Gauntlet of Fear

by David Cargill

  Wagner was the same name as the circus magician. Was that another clue or was it much too obvious. The circus magician was certainly one person who had access to interfering in Allison’s unconsciousness and her resultant death. But surely that was so blatant…or was it?

  What had started the music and why was it so different from the piece he had heard previously? Was someone deliberately creating certain incidents in order to give him a clue? Or was it meant to distract him, put him off the scent and, like the stage magician, create suspension of disbelief?

  The footsteps of Major Angus, as he climbed the stairs, prevented any further cogitation.

  ‘Sorry about that, Professor. I’ve never known that to happen before. Something must have caused the switch to be pressed.’

  ‘Something or someone!’ expressed a dubious professor of magic. ‘Usually, even in magic, someone has to do something in order to make things happen.’

  ‘Since I arrived to act as temporary caretaker I’ve delved myself to get to know as much as possible of the history behind the objects in this house and that includes the rolls of music played by the Orchestrion. In particular the piece you just heard…the prelude to Lohengrin.’

  ‘As a historian I’d like to know more about Lohengrin…apart from the composer.’

  The caretaker stroked his chin before answering. He paused as he delved deep into his memory bank. ‘Lohengrin was a knight of the holy grail. I’m not sure whether he was factual or fictional but in the play by Wagner he was sent in a boat pulled by swans to rescue a maiden who can never ask his identity.’

  At the mention of a boat and swans Giles held up a hand as he apparently was reminded of Swan Boats on a different continent…but that was another story that eventually came to a successful conclusion. ‘The attempt to rescue a maiden who must never ask his identity intrigues me,’ said a more enlightened Giles with a ring of mild assurance. ‘It takes me back to my problem at the circus where I’m led to believe that the identity of the culprit may only be properly known under a different name before the mystery is finally solved. This whole episode is beginning to make more sense than I think it was meant to.’

  They moved on to the next room which was Sir George’s Bedroom where the baronet’s lengthy boots were still standing as if the master of the house had just returned from a ride on his favourite horse.

  ‘He was very much involved with horses then?’ Giles inferred questioningly as he anticipated news that would add conviction to what he already knew.

  ‘Why yes! Very much so! He had a residence in the horse racing capital of Newmarket where his wife, Lady Monica still resides.’

  ‘She must now be a fair age, Angus?’

  ‘I believe she is ninety-seven or ninety-eight years old, but in poor health.’

  ‘That means she has outlived her husband by around twenty-eight years?’

  ‘Indeed! Though I’m afraid it won’t be too long before she is joined once more with Sir George in the mausoleum on the other side of the island at Harris.’

  They retraced their steps to a door opposite Lady Monica’s Bedroom. ‘Let me show you one more innovation of Sir George’s,’ Angus said as he opened the door that led into a unique bathroom; unique for a house built at the beginning of the century. ‘This bath has a walnut shower hood which allows water to be sprayed at various angles using high-powered jets; almost the equivalent of what Jacuzzi is starting to produce now.’

  ‘Incredible!’ Giles said shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Such hygienic and therapeutic culture as well as leisure enjoyment for those who travelled to this rather remote but beautiful island is unbelievable’

  ‘’I couldn’t agree more. Especially when I know of some houses who only have the use of a tin bath in front of the fire. And that has to be filled with kettles of hot water. Now I think we’ve seen most of the interesting rooms except for the Library. I’ll take you there tomorrow. What about joining me for a nightcap? That would be a good end to the evening.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Major. A bit of highland hospitality, if you please.’

  They left the innovative bathroom and the caretaker opened the door leading to the first-floor gallery within the Great Hall. At the far end of the gallery Angus opened another door that led to an area which he described as the manager’s domain.

  Going into one of the flats Angus beckoned his guest to be seated. ‘The rooms we’re in now were Sir George’s private quarters, complete with bedrooms, sitting room and bathroom.’ The Major brought out two glasses and a bottle of twelve year old malt whisky. As he poured generous portions of the amber liquid his face lit up. ‘Uisge beatha,’ he beamed, handing a glass over. ‘That’s Scottish Gaelic for the water of life,’ he said, noting the rather puzzled expression of his guest.

  They chatted for a couple of hours as if they’d known each other for ages. It was quite remarkable how they had become good friends in such a short space of time.

  Angus talked about how the outside grounds of the house had been transformed. Apparently the garden was so big it required twelve full-time gardeners to look after it. Exotic fruits were grown in heated greenhouses and turtles and alligators were allowed to roam around in pools until frightened staff had them removed.

  ‘Tell me, Angus,’ said a sceptical Giles who was desperately trying to grasp all he was hearing. ‘Are these myths and figments of someone’s imagination that make this place even more remarkable than it obviously is?’

  ‘I think you have to make a valued judgement because so much was done to this Highland holiday home that it is difficult to separate the wheat from the chaff. I say that because you haven’t heard the whole story. It seems that a nine-hole golf course and a bowling green were also established.’

  ‘I see what you mean, Angus. I must say I even find it difficult to make up my mind about the red sandstone this building was built with.

  ‘Why do you say that, Giles?’

  ‘Well in my home county of Dumfries-shire a lot of the buildings are built of the red stone and that leans me to believe that Annan may have been where the stone was quarried.’

  The talk continued and more than one glass of the water of life was imbibed before Giles returned to his oak bedroom. It was after midnight and the rain was lashing on the windows as he made ready for bed.

  Stillness and silence was persuasive as he went up the short flight of stairs to the small bathroom to brush his teeth.

  When he got back to his room the only noise came from the rain against the window panes. It was when he switched off the light that the atmosphere of an age gone by was starkly re-created. The combination of fatigue and whisky had a welcome effect as he climbed into bed, for he was soon fast asleep.

  It was almost eight o’clock in the morning when Giles looked at his watch after a good night’s sleep. The rain had stopped and today was to be the day when a visit to the library of this house of fantasy would emphatically reveal more details of a baronet who’d built a haven in the North West of Scotland where he could enjoy his leisure time.

  When breakfast was over the ex-army caretaker said he was ready to show Giles to the room he most wanted to visit.

  The Library, in the South West corner of the house, was reached along the corridor passing the Empire Sitting Room and Ballroom.

  Once inside Giles was allowed to have a good look around the place and make notes. There were bookcases along the walls, some with glass fronts and Giles noted that many of the volumes could probably do with some cataloguing and placed in an order that made location easier. On reflection he was convinced that eventually some order would be restored with the books given their proper place as in a modern library.

  The entire collection of Encyclopaedia Britannica was there as was a Century Dictionary and a Dictionary of National Biography. A glass case contained Bismarck, My War, the Life of Gladstone, The Story of a Soldier’s Life and The First World War. Victorian and Edwardian History nestled behind glass awaiting a res
earcher’s look at the past.

  Elsewhere Sir George’s travels around the world had an immediate impact. There were books on Africa, China and Japan. Others on Ceylon, India, South Africa and Tasmania gave a strong impression of a visit to the headquarters of National Geographic.

  The fictional influence of the pre First World War era was not neglected for in a bookcase the Works of Dumas had pride of place. But the admiration for what was in the room was put to one side when Giles spotted a few books on the mantelpiece over a fireplace which had a large ornate Japanese screen in front of it. That image took Giles back to another library in Scotland when he was involved in the mysterious locked-room affair that had been entitled “The Statue of Three Lies”.

  ‘You are looking at the fire screen, Giles, with that same faraway look I’ve seen before.’

  ‘Yes, it reminded me of the immediate past and a problem I was trying to solve and that made me aware of why I’m here now and this new problem that requires a solution.’

  ‘The screen was another present from the Emperor of Japan which gives you some idea how well thought of Sir George must have been. But to get back to your problem…do you see anything in this room that may give you a glimmer of hope?’

  ‘Yes, those books on the mantelpiece! They are Weatherby’s Racing Calendars and one in particular is for the year I’m interested in. Can I examine it?’

  ‘Of course you can. I know you’ll be very careful with it. Which one would you like?’

  ‘The one for the year 1917 please. The words of the conundrum were “Retrace half a century from March twenty first. Learn of a Race that never was, on grassland that unlike RAF Winkleigh is now an airfield.” Today is the twenty-first of March, 1967 and if I retrace half a century, the fifty years take me back to 1917.’

  Major Angus handed over the 1917 Racing Calendar and Giles carefully turned the pages until he arrived at the date he wanted. On page 49 was Wednesday, March 21st. Listed below were the races for that day. First was Chequers Selling Hurdle Race with owner, name of horse and jockey. Next was Crawley Hurdle Race with details and that was followed by Stayers Handicap Hurdle Race.

  On page 50 were the details of the Stayers Handicap Hurdle Race and below that came the words that sent a shiver of excitement through Giles as he read them. “Wartime National” Steeplechase, Sir George Bullough’s Ballymacad- E. Driscoll.

  That cleared the line in the conundrum about “A race that never was.’ The fact that the race was run at Gatwick and not Aintree meant that it was classified as not being the Grand National. It also verified the part concerning “grassland that was now an airfield” as Gatwick is now one of London’s largest airports.

  So far so good was the reasoning of a thoughtful Giles. But there was no disguising the fact that one very important discovery had to be made during his brief visit to this controversial and remote mansion.

  Contemplation of the situation came to a halt with the ringing of the telephone on the desk at which Major Angus was now sitting. Giles watched with a little trepidation as the caretaker answered, looked upwards and said ‘It’s for you.’

  As he took the phone Giles looked down at Angus who was mouthing the words ‘It’s a woman.’

  ‘Hello, Giles Dawson speaking.’

  ‘It’s so good to speak to you, Giles. But you sound rather detached. Is there anything wrong?’ It was Laura on the other end.

  ‘No, there’s nothing wrong, Laura darling. I wasn’t expecting your call and I thought it might be from someone else. I’ll explain later when I see you. How are you feeling?’

  ‘I’m fine, Giles and I’m waiting for you in Fort William.’

  ‘How did you get there? It’s quite a distance from Lockerbie.’

  ‘By car, silly. I can still drive. The problem with the throat doesn’t prevent me from driving my car and I’ll be in Mallaig waiting for you when you leave the Isle of Rum.’

  ‘’That’s tremendous, Laura. But when did you arrive and where are you staying?’

  ‘I travelled yesterday and managed to wangle staying for a few days in a little cottage designated for one of the estate’s assistant factors. It’s a few miles outside Fort William at a place called Torcastle and I’m sure you’ll love it.’

  ‘I’m just about finished here and with a bit of luck I could be in Mallaig tomorrow so long as the weather is not too bad. Give me a call about nine o’clock in the morning and I’ll let you know if I’ll be able to sail across.

  How long will it take you to drive to Mallaig?’

  ‘I’ve been told it could take at least two hours. Part of the road is single track with passing places but they tell me that someday the road will be much better. Don’t worry, Giles. Once I know you’re going to sail across I’ll set off for the fishing village. I should be there before you are.’

  ‘You certainly will if you drive the way you did when I was in your car last October.’

  ‘Exhilarating wasn’t it, Giles? I’ll call you tomorrow and I’ll have my fingers crossed.’

  ‘That will suit me fine. God bless, darling.’

  After he handed the phone back to Angus, Giles started to saunter around the room; his brain struggling with the conundrum that concerned his visit to Kinloch Castle. It seemed to him that most of the riddle had been successfully solved. Most, but not all. And the part that was still to be solved was the most important part of all.

  ‘Near where the seats of Rhouma stay is the secret you wish to solve one day.’

  ‘You’re talking to yourself, Giles. Is there a problem?’

  ‘The problem,’ said a rather sheepish professor, grappling to find words. ‘The problem I have is to solve a secret that must lie here in this house. I wish to solve it one day, according to the conundrum, and today would be a good day to do just that.’ He turned and, looking at the Major, said ‘Would you mind if I took another look at the Dining Room and those chairs from the yacht?’

  ‘Not at all, Giles. I’m sure you know your way around the place. You’re free to wander. I can get on with office work here in the library. If you need help you’ll find me in here.’

  Making his way past the Great Hall Giles entered the Dining Room. He walked around the large table examining the chairs as he did so. Neither they nor the panelled walls offered any clues. Nor indeed did the fireplace or the alcove where the piper would sit while the guests were at dinner. The alcove was a small space but was comfortably furnished and large enough to keep essentials for the dinner table. It was also a place where someone could use for quiet study. But that was all…no secret jumped out at Giles.

  The only other areas close to those chairs were the combined Billiards, Games and Smoking Room or the Great Hall which backed on to the Dining Room.

  Stopping for a moment Giles wondered how his close friend, Freddie would tackle the situation.

  ‘Go back to the conundrum. That’s what Freddie would have done. You’re talking to yourself again, old son.’ Giles muttered under his breath.

  He went back to the conundrum. The second line stuck out like a sore thumb. What was it? Something like the leading man had two names. The leading man in the Hitchcock film “North by North West” had two names in real life and, in the movie, he played a character who was suspected of having two names.

  Two names? The note left in his trailer with the strange birth names of leading actors and actresses. That had listed men and women with two names. The riddle mentioned a man. Could he be the main suspect? But what if it was a woman? He was going round in circles but the two names…could that be the vital clue? Should he search for a person or object with two names? Maybe, but where did he start?

  The Billiard Room had a table that was set for a different game…snooker. That was what had struck him as slightly odd. Billiard or snooker table? Two names but difficult to find any secret there; but that was a start.

  When he examined the 1917 Racing Calendar in the library a race was listed as the “Wartime National” not
the Grand National. Two names for the same race but the Library was a fair distance from the chairs and the conundrum suggested the secret was close to the chairs.

  He strolled into the Great Hall. Did the monkey-eating eagle have another name? Was there a double name for Steinway of piano fame? Could the leopard and lion skins have even a remote connection to Khan, the Royal Bengal Tiger?

  He couldn’t see the wood for the trees. He was confusing himself. He suddenly stopped as if hitting a brick wall. The wood and the trees. Were there alternate names for oak and mahogany? He remembered the difficulty he had when trying to open the safe at Maskelyne Hall the previous year when he was involved with another problem. Logical thinking had to be the order of the day. The secret was close by. He just had to think things through and perhaps a word or a phrase might set the wheels in motion again.

  It was funny and strangely comforting but Freddie was somehow by his side and aiding his thought processes as if he’d been transported there by some time machine.

  With that reassuring attitude Giles went to lunch having got rid of his previous despondency. Angus and his wife were already there and apparently talking about a person in great detail. The words he heard were “he was the most trusted man.” Angus turned to greet his guest.

  ‘Come in Giles. You’re just in time. We were talking about a gentleman who was obviously a very close friend of Sir George Bullough. His name was Sir William Bass and his room was named as such. The room, he occupied when here, is on the South West corner of the first floor which is the one round the corner from your oak room.’

  ‘It seems,’ said Mrs Mackintosh, joining her husband in the conversation. ‘Sir William Bass was a British racehorse owner whose family traced back to William Bass, the founder of the brewery company.’

  ‘I can see why they’d be good friends. Both titled men with wealth and interested in racehorses.’ Giles expressed his views assuming, as he did so, that Sir William Bass was the person being described as a most trusted man. ‘He must have been a very trustworthy pal.’