What Will Burn by James Oswald (ebook reader web .txt) 📕

‘It’s nothing. Just got a bit too close to the fire.’ He took Emma’s hands in his, as much to stop her fussing over him as anything, then turned to greet the rest of the group. Madame Rose and Izzy sat side by side on the sofa, and McLean was surprised to see Mirriam Downham in his favourite armchair. Huddled a little too close to each other on the smaller sofa sat Manda Parsons and a rather embarrassed-looking Detective Sergeant Harrison.

‘Anything left in that pot?’ he asked. ‘Or should I be looking for something stronger?’

‘Here, let me. You sit down.’ Emma directed him to the only empty armchair, then set to fetching him a mug of tea. McLean did as he was told, glad to get the weight off his feet, although when he had his mug and noticed Emma had nowhere to sit, he almost got up again. She squeezed in beside Madame Rose and Izzy before he could muster the energy to move.

‘Well I can’t say this isn’t pleasant,’ he said, once he’d had a slurp of tepid, tannic tea. ‘But I’m a detective, and there are far too many clues here for me to think this is purely a social visit.’

‘You can blame me for bringing Rose and Isobel.’ Mirriam Downham leaned forward in her seat, the better to be seen. ‘I’m sorry we interrupted your reunion. We won’t stay long.’

‘Has anyone spoken to you about Cecily Slater’s will?’ McLean asked.

‘Indeed they have. I had a call from a rather nervous lawyer early this morning, and another from young Janie here this afternoon. I thought it only polite to come and thank you in person.’

McLean wanted to say he’d just been doing his job, but he stopped himself at the last moment. He could hear his grandmother chiding him from beyond the grave. Accept the compliment; don’t downplay it.

‘I suspect there’ll be a fair few more lawyers in the coming months,’ he said.

‘Of course. There always are. I don’t imagine young Reginald will give up without a fight, but I’ve been besting the Bairnfather lords for many years now.’

‘I’m sorry we can’t pin her murder on him too. It might have been Fielding and his band of zealots who did the deed, but he’s every bit as guilty.’

Doctor Downham tilted her head in partial agreement. ‘Sissy had her justice, in the end. I think we both know that.’

McLean opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted as the two cats sauntered into the room. Mrs McCutcheon’s cat sniffed at the tray with the tea things on it, ever hopeful there might have been tuna sandwiches to steal, then stalked off and curled herself down in front of the fire. The other cat, most probably Cecily Slater’s, but also possibly some random stray that knew a good thing when it saw one, stood in the space between the sofas and armchairs, the tip of her tail twitching at full mast. She raised her head, turning it slowly this way and that as if sniffing the air, searching for something. Then she leaped gracefully into DS Harrison’s lap, purring a deep, low rumble and butting her head against the detective sergeant’s startled hand.

‘I . . . ah . . . I’m a wee bit allergic to cats?’ she said, her voice rising at the end of the sentence as if even she weren’t entirely sure. She picked up the animal gingerly, her lack of experience as obvious as her fear of getting scratched, and placed it back on the floor. It cocked a quizzical head at her, then sauntered off to join Mrs McCutcheon’s cat on the rug in front of the fire.

‘Interesting,’ Downham said, in a manner that reminded McLean of one of his old psychology professors. Then she slapped her long, thin hands down on the arms of the chair and levered herself upright. ‘But we’ve taken enough of your time here, Detective Inspector. My thanks again. Should you ever need it, you will find a welcome at Burntwoods. Now we must leave. Come, Rose, Isobel.’

‘We should probably be going too. Let you and Em catch up, aye?’ Harrison stood up swiftly, Manda Parsons taking a little more time. McLean hadn’t even finished his tea, but given how it tasted that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

‘You want me to call a taxi?’ he asked, but no sooner were the words out than he heard the crunch of car tyres on gravel outside.

Madame Rose gave him a conspiratorial wink and patted him on the arm. ‘We’ll be fine, Tony. Just leave you two to get reacquainted.’

In moments they were gone; three in a taxi heading for Leith, two on foot walking towards Bruntsfield. McLean closed the door and let out a long breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. He crossed the hall and went back into the library, where Emma had curled herself up on the sofa at the end closest to the fire. Cecily Slater’s cat lay in her lap, purring contentedly as she stroked its head.

‘Found a new friend, I see,’ he said, as he went to the hidden cupboard and helped himself to a stiff dram. Anything to take away the taste of tannin. He held up the bottle for Emma to see. ‘Want one yourself?’

She shook her head, patted the cushion beside her. ‘Sit down, Tony. Before you fall down.’

He did as he was told, not realising quite how worn out he was until he was finally able to relax. Emma leaned in and they sat there together for a while, silent save for the sound of gentle purring. McLean felt like he could have sat there for hours, enjoying that one small moment of peace. But nothing lasts for ever, and too soon Emma sat up a little straighter, pulled away far enough that she could face him.

‘Right then, Anthony McLean. Are you going to tell me just what you’ve been doing with my car?’

63

The darkness is soothing,