Footsteps echoing on the uneven stone floor, we wound our way past recumbent lords and ladies to the far side of the chapel, where a large bronze plaque had been set into the wall. Many names had been inscribed on it, and many dates, and down in one dim corner Bobby’s name and birth date appeared above the words: LOST IN DEFENCE OF THE REALM, 9 SEPTEMBER 1940.
“My brother had just turned twenty,” Andrew said. His voice rang hollowly in the chamber. On impulse, I bent down to touch the inscription, and when the locket slipped from the neck of my dress to hang glinting in the lantern light, I heard a sharp intake of breath and felt Andrew’s eyes on me.
“I’m sorry,” I said, straightening quickly, “I didn’t mean to—”
He passed a hand across his face and seemed to shrink in on himself. “If you will excuse me… I have had a very tiring day.” Slowly, painfully, all agility gone, he made his way back to the entrance. His valet and the housekeeper were waiting there, as though Andrew’s visit to the chapel were a nightly ritual. Andrew leaned heavily on the strong arm of his valet, a stocky young man with broad shoulders.
“I will show you to your rooms now,” said the housekeeper. She was a sharp-eyed older woman in a starched black dress, and her words seemed to be a statement of fact, not a suggestion.
“Yes,” said Andrew. “You go ahead with Mrs. Hume. We’ll speak again in the morning.” He started off, then hesitated, and turned to Bill. “There’s good fishing nearby, if you’re up early enough.”
“I wouldn’t want to impose—”
“It’s no imposition,” said Andrew. “Colin and I are usually up at first light. We’ll find a rod for you, young man, and a pair of waders.”
“In that case, Bill would be happy to accept your invitation,” I said, treading lightly on Bill’s foot.
“Uh, yes,” he said. “Yes, thank you, I’d be delighted.”
“Good,” said Andrew, with a wan smile. “Colin will rouse you bright and early, and perhaps we’ll have fresh salmon for breakfast.” With one hand on Colin’s shoulder and the other on his cane, Andrew made his way slowly down the hall.
The housekeeper led us up the dark-paneled main staircase to adjacent second-floor bedrooms overlooking the loch. She indicated the location of the nearest lavatory and bathroom, then added, in a cold, unfriendly voice, “Mr. MacLaren sometimes has difficulty sleeping. It would be appreciated, therefore, if you did not disturb his rest while you are here. Should you require assistance during your visit, you may use the bellpulls in your rooms to summon one of us.” She paused, and her brown eyes narrowed to slits. “There is always someone awake in MacLaren Hall. Good night.”
We nodded obediently; then Bill went into his room and I entered mine. I half expected to hear a key turn in the lock, shutting me in for the night. Mrs. Hume’s words had sounded more like a warning than an offer of hospitality: you are being watched; don’t stray from your rooms. Creepy, but also tantalizing. Someone was afraid to let us roam MacLaren Hall unattended.
My room had a funereal charm to it, with shoulder-high wainscoting, a single dim brass lamp, and grim Victorian furniture. Dark green velvet drapes blocked the view, and a green brocade quilt covered the rock-hard bed. Everything was spotless, though, and well maintained. Museum pieces, I thought, fingering the black tassel on the bellpull. When enough time had elapsed for Mrs. Hume to go back downstairs, I tiptoed over to knock at Bill’s door. He opened it, grabbed my arm, and pulled me inside. He seemed somewhat peeved.
“Waders? At dawn? What have you gotten me into?”
“Keep your voice down.” I steered him over to sit on a low, burgundy plush couch at the opposite end of the room. “I have a feeling that Mrs. Hume’s hearing is excellent.”
He glared belligerently at the door, but lowered his voice. “Lori, I’ll make a fool of myself out there. I don’t know the first thing about fishing.”
“I have complete confidence in your ability to fake it,” I said cheerfully. “Playing fisherman can’t be all that much harder than playing chauffeur.”
“Are you still mad about that? Lori—”
“I’m not mad about anything. You’ll do fine. Just take your cues from Andrew and let Colin bait your hook. And while you’re out there, suggest a walk around the grounds, maybe a hike up to the falcons’ nest.”
“More hiking?” Bill groaned and buried his face in his hands. “I still have blisters from Pouter’s Hill.”
“Then put on an extra pair of socks,” I said sternly. “Listen, Bill, do whatever you can to keep Andrew and Colin away from the house tomorrow.”
“Don’t tell me.” Bill raised his head from his hands. “While I’m out there drowning, you’ll be in here searching for whatever it was that Bobby left to Dimity.”
“You saw what Andrew did with the letter,” I said. “Why would he destroy it if he was telling us the truth? It was an incredibly stupid thing to do, don’t you think? Like shouting ‘I’m innocent’ before we’d even accused him of anything. He must have known it would arouse our suspicions.”
“I don’t think MacLaren’s thinking very clearly,” said Bill. “That’s why I kept a certified copy.”
“What?”
“Keep your voice down,” said Bill, his good humor fully restored. “Remember Mrs. Hume.”
“You rat,” I whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wanted one of us to have an authentic reaction. I’m a lawyer, so he wouldn’t expect one from me, but—”
“But authentic reactions are my specialty. Thanks a lot.”
Bill stretched his legs out and tucked a fringed throw pillow behind his head. “I thought something might be up when I talked to him on the telephone. He wanted nothing to do with us at first, but as soon as I mentioned the letter, he couldn’t invite us up here fast enough. It seemed odd to me. There’s a photocopy machine in Miss Kingsley’s office, and Miss K counts among her many talents those of a commissioner for oaths. That’s a notary public, to you.”
“Then you agree with me? You think he’s hiding something?”
“I do. What’s more, I think it might be out in the open and he must think it’s something we’d recognize on sight. Otherwise, Mrs. Hume wouldn’t have dropped her leaden hint about staying in our rooms.”
I nodded slowly, then got up and walked over to the windows. Pulling the drapes aside, I looked into inky darkness. Not a glimmer of starlight reflected from the lapping waves of the loch. With a shiver, I turned back to Bill. “Why’d he invite you to go fishing, then? You’d think he’d want us out of here as soon as possible.”
“Who knows? Maybe he’s lonely. Maybe he’s tired of hiding. Or maybe he feels safe with the dragon lady to watch his back. How do you plan to get around her?”
“Mrs. Hume doesn’t know it yet, but she’s going to give me a tour of the hall.”
“Is she?”
I returned to the couch. “You heard the way Andrew talked about the place—he’s bound to want to show it off, and if you persuade him to take you on an excursion, he’ll have to deputize someone. My guess is that it’ll be Mrs. Hume. If she’s going to be breathing down my neck anyway, I might as well make use of her.”
“Thus, by a process of elimination…”
“Whatever she doesn’t show me tomorrow must be what we want to see. That’s why I need you to keep Andrew away as long as possible. This is a big place and I’m going to insist on seeing all of it.” I paused for a moment in silent thought, then asked, “What did you think of the chapel?”
Bill snuggled his head deeper into the pillow and shuddered. “Pouter’s Hill it most certainly is not.”
“No. No light, no warmth, no open space.” I frowned. “It doesn’t seem right, somehow, that Bobby’s only monument should be a plaque in the damp corner of a mausoleum in the middle of nowhere. I find it very hard to believe that Andrew can sense his presence down there. Everyone we’ve talked to—his brother included—remembers Bobby as bursting with life, vibrant.”