Destroying Angel (8 page)

Closing my bedroom door in the now pearly light of dawn, the drama over, silence all around me once more, I lay awake with my thoughts tumbling like rats trapped in a cage.

Had I imagined Hubert’s declaration of love? I felt a little embarrassed remembering a kiss too wickedly passionate to pass for mere politeness. Was I making too much of where it might lead? And more to the point, would Hubert remember, or had it been due to an over-indulgence in brandy after dinner?

Despite Hubert’s explanation regarding Kate and her
sleep-walking
drama, I wished Thane had been in the house, instead of being securely locked away in the stables. Not, of course, that he would have been much use. He had certain limitations as a bloodhound.

I slept uneasily and went downstairs next morning after nine to a solitary breakfast. The night’s events seemed like a bad dream. The house was again deserted – not even the bustling Mrs Robson was in evidence and, apart from the porridge kept warm in the oven, there was no indication of whether Hubert and the others had yet put in an appearance.

I went to collect Thane. The storm’s destruction was evident in the abundance of fallen branches and here and there was an uprooted tree. I decided to have a look at Wolf’s
bothy. Even from a distance I could see an ancient elm, with a tangle of broken branches, was sprawled across the roof, which had caved in leaving the two cable ends reaching up into the sky in a gesture of pathetic surrender.

Wolf was up a ladder – with Cedric giving him a helping hand – sawing off the branches to ultimately remove the tree. Cedric gave me his cheeky leer and jumped down onto the ground, obviously glad of a diversion.

‘Keep on working,’ was Wolf’s stern rebuke. ‘You can’t slope off yet.’

‘Just having a smoke, boss. Have to see Auntie,’ Cedric added with a grin.

As he turned towards the house, Wolf called after him: ‘Don’t forget you are to be a beater at the shoot tomorrow.’

‘Aye. Auntie’ll need to pack some extra grub.’

Wolf watched him go and, with a despairing heavenward sigh, ruefully considered his damaged roof.

‘Plenty to occupy us here without having to go out and shoot over the Duke’s estate. I dare say they didn’t escape damage, although there isn’t much to blow down on the moors. His main concern, of course, will be if the number of grouse have been affected. His guns cheated and his guests disappointed.’

His tone sounded bitter and disapproving but, turning to me, he smiled. ‘We do not shoot to kill as a sport – only for food. That is built into our psyche. We believe that we are all of the same earth and we share it with all other living creatures. Of necessity we kill to eat, as animals in their turn also do to survive. But we do not kill for pleasure and after we kill a deer, we ask for its pardon. Call it Brother, say that we honoured its speed and grace and that, in killing it and eating
its flesh, we are honoured to be taking those qualities into our being.’

Was that why Thane, sitting at his side, was so comfortable, so in tune with this new friend? For despite Wolf’s outward trappings of civilisation and Thane’s recent conversion to domesticity, both were creatures of the wild.

I found myself remembering again something less pleasant from my first meeting with Chief Wolf Rider.

I was still curious. Because it concerned Thane, it continued to haunt me, try as I might to put it from my mind, so I decided to broach the subject.

‘When you were in Edinburgh, one of your Ghost Dancers, Wild Elk, had an accident and died on Arthur’s Seat.’ I paused. ‘You told me an extraordinary story.’

I tried to sound casual, amused, and was conscious of having failed as Wolf gave me a mocking look. ‘And what was that? I have many.’

But I was sure he knew what I was talking about even as I reminded him. ‘Wild Elk believed that the spirit of a white man he had killed by mistake had entered into the soul of an animal, possibly a dog. He had seen it several times, and told you of his fears. You thought it was this animal that made his horse throw him and so by his death was avenged.’

Wolf listened carefully, nodded. ‘An extraordinary story for your culture, but we believe that in dying our spirits can take refuge in the body of an animal.’ As he spoke he smiled, patting Thane’s head.

Thane looked up at him, also listening, and I could have sworn that he understood perfectly what Wolf was saying. Their affinity was uncanny and I felt scared and angry too. I didn’t like the idea any better now than I did three years ago
of my Danny’s spirit inhabiting Thane, protecting me as he could.

The uncomfortable silence deepened and I said: ‘Talking of extraordinary things, what did you make of Kate’s outburst last night? Someone trying to kill her indeed!’

Preoccupied now with the broken roof, I wondered if Wolf had heard me. Then he said, ‘Sleepwalking can be dangerous. Hallucinations can seem quite real,’ and his action of picking up the saw Cedric had left, indicated that he had work to do.

As I turned to leave, he said, ‘I often go to Holy Island to gather seaweed that contains a special ingredient I need for some of my herbal remedies.’ Hesitating for a moment he smiled, ‘You said you would like to come along.’ I nodded agreement and he looked pleased. ‘It is associated with one of your more eminent saints and has tremendous spiritual qualities. A place where the soul of a non-Christian is refreshed – that is if you don’t get cut off by the tide. Thane would like the sea too, I am sure.’

Escaping from Staines for even a few hours was something to look forward to, I decided, as I walked back to the house to deliver Thane to Kate for the day – a rather reluctant Thane, who would much rather have stayed with his hero.

We went in by the front door and, as the hall was empty, I seized the opportunity to have another look at the scene of last night’s events.

The sitting room door was open and Thane seemed to know my mind. He sniffed around and suddenly darted behind the sofa and returned with a piece of black material in his mouth.

I took it from him.

A very dusty velvet mask. Although it fitted Kate’s story of
a fancy dress costume, it appeared to have lain there, overlooked, for some time. I thought back to the meal earlier that evening and to Kate’s apparent attraction to Wolf. Again I tried to reconstruct the scene in the sitting room. The open window, the rain streaming into the room.

When we all arrived in response to her screams, Wolf was there already, closing the window. Hubert seemed confident about the would-be lover’s identity. Could it be Wolf?

I felt suddenly chilled, remembering her words. The feeling of velvet ‘like a fancy dress costume’. In the darkness, perhaps she hadn’t realised what she was touching was a velvet smoking jacket. Like the one belonging to Hubert that Wolf Rider had been wearing while his own clothes were drying in Mrs Robson’s kitchen.

I didn’t care for my suspicions. If I needed an ally to help me find Hubert’s blackmailer I would certainly have chosen Wolf and it was unimaginable that he could be capable of seducing the young girl who was his patient, taking advantage of her hero-worship for an older man.

For all our actions there has to be a motive, something to gain. It always came back to that.

This one was obvious, but unpleasant to contemplate. Kate was an heiress and would bring Wolf closer to inheriting Staines to which, I was to learn from two independent sources, he had a stronger claim than Hubert.

In the kitchen Mrs Robson was eager to chat about poor Miss Kate and all her ‘troubles’, as if the consumption wasn’t enough, poor lass. The room smelt of scorching irons as she stacked up the pile of drying clothes from last night’s storm.

‘What do you think really happened?’ I asked.

She paused with the iron raised in her hand and frowned. ‘Sounded to me as if she was having one of her nightmares about someone trying to kill her. When she woke up in the sitting room, what with the storm and all that, she thought it had really happened.’

And shaking her head: ‘I couldn’t say, lass. But she does walk in her sleep quite often.’ She blew briskly on the hot iron indicating that she had wasted enough time.

I looked at her sternly, sure that ‘couldn’t say’ might be correctly interpreted as ‘wouldn’t’.

‘You’ve been with the family a long time,’ I said. ‘You were here when her sister and her mother died.’

‘So I was. Awful times, they were.’ She gave me an enigmatic look. ‘Families are not always what they seem like on the surface, you know. You shouldn’t be taken in by appearances.’

‘Meaning, Mrs Robson, meaning?’ I said eagerly.

She shook her head. ‘None of my business, lass, nor yours either. But yon Indian chap, Mr Rider, I hear tell he’s got a stronger claim on Staines than the master. If anything should happen to Sir, that is,’ she added darkly.

‘Really? Tell me more.’

‘That I will not, lass. None of my business to spread village gossip.’

‘I know, of course, that his grandmother was a Staines,’ I said encouragingly. ‘So they are related distantly.’

But closing her lips firmly, with a stubborn shake of her head, she began rearranging the ironed garments on the clothes-horse.

I was to get no more information that day, but I had enough to establish a motive for Wolf to woo and win Kate. Between
them they stood to inherit all, should Hubert die.

On my way out of the kitchen, over a chair by the fire, there was a moleskin jacket. I touched it, and she said:

‘That’s Cedric’s, his best. He didn’t want it ruined when he was clearing up the storm damage.’

I looked at it, touched the sleeve. It was damp but felt like velvet, and Cedric was a suspect I welcomed as infinitely preferable to Wolf Rider.

Hubert was to shoot over the moor a mile away, part of the Duke of Northumberland’s vast estate where specially invited guests – and others who paid a large fee for the privilege – gathered to bring down game birds bred for the purpose.

There were two rooms in the house that I had never entered. One was the door near the kitchen with the warning notice ‘Photography. Keep out!’ It led to the sacred precinct in the cellars where Hubert developed his photographic plates, made prints and no doubt stored valuable equipment.

The other was the gun room near the front door, similarly labelled, from which Hubert was emerging, carrying two weapons.

Indicating them, he smiled. ‘We don’t have many guns these days, I’m afraid. Different matter in Grandfather’s time. He kept an armoury of weapons, including ancient swords and old blunderbusses dating back centuries.’

He pointed back into the room. ‘A fine selection of animal trophies. Something of a big game hunter, he was also an amateur archaeologist and an expert taxidermist. One or two of them are my own handiwork,’ he added proudly. ‘I was quite interested in the art in my younger days, but alas I no longer have time to spare for such demanding activities.
Photography is my entire life now. Do go in and have a look,’ he added, holding the door open for me. As I entered, he bowed and headed towards his study.

I was quite intrigued. Hubert had obviously inherited many of his grandfather’s talents, I thought, facing a semi-circle of stuffed dogs – obviously beloved family pets. Labradors, retrievers, and spaniels, all faced towards the door, poised to welcome visitors with a glassy stare. Once beloved pet cats and wildcats alike, stared down from shelves while, safely above them on inaccessible branches, perched brightly plumaged exotic birds.

All were very lifelike and the more exotic creatures were quite alarming. There was a crocodile and, most impressive of all, a huge grizzly bear – eight feet tall, propped up on a pedestal. Its mouth hung open showing fierce yellow fangs and its claws were extended, ready to grip the unwary in a death hug.

Against one wall in the gloomier depths of the room there were three Egyptian mummy cases with elaborately painted masks, whose eyes also seemed to follow me.

As a domestic museum, it was a collector’s dream, but something about those staring eyes fixed hard in my direction gave a feeling of menace to the heavy silence. The air still retained an unpleasant dead animal smell which had evaded all the taxidermist’s skills.

I had no desire to linger and went back to my room thinking about Hubert. We had been alone on two occasions but he had made no attempt to kiss me again. I realised that I was expecting some reference to that extraordinary declaration of love and whilst I was a little relieved, I recognised in the depths of my secret heart that marrying
Hubert – if he should ask – would be the perfect answer to the problem of losing Thane for ever.

Such a marriage, romantic as any novelette, was every young girl’s dream. But I was no young girl. I was not in love, I hardly knew the man and I knew what marriage involved.

It would be the end of my career. I could not imagine that Hubert, any more than Jack Macmerry, would encourage or even consider allowing my role as Lady Investigator, Discretion Guaranteed to continue. Besides, once I had solved the mystery of Hubert’s blackmailer, there would be little scope for such activities in Staines. It was unlikely to offer as many opportunities for solving domestic crimes as a great city like Edinburgh.

I had hoped to spend some time in Alnwick, obtaining information that would lead to tracking down and interviewing the disgraced housemaid Lily and her railwayman husband. However, as I was leaving the house, the heavens opened; I retreated to my room and watched the rain pour down the windows. The atrocious weather continued unceasingly all that day but did not deter activity in the rest of the household, as I realised, sitting at the dining-table to eat alone, under the watchful gaze of the dismal family portraits.

Kate was obviously bored with Roswal/Thane and Collins brought him down to me. Glad of his company, I retreated upstairs once more and, considering my list of suspects, I found myself once again wishing that Jack and I had not parted.

Indeed, I valued his love more now that it was absent than I had latterly at home in Solomon’s Tower. I had never
pretended that I loved him (or could love any man) as I had loved Danny, whom I had loved passionately and unwaveringly from the day when he entered my life and became my hero.

Our ten years of marriage, despite all the hardships and constant dangers imposed by pioneering life in Arizona, would remain the happiest in my whole life.

Jack had entered as a saviour, too. In my first Edinburgh case, just months after I had arrived back in Scotland, he – and Thane – had saved my life from a vicious killer. I knew he loved me, but although accepting him as my lover, I had always declined marriage – the total commitment he desired. My excuse was that Danny, as far as I was concerned, remained still officially only missing, not dead.

Sadly, I now knew that I should abandon any hopes of Danny walking into my life again, and any excuses I had for not marrying Jack were invalid. But marriage was important to him, a necessity. He wanted a proper home life and children, and of equal importance, it meant that he was more likely to be promoted to chief inspector. I could only blame myself that I had lost him. My refusal to come to a decision had sent him into the arms of a more accommodating lover.

My thoughts turned again to Hubert; a wealthy
middle-aged
widower, strong and handsome, with the look of a medieval Border warrior – Harry Hotspur, to the life, I thought. Was he what my destiny intended? Aware that the reason for upper class marriages had less to do with love than the Biblical begetting of children, considering my own disastrous history of miscarriages, could I provide him with that essential – the heir he needed for the future of Staines?

I read a little, talked to Thane, and with the misery of rain
streaming unceasingly down the windows, I decided that if this was the outlook for tomorrow’s shoot then I would not be the only person within a radius of some miles, including the elite guests at Alnwick Castle, as well as the humble beaters, who would be retiring that night with similarly dismal thoughts.

I woke the next morning to misty, pale sunshine framing my window and Mrs Robson’s tap on the door telling me it was 6.30 and that the shooting party would be leaving within the hour.

‘Sir wishes to see you.’

I presented myself in the dining room. I had never imagined going voluntarily to a shoot, sharing as I did Wolf Rider’s aversion to a sport that killed for pleasure. I had been close to death too many times, a witness to guns fired in deadly earnest, their intention to maim and kill fellow human beings. Any desire to participate in the mass slaughter of innocent birds bred for the table was not for me.

Hubert indicated the seat opposite. ‘Roswal will be coming with us today.’

I made a protesting sound and he smiled indulgently. ‘He always accompanied me on the shoot—’

‘But he hates guns,’ I said.

‘Then he must
un
learn to hate them if he is to be part of this family.’

Did that endearing smile hold significance, a personal message for me alone, I wondered? My decision was now clear; where Thane went, hating noise, then I must go too. I did not want him bolting away in the general direction of Edinburgh and his home on Arthur’s Seat at the first gunshot.

As Hubert spoke, the commotion outside announced Cedric’s arrival with the two Labradors and Thane. His friend Jock lurked, grinning, in the background, presumably also to be a beater.

A collar was produced. As I fastened it around Thane’s neck, wondering how he would tolerate this, Hubert said, ‘Sometimes hounds get very excited and can get lost, as we know, do we not?’ He cast a tender smile in my direction.

While the docile and now collared Thane and I exchanged pitying glances, I patted his head reassuringly, resolving to stay close to him, and I declined Hubert’s rather mocking offer to carry a gun myself.

He seemed to think the idea might strike terror into my heart, but I was pretty certain that I could shoot straighter than most men, having used that ability to survive in a violent and often brutal society in America’s Wild West.

Now outside the house, I found that Collins was to accompany us and, most surprisingly, so was Kate. Yesterday’s persistent rain had vanished, leaving some dripping trees and muddy pools as evidence, while a beautiful calm sunny day had arisen from a sleepy morning mist.

Hubert had decided that a day in the fresh air would be good for Kate, and I suspected that Collins had persuaded him; no doubt she wished to keep a close eye on us both. A witness to that goodnight kiss, she was not prepared to take the risk of letting us spend the day together. I could have told her that it was a waste of time and misgivings, as I suspected, knowing men better than she did, that Hubert would have more important manly activities that day than allowing his blood to boil in hot pursuit of me.

Kate, armed with book and parasol, would remain safely in
one of the pony carts, watching from afar, with the picnic prepared by Mrs Robson. Much to Collins’ ill-concealed chagrin I was to accompany Hubert in the second cart, which had space for the day’s kill to be carried back to the larder at Staines.

I caught a glimpse of Wolf Rider and knew by the twitch of Thane’s ears that he had spotted his hero. Wolf’s long black hair was tied back with an Indian-style sweatband and, despite the uniform gamekeeper’s outfit, he looked more like an Aztec warrior than ever.

I patted Thane’s head firmly. ‘You stay with me.’

But Hubert had other ideas. ‘Roswal will come with me; he will be needed to assist in retrieving the birds.’

I shook my head in despair. He hadn’t listened to my warning. Whatever Roswal might have been, Thane was no retriever and after that first volley he would be off like a shot himself to the far horizon.

I chose my words carefully, tried to explain as tactfully as possible that Roswal had changed during the past three years.

Hubert listened gravely, shook his head, and said sadly that it was a disappointment, but now that he thought about it, he realised that Roswal had always been a bit of a house dog. He had allowed Kate to indulge him, make a lapdog of him.

Eyeing Thane sternly he said, ‘You had better take him back to Kate.’

I was delighted to do so, but as I was about to leave, there was a new commotion: a lot of bowing, straightening of shoulders, removing caps and tugging of forelocks, all indicating that the Duke’s party had now arrived.

Hubert also bared his head, bowed, but received no
acknowledgement from the Duke’s carriage as they swept past us, a handsome youth with bright auburn curls at his side.

I was surprised, having expected them to mingle, but it was now obvious that they intended keeping themselves to themselves. Even in sport, there was no taking down of the barriers that generations had erected to divide the aristocracy from the tenants.

Presumably everyone was waiting for the Duke to declare the event open and fire the first shot. They had settled about twenty yards away. A few words, some cheering and a barrage of shots followed. Someone misfired and swore loudly. The sound carried and so did the reproof:

‘Ladies present!’ Although the Duke’s ladies were
hearty-looking
females, tweed-clad and businesslike in their efficient handling of the guns, and looked well able to take care of themselves. For one wild moment, I am ashamed to admit, I longed to hold a gun again, not as a frantic device to save my own skin as in past days, but to demonstrate and surprise these sportsmen and women by my expertise. I was certain I would be better than any of them.

It was an unworthy thought and I dismissed it quickly. Why should I care what they thought of me anyway?

So I took Thane and headed back towards the carts, interrupting an earnest conversation Cedric was having with Kate. He seemed to be pleading with her and I wondered what was going on between them, since he should have been in place with the beaters.

At my approach, he looked guilty and, pretending he hadn’t seen me, he cleared off.

‘Shouldn’t Cedric be with the beaters?’ My attempt at innocent curiosity failed to draw any response or explanation
beyond a shrug from Kate, who didn’t question why I had brought Thane back.

‘Where is Collins?’

She shrugged again and, looking rather flustered, said, ‘Gone to see a friend, over there with the Duke’s party, I expect.’

Later, it did occur to me to remember that Kate was an heiress and that perhaps Cedric had hopes, however unlikely, as a suitable candidate for her affection. But, remembering the damp sleeve of the moleskin jacket in the kitchen, was what I had witnessed a secret understanding?

If so, then it also had to be fed into the puzzle of Hubert’s mysterious blackmailer, a role that was already fitting Mrs Robson’s would-be nephew uncommonly well.

After the first noisy barrage of shots, Thane lay down with a bored sigh while I tried to engage Kate in conversation. I directed it somewhat craftily towards Roswal as a puppy, but her answers were vague; hardly what one would expect of a devoted and proud dog-owner, heartbroken by his loss and overwhelmed with joy at his return.

As we spoke, Collins returned, gave me a sour look and, seizing one of the guns, headed towards Hubert again, doubtless intending to stay as close to him as possible.

It was going to be a long hot day. Making my excuses to Kate, who obviously did not mind the prospect of being deprived of our society, as she retreated beneath her parasol with her book, I took Thane up to a small mound well behind the guns.

Here the few sheltering trees would be welcome when the sun got higher and I was glad of my sketchbook, though I didn’t have much notion of what to draw, apart from quick
images of men and their dogs. Looking towards the horizon, the brooding image of the magnificent castle and a wide vista of attractive countryside. Far below, tiny figures with raised guns, the echo of their dogs barking excitedly, bounding ahead to retrieve the fluttering shapes of birds as they fell from the sky.