The Sins of the Wolf - Anne Perry [176]
Baird himself seemed to have closed his mind and his emotions, like a man who has already accepted his own death.
Eilish looked desolate. She was still beautiful. No grief could take that from her, but the fire that had lit her countenance before had vanished as if it had never been.
Deirdra had dark rings of sleeplessness under her eyes, and she constantly looked from one to another of her family as if seeking anything she might do to ease their pain, and found nothing at all.
Oonagh sat white-faced. Alastair was profoundly unhappy. Hector reached for the wine as often as usual, but seemed to remain stubbornly sober. Only Quinlan appeared to find even a glimmer of satisfaction in anything.
“You cannot put it off forever,” he said at last. “Some decision has to be made.” He glanced at Monk. “I assume you are going to return to London? If not tomorrow, then some time soon. You don’t intend to remain in Edinburgh, do you? We have no more crofts, to pay for your silence.”
“Quinlan!” Alastair said furiously, banging his clenched fist on the table. “For heaven’s sake, man, have a little decency!”
Quinlan’s eyebrows rose. “Is this matter decent? Your ideas differ from mine, Fiscal. I think it’s thoroughly indecent. What are you proposing? That we conspire together to keep silence over it and let the shadow hang forever over Miss Latterly?” He swiveled in his chair. “Will you allow that, Miss Latterly? It will make it uncommonly difficult for you to obtain another nursing post. Unless of course it is with someone who wishes the patient’s decease?”
“Of course I should like it resolved,” Hester answered him, while the rest of the company looked on in horrified silence. “But I do not wish anyone to stand in the dock in my place simply to accomplish that, if they are no more guilty than I am. There is a certain case against Mr. McIvor, but I do not find it compelling.” She turned to Alastair. “Is it compelling, Procurator Fiscal? Would you prosecute with the evidence you have so far?”
Alastair blushed, and then paled. He swallowed hard. “They would not expect me to handle the case, Miss Latterly. I am too close to it.”
“That was not what she meant,” Quinlan said contemptuously. “But Alastair is famous for not prosecuting. Aren’t you, Fiscal?”
Alastair ignored him, turning instead to Baird.
“I presume you will be going in to the printing shop as usual tomorrow?”
“It’s closed tomorrow,” Baird replied, blinking at him as if he had barely understood what he had said.
Hector reached for more wine. “Why?” he asked, frowning. “What’s wrong with it? Tomorrow is Monday, isn’t it? Why aren’t you working on a Monday?” He hiccupped gently.
“There are building alterations being done outside. There will be no gas. We cannot work in the dark.”
“Should have built more windows,” Hector said irritably. “It’s that damn secret room of Hamish’s. Always said it was a stupid idea.”
Deirdra looked confused. “What are you talking about, Uncle Hector? You can’t have windows, except at the front. The other three sides are the back with the doors and the yard, and where it joins to the other warehouses at both sides.”
“I don’t know what he wanted a secret room for.” Hector was not listening to her. “Quite unnecessary. Told Mary that.”
“Secret room?” Deirdra smiled wryly.
Oonagh offered Hector the decanter, and when he had fumbled for it ineffectually, filled his glass for him.
“There is no secret room in the printworks, Uncle Hector. You must be remembering something from the old house, when you were boys.