Highland Fling Episode 71

“Idon’t care about anything like that,” Bruce replied. “I mean, this is more important. Poor El. After everything that’s gone on, she’s afraid for her life. And frankly, the police have been bloody useless! Until your friend turned up, nobody had a bloody clue.” Alan laid a hand on Mirabelle’s shoulder. He knew Mirabelle wasn’t referring to an affair but there was no point filling Bruce in.

“We’ll know soon enough,” he said. “Let’s not worry about it till then.”

The police brought Eleanor back just after ten o’clock.

Bruce burst out of the front door, launching himself at his wife as she approached the house, flanked by two officers who had parked their vehicle at the top of the drive. He flung his arms around her as she stepped on to the portico. “Oh thank God! We’ve been so worried.” “The dogs found me,” Eleanor said. “It wasn’t only the dogs, darling. Mirabelle has been a marvel. She figured out where you were, from those old maps in the cupboard and your bally watch,” Bruce enthused.

Eleanor cast Mirabelle a cold glance as she stood in the doorway. Then Eddie stepped forward and introduced himself. “A word, Mrs Robertson?”

“We can talk later. I’m exhausted. Is it all right if I go to bed?” Eleanor said, pushing past him and into the hall.

“No,” Eddie replied. “It is not.” Eleanor cast a glance up the stairs. “If I could only wash and change my clothes –”

“That’s out of the question, Eleanor,” Mirabelle stepped in. “You won’t be going up to your room,” she said with finality.

Bruce looked taken aback. Denying a woman the right to freshen up was an unthinkable discourtesy.

Eleanor played on this. She hadn’t given up on being able to sneak off through the wardrobe. Or, Mirabelle thought, perhaps just hide in the secret room until it was safe to escape again.

“First I was kidnapped...” she started. “Kidnapped?” Eddie snapped. “By whom? Did you arrest somebody with Mrs Robertson?”

One of the police officers behind Eleanor shook his head. “I was bound. Hand and foot,” Eleanor hissed.

“And yet you were alone when the police found you, Mrs Robertson. Who was this kidnapper? Can you describe him? What was his name?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t give me his calling card. He was Russian – a tall chap with dark hair. He grabbed me. Gagged me.”

“Where?”

Eleanor sighed. “He bundled me out of the back door. Gillies was in the laundry.”

Mirabelle shook her head. “We know you weren’t kidnapped,” she said. “We know that, Eleanor.”

Quite apart from the watch, Mirabelle noticed that Eleanor was wearing two cashmere sweaters and a thick jacket.

She had known she was leaving. She had dressed for it.

“I have to sleep. I just have to,” Eleanor continued, insistent. “I think it’s the shock.”

“The dogs are still looking for the man, sir,” the policeman chipped in. “So far they haven’t picked up his scent. We have a team searching the cottage where we found Mrs Robertson.”

Eleanor was swaying on her feet as if she might fall. It was a convincing act, Mirabelle thought, but she wasn’t about to let her disappear through the wardrobe again.

“And you found Mrs Robertson constrained?” she checked with the men. “Yes, miss.”

“How was she constrained exactly?” Eleanor shot further daggers in Mirabelle’s direction. “I was gagged,” she said. “And tied up using rope.” She held out her hands to show Mirabelle the marks.

“And this person, this tall, dark man, just left you? In a cottage. In the middle of nowhere?”

“Yes!” Eleanor snapped. “I was terrified.” There was fury in her eyes but also, Mirabelle noticed, tears welling. Bruce noticed too. He produced a handkerchief.

Mirabelle’s mind swam, trying to figure out how much of what Eleanor said was true. Although she hadn’t been kidnapped, it was possible she had an accomplice – probable, in fact.

Still, in any conclusion everything would have to fit into place, like a lock opening.

Like Gregory cracking the safe. She considered the evidence that they had accumulated – the life Bruce and Eleanor

And this person, this tall, dark man, just left you? In a cottage. In the middle of nowhere?

had built, Nina’s character, the discarded Russian pistol on the back lane, the alexandrite and Eleanor’s face as she arrived home only a few moments before.

She smiled, remembering Gregory trying to follow the money, and then her attention returned to Eleanor’s diamond watch and the way she was dressed. The ideas became a flood, more than she could focus on.

But, she realised, if you thought about it, there was money. Right there, at the nub of things.

“I need to talk to Mrs Robertson alone,” she announced. “You have some questions to answer, Eleanor, and it’s best we do that privately. In the day room, perhaps?”

Mirabelle gestured up the hallway towards the Gothic room next to the orangery. It would be the best place, she thought – to the rear of the house, relatively easy to guard, and small enough for Eleanor to feel constrained if she played it right.

“We need a policeman outside the window,” she said.

Eddie nodded. “All right,” he agreed. “I’ll sit in.”

“Give me five minutes,” Mirabelle’s tone was flat – she was telling him, not asking. “On our own.”

Eddie looked at his watch. “Five minutes.” Ahead of them the maid disappeared into the back room, carrying a zinc bucket of kindling and a small brush and shovel, ready to set the fire.

The niceties, Mirabelle thought; still it would be cold in there. The girl left the door slightly open and Mirabelle followed her. A constable appeared outside the window. Mirabelle gestured to him to move away. He was only there to stop Eleanor breaking out.

She curled her finger, miming for him to turn round.

More tomorrow.

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