Legacy of the Dead - Charles Todd [99]
She said nothing.
He went on. “Do you know a Mrs. Atwood?”
“No. At least I don’t remember having heard the name.”
“What about Robert Burns?”
“He’s a poet—he lived near Ayr.”
“No. A person you might have met.”
She thought about it. “I recall someone saying that the fiscal lost his son in the war. I don’t remember whether his name was Robert.”
“I’ve been searching for a woman called Eleanor Gray. She may or may not be the person you’re accused of killing. The bones that were found in Glencoe. Eleanor Gray’s been missing since 1916. She had a quarrel with her mother over—money. And just after that she was supposed to spend a weekend near Winchester with a friend, Mrs. Atwood. Instead she came to Scotland with a man, possibly a friend of this Robert Burns, who may or may not be the fiscal’s son.”
Fiona smiled. “May or may not be—possibly a friend— supposed to spend the weekend. Hamish said you were a clever policeman.”
It was the first glimpse of natural humor he’d seen, lighting her face from within. Lighting her eyes.
“Yes, sometimes I wonder myself,” he said, returning the smile. “The odd thing about Eleanor Gray is that no one appears to have cared for her. Ann Tait knew of her—and en-vied her. Mrs. Atwood was jealous of her. Her mother saw to it that she couldn’t pursue medicine, which was Eleanor’s passionate interest. She may have died in 1916, and the only person who has tried to find her was a solicitor who wanted her to sign papers relating to her inheritance. You are accused of killing her—and yet you don’t know her.”
“And that’s true.” She was serious again, resuming her pacing. “Why should I choose a woman at random, kill her, and take her child? A stranger I knew nothing about! It makes sense to the police because they’re men; they believe that because I wanted a child, I wouldn’t care who or what it was.”
“Their response would be, you knew Eleanor Gray was alone and in hiding. The perfect choice. There was no one to come looking for her.”
“To learn that much about her, surely I’d have learned her name as well. I don’t know how people behave in France or Canada. In Scotland we don’t confide in strangers!”
“Perhaps you met her as someone else. Using another name.” He paused. “Mrs. Cook—”
She went so white that her knees buckled, and he sprang from his chair to catch her as she fell. Carrying her to the bed, he laid her gently on the rough surface of the blanket. “Fiona—”
Her eyelids fluttered, then shut. Her voice when she spoke trembled. “I don’t know a Mrs. Cook.”
“Yes, you do,” he said, pulling the chair closer to the bed. “You know precisely who she is. She gave birth in Lanark to the child you called Ian Hamish MacLeod. I’ve spoken to her physician, his name is Wilson. I know that she had a hard birth and a very difficult recovery. I know, too, that it will be impossible for her to bear other children.” He stopped, then added the last bit of information that sealed his certainty. “You told your aunt you were expected to work out your notice at Mrs. Davison’s. But you didn’t. You explained to her why you were being sent for—that your aunt in Duncarrick was ill—and Mrs. Davison, a compassionate woman, released you immediately. She cared enough about you to make it easier for you to leave her family. And so there was nearly a month between the time you promised to come to Duncarrick with your child and the time you arrived here. You spent that time somewhere with the boy and his mother. But you lied to your aunt, you lied to Mrs. Davison, for all I know you have lied to Mrs. Cook. But you can’t lie to me, Fiona. I know too much.”
She reached out and caught his hands. “Please. I don’t know a Mrs. Cook. This woman you’ve just told me about— she has nothing to do with me or with my child! You mustn’t— there is no need to search for her. Because she doesn’t exist.” Her face was earnest now, her eyes wide. “It was Eleanor Gray I killed. I will swear to it! Bring my barrister to me—Inspector Oliver—the fiscal. In front of them I will tell you