A Knife in Darkness Read online

  ‘That’s just it,’ said Hippolyta. ‘He didn’t seem to be crippled. He was seen walking about on his own.’

  ‘Then whoever told you that must be mistaken,’ said Patrick.

  ‘If you’re sure, then I suppose they must have been,’ said Hippolyta, with a confidence she did not quite feel. It was not that she did not trust her husband’s analysis of his patient: it was that the night watchman had been so sure: and it was, after all, part of his job to identify anyone acting oddly after dark. But then how well could he know Brookes, who was only a visitor and not even staying in the village?

  Basilia looked thoughtful.

  ‘Have you met Mr. Brookes?’ Hippolyta asked her.

  ‘No – no, certainly not.’ Basilia seemed less sure than her words would indicate.

  ‘Now, I must finish those letters before supper,’ said Patrick, rising reluctantly again. ‘Supper … I don’t suppose you could persuade Mrs. Riach to find us some ham, some time soon?’

  ‘Oh, yes, you’ve always been so fond of ham, haven’t you?’ added Basilia. ‘Forman knew how to boil a ham: I wonder if his recipe is in the kitchen? You always enjoyed it, Dr. Napier.’

  ‘Ham: of course, my dear. I’ll do my best,’ said Hippolyta, and wondered how.

  It was dark when Hippolyta woke with a jump. What was that noise?

  She sighed. She really had to become used to the creaks and groans of an old house at night.

  She turned on to her back, and despite herself listened hard again. Silence: there, she had been mistaken anyway. But then she heard a footstep.

  Where was the sound coming from? She thought it might be from the back of the house, from the servants’ quarters. But then she heard it again, and this time it seemed to be from somewhere at the front of the house – Miss Verney’s room, perhaps? Or was Robert Wilson moving about upstairs in the attic? She listened hard. Why would Robert Wilson be moving about in the middle of the night – now that he was, she was quite sure, fully recovered. What was he up to?

  Then she heard another step, and this time she was sure it was from the servants’ quarters. Tabitha? Was Durris right: could Tabitha have let someone into Dinnet House to murder Colonel Verney? But then Basilia had said that there would have been no need to let anyone in, as the doors would still have been unlocked. To guide someone, then: to show them perhaps where Colonel Verney’s study was? She listened: the steps were definitely in the servants’ quarters, though if anyone had asked she would have said they sounded rather light for the solidly built Tabitha. She sat up slowly, unwilling to disturb Patrick over a servant perhaps only fetching a drink of water.

  Then there was a little flurry of footsteps, and they were definitely from the front of the house. Again, they seemed too light for Robert Wilson, or even for Mrs. Riach, and try as she might she could detect no hint of a limp. She eased herself carefully off the bed, slipped a shawl over her shoulders and wrapped it tight, and headed for the bedroom door: then she stopped, turned to the fireplace, picked up the poker, and left the room, telling herself she was being completely melodramatic.

  The landing was empty, and she could hear nothing. She tiptoed, in bare feet, over to the door that led to the back stairs, and swung it open as quietly as she could, straining her ears to listen for any sound on the attic floor. There was nothing. What next? Perhaps Basilia had asked Tabitha to come up to her room for some reason: perhaps she was unwell. Hippolyta thought about that: Basilia would not hesitate to send Tabitha to waken Patrick, if that were the case. But could there be some other problem? Should she go and see? Or should she go downstairs to the servants’ quarters and find out what was going on down there? That could be Tabitha, fetching something for Basilia: would she need help?

  Indecision was not going to help, she thought, and nor was standing in the middle of the landing clutching a poker. She crossed the landing with determination, and knocked briskly on Basilia’s door. There was no answer. She tried again.

  ‘Miss Verney? Miss Verney, is everything all right?’

  ‘What’s going on?’ Patrick had surfaced, and was standing in their bedroom doorway, scratching his head.

  ‘I heard a noise up here, and footsteps in the servants’ quarters. I was anxious that she might be ill.’

  ‘And she’s not answering her door?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Then we had better check, I suppose.’ He rubbed his face. ‘Well, you’d better check. I don’t think she would appreciate a strange man blundering into her bedchamber.’

  Hippolyta bit her lips together, and turned back to the door. She knocked once more, and at no response, she turned the handle and opened it.

  ‘Miss Verney?’ Now that she was in the bedchamber, it seemed reasonable to speak softly. But there was no need: Miss Verney’s bed was empty, and there was no sign of her in the room.

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘Oh, she has been murdered! Murdered!’

  Tabitha had not taken her mistress’ disappearance calmly. She had to all appearances been asleep when Hippolyta and Patrick had gone downstairs to fetch her, settled in one of the beds in the far room that Hippolyta had discovered earlier. Her kist was open at the end of the bed, and her clothes and belongings had been distributed about the little room in the manner of one planning to stay. Roused by the news that Miss Verney was missing, she had stood in the middle of the little room, her bedclothes in a tangle about her legs, and waved her hands in the air as if she had scalded her fingers.

  ‘There is no evidence that she has been murdered, Tabitha!’ said Patrick, trying to find smelling salts in his doctor’s bag.

  ‘In fact, she seems to have gone out dressed and with her bonnet and cloak,’ Hippolyta added, who had carried out a cursory search in her guest’s room. ‘Did she say anything to you about going out?’

  ‘No! No, she never did! Of course she didn’t! Where would she go in the middle of the night? Oh, she has been lured away and murdered! The whole household is cursed – when will he come for me?’

  ‘If he’d wanted to kill you he had ample opportunity, instead of locking you in a cupboard,’ said Hippolyta shortly. Patrick passed her the smelling salts and she waved them under Tabitha’s nose: the maid jerked backwards in shock, and sat hard on the bed.

  ‘Has she ever wandered in her sleep before?’ Patrick asked, a little more gently. Tabitha shook her head, blinking.

  ‘She didn’t mention having to meet someone? Or go somewhere?’

  ‘No, ma’am.’ Tabitha was beginning to gather her wits. ‘She didn’t say anything like that. And she said she would get herself ready for bed: she was very kind. She said I’d had a tiring few days and could benefit from an early night, so I made sure she had hot water and a chocolate as usual, and left her. She said she was going to read for a little.’

  ‘Perhaps she has not left the house,’ said Hippolyta suddenly. ‘We should look in the parlour.’

  She took her candle and hurried back into the passage, and noticed the door to the room next to Tabitha’s shut suddenly and silently. Oh, well, no doubt Ishbel did not wish to be disturbed in the middle of the night if she was not needed. She pushed back through the door into the main hall, and crossed to the open parlour door. Shadowy cats wove around her nightdress hem, but there was no sign of Miss Verney. Patrick with his own candlestick caught up with her, with Tabitha tagging along behind, tying her shawl in an absently complex knot.

  ‘No sign?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘The dining room?’

  Hippolyta could not imagine why anyone would willingly spend unnecessary time in there, but she followed Patrick who opened that door and looked inside. He walked right round the table, while Hippolyta ridiculously crouched to peer under the table. Miss Verney was not there.

  ‘Your study?’

  Patrick frowned, but closed the dining room door and opened the study door, the front room on that side of the house. It was not a large room, and made to seem s
maller by the shelves of books around the walls: Miss Verney, however, was not to be seen. They returned to the hall.

  ‘Then it seems she has left the house,’ Patrick said.

  ‘Unless she climbed to the attic – or went to the kitchen?’

  ‘The kitchen door was open as we passed, and I didn’t see her,’ said Tabitha helpfully. ‘Though I suppose she could have been under the table there …’

  Hippolyta frowned at her, and she fell silent.

  ‘Then perhaps we should try –’ Patrick was in the middle of saying, when the front door opened in front of them, the candle flames lurched, and in walked Basilia.

  ‘Miss Verney!’ Hippolyta exclaimed, as Tabitha cried ‘Miss!’

  Basilia jumped backwards and staggered, slammed against the doorpost and slid slowly down it to the ground in a faint. Patrick swept down beside her, patting her cheeks, while Hippolyta handed back the smelling salts. Basilia gasped, and her eyes opened.

  ‘Where – where on earth am I?’ she asked in a shocked whisper.

  ‘You’re on our front door step,’ said Patrick. ‘Where have you been? Are you quite well?’

  ‘Been? What do you mean?’

  ‘You’ve been out, out of the house somewhere. We were anxious,’ he explained.

  ‘But … I have no idea. I … the last thing I remember I was reading in my room. I mean in my room here, of course.’

  ‘It will be all the alarm and emotion,’ said Patrick with professional concern. ‘It has been a more than strenuous day. Have you had any history of walking in your sleep?’

  ‘Walking in my sleep? No! Well, not for years,’ she amended. ‘When I was a little girl …’

  ‘Then that will be it,’ said Patrick firmly. ‘The strain of the last few days will have taken its course, and you have had a wander. I do not think you can have been out for long.’

  ‘Thank goodness you came to no harm,’ Hippolyta put in. ‘You could have been lost, or walked into the river, or anything! Would it be best if she went to bed properly now, my dear?’

  ‘Yes, yes, that would undoubtedly be best. Tabitha, will you see your mistress safely to bed?’

  ‘Of course. Come along now, miss: and I’ll fetch you another chocolate, so you’ll feel it’s just your ordinary bed time.’

  Tabitha looked heartily relieved to have her mistress back in one piece, and no further evidence of a household curse. She helped Basilia quickly up the stairs, and Patrick and Hippolyta waited for them to disappear before Patrick locked the front door carefully, and took Hippolyta in his arms.

  ‘Clever wife!’ he said fondly. ‘Thank goodness you heard the noises, or we might never have known! Now we can do things to prevent her wandering too far if she walks again – like taking this key away.’ He slipped the front door key out of the lock, and tucked it above the moulding around the door. ‘Now I think we may leave them to their own devices, and return to our own bed.’

  But long after Patrick had fallen asleep, Hippolyta lay wakeful, listening for footsteps – for there had certainly been two sets. And moreover, whatever Miss Verney claimed about a history of sleepwalking, Hippolyta was not altogether sure her new friend had been speaking the truth. She had seen Basilia’s eyes when she first came through the front door, and there had been an instant – she was sure of it, however the candle flames had swooped – when Miss Verney had made the decision to stagger back and slump on the floor. Why should she do that?

  Nevertheless, Hippolyta was young and managed to rouse herself at the usual time the next morning – Thursday morning, she thought, though it took her a moment to work it out. When she ventured into the kitchen after breakfast to ask Mrs. Riach to come and discuss the day’s business, she was surprised to find Robert Wilson sitting, quite at home (as no doubt he felt by now, she thought uncharitably) at the table, eating a dish of eggs and fresh bread.

  ‘Mr. Wilson! I am glad to see you up and about,’ she said, as he pulled himself reluctantly to his feet.

  ‘Aye, ma’am. I’m feeling much improved, thanks to you and your household – and Dr. Napier, of course.’

  ‘I’m very pleased to hear it.’ Mrs. Riach caught her glance past Wilson’s back, and rolled her eyes. ‘Can we assume that you’ll be able to resume your duties soon?’ Hippolyta asked him, trying not to sound too inhospitable.

  ‘Aye, ma’am: I’ve only to finish these eggs and I’ll be off. I hear the horses and the carriage are down at the inn.’

  ‘That’s right: safe and sound, I’m sure.’

  ‘I’ve – ah, I’ve washed a shirt for the loon,’ said Mrs. Riach, ‘to see him on his way.’

  ‘That was very kind of you, Mrs. Riach,’ said Hippolyta in surprise. Was Mrs. Riach developing a fondness for her unwelcome guest?

  ‘Well, I got the lass to do it. I wasna going to do it mysel’.’

  ‘Ah. Of course.’ So much for that notion. ‘Well, Mrs. Riach, when you’re ready, please come to the parlour.’

  ‘Aye, ma’am.’ Hippolyta was dismissed, and left.

  In the hallway she found Patrick, on his way out to his patients at Pannanich. He beamed at her.

  ‘Good news!’ he said. ‘The luggage cart has arrived!’

  ‘It has? Good heavens – and all safe?’

  ‘I trust so. Apparently they had two mishaps: a wheel was lost at Inchmarlo, and the axle sheared, which held them back more than a day for the local cartwright had hurt his hand, and then they missed the turning to Ballater and found themselves up the Linn of Dee which is much further on. When they realised, they turned back, but they seem to have tried every turning to the south that they could along the way. They sound most repentant.’

  ‘How did you find out?’

  ‘One of the carters came to the back door. Ishbel came to tell me ten minutes ago. I thought you were still upstairs.’

  ‘I was ten minutes ago – since then I’ve been in the kitchen, where I met Robert Wilson. He says he’s to leave today. So is the cart outside?’

  ‘No, it’s down at the inn: they arrived very late last night, and today wanted to make sure they had the right directions this time before venturing up to the house.’

  ‘Well, they are welcome any time they appear!’ cried Hippolyta. ‘I have almost forgotten what is on it, it has taken so long!’

  ‘I sent that message back with him. They should be here within the hour.’ He kissed Hippolyta goodbye, and set off. She went to the parlour and straight to the window, hoping she might already see the cart approaching: it would be too wide, she thought, to go to the back of the house. There was no sign yet but she stayed there, admiring the sunlight in the pretty front garden, and wondering if today she might be able to paint even just a little. She had still not managed to do much with the painting of Craigendarroch, the great crag over the town that Mrs. Strachan had asked her to paint.

  Strachan … what had Mr. Brookes, if it had been he, been doing lingering around the Strachans’ house late at night, the night that Colonel Verney had been killed? Patrick was so definite that Mr. Brookes was incapable of such a venture on foot. Was that really true? Patrick could be – well, he was such a nice man. Sometimes she thought that his patients took advantage of his good nature. And if he was wrong, and Mr. Brookes was capable of wandering about the town at night, what was he up to, and why had he taken advantage of Patrick to deceive him? It argued no good motive, certainly. Could he have killed Colonel Verney and poor Forman? But surely he was a stranger to the town: could he have known the Colonel before? Patrick said Mr. Brookes had been in the West Indies. Could the Colonel have travelled there with his regiment? Basilia would probably know, since her uncle had talked so much about his military days. It would be easy to ask her: not so easy, though, to ask Mr. Brookes or Mr. Strachan what their association might be. But Mr. Strachan had seemed to threaten the Colonel … oh, she wished she knew what Durris the sheriff’s man thought. She had the impression that there was a good deal going on in his sensible hea
d.

  The door opened, and Mrs. Riach entered with a solid curtsey. Hippolyta gestured her to sit at the table, and sat opposite her. The morning’s duel had begun.

  Apart from further complaints regarding the hunting prowess of the tribe of white cats (now named Franklin, Snowball, Arctic, Parry, Polar and, ironically, Spot, with their mother Bella), the duel did not go badly and Hippolyta was just nursing her wounds when Basilia appeared, a little tired looking but already in bonnet and gloves.

  ‘I must go to Dinnet House and meet the sheriff’s man to look over my uncle’s study,’ she said. ‘I wonder, would you be kind enough to accompany me? I cannot say that I feel up to facing the task alone, yet I am already so indebted to you and Dr. Napier.’

  ‘Oh, not at all!’ Hippolyta sprang up. ‘I should be happy to come with you. Just let me fetch my bonnet.’

  The day was already warm and heavy, and the hedgerows, as they left the squareset village behind, clotted with meadowsweet and with a scent as thick as toffee. The first few spots of rain struck them like small pebbles, and as they hurried under a tree the heavens opened and rain dashed at the ground as if punishing it for some terrible wrong.

  ‘So many of these showers this summer!’ said Hippolyta, trying to hold her skirts clear of the bouncing drops.

  ‘I keep expecting the air to lighten after them, but it never does,’ agreed Basilia.

  ‘At least they tend to be short.’

  Already the torrent was easing, and a few brave individuals were venturing out into the last of the drops.

  ‘It will wash down the drains, I suppose,’ remarked Basilia practically, as they edged back out from their shelter and continued on their way.

  ‘I’ve rarely known such a wet summer, though.’

  At the gate to Dinnet House, they met Mr. Durris, who bowed in greeting.

  ‘I was coming to see if you were nearby,’ he explained.