“Aye, but listen to me, Fiona. Three days ago a letter came for him, this one mailed, not left on a doorstep. It wasn’t like the others. It wasn’t accusing; in fact, it tried to defend you. It said that you couldn’t be—er—a fallen woman, that you’d never been wed and you’d borne no children of your own. The letter didn’t intend to cast doubts, it was meant to show the rumors and whispers were false. It went on to say that it wasn’t possible to produce the lad’s true mother, to prove these claims. She’d died after giving birth, and you’d taken the lad away, keeping him for yourself. The writer swore she didn’t know where you had buried the woman’s body and ended by saying your aunt had been told lies, she hadn’t taken any part in what was done.”

Fiona swallowed hard, the lump in her throat threatening to choke her. Keeping her voice steady by sheer effort of will, she asked, “Was this—this letter anonymous, like the rest of them? Or was it signed?”

“No. It claimed that the writer was fearful to speak out. She’d held her tongue for your aunt’s sake, knowing Ealasaid MacCallum had been told lies. And she’s afraid she might be brought up on charges now.”

Fiona caught her breath. “The address? Where did it come from?”

“There was a Glasgow postmark, but that’s not to say it was written by anyone living there. You’d only have to drop it in a post box, wouldn’t you? The writer might live in Lanark—Inverness—” He looked down at his boots, missing her expression, bent to touch the cat, then thought better of it. Straightening up again, he went on earnestly. “Mr. Elliot went to the Chief Constable. The Chief Constable is not a man who likes anonymous letters and innuendoes. He told Inspector Oliver to get to the bottom of it. Inspector Oliver has sent me to have a look around. Mind you, only to see if any work’s been done in the last few years. To see if any of the flagstones have been taken up or the walls repaired or the cellars changed.”

“No one has done work here—not since 1914, the start of the war. Peter, the old man who was my aunt’s handyman, can tell you no work’s been done—”

“He has that. Inspector Oliver asked him. And your neighbors as well. But it would have been a secret business, after all. You’d not have told Peter, would you, if a body was being hidden? Nor your aunt, just as the letter said.”