the biscuit crumbs I’d tossed through the door.
My nerves were frayed; it already felt like it had been a long morning, but I had to know. ‘Alec… You said there were three reasons you knew it wasn’t suicide.’

‘Aye
, I did. You can dismiss the lack of note – they say some folk don’t leave them – and the camera’s not evidence until it’s found. But leaving those factors aside, there’s no way my wife would have committed suicide, not on that day or on any day thereafter.’

‘
How can you be so sure?’

He turned
and the look of cold anger in his eyes frightened me. ‘Because the night before she died, Coral told me she was pregnant.’

I sat quite
still, not knowing what to say, but it seemed important not to look away. I sensed he wanted to say more, but couldn’t find the words. I held his eyes, even though I felt I was being beaten down by his pain. His words, when they came, surprised me.

‘I’m sorry
, Jenny.’

‘What
ever for?’

‘For burdening you. With – with my theories. My anger
… But Sholto will talk about it as if it was suicide. And he’s wrong. He has no understanding of mental frailty. Nor can he forgive it. He thought Coral was weak. Weak in the head.’

My tone was brisk.
‘Well, if Sholto tries to persuade me it was suicide I shall point out to him that readers just won’t buy it. There’s not enough evidence. They’ll think Coral had everything to live for. Inheriting Cauldstane. A loving husband. Many more years in which she could still have become a mother. That’s how readers will see it. They’ll prefer random tragedy to suicide any day… Sorry, Alec, I don’t mean to sound flippant, I just wanted you to see that I – well, that I’m on your side.’

‘That’s OK. I understand.’
He got to his feet. ‘I’d better get back to work. Beating hell out of some steel will soon put the colour back in my cheeks.’

I stood
up and put my empty mug on the tray. ‘I’d love to see your workshop. Could I come and watch you work one day? At your convenience, obviously. Sholto said you’d show me the Cauldstane claymore.’

‘I
t would be my pleasure.’

‘
He also said you’d tell me how to cut someone in two with it.’

‘Had you anyone particular in mind?’

I felt absurdly pleased to see his grin. It was as if a weight had been lifted off my chest and I could breathe easily again. I followed him out of the summer house and into the sunshine. The bees were still busy.