Highland Heiress - By Margaret Moore Page 0,48

overheard them talking,” Gordon went on, wanting to tell the constable everything he could remember while the memories were relatively fresh. “They’d been paid to set fire to the school.”

“Paid?” Lady Moira repeated incredulously. “By whom?”

How he wished he had an answer to that, so that they could find whoever was responsible and stop him, and keep her safe! “I’m sorry. I don’t know.”

“Paid, eh? Well, that’s a different sort of bagpipe,” the constable mused aloud. “That makes it likely they weren’t from around here at all. No wonder nobody recognized him.”

“You’ve captured one of them?” Lady Moira asked eagerly.

Gordon had asked enough questions himself in his legal practice to recognize when somebody had revealed more than they meant to, and the constable had just done so.

Nevertheless, he answered Lady Moira. “Aye, we’ve got one o’ ’em. The Yorkshireman, by the sounds of it.”

Gordon also had enough experience to recognize when a person was only revealing a part of the truth. “Who is he?”

“We still don’t know.”

“I think that’s just about enough questions for now,” Mrs. McAlvey said. “The man needs his rest.”

“Just a few more,” the constable replied, his tone as decisive as hers. “Mr. McHeath, during this struggle, did you have a weapon of any kind?”

“No.”

“Did you take one of theirs, or pick up a stick?”

“No.”

“What would it matter if he had?” Lady Moira demanded. “Surely he had a right to defend himself.”

“Aye, so he did—and so he did.”

Gordon’s head was throbbing now, and it was difficult to make sense of what the man was saying. “What do you mean?”

“The man we found—he’s dead.”

Chapter Thirteen

“Dead?” Moira gasped, while Mr. McHeath blinked like a man who’d been submersed in water. “How?”

“Hit on the head from behind, looks like,” the constable replied.

“That’d do it,” Mrs. McAlvey grimly agreed.

“And you think…you think I killed him?” Mr. McHeath asked.

Then his eyes rolled back.

“That’s enough, Mr. McCrutcheon!” Moira cried as Mrs. McAlvey rushed to the bedside and immediately felt Mr. McHeath’s forehead.

Mr. McHeath’s eyes opened again and he started to speak—but whatever he had to say could wait.

“You’ve answered enough questions today, Mr. McHeath,” Moira said firmly before she turned to the constable. “Come along, sir.”

“I appreciate you’re upset, my lady,” Mr. McCrutcheon said as he followed her from the room, “but these questions have to be asked.”

“Not now, not if they cause a serious setback for Mr. McHeath,” she replied.

“How do you know it was Mr. McHeath who hurt the man?” she asked as they went down the stairs. “Perhaps the vandal injured himself running away.”

The constable shook his head when they reached the foyer. “I doubt it. The doctor will have to take a look to say for certain, but it looks like he was hit from behind with something heavy—a shovel handle or piece of wood, perhaps.”

“Even if Mr. McHeath killed that man, surely no court would consider him guilty of murder or even manslaughter,” Moira said, facing the man who was also the village undertaker. His arrival had given her another shock, until she’d remembered that. “Whatever happened, he was attacked by men committing a crime and he had no weapon with him, so it was clearly self-defence.”

The constable looked as if he’d rather be anywhere else. “I’m not saying it wasn’t, my lady, and I’d expect a man like Mr. McHeath to put up a fight, but there’ll still have to be an inquest when he’s well enough to give evidence.”

At least the constable was willing to be reasonable, and so, therefore, was she. “I’m sure he’ll be glad to testify eventually,” she said in a more serene manner. “What about those other men he described? Have you found any trace of them?”

“Not yet, but if they’re still around Dunbrachie, we will,” Mr. McCrutcheon answered staunchly.

They wouldn’t if they’d already fled, and if they’d done what they’d been paid to do, she doubted they would stay in the vicinity. Or they might, if they’d been paid to make more mischief.

It was all getting to be too much. Mr. McHeath attacked, her school burned down, Robbie suing her, her father… “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. McCrutcheon, I’d like to rest.”

“Aye, my lady, it’s been a long night and day for you, I’m sure. There’s just one question I need to ask you. Can you think of anyone who would pay to have your school burned down?”

She had already dismissed Big Jack MacKracken because that fire could have endangered the rest of Dunbrachie. Now she was sure he couldn’t be