Death at Thorburn Hall

by Julianna Deering

  “I’d have felt better if their father had come along,” Nick muttered.

  “You never met their maid, Miss Hannah,” Carrie said, giving his hand a squeeze. “She’d intimidate anyone.”

  “You’re safely here at any rate,” Drew said. “Even if golf doesn’t much interest you, it should be a jolly nice time. Little Gullane ought to be bustling just now.”

  They drove through the village, which was indeed bustling, and out toward the golf course. They saw a few homes along the way, tiny cottages and farmhouses, a grand old manor house, and one extremely modern one with its back at the very edge of a high, rocky outcropping overlooking the water.

  “Look at that one.” Carrie pointed to the tall cylinder of a structure, gleaming white with large curved windows that must have stretched from floor to ceiling in the rooms on the top three levels. “I’ve never seen one like it.”

  Madeline wrinkled her nose. “It’s that terribly modern style I’ve seen in some of the magazines. All the architects are doing it. Guimard is one of the famous ones, isn’t he?”

  “Lovely for the Paris Metro or a Radio City Music Hall, but as a home?” Drew shrugged. “Rather cold looking.”

  “I like the old historic ones,” Carrie said, still staring at the house. “Like the one back there at the crossroads. What’s Thorburn Hall like?”

  “I’ve never seen it.” Drew leaned toward the front seat. “I say, Phillips, how long before we reach the Hall?”

  “Just coming to it now, sir.”

  The chauffeur turned onto a long drive that curved up to the white house perched on the overlook.

  Drew winced slightly and cleared his throat. “Ah. Yes. Thank you, Phillips. Grand place, I’m sure.”

  Madeline covered a giggle with her gloved hand.

  “Well handled,” Nick said in a snide stage whisper. “Very subtle.”

  The chauffeur chuckled. “I expect you were thinking you’d see something a bit more traditional, sir.”

  “Yes,” Drew admitted. “I was.”

  “It used to be, sir. A grand Jacobean manor house. Not so large as some I seen, but very fine. It burnt to the ground a few years ago. Nothing left but the little Grecian-looking folly out beyond the garden. Her ladyship had them build this new house with everything sleek and modern. Said she could never abide the old one. Too dreary and all that.”

  “My wife says the same thing about our place,” Drew told him.

  “Not the house, darling,” Madeline said sweetly. “Just you.”

  “Ah. I knew I’d heard it somewhere.”

  Madeline giggled and kissed his cheek, making him grin.

  Carrie pursed her lips, but there was a glint of laughter in her blue eyes, and some of her anxiousness seemed to fade. “It’s so good to be with you again.” She colored faintly and didn’t look at Nick. “All of you, I mean.”

  “I can’t wait till we get settled in,” Madeline told her, “and you and I can really catch up.”

  In just a few minutes, the chauffeur pulled up in front of the house. The butler, a small, rather bent elderly man called Twining was waiting at the door. He led them through the spacious white entry hall and into the equally spacious and equally white drawing room. There on a white velvet chaise longue sat a woman of unmistakable style and breeding. She had to be Lady Louisa Rainsby.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Farthering, madam,” the butler intoned. “Miss Holland and Mr. Dennison.”

  Lady Rainsby was immediately on her feet, hurrying to them with both hands outstretched. “Drew, darling, how are you? You look more like your father than ever. Hello, Madeline, dear. With everything that was going on, I’m sure you don’t remember me at your wedding. I’m glad we’ll have a chance to get acquainted.”

  “Of course I remember you,” Madeline said, and now that she saw the woman again, she did have a vague recollection of her, tall and dark, no longer young but lovely in tasteful orchid silk and a cloche hat with a diamond clasp. “Thank you for having us, Lady Rainsby.”

  “Oh, Louisa, please,” she insisted.

  “Lady Louisa,” Madeline said, liking her already.

  “It’s my pleasure, I’m sure. Lord Rainsby insists on going to the Open every year, and it’s that much more fun if we make a bit of a party out of the week.”

  “You remember Nick Dennison,” Drew said, pulling Nick up next to him.

  “Oh, yes. The best man.” Lady Louisa’s smile was just the tiniest bit forced, but she gave Nick a gracious nod. “We’re happy to have you with us, of course. And you must be Miss Holland, Madeline’s friend.” She looked at Carrie, friendly but the slightest bit puzzled. “We have met before, haven’t we?”

  “She was my maid of honor,” Madeline explained, and the older woman’s face lit.

  “Of course. I thought you were the loveliest thing in that pale robin’s-egg satin.” She squeezed Carrie’s hand. “I hope we shall all become the best of friends. You know, Lord Rainsby teases me terribly about it, but I so enjoy having people to stay. We’re not having a great many guests this time, but that will give us all a better chance to become acquainted, don’t you think?” She turned to the man who had risen from an overstuffed, white velvet chair in the corner. “Do allow me to introduce Gerald’s friend and business partner, Mr. Reginald MacArthur.”

  MacArthur was a solidly built man, fiftyish but active looking, his clothes stylish but not fussy, his skin weathered as if he preferred to be outdoors whenever possible. He shook hands all around.

  “It seems we’re to have a bit of weather for the tournament,” he said, smiling from under his heavy reddish mustache. “I trust you ladies shan’t mind too much.”

  “It should be interesting to see how the players do once they get on the greens,” Madeline said. “They’ll be soft and hard to read. I just hope they don’t suspend play due to the wind.”

  MacArthur’s smile broadened. “You must be a golfer, Mrs. Farthering.”

  “Oh, not really. I never can hit the ball without taking out a chunk of grass with it. But I’ve heard my husband complaining enough about his game to know what’s what. And I do enjoy the tournaments. My father used to take me to some of them when I lived in America.”

  “You’re a lucky man, Farthering. A golfer whose wife appreciates the sport is to be envied.”

  Before Drew could reply to that, the bell rang. A moment later the butler returned to the drawing room door. “Mr. and Mrs. Pike, madam, and”—he grimaced almost imperceptibly—“Count Kuznetsov.”

  “Louisa!”

  Drew glanced at Madeline in disbelief as the portly, bright-eyed woman from the train station bustled into the room and straight into their hostess’s outstretched arms.

  “Elspeth. I thought you’d never arrive.” Lady Louisa reached out to the heavyset middle-aged man beside her. “Mr. Pike, so good to see you again.”

  He bent awkwardly over her hand. “Good afternoon, Lady Rainsby,” he said in a gravelly, deep bass voice. “It’s good of you to have us.” He gave the languid Russian accompanying them a disdainful glance. “All of us.”

  “Welcome back to Thorburn Hall, Count Kuznetsov.” Lady Louisa slipped her hand out of Pike’s and extended it to the younger man. “Elspeth has told me so much about you since your last visit. What a tragedy.”

  The Russian bowed his head, a look of pain shadowing his mobile face. “You are too kind, madam. Such pleasantries as we shall have here are a most welcome distraction.”

  Seeing Drew and Madeline, Mrs. Pike clasped her plump hands. “Isn’t this just the most delicious coincidence, Alfred? This is the very kind couple Misha and I met in the station. I thought at the time that they were just the sort of young people Misha might find amusing. They wouldn’t sneer at a fine artiste.”

  “Neither would I,” Pike muttered, half under his breath, “if I were ever to meet one.”

  “You know, we never were introduced,” Mrs. Pike chattered on, and Lady Louisa made sure everyone knew who
was who.

  “Madam Farthering,” the count said, bowing over Madeline’s hand. “Again I am enchanted. And you, sir.” He took Drew’s arm. “You absolutely must tell me everything about yourself and your charming wife. I am certain we shall all be the dearest of friends.”

  “Misha is writing a symphony,” Mrs. Pike said, her eyes wide and sparkling as if she was writing it herself. “It’s wonderful.”

  “And maybe one day we’ll actually hear a note or two,” Pike grumbled.

  Madeline gave Drew a subtle elbow to the ribs and a look that warned him not to laugh.

  “I’m sure it will be wonderful,” Mrs. Pike insisted cheerfully. “We mustn’t be impatient, must we, Misha? Art simply cannot be rushed.”

  The count released Drew’s arm so he could press her hand with a fervent kiss. “Ah, my so perceptive muse.”

  Pike snorted and then shook hands with Drew. “If I’m not mistaken, you’re the Farthering who sorted out that nasty business in Yorkshire last year.”

  Drew shrugged. “Along with my wife and Nick here, we managed to help out a bit.” He glanced over at Carrie and, seeing a touch of pensiveness in her polite smile, quickly added, “But that’s old news. I’m much more interested in watching Henry Cotton win another Open.”

  “It should be a fine match. Do you play?”

  “Now, now, Alfred,” Mrs. Pike scolded playfully, “you boys will have plenty of time to talk about golf the whole week long.”

  “Why don’t we all get acquainted?” Lady Louisa suggested, indicating the sleek-lined sofa and chairs situated in front of the wide, curved window. “And I’ll ring for tea.”

  “This should be entertaining,” Drew said when they were dressing for dinner in their very modern all-white room with its almost-clinical white bathroom en suite. “What did you think of them all?”

  Madeline smoothed the aqua lamé silk of her gown, looking at her reflection with a critical eye. “I like Lady Louisa very much. Tell me again how you’re related?”

  “Her grandfather and my great-grandfather were brothers. So I suppose that makes us second cousins once removed. I’m still not quite sure why she invited us, though. It’s not as if we’d met more than a time or two since I was a boy.”

  “We wanted to see the Open. She wanted to get better acquainted. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”

  “Of course not.” He took out his pocket watch with their wedding sixpence hanging from the chain and checked the time. Just five minutes to the hour. “We ought to go down soon.”

  Madeline turned her head to one side and picked up two earrings, one pearl and one antique gold, and held them up, one by each ear. “Which one?”

  “The pearls,” he said without hesitation.

  “You always choose the pearls,” she huffed, putting them on.

  “The pearls suit you,” he said, leaning close. “Always lovely, never out of style. Rich but not gaudy.”

  There was a sudden hint of mischief in her periwinkle eyes. “Unlike Count Kuznetsov, who is gaudy but not rich.”

  Drew chuckled. “Inquisitive chap, isn’t he, deviling all of us for our life stories?”

  “And entertaining,” she said. “His impersonations of the English, German, and French politicians were too funny.”

  “Somehow he’s clever enough to find himself a soft berth for just the price of a bit of artistic posturing. Though if he’s been a guest at the Hall before now, I’m rather surprised Lady Louisa and, indeed, everyone else in the house didn’t hear about the count’s tragic past, whatever it is, during the first visit.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t have a tragic past.” Madeline considered. “Or maybe he just doesn’t like to talk about it.”

  “Oh, he has one,” Drew assured her. “And I can promise you he loves to talk about it.”

  “Well, he seems to make Mrs. Pike very happy without being more than an annoyance to Mr. Pike, so I suppose it works out nicely for everyone.”

  “One wonders how anyone has the brass to simply expect to be supported in such a way,” Drew said. “But if the three of them are happy . . .”

  Madeline unstoppered one of her perfume bottles, and the smell of gardenias filled the room. She touched the tiniest bit to her wrists and behind both ears, only enough to intrigue, enough to draw a man closer rather than drive him away. Drew breathed it deeply, smiling at her reflection.

  “I, on the other hand, would object most strenuously if you took up with a confidence trickster and brought him to Farthering Place to live.”

  “Do you think he is?” she asked, eyes bright as she turned to face him. “A fraud, I mean?”

  Drew scoffed. “Oh, he plays it well, and I don’t suppose there’s any real harm in him, but I shouldn’t like to hold my breath waiting for his symphony to be finished.”

  “Now you’re sounding like Mr. Pike.” Madeline stood up, looking him over. “You’d better go get Nick before we’re late. I’ll see if Carrie’s ready. Beryl is over doing her hair, as if she needed help.”

  “She’s like you, my love,” Drew said, dropping a kiss on her delicately powdered cheek. “Whether it takes you five minutes on your own or three hours and a brigade of handmaids to make yourself presentable, you always look as fresh and artless as a newly budded rose.”

  She only laughed at that, but it did bring the pleased color to her cheeks. “After two and a half years of marriage, you’re supposed to have left behind the niceties and become a thoughtless brute.”

  “I shall put forth a better effort,” he promised.

  She nestled into his arms for just a moment. “How long have Lord and Lady Louisa been married? And what’s he like?”

  “He was at our wedding, too, you know. Not that I’ve had more than a few polite words with him. Nice enough chap as far as I recall. They must have been married well more than twenty years, I’d guess. Perhaps we’d better go downstairs and get better acquainted with them and everyone else.”

  “You just want to find out more about that so-called count.” She slipped her arm into his. “And so do I.”

  Two

  They collected Nick and Carrie from their rooms and went down to find the Pikes, Kuznetsov, and Lady Louisa having drinks in the drawing room.

  “You must forgive my husband,” Lady Louisa said. “He’s generally very particular about coming to dinner on time, but there was a car smash in the road from Edinburgh, and it’s made him late getting dressed.”

  “All right, Louisa,” said an unfamiliar voice. “I’ve made it down only three minutes past my time. My apologies, everyone, for not being here when you arrived this afternoon.”

  Lord Rainsby was not a remarkable-looking man. His face was pleasant enough, the lines in it and the warmth in the faded blue eyes indicative of a tendency to laugh easily. He was tall, a bit stoop-shouldered and balding, a trifle paunchy in the middle, and on the whole someone who looked as if he were a pleasant enough fellow to know.

  “It’s too good of you and Lady Rainsby to let me come visit along with Drew and Madeline,” Carrie told him once everyone had been introduced. “I’ve never been to Scotland.”

  “It’s a bit dreary at the moment,” Rainsby admitted, “but there’s hope for a bit of sunshine for the tournament. Joan will be very disappointed if it’s delayed.”

  “Will she be joining us, sir?” Drew asked.

  “Oh, you know these modern girls,” his lordship said with a bark of a laugh. “She’ll be along when she decides to come. In Cannes just now, you know. The old home place a bit too quiet to suit, though I think that’s more her friends’ idea than her own, but she’ll be back for the last day. She always is.” He looked out the wide, curved window overlooking the tossing gray sea. “I do hope we get a bit of break in the weather, not just for the tournament. I thought we all might enjoy a bit of riding too, if it’s fine enough tomorrow or next day.”

  “That would be lovely,” Madeline said, and he beamed at her.

 
“Do you ride, Mrs. Farthering? Somehow I knew you would.”

  “Not as often as I’d like,” she admitted, “even at home, but I do enjoy it.”

  “Oh, then you must come.”

  “Really, we must make a regular event of it,” Lady Louisa said. “And Mac will join us, and the Fartherings and Miss Holland and Mr.—” she looked at Nick, suddenly puzzled—“I’m sorry, dear boy, Mr. . . . ?”

  “Dennison,” Nick supplied good-naturedly.

  “Mr. Dennison, of course. Do forgive me.” She waved both hands airily. “I do have such a memory. Still, I remember Dennison from Farthering Place. A good, trusty fellow, I’m sure. Anyhow, Elspeth and her husband don’t ride. Or have you decided to take it up in earnest?”

  Mrs. Pike’s eyes widened in horror. “After last time? Good heavens, no.”

  “No,” Mr. Pike said. “We won’t be making that mistake again, thank you.”

  “Why not, Pike?” Rainsby asked. “You did fine, especially seeing you haven’t ridden much.”

  “It’s not myself I’m worried about,” Pike grumbled, shooting his oblivious wife a sour look.

  “No, I couldn’t possibly,” Mrs. Pike said, her good humor returning. “I haven’t brought a proper riding costume, you know, and I don’t think the horses like it when one isn’t properly dressed. That must have been the problem the last time.”

  “I’m sure that must be it,” Rainsby said, a twinkle in his eye. “And what about the count? You’ll join us, won’t you?”

  “Ah.” Kuznetsov put one white hand up to his temple. “When I think of the fine-blooded horses the tsar used to keep, I cannot bear even to look upon those in your country. I mean no disrespect, of course, but surely you can understand.”

  “Oh, naturally. Naturally.”

  “And, as I told madam, I have had the most amazing revelations in the night about my poor little symphony. I must get it all on paper or it will vanish entirely. My muse is uncommonly fickle.”

  “Well, then,” Mrs. Pike said eagerly, “while they’re all out riding, Alfred and I can help you jot it down. Won’t that be fun?”