“And thanks to you, she shall have it,” said Geoffrey, more courteously than ever.
Elizabeth was puzzled. “Is anything wrong, Geoffrey? You haven’t said anything nasty in several minutes.”
“No, no,” he murmured. “I was simply overcome by your brilliance. Now go and find Cameron before some other American girl decides to major in international relations.”
When she had gone, Geoffrey stood for a few moments more, lost in thought. Finally he told Jimmy that he was taking a break, and strolled off in the direction of the practice meadow.
Somerled had finished his herding exercise, and was just shooing the last of the platoon back into the wooden box, when Geoffrey strolled up, hands in his pockets, to watch the proceedings.
“I hope you haven’t come to help,” growled Marge, shutting the lid.
Geoffrey shook his head. “No. My cousin tells me that she has just solved the murder case, and that all is now well again.”
Marge nodded. “Elizabeth is a clever girl.”
“Elizabeth is also a trusting girl,” Geoffrey replied. “And sometimes not as clever as she thinks.”
“She solved the case, didn’t she?”
“You know, I wondered about that,” said Geoffrey. “It all seemed so convenient. Elizabeth kept telling me how she would run around and question this person or that person, and she always learned something useful. It was almost as if someone knew where to send her. And then when I heard that you had urged her to talk to Cameron about their little misunderstanding, and lo! That little interview solved the whole case. That is not detection, madam, it is stage-managing. I believe the congratulations are due to you.”
“I kept out of it.” Marge shrugged.
“Yes, I know you did. You let Elizabeth do all the visible sleuthing to incriminate Heather and then you stood back and let Walter Hutcheson fall into your lap. No one could ever blame you for what happened.”
“I had to,” said Marge, beginning a new cigarette. “No matter how guilty Heather was, if I had been the one to implicate her, Walter could never have come back to me. People would say I had manipulated all of it.”
“No doubt,” Geoffrey agreed. “By the way, did Heather happen to do it?”
“Oh, yes,” said Marge. “I saw her.” She grinned at Geoffrey’s look of astonishment. “Early this morning I was going over to see Colin Campbell, and I saw Heather go into his camper. I wondered what that was about, and of course I wasn’t going in while she was there, so I waited. She left a few minutes later, practically running, and I went in and found him.”
“You didn’t tell anybody?” asked Geoffrey. “No, sorry! Of course not; mustn’t get involved.”
“I wanted what was best for Walter,” said Marge. “She had spoiled enough. I knew I could find a way to trap her without getting involved personally.”
“Someone else died because you waited.”
Marge blew a bit of smoke in the direction of the festival. “I didn’t foresee that-or Walter’s arrest. But that was their lookout. Men have their own way too much in this world, and women are expected to be meek, even when being trampled. We get back as best we can.”
“I see. So you manipulated Elizabeth into playing detective, and you saw that she solved the case.”
“It wasn’t difficult, since I was working backwards.”
“Yes, of course. Did you know why she’d done it?”
“That she was an impostor? Certainly. It was I who told Colin Campbell about her in the first place. Elizabeth told me the Duke of Rothesay nonsense, and I knew that Colin would ferret that out.”
“I saw you tell him,” said Geoffrey, remembering. “I was replacing the ducks in the wooden box.”
“Quite right.”
“So, in a way, you arranged for the murders to happen.”
“Hardly that.” Marge smiled. “I didn’t tell the little bitch to murder people. But it was over for her anyway. Colin would have reveled in exposing that little fraud at the festival.”
“Quite a blow to Walter, public humiliation,” Geoffrey observed.
Marge shrugged. “What of it? Walter deserved a good deal of public humiliation. I owe him about a year’s worth.”
Geoffrey looked grave. “My cousin idolizes you.”
She smiled bitterly. “Going to tell her?”
“For the sake of her illusions, no,” said Geoffrey. “I happen to like innocence. It’s so rare these days.”
Cameron was talking about Scottish food, but most of the lecture was wasted on Elizabeth, who was busy planning the rest of the evening. She looked down at the sausage roll on her plate and at the little plastic knife and fork she had been given to eat with. Now, what had Lachlan told her to do? Cut with her other hand?
“Have you ever had trifle?” Cameron was saying. “I wonder if you can get it in this country?”
“I don’t know.” All his e’s sound like a’s, she thought. Get becomes gate. I must practice that; it’s so cute.
“Maybe the people who run this refreshment stand have a catalogue or something…”
Elizabeth looked up. “So you’re going to stay?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe. Dr. Carson and I are going to meet with some of the foundation people on Tuesday to see if I can continue my seal research. I don’t think anyone will really want a study on the Chesapeake Bay monster, now that Dr. Campbell is gone.”
Elizabeth blushed. “I’d be glad to show you around the university.”
“Thank you,” said Cameron, equally shyly.
It seems funny to be strangers still, she thought to herself. In one way, we’re as close as possible, and yet there is so much we don’t know about each other. I wonder if he likes country music? She watched for a moment as he deftly carved his pastry, holding the knife and fork in either hand.
She looked down at her sausage roll. Left hand, huh? How hard could it be? Picking up the knife gingerly, she angled it at the hard pastry and began to saw. The plastic blade snapped in two.
Elizabeth shook her head. She slid the bit of paper bearing Lachlan’s scrawl out of her dress pocket and studied the words. Leaning across the table, she said carefully, “Tha gaol agam ort.”
Cameron looked puzzled. “What does that mean?”
She sighed. “It means I can’t use a knife with my left hand.”
Sharyn McCrumb
