Kingdom of Shadows

  By dawn the King had spent two hours already in discussion with Douglas and Campbell and Lord Atholl and Nigel Bruce as to what to do next. The men of Loch Dochart were uneasy, obviously unhappy with their illustrious but unlucky guests, and Robert suspected that their lord, Patrick of Glendochart, still unaccountably absent from his castle, might well have been the man who had betrayed their presence in the mountains to John of Lorne. For the time being he put the thought from his mind. One day he would find out the truth, and if the rumour had any substance the lords of Glendochart would be punished for their treason. Now he had too many things to think about to worry about them.

  He and his men could stay in the castle no longer with any safety, that much was certain. A temporary respite, it could also easily become a trap. As dawn broke he called the remnants of his friends together, his face heavy with grief and anger, and surveyed them.

  ‘We cannot continue travelling together,’ he said, anguished by their exhausted, agonised loyalty as they looked to him for leadership. ‘We must split up, for all our safety. Nigel, you and Lord Atholl must take the Queen and the other ladies with the wounded and what remain of our horses back to Kildrummy. I should never have brought you west! You would have been safer there. Wait for us there, or travel on north, whichever you think is best. Aim to get to Norway – to our sister, Isabel.’ Their other sister had married the King of Norway and, though now a widow, would undoubtedly help them. ‘The rest of us will go on towards the coast, protect your retreat and then, I hope, be able to regroup and join you later. Then’ – he smiled wearily – ‘then, we will fight back!’

  He would not hear of any other plan. By full day, when the scouts had told him that indeed John of Lorne and his Macdougall army seemed to have withdrawn back into the mountains, leaving Glen Dochart deserted in the watery sunlight, he ordered his party to be transported once more back across the loch to the shore. The mist had gone and with it the sinister, lurking sense of doom which had hung over the water the night before. Choppy now in the light breeze, the shallows sparkled, showing up green streaks of weed and golden patches where the gravel on the loch bed showed through the transparent water, and here and there, beneath the intense blue of the reflected sky, lay deep dark velvet-black patches where the ground fell away below the surface of the water to depths far out of reach of the weak sunlight. The shore was purple and gold with loosestrife and ragwort, and red and white foxgloves danced in the breeze. Behind them the jackdaws in the tower of the castle were chuckling companionably amongst themselves, their calls echoing across the water.

  The men and women gathered at last on the eastern shore of the loch, re-united with the surviving horses which had been left to fend for themselves overnight. High up on the ridge their lookouts saw nothing in the distance save wisps of mist as the sun dried out the heather, and far away on a distant skyline a herd of deer, silhouetted for a moment against the limpid blue of the sky. The enemy were long gone back into their northern glens.

  At last they were ready, the wounded mounted, some tied to their saddles to stop them falling off, the Queen on a scarred grey gelding, the King’s sisters and Isobel riding on some of the nervous war horses who had survived the battle.

  Isobel looked down at Robert, who was standing with his men, those who would continue on foot through the mountains, leading their enemies away to allow them the chance of safety.

  ‘Robert –’ It was a whisper. No one heard. No one saw her desperate hand outstretched towards him. The King had not glanced her way.

  But he was thinking of her. He touched Nigel’s arm. ‘Take care of them, Nigel, my Queen and my child.’

  ‘I will, sir. With my life.’ Nigel punched him gently between the shoulderblades.

  ‘And my Isobel. See she is safe, Nigel. For me.’

  Nigel nodded without a word. Suddenly he couldn’t speak. He gave his brother a quick, hard hug and turned away so that Robert wouldn’t see his tears.

  26

  ‘Our Father which art in Heaven, Hallowed be thy name …’

  The quiet words filled the room, agitated, urgent, swirling in the silence. Clare opened her eyes. Her face was wet with tears, her hands clenched so tightly that her nails had cut little welts into her palms.

  The room was almost dark. In one corner a lamp was burning and in the chair near it Sarah Collins was sitting. Again and again she was repeating the words of the Lord’s Prayer, mechanically, desperately, not letting the silence in. The room was full of fear and sadness. Its atmosphere was palpable, surrounding Clare in an almost visible cloud.

  Clare’s face was white and dazed. She stared round for a moment, confused and lost, and for a moment Sarah was too afraid to move.

  If only Isobel had gone with him. If only he had allowed her to stay at his side as he longed. If only he had not sent her away.

  Margaret Gordon’s voice was clear in the room between them. Clare stared at Sarah, her eyes enormous in her pale face. ‘What did you say?’ she whispered. Slowly she stood up.

  There was a small worn Bible clutched in Sarah’s hand.

  ‘Sweet Saviour, protect us; guard and preserve this woman,’ Sarah muttered. ‘Sweet Lord, be with us here –’ She took a deep breath. ‘Clare? Clare, my dear? Are you all right?’ Her voice was barely audible.

  If only Isobel had gone with him. If only …

  The voice was fainter now, further away. Clare looked round wildly. ‘Aunt Margaret?’ she called. ‘Aunt Margaret? Where are you? Come back! Please!’ Suddenly she was sobbing.

  Sarah could feel a cold draught playing up and down her spine. She clutched her Bible to her, gazing round into the shadows. ‘What was it?’ she gasped. ‘Who was it?’

  Clare shook her head. ‘She’s right,’ she whispered. ‘She shouldn’t have left him. If he had let them stay together she would have been safe …’

  Sarah looked round again wildly. The room was very cold. It was nearly half past three in the morning.

  She didn’t know what had made her get up, put on her dressing gown, and pad along in the dark, by the light of her small torch, to the tower. Cautiously she had unlocked Clare’s door and after listening for several minutes on the staircase outside she had pushed it open. The room had been silent, and she peered in, expecting to see Clare in bed asleep. Finding her kneeling in the middle of the floor in the light of the single lamp filled Sarah with fear, but she had forced herself to go into the room, her hand firmly on the Bible in her dressing-gown pocket. The moonlight was bright beyond the curtains, illuminating the square of the window. Outside, the garden was as bright as day. On the hills in the distance there was a sprinkling of snow.

  Clare’s eyes were closed, but she was kneeling upright, and Sarah could see her eyes behind her eyelids moving rapidly from side to side. Her breath was coming in short tight gasps, her skin pale and slightly damp in the lamplight. Sarah was very frightened. She didn’t dare wake her, and she didn’t dare leave her, so forcing herself to sit down in the chair she had begun to pray. She felt inadequate; unable to cope with the situation. Her mind had blanked, suggesting nothing but the one repeated prayer. She wanted to make some sign, whisper some formula which would release Clare from this other woman’s suffering, but no words would come. All she could do was clutch her Bible to her own heart, which was suddenly full of pity as well as fear, and recite again and again and again the words she had learned at her mother’s knee.

  Cautiously she touched Clare’s shoulder. ‘It’s all right. You’re safe now,’ she whispered hesitantly. On impulse she put her arms around Clare and hugged her. ‘You’re safe now,’ she repeated. ‘She’s gone.’

  Clare’s body was ice cold; she was trembling violently. For a moment she clung to Sarah, then she collapsed on to the chair which Sarah had vacated. ‘Oh God help me!’ she whispered. ‘I’m so afraid.’ She could still feel the misery and fear in the room like a real presence. ‘Did you hear her? Did you hear Aunt Margaret?’

  Sarah sh
rugged. She didn’t know what to say. Had the words just been in her head or had they rung out in the room? Now, she wasn’t sure. She crouched down beside Clare and took her hands, chafing them gently in her own. ‘God will help you, my dear. I know He will.’

  ‘She appeared to Aunt Margaret too, you know.’ Clare went on so quietly Sarah could hardly hear the words. ‘It’s not just me. I’m not going mad –’

  ‘Of course you’re not.’ Sarah clasped her hands tighter. ‘No one thinks you’re going mad –’

  ‘Paul does.’

  Sarah shook her head. ‘Not in his heart,’ she said, suddenly realising it was the truth. ‘He doesn’t really believe it for one moment.’ She raised Clare’s hand to her cheek and held it there for a moment. It was a strangely maternal gesture. ‘Clare, my dear, you must get away from here. I’ve been as bad as the rest of them, believing it was best for your own good to force you into some sort of confrontation, but this is all centred here, where your aunt lived.’ She shuddered. ‘To keep you here is foolish.’

  ‘Then you’ll help me get away?’ Clare’s face had focussed abruptly. She sat forward eagerly. ‘I have to get out of here, I have to! I must get hold of a car somehow –’

  Sarah nodded slowly. She acknowledged for the first time her increasing unease about Paul’s behaviour. ‘Your mother has asked me to drive into Perth for her one day this week and she is going to lend me her car. Somehow I’ll arrange it so that you can take it, while your father and your brother are out on the hill. I promise, I will help you …’

  Emma was standing in front of the desk in her gallery on Kew Green, her face red with fury. ‘Yes, I talked him out of buying Duncairn. And why not? I care about Clare. She’s my friend and I am not going to stand by and watch you destroy her. I don’t know why you are making such a fuss. We’ve bought your shares, haven’t we? You’re off the hook in the City?’

  ‘You betrayed me.’ Paul was white with anger. ‘You betrayed me to that man Cummin. You! My own sister!’

  ‘What I did, I did for Clare!’

  ‘Are you having an affair with him?’ Paul was studying her face.

  Emma froze. She had gone very pale. ‘No,’ she said bleakly. ‘No, I’m not. I love my husband.’

  ‘You tramp!’ There was a sneer on Paul’s face as he looked up at her. ‘He’ll find out, you know. Peter will find out! People talk in the City.’

  ‘There is nothing to talk about, Paul!’ Emma glared at him. She was shivering suddenly in spite of the warmth of the room. Paul turned and went to look out of the window, ignoring the exhibits which hung on the grey hessian of the walls. ‘I’ve some news for you, Emma, my love. I don’t like being legged over by you or anyone else in this world, and I don’t intend to be made a public laughing stock, so I am going to go ahead with the sale anyway. Duncairn is still going to Sigma – behind Cummin’s back.’ Turning, he smiled. He lifted his briefcase on to her desk and opening it he took out a manilla envelope. Inside were three sets of papers. He passed one across the desk. ‘Look.’

  Emma looked down. The document was notarised and witnessed. It gave Paul power of attorney over Clare’s affairs, and made over to him unconditionally all her property in Scotland, giving him specific permission to sell it as and when he saw fit. At the bottom of each page was Clare’s signature.

  Emma stared at it. Then she looked up at her brother, shocked. ‘I don’t believe it.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘She wouldn’t! Clare wouldn’t do it. What have you done to her?’

  He took the paper back and slid it into his case then he laughed out loud. ‘Nothing. Nothing that needed Clare’s presence. All that took was a good eye and a steady hand.’

  ‘You mean you’ve forged her signature?’ Emma was speechless for a second. ‘You can’t!’

  ‘I already have.’ Paul smiled. ‘It fooled you, and it fooled our bank manager. I showed it to him this morning.’

  ‘But the notary –’

  ‘That’s my business, Emma.’ Paul picked up the case.

  ‘You won’t get away with it. I shan’t let you. I’ll tell everyone –’

  He laughed coldly. ‘You would too, you little bitch. Let me tell you something, Emma. If ever I do use this, you will keep quiet about it, do you hear me? If you are as fond of Clare as you claim, you will keep very, very quiet about it.’

  ‘Why? What would you do if I didn’t?’ She looked him in the eye angrily.

  ‘I could make life very unpleasant for Clare. It is not pleasant being insane; being locked away in some asylum, and that is where she will end up if I don’t get your and her cooperation. I am going to give her the chance to help me voluntarily. One more chance, that’s all. If she doesn’t I shall use this.’ He tapped the lid of his case. ‘If Clare denies signing it Geoffrey and our family doctor are going to have her committed.’ He smiled triumphantly. ‘My wife is insane, Emma, however much you might like to deny it to yourself. At times she is lucid, I fully acknowledge that – she was, for instance, when she signed these.’ He smiled again. ‘Alas, her periods of sanity are growing shorter and shorter.’ He was watching his sister’s face closely. ‘I intend going north to Airdlie tomorrow or the next day. I shall bring her back to Bucksters, and then Geoffrey is going to spend some time with her. He is actually planning on doing an exorcism!’ He contained his laughter with difficulty. ‘Once he has signed the correct documents we are going to keep her somewhere quiet and safe until all the excitement over Duncairn is forgotten. I shan’t be cruel. Once it is all over, I shall bother her no more. She can divorce me if she wants. I shan’t care. Our marriage is a childless farce in any case. But if she makes a fuss, and denies signing anything, she is going to find herself in a padded cell. And we both know how much she would hate being locked up.’

  Emma was white to the lips. ‘You are the one who is insane, Paul! You are living in a fantasy world.’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘You are! None of this will work! None of it.’ She leaned towards him, her hands on the desk. ‘Paul, you have got to give up. You don’t need the money! You don’t need Duncairn!’

  ‘Oh, but I do. Besides, it is better for Clare to be rid of it. It is Duncairn that is haunting her.’ For a second he had lost his bantering tone and his voice was sincere.

  Emma frowned. Was there any possibility that he could be right? She shook her head. Even if he was he could not be allowed to go on. ‘She isn’t haunted, Paul. You were the one who started this stupid idea. You’ve even got Geoffrey believing it now!’

  ‘Because it is true. Clare is possessed, Emma. Stop trying to fool yourself into believing that she isn’t. Geoffrey should know. I couldn’t talk him into something that wasn’t true. The man is a professional!’

  Emma shook her head. ‘Oh no, Paul. No. I can’t let you do this. I can’t!’

  ‘Don’t try and stop me, Emma.’ Paul walked around the desk and caught her arm. ‘The only one who will get hurt if you do is Clare. And Peter, of course. Think how upset he would be if he found out that you were having an affair.’ He smiled. ‘Just think, Emma! No, you forget all about Clare. Leave her to me.’

  Emma waited until he had left the gallery, then she grabbed the phone. Her hands were shaking. She had to warn Clare what Paul was up to and that he was on his way back.

  ‘Antonia? This is Emma Cassidy – Clare’s sister-in-law. How is Clare?’

  In the draughty hall at Airdlie Antonia glanced up the stairs. Clare was still in her room, huddled in bed with a hot water bottle, exhausted after her sleepless night.

  ‘She’s all right, thank you, Emma. She’s very well. Enjoying her holiday. Her brother is here too, you know.’

  ‘Is he?’ Emma paused. She hadn’t realised that James was in Scotland. ‘Could I speak to Clare, please, if it’s not too much trouble?’

  ‘I’m sorry, my dear. Clare is out today.’ Antonia bit her lip. It made her hot and uncomfortable when s
he lied.

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Emma was clearly taken aback. ‘Then please, could you ask her to ring me as soon as she gets back. It’s very, very important.’

  ‘Of course I will.’ Antonia grimaced as she put down the phone. She had always disliked Emma. The girl was wild and unprincipled. She had been a bad influence on Clare at school, always getting her into trouble, and nothing appeared to have changed now she was an adult. There was no way she was going to let Clare talk to her if she could help it.

  That evening whilst Sarah was helping Antonia in the kitchen Clare managed to reach the phone. James and her father were in the gunroom. The dogs were sprawled in front of the drawing-room fire. She picked up the receiver carefully so that it wouldn’t make a noise and dialled. She was praying under her breath that Kenneth wouldn’t answer.

  ‘Zak? Oh thank God!’ She was almost sobbing with relief. ‘I thought you might be in the States still. I need to see you. Please, you’re the only person who can help me.’

  ‘Clare, honey. Where are you? What’s happened?’ Zak frowned, knowing his own voice sounded reluctant, hearing the fear in hers.

  ‘I’m in Scotland. I’ll be in Edinburgh by the end of the week. Please, Zak, I know it’s a lot to ask, but can you come there. I’ll pay your train fare, anything. Look contact me at –’ She racked her brains for a moment. ‘At Earthwatch. They are somewhere in the Grassmarket. Please Zak. Don’t let me down.’

  She didn’t wait for him to reply. Gently she tipped the receiver back into its cradle. It fell back silently and she breathed again.

  Twice Archie and James set out for their walk across the hill the next morning, and twice they were called back. The first time, the telephone rang and it was an urgent message for James from the City, and the second time it was Antonia. ‘Why don’t you stay at home today? Please. I’m sick and tired of being here on my own.’ Her nerves were playing her up again, a migraine threatening – that strange click in the head, the sudden jerk behind her field of vision.