If so, they might not be gone long. It seemed that Mr Bagshaw was nursing the same hope; he was down at the jetty, talking volubly to an impasive Sergeant Fraser, with Archie McLaren as an apparently fascinated listener. I had hoped that the latter was waiting to take Hartley Bagshaw back with him, but from what Crispin had told us, it seemed that he was here on business, and had come to see Neil.
Over our non-breakfast we had exchanged news and stories. First of all, Crispin’s injury: this was still painful, but mending normally, and though it would inconvenience him for some time, would not stop him getting around reasonably well, and the elbow crutch would allow him, he said, to use both hands for his camera. That being disposed of, we all – the girls and I – clamoured for an account of Mr Bagshaw, but Crispin refused to speak until we had filled him in on what Ann called the Great Moila Mystery, and the girls, who of course knew very little of what had been going on, supported him, so I told my story, and afterwards answered the questions they asked, while we drank coffee and munched toast, and watched the window for the return of the launch.
‘More coffee?’ asked Ann, when question and answer ran at length to a standstill.
We all refused, and Megan, picking the pot up, looked a question at me. ‘What about Archie and Mr Bagshaw? Shall I make some more for them?’
‘Not until we’ve heard my brother’s side of it. Cris, who is Mr Bagshaw, what is he? And did he tell you what he wanted with Neil Hamilton?’
‘And there did seem to be some connection between him and Ewen Mackay,’ said Megan, reaching absently for a doughnut. ‘Wouldn’t you say?’
‘They were friends, he said so,’ said Ann, on a little bubble of laughter. ‘But somehow not very likely ones. I wonder where they met?’
‘I can guess,’ I said, and Crispin cocked an eye at me. ‘Am I right? Prison? Or didn’t he confide in you that far?’
‘Yes, it was, and oddly enough he did. There’s something about coming through a disaster together that seems to lower the barriers, and he knew I was a doctor, of course. People get used to talking to us. He made no secret of the prison bit, in fact he seemed to want to go public on what had happened to him, so I’m not betraying a confidence. We travelled up together, and he did quite a lot of talking. He had just come out after doing two years, though he’d been innocent, he said, of any part in the fraud.’
‘Of course. But – fraud? Do you mean he was in Ewen Mackay’s beastly racket, watching the obit columns and robbing lonely old women?’
‘No, no. He was one of the men caught up in the Prescott take-over scandal. You remember it? Three or four years ago.’
‘I can’t say I do. I don’t take much interest in City goings-on. Do you remember it?’ This to the girls, who shook their heads.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Crispin. ‘Actually, I may say, I believe him. He told me a good deal about the Prescott affair, and when I said he was “caught up” in it I meant just that. He’s a tough little chap, self-made, from a rough background – you can ignore the Guards tie – but I’m sure he’s relatively honest, and it was partly bad luck and partly a rotten partner that landed him with a conviction. However. The point is – the reason he’s here – he’s a property developer, and when Ewen Mackay, who was due out at about the same time, told him that he knew Moila, and that an old lady had died there recently, and there might be a good property for sale, Bagshaw was interested, and apparently Mackay promised, for a cut, of course, to help him negotiate with the family. Made out that he was practically one of them himself.’ He raised a brow at me.
I shook my head. ‘No connection,’ I said, ‘and there’s no family to negotiate with, apart from Neil, who doesn’t need any persuading anyway. But it figures. Ewen had plans of his own, didn’t he? Go on.’
‘Well, from what you’ve just told me, I gather that poor little Bagshaw was lined up as a victim even before Mackay got out of jail. Bagshaw arranged for Mackay to have funds to hire a boat and get up here to start things moving with the family . . . Which he certainly seems to have done.’
Megan said, forcibly for her: ‘You were right, Rose. Not Judas stuff at all . . . Do you see? It means that even when he was in jail he was watching the papers for someone else to cheat!’
‘Leopards,’ said Ann, ‘probably wouldn’t change their spots even if they could.’
‘I wonder how much Mr Bagshaw gave him for the boat hire?’ said Megan. ‘And he even tried to make something out of that by taking the poor old Stormy Petrel.’
‘His mistake,’ said Ann. ‘Go on, Crispin. So that’s Mr Bagshaw’s business with Neil Hamilton? He’s going to buy the house?’
‘And Seal Island?’ asked Megan, and looked distressed when my brother nodded.
‘He’s already made an offer,’ I told them. ‘At least, I suppose it was he. Through an agent. He must have set it in motion on Ewen’s say-so while he was still in jail.’ I told them what Neil had said.
Crispin nodded again. ‘Yes, it was Bagshaw. He’s very keen. Apparently Mackay really sold him on it. I doubt if the house matters; he’d want something a good deal bigger, but of course there’s plenty of room to build. It’s the beaches and the island that are the attractions; you know the sort of thing, a marina and what he calls a big “leisure centre”, and a “luxury apartment block” with a golf course—’
‘Along the machair?’ asked Megan, almost in a whisper.
‘If that’s what it’s called. The strip along the west coast. He showed me the map when we talked in the train. I did try to say something about the beauty of the islands and what this kind of development does to it, but it was no use. I know. It’s grim. But what can one do?’
‘Surely, there must be something?’ I said. ‘I know Neil’s thinking of selling, and in fact he’s granted the option, but I doubt if he’d want to see that kind of development here, and there might just be some way to stop it, and wait for a different offer?’
‘From what you’ve told us, I doubt it,’ said my brother. ‘Bagshaw told me about the option, and I gather he’s paying a very good price – more than this sort of property usually fetches nowadays. I’ve no idea how binding the agreement is, or what the details are, but as I said, he’s still very keen. That’s all I know.’
‘But if Mr Bagshaw’s fury at Ewen Mackay was because Ewen had come up here on his own and couldn’t resist a spot of easy pillage, perhaps he – Mr Bagshaw – is afraid that may have queered his pitch? It sounds as if it may not be all that binding,’ I said hopefully. ‘I mean, if Ewen’s a crook, and he’s had something to do with the offer Mr Bagshaw made—’
‘We’ll soon know,’ said Megan, at the window. ‘They’re coming back.’
I am not sure what I had expected to happen when the launched returned, but it was a relief to find that we were not to be confronted again with Ewen Mackay. He did not, in fact, reappear, but must have been below with the detective-constable. The launch came round neatly and reversed in beside Sea Otter, stern to the jetty, and Neil got out, then he and the sergeant made for the cottage.
Not before, predictably, they had been ambushed by Mr Bagshaw, who still apparently had a great deal to say, but the sergeant forged placidly through it, and came on up, with Bagshaw close beside and still talking. Neil stopped for a few moments’ chat with Archie, then he, too, came up.
The sergeant was brief. The duffel bag had been recovered, he told us, and found to be full of small stuff, mostly silver, but with a few pieces of china and other objects of virtu wrapped in towels and various kitchen cloths, and the clock from the drawing-room mantelpiece. Apart from one vase, which was cracked, and the clock, which would never be the same again, nothing was damaged. The bag had been dumped into shallow water when Ewen’s boat had slipped out of sight behind the rock stack, and had sunk gently to lie on a sandy bottom. And yes, they had found the portrait of Great-Uncle Fergus, propped just as I had said behind the boathouse, and yes, Mr Mackay had been helpful in the recovery
of the duffel bag, and would now go back to the mainland to assist the police with their inquiries . . . And no, there was no need for any further search of Stormy Petrel. They were satisfied that Mr Mackay had nothing to do with any Customs offence, so the boat could remain here. He understood that Mr Bagshaw had in fact provided the money for the hire, so if he wished to use the boat he was free to do so.
Meanwhile, said Sergeant Fraser, suddenly human, he was sorry to have had to intrude on Miss Fenemore’s holiday, and he hoped there would be no further trouble. Of course Mr – or was it Professor? – Hamilton would have to be called upon later, and statements would be taken from Miss Fenemore and the young ladies, but in the meantime he hoped that we would forget all about it and enjoy our holiday, and now he really must go . . .
I shook hands with him and murmured something, conscious again of that missed night’s sleep, and of quite a lot of talking to get through before peace came back to the ivory tower. But, mercifully, Mr Bagshaw seemed content to keep quiet and let the sergeant go. From the fragments of speech I had overheard as the men came up to the cottage, I thought that he, Mr Bagshaw, had been eagerly trying to dissociate himself from Ewen Mackay’s latest exploits, except as the innocent provider of Stormy Petrel, and was now only anxious to be allowed to sink into the background and see the Customs launch safely on its way.
Finally the sergeant took himself off. Neil went with him down to the jetty, stood for a few moments more talking, then the two men shook hands, and the policeman jumped aboard. The launch moved off, took a gentle curve out of the little bay, then, with a suddenly white wake, headed fast for open water and was lost to sight beyond the headland.
It was as if its disappearance had been a signal, as definite as the dropping of the curtain in a play. Drama and mystery were finished with; here was only a group of ordinary people who wanted to get on with their ordinary lives; who had been touched for a moment with the end of a live wire and shocked into unaccustomed and unpleasant action, then left to recover themselves and hope for the burns to heal.
Archie, with a muttered word, went down to the Land Rover and lugged Crispin’s cases out of the back. Crispin, limping after him, lifted out the precious camera equipment himself. They took the things upstairs and into the bedroom I showed them. Megan was busily clearing the table, and Ann had vanished into the scullery, from which presently came the sound of washing-up and the smell of fresh coffee brewing. Mr Bagshaw, silent now and looking exhausted, had sunk into the chair recently vacated by Ewen Mackay, and was staring at the ashes of the fire. In the wrinkled clothes that had fitted him before the years in prison, he looked deflated and absurd, and, somehow, suddenly vulnerable.
I said gently: ‘Mr Bagshaw, you must be tired. There’ll be some coffee in a minute, and then perhaps you’ll let Archie McLaren take you back to the village. Why not leave your business with Mr Hamilton till after you’ve rested? I’m sorry we haven’t room to put you up here, but I’m sure Mrs McDougall at the post office will be able to help you, or tell you where to go.’
He raised his head, but did not take his eyes from the fireplace. It was as if he was speaking to the dying fire. ‘I had no idea he had this in mind. No idea at all. They have got to believe me.’
‘They do. I’m sure they do. If they hadn’t believed you, they wouldn’t have gone away without you, would they? They don’t even think Ewen Mackay was involved in the drug thing, either, or they’d have taken the boat for a detailed search. You heard them say so. What’s been happening here isn’t anything to do with you at all.’
His eyes came to me then. ‘I couldn’t go back there, Miss Fenemore. I told your brother about it. We came up together in the train. I told him about it then.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘He saved me, you know. We were in that train accident together, the one that came off the rails near Kendal. When the engine went off the line, and the crash came, I was caught under something, I couldn’t see what, it was so dark, but he pulled me out. Your brother pulled me out.’
‘Did he? I didn’t know that. It must have been awful. Were you hurt?’
‘No, no. Bruises and shock, that’s all. But if he hadn’t pulled me out . . . Just after he did it, the whole thing slid down the bank and I might have been killed. That’s when his foot was hurt, but even after that he was trying to help some of the people.’
‘Yes, well, he’s a doctor. They do.’
‘Then when we were taken to hospital we found we were both coming up here to Moila, so I said I’d wait a couple of days, to be in the train with him, you see, in case he needed looking after. Carrying luggage and all that. So when they let him out of hospital he took me with him to stay with his friends in Glasgow. They were very kind. Both doctors, he’s a heart surgeon and she – Laura – she’s a paediatrician. But I forgot, you probably know them. Anyway, I stayed there, and then came up with him. It was the least I could do.’
‘It was good of you. I’m sure it was a help.’
‘But don’t you see—’ He sat up as he spoke, and with the bitter spice in his voice, the life had come back to it. The dull eyes began to brighten. ‘But don’t you see, if I had come straight up here – and I could have got the Saturday’s boat – I could have stopped that f—, pardon, I’m sure, that stupid, bloody, sorry, Mackay from taking all that stuff and bringing the police down on our necks when all this is above-board and a perfectly straight transaction, because whatever was said at the time, and your brother knows all about this because we talked it over as I told you, I did not know what was going on, or I do assure you I’d have been out from under, because I didn’t get much out of it all except a couple of years that I’d sooner forget, and don’t intend ever to repeat, and if I had known what that Mackay intended, do you suppose I’d have left him up here on his own to queer my pitch and make a – a mess like this?’
‘Coffee?’ said Ann, from the doorway. She came in with a tray, and crossed to the table. ‘Milk and sugar, Mr Bagshaw?’
‘Yes. Thanks. Both, thanks.’
‘And a doughnut?’ asked Megan, coming in with a plate. ‘They’re terrific. If I wasn’t a student of Dr Fenemore’s and a fan of Hugh Templar’s I’d say fantastic.’ She met my eye. ‘Yes, I’m sorry, Rose, but you did leave your papers there on the window-sill, and I honestly couldn’t help seeing. I say it again. Lit. and met., fantastic.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Ann, spooning out sugar for Mr Bagshaw, did not sound interested. ‘Oh, Archie, there you are. Coffee?’
‘Thanks, I don’t mind.’ Archie came down the stairs and took a mug. ‘Just a half, though. I’d best be getting away again. Thanks. You’ll be coming with me, ladies? And you?’ This to Mr Bagshaw, who gave me a glance and then nodded.
‘I guess so. I guess you’re right, my dear. I’ll not impose on you any longer. You look tired, and I reckon nothing good will come of this day until we’ve all rested and got ourselves back to normal. Mr Hamilton’s still out there, is he? I’ll get a time fixed with him, and maybe we’ll meet again later. You’ve been very kind, and I’ll call on your brother again before I go back to London.’ He heaved himself to his feet and put his mug down on the table. ‘And when I get the place going here – and your brother will tell you the plans I’ve got – you and he will always be welcome, and I’ll personally see you get the best of everything Moila has to offer.’
‘Thank you very much.’
He held out a hand and I took it. ‘Give my best to your brother, and I hope that foot will soon be better.’ In the doorway a thought seemed to strike him, and he paused. ‘That boat, now. It looks as if I’m stuck with that boat, and I wouldn’t know how to handle it, not in this sort of place. If you and your brother would like the use of it – nothing to pay, of course, it’s all seen to – you’re very welcome, and when you’re finished with it, just leave it, I can find some way of getting it picked up and taken back where it came from. With your brother lame as he is, a boat might be a
good way of getting around to see places.’
‘Well, how very good of you.’ It would have seemed ungracious to say that I was counting on the use of Neil’s boat, with Neil to manage it, so I merely thanked Mr Bagshaw again and watched while he made his way down to where Neil, in Sea Otter, was busy with the engine hatch open. The two of them spoke briefly, and I saw Neil pointing in the direction of Taigh na Tuir, and then Mr Bagshaw shook hands with him, too, and climbed into the Land Rover. It moved off up the hill.
The girls came out of the scullery.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Ann, ‘we’re going. Let you and your brother say hello to each other and have a bit of peace. You look as if a long sleep wouldn’t come amiss, either. Come on, Meg.’
‘But Archie’s just gone,’ I said.
‘I know. We told him we’d walk back. Believe it or not, the day’s yet young, and we’ve got a picnic here. We thought we’d go back along the machair.’
‘While it’s still there,’ said Megan. ‘Before the golf balls start to fly. Do you think it would be safe to have a swim?’
‘I don’t know. Ask Neil.’
‘I didn’t mean currents and things. I meant swim raw. We haven’t got swimsuits.’
‘Oh. I still don’t know, but good luck to it. It’s a gorgeous day for it. Well, thanks for all your help. Come back, won’t you, whenever you want to.’
‘Love to,’ they said. ‘Goodbye.’
As they set off Megan looked back over her shoulder, and said, under her breath: ‘Fantastic!’
‘What?’ asked Ann.
‘Nothing,’ said Megan. ‘A rose by any other name. Come on.’
They picked their way down to where Neil still stooped over Sea Otter. There was a brief conversation, then Neil jumped out onto the pier and came up to the cottage, while the girls waited.
He looked in at the cottage door. ‘Rose. Are you all right? It’s been a grim morning for you.’
‘For us all. Yes, thank you, I’m fine. What happens now?’