Charles Todd - Legacy of the Dead

It was the house he had noted before, the one with the extension in the rear and the windows with unexpected symmetry.

His instincts told him that Drummond and the child had not come back from feeding the cat. He wondered if Drummond allowed the boy to play with the toys in the chest, or sit on his mother’s bed and hold Clarence.

When Rutledge knocked at the door, a woman of middle age answered, her fair hair drawn back and tight curls adding a softness around her face. She brushed these back, as if afraid the caller on her front step might take them for a softness in her as well, and said, “If you’ve come to see Drummond, he’s not in.”

“Miss Drummond? My name is Rutledge, I’ve been sent by Scotland Yard to look into the matter of the parentage of the boy you have in your keeping.”

“Young Ian? And what interest has London got in a lad of three?” Her voice was sharp, indignant. But her pale eyes were wary, almost frightened. As if he’d come to carry the boy away.

“If his mother-the woman he calls his mother-is hanged for murder, it would be best if the child went to his own kin. I think you’d agree with me there.”

“I agree with nothing.” Her fear made her garrulous. “Ian wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t been given to us by his mother. And if Drummond hadn’t fought against that fool Elliot to keep the lad with us until-until it was all decided. He was all for sending him to the Forsters.”

“Did you know Miss MacDonald well?”

Hamish said, “She must have done, else the lad would never have been entrusted to her. Fiona would never set a child at risk!”

Miss Drummond had not invited Rutledge in, but kept him on the doorstep like a tradesman. “As to that, knowing her well, I’m thinking now that none of us did. But Ealasaid MacCallum I knew. For her sake I agreed to do what I could. Drummond’s reasons are his own. Ian’s a likely lad, and has been no trouble. And I expect we can feed and clothe him better than most, if it comes to that,” she added with some pride. “Before the war, Drummond made a fair living, working at Mr. Holden’s. A good man with horses,” she added grudgingly, as if she disliked admitting to better qualities in her brother. “They’re great beasts, the shire horses, but when he handled them, they were meek as lambs. The Army took the lot of them and brought not one of them back. There’s only sheep to be run at Holden’s now. And my brother’s not a man who cares for sheep. But Drummond can turn his hand to anything asked of him, and Mrs. Holden keeps him busy enough working about the house. He ought to be busy about the needs of his own! I can’t do it all alone.”

Hamish said, “She doesna’ approve of her brother. But they live together like two peas.”

“That’s most likely the root of it,” Rutledge replied silently. He thought the pair must have inherited this barn of a house together, and neither had wanted to move out. Or sell up. It could make for bad feelings over the years.

“Can you tell me anything about Miss MacDonald’s family?”

“Everyone knew her grandfather. He was respected. He’d played the pipes for the old Queen in his day, when first she came up to Balmoral. And the MacCallums have owned The Reivers for four-five-generations. We’ve been neighbors for nearly three, the Drummonds and the MacCallums. Always honest, God-fearing. Minded their own business. Kept the inn in good order, never any rowdiness or drunkenness allowed. Still, all I knew about Fiona was what her aunt told me-that she was a hard worker and tidy and had no eye for the men. Not thinking to find another father for Ian, you understand.”

“Then, why,” Rutledge asked quietly, “did the town of Duncarrick turn their backs on her?”

“Ah!” Miss Drummond said it as an exclamation and a sigh. “If we knew what was at the bottom of that, we’d be wise, wouldn’t we? Is that all you’ve come to ask?”

Rutledge said, “Tell me about the boy. Is he bright? Does he mind?”

“He does. I will say this for her, Fiona raised him proper. I’ve told that fool Elliot as much, but he sees only what he wants to see. I’m thinking it’s no surprise he’s a widower- drove his wife to an early grave, if you want my opinion! Ealasaid gave him the benefit of the doubt, but I had no patience with him! The old minister who was before him, he was a man of God, and he preached a mighty sermon of a Sunday. Mr. Hall, his name was, come from Dunfermline and married a Croser from over to Hawick. We went to kirk every Sunday, and were proud of it. But this fool Elliot, now, he’s besotted with sin. He doesn’t care a whit about redemption, only in setting blame. And what good’s that, I ask you!”

“I’ve been led to believe that Fiona never confided in her aunt-never told her, for instance, that she wasn’t the boy’s mother. Surely she must have told someone? A woman she trusted-a friend or neighbor-your brother-”

Miss Drummond stared at him consideringly. “Any secret’s best kept if it’s kept. You should know that as a policeman! Fiona was friendly in a quiet fashion, respectful to her elders. Nice ways about her, as if she’d gone to school to learn them. But all I’ve ever heard was that she’d loved her grandfather and he was a bonny piper. Oh, and that she’d been happy with her soldier before he died. More than that I never asked and she never spoke of. Now, it’s time you went, or Drummond will be home and shout at both of us. He doesn’t like anyone prating about Fiona or the lad. ‘Least said, soonest mended.’ That’s his view!”

“There’s only one other question before I leave,” Rutledge said, holding his ground. “I’ve been told that men were attracted to Fiona MacDonald. Was that true?”

He was met with stony silence. Miss Drummond’s face had changed, the color shifting to a mottled red, as if some emotion had risen swiftly and as swiftly been stamped down. Anger? Or jealousy? After a few seconds, the woman before him, her voice very different, said tightly, as if the truth had been forced out of her, “They say still waters run deepest. I don’t know. Fiona’s not by nature a talkative woman, the kind you’d sit and gossip comfortably with. I never could tell what to make of her. I never got close to her. Men, on the other hand, they saw something else. I can’t put a name to what it was. They’d watch her, and wait for her to smile, and then their faces would light up. I’ve seen my own brother staring at her, mesmerized by something I couldn’t feel or understand. As if he thinks he’s found the core of her and wants it. If you ask me, Drummond’s besotted with her. And if you want the whole truth of it, Elliot is as well. He raves on about sin like a man who knows what it means to burn with desire at night!”

“But surely the police haven’t fallen under her spell-”

“Haven’t they now? McKinstry would save her if he could, he’s in hopes of marrying her. Oliver used to stop by the inn of an evening before he went home, sitting there like a suitor, and him with a wife. And what troubles the Chief Constable and the fiscal is that she refuses to bow her head and confess to what she’s done, and beg for mercy, the way a woman should. They see it as defiance of their authority, and it unsettles their faith in their own importance. I’m not surprised they all want her hanged. Don’t you see? It’s the best way to be free of her!”

When Rutledge walked into the hotel, the man at the desk said, “There’s been a telephone call for you, sir. From London.”

He took the message and read it.

Call Sergeant Gibson.

One of the best men at ferreting out information of any kind, Gibson had a reputation for being thorough as well.

Rutledge went into the telephone closet, set his hat on the little table there, and put in his call to the Yard.