Mary Daheim - Scots on the Rocks

Judith was puzzled. “You told us the explosion didn’t kill Harry.”

Beth nodded. “That’s what I was told. The autopsy’s tomorrow. The Sabbath is sacred around here.” With delicate fingers, she picked up her cup and saucer. “I must dress for Mass.”

After Beth left, Judith looked at Renie. “So she’s RC. Who else?”

Renie shrugged. “We seem to have fallen into a nest of papists.”

“Ordinarily, that’d be fine with me,” Judith said, “but at the moment, I have my doubts about whether these people practice what they preach. Especially,” she added grimly, “‘Thou shalt not kill.’”

Father Keith was elderly, white-haired, and rail-thin, but he zipped through the liturgy at top speed. The only reference to Harry Gibbs was during the intercessions when the priest asked the small congregation to pray for the dead man’s soul.

Despite the brevity of the service, Judith had time to take in the age-old beauty of the chapel. The statues of Jesus, Mary, St. Joseph, and St. Fergna probably weren’t the originals, but they definitely dated from the eighteenth or even seventeenth century. The Stations of the Cross in bas-relief also looked as if they’d been added later. Behind the altar the stained-glass windows depicted various saints Judith couldn’t identify. The workmanship looked very old, though a few sections looked as if they’d been replaced after attacks by enemies or Mother Nature. The tabernacle was crafted from ancient gold and studded with jewels.

Philip and Beth Fordyce, Mr. and Mrs. Gibbs, and—to Judith’s surprise—Mrs. Gunn were in attendance. So were a dozen strangers, though she couldn’t help but notice a pretty young woman in the back pew wearing a gorgeous sable coat. As Father Keith concluded the Mass after the final blessing, he all but darted out of the chapel. Judith surmised that he was a kind of circuit-riding priest who still had at least one more Mass to celebrate in another nearby village or town.

As the worshippers left the chapel, Judith noticed that Beth had paused to light a votive candle.

“Hold it,” Judith whispered to Renie.

“Why?” Renie shot back. “Father Speedo skipped the sign of peace. I wanted to take the opportunity to deck Mrs. Gunn again.”

“She might have decked you,” Judith said. “Here comes Beth.”

“Is there a priest shortage in Scotland, too?” Judith asked.

“Oh yes,” Beth replied, “especially in the Highlands. The few younger priests who are ordained all seem to want to teach. Pardon, I must speak with Will and Marie.”

The cousins trailed behind Beth as she called to the couple Judith had noticed in the last pew. The woman, who apparently was Marie, exuded a lush air with her fair skin, masses of auburn hair, and all that expensive fur. The man at her side was of average height, with a receding hairline, a long, lean face, and a slightly hooked nose.

Judith’s observations were cut short by a commotion on the cobbled walkway to her left. Philip and Chuckie were arguing. Or rather, Chuckie was screaming at his father and jumping up and down.

“I’m not going to hell!” Chuckie shouted. “I get bored in church! That’s why I threw oranges at the priest during Christmas Mass!”

Philip grabbed his son by the collar, dragging him away from the others. Judith couldn’t hear what Philip was saying, but Chuckie wore a truculent expression and kept shaking his head as he leaned against the half-timbered wall. Judith noticed that Beth had abruptly stopped talking to Will and Marie. Except for Mrs. Gunn, the rest had left.

“Phil!” Beth shouted. “Let me speak with Chuckie!”

Chuckie took a couple of swings at his much taller father but missed. With a weary expression, Philip walked off. He’d gone only a few feet before Chuckie raced up from behind and tackled the older man. Philip fell flat on his face. Chuckie sat on him and hooted in derision.

Beth headed toward her husband and her stepson. “Chuckie, Chuckie, what are you doing?” she asked in a resigned voice. “Get up. I’ll make you some cocoa.”

“Really?” Chuckie grinned at her as Philip tried to dislodge his errant son. “With biscuits?”

“Of course. Come along now. Be my good boy.”

Chuckie sprang off of his father and hurried to take Beth’s outstretched hand. “What kind of biscuits?” he inquired.

“Your favorites,” Beth said, leading Chuckie away.

The man called Will was helping Philip get up. The woman named Marie strolled over to Judith and Renie. She spoke in an undertone. “Chuckie’s quite mad, you know.”

“No kidding,” Renie retorted.

“He should be institutionalized,” the woman said, brushing her chin against the sable collar of her splendid coat. “These days they treat crazy people with pills. I don’t think it works very well.”

Philip was brushing himself off while Will looked the other way, perhaps to save them both from the embarrassment of the moment.

“Are you friends of the Fordyces?” Judith inquired.

Marie smiled slightly. She was several years younger than her husband who appeared to be close to forty. “Beth and Moira and I all went to school together. My husband, Will Fleming, is the Blackwell Petroleum comptroller. That’s how we met.” Her smile widened, showing dimples. “Will’s very clever. Believe it or not, he can be quite funny.”

Judith glanced at Will, who was looking anything but amused at the moment. He’d finally walked away from Philip.

“We should go, Marie,” he said. “The tide will be changing shortly.”

Marie nodded. “Of course, darling.” She turned to the cousins. “Beth says you’re guests here. You’ve had rather a rude welcome.”

“We’re used to it,” Renie said.

“Really?” Marie giggled, then suddenly sobered. “I shouldn’t laugh. It’s quite dreadful about Harry. Still, it’s the sort of thing one would expect of him.” She scooted away to join her husband, who was already at the arched entrance to the castle.

“Harry’s not getting a lot of sympathy,” Renie noted. “I’m beginning to think I was right the first time—he was a jerk.”

“I pity him,” Judith said, but shut up as Philip approached.

“I apologize,” he said stiffly, “for my son. He’s unwell. You mustn’t think ill of him. He has a genetic defect, causing physical and emotional growth problems. I’ve sent him to the best doctors and clinics. When he takes his medication, he’s well behaved and quite bright.”

“It must be very hard on you,” Judith said before Renie could open her big mouth and spoil what must be a difficult admission for a man like Philip Fordyce. “I sympathize.”

“Very kind of you,” Philip murmured. “Excuse me, I feel a need to walk the beach.”

Judith watched him move away, hampered by a slight limp. “Maybe we should go someplace, too,” she said.

Renie frowned. “Where?”

“The village? I think I can walk that far.”

“Everything’s probably closed on the Sabbath,” Renie pointed out.

“True.” Judith gazed around the courtyard. The sun had come out from behind the clouds. Judith noticed an old sundial in the flowerbed near the door where Beth had left with Chuckie. She strolled toward it with Renie following her.

“No hands,” Judith noted. “It’s symbolic, don’t you think? This place is really timeless.”

Renie disagreed. “It’s marking time, a millennium’s worth of centuries. So many people have come and gone, yet the castle remains.”

Renie stopped as a strange, eerily familiar sound captured the cousins’ attention. Judith looked up. Near the top of the castle’s second story, the great northern diver was perched on a corbel, emitting his haunting cry. The bird preened a bit before flapping its wings and sailing off over the courtyard and out of sight.