My Bones Will Keep

‘I’ll say they are!’ Laura had swum in them. ‘I see what you mean. The body being in the tub, rigor mortis might have set in earlier than if it had been left in the cellar.’

‘Corrie is not an entirely reliable witness, but there is one suspect who certainly could have been in Inverness that night, and that is Mr Bradan’s son.’

‘I suppose he could. He was on the loch-side ringing bells and turning lanterns, quite well on in the afternoon, but you think he went to Inverness after that and hit Bradan over the head, do you?’

‘It is a possibility.’

‘But, if so, he must have known he hadn’t killed him. There’s no doubt that Bradan got on the train and was met at Tigh-Osda. Of course, Grant of Coinneamh was also in Inverness that night, and told a very fishy story of kidnapping, which he’s since denied. If the other story is right – that there was bad blood between him and Bradan – there’s every reason to think that Grant may have done the job, isn’t there?’

‘We must keep open minds. Open your keen ears, too, and tell me whether I am imagining I hear the chink of teacups and the footsteps of the excellent Mrs Corrie.’

Dame Beatrice was imagining nothing, for Mrs Corrie entered bearing a tray. She was followed by her husband, who pushed a tea-trolley loaded with scones, cakes and jam.

‘What a spread!’ said Laura. Mrs Corrie dismissed her husband with a curt nod of the head and, as he closed the door behind himself, she exclaimed:

‘My man is no murderer, I’ll tell ye.’

‘But we did not suppose he was,’ Dame Beatrice remarked in her beautiful voice. ‘Tell us more, Mrs Corrie. Get another cup and saucer and let us go into conference.’

Mrs Corrie appeared to hesitate. Then, with a grim chuckle, she went off and reappeared with cup, saucer and plate.

‘The scones took,’ she announced. ‘Ye’ll do nae better than the scones.’

Dame Beatrice poured tea and for a few minutes there was silence. Judging that this was foreign to Mrs Corrie’s nature, Dame Beatrice broke it.

‘What do you think of Mr Macbeth’s defection – or is there another explanation of his absence?’ ske asked. Mrs Corrie put down her cup.

‘That one is up to his tricks,’ she said. ‘What caused ye to hold Tannasgan at feu?’

‘For fun,’ replied Dame Beatrice.

‘And games,’ added Laura, inexcusably. Mrs Corrie nodded, accepting Laura’s interpolation as a genuine contribution to the conversation.

‘It was always supposed there was something to be found on Haugr,’ she said, ‘but maybe folks were just havering.’

‘Haugr? A burial mound?’ said Laura. Mrs Corrie took up her teacup, looked wise, and sipped thoughtfully. Lowering the cup, she said:

‘I haena the Gaelic. All I ken is that the laird was awfu’ careful whom he let land on Haugr.’

‘That is the small island with the trees on it?’

‘It is that same.’

‘Mrs Corrie,’ pursued Laura, breaking in on another silence with some suddenness, ‘who was the piper the night I left here?’

‘The piper, Mrs Gavin? I dinna recollect ony piper,’ She turned a suspiciously mild gaze on the questioner.

‘Oh, well,’ said Laura, ‘I don’t suppose it matters.’ Privately she decided that it mattered a very great deal that Mrs Corrie should lie. She added, ‘Just tell me one thing, though. Who helped your husband put Bradan in the cellar?’

‘Naebody put the laird in the cellar. If the laird crawled down intil the cellar, he went of his own free will. It wouldna be the first time.’

‘So, according to you, Mr Bradan must have been alive when your husband and Ian, from the station at Tigh- Osda, landed him here?’

Mrs Corrie looked aggressively and fearlessly at her, and then addressed Dame Beatrice.

‘My man is no murderer,’ she reasserted. Dame Beatrice spread much-bejewelled yellow claws and nodded.

‘Should I really be employing him, although only for a week, if I thought he were?’ she demanded. This casuistry did not shake Mrs Corrie. She laughed. At the same moment there came a vigorous thump on the door. It was opened by Corrie, who had knocked, and behind him the stolid, reliable George filled the rest of the aperture.

‘Ah,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘George will be staying the night. I suppose you can fix him up?’

‘His wee bag is in the hall and the bed is aired,’ replied Corrie.

‘Splendid.’

‘And there’s a pot of tea ready to infuse in the kitchen, and scones and bannocks for ye,’ said Mrs Corrie, addressing her husband.

‘Ay,’ said Corrie, in dispirited tones, leading the way towards the domestic quarters.

‘He’s thinking my tongue may rin awa’ with me,’ said Mrs Corrie. She went over to the door and closed it. ‘But that it willna do, for I hae nae mair to tell.’