Page 40 of Death at a Highland Wedding (Rip Through Time #4)
FORTY
I speak to Gray and McCreadie. I don’t tell them my conclusion—just what I’ve learned. They put that together with what we already know, and they draw the same conclusion, McCreadie seeming to age five years with it.
This was not what any of us wanted. Not even me. A few days ago, I’d have accepted this solution with indifference. Now, knowing the parties involved, I do not.
When we ask around inside, James Frye says he saw Cranston head off on horseback, riding along the road. That’s alarming. Maybe not surprising, but alarming.
Perhaps, at this point, we should all mount up and ride to stop our suspect from fleeing justice. Well, McCreadie could. I can barely ride, and Gray is not an expert horseman. But it says something about our reluctance that no one suggests this. We head off on foot instead, as if to say that if Cranston manages to escape, no one is overly keen to stop him.
He’s not fleeing, though. He’s riding with Fiona, and that’s even worse. We hear them in the distance, and she’s laughing. Is there flirtation in that laugh? I think so, though Cranston seems oblivious and only responds with a fraternal sort of affection.
When I arrived, I’d been horrified by the thought of this vivacious girl marrying that insensitive boor. But I will admit I’d been wrong, and in their laughter and teasing, it’s like witnessing the start of a romance. I see a future here… and I’m about to end it.
When McCreadie calls to the riders, they both seem startled, but Fiona approaches, smiling in obvious delight.
“Where are your horses?” she says. “Go saddle some up and come ride with us before supper. Archie has promised to show me a secret path.”
“Perhaps later, Fee,” McCreadie says. “For now, we must speak to Archie. Alone.”
Fiona opens her mouth as if to argue, but Cranston says, “Yes, I suspect your brother needs to have an overdue discussion with me.”
“You will make it up to me?” Fiona asks Cranston.
Cranston falters, and that falter erases any doubt. He knows why we’ve come.
“I will try,” he says.
She huffs but makes light of it and rides off. Once she’s out of sight, Cranston dismounts and walks his horse to us.
“So, what happens now?” he says. “Back to the constable, I presume.”
“You are not going to ask why we are here?” McCreadie says.
“Do I need to?”
“You don’t deny it?”
“Is there any point?”
McCreadie’s voice hardens. “So you have nothing to say.”
Cranston sighs. “I could explain myself, but that will come later, and I doubt it will do me any good. As you are someone whose opinion I value, I will say that I absolutely did not intend to kill Ezra. Yet I did, so that is no defense.”
“Tell me anyway.”
Cranston looks at him.
McCreadie says, “As a friend who almost saw you wed to his sister, I would like to hear your explanation.”
“I presume you’ve realized Ezra was not the excellent fellow I believed him to be. How much do you know?”
McCreadie looks to me to take over. He’s too close to this.
“We know about your nephew,” I say. “Owen.”
Cranston flinches.
“Did you know about him before that trip?” I ask. “Or did you figure it out then?”
A humorless smile. “The boy looks as if someone painted a portrait that is half Violet and half Ezra. Even then, I presumed he was the unfortunate result of an ill-fated romance. I was upset with Ezra, but not ready to judge him. Ready to dig deeper, though? Yes. I needed to answer my own questions.”
Another dry smile as Cranston pats his horse. “I even considered hiring you or Duncan to do it, Hugh, but I could not expose Violet’s secret in that way. So I found another man who does such things. What he uncovered…” Cranston swallows. “And yet, fool that I am, I continued to deny it. I wanted to think that my sister and my best friend had a youthful entanglement that ended in a child, and that he cared for Violet and never mistreated her.”
“What changed your mind?” I ask.
“After the business with the wildcat, I tried to fire Müller. Müller said I would regret it. He taunted me with hints about Ezra and the maids. Lenore for one, and also Dorothy. His hints mirrored the horrible rumors my man had heard, and so I could no longer deny them. Nor could I pretend Ezra had nothing but an ill-considered romance with Violet. He hurt her, and if I did not see that in the way she had withdrawn into melancholia, the way she looked at him now, then I was a blinkered fool, a selfish oaf who saw only what he wanted to see. My sister was in torment being here, not with you, Hugh, but with Ezra, and then he was fawning over Fiona and I realized he had set his sights on my bride, despite the fact she obviously had no interest in him. I feared he might not let her refuse.”
He inhales sharply. “I saw him leave that night. I took the shillelagh to threaten him. Thump him with it if I needed to. That had never been my way, so I thought threatening physical violence would convey the depths of my rage. Then, as I searched for where he had gone, I saw Violet by the lake, and I knew he was meeting her. She did not notice me, but I saw her, how tormented she looked, and when I found him…”
His voice drops. “I came up from behind him, and I struck him, meaning only to knock him down. I did not even think I had hit him that hard.” His lips twist. “I suppose that is what comes from not fighting, when you are as big as I am. You do not know how hard you have struck.”
Cranston gazes out over the field, as if seeing himself and Sinclair there. “When he fell, I still did not think I had truly harmed him. I put my foot on his back to hold him down while I told him that I knew the truth and I never wanted to see him again. He did not answer. Did not move. That is when I bent and saw his eyes shut. I even opened his lids, being so utterly convinced that he must be feigning death.”
“You wanted me to investigate, Archie,” McCreadie says. “Constable Ross’s case would not have held up in court, yet you did not want him. You wanted me. That makes no sense.”
Cranston looks out over the field. “I did not mean to kill him, but I did. There are repercussions for that. I may have teased you, but I know you are an excellent detective. If you did not solve the case, then perhaps Fate decreed my crime did not deserve punishment.”
McCreadie growls in frustration. “That is not how it works.”
He’s right, of course, but in some deep-seated way, I understand Cranston’s magical thinking. He felt guilty, and he did not want to get off on the technicality of having the case investigated by an amateur. He wanted some sort of divine absolution, and he didn’t get it.
“I understand where you need to take me, Hugh,” Cranston says. “But is there any chance you would go back to the house and wait for me there?”
“Allowing you to flee on horseback?” McCreadie says.
Cranston’s voice drops even lower. “I will not pull our friendship into this. Nor will I pull in Fiona, and what a murder trial would do to your sister.”
“But you do mention it.”
Cranston shakes his head. “This is about more than me and even your sister. It is about my own sister. There is a chance the courts could set me free. Perhaps even a good chance that I would avoid the hangman. But at what cost? I am asking you to let me face a life on the run to avoid exposing Violet and Lenore and the others to the horrors of a trial. Please. Allow me to run, even if a court might not send me to hang. I will leave the country, taking only the clothes on my back and the few pounds in my pocket. Nothing else.”
“No.” The voice comes from the trees to our left, and Fiona strides out. “You will also take me.”
Cranston blinks. Then he recovers and says smoothly, “You should wait at the house, Fiona.”
“I am not a child, despite what you seem to think, Archie.”
“Fiona,” McCreadie says. “Please wait—”
“Not. A. Child,” she says to her brother, and then turns to Cranston. “I heard what you said. I know what you did and while you were vague on the details, I believe I understand what Ezra did. To Violet and other women. What he planned to do to me. In confronting him, you accidentally killed him. So you believe you must flee, and if you do, I will go with you.”
“You cannot—”
“I certainly can, being an adult. Would you leave me behind to suffer whatever comes?”
“I—”
“You would leave to protect Violet from a trial and from the shame of having an illegitimate child. Yes, that would hurt her. But your leaving would hurt me. People would say that you fled the country to avoid marrying me. What do you think becomes of me after that? Look at your sister for the answer—and in her case, it was a polite parting of the ways, not fleeing the country. ”
“I will ensure no one thinks you were responsible—”
“I do not care. I have the chance to marry a good man, and I do not dare to guess who my parents would wed me to next. You do not wish to marry me? Fine. Take me to America as your sister. As for fleeing with only a few pounds, that is ridiculous. You have money. I have access to money. Leave the whisky business to Violet and she will be taken care of. But we both gather what funds we can before we run.”
“Fiona…” McCreadie says.
She lifts a finger. “Do not, Hugh. You are my brother, not my master or even my guardian.”
I glance at Cranston, who stares at her as if witnessing a transformation.
“However,” she says, “as for leaving, I do not think that is necessary.” She turns to McCreadie. “Have you not said, repeatedly, that you have no authority in this case?”
“I—”
“You searched for any way that you might be able to take charge, and you concluded there is none. You have no place in the investigation, and Constable Ross has made it very clear that he does not want your help. So why help him by turning in Archie?”
McCreadie sighs. “Fee…”
“Do not ‘Fee’ me. Do you want to see Archie hang?”
McCreadie stiffens.
“Fine, that was unfair,” she says. “Do you believe Archie should hang for striking a fiend who mistreated his sister and molested other women?”
“Fee…”
She lifts a hand. “Still unfair. Do you believe anyone should hang for striking someone who abused others? No, you do not. I know that because I know you. ”
She moves toward him. “If this were a case you had to investigate, as part of your job, you would need to turn Archie in and let the court decide his fate. You would be uncomfortable with that, but it is your job. You make the arrest. The procurator fiscal chooses the charges, and the judge or jury finds the accused guilty or innocent. But you are not working this case. It is not your job to find the killer.”
“I—”
“So you feel ethically bound to take your findings to Constable Ross? Fine. Do that, and if we are not here when you return, that is not your fault. But if you cart Archie off to face justice, you will never forgive yourself, Hugh. Even if a jury decides it was not murder, you will have ruined Violet. Again. Yes, that is not fair, but you know the truth of it.”
McCreadie rocks back, pain flashing over his face.
Fiona continues, “At worst, Archie hangs for doing something you could just as easily have done. What if you discovered a dear friend had gotten me with child and mistreated me? And then turned his eye on Isla, planning to seduce and abuse her? You know you could have struck him in a fit of rage and fury and hurt.”
She glances at Cranston. “Yes, hurt. Ezra’s betrayal hurt you.” She turns to McCreadie, Gray, and myself, as if addressing a jury. “I think we can all understand why Archie hit Ezra. We can also agree, given the tenor of his confession, that he did not intend to kill him. I also heard nothing that sounded as if Archie did not expect to pay for this unfortunate accident, whether by the hangman or by penniless exile. He wanted you to investigate, Hugh. But if you follow either of those paths, you will regret it, and I am offering you a third choice. Not because I do not wish to lose my chance at a husband. As I said, I will go with Archie if he leaves. But I do not wish to hurt you. ”
McCreadie exhales and drops his head forward.
“It will still hurt,” Fiona says, her voice low. “I realize that. You will suffer guilt with any choice you make. Turn him in to Constable Ross. Or let us flee. Or step back and do nothing. But which will be the least painful? We are not sentencing Müller to the noose. You are not giving evidence to see Müller convicted of the one crime he did not commit. You are simply letting Constable Ross do what Constable Ross insists on doing. Solving this bloody case himself.”
McCreadie says nothing. Oh, I know what he’ll decide. The only thing he can. But he’s taking his time, and he’s making sure not to look at us because this decision must be his.
Fiona continues, “You are not absolving Archie. If Constable Ross comes for him, we will deal with that and you will have no part in it. But let this go, Hugh. Please. I beg you. Let it go.”
The silence stretches… and then, slowly, he nods.