Highland Fling Episode 28

Once Gillies had gone, Eleanor flopped on to the sofa. “Oh dear,” she said. “I’m not sure we’ll be able to buy the old girl off. Though I don’t agree with her about Susan not having the grit. Anyone who makes it down to Inverslain in this morning’s weather deserves a medal.” “Inverslain?”

“The village she comes from, further along the track. I just can’t seem to crack this ‘lady of the manor’ thing, Mirabelle. I hope all this isn’t going to spoil your holiday.”

Mirabelle couldn’t help but smile. A murder, grieving relations, a revelation about Mcgregor and a staffing crisis was hardly what they’d had in mind when they decided to come. “Oh, not at all,” she said.

Eleanor let out a giggle. “You’re so English.” She smiled. “I love it!”

A curse

Mirabelle heard the car coming along the lane at the rear of the house at the end of the afternoon. She listened as the engine cut out. A few minutes later, Mcgregor walked into his room. He knocked on the adjoining door and hovered sheepishly in the frame, his cheeks ruddy.

“Did you catch anything?” she asked. “Dinner is secure. The fishermen returned with three handsome salmon. Well, Bruce did, anyway. We also picked up company – the Dougals will be eating with us. I can ask Gillies to make you a tray, if you’d prefer? I’d quite understand if you don’t want to come down.” Mirabelle shook her head. “I’m all right.” “I’m not,” he said. “I can’t get you out of my mind. I’m so sorry, Belle.”

Mirabelle stared. It felt as if Mcgregor was a locked box, but then, she realised, perhaps she had liked that about him. What was wrong with her? People changed, after all. People learned. But to keep a secret for this long was a kind of betrayal – except, of course, she had secrets too.

“I feel like an idiot,” she said. “I’m supposed to be so perceptive.”

Mcgregor’s gaze fell to the carpet. “The last thing I want is to make you feel foolish. I’m the stupid one. You’re the most honourable woman I know.”

She shook her head. “I’ve done plenty of things I’m ashamed of.”

There were a lot more than 15 skeletons in her closet. Mcgregor shook his head. “I’m glad Bruce told you. You’d have found out sometime.” He got down on his knees. “Can you forgive me?”

Mirabelle’s heart lurched. “God, it was a 100 years ago, Alan. I wish you’d told me. I don’t like that you think of yourself as bad. I know all the good you’ve done.” She dropped to her knees beside him.

“It’s just a shock. You’ve been racked with guilt for years and I didn’t even notice.” She wanted to ask him to promise not to hide anything ever again, but it didn’t seem fair when there was so much she had left unsaid. Mcgregor smiled weakly. “Some holiday I brought you on.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I like solving murders...”

He laughed. “You want to solve it. Of course you do.” He wrapped his arms around her. “You and me both.”

“Well why not? We’re good at it. Perhaps it would distract us.”

“A busman’s holiday, you mean.”

She laid her head on his shoulder. This was how she kept her guilt at bay, she realised – by finding justice for people like Nina Orlova. They had that in common – it was Mcgregor’s technique as well.

She was about to say something but the gong sounded for dinner. Mcgregor jumped to his feet and held out his hand. “We’d better get dressed,” he said.

The moment was gone. Mirabelle pulled a red satin sheath from her closet and disrobed untidily, stepping into her evening shoes and applying lipstick at the same time. Red had always suited her – just like Nina. She chose a pair of diamond- drop earrings, like tiny stars.

“You go down!” he called. “If we arrive flustered, they’ll assume – you know.”

Mirabelle checked in the mirror once more. She didn’t look in the least flustered. Maybe, she thought, we can just decide not to dwell on it. The war was over.

There was laughter coming from the drawing room.

“Mirabelle!” Bruce hailed her as she appeared in the doorway. “You look lovely.”

Eleanor was mixing more cocktails. The baron and Tash sat together on the sofa, Tash tonight arrayed in a demure, silvergrey cocktail dress. Beside her, a greyhaired man with a long moustache sprang

To keep a secret for this long was a kind of betrayal – except, of course, she had secrets too

to his feet. “This is our neighbour – Willie Dougal. Lord Dougal, but we don’t stand on ceremony.”

Bruce made the introduction and then turned to a woman Mirabelle hadn’t immediately noticed, who was standing beside the window wearing a full-length, midnight-blue velvet dress that camouflaged her against the curtains.

A wire-haired terrier wagged its tail at her feet. “And this is Lady Dougal. Gwendolyn.”

“How do you do.” Mirabelle shook the woman’s hand.

“Am I correct that you were here last week for dinner – with Tash and her godmother?”

“Four-and-twenty families.” Willie Dougal grinned. “Just as in Jane Austen, Miss Bevan. That’s the whole county. We dine together endlessly.”

“We’ve known each other since we were children,” Bruce explained.

“Not me,” Gwendolyn said. “I met my husband at a house party. I’m from Argyll – an incomer.” She rounded the sofa and sat down opposite Niko and Tash.

“It’s a terrible business. You must be devastated, Baron Orlov.”

Niko nodded. “I spoke to our man this afternoon. I hold him responsible.”

It was, Mirabelle thought, quite common for the victim’s family to seek to apportion the blame as quickly as possible, but the baron was being unfair – Nina had sent Gregory away.

“Do you mean the black man?” Gwendolyn Dougal’s clipped west-coast accent dripped with enmity.

“I heard he helped deliver the Mccrossan baby today. That’s a curse on the poor child.”

“A curse?” Mirabelle’s tone was incredulous.

“A black fairy at the feast.”

“Well at least Davina has had her baby.” Eleanor smoothed the water. “She’s lucky Gregory was about. He fetched the doctor – he got the man there within 20 minutes.”

More tomorrow.

Copyright © Sara Sheridan 2020, extracted from Highland Fling, published by Constable, an imprint of Little, Brown Book Group, at £8.99