All the guests were no gathered in the drawing room - and while footmen brought more wine and coffee for those who wanted it, Davis was quietly playing laments, as he had been for the last half-hour or so.

Mabel Tawney had come trailing rather disconsolately into the drawing room some minutes after Davis entered it, lugging her recorder, which she deposited in an out-of-the-way corner. Apparently she didn't think it worth the trouble to set the machine up again to record a series of laments on the fiddle.

Then she secured herself a cup of coffee and an out-of-the-way chair. She'd never been at her best at formal parties, even ones that weren't disasters.

MacKenzie-Brown was talking to one side of the room to the Rector. The Rector was not heated, but he appeared to be attempting to make points forcefully.

After the fourth lament in a row, Adrian Quinn approached the fiddler. "I'm well aware that the new Laird has made this evening rather a trial for everybody, but I think that some of the tension might be eased if the music were to be a little happier. Might you be willing to play a jig or a reel, just to lighten the mood?"

"As you wish, sir," said Davis , and switched to more upbeat tunes that were commonly used to accompany murder ballads. The first was a South African tune he'd picked up from an ANZAC in hospital, a tune called "The Rochester Recruiting Sargeant", followed up with "The Bonny Earl of Murray".

Brian Shea had rejoined the group, and had been informed of the demise of his pet by his uncle. He was sitting in the window seat, his face averted from the rest of the company.

Suddenly MacKenzie-Brown turned and left the room abruptly, leaving the Rector gazing after him, bewildered.

Then the Reverend Andrew Roberts crossed the room and spoke to Selina where she sat on the sofa with Josette Bellesur.

"Your husband is feeling unwell. He told me to explain to you that he was going to bed - and he wished you to entertain his guests in his absence."

There was a slightly awkward tone in the Rector's voice; it suggested that this had not been a politely framed request, but rather more of a direct command.

Selina stood up, glass in hand, and smiled graciously. "Thank you, Reverend. Have you met Mademoiselle Bellesur? Josette, this is Reverend Roberts, and he's just perfectly charming. I'm sure the two of you will get on like a pair of ducks in spring. Excuse me, won't you?"

And she circulated about the room, doing her level best to smooth ruffled feathers.

It was about five to seven minutes later when there was suddenly a terrific banging noise from higher in the castle, audible over the conversation and the fiddle.

"Hello!" said Oswald Skeffington-Nottle in surpise. "I wonder what that was."

They were not to be left long in suspense.

The sound of panicked footsteps approached, came nearer - and then the door was flung open and Rendell stood there, ashen-faced.

"For God's sake ... come quickly, doctor! It's the Laird - I think he's dead!"

Adrian reacted quickly to these words, stepping outside to the staircase.

"Oh, no, that's just too pat," muttered Miss Tawney, caught between startlement and a profound unsurprise as she stared at the butler.

"Gods, not again..." Dr. Marsden said, looking rather pale. She looked over to where the Skeffington-Nottles were standing.

Will Campbell stared at Rendell in shock. "Take me to him." Fortunately, he had retained his medical bag after the incident with the serving girl. Aside, to the Reverend, he added, "Try and keep everyone here - and calm.

"Dr. Bannister, I might need some assistance." Without waiting for a reply to his requests, the doctor gestured for Rendell to lead him to MacKenzie-Brown.

Oswald and Lucinda had exchanged looks of horror. Then he patted her on the arm and moved towards the doctors. "Perhaps I might accompany you, sir. I ... ah ... I have some experience in these things."

"He's right," said the Rector. "He runs a detective agency. Knows all the procedures, I daresay."

"Well," said Oswald modestly, "one does one's best."

Although Dr. Bannister did not have his medical bag handy, he moved to follow Dr. Campbell. "I am with you." he said, letting go of Patience.

"It will be all right, dear." he told her, looking into her eyes before leaving to follow Will as best he could.

Selina's wineglass dropped from numb fingers and shattered, sending a spray of red across the floor. "Willie!" she gasped. "Oh, my God. Where's my -- where's Willie?"

Out of what seemed like nowhere he was suddenly at her side. "I'm right here, Selina." Carefully, he took her by the arm and guided her back to the sofa, seating her next to Josette. "Let's just stay here and let one of the doctors take a look at Douglas . The man said 'might be' dead..." He looked at her steadily. "You need to stay calm, Seelie."

"I'm not going to s-s-s-cream," Selina forced out. "I'm j-just sh-shaky, I think. Don't g-go anywhere, Willie." He couldn't if he wanted to; she had his hand in a deathgrip, though her shoulders were indeed trembling visibly.

"I won't," he assured her, then raised his voice slightly to ask, "Will somebody please get Mrs. MacKenzie-Brown a brandy?" He turned to smile slightly at Josette. "It's nice to see a familiar - and friendly - face at a time like this."

Josette stood, frowing in the face of tragedy, "Of course I will," she responded, placing a supportive hand on both Selina & Will's shoulder before going in search of the brandy.

She returned minutes later with two glasses...one that she handed to Selina & one to Will himself. "It's ghastly..." she whisperd to Will, "Don't let her leave the room until they've moved him."

"I won't," he assured her. He set his own brandy aside and urged Selina to drink hers. "It'll take the edge off. Just a few sips, you'll see."

Selina swallowed her brandy like bad-tasting medicine, then raised her eyes pitifully to Josette. "Is he -- is he really -- it doesn't seem possible!" Shock, mercifully for the assemblage, had driven out her liking for bizarre similes.

As her husband moved to accompany the doctors, Lucinda, keeping a watchful eye on the grouping on the sofa, moved to talk to the Rector and Sandra. Miss Tawney came over to join them, more out of a vague sense of being of the Rector's party than anything else.

"I think someone should talk to the butler as soon as possible," Lucinda said carefully. "Sometimes ... when someone dies suddenly ... it can be important to be as clear as possible what has happened."

"I'm not sure you'd get any sense out of him," Miss Tawney said a bit wryly, though in an undertone. "He seems to be the only one in the house -- maybe on the whole island -- who'd really be upset by MacKenzie-Brown's death."

Colin MacKenzie, meanwhile, had sunk down on one of the sofas and buried his head in his hands.

The brandy did its work quickly, leaving Selina flushed and unnaturally calm. She let go Will's hand and looked around the drawing room. "Mr. MacKenzie?" she called to Colin, in a jerky, deadened voice. "There will be -- so much -- to be done, and I'm sure -- there are ways to do it that I don't know anything about. The right ways." She took a breath that was almost a gasp. "Everything was all wrong tonight, wasn't it? I didn't mean for it to be. I don't want to do anything wrong any more. Will you help me do everything right? Please, will you?"

Colin rose to his feet without speaking and walked to the window, leaning his cheek against the stone that framed it and staring out into the winter night.

Despite the shock and the alcohol, Selina's eyes brimmed over and she began to tremble again. "That's right, isn't it?" she pleaded, her childlike misery plain. " Douglas didn't do things right, and now he's -- something happened -- it won't happen to me too, will it? Not me too! I'm -- I'm s-s-scared, Willie!" She buried her face in his shoulder and gave way to tears.

Will cradled her as she cried. "Shh..." he said softly. "It'll be all right... If Douglas dies, we'll take care of everything. It'll all be done the right way. There are people here, they'll know the ways, they'll help."

He looked at the group. "You will, won't you? Selina didn't mean for this all to go so badly. She really wanted to have a successful evening. She -we - neither of us wanted to offend anyone. We... just got here. And now..." He stroked at her curls. "We'll need your help."

Colin turned round from the window.

"This isn't a bloody house in the country that you bought because you fancied an big country house!" he said, his voice low but vibrant with anger. "This is Verrisay - the people who live here are my blood, my clan! You ... you 'just got here'. Well, Verrisay is in my bones, in my blood. Fifteen generations of my ancestors are buried in the church and churchyard. I'm kin to most of the island ... And you think you can take over the island on the basis that your sister spent three months married to Douglas ?"

Will let go of Selina as carefully as possible and stood up.

Selina, sniffling, huddled into the sofa-back as if she could hide there, her face turned away from the room.

"This isn't a power play," said Will. "In case you haven't noticed, my sister is in shock. And yes, it was only a three month marriage, but a marriage nonetheless. She is his wife. As for Verrisay, we don't want it. We didn't come here for an island, or to take the villagers as our... vassals. If Douglas is dead, his widow has to bury him. That's Selina. All I was saying was... she'll want to do it right, in accordance with your traditions, your rites. Which we don't know very well. I - we - we're trying to be nice here. What the hell is your problem?"

Patience Bannister remained in the room when David had left to look at the laird. She hovered for a moment, simply watching as people moved about, listening to the conversations. She took a step towards Selina, instinctively drawn to help, then stopped as the young woman was surrounded by others.

She winced at Colin's outburst, wincing again at Will's response. "Grief makes a man angry... and fear for a way of life," she says softly. "It is never easy for those who have always been in a place to accept change from those who are new... and now... there is grief and fear on top of the change. It is enough to make anyone bite."

"Spare us the moral platitudes," Sandra snapped. "There's a man dead. A man who in a very short period of time managed to antagonize most of this island. He threatened the very livelihoods and homes of the locals, abused his wife, abused his title, not to mention probably destroyed several important dig sites..."

Dr. Marsden shook her head. "This is a bloody mess, isn't it? Mr. St. Pierre? Selina? I think it would be appropriate to ask Colin to step in as the acting Laird until the legal mess is straightened out, yes?" she asked, giving them a firm look.

Selina turned her tearstained face back toward the room, raising one hand as if to shield herself from more anger. "Well, y-y-yes," she whispered forlornly. "C-c-can you talk him into it, Dr. Marsden? He'll only get madder if Willie and I ask him to. And if he gets m-m-mad, they'll turn us out, or h-h-hurt us. I d-don't know anybody here, hardly; Douglas never let me invite anyone."

"There, there, Selina," Josette tried to soothe her, "No one is going to hurt you."

To the room in general Josette suggested, "I think she should be put to bed. Perhaps one of the doctors could give her a sedative? She's had a terrible shock and is quite unnnerved."

"That seems like a very good idea," said the Rector warmly. "I'll go and speak to them."

He rose and left the room.

Rendell led the Doctors, Davis and Oswald to the staircase between the drawing room and the dining room. It was broad, and had two flights, set at right angles. It was half down, where one flight met the other on a broader platform, that Mackenzie-Brown was lying, as though he had been thrown against the wall with some considerable force.

Davis had followed the group, emotionless.

"We think he must have got to the top of the stairs and then fallen," said one of the footmen respectfully.

With some force, it appeared, for his neck was broken.

There was also a trace of vomit on his chin.

But that was not the strangest aspect of his death. Instead of being limp, as one would expect in a man newly dead, MacKenzie-Brown's body was stiff and rigid - as though rigor mortis had set in. And yet the body was still warm - death, it seemed, had come very recently (and doubtless it was his fall down the stairs that disturbed them in the drawing room).

Dr. Campbell checked for a pulse. Finding no sign, he shook his head. "Everyone please stay back." He requested of anyone pressing too close, excepting Bannister.

Oswald stood back, observing quietly. Rendell was staying well away, at the foot of the stairs. The young footman, Ewan MacKenzie, obliging moved from where he had been guarding the body, to a position close to his third cousin, Davis. The young man looked a little green.

Campbell tried to conduct a brief examination on the stairs, noted the position of MacKenzie-Brown's body in his notepad, and asked, "Can someone help me move him to one of the bedrooms? He can't remain here."

From his examination, it would seem that MacKenzie-Brown must have started to fall from near the top of the stairs. For some reason he had made no attempt to break his fall or slow himself as he fell, with the result that his falling body had - unprotected - his the wall with sufficient force to break his neck.

Davis stepped forward. He had carried corpses before, and he could again. "Sir," he said to the Doctor, and waited for further instruction.

"Grab his feet," said the doctor. "We'll move him to one of the guest rooms so as to not disturb his wife."

"I'll help as well." Though Quinn's experience with the dead was less recent, given the medals on Davis ' jacket from the Great War, he was still capable of lending assistance. Anyway, as the nearest blood kin present, it was probably his duty.

"Perhaps a couple of using should check the stairs first," suggested Oswald. "Before we carry him up. It case there was anything at the top that caused him to fall ... something someone had dropped ...

"Or string ... tied across."

"I might be the best-qualified person for that job here," Quinn volunteered. "I think I've spent more time here than anybody except Colin, having visited on several occasions before Douglas left for America . Better ideas where to look and whatnot. Besides, I have some drawing supplied back in my room - a record of the scene is useful, according to Mr. Conan Doyle. Or should I instead go downstairs to alert the other guests to what has happened and request that nobody leave?"

He paused, then directed his next statement to Mr. Skeffington-Nottle. "If you'll tell me how I can be most useful, I shall do my best to accomplish it."

"I think speed is of the essence," said Oswald. "At the same trime, I think we ought to move in pairs, to verify each other's movements. How about you and I pop up the stairs, have a preliminary decko to see what's there, and then go and get your drawing supplies while they finish carrying the body up, so that we can make sketches of whatever we find?"

"If that's what you think best. My room is just past the top of the staircase, so either order is equally convenient." He closed his eyes briefly to recall a detail. "The door into Douglas ' room is a straight shot from the top of the stairs. I suppose we should look there, too."

"That seems like a good idea," agreed Oswald.

The Rector spoke to Adrian on his way up the stairs.

"Is he dead indeed?" he asked.

He shook his head. "I am sorry for your loss," he said, "but I am afraid not many here on Verrisay will grieve."

"So it appears. Then again, if the way he's been treating the islanders is any indication, I'm not certain that anybody will grieve besides Aunt Cassandra."

Adrian and Oswald went up the stairs together, not without caution, while the rest of the party were organising to carry MacKenzie-Brown's body. There was carpet down on the stairs ...

"Which suggests that no-one would have bothered to grease the top step, which is something," said Oswald. As they neared to top step he knelt and began to examine the balustrade and the bannisters very carefully, using a small torch which he pulled from his pocket. "Nor sign of any rope of string tired there," he said thoughtfully. "If there were, whoever removed to would have had to have acted fast - and there might be some traces left behind. Besides ... this wood is quite soft, don't you know? If something had been tied around, and then a heavy weight like MacKenzie-Brown had fallen against it, I think it would have gouged a mark in the wood. But ... no mark. Whatever caused him to fall, I don't think it was that."

They climbed the remaining stairs now and saw a small pool of vomit near the top on the landing.

"So - a working hypothesis," said Adrian . "He was poisoned, probably by something that he alone ate or drank, but that took some time to act. The pile of vomit suggests that he died somewhere near the top of the stairs, and fell thereafter. Except - don't people fall onto their faces when they lose consciousness?"

"Generally speaking," agreed Oswald. "If it was the poison that killed him. But to my mind, the strange rigidity suggests he wasn't dead when he fell down the stairs. I think that whatever poisoned him caused him to vomit - but also gave him convulsions, when all his muscles went into spasm. It would be easy enough to fall down the stairs in that state - and he'd be unable to reach out and stop his fall. I wouldn't be surprised if the actual cause of death was a broken neck from the fall ...

"But if the poison was strong enough to send him into convulsions, it may well have been strong enough to kill him ... eventually."

"Then the next trick will be to identify the poisoned food or drink. The punch bowls have been communal; going for those would be too risky. Ditto the food in the library. That doesn't leave many options, but I wasn't around Douglas enough tonight to be able to enumerate the possibilities."

"The poison could have been administered when the lights were put out. The brandy was poured on the pudding in the dark, if memory serves. The murderer could simply have poured poison into MacKenzie-Brown's drink. The noise of the liquor being poured out would have covered any other liquids being poured." Oswald pointed out. (OOC - Campbell was in another room)

"Did he have a drink in hand at the time? I can't recall for certain, though he'd been drinking fairly heavily all evening. Let's assume that he was poisoned then, though - that means we're looking at something that takes about an hour to act, I think. Any ideas what that might be and still produce the symptoms he showed?"

Oswald was unsure.

With the door to the Laird's bedroom in sight, Mr. Quinn made a mental note of the location of the vomit and stepped carefully around it in the direction of his room, and the supplies located therein.

Oswald accompanied him, and waited politely while he collected his supplies. The sounds of heavy feet on the stairs suggested they were bringing the body upstairs.

Campbell grabbed the late Laird under his arms and began the trek upstairs with Davis ' assistance, to the Print Room to lay the body on the bed.

Once there, the doctor conducted a more thorough examination. " Davis , someone needs to contact the constable." He added.

"Excuse me, Sir," put in Ewan, the young footman - who had looked considerably relieved at =not= having to help carry the body, "but the Constable is away to his sister's for Christmas and won't be back until the ferry starts up again."

Dr. Campbell frowned. "It appears that we'll have to conduct ourselves as best we are able then, until the authorities can arrive. Ewan, make sure nothing on the stairwell where his lordship ... fell ... is disturbed. Stand yourself there if you must. It will be up to her ladyship if she wants that private detective, Skeffington-Nottle, to look about."

Oswald, who had quietly stationed himself in a corner of the room where he could observe without being obtrusive, said nothing.

Doctor Campbell proceeded to scribe his observations in his medical notebook.

Cursing himself for not having it on him, David Bannister relied on his own memory, examining the body, watching Dr. Campbell's own observations. In cases like these, two heads could be far better than one.

The dead man had dilated pupils, and pale skin with a slightly blue tinge around the face and neck, both of which were slightly swollen. He clearly vomited, but it was hard to detect of symptoms of poisoning - if that was what it was - without an analysis of stomach contents.

The rigor was strange, but could be explained if he were paralysed when he fell, or having certain types of convulsion (clonic spasms). It was starting to wear off already, suggesting that it was not rigor mortis (which would have taken longer both to set in and to wear off).

"I can try to get word passed via the wireless, but I can make nae promises tha' 'twill work. If I micht mak' a suggestion, sir, yoursel', Captain Warren, and Captain Sir Colin may want to take the authority role until the propery authorities could arrive."

"Harummph." Will Campbell nodded as he concluded his entry in his notebook. "I'm not sure about that, lad. Not sure at all." He looked extremely worried.

Davis nodded. "Sir," he said, his tone suggesting that he was, but was not
going to argue with the doctor. If the term 'lad' from a man of his own age who had known him all his life was disconcerting, he did not let it show.

"It's started to snow again," said Ewan MacKnezie. "Coming down a blizzard it is, Davis . There'll be no going home in this, I'm thinking."

Davis leaned in closer to Campbell . "Dr. Campbell, there is, somewhere in this castle, if nae in the pockets of these verra clothes, a treasure that rightly belongs tae the crown. And there are those in this castle that are nae to be trusted. If 'tis on his person, should it not be gi'en tae Dr. Marsden o' the British Museum for safekeeping?"

"Let us make certain its here." Campbell proceeded to pat down the Laird's body to search for the Verrisay Cross.

A search of his pockets revealed no cross. The last time anyone could remember seeing it was on the blue velvet cushion, which had been left in the library.

Just then there came a knock at the door. When opened, it revealed the Reverend Andrew Roberts.

"I don't want to interefere here," he said, "but Mrs MacKenzie-Brown is very distressed. Her friend suggested that she might be given a sedative and put to bed ... I'd be very grateful if one of you could look at her."

"Certainly, Reverend. I'd like you to be there as well; I'll want you to break the news to her that MacKenzie-Brown is, in fact, dead." Cambbell offered.

"Have you learned how he died yet? Was it a fall? What a terrible accident!"

"It was no accident, Rector," Campbell said solemnly. "Douglas MacKenzie-Brown was murdered."

David Bannister nodded glumly in agreement. "All the signs point to it. We have a murderer in the Castle, one brazen and bold enough to do it in front of witnesses."

"The fall did not kill him." he said. "But I don't think we should say more just yet about this." the Missionary Doctor added, looking at Campbell .

Campbell agreed. "The less said about the facts of MacKenzie-Brown's death, the better. Though with the constable absent, we need to ascertain facts. First, we'll need to see to Mrs. MacKenzie-Brown. After that, we should speak with Sir Colin and then Rendell, assuming that Sir Colin and Mrs. MacKenzie-Brown approve an investigation into this matter."

He didn't add his own afterthought - both were obvious suspects in the murder...

" Davis , please see if Captain Warren will retrieve the cross and take it into his custody temporarily." Dr. Campbell requested, reasoning, 'If we canna trust a VC receipient, we canna trust anyone.'

Davis looked uncomfortable. "Your pardon, sirs. I'll go run that errand, Doctor Campbell."

He nodded politely to the rector and the doctors and left the room.

End of Chapter 7

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