Mary Daheim - Scots on the Rocks

“That’s absurd,” Moira said in a listless voice. “He was here. Marie should’ve known that. Why didn’t she call me? Why didn’t she call Will? Marie’s usually sensible. It must be the flu.”

“Did the ruckus outside disturb your baby?” Judith asked.

“Of course,” Moira answered, displaying a trifle more animation. “He cried for half an hour. My governess had to walk him all over the house. Ah. Here she is now.”

A plump and plain woman of indeterminate age entered the room. “Master Jamie has finally settled down,” she announced, her brown eyes darting between Moira, Judith, and Renie. “Shall I let him sleep through his eleven o’clock feeding?”

Moira gnawed on her thumbnail. “No. Yes! Yes, Euphemia, unless he wakes up and cries for it.”

“Shall I bring him to you?” the governess asked.

“No.” Tears welled up in Moira’s eyes. “I’m exhausted.”

“As you wish.” Euphemia left as Fergus entered.

Moira cast a weary gaze on the butler. “Yes?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Gibbs have arrived,” he said in his stilted voice.

Moira waved a frantic hand. “Please. Send them away. I can’t possibly deal with them tonight. Why would they leave the castle?” She put the question to Judith.

“They’ve probably finished serving dinner,” Judith said. “Have you spoken with them since their grandson was killed?”

“No.” Moira turned away. “I don’t want to. Especially not now.”

“Maybe they heard about the riot,” Judith pointed out, “and wanted to make sure you and the baby were okay.”

“We’re not,” Moira declared, still staring off into space. “Send them back to the castle, Fergus.”

Fergus cleared his throat, a dry sound like crushed autumn leaves. “Your visitors didn’t come from the castle, madam. They’re the other Mr. and Mrs. Gibbs, your husband’s parents from South America.”

19

Moira let out an anguished wail. “No! Not Harry’s parents!

Oh, God help me! Make it all stop!” She threw pillows on the floor, yanked at the duvet, and began clawing at the sheets.

Fergus stood as unbending as a lighthouse. After a long pause, he finally spoke. “Shall I tell them to wait, madam?”

Judith leaned close enough to grab one of Moira’s flailing arms. “Please calm down,” she urged softly. “You must relax.”

Moira tried to pull away but suddenly slumped, her energies spent. “Cruel, cruel, cruel,” she mumbled. “Why must I suffer so?”

Renie had moved closer to Fergus. “Let me handle this,” she told him. “And one word out of you and we’re going to war.” She stomped past the rigid butler and left the room.

Judith put her arms around Moira and rocked her like a baby. Fergus turned around in his robot-like manner and slowly walked away.

“Shall I send for Elise?” Judith asked.

Moira gulped and slumped against Judith’s arm. “No,” she whispered. “Not now. Oh my God!” Moira gasped. “I can’t face Mr. and Mrs. Gibbs! They’ll blame me for Harry’s death!”

“Why?” Judith asked, handing Moira several tissues.

“They’ve never liked me,” Moira said between sniffs as she wiped at her eyes. “Their niece, Liza, lived with them in London while I was away at school in France. Harry’s parents treated her like a princess because they’d never had a daughter. When Harry and I started seeing each other, Liza told the most terrible lies about me. They believed her, even though I’d never even met their wretched niece. In fact, I hardly know Harry’s parents, but it’s obvious they think I’m some kind of silly little slut and was never worthy of their handsome, charming, spoiled boy.”

“Spreading vicious rumors is a nasty habit some people have,” Judith said as Moira sank back onto the pillow. “I’m surprised that Mr. and Mrs. Gibbs found out about Harry so quickly. They must not have been as hard to reach as I’ve been told.”

Moira scowled and blew her nose. “They can be found if they want to be,” she asserted. “I don’t believe half their tales from abroad. It sounds too rugged for what I know of them. If they took a trip up the Amazon, they’d hire a limousine.”

Renie came back into the boudoir, dusting off her hands. “Your in-laws have left. I told them you were in bed with Fergus.”

Moira looked appalled. “That’s not very amusing, given their opinion of me.”

Renie shrugged. “They don’t think highly of Fergus, either.”

“We should probably leave you in peace,” Judith said to Moira. “You’ve had very little of that these past few days. Will you be able to attend the inquest tomorrow?”

Moira flung a hand over her eyes and sighed. “I don’t know. I’m afraid there’ll be another mob. Morton could be behind it. He’s always resented me. The police suggested that the demonstration was staged.”

Judith wasn’t sure how to respond. “Jocko Morton? What would be the point of damaging your reputation? It gives the company a black eye. How can that help him as the CEO?”

“You don’t understand,” Moira said. “It’s not about public image, it’s personal. He wants me out. Jocko wants to be in total control.”

“But you own the company,” Judith pointed out.

Renie leaned against the bedpost. “There must be a buyout in the wind,” she said. “Who’s making the offer?”

Moira was surprised. “How did you guess?”

“I don’t guess,” Renie replied. “I work with big businesses. I know the game—or as much of it as I need to in order to not design a pharmaceutical company’s logo using a skull and crossbones.”

Moira nodded once. “I suspected for some time that something was going on behind my back. Much as it galled me, I asked Harry what he knew about it. He insisted he didn’t know anything. Then I humbled myself even further by talking to Jimmy. He can be such a stick, but basically, I trust him. We are kin, after all, and sometimes I feel he acts in my best interests. Jimmy assured me that nothing was happening, and then Morton left for Greece—‘on indefinite leave’ was the official word. I didn’t believe it. I thought he was one step ahead of serious trouble. But now he’s back and creating havoc. Or so it appears.” She sighed and closed her eyes. “I’m so tired. I wish I could sleep.”

“We’ll go now,” Judith said.

Moira didn’t respond.

The cousins left the boudoir. Euphemia was coming down the hall. “Is Madam awake?” she inquired in a husky voice.

“She’s trying to sleep,” Judith said. “How’s the baby?”

“Quiet as a wee mouse,” the governess replied. “A good bairn, despite Madam’s fussing. Should I fetch Elise to keep watch?”

Judith shrugged. “Is that what Mrs. Gibbs would want?”

Euphemia’s strong jaw jutted slightly. “Perhaps. Though what that silly Frenchwoman would do in a crisis is beyond me. Useless, I say. But I’ll get her—unless she’s had her snout in the cognac too long.” The governess turned on her heel and went in the opposite direction.

“Not a happy house,” Renie remarked.

“Tell me about Harry’s parents,” Judith said as they started down the handsome staircase.

“Good-looking couple, mid-fifties, Dad’s balding, Mom’s got gold highlights in her hair. Well-dressed, well-spoken.” Renie smirked. “I wouldn’t trust either of them an inch.”

“Are they grief-stricken?”

“Hard to figure,” Renie answered as they reached the foyer. “I spoke to them for only about ninety seconds.”

“What did you really tell them?”

“That Moira had passed out,” Renie said. “They didn’t act surprised. Peggy—Harry’s mother—murmured ‘typical,’ and Matt—the dad—sort of sneered.”