A Corpse at the Castle

by R B Marshall

  Frowning, Craig rubbed the stallion’s forehead, his eyes giving the horse a quick once-over. “Looks okay to me.” He handed me the lead rope. “Would you hold him a minute? I’ll just check his legs.”

  While Craig ran his hands down each leg in turn, I took the chance to reach out to the stallion with some calming vibes. Closing my eyes to intensify the feelings, I laid a hand on his neck.

  Almost immediately, a wall of emotions assailed me—fear, worry, anger. I’d hardly managed to process this, when a picture sprang into my mind. It was in black and white, and dimly lit as if it was night, but I could see the dark, bulky shape of a man in front of me, and, down at my feet, something long, thin and sinuous. Fear overwhelmed me again, and the vision disappeared.

  I opened my eyes, reeling on my feet, and would’ve fallen over if Craig hadn’t caught me by the arm.

  “Are you okay?” Concern flared in his green eyes.

  “Not sure,” I said, leaning my hands on my knees and shaking my head to clear it. What just happened?

  Craig frowned. “Izzy, did you eat anything today?”

  “Uh—” I pursed my lips while I thought about it. “Breakfast at the B&B. Coffee later.”

  He took my elbow. “Once we get Eagle moved, I’ll take you to the visitor café at the castle. I think we need to get some food in you.”

  Five minutes later, Eagle had arrived at his new digs, and was trotting up and down the fence line, neck arched and tail in the air, showing off to the ladies next door. There was no sign of the… whatever it was I’d felt from him earlier.

  I shook my head. Maybe I’d imagined it. Lack of food. You were seeing things. That must be it.

  Allegra and Daisy had decided that checking out the stallion was much more entertaining than eating grass, and they stood together at the other side of the fence, goggle-eyed. You could almost see them nudging each other and saying, ‘Ooh, he’s not bad, is he?’

  “They’ll soon be settling down.” There were crinkles at the corners of Craig’s eyes as he stood watching the horses, a sign of a true horse-lover. My heart warmed to him a little more. “D’you want to come back here later and we’ll put them in together?”

  “Okay.” I checked my watch. “But I’ll really need to get going after that. I’ve left Trinity on her own for too long. It’s not fair on her.”

  He nodded. “Of course. But let’s go and get you some food in you now.”

  Chapter Nine

  A short time later, I was seated in the crowded visitors’ café behind Balmoral Castle. A bright room with large picture windows along one wall, there was outside seating we might’ve used in better weather, but the grey clouds were threatening rain.

  Inside the café, there were plastic tartan tablecloths, white rail-back chairs, white-painted woodwork and a polished wood floor which gave an ambience somewhere between a simple Shaker dining room and tourist kitsch.

  Craig had made me sit down while he went and got the food, so that gave me a few minutes alone.

  Of course, my thoughts immediately went to what had happened in Eagle’s field. Perhaps I had been seeing things, but… I stared down at the table, picking abstractedly at the edge of the table mat.

  Hadn’t I been getting better, lately, at tuning in to horses’ body language and emotions? And didn’t that mean that sometimes I could superimpose my feelings—usually calming vibes—to affect their mood? So was it so implausible that Eagle could somehow reflect his feelings back to me?

  Tapping a finger on the table top, I replayed the scene in my head, and realised that it had only been when I touched him that I’d made that connection with the stallion. But had that—dream, vision, whatever it was—had it come from Eagle too? And does that mean he was there when Hamish died? That would certainly explain his mood. But what did the picture he’d projected to me mean?

  “Penny for them?” Craig arrived back carrying a laden tray and sat down opposite me. Placing a bowl of soup, cutlery and a chunk of crusty bread in front of me, he unloaded his own coffee, then propped the empty tray against the table leg.

  “Oh, nothing, just…” I took a mouthful of the soup. “This is nice.” I smacked my lips appreciatively. “What is it?”

  “It’s the sweet potato and leek,” he answered, then made a circling motion with his finger. “Just… what?”

  I spread some butter on the bread. “Just,” my forehead creased, “d’you think maybe it was Eagle that kicked Hamish? Might that explain the funny mood he was in earlier?”

  Craig blew on the top of his Americano before taking a sip. “That could be it, I suppose. He was on our list, wasn’t he?”

  “Yeah.” I chewed on the bread. “Poor boy, if it was him.”

  “Aye.” He winked at me. “But maybe your mares will improve his mood.”

  That made me laugh. “True.”

  “Are you feeling any better now?”

  Giving him a quick smile, I nodded. “Yeah, this is good. Just what I needed. Thanks.”

  “Good.” His face softened. “The food is all home-made here. Not the cheapest—” he twisted his mouth wryly, “—there’s a bit of a captive market here with all the tourists. But it’s good food.”

  “So why are you not eating?”

  “I had a sandwich at the cottage earlier, after I got back from the police station.”

  “Okay.” I looked down at my soup, then back up at him. “If I’d been as organised as that, then maybe I wouldn’t have nearly fainted all over you.”

  He quirked an eyebrow. “That might be so. But then I wouldn’t have had this chance to enjoy your company and top up my caffeine levels.”

  That made me smile. “You can’t be as much of a caffeine addict as me. I almost need intravenous coffee to get my brain in gear in the mornings.”

  “You’re a woman after my own heart!” he laughed, lifting his cup in salute.

  In the brief silence that followed while he sipped his coffee and I slurped my soup, Eagle’s vision popped back into my head. I found myself wondering again about the man shape I’d seen. Initially I’d thought it was Hamish himself, but now I wondered. Hamish had been small and wiry, but the shadowy shape in the picture Eagle had shown me was taller and wider, which probably ruled out creepy Stan too.

  “Craig—do you really think Hamish was killed by accident? Or might someone have done it deliberately and made it look like a horse did it?”

  “Well… possibly.” Craig didn’t look convinced.

  “But you know—knew—him better than I do. Is there anyone here on the estate who had a reason to be angry at him?”

  Letting out a mirthless laugh, Craig put his cup down. “That man! He had few friends, I’m sorry to say,” he said, rolling his eyes. “So just about anyone at Balmoral could have a beef with him.”

  I grimaced. “That doesn’t narrow things down much. But why kill him now? Did something happen these last few days?”

  Craig’s eyes looked up and to the left as if he was replaying scenes in his imagination. Then his head moved slowly from side to side. “No, not that I know of.”

  My shoulders sagged. “It’s just, if it was deliberate, I think we’ll both be suspects. And I’d like to get us off the hook. So if we could work out who might have done it, we can pass it on to the police.”

  Running a hand through his hair, Craig blew out a breath. “It would certainly be good not to be a suspect. It has me feeling like I need to look over my shoulder the whole time.”

  “Mmm. Tell me about it.”

  “But how would we work out who did it? We don’t even know for sure which horse it was that kicked him—or where, for that matter. Or even exactly when. The police are keeping it close to their chests. Should we not just be leaving them to do their job?”

  “We could. But that still leaves us as suspects.” Stalling, I took a sip of my soup, then set the spoon down and leaned my elbow on the table. “The thing is… You know I said last night that I did some computer wo
rk on the side? Well, one of the things I do is internet investigations. So I did some searches on Hamish this morning and found out he used to be in the military. He once foiled an attack on the Queen, and I wondered if that might’ve been a reason he got killed.”

  Craig’s eyes widened. “Is that right? How long ago was it? He’s been here at the estate for years.”

  “Yeah, that’s where my theory falls down. It was 1981, and the attacker got out of prison in eighty-four, then disappeared. It’s a long time to bear a grudge. He might not even still be alive.”

  “Very true. So this attack is more likely to be someone recent, like you said.”

  “Yeah.”

  He sat quietly for a minute, digesting this. “This computer searching that you do, Izzy. Should I be calling you Miss Marple? Or would Lisbeth Salander be more appropriate?”

  “Neither. It started as more of a hobby than anything serious.”

  “Started?”

  “In London. I searched for information about men—potential boyfriends—for a couple of friends. I’m hoping to keep doing it as a part-time business.”

  He gave me a suspicious look. “Does that mean you’ve been doing your dragon tattoo thing on me?”

  “No. But I probably should, just to rule you out of the police investigation.” I pressed my lips together to stop the smile that was brewing. “And I can check out the skeletons in your closet.”

  Craig pulled at the collar of his jacket. “Well, you’ll have a hard time of that. There’s no room for anything else in my closet because of all the tweed they make me wear.”

  That made me laugh. “After that I should check out everyone else who might have had reason to hurt Hamish. Will you help me make a list? I can make a start tonight when I get home.”

  He checked his watch. “Aye, I could. But then we should go and move Eagle, before you head back down the road.”

  Parking his ancient green Landrover beside my lorry, Craig killed the engine and jumped out. Before I’d even got the passenger door properly open, he was round at my side and reaching for my arm.

  “I’m not an invalid, you know.” I smiled to let him know I was teasing.

  “I know. But it gives me an excuse to hold your hand.”

  A quick glance at the stable entrance told me that Constable Jobsworth had been replaced by a male policeman, so there was nobody to heap judgement on me or hex me with the evil eye just for being friendly with someone of the opposite gender. I laced my fingers into Craig’s, mentally thumbing my nose at PC Adamson.

  Craig was still holding my hand a couple of minutes later when we arrived at Eagle’s paddock. Back in London, I’d been so independent—and so busy—I think I scared off potential suitors. And even when someone had been interested, like maybe a work colleague, my head ruled my heart and immediately scotched anything unwise or illogical.

  So it had been a long time, a very long time, since I’d had a man worry about me, or treat me like I was special. It was nice. For a change. Although I wouldn’t want to be treated like a feeble female all of the time.

  Eagle and the girls had settled down and were grazing quietly, but the mares were eating the grass at the other side of the fence from him, almost close enough to touch noses. “Aww, isn’t that sweet,” I said, taking out my phone to snap a photo that I could show Lady Letham later on.

  Craig gave me a cheeky grin. “So that idea of mine to put them in beside each other was a good one, was it?”

  “Yeah. Let’s just hope they’re as friendly when they’re all in the same field.”

  “There’s no time like the present,” Craig said, unhooking the head collar.

  “Can you give me a minute?” I held up a finger, then walked over to the stallion. Taking a deep breath, I planted my feet securely—just in case—and placed a hand on his shoulder.

  Nothing.

  Maybe I’m not focussed enough. Letting out the breath, I used that to calm my mind, waited a moment, then reached out to Eagle again.

  Still nothing.

  Maybe the last time had been an aberration. Or maybe you just imagined it.

  “What’s that you’re up to?” Craig asked. “Are you after doing some horse whispering or something?”

  I thought about trying to obfuscate, but in my experience the truth was often less believable than fiction. “Trying to. But it’s not working,” I said with a smile.

  “The next thing, you’ll be joining the Horseman’s Guild.”

  “The Horseman’s Guild?” Giving the stallion a pat, I stepped closer to Craig.

  “Have you no’ heard o’ them? They’re a group of men up here in the north east who fancy themselves as horse experts. They say they’ve got some magic word that only members know, and that it will calm any horse.”

  My eyebrows disappeared somewhere up under my fringe. “Really? I’ve not heard of them.” I gave him a sideways look. “Maybe I should try and join.”

  Craig made a face. “I’m no’ sure they let women in. Misogyny still rules in the old trade guilds, I’m afraid.”

  “Are you a member?”

  “No, no. It’s not my kind of thing. Anyway, I think you have to be asked to join.” He shrugged. “And I don’t think my face would fit.”

  “That might change if you take over as the boss here.” I waved an arm in the direction of the stables.

  Craig clipped the head collar on Eagle and led him towards the gate to the mares’ field. “That’s no’ going to happen,” he said emphatically.

  I frowned after him. Does he mean he’s not going to be boss, or not going to join the guild? I wasn’t sure he would be right, on either count.

  We left Eagle and the mares ‘getting to know each other better’ as Craig put it, and walked over to my lorry. When we got there, his face turned serious. “So, Izzy, when will I see you again?”

  By this time, I was standing beside him, surrounded by his sandalwood scent and masculine pheromones. My heart began to beat a little faster. “Soon, no doubt. After all, you made sure I’d have to come back in three weeks to collect the mares.”

  His eyes twinkled. “Aye. There was method in my madness.” Placing a finger under my chin, he angled my face up for a kiss.

  “Mr MacDonald!” A rasping voice came from nowhere.

  Craig let go of me like I was poker-hot, spun on his heel and peered through the hedge behind us. “Mrs Douglas.” His face sobered. “Can I just say, I’m right sorry about Hamish. You must be beside yourself.”

  On the other side of the hedge bordering the parking area stood Hamish’s wife, one hand full of roses, the other holding pruning shears. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her face pale, contrasting with the dark green Barbour jacket covering her shoulders. She shook her head sadly. “I am, but I just had to get out and do something. The house feels like a mausoleum.”

  “Have you got any company? Did your daughter come down?” Craig started to walk around the corner towards her garden gate, and I followed.

  Mrs Douglas joined us at the other side of the white-painted picket gate. Closer-up, you could see the strain lines on her face, and the dry skin on her nose, probably from being blown incessantly. She certainly looked more like a grieving widow than a calculating murderess. Maybe it wasn’t the wife who dunnit after all.

  “Laura is on her way. Mrs Fisher came over with some soup and scones, sat with me for a while. But then that nice policeman came, so she went back off home.” She nodded at the house next door. “After he left, I was so…” She swallowed. “I needed to get outside and keep my hands busy.” Distractedly, she waved her secateurs at the garden. “There’s always something to do out here.” Then her eyes focussed on us again, and she frowned. “Did I see you with Eagle a minute ago?”

  Craig’s head jerked back at the change of topic. “Aye, we just moved him to a new paddock.”

  Her forehead creased. “Did the police say it was okay?”

  “The police?” Involuntarily, I glanced across at the
policeman at the stable yard who seemed more interested in watching the horses cavorting about, and was ignoring us.

  “Seeing as the horse is evidence.”

  My heart plummeted. “It was Eagle that kicked Hamish?” I asked, aghast. Maybe I didn’t imagine that vision Eagle showed me, after all.

  Mrs Douglas’ lips pursed. “Aye. Couldn’t believe it when I found him.”

  “You found him? Oh, that must’ve been awful for you.” It seemed that I’d taken over the questioning.

  Mrs Douglas nodded slowly. “I went to the stables after I spoke to you in the pub last night. That’s where he was, all…” Her eyes brimmed with tears, and she pulled a damp, lace-edged handkerchief from her pocket. “Sorry,” she said, dabbing at her face with the hanky.

  “Don’t apologise, it’s totally understandable.” I said. “So he was in Eagle’s stable?”

  “Yes,” she sniffed. “He used to check the horses last thing every night and then walk to the pub for a dram. I’d pick him up there later.” She shook her head sadly. “I phoned the doctor straight away I found him, but there was nothing to be done.” A tear rolled down her cheek.

  “I’m so sorry. I only met him briefly, but he seemed like—” I wracked my brains, trying to think of something nice to say about her late husband. “—a great horseman.”

  “They were his life. Especially Eagle. That big lump was his favourite.” At this, her eyes filled with tears again. “I just don’t understand how the boy would have hurt him. Especially if…”

  Craig put a hand on her shoulder. “Nor do I, Mrs D. It’s no’ like Eagle at all.”

  But I was still frowning at her last words. “Especially if…?” I prompted.

  She blotted her eyes with the white cotton. “If he wasn’t well,” she completed the sentence.

  “He wasn’t well?” I felt like a parrot, repeating her last words again and again.

  “From the bite. The spider bite.”

  “A spider bite?” This time it was Craig doing the parrot thing. He knitted his brows. “But I dinnae think that spider bites are dangerous.”