She sighed. She sipped her tea.
Finally, she said cautiously, ‘I saw Dr Housman come in that morning. I … I went out on my bicycle to shop in Brig O’Fearn village. The library is closed to the public on Wednesdays but Dr Housman had often been on his own there and I’d left the back door on the latch for him; that’s how you got in.’
‘He left the back door standing open,’ I remembered.
‘Yes,’ Mary agreed softly. ‘Anyone could have got in. There are all sorts of people about.’
‘Do you really believe any of the McEwens would come in here when the library was closed?’ I asked. ‘Even if the back door was open? Without me and Jamie to encourage them? Have they ever before?’
She didn’t say anything for a bit. At last, being as honest and straightforward as only Mary can be, she admitted, ‘No.’
Now to finish my hand.
‘Were they about the place?’ I asked. ‘Did you see them at all that morning?’
She frowned. ‘I didn’t see them here. But …’
I held my breath. I cocked my head a little, gazing out of the window, feigning nonchalance. I didn’t want her to know how much I cared about her answer to this question: how important it was for Euan McEwen that she answered as I hoped she was going to.
‘I suppose I did see the McEwen lad that morning. In fact, he wasn’t alone … He was with his father. I passed them twice, coming and going, in Brig O’Fearn village. They’d a cartload of scrap tin.’
‘You passed them twice!’ I exclaimed, unable to suppress my excitement. This was more than I’d hoped for.
‘Well, they were there the whole morning,’ Mary said with a small huff of irritation. ‘They were going door to door along the High Street, collecting tin.’
‘Door to door along the High Street!’
‘It’s what they do, Julia,’ Mary said patiently, as if she were instructing a small child. ‘Didn’t you know?’
If they’d been going door to door through Brig O’Fearn, and Mary had passed them coming and going, they had a whole village full of witnesses to prove they hadn’t been anywhere near the library or Hugh Housman that morning. Mary had arrived back at Inverfearnie after whatever had happened to Hugh Housman – and to me. If Euan and Alan McEwen had been in the village all that time they couldn’t possibly have been involved. Even the police would have to agree.
‘I do know, Mary,’ I agreed rather breathlessly, trying not to give away my elation. ‘Oh, I’m so glad we’ve had this talk!’
And I put down my teacup and saucer and got up so I could squeeze her warmly in my arms.
‘I hate for us to be angry with each other. Please do agree with me that Euan and Ellen McEwen weren’t trespassing before,’ I said. ‘I like them and I’m friends with them. I can make sure Euan won’t bother you here, if only you’ll let him cross over to Strathfearn by the Inverfearnie footbridge.’
Mary scowled.
‘Really, Julia. You are very manipulative.’
I laughed. She didn’t have any idea to what extent I’d manipulated her.
‘Well, perhaps so, but it’s a little thing, Mary!’ I confessed. ‘A little thing mended. I know you don’t want to have to mix with the Travellers, but I’d so like you not to be afraid of them, either. I want you to feel at ease.’
‘Well.’ She sniffed. ‘Only for you, my dear. I will try to be brave!’
‘You’re the bravest person in the world,’ I swore.
It was some time after I left her, when I was once again alone along the river on my way back to Strathfearn, that it occurred to me I still didn’t know how I’d ended up lying on the path near Inchfort Field where Euan had found me later.
When I got back to Strathfearn and started to cross the lawn up to the Big House, Frank Dunbar was pacing around the edge of the newly tiled swimming pool, sucking furiously at a cigarette and leaving behind him a trail of smoke like a steam engine. He was alone, and I was decently and girlishly attired in my own summery flower-print cotton dress; I couldn’t resist a diversion in his direction.
‘Hello,’ he said quietly.
‘Hello! How are you?’ I asked.
‘As miserable as I know how to be,’ he answered honestly, but shrugging. ‘Cigarette?’
‘Not out in the open, I won’t. But thank you.’
He blushed.
‘I can never get it right.’
‘Frank by name, Frank by nature,’ I teased, which coaxed a smile out of him. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Just a routine inspection. Once the pump room is finished we’ll enclose the pool, but I’m afraid the pipeline out to the River Tay will be delayed.’
I didn’t ask why.
But I did ask, ‘Is there a nightwatchman on the estate?’
‘There are several,’ he said. ‘There have to be, with so many workmen staying in the stable apartments and servants’ quarters. There’s also a guard in the gate lodge who makes regular rounds, and the Water Bailiff sometimes checks the river path late in the night as well.’
‘Does somebody check the doors of the Big House?’
‘I expect so,’ Frank responded vaguely. He took a drag on the cigarette, with that air of faint distraction which I found so inexplicably attractive. After a moment he added assertively, as if trying to excuse his initial lack of a definite answer, ‘Unless I draw up a schedule they don’t always coordinate their shifts.’ He sighed. ‘I’ve been scolded by the Procurator Fiscal for not having a better grip on the reins of this place.’
He took another pull on his cigarette, then bit his lip, looking away when he finally spoke.
‘The doctor who examined Housman wasn’t able to determine the cause of his death – his body’s quite deteriorated. When we pulled the … pulled him out of the water we should have taken him straight to the mortuary that evening. But we waited till the next morning and apparently this … um, dried him out and … accelerated decay. And because of where the poor fellow got cut, without a proper post-mortem the examiner can’t actually tell if he drowned or –’
‘Good gracious, or what?’
‘Well, that was what I said,’ Frank huffed. ‘Or anything else. He might have had a heart attack, or choked on a sweet. Or poisoned himself, if it really was suicide. But it’s not obvious that he drowned and the doctor can’t issue a death certificate in case the Procurator Fiscal tells him to conduct a post-mortem.’
‘How it does drag on so horribly!’