CHAPTER 51 - A Conversation at Woodlawheid

THEY CREPT INTO the house like thieves, Scougall terrified that they might be caught. Holding up his candle, he followed MacKenzie from room to room. They entered a large chamber where the windows were covered with thick curtains. Their candle was the only point of light, hinting at an opulently furnished apartment. There appeared to be no one inside.

Two doors led off the far wall. They walked towards them. The one on the right was slightly ajar. MacKenzie opened it and poked his head round. It was a dressing room full of richly coloured gowns. He pushed gently on the handle of the other door. It opened easily to reveal a chamber where a fire was burning. Someone was asleep on a four-poster bed. They inched across the room, trying not to make a sound. But as MacKenzie raised his candle by the bed, there was a shrill scream.

The figure on the bed lurched forward. Scougall gasped in horror as a huge deformed head loomed at him. He recoiled in terror. But when he looked again there was only a small woman in a white nightgown whimpering on the bed.

‘We mean you no harm. Are you Helen Cockburn?’ asked MacKenzie.

She was cowering with her knees up under her chin. When she raised her head, Scougall realised that he was mistaken about its size. It must have been an illusion caused by the candlelight. But her face was grotesquely deformed on one side. Her right arm lay motionless.

‘What is wrong with her, sir?’ Scougall addressed his question to MacKenzie.

‘She is a leper, Mr Scougall!’ Adam Cockburn’s voice thundered from the shadows where he stood, sword in hand.

‘I am sorry. I needed to know if your wife was alive,’ responded MacKenzie.

‘You should not have entered my house in this way. You should have sought my permission,’ Cockburn spoke angrily, but he returned his sword to its scabbard.

‘It is all right, Adam. I am recovered.’ Helen Cockburn spoke in a timid voice. ‘I have heard much about you, gentlemen,’ she continued. ‘But you scared me, appearing unannounced in my chamber. I no longer receive visitors.’

‘We have broken the laws of hospitality, Mrs Cockburn. As a Highlander, I regret this very much. But we are running out of time. Euphame faces an agonising death. I am too eager, sometimes. I neglect to think about the feelings of others. Please accept my apology.’

‘My wife does not speak to anyone,’ Cockburn said.

‘How long have you been ill?’ asked MacKenzie, ignoring the laird.

‘The deformity appeared on my face about two years ago.’ She moved her left hand to her cheek. ‘At the same time my arm began to wither. I could not suffer seeing anyone like this. I could not bear being called leper, so I remain here with my books and embroidery. I am well looked after. It is the way I choose to live.’

‘You will not see your own son?’ asked MacKenzie.

‘I speak with him every day. I will not have him look upon his mother like this. I will not have him contract the disease.’

Scougall could not contain himself any longer. He felt ashamed by the way he had behaved towards her. ‘I am deeply sorry, madam. My rudeness is inexcusable.’

‘It is all right, Mr Scougall.’ There was a smile on one side of her face.

Cockburn walked round the room, lighting candles on the walls, revealing the fine paintings, rich embroderies and ornate furniture. With her husband’s help, she got out of bed and, aided by him, walked over to a chair by the fire. ‘Come gentleman,’ she said softly, ‘Sit a while with me. Tell me how your search progresses.’

MacKenzie and Scougall sat opposite her. Cockburn stood, taciturn, at her side. Once she had settled herself, MacKenzie asked her what she thought had happened to Grissell.

‘I fear she killed herself to escape her fate. She desired to be reunited with Alexander. I have thought about the release of death many times.’

‘But you have not done so?’

‘I am too weak. I could not leave my…,’ she hesitated as if unsure what she should say, ‘… son.’

‘What family do you belong to Mrs Cockburn?’

‘My father was the Laird of Broadwood. I am a Hamilton. Our estates are to the north of Haddington.’

‘What is your father’s name?’

‘It was Andrew Hamilton.’

‘Ah, I remember him…’

‘He was taken by plague in 1670 – as was my mother.’

‘I am sorry.’

‘It was a long time ago. The grief diminishes.’

MacKenzie thought about his wife. He was still haunted by her death, although it was twenty years now. His grief came and went like the rain.

‘What is your view of Lady Girnington?’ he continued.

‘When I was a girl I was often a guest at Girnington House when the old laird was alive. He was a strange little man. Lillias always appeared unhappy. I think she felt she had been treated harshly. A glittering future destroyed before it had begun. Marriage to an old man can be difficult for a young woman to thole, especially a beautiful one like Lillias.’

‘Do you know what happened to her child?’

‘I am not sure, Mr MacKenzie. It may be nothing. When I was a girl I remember a child at Girnington, sometimes.’

‘A child belonging to Lady Girnington?’

‘No. A cousin of the family, a strange, malevolent boy. I was scared of him and kept away. I only remember seeing him a few times.’

‘Can you remember anything about him?’

‘I did not see him after I was about ten. There was one unusual thing. He did not have any hair.’

Scougall was baffled by the smile which appeared on MacKenzie’s face.