A Corpse at the Castle

by R B Marshall

  “An’ I’m Trinity.” My flatmate came forward with her hand outstretched and a wide smile on her face.

  “Sorry, I was about to introduce you.” My cheeks turned pink. Would Craig be quite so friendly if he knew that I’d had Gremlin investigating him last night? He’d come out of it with a clear copybook—minimal internet presence and no obvious skeletons in his closet. But it made me feel bad, to be investigating people I was friends with.

  Craig clasped Trinity’s hand. “It’s grand to meet you.” He leaned in conspiratorially and arched his eyebrows. “You’ll need to be telling me all of herself’s secrets.”

  Trinity pulled a finger and thumb along her mouth. “Me lips are sealed, sorry mate. Girl code.”

  He lifted a shoulder and made a wry face in my direction. “It was worth a try.”

  The church was filling up, so Craig led us inside and down to a pew on the right-hand side, Lady Letham’s walking stick tapping like a metronome on the red tiled floor.

  My eyes were drawn to the impressive arched ceiling, made from a warm-coloured wood, possibly the local Scots pine. With walls made of light grey granite and several large stained-glass windows on either side, the space was bright and warm, even on such a sombre occasion.

  The queen and her entourage were seated out of sight in a side aisle at the front of the church. From our vantage point in the middle of the nave, we were surrounded by a sea of black suits and dark coats, a groundswell of muted conversations and the faint smell of mothballs.

  Craig leaned in and whispered, “How’ve you been? All settled in to the new flat?”

  “Almost, thanks. We’ve got a TV aerial now. And the internet got connected up yesterday. But nobody’s come forward about the dog yet.”

  His brow crinkled. “That’s a shame. Might you get to keep the beastie?”

  “Maybe. Well, yes, I suppose so, if we don’t find the owner.”

  “A dog is a good companion.”

  I guessed he was talking about Jet. “Yes, she seems a sweet wee thing. But I don’t want to get my hopes up.” At that point, the organ began to play something slow and serious, and Craig squeezed my fingers briefly, then faced front.

  A door at the side opened with a creak, and the minister shuffled in. He stopped and bowed his head as he passed Hamish’s polished oak coffin, which had a commanding position in the middle of the transept. With the halting gait of someone suffering from arthritis, the reverend slowly ascended the few steps to his stone pulpit, and then the service began.

  The funeral went about as well as could be expected. Mrs Douglas sat stiffly at the front, clutching a handkerchief and accompanied by her daughter. On her other side was a young family that, Craig informed me, belonged to her son. Hymns were sung, prayers were said, and the eulogy was… appropriate.

  Unfortunately it didn’t tell me anything I hadn’t already uncovered about Hamish. As we filed out after the service was finished, I suppressed a sigh. Maybe I could talk to his family afterwards. Or, better still, get Trinity chatting with them.

  She, however, was doing a meerkat impersonation. “Is that Richard?” she asked, craning her neck and motioning at a dark-suited figure near the back of the church.

  Being taller, I could see better over the departing congregation. “I think so,” I muttered back. Interestingly, the farrier was accompanied by the sergeant major, the one he’d met with at the pub who Craig had said was the local vet.

  “’Scuse me then. I’m gonna go have a chat with him.” Weaving her way through the crowd, she disappeared in their direction.

  Beside me, Craig made a face. “What?” I asked.

  He pressed his lips together. “Not here. I’ll tell you later.”

  After the short grave-side ceremony, people headed for their cars to drive the short distance to The Queen’s Arms, where afternoon tea was to be served in Hamish’s memory.

  But before I had even had a chance to offer Craig a lift, a man in a dark suit hurried up to us. He addressed my employer. “Lady Letham, Her Majesty requests a word with you.” Behind him, I could see Queen Elizabeth bearing down on us.

  “Of course, young man.” Lady L tucked the order of service into her handbag and adjusted her gloves. The smile that creased her face when her old friend reached us was genuine. But she knew better than to speak first.

  “Alice.” The queen’s voice was as distinct in real-life as it was on the television. “How have you been?” She held out a black-gloved hand.

  Lady L took her hand and bobbed her head. “I must apologise, my dear Libby, my ankle is quite useless these days, and I am no longer able to curtsey. But I am keeping fine, thank you. How is dear Philip?”

  The queen paused for a second before replying. “He is living quietly. We do jigsaws together at the weekends.” I remembered hearing on the news that Prince Philip had stepped back from public duties.

  Then the Queen turned to Craig. “Mr MacDonald, I believe you are to be in charge of the stud now that Mr Douglas is gone?”

  Craig gave her a neck bow. “Aye, Your Majesty. Thank you for the honour.”

  She pressed her lips together. “The stallion, Lochnagar Golden Eagle. I believe he was the one who attacked Mr Douglas?”

  Now it was Craig’s turn to pause before replying. “Mr Douglas was found in Eagle’s box, aye. But we don’t know exactly what happened.”

  “Nevertheless, I cannot afford to have a dangerous horse as part of my breeding programme. Please make arrangements with the vets forthwith. I shall make enquiries with other studs about purchasing a replacement stallion.”

  Craig’s face blanched as he realised what she was saying. He opened his mouth as if to argue with her, but before he could commit a huge faux pas with his employer, Lady Letham interrupted.

  “Libby, dear, have you met Ms Paterson, my horse trainer?” She gestured at me.

  Startled, I bobbed a curtsey at the Queen, got my legs in a tangle and nearly fell over. Cheeks flaming, I dared to glance at the monarch as I straightened up. She looked bemused.

  “If I may make a suggestion,” Lady Letham continued, one pencilled eyebrow raised questioningly, “perhaps you might send the horse to Isobel instead, and see if she can retrain him. After all, I understand that the police haven’t yet completed their investigations. We may find that the poor beast is quite innocent in of all this.”

  The queen looked me up and down, as if trying to decide if I was up to the job. “What qualifications do you have?”

  “I’m certified as an Advanced Horsemanship Trainer. I worked my way through Pony Club exams as a kid. And I ride dressage at Elementary, hoping to step up to Medium soon.” I caught Craig glancing sideways at me as I reeled off my horsey CV.

  “You know that I get all my horses started using Monty Roberts’ methods?” Her head tilted slightly.

  “I’d heard that, yes, Your Majesty. I admire his techniques.”

  She glanced at Lady Letham, then back at me. Her chin jerked up. “Two weeks,” she stated. “If there is no improvement in his behaviour within that time, then call the vets. Meantime, arrange with Mr MacDonald for his delivery, and payment of your fees.”

  I had to work hard to stop my jaw from dropping. The queen would pay me to train Eagle? I’d happily have done it for nothing, just for the chance to save the horse. But I knew better than to argue with her. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  One of the dark-suited men cleared his throat politely. “Ma’am, if I may interrupt? The helicopter will be waiting.”

  The queen nodded, then turned to my employer. “Alice, do come and take tea when we are back at Balmoral in the summer. I would stay longer, but sadly we have to return to London now, it being garden party season.”

  “I would be honoured.” Lady Letham bobbed her head again.

  With that, the Queen and her party were gone.

  “Thank you,” I said to Lady Letham. “Thank you so much for suggesting I take Eagle. I couldn’t bear it if he was…” I traile
d off. It was something every animal owner had to face at some point, but for a young, fit horse it just seemed wrong.

  “I could see that in your face, my dear.” She turned to Craig. “And in yours. I think you might have found yourself looking for a new job, had I not intervened.”

  He ducked his head. “Aye. Thank you.”

  Lady Letham clapped her hands. “Now, what’s this I hear about tea and scones?”

  The function room of The Queen’s Arms had less tartan decoration than the public bar. But only by a hair’s breadth. However, there were so many people in the large room that it was difficult to see much of anything at all.

  No sooner had we arrived than Lady L collared a waitress and got a special delivery of tea and scones to one of the small tables dotted around the outside of the room. One hand propped on her walking stick, the other elegantly sipping from a china cup, she sat and held court. I hadn’t realised how popular she was in the area, but she had a regular stream of people dropping past to say hello or pass the time of day.

  In another corner, Trinity was surrounded by a group of men, including the sergeant major and the lonesome cowboy. She looked like she was keeping them all entertained, and I hoped she’d have some interesting gossip for me later.

  “What were you going to tell me earlier?” I asked Craig, nodding in their direction.

  He followed my gaze, then checked over his shoulder to make sure nobody was listening. “It might be nothing, but—”

  “Craig MacDonald! Congratulations to you!” A loud-voiced man in a tweed jacket appeared from nowhere and interrupted us, clapping Craig on the back so hard I saw him wince. “Stud Manager to the Queen, eh? There’ll be no stopping you now.” Then he noticed me. “Is this your new girl? Got another one on the go so soon?”

  “This is my friend, Izzy Paterson. She’s horse trainer to Lady Letham,” Craig said firmly, then gave me a quick sideways glance. “Izzy has just secured Her Majesty as a client, she’s going to train one of her horses. Izzy, this is Pat McDade, who runs the local agricultural feed stores.”

  My ears had locked on to Craig’s use of the word ‘friend’, but I tried not to react. Perhaps he was as confused as I was about what was going on between us? But Pat’s comment about him having ‘another one on the go’ gave me a queasy feeling in my gut. “Oh yes, I’ve seen McDades stores.” I held out my hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr McDade.”

  “Please, call me Pat.” Behind him was a wispy woman in a purple patterned dress. He ushered her forward. “Francine, come and meet the Queen’s horse trainer. Izzy, wasn’t it?”

  “Lovely to make your acquaintance,” Francine gushed, grasping my hand in a surprisingly strong grip for such a thin woman. “You’re training Her Majesty’s horses?”

  “Horse,” I corrected her. “She’s sending her stallion to me for some… remedial training.”

  “How wonderful!” Her eyes lit up with excitement, then she clasped my arm. “Tell me, do you have any availability right now? My show jumper has been a bit of a handful lately. Some training is probably just what he needs.”

  “Um, yes, I think so.” This was all happening rather quickly, and my brain was struggling to keep up. Perhaps I should’ve asked the server for coffee, rather than tea. “We could probably squeeze him in.”

  “Perfect!” She turned to her husband. “Darling, could we send Darcy over to Glengowrie tomorrow? Can you drive the lorry for me?”

  Holding up a hand, I cleared my throat. “Monday would be better. Give us a chance to catch up, since we’ve been away all day today.” It would also give me time to prepare for the two new horses.

  “Monday it is then.” Pat nodded in satisfaction. “We’ll get to you about ten.”

  I blinked several times. It seemed like my training calendar for the next few weeks had been organised for me, without me lifting a finger.

  “Now, Craig,” Pat put an arm around Craig’s shoulders and led him off in the direction of Trinity’s group, “have you considered joining us? We have a space, now that Hamish is gone…”

  That was all I heard as they disappeared into the crowd, but the whole encounter left me reeling. Within the space of an hour I’d secured my first two training clients, discovered that my maybe-boyfriend was possibly a serial philanderer and thought of me just as a friend, and, to top it off, it looked like he was about to be recruited into a secret horseman’s organisation.

  Today was just getting weirder and weirder…

  Things took an even stranger turn just a minute or two later. Standing with my back to the wall and my teacup clasped in front of me like an invisible barrier, I was trying to decide whether to join Lady L, or continue people-watching in introverted isolation.

  I was quite comfortable on my own, and approaching strangers to make idle chit-chat had never been my strong suit, so I was leaning towards the interested onlooker option, when, all of a sudden, winter arrived…

  “Good afternoon, Ms Paterson,” said a dark voice to my right.

  I spun round in alarm, almost upsetting my cup of tea in the process. “Oh! It’s you!”

  Warm brown eyes met mine. Sergeant Lovell, possibly the last person I’d expected to see here. But then I remembered something from the crime dramas I liked to watch. “Are you here to see if the murderer has come to gloat?” I asked, surreptitiously placing my napkin on the saucer under my cup to soak up the spill.

  The side of his mouth quirked up. “Something like that.”

  Then I realised the flaw in my argument. “But, wait—I thought the police had decided Hamish’s death was just an accident?”

  He pointed to my cup. “Can I get you another?”

  I blinked. Okay, he wasn’t going to answer my question. “Um, I’m fine, thanks. I have to drive back soon and we’ll never get there if I have to make hundreds of pit stops.”

  He laughed at that, showing almost-perfect, almost-white teeth. It was then that I noticed he was in civvies, not uniform.

  “Plain clothes?” I asked, indicating his dark grey suit and pointy black shoes.

  “That’s for detectives.” He shrugged. “I’m on a day off. Came to pay my respects.” His lips twitched again. “And keep an eye open for murderers.”

  Surely that was an invitation to enquire further? I tried again to get an answer. “Any luck so far?”

  This time it was an eyebrow that twitched. “Well, a casual observer might wonder if there was more than one suspect in this room. But of course, in an official capacity, I couldn’t possibly make any such observation.”

  I swallowed, realising that I was most probably one of those suspects. “So you don’t think it’s accidental death?”

  He looked steadily at me for what felt like a full minute but must only have been seconds. But it was long enough for heat to grow under my collar. I resisted the temptation to loosen a button. Or three.

  “You said, ‘we’?” he said, eventually. On seeing my puzzled look, he clarified his question. “You said ‘we’ were driving back?”

  “Oh! I drove Lady Letham here, since she can’t drive any longer because of her ankle. And my flatmate, Trinity, came too.” I jerked my chin at the corner where Trinity was still holding court.

  He nodded. “So when do you expect to arrive back at Glengowrie?”

  I checked my watch. “Probably around six. Then we have the evening checks to do on the horses.”

  “Does that mean you might be free about seven thirty?” He swallowed, his next words coming in a bit of a rush. “Could I take you for some dinner?” He must’ve seen my jaw drop. “I have a… business proposition for you,” he added.

  Over in the corner, my friend Craig was laughing uproariously at something Pat McDade had said. I met Sergeant Lovell’s eyes. “Only if you’ll tell me one thing?”

  “I will if I can.”

  “What’s your first name?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sergeant Lovell, it turned out, was called Dean, and, out of unif
orm and out of his ‘patch’ he loosened up considerably, and became quite good company.

  The family-run Italian restaurant he’d chosen was in nearby Blairgowrie, since Glengowrie was still flooded. With arched openings reminiscent of a wine cellar, whitewashed walls, and candles on every table, it felt comfortable and friendly.

  Once we’d eaten and moved on to the more formal part of the evening, Dean leaned forward and put his elbows on the table.

  It transpired that the ‘business proposition’ he had for me was to investigate Hamish’s financial dealings. Somehow or other—I guess that’s what policemen do—he’d discovered that I had some experience as a computer hacker.

  “More wine for the pretty lady?” The waiter hovered at my elbow, green bottle in his hand.

  Since his last visit, my glass had somehow managed to empty itself. “Just a little,” I said. He proceeded to fill it again, before I stopped him, putting my hand over the top of the glass. “I have to get up early in the morning,” I explained.

  Once the waiter had gone, I focussed on the policeman again. “So you think he might have been involved in something that got him killed?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “But what about the spider bite?”

  “That’s where my theory falls down. Accidental death fits with the facts.”

  “So why do you want me to check him out?”

  He swirled the water in his glass, watching the lights dance and sparkle through the facets of crystal. “It just… doesn’t feel right. The man wasn’t popular—apart from with his cronies at the horseman’s club.”

  “You know about that?”

  He gave me a look from under those dark eyelashes. “I’m a policeman, remember?”

  I raised a hand. “Sorry.”

  “But wait—how did you know about that?”

  It was hard to suppress the smile. “I’m a computer hacker, remember?”

  He clinked his glass on mine. “Touché.” Then his brow furrowed. “Does that mean you were checking up on him?”

  “No flies on you, copper.” I took a swig of wine, remembering the dark shapes in Eagle’s vision. “His death just didn’t seem like an accident.” Then something occurred to me. “Am I right that the vet has taken over for him in the guild? He was the deputy, wasn’t he?”