My Bones Will Keep

‘Yes. From his editor in Freagair.’

‘You’ll need to write it down. He’s away to Strathpeffer. There’s a flower show. Does it need an answer?’

‘Yes, I’m afraid it does.’

‘Ah, well, here’s a wee jotter, ninepence, and I can sell you an envelope for a penny. I keep stamped envelopes, but you’ve laid out your siller for stamps already, so you’ll need nothing but a plain envelope the now. There’s pens, unless you have your own.’ Laura had her own, and, in any case, had no intention of writing any messages to Grant until she had consulted Dame Beatrice, who, in accordance with plan, had just come into the post office.

‘A pound of peppermint bullseyes, please,’ she said.

‘Do you need a whole pound of the peppermint cushions?’

‘Yes, if you please.’

‘Good for you. That’s a very wholesome sweetie. Now some would be stuffing themselves with chocolates. I’m right glad to know you’ve more sense. There you are. That will be two shillings and eightpence.’

They took their leave. In fact, Laura had already gone out to the car before Dame Beatrice’s purchase had been shot into a paper bag and paid for. Dame Beatrice placed the bag on the seat between them and Laura grabbed a handful of the sweets.

‘Good old-fashioned stuff,’ she said, approvingly. ‘No luck there, though. Most unfortunately Grant isn’t at home. He’s covering a flower show in Strathpeffer.’

‘Something of the kind was to be expected. Never mind. It may turn out for the best. If I read the postmistress aright, she will most certainly furnish Mr Grant with an unmistakable picture of yourself.’

‘You think he’d recognise the description?’

‘I do not see why not.’

‘I wonder what you mean by that? Anyway, this message. What do I inscribe on this gosh-awful little writing tablet?’

‘Nothing, child, unless you have something to suggest.’

‘I could ask him again what relation he is to the other Grants, although I suppose we’ve had his answer to that. I could tell him that, now we know he’s a cub reporter, we’d also like to know what he was really after when he squatted in the boathouse on Tannasgan that night. I feel that I must leave him a note. After all, I have spent tenpence on him and the stamp represents another threepence. When I’ve posted it we might as well have some tea at the hotel. Oh, yes! And if Grant’s paper doesn’t circulate during the winter, is that when he’s had employment at An Tigh Mor?’

Laura, seated in the car with the nine-penny writing-pad on her knee, scribbled busily. Then she addressed and stamped an envelope and, jumping out of the car, posted the letter in the box outside the post office. She realised, when she had done so, that the sardonic eye of the postmistress had been watching her through the shop window.

It had been impossible to drive fast on the narrow road between Tigh-Osda and Crioch, so it was half-past five when they left the seafront hotel after tea and seven o’clock in the evening when they reached the hospitable home of Mrs Stewart at Garadh. Dinner was at eight, and the talk, as was to be expected, turned on Dame Beatrice’s experiences at the Conference, news of mutual friends in Edinburgh and then Laura had to give an account of her adventures since she had left Garadh after her first visit.

Coffee had been brought to the fireside – for, in Scottish tradition, Mrs Stewart kept fires burning all the year round, whatever the weather – when a maid announced that there was a gentleman at the door asking to speak with Mrs Gavin.

‘That will be young Mr Grant,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘Let us hope he has news for us.’

‘Find out his name, Elspeth, and then show him in here and bring another cup and saucer,’ said Mrs Stewart. The caller did indeed prove to be Grant. He came in with his motor-cycling goggles in one hand and gauntlet gloves in the other and apologised for troubling the company. Mrs Stewart sent him out to leave his equipment and his leather jacket in the hall and ordered him to return for some coffee. ‘And now, young man,’ she continued, when he had obeyed these instructions and was seated, coffee-cup in hand, between Laura and Dame Beatrice, I hope you have brought some interesting news. And it’s of no use for you to imagine I shall go out of the room while you make your disclosures. I am consumed with curiosity, so drink your coffee and fire away.’

Chapter 9

Young Grant’s Story

I reckon it’s one of two things, ’Spec. Either there come along somebody and done this devil’s job while I was fetchin’ the poor toad his physic, or else he done it himself.’

Eden Philpotts

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YOUNG Grant accepted a second cup of coffee and in reply to a motherly query from his hostess assured her that he had had his evening meal. No one else spoke until he put down his cup. Then Laura said: ‘You have been a chump, you know. Now, what about a first, Christian or baptismal name? The word “Grant” is getting a bit confusing.’

‘Me? Oh, call me Alastair.’

‘I will, although I know it isn’t your name.’

‘Right, it is not, then. But I’m ganging warily because you don’t seem at all anxious to give me the alibi I’m seeking.’

‘I can’t give it you. There’s no proof whatever that the laird was killed when the pipes ceased from skirling.