At the Water's Edge (29 page)

I
spent the night tossing and thrashing, twisting the quilts until they were a tangled pile. Every time the chimney whistled or the window rattled—every time I heard anything at all—I was sure Angus was coming to me, and then what would I do? Tell him everything, and hope to God he'd come up with a solution that hadn't occurred to me? Or just hope to God that what I told him wouldn't make him go straight down the hall and murder Ellis?

Eventually, I couldn't stand it anymore and snuck down to the kitchen, feeling my way along the wooden doors of his bed until I reached the seam where they met. He'd shut himself in.

I leaned my forehead against the crack, thinking that he must know I was there—I felt his presence behind the doors as strongly as I felt the heart beating in my own chest, and even if he didn't sense me in the same way, surely he'd heard the shushing of my fingers running along the wooden panels, or the tiny clicks as the doors pushed against their tracks under the weight of my head.

If he did know I was there, he gave no indication. It was just as well, I told myself. Nothing could save me, and there was nothing I
could do to Angus but harm him. I pressed my lips against the wooden door in a silent kiss, and crept back upstairs.

I heard Ellis and Hank talking downstairs the moment I stepped out of my room, and took a few breaths, steeling myself.

Being my mother's daughter, placating them should have come easily even if it was the last thing I wanted to do. Instead, I felt nauseated, lethargic, numb. It was as though my brain had already been compromised and nobody had bothered to tell me. I wondered what the procedure was like, and if I would retain any memories afterward. I wondered if I would be able to form new ones.

Anna was sitting by the fire, polishing a full set of silverware that was laid out on a length of felt. She glanced up when I passed, making brief eye contact, and I wondered what Meg had told her.

“Good morning, my dear,” said Ellis, standing and pulling out a chair.

“Good morning, darling,” I said.

When I uttered the endearment, a flash of surprise crossed Ellis's face, just as it had the night before. Hank looked up and said nothing. His empty expression terrified me.

“You're obviously feeling better,” Ellis said, sitting back down. “You look like Rita Hayworth going on safari. Got plans?”

“Yes,” I said, smoothing my dungarees over my thighs as though they were made of the finest silk. “I thought I'd come with you today.”

“Really? Why?”

“Because I haven't seen you in ages,” I said. “I've missed you.”

Hank and Ellis exchanged glances.

“This is probably not the best day for you to come along,” Ellis said.

“A girl could take that the wrong way, you know,” I said. “I promise I won't make you waste any film.”

“The weather's terrible,” Hank said.

“He's right,” said Ellis. “Have you seen what it's doing outside? The sky is gray as far as the eye can see. No chance of it clearing up.”

Either they were ready to mount the hoax, or Ellis had already pulled the trigger and the ambulance was on its way.

Angus walked out from the kitchen, saw me at the table with Hank and Ellis, and spun on his heel with a disdainful bark.

Ellis stared after him. “I honestly think he's the most unpleasant man I've ever met.”

Meg poked her head out from the kitchen. “Will the three of you be joining us for dinner tonight? Only we're having a fine stew, and we've some proper bread for once.”

“Don't we always join you for dinner?” Hank asked with an amused smirk.

Ellis rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Yes—when you're here, that is,” said Meg, “but this is a local specialty and we've only the one good loaf for dipping—fluffy and white, and baked just this morning. There won't be anywhere near enough for everyone. Come down early, or I'll bring it up, because the rest will be getting beetroot sandwiches on National Loaf.”

“Why the special treatment?” asked Hank.

“Think of it as a welcome back,” she said, before disappearing.

“I think that lumberjack may have knocked a screw loose,” said Hank.

Ellis laughed. “I think she always had a screw loose.”

A local specialty
.

I wish I could say I dismissed the thought out of hand, but if my suspicions were correct, Meg was cooking up, quite literally, the only solution to my problem.

Could I let her? Could I live with myself?

I wondered if Rhona and Mhàthair were out foraging, or if they were already in the kitchen.

Hank and Ellis had just begun to gather their things when the front door opened and Willie the Postie came in. He walked over to the fire.

“Good morning,” he said to Anna. “It's a right
dreich
day.”

“Aye, that it is. I wish I could spend the whole of it by the fire,” she said, sighing. “But the fields don't plow themselves.”

“You canna plow today—you'll be
drookit
!” Although he assumed an angry face, I knew enough about his feelings for Anna to recognize this as a display of affection.

“I've a raincoat. If I get too wet, I'll go in.”

“Make sure that you do,” he said, nodding sternly. “I've some letters for your guests. Well, a letter and a telegram, anyway.”

“They're right over there,” Anna said, tilting her head at us as though Willie wouldn't otherwise find us.

“And which one of you is Mr. Boyd?” he said, coming to the table.

Hank held out his hand, and Willie slapped a letter into it.

Even if the handwriting hadn't been impeccable, and even if it didn't still carry the faintest hint of Soir de Paris, the pale lavender of the Basildon Bond envelope would have given her away.

“Oh dear. It looks like my little songbird has finally tracked me down,” Hank said. He slid a knife beneath the flap. “Probably begging me to come home. Well, it won't be long now, and then I suppose I'll have to slide a ring on that pretty little du Pont finger of hers.”

As Hank pulled out Violet's letter, Willie handed me the telegram. He held my gaze for long enough that I knew he was trying to tell me something. I took it with great reluctance.

“Well, go on, open it,” said Ellis.

I was motionless, clutching the telegram. I hadn't thought the situation could get any worse, but apparently I was wrong. Ellis was about to find out that my father was dead, and also that I'd asked about getting a divorce.

Hank unfolded his letter and began reading.

“Well, if you're not going to, I will,” said Ellis, snatching the telegram from my hands.

I covered my eyes. There were a few seconds of silence while they both read.

“What the hell? Your father died?” said Ellis. “Why didn't you say anything?”

“Oh my God,” said Hank in a hollow voice.

“Oh my God!” shouted Ellis, slapping the table. “Holy shit, Maddie. We're richer than Croesus. We're richer than Hank! But only because you're not a boy, and thank God we don't have a boy, or we'd have had to name him after your grandfather, surname and all, just to access the interest, and then the whole damned thing would have gone to the kid on his twenty-first birthday. But it seems your grandfather wasn't looking quite far enough ahead. Ha! You outwitted a robber baron, my brilliant, barren princess. Now we can buy our own house on Rittenhouse Square—the Colonel be damned!”

“She's left me,” Hank said quietly. “She's fucking well left me…”

I peeked through my hands. Hank was pallid, gaunt. Ellis was leaping around the room like an idiotic leprechaun. He'd left the telegram on the table. I picked it up and read it.

He was right. I got everything free and clear, but only because I was the sole heir. If there had been a male anywhere in the picture I would never have seen a cent, unless the male in question was my own son, in which case I would have been destitute the moment he came of age. The lawyer suggested we meet in person once I got back to the States, but there was no mention at all of a divorce. I realized that was what Willie was trying to tell me—that the telegram was safe to read in front of my husband.

I set the telegram on the table and looked up. Hank had me locked in his gaze. He looked puzzled. His eyes were wet.

“She's dumped me, Maddie,” he said, shaking his head. “She's going to marry Freddie. I don't understand. How could she do this to me?” His expression switched abruptly, and he slammed the table. “Freddie! Damned Freddie! This must have been his plan all along! He wanted me out of the way so he could steal Violet out from under me! I'll kill him, Ellis—I swear, I'll kill him!”

He leapt up from the table as well, and suddenly Ellis was in front of him holding him by the shoulders.

“No, you won't kill him,” Ellis said calmly and slowly. “We're going to get our footage, and then we're going to go home, and then
we'll be world famous, and then you'll steal her back. That's what we're going to do.”

Hank stared into Ellis's eyes for a long time, huffing and puffing like an enraged bull.

“Let's get the hell on with it then,” he said.

“If you put it that way, I suppose I don't have much choice, although I was enjoying a moment with my lovely, rich wife,” said Ellis. He put his coat on, then kissed me on the cheek. “Goodbye, my gorgeous golden goose. See you at dinner.”

When the door shut behind them, I was too stunned to move. Apparently so was Anna, who sat on the couch holding a serving spoon in one hand and a polishing cloth in the other.

Meg came through from the back, shaking her head in disgust. She went to the window and peered out at an angle, watching them walk away.

S
ee you at dinner
, he'd said.

I stayed at the table grappling with the concept, trying to parse it into something that wasn't cold-blooded murder. I tried to look at it from a purely rational point of view, as simply having to make a choice between organs—my brain or his kidneys. But it wasn't just his kidneys. It was his life.

I tried to look at it as self-defense, but it wasn't. If I allowed it to happen, it would be an execution, and a preemptive one at that, because he had yet to commit the crime.

I couldn't do it. Despite everything I stood to lose, I just couldn't sit by and watch him be poisoned.

I had only just come to that conclusion when the door burst open, hitting the wall behind it.

Two policemen strode in. A dark paddy wagon was parked in the street beyond them, and through the rain, I made out the words
INVERNESS-SHIRE CONSTABULARY
painted on its side.

These were no Bob the Bobbies—their uniforms were crisp navy with satin stripes running down the sides of their pants, their pointed helmets emblazoned with silver insignia. Truncheons and handcuffs
hung from their black belts, and when they came to a stop, water rolled off their slick uniforms, forming puddles around their heavy boots.

“Good morning, ladies,” said the taller one, nodding at us.

I almost couldn't breathe. Ellis had done it. He'd actually done it.

Was it because he hadn't liked the way Angus looked at us the night before? Had I not been convincing enough in my role as doting wife? Perhaps he'd returned from the trip already determined, and there was nothing I could have done anyway.

“And how can I help you gentlemen?” Meg asked.

I had to warn Angus, couldn't believe that I hadn't already—

“We're looking for Angus Duncan Grant,” said one of them. “I believe he resides here?”

“He does for the moment. And what are you wanting with him?” asked Meg.

“Just a quick word is all.”

He sounded so pleasant, so polite, so matter-of-fact. It was hard to believe he was about to destroy Angus's life.

“I'll let him know you're here,” said Meg.

I stared after her as she went into the kitchen, and when I jerked back around, both policemen were watching me. I was sure they'd seen the panic in my eyes.

“Good morning, Officers,” said Angus, coming around the front of the bar and sitting on one of the tall stools. “I hear you'd like a word?”

Conall came with him, flopping down at his feet. The dog looked relaxed, but his eyes darted.

“Mr. Grant—”

“That's Captain Grant,” Anna said, from over by the fire.

The policeman nodded at her, then looked back at Angus. “Captain Grant, my name is Inspector Chisholm, and this is Sergeant MacDougall. We've had a report up at the courthouse about someone poaching on the grounds at Craig Gairbh.”

“I'm afraid I wouldn't know anything about that,” said Angus.

“The report named you as the perpetrator,” said Inspector Chisholm, “and a quick summary of the evidence seems to suggest it's
true. We took a wee stroll around the property, and couldn't help noticing that there's a well-stocked dugout in the hill behind. Two red deer, a pheasant, and a capercaillie hanging, if I'm not mistaken. I don't suppose you'd care to tell us how they were obtained?”

“I took them from the hills,” Angus said. “As I'm sure you've
jaloused
.”

“And that includes the grounds at Craig Gairbh?”

“Aye,” said Angus, nodding.

“Well,” said Inspector Chisholm, raising his eyebrows. “I can't say I was expecting that. Your honesty is refreshing, but all the same, I'm afraid we're going to have to take you in.”

“I don't think that will be necessary,” said Angus, remaining entirely calm. He folded his arms over his chest, then stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles.

“I'm afraid I have no choice,” said Inspector Chisholm. “The law is very clear on the matter.”

“And who's leveled the charges then?” said Angus. “Because it certainly wasn't the laird.”

“And how would you be knowing that?” asked Inspector Chisholm.

“Because I think I'd remember doing it,” said Angus.

I was utterly confused. Judging from their faces, the policemen were as well.

“I beg your pardon?” Inspector Chisholm finally said.

“I don't think I can level charges against myself, and at any rate, even if I could, I'm fairly certain I wouldn't want to.”

“You're telling us you're the laird.”

“Aye,” said Angus, nodding. “These three months. Son of the previous laird's late brother. Closest surviving male relative.”

I couldn't grasp it. I turned to Angus. “But that night Bob the Bobby came in—he gave you a warning for poaching,” I sputtered.

“That wasn't for poaching,” he said. “That was for throwing the water bailiff in the river.”

I stared into his eyes as I realized what all this meant. Then I leapt to my feet.

“That bastard. That
rat
bastard! I can't
wait
to tell him!”

“Maddie?” said Angus. “What's going on?”

“It was Ellis! He made the report! He was threatening to have you thrown in prison if I didn't turn back into his perfect society wife.” I stopped suddenly. “And then he followed through. My God, the hospital is probably on its way for me right now.”

“Hospital? What hospital?” Angus demanded.

“Meg can tell you. I have to go,” I said, rushing past the officers to grab my coat.

“Maddie,
stop
!” said Angus. “Don't go anywhere. I'm coming with you.”

“I'm sorry to interrupt,” said Inspector Chisholm, “but could we trouble you for a wee bit of proof about this claim of yours before we all go about our business?”

“That can wait,” said Angus, striding toward the door. “Conall,
trobhad! Crios ort!
”

The dog scrambled to his feet, trotting to catch up.

“I'm afraid it cannot,” said Inspector Chisholm, reaching out and snagging Angus's upper arm. In an instant, Angus had swung around and was holding the other man's wrists parallel to his ears. Their faces were inches apart.

Sergeant MacDougall stepped forward with his hand on his truncheon.

After a few seconds, Angus released Inspector Chisholm, who straightened his sleeves and stared belligerently.

“I'll get your proof, and you'll be on your way,” said Angus. “Meg, get the lockbox. I'll get the key. And Maddie, don't go
anywhere
.”

When he turned around, I took the opportunity to duck into the rain.

There were a number of things I wanted to say to Ellis—and Hank—before anyone else got there.

I ran for as long as I could, then continued at a jog, and by the time Urquhart Castle came into view, had slowed to a stumbling walk.

The sight of it gave me a second wind, and I sprinted down and then up the slopes of the moat, through the gatehouse, and across the scrubby weeds until I was at the top of the Water Gate.

Hank was on the shore, leaning over his camera with a raincoat tented over his head. Ellis was in the boat, which was half in the water. For a moment I thought he was preparing to get out, but then I realized they'd already unloaded their duffel bags, and the rope was coiled in the bow. He was heading out onto the water.

I hurtled down the hill, and before either one of them knew what was going on, leapt into the bow of the boat. I landed on my knees in collected rainwater and smashed my rib cage against the bench.

When I lifted my head to scrape the wet hair away from my face, I found Ellis staring at me in open-mouthed shock.

“Maddie! What the hell?” he said.

Hank came out from under his raincoat. “Jesus Christ! What the hell are you doing here? We told you this wasn't a good day.”

Past the bench, on the bottom of the boat, was the miniature monster, with its curved neck and prominent eyes, its long fin and olive-green body.

I launched myself across the bench and grabbed it.

“Is this the reason?” I said, waving it over my head.

“Maddie, put that down,” Ellis said through gritted teeth.

“Gladly.” I threw it over his shoulder, as far from the boat as I could. It lay bobbing on its side, and I laughed. “My God, it doesn't even work.”

Ellis just stared at me.

Hank sighed dramatically. “Ellis, grab that thing, will you? We're running low on plastic wood. Maybe you could work on controlling your wife while you're at it.”

Ellis picked up the oars and began rowing toward the model, his eyes fixed on mine.

“Hey,
Hank
!” I shouted, my voice cracking with the effort. “I want to talk to you! This business of controlling me. Does that include having my frontal lobe turned into a soufflé?”

Hank rolled his eyes. “For crying out loud, Maddie. He just wants you to stop acting like a lunatic. If you can manage that, he's not going to do anything.”

“That's not what you thought yesterday. What's changed since yesterday?”

“He's just frustrated—we're all frustrated!—and we're all saying things we don't mean, including you.
Especially
you. But we're about to get out of this hellhole, so could you please just try to hold it together for a few days longer?”

“Was he frustrated when he called the courthouse? Because two policemen from Inverness came about half an hour ago to arrest Angus.”

Hank looked up sharply. “Ellis? Is that true?”

“Why the hell are you asking him?” My voice, overtaxed, came out in broken shards. “Do you think he's suddenly going to start telling the truth? He lied about being color-blind to get out of the war, for Christ's sake!” My words echoed back to me, bouncing off the hills on the opposite shore.

Ellis stepped over the middle bench. I saw his closed fist coming at my head, and the next thing I knew I was lying in water at the bottom of the boat, my vision filled with starbursts.

“Jesus Christ, Ellis!” Hank shouted. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

I lay huddled in the bow, waiting for my sight to return.

“Get that fucking thing back here right now! Ellis, I mean it!
Get back here!
”

“Gonna have a quick word with my wife first,” Ellis called over, almost cheerfully.

“Ellis, if you don't bring that boat back this very second—”

“There isn't much you can do about it, is there?”

I hauled myself up on my elbows, my head wobbling. We were a dozen yards from shore. Ellis was sitting on the middle bench, staring at me, smirking.

“So it's true,” I said.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“You can see color.”

He shrugged. “So what? It doesn't matter.”

“It doesn't matter?”

“No one else will ever know. But don't fret about your appointment, darling—the facilities are quite luxurious.”

“Ellis!”
Hank bellowed from shore.

“Once I get off this boat,” I said quietly, “you're never going to see me again, except maybe in divorce court. You've got nothing left to hold over me.”

“Oh, but I do. You're incapacitated, which makes me your legal guardian. All I have to do is call the hospital.”

“The hospital can't take me away if they can't find me, and they won't.”

“Ellis! Turn around!”
Hank roared.

“Oh, and by the way, Angus couldn't be arrested for poaching at Craig Gairbh because he is the
Laird
of Craig Gairbh,” I continued. “I suppose that makes you cousins of some sort, although I fail to see a resemblance.”

We locked eyes, as if seeing each other for the first time. The water lapped against the side of the boat, which was starting to bob.

“Ellis!” Hank bellowed. “For God's sake,
turn around
!”

“Leave us the hell alone, Hank! I'll bring the boat back when I'm good and ready!”

“Look!”
Hank screamed, and his voice was so guttural, so uncontrolled, we couldn't help ourselves.

He was filming furiously. He stuck his other arm out from under the raincoat just long enough to point. “Over there! It was long and black and curved. It came up for just a moment—the wake has to be at least sixty feet long! Holy shit! This is it! I'm getting it! I'm fucking getting it! Ellis, this is going to be fucking
spectacular
!”

Ellis's expression shifted and he twisted in his seat. I grabbed the edge of the boat and leaned over to look. Something large, dark, and rounded was moving quickly beneath the water. By the time I realized
it was rising, it had rammed the bottom of the bow and flipped me into the air.

My mouth and nose filled with water before I fully comprehended that I was beneath the surface.

The cold was shocking. Thousands of bubbles, both big and small, rushed past me. It was air escaping from my clothing, and since I knew the bubbles must be going up, I must be facing down. I bucked instinctively in an effort to right myself.

The bubbles slowed, which meant that my clothes were becoming saturated. My one and only thought was to get free of my coat, but while I could bring my hands together in front of me, my fingers were too cold to obey. I could find the buttons, touch the buttons, even feel the thread that kept them attached to my coat, but could do nothing at all about unfastening them. Eventually, my hands drifted helplessly away.

I looked up at the surface and, as though through thick, wavy glass, saw Ellis standing in the boat holding an oar. It sliced through the surface and came to a stop against my chest.