“He is,” Gage answered with aplomb, as if the association had no bearing on our current situation. I had to admire the effort, even if Mr. Paxton did not.
“I’m sure we appreciate his lordship’s help, but we’ve got matters weel in hand,” he pronounced with a determined gleam in his eye.
“My father didn’t send me.”
The constable appeared baffled. “He dinna?”
“I’m not here in an official capacity, Mr. Paxton.” Gage smiled disarmingly. “I’m simply staying with a friend and wished to accompany him on his visit to his neighbor. I have every confidence you are conducting your investigation with the utmost diligence and skill.”
Mr. Paxton seemed to be caught off guard by this compliment, for he shifted in his seat. “Why, thank ye, sir.”
“Such a sad circumstance. Mr. Wallace, you must be sick with worry.”
He nodded. “That I am. Mary was never one to disappear like this. I always knew where she was going and who she would visit, even if she was only going doon to the village,” he replied, his Scottish brogue emerging, whether from fatigue or because he had no care to affect the English accent as other Scottish gentlemen had been taught to do.
“Well, then you’ve been able to trace her movements that day.”
“That we have,” Mr. Paxton cut in. “And I was just tellin’ Mr. Wallace that we think we puzzled it oot.” His pronouncement was met by a stony glare from our host, one the constable chose to ignore.
“And what is that?” Gage prompted.
“She mun have failed to begin the crossin’ from Cramond Island afore the tide came in, and it dragged her oot to sea. It’s happened afore and it’ll happen again.”
“And I told ye, my daughter knows that crossing weel. She’d never start if she couldna make it across,” Mr. Wallace argued. “She’s no’ daft. She understands the danger.”
The constable crossed his arms over his round stomach, unmoved by his arguments. “She would if she were in a hurry.”
Mr. Wallace sat forward in his seat, his face reddened with anger. “Are you presuming to tell me what my daughter would or wouldna do?”
“Wait,” I interrupted. “I don’t understand.” I glanced around at the others, wondering if anyone else was as confused as I was. “Why would the rising tide cause a woman in a boat so much danger? And wouldn’t she have asked someone to row her across? Where are they if she’s missing?”
“It’s a tidal island,” Michael explained. “At low tide the water recedes far enough so that there’s a path that connects it to the shore. But the distance is nearly a mile, and when the tide comes back in, it does so quickly. More than one person has lost their life by trying to make the crossing too late.”
I allowed this information to digest for a moment before asking the obvious. “But why do you think Miss Wallace made such a crossing?”
“Because Miss Wallace paid a visit to Mrs. McCray that day,” Mr. Paxton answered before the girl’s father could utter a word. “The McCrays ain an ole farmstead on the island.”
“And Mrs. McCray was the last person to see her?” I asked, leading the man on in hopes he’d let slip more information.
“Aye!” He nodded at me in approval, seemingly pleased that I’d caught on. “No one’s seen hide nor hair o’ her since she left the McCrays. If she’d made it back to the mainland someone woulda seen her.”
“Except Mrs. McCray told ye my Mary left wi’ plenty o’ time to cross before the tide.” Mr. Wallace fisted his hands in his lap. “It makes no sense.”
Mr. Paxton waved this away as inconsequential. “Mrs. McCray was in bed wi’ the ague. How could she ken the time? And besides, she’s always been a wee daft. What with her talk of bogles and beasties.” He leaned toward Damien and lowered his voice. “Claims she saw a selkie.”
Mr. Wallace’s scowl was fierce. “Ye do the ole woman an injustice. Just because she’s a wee superstitious disna mean she’s daft. And she wouldna lie aboot my daughter leaving in time.” Mr. Wallace turned away from the constable to appeal to Michael and Gage and me. “In any case, Mary woulda been mindful. If she had misjudged the time she woulda stayed the night wi’ the McCrays and come home in the morn. It’s happened before. ’Tis why I didna know she was missing until the next day.” His last words were heavy with guilt. It was clear the man blamed himself for not realizing his daughter had gone missing sooner. What could have happened in those twelve hours or more between her last being seen and his raising the alarm?
“What of the other residents on the island?” Gage asked. “Would she have gone to any of them?”
“The only other person livin’ on Cramond Island is Craggy Donald,” Mr. Paxton answered with a frown, unhappy to have the conversation taken away from him. “We questioned him and searched his croft, but he wasna any use.” He shook his head stubbornly. “Nay, it looks like the lass tried to make the crossing and got swept oot to sea.”