Crowned and Dangerous (A Royal Spyness Mystery)

by Rhys Bowen

  “Of course. I quite understand,” Darcy said. “Three children already. Fancy that.”

  “You’ve been slacking, I can see.” Paddy laughed. “You’ve got some catching up to do.” Then he held up a finger. “Wait a minute. I know where you’d find a vehicle. I saw your uncle Dooley the other day and he was being driven by their old butler and he said they had to give the motorcar an airing occasionally as they hardly got out anymore.”

  “Uncle Dooley. Brilliant. Why didn’t I think of that! I suppose we could walk to their place but the weather is not exactly inviting at the moment.”

  “I can take you over there myself if you don’t mind waiting while I complete my errands,” Paddy said. “I need to pick up a sack of chicken feed and some fence wire, then I’m going past Mountjoy.”

  “That would be marvelous,” Darcy said and I noticed his voice had started to have an Irish lilt to it. “You live out that way yourself now, do you?”

  “I do. I’ve taken over the small holding my grandfather used to have. Nothing much but we’ve a few cows and chickens and we grow barley.”

  “But weren’t you working at the stables before?”

  “I was until it was taken over. When I questioned the way something was being done Mr. Roach told me to get out. Can’t say I was sorry to leave either. I didn’t like the feel of things there anymore.”

  Darcy looked at him sharply. “You didn’t like the way things were being done?” he said. “Do you think Mr. Roach knew about the horse doping?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t order it himself,” Paddy said. “Where would your father know how to get his hands on the latest drugs? And your father cared about those horses. You know he did. He’d never have risked one of them dying just to win a race.”

  “Interesting.” Darcy nodded. “And you’re right. The only thing my father has shown affection for in recent years has been his horses. And yet Roach publicly blamed him for that dead horse at the racetrack. And sacked him from being a trainer at what used to be his own stable. The ultimate insult and injury, wouldn’t you say? Unfortunately it only provides another nail in his coffin, doesn’t it?”

  Paddy looked confused then said, “Oh, you mean another reason to want to kill Roach? Yes, I have to confess, it doesn’t look good for him. Well, we’re behind him here, no matter what.” He touched Darcy’s arm. “The van is parked outside the butcher’s. If you and the young lady want to get in, we’ll drive over to the farm shop.”

  “Georgie needs to pick up her suitcase from your mother first,” Darcy said. “You drive over and we’ll catch up with you.”

  “Go ahead of me just in case that woman reporter is lurking inside,” I whispered to Darcy. He nodded. I hung back in the shadows. But before we reached the door Mrs. Murphy herself came out. She beamed when she saw Darcy. “Well, this is a treat, I must say. You’re looking fine, Mr. Darcy. And you must have bumped into our Paddy. They are expecting their third this week.”

  “So we heard,” Darcy said. “We’ve come to pick up this young lady’s suitcase you were kind enough to look after.”

  “Oh, right you are, Mr. Darcy. I’ll just fetch it.”

  Mrs. Murphy eyed me inquiringly as she came out with the suitcase. “I didn’t realize this young lady was a friend of yours, Mr. Darcy.”

  “Yes, I’m part of his London set,” I said, again in my best “bright young thing” voice. “I was in Dublin and heard he was here so I had to stop by to say hello.”

  Mrs. Murphy looked down at the suitcase as if trying to work out why I’d be lugging a suitcase from Dublin if saying hello was all I wanted to do.

  “We should be going,” Darcy said. “Your Paddy is giving us a lift.”

  “We’re really sorry about your father, Mr. Darcy,” she said. “It must be awful hard on you.”

  Darcy nodded. Tried to find something to say, but couldn’t. Then he picked up my suitcase and turned away.

  As we walked down the village street I said, “You have an uncle and aunt living nearby?”

  “Great-uncle and great-aunt,” he said. “Uncle Dooley and Aunt Oona. She’s my father’s aunt. She lives in the old family manor house on the other side of the village. They’re both completely batty, of course. And they haven’t spoken to my father for years.”

  “Why not?”

  “There was a falling-out ages ago because my father killed their dog.”

  “He killed their dog?” My voice must have sounded shrill. I couldn’t help thinking that Darcy’s father had a history of killing things.

  “Not on purpose, you understand. The stupid dog used to like to lie on the driveway at night. It was a black dog and my father simply didn’t see it. He was actually quite upset about it but my father is not good at saying what he feels. When he wants to hide emotion he makes a joke of it. So he made some kind of flippant remark about the dog being old and smelly and saving them the trouble of putting it down. But Oona adored that animal and has never spoken to him since.”

  “How sad.”

  “Irish families tend to make this kind of drama,” he said. “Be forewarned.”

  I felt a small jolt of happiness at that remark because it indicated he was still thinking of a possible future for us together.

  “So, Darcy,” I said, voicing something that had always confused me, “you’re Irish and yet you seem to work for the English government from time to time. How is that possible?”

  He smiled. “As you know, my mother was English. I was educated in England. I saw myself as British. And when Ireland became a republic I opted to retain my English passport, much to my father’s annoyance. So we’ve been on opposite sides for some time now.”

  “At least I won’t be marrying a foreigner as well as a Catholic,” I said, half jokingly.

  He gave me a warning frown. “We can’t talk of marriage, Georgie. Not here. Not at all. We can’t afford to forget for a minute why we’re here.”

  Then he set off, walking briskly ahead of me with the suitcase.

  Chapter 14

  MONDAY , DECEMBER 3

  AT MOUNTJOY , H OME OF SIR DOOLEY AN D LADY WHYTE .

  I’m feeling a little better. In spite of the chaos, I think I might feel safe here.

  It took a while to reach Great-Aunt Oona and Great-Uncle Dooley’s house. I was squashed between Paddy and Darcy into the middle of the front seat of Paddy’s rickety van while Paddy completed his errands, then we bumped and lurched along the road out of the village until I began to feel quite sick. I realized then that I had spent the night being tossed around on the high seas and had hardly slept at all. And here I was, being tossed about in another vehicle. Darcy and Paddy chatted across me about old times, pranks they had played, gossip about fellow villagers.

  “Well, it was quite obvious she was in the family way,” Paddy said and Darcy laughed.

  “And did he do the right thing?” Darcy asked his old friend.

  I sneaked a glance at him. This was a side of Darcy I hadn’t seen before. Not the sophisticated member of high society, but the local boy, coming home to his roots. They seemed to have forgotten I was in the car with them and I stared ahead as the last of the houses gave way to rolling countryside. The lane had high banks on either side, topped with hedgerows, and we dropped down a steep hill to a bridge over a stream. With all this rain the water was frothing and tumbling over rocks. I was more than glad when we turned into a long straight driveway, just wide enough for the vehicle with ditches on either side.

  “Not the sort of place you’d want to drive back to after a night at the pub,” Paddy commented.

  “I think Dooley had to be towed out often enough in his younger days,” Darcy said.

  Ahead of us a large ramshackle stone building came into view. It looked as if it had been added to over the centuries in various periods and various styles—a gabled roof here, an octagonal turret there.

  “There it is: Mountjoy,” Darcy said.

  To me it seemed
oddly named, neither on a mountain nor particularly joyful. In fact the land around it was flat and on this day the house itself presented a gloomy picture with its narrow windows and rain-slicked roof tiles. Chickens scattered as we drove onto the forecourt. A pack of dogs rushed out barking and started jumping up around the van. Then an enormous woman appeared in the doorway, staring at us, hands on hips.

  “Get down, get away, you dreadful curs,” she shouted in a booming voice to match her bulk. “Come over here, do you hear?”

  The dogs were still jumping up, barking, but I noticed the tails were wagging.

  “You’re all hopeless, hopeless,” she went on, clapping her hands now. “One word from me and they do exactly as they please. No discipline at all.”

  Paddy opened the driver’s side door and the dogs surrounded him as he stepped down.

  “Oh, it’s you, Paddy,” she said. “And what brings you here, I’d like to know—not just coming on a friendly call to see if the old folks have snuffed it yet? You’re not delivering something, are you? I don’t remember ordering anything and we’ve certainly no money to pay you.”

  “Delivering somebody, Lady Whyte,” Paddy said as Darcy opened the door and stepped out.

  I hadn’t been sure if this was Aunt Oona or maybe her housekeeper, but the moment she saw Darcy she opened her arms. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Would you look here,” she exclaimed. “What a nice surprise. I began to think you’d completely forgotten about your old aunt and uncle. Or were you staying away out of loyalty to that fatheaded father of yours?”

  “How are you, Aunt Oona?” Darcy said, stepping forward to be smothered in a giant embrace. “I haven’t deliberately stayed away. I’ve just had things to do that kept me occupied in England. I’m glad to see you looking so well.”

  “I’m surviving, thank you. Could be worse,” she said. “Dooley gets the odd twinge of rheumatics, but all in all I’d say we’ll stick around for a while yet. Especially since you’re to inherit this property someday. I’m not leaving this earth without a darned good fight, you know.” And she gave a deep-throated laugh.

  I had hesitated to climb down behind Darcy, waiting to see how he wanted to introduce me, or even if he wanted to introduce me. But Aunt Oona looked over his shoulder. “And who might this be, Darcy? Not a young bride you’ve kept secret from your family?”

  “Just one of my friends from London. She came out from Dublin to see how I was faring,” Darcy said. “Her name is Georgie.”

  I stepped forward to shake hands. “How do you do?” I said.

  “Well, Miss Georgie with no apparent last name, you’re very welcome at this house of horrors,” she said, pumping my hand and laughing. Her hair was iron gray and drawn back into a bun at the back of her head, but her face was unlined and her eyes were bright blue. It was hard to tell how old she was. I noticed now that she was wearing a coarse apron over various bright and mismatched layers of clothing and she had a beaded jet scarf draped at her neck. Although she was large she was certainly not flabby. Statuesque might be a better description.

  “Well, don’t just stand there,” she said. “Come in, do. And don’t mind the dogs. They’re completely untrained and untrainable but they don’t have a mean bone in their bodies. If a burglar ever came they might lick him to death. Not that a burglar would ever bother with us. What have we got worth stealing?”

  She had released my hand and started toward the house.

  “I should be getting along,” Paddy said. “I have things to do at home and I don’t like leaving Maureen for too long.”

  “Of course. Thank you for the ride,” Darcy said.

  “You’ll be all right if I leave you here, then?”

  “We’ll sort something out,” Darcy said as Paddy unloaded my suitcase from the back of the van. “Let’s try and meet up at the Harp sometime and do some real catching up.”

  “We’ll do that. Grand idea,” Paddy said. “Glad to see you’re hale and hearty, Lady Whyte. My best to Sir Dooley.”

  “And my best wishes to your wife for a successful delivery,” she called as he went around to the driver’s door. “And make sure you have her sewn up after this. Three children is quite enough these days. None of this nine or ten nonsense and I don’t care what the parish priest says. There will soon be so many people on this planet that it will be standing room only.”

  Paddy gave her a nervous smile as he shut the door behind him.

  “Well, don’t just stand there,” Oona repeated. “I expect we’ve got something to feed you, if you don’t mind catch as catch can.” She looked at Darcy, carrying my suitcase. “Or are you planning something much longer than a meal?”

  “Oh no,” Darcy said. “Georgie brought her suitcase with her because she thought she might stay in the area for a few days. But of course she can’t stay as every nook and cranny is full.”

  “Why would that be?” Oona looked back as she led us into a dark hallway. The hall stand had vanished under a mountain of coats, hats, mufflers and rain gear. Around it, strewn across the floor, were wellies and boots of various sorts, making stepping across them a dangerous business. The dogs pushed past us and ran ahead down the hall.

  “The trial, of course,” Darcy said. “I know you live cut off from the world but you have heard about my father, I take it?”

  “Oh, that? Yes, we heard something. Silly fool getting himself into trouble again. Probably said the wrong thing at the wrong time.”

  “He’s been arrested for murder, Aunt Oona. He could well hang.”

  “He killed the American who bought Kilhenny, did he?”

  “So they say.”

  She sniffed indignantly. “The rotten man probably deserved it. We drove over there once, soon after he had moved in. Dooley was writing a book on Irish peat bogs at the time and we knew there were some old family photos of peat cutting, up on the Bog of Allen. But do you know, that insufferable person wouldn’t let us in, let alone have access to our own family photographs. Not let me into Kilhenny Castle where I was born and raised! He said he’d paid good money for the castle and its contents and we should get lost before his manservant came after us with a shotgun.” She had been talking all the way down the passage, her voice booming up the stairwell to our right. Then she spun to face us, her face a picture of indignation. “Can you imagine the nerve? No wonder your father killed him. I’d have done so myself if I’d had a weapon handy at that moment.”

  Darcy shot me a glance. I didn’t know whether to grin or be shocked. Aunt Oona opened a door and we stepped into a sitting room. At least it would have been a sitting room if there had been anywhere to sit. The sofa was buried under piles of books. A cat was asleep in one of the armchairs. The other had a large canvas lying over it, and the smell of fresh paint permeated the room. There was a bucket of potatoes, a fancy-looking hat and a pair of kid gloves on the low table.

  “Move some of that stuff and sit down,” she said. “But mind the wet paint. I’ve been working on that one. My latest opus and I have to say I’m rather proud of it.”

  Darcy picked up the painting by its edges. To me it was horribly bright daubs, but Oona went on, “Recognize him, Darcy? Oh, come on. The likeness is quite visible. It’s Dooley, standing on his head when he does his yoga exercises. I had to rush to finish it. He complained about posing too long in that position.”

  Darcy winked at me as he leaned the picture against a wall. I have to say that wink felt wonderful. We were a unit, connected, inseparable, whatever happened.

  “And mind Mr. Gladstone,” Oona boomed at us. “He scratches. Horrible creature. He’s even more bad tempered than your stupid father, Darcy.”

  I sat where the painting had been, and almost coughed as dust rose from the cushions. Darcy tried to remove the cat from the other chair but it hissed and lashed out, making him opt for perching on the arm of my chair instead.

  “That will never work with him,” Aunt Oona said. “You need to show him who is master.” She grabbed the
animal by the scruff of its neck, hoisted it in the air and held it up in front of her face. “Remember who feeds you and show gratitude,” she said before putting it down quite gently. The cat turned its back on her and licked itself as if it hadn’t a care in the world. The dogs settled around our feet, wisely ignoring the cat.

  “Tea or coffee?” Oona asked. “Or would you prefer something stronger? Whiskey? Sherry?” She went over and tugged on a bellpull. Somewhere far off a bell jangled. “I don’t know where he’s got to,” she said. “Probably out digging up carrots.”

  “Your gardener serves the drinks around here?”

  “No, you silly boy. The butler digs up the carrots. You have to be a jack-of-all-trades in this establishment. We’re down to a skeleton crew here, you know. Can’t afford a proper staff anymore. Treadwell does most of it and we muck in.”

  “Treadwell? You have Treadwell working for you? I didn’t know that.”

  “Well, you haven’t been to see us for ages, have you?” she replied. “Your father didn’t need him and the new American didn’t want him so we invited him to come to Mountjoy. It’s not exactly what he’s used to but it’s better than the workhouse.”

  Darcy looked down to me. “Treadwell was our butler at Kilhenny. He was old even when I was a child. Frightfully old-school and correct.”

  “Yes, well, he’s had to learn to turn a blind eye to a lot of things here,” Oona said. “When he first came he thought he could whip us into shape, but now I rather think he’s given up.” She rang the bell again. “I suppose I’d better go and make the coffee myself,” she said. “I’ve become quite a dab hand at domestic chores since we had to let Cook go.”

  Darcy and I exchanged a look of amusement as she swept out of the room.

  “I told you they were quite batty,” Darcy whispered to me.

  However, she had only been gone for an instant when she returned.

  “I met Treadwell coming in with the carrots and he’ll bring us coffee right away. But knowing Treadwell, he’ll have to go and put on his frock coat first. So silly in a place like this.”