Destroying Angel Read online

  Wind and rain increased, thunder rattled the windows and jagged flashes of lightning ripped across the garden, where everything that grew was suddenly united in a wild dervish dance.

  Thane didn’t like storms. I knew that, like many other lesser canines, he hated the loud noise, so I had brought him back into the house with me rather than abandoning him to the stables. I thought of all the animals and birds out there that took storms as a matter of course and instinctively knew the tricks of survival.

  I lit a candle against the growing darkness and, with Thane at my side, prepared to sit out the storm, watching its progress from the window and daring the lightning to do its worst.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I never heard the crash of the falling tree that caved in the roof of Wolf Rider’s bothy, one of several ancient elms that went down like matchsticks.

  The commotion downstairs alerted Thane. I got out of bed and looked over the banister to see a bedraggled figure framed in the doorway. Thane’s exuberant tail-wagging identified this new arrival as Wolf Rider, of course.

  Hubert was saying: ‘Come in, man. You’re soaking wet. Of course you cannot stay there. You must move in here until we can get the roof fixed. No arguments, please. We have plenty of spare rooms.’

  A murmur, perhaps of protest, then Hubert’s voice: ‘Get them later. For heaven’s sake, come in and take off those wet clothes. Mrs Robson will fix you up with some of mine.’

  Wolf Rider stepped inside. A wild figure indeed; his long black hair plastered against his skull, he looked strangely alien – a savage contrast to his surroundings, his dripping clothes making pools on the marble floor of the handsome and very civilised Georgian hall.

  Thane was all for dashing down to greet him and I said firmly: ‘No, Thane. No.’

  With a little moan Thane obeyed and we went back into my room, where we remained for half an hour until Mrs Robson rang the bell for dinner. There we were joined by Wolf, Collins and Kate, who had been terrified by the storm. It had now faded away leaving behind a trail of destruction, which was the main topic of conversation.

  Hubert went into a long explanation, presumably for my benefit, about the bothy and the trees and how dangerous these storms could be. I heard for the second time that where coal had been discovered, the land was very fragile – some sort of a geological fault which had caused an earth tremor that made the pit workings collapse.

  Listening politely and hoping my expression was intelligent enough to indicate interest in the conversation, I wished that my knowledge of geography and, more important, geology was not so primitive.

  When Hubert reached the end of his little lecture he looked at me, smiling, awaiting comment. I told him how, long past childhood, I had believed what our gardener in Sheridan Place, Edinburgh, had told me. When I asked about the hole he was digging, he had solemnly said that if he dug down deep enough he would come out in Australia.

  Everyone laughed. During dinner Wolf said little. He was wearing, presumably from Hubert’s wardrobe, a cast-off smoking jacket. Ill-fitting, it was curiously at odds with his Aztec warrior image.

  Seated next to Kate, he had an air of preoccupation. Detached from the rest of the company, he evaded all her attempts to engage him in whispered conversation. She darted him almost childlike looks of adoration, but he ignored her, staring anxiously towards the window.

  Strangely, Kate’s behaviour and his reactions struck a chord, reminding me of childhood days and forlorn attempts to get Danny McQuinn’s attention on the rare occasions when we met at Pappa’s dining-table in Sheridan Place. No doubt as Danny had once been absorbed by important police matters, Wolf was preoccupied by the damage to his bothy and wishing that he could escape and inspect the roof now that the storm had died away.

  I was seated across the table from Hubert, who seemed to be directing his geology monologue mainly towards me. During the meal I was acutely conscious of his regard. Each time I looked up, his eyes were upon me. The first time I thought it was an attempt to start up a conversation, but he quickly averted his gaze to concentrate on Mrs Robson’s roast lamb. Later I looked up – same again – and, embarrassed, I avoided eye contact, aware that someone else was not paying full attention to the talk, which had swung to white cattle and the shooting party tomorrow.

  And who was watching Hubert very carefully but Collins. When our eyes met, her look was venomous, clutching her fork fiercely as if she would like to use it on me as a weapon of destruction.

  I had no wish to cause friction between the pair but I was beginning to realise that the sooner I found Hubert’s blackmailer and returned to Edinburgh the better for all concerned.

  Hubert said, ‘I hope your cow doesn’t decide to drop her calf tonight, Rider.’

  ‘I was thinking the same, sir,’ said Wolf and, as if this was the moment he had waited for, he rose from the table.

  ‘If you will excuse me, I’ll take a walk round and do my evening inspection.’

  ‘Later. It’s still raining,’ said Hubert. ‘Have some more wine,’ he added, refilling his glass.

  Wolf shook his head. ‘I’m used to rain, sir. I won’t melt away.’

  Hubert looked at him doubtfully. ‘Take Roswal with you then,’ and to me, ‘Save you having to take him for a walk. Everything will be so wet and muddy.’

  I knew that Thane, lying in the hall with the two Labradors, would be delighted at the prospect, as Hubert continued:

  ‘Timing couldn’t have been worse for the shooting party. Remember your gun, Rider. I’ll expect you to carry an extra one for me, just in case.’

  Wolf looked at him. ‘I understood I was to be with the beaters, sir.’

  Hubert grinned. ‘Not this time. Consider yourself upgraded. We’ll need picnic lunches,’ he said to Mrs Robson, who was removing the dessert plates. ‘Thank goodness, the weather should have settled down and dried up in time for the Duke’s garden party next week.’

  ‘Yes, sir, he is so proud of his lovely garden.’

  Hubert looked at me. ‘We have been invited and, of course, you must come along, Rose.’

  I heard the clatter of cutlery from Collins’ direction. Obviously this did not please her. She helped Kate to her feet as if she was made of Dresden china while Hubert bowed in my direction.

  ‘Allow me to escort you to your room, Rose.’

  As we approached the stairs, he took my hand and tucked it into his arm in a proprietary manner. I didn’t like it. There was something intimate in the gesture, as if we were a couple, for so I have seen married people behave at the end of a party, happy to be retiring to their bedroom.

  Outside my door, my hand still captive in his arm, he leant forward and, putting his hand behind my head, he kissed my mouth firmly and deeply.

  ‘Goodnight, sweet Rose, sleep well.’

  I was taken aback. I had not expected a goodnight kiss. It was a pleasant experience, I admit. He had what one of my school friends had often sighed over: Thick, well-shaped, warm lips, ‘a mouth made for kissing’.

  He smiled, stroked my hair. ‘I think I am falling in love with you, Rose,’ he whispered.

  I did not know what to say or even what to think. I realised that gratitude, flattery, should be expressed, but somehow this confession did not please me. It made me feel uncomfortable and a vague smile was my only response.

  As I pushed him away I was conscious of a shadow along the corridor. Collins had emerged from Kate’s room and had witnessed that goodnight kiss.

  And this was the night none of us were ever to forget. Someone – perhaps that same person or persons at present still unknown who had stolen Hubert’s photographs – tried to murder Kate.

  The scream woke me from an amorous dream about Jack Macmerry, which had turned into a nightmare. I thought I had cried out but when I opened my eyes and sat up in bed, the room was filled with the dusky gleam of sluggish moonlight.

  There were raised voices from the floor below. I threw on a robe, opened my door an
d looked over the banisters.

  Hubert was there. He looked up at me and said in exasperation, ‘It’s only Kate. She’s been sleepwalking again – go back to bed, Rose.’

  The scream had now turned into noisy sobs and regardless of Hubert’s instructions, I ran downstairs.

  The door to the sitting room was open, admitting an icy blast from the open window from which Mary Staines had fallen to her death. Mrs Robson, hastily dressed, cradled Kate and threw a shawl over her nightdress. Wolf Rider, still wearing his borrowed clothes, was closing the window with some difficulty, as it creaked back and forth in the rising wind which was billowing heavy rain into the room and forming a pool on Mrs Robson’s nicely polished floor.

  Collins was there in a nightrobe, shivering and wringing her hands in a fair imitation of Lady Macbeth, while Hubert, in a handsome brocade robe, surveyed the scene with remarkable aplomb.

  It was a tableau etched on my mind, something I was to try to recall in detail later when it was important to remember exactly what I had seen and where everyone was stationed in the room.

  Kate screamed again. ‘Can’t someone do something? He tried to kill me.’

  ‘For God’s sake, all of you, do sit down. Now, Kate, my dear,’ said Hubert, a flick of his fingers indicating the sofa. Seated, he drew her down beside him and put an arm around her shoulders, smoothing down her tangled hair.

  ‘There, there. You are quite safe. No one is going to harm you.’

  ‘He – he tried to kill me,’ Kate wailed.

  ‘Do try to be calm. Tell us exactly what happened and we will soon sort it all out,’ Hubert said gently.

  Mrs Robson, always practical, came forward with a glass of water from the carafe on a side table. Collins thrust it into Kate’s hand. Gulping it down, she sat up straight, stared round as if aware of us for the first time.

  ‘You were sleepwalking again, Miss Kate. It’s all those drugs you’ve been giving her,’ Collins said with a spiteful glance at Wolf, who was standing by, silent and watchful. He shook his head, gave a helpless shrug.

  ‘Now, Kate, what’s all this about?’ demanded Hubert patiently.

  ‘A man – he tried to kill me, that’s all I remember,’ said Kate.

  Hubert gave an exasperated sigh. Humouring her, he said, ‘So that we can all get back to bed, tell us all about this person you think you saw—’

  ‘I don’t think, Hubert,’ Kate said defiantly. ‘I know. He was here. I awoke and he picked me up, carried me to the open window over there. He thought I was still asleep, tried to push me out. He didn’t expect me to struggle and start to yell.’

  Taking a deep breath, she added in a whisper: ‘It was going to be another accident – like – like—’ A sob.

  Mrs Robson and Hubert exchanged worried glances that finished the sentence for her: ‘Mamma!’

  Hubert sighed deeply, patted her hand and insisted patiently: ‘All right, my dear. Perhaps you can at least tell us what he looked like.’

  ‘How can I do that? It was dark.’ She shook her head. ‘I think he was wearing a mask. But when I was struggling, he felt – velvety – like one of those fancy costumes, the ones we wore that last Christmas before – before Mamma—’

  Hubert’s brow darkened momentarily, the pain of remembrance of happier days. He nodded briefly and said, ‘I think you should go back to bed now, my dear, and forget all this.’

  ‘But—’

  Hubert cut short the protest. ‘Mrs Robson will give you a warm drink. Something to calm her, Rider, if you please. We’ll soon have you back to sleep,’ he added, unduly hopeful in the circumstances, and Kate gave him a bewildered look.

  ‘I’m afraid this was one of your nasty nightmares again, my dear.’

  ‘But it seemed so real, Hubert, so awful. I can still feel what his arms were like. I was sure I could feel it and that I was awake.’

  Hubert shook his head. ‘Just a horrible dream, and dreams can seem very real to us at the time,’ he added as if speaking to a small child. ‘Now, off to bed with you.’

  Kate looked at us all as if we were owed an apology. Collins held out a hand and she took it obediently, gave a bewildered backward glance and left, not unwillingly, but obviously still shaken.

  Hubert stood up. ‘Kate has suffered from nightmares and been walking in her sleep ever since – ever since—’ he shook his head and sighed, leaving us to fill in the details about their two tragedies.

  I looked round the room. The lighted candle fluttering on the mantelpiece. Who had put it there, since Kate said it was too dark to recognise her attacker but there was enough light to see his masked face?

  Something wrong about her appearance taunted me, but I was not to recall what it was until later. Meanwhile, Hubert was waiting for me at the door. He smiled and I wondered if he was about to escort me upstairs and kiss me again. I considered how I should react. A dignified and firm rejection was called for. Let him know I did not encourage that sort of behaviour.

  This time it was not needed. He merely bowed. ‘Sleep well, Rose,’ although how any of us would manage to fulfil that wish after the night’s events was utterly beyond me.

  I must have looked surprised as he turned, came back and, taking my hand, said: ‘Don’t concern yourself, my dear, over the rather distressing scene you have just witnessed. There is an explanation. I had reason to believe that Kate had an assignation. I disapprove – she is much too young, you know. I was awake; she heard me approaching and invented the entire story in order to distract everyone’s attention so that – he – could make his escape.’

  ‘You know this fellow.’

  He smiled wryly. ‘I do indeed, and I shall be keeping an eye on them both.’

  Bowing, he again whispered goodnight, and I suddenly realised what had been troubling me about the scene. Despite the rain that had blown into the room from the open window where her attacker had supposedly attempted to throw her out, Kate was quite dry.

  As for the candle, that was a necessity to guide her downstairs to her would-be lover.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Closing my bedroom door in the now pearly light of dawn, the drama over, silence all around me once more, I lay awake with my thoughts tumbling like rats trapped in a cage.

  Had I imagined Hubert’s declaration of love? I felt a little embarrassed remembering a kiss too wickedly passionate to pass for mere politeness. Was I making too much of where it might lead? And more to the point, would Hubert remember, or had it been due to an over-indulgence in brandy after dinner?

  Despite Hubert’s explanation regarding Kate and her sleep-walking drama, I wished Thane had been in the house, instead of being securely locked away in the stables. Not, of course, that he would have been much use. He had certain limitations as a bloodhound.

  I slept uneasily and went downstairs next morning after nine to a solitary breakfast. The night’s events seemed like a bad dream. The house was again deserted – not even the bustling Mrs Robson was in evidence and, apart from the porridge kept warm in the oven, there was no indication of whether Hubert and the others had yet put in an appearance.

  I went to collect Thane. The storm’s destruction was evident in the abundance of fallen branches and here and there was an uprooted tree. I decided to have a look at Wolf’s bothy. Even from a distance I could see an ancient elm, with a tangle of broken branches, was sprawled across the roof, which had caved in leaving the two cable ends reaching up into the sky in a gesture of pathetic surrender.

  Wolf was up a ladder – with Cedric giving him a helping hand – sawing off the branches to ultimately remove the tree. Cedric gave me his cheeky leer and jumped down onto the ground, obviously glad of a diversion.

  ‘Keep on working,’ was Wolf’s stern rebuke. ‘You can’t slope off yet.’

  ‘Just having a smoke, boss. Have to see Auntie,’ Cedric added with a grin.

  As he turned towards the house, Wolf called after him: ‘Don’t forget you are to be a beater at the sh
oot tomorrow.’

  ‘Aye. Auntie’ll need to pack some extra grub.’

  Wolf watched him go and, with a despairing heavenward sigh, ruefully considered his damaged roof.

  ‘Plenty to occupy us here without having to go out and shoot over the Duke’s estate. I dare say they didn’t escape damage, although there isn’t much to blow down on the moors. His main concern, of course, will be if the number of grouse have been affected. His guns cheated and his guests disappointed.’

  His tone sounded bitter and disapproving but, turning to me, he smiled. ‘We do not shoot to kill as a sport – only for food. That is built into our psyche. We believe that we are all of the same earth and we share it with all other living creatures. Of necessity we kill to eat, as animals in their turn also do to survive. But we do not kill for pleasure and after we kill a deer, we ask for its pardon. Call it Brother, say that we honoured its speed and grace and that, in killing it and eating its flesh, we are honoured to be taking those qualities into our being.’

  Was that why Thane, sitting at his side, was so comfortable, so in tune with this new friend? For despite Wolf’s outward trappings of civilisation and Thane’s recent conversion to domesticity, both were creatures of the wild.

  I found myself remembering again something less pleasant from my first meeting with Chief Wolf Rider.

  I was still curious. Because it concerned Thane, it continued to haunt me, try as I might to put it from my mind, so I decided to broach the subject.

  ‘When you were in Edinburgh, one of your Ghost Dancers, Wild Elk, had an accident and died on Arthur’s Seat.’ I paused. ‘You told me an extraordinary story.’

  I tried to sound casual, amused, and was conscious of having failed as Wolf gave me a mocking look. ‘And what was that? I have many.’

  But I was sure he knew what I was talking about even as I reminded him. ‘Wild Elk believed that the spirit of a white man he had killed by mistake had entered into the soul of an animal, possibly a dog. He had seen it several times, and told you of his fears. You thought it was this animal that made his horse throw him and so by his death was avenged.’