Bury Her Deep by Catriona McPherson Page A

said. ‘I certainly don’t believe that he’s  . . . I think either he’s real or it’s an absolute figment of everyone’s imagination. I don’t believe the other thing.’ She was growing quite agitated as she spoke and I could guess why. She did not want to keep me in ignorance but she just simply could not spit it out. It was up to me to say it and then she would agree.
    ‘You don’t believe,’ I said gently, ‘that it’s real but he’s not? Is that what you mean?’
    ‘Exactly,’ said Lorna with enormous relief. ‘I don’t believe that for a second.’
    ‘But why does anyone?’ I said. ‘I’m sure that if the same thing happened at Gilverton no one would even dream of such a thing. Why should Luckenlaw be any different? Why?’
    Lorna was silent for a long time and we were almost back at the village before she spoke again.
    ‘You’d better ask my father, Mrs Gilver. I’m sorry this has come up to spoil your visit and I hope, if you find out, that it won’t stop you from coming back to the meeting next time but if you really do want to know, you had better ask my father. He can explain it all so much better than me.’

6
     
    Accordingly, Lorna withdrew herself from the luncheon table as soon as she politely could, with talk of jelly-making and a young kitchen maid who could not be trusted to scald the jars.
    ‘The crab-apple from last week is cloudy already,’ she said, ‘and we’re starting this afternoon on the damsons.’
    ‘Ah,’ I said. ‘Well, you must certainly hurry along then. Crab apples are one thing  . . .’ Actually I cared not a hoot for either the lowly crab apples or the precious damsons – one visit to the SWRI had not made quite so much of a mark as all that – but I recognised my cue.
    ‘Dear Lorna,’ said Mr Tait once the door had shut behind her. ‘This is far from the life she thought would be hers but never a word of complaint.’
    ‘She did mention something,’ I murmured. ‘But,’ I went on heartily, ‘she seems very happy as you say. Good friends all around her. I hear the Howies are giving a birthday party for her soon.’ Mr Tait threatened to frown but managed not to.
    ‘Indeed,’ he said. ‘You must make sure and come along.’
    ‘Now, Mr Tait,’ I said and I may even have sounded a little stern. I certainly felt a little stern. ‘I have had a number of rather peculiar conversations this morning. The meeting with Mrs Hemingborough you know about already, but also at Luckenlaw House and again talking to Lorna I get the distinct feeling that there is rather more going on here than you told me.’
    ‘My dear Mrs Gilver,’ said Mr Tait. ‘I assure you that I’ve told you all I know.’ And yet there was a teasing quality in his voice which invited me to keep trying even as his words told me there was nothing to learn.
    ‘Can you explain then,’ I persisted, ‘why it should be that everyone – no, not everyone; but some – are so ready to believe what seems to me quite unbelievable? That this dark stranger is not real.’
    ‘But you knew that from the outset,’ Mr Tait insisted. ‘I told you.’
    This was true but when we had discussed the matter in my sitting room that day, we had entertained two solutions to the trouble at Luckenlaw. Now, as Lorna had struggled to relate, there seemed to be a troubling third.
    ‘It’s more than that,’ I said. ‘I don’t mean that the women are imagining a man, or making a man up out of mischief. I’m referring to the idea – and the Howies talked about it quite matter-of-factly; even Lorna concedes it – that this dark stranger is  . . . very much of the darkness and rather more than strange?’
    ‘Is that what they’re saying?’ said Mr Tait. ‘I see.’
    ‘Yes, but why?’ I demanded, my voice rising. ‘ Why do you see? I don’t. And what do you see?’
    ‘It’s all nonsense of course,’ he said, ‘but it’s the kind of nonsense that can easily take root even in the most