‘Of course, of course,’ I said, flustered. ‘I wouldn’t dream of such a thing. I was going to fill right up and make a good potful.’ Of course it was at that moment that I noticed the lack of any tap spouting out into the little china sink under the window, noticed the two tall cans standing on the wooden draining board at its side, realised that there was no piped water in the MacGibney kitchen and saw that I had just, with my assumption that there would be, played the grand lady far worse than if I had sat down, crossed my ankles and snapped my fingers for my tea. Mattie’s mother had two patches of red across her tight cheeks as she took the kettle out of my hands, set it back on the range and topped it up from one of the cans, all without speaking.
‘So, what can we dae for you?’ said John, ending the silence at last. ‘What brings you out here the day?’
‘Was it not you driving the car then?’ said Grandad. ‘I thought you’d given wee Mattie a hurl.’
‘I came with Mattie,’ I said, ‘because mistress didn’t want him to be alone. He’s been very upset.’ It was the only thing I could think of in time.
Mrs MacGibney stopped with a half-full bottle of milk in mid-air (she had been sniffing it to see if it were fresh enough to put in our tea).
‘What’s wrong?’ she said. ‘What’s happened noo?’
The old man made a noise almost like spitting and John shook his head at Mattie.
‘You need to toughen up, wee brother,’ he said. ‘If you cannae frame tae work at this, what’s left for you?’
‘It’s no’ that,’ Mattie said, speaking softly and aiming his words towards the floor.
‘It’s the murder,’ I said.
‘Murder?’ said Mattie’s mother. Grandad removed his pipe and sat with his mouth hanging open.
‘I assumed you would all know,’ I said. ‘Mr Balfour – the master – was murdered on Sunday night. I’m sorry. I naturally assumed that you would have heard by now.’
‘Heard how?’ said John. ‘We’ve had no paper since the News shut down.’
‘But surely it was on the wireless?’ I said. ‘It was so brutal. I can’t believe it wasn’t reported on the news.’ Of course, this was the water tap all over again. After I spoke, I looked around the kitchen for a wireless set at which to gesture, and took in the rough table and chairs, the makeshift curtains shutting off the box-bed in the corner, the tin bath hanging from a nail on the back door. Mrs MacGibney, with a transparency which tied a knot inside me, went to stand with one hand stretched up to rest on the chimneypiece above the range, where a walnut-wood clock, highly polished, sat between two china dogs facing one another from each end, the three precious objects together forming the only sign of luxury in the entire room.
Thankfully, Alec interrupted the silence before I was forced to think of what to say. He entered with three bottles of beer clutched in one arm and gave John MacGibney a broad wink.
‘Your father and the others insisted,’ he said. ‘These haven’t gone on the book at all and nobody’s complaining.’
‘Mattie’s too young for beer,’ said Mrs MacGibney.
‘Of course he is,’ said Alec. ‘The third one’s for me.’
14
My stock rose a little when, after the tea and beer had been drunk – and I did quiet penance by insisting that I took my tea without either milk or sugar and drinking the horrid stuff to the last drop without a shudder – I volunteered to go with Mattie on an expedition to pick gooseberries, which Grandad had been nagging his daughter about all week but for which Mrs MacGibney did not herself have time.
‘Aye, well, you’ve your washing to do, I’m thinking,’ the old man said, but his daughter stuck her chin out and shook her head at him.
‘I am not taking they work claes and washing them,’ she said. ‘They get washed every other week and they’ve only done one. It would be bad luck and I’ll not do it.’
John gave a mirthless laugh and explained it to me.
‘Ma and the other wifies think if they wash the black claes and put them away it’ll be like saying there’ll never be work again. So there they hang stinking the house out.’
‘Nothing wrang wi’ the smell of coal,’ said Grandad. ‘That stink brought your mammy up and it brought you up too.’
‘Oh aye,’ said John, flipping his empty trouser leg. ‘It did the world for me.’
‘Let’s go then, Mattie,’ I said, standing. ‘We can take the big baskets you brought with you. No harm in being hopeful.’
‘And I’m going back over to talk to the men,’ Alec said. ‘There might be another wee message I can run while I’ve got the car here today.’ I stared at him. I had known for some time that he paid more heed to his servants than was proper, and I knew that he found the Scots tongue more delightful than did I, but to hear him talk of running a wee message was a new departure again. None of the MacGibney clan, however, seemed to mind his patronage and the three of us – leaving Bunty and Millie behind with their new friend and his energetic caresses – exited together.
The gooseberries were to be found along the side of the railway line some three fields distant and so off we trudged, Mattie carrying both baskets, one over each shoulder so that they formed a shell across his back, as though they might be armour against me.
We passed a collection of shaggy little ponies which were being patted, fed tufts of grass and – in some cases – ridden upon by a troop of small children.
‘I don’t suppose they mind the sudden holiday,’ I said.
‘Except their food’s locked up down in the stables and we’ve no’ much money to buy more with,’ said Mattie. I gave up looking for a silver lining then.
‘Right then, young man,’ I began. ‘I am going to give you the benefit of the doubt and say that you don’t realise the import of what it is you know. You will not be punished for withholding it, I assure you, but you must tell me.’
‘I went to my bed and went to sleep and got up and the first I knew at all was when Eldry come doon the stair in the morning like a ghostie and tellt Mr Faulds to get the police,’ Mattie said.
‘All well and good,’ I replied. ‘I believe that. But it’s these nights when master was out – the nights you told me of, if you remember – something about them is puzzling me.’ I waited but Mattie said nothing. We had reached the edge of the first field and were taken up with clambering over a post-fence for a moment or two. ‘How did you get out?’
‘Eh?’ Mattie said, in that infuriating way that children do.
‘After master returned and you locked up behind him, did you knock up one of the girls or get Mr Faulds to open up? And lock up again behind you?’
‘Eh?’ he said again. ‘The girls did nothing.’
‘Well, someone must have locked and bolted the kitchen door or the door in the sub-basement,’ I pointed out to him. ‘Surely, you didn’t leave the house open all night?’
Mattie was looking at me with an expression of apparently genuine puzzlement on his face.
‘That would be daft,’ he said.
‘So…?’ He simply shook his head and then returned his gaze to the ground where the going was rough and needed a little attention. ‘And how did you get into the carriage house?’ I asked him. ‘Did you have a key? Isn’t that door bolted too?’
‘There’s a key in it,’ he replied. ‘Or – well – hanging up beside it in the passageway.’
‘But how did that help?’ I asked him. ‘How did you get in if the key was on the other side?’
‘I can’t remember,’ Mattie said, almost as infuriatingly as just saying ‘eh’. ‘I’m confused. You’re tying me up in knots, miss, and I d’ae want to say the wrong thing and get anybody into trouble.’
‘Yes, you are in a tangle, aren’t you?’ I replied. ‘Perhaps this question will be easier for you.’ Mattie’s eyes were wide but he kept his head up, even if he did have the appearance of someone waiting for an axe-blow. ‘How did master ever find out that you were scared of the dark, Mattie?’