‘That, or a fight. Good. Something to liven up this dreary day,’ said Bryce, moving off towards the crowd.
Callum followed, but when they pushed through the crowd, there was no fight. Instead, they gazed down on a man sprawled on his belly, arms flopped out before him. A bystander was kneeling down, feeling his neck. Callum recognised him as Rory McNab, one of his tenant farmers.
‘Is the poor oaf drunk, McNab?’ said Callum. ‘Best get him inside afore he freezes in this weather.’
McNab rolled the man over and sat back on his heels to gasps from the crowd. ‘No. The poor bastard is gone,’ said McNab.
Callum stared down at the corpse with a hammering heart as shards of sleet pitter-patted against the man’s pale coat leaving dark, wet spots. They hit Ralph Hennaut’s chalk-white face and melted down to droplets on his still-warm skin. His wide, dead eyes stared at the grey sky as if surprised at his sudden, squalid end in the muck and puddles of Inverness.
Bryce leaned over. ‘What happened?’
‘I saw him cross the square, swaying like, and then he just keeled over,’ said McNab. ‘At first, I thought he was a ne’er do well in his cups. Didn’t think he was in his death throes. He went quick at least, barely a murmur out of him.’
‘What did he say?’ said Callum.
McNab shrugged. ‘All gone. That was all he said.’
‘Well, his troubles are behind him, and I trust he is in a better place now,’ said Callum, frowning at Bryce.
‘Aye, but his niece certainly isn’t. Tara is alone, penniless and with no protector, and that is not a good thing to be in the Highlands.’
Callum rose to his feet and grabbed McNab by the arm. ‘Get him inside out of the sleet, McNab,’ he whispered. ‘Give the man the dignity in death that he did not have in life,’ he added, unable to stem his bitterness at Ralph Hennaut. God may judge him for it, but he liked Ralph Hennaut no more in death than in life.
‘Let me pass. Let me through, I say,’ came an imperious voice. The Reverend Ezra Shaw burst through the crowd, stared at the corpse and crossed himself. ‘Upon my word! What is this?’ he said, holding a kerchief to his nose.
‘He’s dead,’ said Bryce. ‘We are taking him to the stables out of the sleet.’
‘Aye, aye, that is best. Was he set upon?’
‘No, he just keeled over and died,’ offered McNab.
‘Oh, Ralph, my friend.’ Ezra looked from Callum to Bryce and shook his head. ‘That a gentleman should end like this.’
Indeed, Ralph was in a sorry state. His grey hair was a tangle, his clothes food-stained and torn and dirty.
‘His trials and reversal of fortunes must have pressed on him most grievously and hastened his end,’ said Ezra.
‘Along with a surfeit of whisky and degeneracy,’ mumbled Callum, in no mood for Ezra’s preaching.
He did not hear. ‘A sad end to such a godly man. Oh, but what is to become of Tara? That poor wee lass is all alone at Braecaple. She must be told of this tragedy, for she has no one now. She is alone and defenceless up there in the wilds.’
‘I will go,’ said Callum quietly.
Ezra mumbled on. ‘Of course, we must extend our good Christian charity to the unfortunate young woman. I will bring her into my own home and let her have the consolation of my good wife’s counsel. Let her grieve for her uncle where she is safe.’
‘I will go,’ said Callum, more loudly.
Ezra carried on fussing like an old woman. ‘It will be dark soon, and the roads treacherous in this tempest, but it must be done. Aye. Perhaps I should make haste. Oh, but I must prepare my wife for she will be crushed at this news. And there is the corpse to be made decent. His niece cannot see him in this state. It will not do.’
‘I said I will go,’ repeated Callum, with more force.
Bryce shook his head and rolled his eyes.
Ezra gave Callum a dismissive look. ‘Why should you go? You are nothing to the family.’
Callum’s hands fisted at his sides. Could this fussy old man not get out of his way and let him do what must be done?
Bryce stepped forward. ‘We will both go and break the sad news and bring the lass back to your home as soon as may be Reverend. Best my friend and I go, as it is fearfully cold and wet, and I don’t like the look of those storm clouds.’