The Burry Man's Day (16 page)

‘Ye ’ve missed her, madam,’ said the woman I thought was called Tina, who came to admit me. ‘Chrissie’s away to the Rosebery Hall wi’ Izzy and Mr de Cassilis.’

‘Yes, so I believe,’ I said, sitting and accepting the inevitable teacup. ‘But to tell the truth I wanted to come while Mrs Dudgeon was out, to ask how you think she is today. Yesterday . . .’ I shook my head and was met with matching head-shakes from all around. There was, as I had hoped, an air of greater ease around the place without Mrs Dudgeon there, despite the fact that the body of Dudgeon himself still lay in the next room.

‘I wish I had some good news for you, madam,’ said one of the older ladies. ‘But if anything she’s worse. Tell her, Margaret.’

‘I was here last night, madam,’ said Margaret. ‘Donald was sitting with Rubbert, but we thought somebody should be here for Chrissie too, and were we ever right! She would not go to her bed, never mind she was fit to cowp over she was that tired. She jist sat here, telling me
I
needed to lie down,
I
needed to get my sleep. Well, of course, I did shut my eyes in the end.’

‘Of course you did.’

‘You’re only mortal.’

I nodded my agreement with this, and loath as I was to interrupt the flow I took the chance while I had it of backtracking a little to check up on something puzzling.

‘Is Donald there now?’

‘Eh?’

‘Next door with Joey.’

‘Oh, you ken Miss Josephine Broon, do you, madam?’

There was something in her voice which hinted that if she had had her way, Joey Brown would not have been awarded her role as mourner. I decided to probe a little.

‘Is she a relative?’ I asked. ‘Miss Brown?’

‘Not exactly,’ said another of the sisters.

‘She should hae been.’

‘It would nivver have come to nothing.’

‘Och, Margaret,’ said Bet. ‘We’re all Jock Tamson’s bairns.’

‘Aye, but a
barmaid,’
said Margaret.

‘We can hardly turn up wur noses at her for workin’ behind the taps,’ said Tina and there was a little gentle laughter. I smiled along with them in a vacant kind of way, but hoped that someone would take pity on me and explain. At length, Bet volunteered.

‘She was walking out with young Bobby,’ she said with a nod towards the photograph on mantelpiece. ‘They hadn’t named the day but they were getting there.’

‘Aye, only Billy – that was Joey’s brother – he joined up the minute he turned eighteen and whatever Billy Broon did, Bobby Dudgeon did too. Ever since bairns this was. Bobby would never have left his mammy if he hadn’t been hanging on to Billy Broon’s coat-tails and here if it didnae end in heartache all round for everyone.’

‘Most distressing,’ I said. This snippet of news at least explained why Joey Brown’s father had felt she had to be here, and perhaps if she felt some residual responsibility over young Bobby’s death – since it was her brother who encouraged him to join up – that might even go some way to explain her grief and guilt when Mr Dudgeon died. I decided not to pursue it any further, but to try to get back to the main thread.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs . . . Margaret,’ I said. ‘You were saying, before I interrupted, about having no good news of Mrs Dudgeon this morning.’

‘Aye richt. Well, as I wis tellin’ ye, I fell to sleep and when I woke again, it was gettin’ light, near four o’clock and Chrissie was nowhere to be seen. I thocht she had gone through and lain doon at last and I jist cracked the door to have a wee keek at her, to see that she was restin’ peaceful . . . but she wisnae there! I went through to Rubbert. She wisnae there either. Donald had dropped off – well, he’s a long day at his work to be sittin’ up the nicht – and he hadnae heard a thing. So oot we went. Quiet-like, no’ wantin’ to stir all they bairns, and we went lookin’ for her. A good hour we looked and we were near ready to come up to the house and get Mr de Cassilis to phone to the police and start raisin’ some men, when we saw her at last.’

‘And?’ I said.

‘She was wanderin’ home from wherever she had been. Cold as a dab o’ ice, she must have been oot for hours. Fit to drop, she was.’

‘But where had she been?’ I said. ‘Did she tell you?’

‘She . . . well, she wisnae herself, madam, and that’s the truth,’ said Margaret. ‘At first we thocht she had gone away to do herself harm – ye ken what I’m sayin’? – cos she had a wee bottle in her hand. “Oh Chrissie,” I says, “Chrissie, hen? If you would only jist get the doctor or get the minister, or jist even lie down and rest. You’ll get through, hen. Didn’t I get through when Jock was taken?” Mind you, I hadnae had my only boy go off to the war and no’ come hame again.’

‘Dear God,’ I said. ‘Thank heaven you found her in time.’

‘But it wisnae that after all, madam,’ said Margaret. ‘Thon wee bottle was nothing evil after all. It was ink.’

‘Jist a bottle o’ ink,’ said one of the others.

‘Ink?’ I said, frowning around the ring of faces, puzzled. ‘A bottle of ink?’

‘And she hadnae drunk none o’ it,’ said Margaret. ‘It’s not like you could miss it if she had.’

‘Aye well,’ said Bet, ‘she’s no’ hersel’ right enough.’ And she seemed content to leave it at that.

There was a time when I might have been too, but in my short detective career one of the lessons I had learned, the hard way, was never to abandon the attempt to make sense of things; random anomaly is an explanation of the very last resort. So, if Mrs Dudgeon had been wandering around in the night with a bottle of ink in her hand, it must have been for a reason.

‘Did she have a pen with her?’ I asked. They shook their heads.

‘Did she have paper?’ More shakes.

‘And do you have any idea what she might have been doing?’ I said. Nothing but blank looks greeted this; if the ink was not a suicide draught, it seemed, they had nothing more to offer.

‘Ah well,’ I said, turning the subject, determining to file away the bottle of ink and puzzle it out on my own later, ‘maybe she’ll be easier in herself after this morning’s errand.’ I got the impression from the reception this gained that the sisters had been long trying to comfort themselves with such thoughts, and failing. They nodded politely but looked unconvinced.

‘Is she – Is Mrs Dudgeon –’ I began. I had to tread carefully here; it was their own flesh and blood after all. Although some of them surely must be in-laws. There was no family resemblance among the set. ‘I hardly know how to ask this without sounding rude,’ I went on, ‘and I mean no disrespect, but were Mrs Dudgeon’s nerves strong before this happened? After her son’s death, it would have been entirely unsurprising if she had been laid low. And if she had been at all nervous before
that,
well, by now with such tragedies heaped one upon the other . . . Might it be a good idea to see if she could get away for a rest somewhere, perhaps?’ I thanked my stars for Grant and all her chatter, for without her generously shared postings from her clan I should not have been able to speak so assuredly of ‘nerves’ and ‘rest’ and might have put my foot squarely in it talking instead of sanatoria and madness. As it was, the sisters looked sceptical but not in the least affronted.

‘Naw, Chrissie’s never had any trouble of that kind before, madam,’ said one. ‘I dinnae ken if that makes it worse or better, though.’

‘Even when Bobby was lost,’ said another. ‘They both of them took it brave. No matter there’s a case to say “missing presumed” is harder to get over than anything else.’

‘I quite agree,’ I said. ‘Torture. It must be so hard to stop hoping. Perhaps that’s why Mrs Dudgeon was so very set on having her husband’s body brought home as quick as it could be. That would make sense, psychologically, wouldn’t it?’ But I had lost them.

At that moment we heard the sound of the motor car returning. I had thought to have more of a chance with the sisters than this, but I supposed that when the walk through the woods was added there had been ample time for Cad to have driven to the village and back and for Mrs Dudgeon to have carried out her sorry little bit of business there. As it turned out, there had been time for more than that. After some murmured talk at the doorstep and the sound of the next-door cottage’s front door opening and closing – perhaps some of the red-haired terrors attracted by the sound of the engine? – Cad and Mrs Dudgeon entered. She had her head bowed and greeted no one, but Cad gave me a look quivering with significance as he ushered her to a chair and he nodded a signal to me to keep my seat and wait for something worth waiting for.

‘Everything well, Chrissie?’ said one of the sisters.

‘Aye, fine,’ said Mrs Dudgeon. ‘We stopped off at Faichen’s after the registrar. He’s comin’ to get Robert. The hearse’ll be here in half an hour.’

A moment of stunned silence met this remark, during which Cadwallader caught my eye and wiggled his eyebrows.

‘What?’ said Margaret at last.

Mrs Dudgeon stuck her chin up as she answered. She seemed different this morning. No more resigned, still not accepting, but less agitated and firmer in her resolve. Resolve to do what, though? I listened closely as she spoke.

‘He’s takin’ Robert away to his place for tonight. The funeral’s tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Donald can sit there with him tonight as easy as here.’

‘But –’ began Margaret, then stopped. She looked at me, willing me to think of something to say about any of this, but I was as perplexed as the rest of them.

‘Do ye no’ think, Chrissie,’ said one of the oldest of the women, brave soul, ‘do ye no’ think you’d rather he stayed here the last night? Do ye no’ think ye’d be sorry in the end if he lay in thon place?’

‘It’s my decision,’ said Mrs Dudgeon, still very firmly. ‘My business and mine alone.’ The sister who had spoken last got two spots of colour right in the middle of her cheeks upon hearing this and I too thought it was a bit much, if I am honest. After all, this
was
her family and they had been very generous with their time in the last few days even if they had been an irritant rather than a comfort. Besides she had hardly shown steady judgement until now. ‘And so I’ll thank ye all and I’ll take ye up on your offers. It was that kind of you all to say you’d help me out.’ There were some perplexed glances at this, but she went on to elaborate. ‘I cannot see myself doin’ any bakin’ today. I’d never have thocht to say it and I dinnae ken what folk’ll say aboot me, ma ain man buried and ma kitchen cold, but Margaret, you said you’d do a big cake, and if Betty can make a good load of scones, we’ll no’ need soup in a’ this heat. Now I’ve a wee bit put by so Tina, if you and Mima can get a good lot of ham from Fairlie’s and do sandwiches we should manage fine.’

‘Ham sandwiches,’ I said under my breath, remembering.

‘And I’ll stay here with you, Chrissie,’ said the remaining sister who had been assigned no mess duty.

‘Suit yoursel’,’ said Mrs Dudgeon. ‘There’s no need and I wis going to ask you to make a big trifle, or two even if you take my bowl away with you. But I can jist as easy get Izzy to do it, or we can do without if you don’t think you can manage.’

I could see the woman tussling with herself. If she was famed for her trifles the thought of letting someone else take over would be painful, and the idea that it would be published abroad that she was asked and had refused was insupportable. Mrs Dudgeon was watching her quite calmly, and eventually she succumbed.

‘Aye, fine, then,’ she said. ‘I’ll do a couple of big trifles. My custard’s a sight more reliable than Izzy’s. But are you sure you’ll be all right here on yer own?’

Mrs Dudgeon nodded, and I found myself nodding along with her. Of course she would be all right. She had wanted to be on her own since yesterday and this was nothing short of a master stroke. The women, who one would have thought could not have been pried away from her side with a crowbar, were already fidgeting and beginning mentally to calculate what they had in their cupboards and what they would have to go to the shops and buy.

‘And if ye can tie up some of your good dishes in paper the nicht,’ went on Mrs Dudgeon, ‘I’ll send Donald in the cart to get them and I can have them all washed and ready for the morn.’

I was beginning to feel sorry for this Donald, whoever he was, doing the round on the cart to pick up everyone’s best china for the funeral tea, before sitting up yet another night with the coffin.

‘Wee Tina can gie ’im a hand,’ said Tina senior.

‘And we’ll all be round the morn’s morn to help you get set oot,’ said Jessie. Mrs Dudgeon nodded and said she didn’t know what she would do without them and it was settled.

Masterful. Before the sisters really had a chance to say a word about it they and we were being bundled out of the door, Cad offering lifts which were, of course, declined. When we were all out in the passageway, Joey Brown put her head around the door of the other room to see what the commotion was and catching sight of her Mrs Dudgeon insisted on her leaving too, insisted that she wanted a bit of time just Robert and herself before Faichen got here to take him away. Her voice broke once as she said this.

‘There’s no one else with him just now?’ I said, glancing at Miss Brown, who had the grace to blush; it was a shocking dereliction of her duty to have sloped off and left Mr Dudgeon’s body alone.

Mrs Dudgeon shut the door firmly on us all as soon as she decently could and the sisters set off down the path.

‘I might go this way,’ I said in a loud voice to Cad, gesturing around the side of the cottage and towards the woods, and I was rewarded with a stiff look from Miss Brown. With her jaw rigid she glanced once at me and once fleetingly towards the back of the house, then she squared her shoulders, faced front again and strode forward to meet the others.

‘What for?’ said Cadwallader, but I shushed him.

‘It was a blind,’ I said, ‘and it worked. Now take me to the castle, darling. I need to make some notes before I forget all of this. Very puzzling. Very puzzling indeed.’

Alec, returning to the castle for lunch, was – there is no other word for it – drunk. He asked the butler for a glass of milk and ate slice after slice of bread, buttered and rolled up, but still his eyes were swimming.