o say Coupe was a man with presence would be to understate the impression he made. Well over six feet tall, powerfully built and remarkably handsome, he was a man of about our own age, with curling black hair and penetrating dark eyes. He was attired simply, in a white collarless shirt and vest and worn moleskin breeches, with tall waterproof boots and a worn but well-tailored tweed jacket. A silver watch fob was just visible above a pocket. He conveyed a quiet confidence that more often accompanies men of privilege.
‘Gentlemen, this is Cameron Coupe, my right hand, manager of the estate and Master Distiller. Cameron’s father, and his father before him held the same position.’
Coupe nodded a greeting. The man was polite, but hardly subservient.
‘Cameron here is my intimate confidant, and the only man on the estate who knows Fiona’s parentage. As I mentioned, Mr Holmes, it was he whom I commissioned to carry out the—’ Here he hesitated.
‘—abduction,’ supplied Holmes.
‘Yes. And the rest. But neither Cameron nor I killed the girl. We are eager for you to reveal the true culprit, Mr Holmes.’
Holmes was busy lighting his pipe. He shrugged and glanced up at the estate manager with what I knew to be feigned indifference.
Coupe met Holmes’s gaze with frank openness, his confidence unshaken. If he was guilty, he gave no hint of it. ‘Sir, I was told you wish to speak to me,’ said Coupe, affably. ‘What might I do for you?’ His accent conveyed some years at university, at least to my ear.
Holmes turned to the laird. ‘If you will excuse us, Sir Robert’ said he. ‘May we interview Mr Coupe alone? We could then continue our conversation later in your private quarters, as we discussed.’
The laird paused then stood abruptly. ‘Later, at my own convenience,’ he said, somewhat discomfited by the dismissal. He exited in haste, causing his man to step aside.
‘Pray be seated, Mr Coupe,’ said Holmes. The man hesitated at the door as if deciding whether to comply or not.
‘What would you gentlemen like to know?’ asked Cameron Coupe. This was the voice of a man who commanded others. ‘I am, as you have heard, bound to help you in any way I can. But I am busy with work just now, so I would appreciate this being brief, sirs.’
‘We will take the time we need and no less, Mr Coupe,’ said Holmes sharply. ‘As a kidnapper, you are on tenuous ground legally, and I think you know that.’ He pointed at the chair.
Coupe paused, considered, then relaxed into a smile and joined us at the table. His large figure dwarfed the small wooden furniture, and as he leaned forward onto the table he presented an intimidating presence, the shock of wild hair tumbling forward on his forehead. His bright, dark eyes confronted us without any trace of fear, though with a certain amount of humour.
Holmes, by contrast, leaned back lazily in his own chair, as if indifferent to the conversation. Once again he busied himself with his pipe. I knew this posture well, and it usually reflected the opposite state of mind. Inside, at this moment he would be like a polar bear fishing at a hole in the ice, perfectly still, taught with anticipation, and keenly attuned to the slightest ripple.
‘Describe the kidnapping, where you took the girl, what you did exactly, and how you returned her,’ said he, carelessly.
‘First let me say, sir, I meant no harm to the girl. I took special pains, was gentle, and—’
‘Forego the apologies and give me the details.’
The large man paused, struggling with his anger. He then proceeded to give his account calmly and in detail, showing himself to be an intelligent and observant man, not without sympathy for his young victim. Despite his precautions not to harm her, he freely admitted that the experience frightened her terribly.
‘The problem, you see, was that she must not catch a glimpse of me, or, well, you understand. Knowing well the patterns of the estate, I disguised myself in a dark cloak with a hood, and surprised her in a rear yard by the kitchen, at a time when others were occupied. It was there that I took her, by means of throwing a blanket over her, gently of course, and I made a few ghostly noises and the like to frighten her. “Woo. Oooo”.’ He smiled at the memory.
Neither Holmes nor I found this amusing. ‘Why the noises?’ said Holmes.
‘I thought that impersonating a ghost might make her more pliable.’
‘A believer, then?’
‘Fiona could be peculiar on the subject of ghosts. She frequently mocked her fellow servants who were believers in the spirit world, you see, but in her heart of hearts she was afraid, that I knew. All the servants believe in ghosts.’
‘To be sure.’ said the detective. Holmes was clearly goading the man. Coupe did not rise to the bait.
‘But she struggled wildly, and so I had to render her unconscious so as not to hurt her, using—’
‘Chloroform,’ said Holmes. ‘That was ghostly of you. How is it that you are acquainted with this substance?’
‘We have a stable. Champion ponies, has the laird. The veterinarian uses it,’ said Coupe.
‘Did he show you how much to use, and how to administer it?’ asked Holmes quickly. ‘It is quite dangerous.’
‘No, sir. This had to be done in secret.’
‘Then how did you know?’
‘I read, sir.’
‘Of course you do. Now do something for me.’ Holmes pulled out a small notebook and his mechanical pencil and laid them on the table before Coupe. ‘Write your name here. Then print your name below. Then write my name. Then write a line of poetry.’
The man looked puzzled but obliged. I noted a certain effort to his actions, and the writing went slowly. After a moment he looked up. ‘I can think of no poem. Can you give me a line?’
‘Alack! What poverty my Muse brings forth,’ said Holmes dryly.
Coupe stiffened. ‘You mock me, sir.’
‘Not at all. Shakespeare. Sonnet 103.’
Coupe wrote it out, gave the notebook back to Holmes. My friend pocketed it without looking at it.
‘Describe what else happened,’ said he.
‘Well, once she was sleeping, I had a second task. The laird asked me to cut the lass’s hair off, and I did so, leaving enough to look decent, and placed her on a bed of straw in one of the underground holding cells.’
‘What cells?’ asked Holmes.
‘Under the castle, from the days when the lairds of Braedern held local assizes here. In any case I also put on some blankets so that she should not catch cold, and the laird came down to check that she was all right.’
‘Did she see him then?’
‘No, she was still asleep.’
‘Unconscious. What happened next?’
‘The laird, he was not satisfied, and asked me to take it further. Cut off all her hair. Shave her.’
‘Why?’
‘I do not know. Presumably so the effect would last longer. It felt like a cruel thing to do, but the laird, he is not a cruel man. I believe he thought to make her unattractive. For the reasons you have already learned, that is for her own protection.’
‘An unusual solution,’ said Holmes.
Coupe did not reply. He pushed a dark lock of hair from his forehead in an angry gesture.
‘Did you sense there could be another motive? Any other reason for this strange action? Punitive, perhaps.’
The man’s voice grew louder. ‘I do not question the laird. He is a man of impeccable reputation.’
‘And yet, there remain some doubts surrounding the death of his wife,’ said Holmes.
Coupe sprang to his feet and loomed over the table at Holmes. My hand went automatically to my pocket, where my Webley resided.
‘Do not say that,’ said Coupe, vehemently. ‘The laird loved her truly, and mourns her death every day.’ Here the man paused and his look grew darker. ‘If you be thinking ill of him, sir, it would be wrong of you to accept his hospitality, and this case, and I suggest you make your way off.’
Holmes laughed. ‘Really now, Mr Coupe, you overreach yourself. We are not here as guests, and I feel no compunction to act as one. I have been asked here to solve a murder. It is my job to suspect everyone. Besides, the tale you now tell is hardly flattering to your employer.’
Coupe was breathing heavily.
‘Sit down, Mr Coupe. Let us continue. It is Sir Robert’s request.’
Coupe hesitated and then grudgingly complied.
‘Now, Mr Coupe, how did the poem come to be attached to the laundry basket in which the girl was returned?’
‘Poem, Mr Holmes? I do not know what you are talking about.’
Holmes stared hard at Coupe, and a tense silence ensued for several seconds. Coupe returned the stare, unblinking.
‘Perhaps I am mistaken. Tell me the circumstances of her return,’ said Holmes at last.
‘I used a basket, a very big one, the gardener uses it for cuttings, and put her in it, with the blankets and all, and brought it to the main entrance in the dead of night.’
‘“The dead of night”?’ said Holmes. ‘Pray, what time might that be?’
‘I would guess around two in the morning.’
‘Alone? It would have been rather unwieldy for one person.’
‘I am a strong man.’
‘I see. And you added no note?’
‘Yes, there was a note, which the laird directed me to write.’
‘If you would kindly be more descriptive in your answers, we could complete our task more quickly,’ said Holmes.
‘The note he asked me to write was this: “No man shall touch this lass until she regain her full complement of crowning glory. Or the spirits will wreak havoc upon the house.”’
But what was this? Isla had read us a poem that had supposedly been delivered with the girl in the basket. Holmes and I exchanged a quick glance.
‘A threat of supernatural harm. If you do not believe in spirits, why did the laird expect his presumably educated sons to do so?’ asked Holmes.
Cameron Coupe let out a large, booming laugh. He relaxed into his chair. ‘A good question, sir. If it is not telling tales out of school, I should say the entire family believes in ghosts. Though well they hide it.’
Holmes said nothing.
‘But why cut off her hair?’ I asked.
‘It that not obvious, gentlemen? He thought to keep his boys from dallying with the girl. It made her, well, less enticing,’ said Coupe. He flushed uncomfortably as he spoke.
‘For a time, perhaps. And what followed? Did you participate in any further ghostly games to keep the various participants in this little drama in line?’ asked Holmes.
‘I did not, sir.’
‘Were you never attracted to the lass yourself?’ Holmes asked.
‘No,’ said Coupe, a little too quickly. ‘I was immune.’
‘How was that?’
‘The girl did not appeal to me, sir.’
‘And where were you during the past four days?’ asked Holmes.
‘Here, on the property. We were installing a new hot water tank in the mash house, and I took some deliveries of new equipment. Then I attended a distiller’s meeting in Aberdeen.’
‘And someone can vouch for your presence here as well as there?’
‘Twenty people can do so, Mr Holmes.’
Holmes nodded. ‘Did you believe she had eloped, then?’
‘I had no reason to disbelieve it. Except for perhaps the young man in question. He seemed, well, he was, or rather is a handsome and strong lad, gentle in nature. But not right in the head, and he longed for the girl in a most inappropriate and obvious manner.’
‘Did you believe she ran off with this boy?’
‘I did, and I still do,’ said Coupe, firmly.
‘And then he killed her?’
‘That I would be loath to say.’
Holmes stood to leave and I did as well. ‘One more thing, Mr Coupe,’ said Holmes. ‘Are you married?’
‘I am not,’ he replied. I could feel his eyes upon us as we left the room.