Death at Thorburn Hall

by Julianna Deering

  Drew sat. “I understand this is concerning the Rainsby matter.”

  “Precisely. I’ve, er, heard that you’re looking into the circumstances of Lord Rainsby’s death, and I thought you might be interested in his last consultation with me.”

  “Oh, yes?” Drew leaned forward in his chair. “This wouldn’t be a violation of any privileged communication between you and your client, would it?”

  Barnaby perched on the corner of the desk, hesitating but not for more than a moment. “To be honest, Mr. Farthering, I’m not quite sure what I ought to do. I can’t say for certain whether it has anything to do with the murder. The police took down the information, but they seem convinced they have their man, a petty thief who has nothing to do with Lord Rainsby’s estate.”

  “I get the impression that this Inspector Ranald would rather have things wrapped up neatly without any bother to his lordship’s family.”

  “He’s not one to let himself be swayed by anything that doesn’t fit his theories,” Barnaby said. “Or take others’ advice.”

  “I suspected as much.”

  This time the solicitor’s hesitation was palpable.

  “If you don’t think this is something you ought to tell me,” Drew said when it seemed the man would never speak, “I would certainly understand.”

  “No.” Barnaby walked around the desk and clutched the high back of his chair. “Lord Rainsby’s dead. If what I have to say will help us find the reason why, then I will gladly say it.” He pulled the chair out and sat. “On Tuesday of last week, the eighteenth, Lord Rainsby came to consult with me. He said he was rather in a hurry and wanted to get straight to what he’d come to do.”

  “What had he come to do?”

  “He wanted me to draw up a new will for him.”

  Drew’s eyebrows went up. “And the police didn’t find that to be significant?”

  The solicitor’s expression turned decidedly cold. “They did not. As I told them, his lordship called last week to discuss the particulars, and I told him I’d have it prepared and let him know when he could come back to sign it. Sadly I never saw him again.”

  “But you did have the thing prepared?”

  “I did.”

  Drew hesitated. This is where it got dodgy. Lawyer-client privilege and all that. Still, he had to give it a go. “Might I see it? The new will, I mean.”

  Barnaby narrowed his eyes. “I shouldn’t, you know . . . but seeing as you’re helping with the investigation . . .” He pressed a button on the intercom on his desk. There was a corresponding buzz from the outer office, followed by the crackling voice of his secretary.

  “Yes, Mr. Barnaby?”

  “Bring me Lord Rainsby’s current file, if you would, please, Miss Grahame.”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  A moment later, the middle-aged woman brought in a thick folder full of papers and a number of official-looking envelopes. “Will there be anything else, sir?”

  “Not at the moment, thank you,” Barnaby said, opening the folder and taking out the unsigned will.

  “I beg your pardon, Miss Grahame,” Drew said before she could leave the room, and then he turned to Barnaby. “May I?”

  “Certainly.” Barnaby handed him the will. “It’s not valid, of course, but it does contain his last expressed wishes.”

  Drew glanced at it, then showed it to the secretary. “You have no doubt seen this will before now.”

  “Yes, sir. I prepared it.”

  Drew nodded. “So you took down the information as Lord Rainsby was telling it to Mr. Barnaby?”

  “Oh, no, sir. Mr. Barnaby and his lordship talked it all over in here that last day he came to call. Then after he’d gone, Mr. Barnaby gave me his notes on how Lord Rainsby wanted his will, and I prepared it for him.”

  “And that’s the usual way it’s done?” Drew asked.

  “Yes, sir. The client states how he’d like his property disposed of upon his death, and Mr. Barnaby sets it down all nice and legal for him. And afterwards I type it up.”

  “Then he comes back later to sign it?”

  Miss Grahame nodded. “That’s the usual way of it, that is. Poor Lord Rainsby, and after . . .” She looked regretfully at the paper Drew held. “Well, it’s not my place to say, of course, but it seems things couldn’t have been very happy for him at home.”

  “That will do, Miss Grahame,” Barnaby said, and the woman ducked her head.

  “I beg your pardon, sir. Thank you, sir.” She scurried out of the office, closing the door behind her.

  Barnaby gave Drew some time to read the pristine document.

  “As you can see,” he said after a moment, “he wanted everything left to his daughter and to exclude his wife entirely.”

  “‘For reasons of which she is well aware,’” Drew read, and then he looked at the solicitor. “Did he discuss those reasons with you?”

  Barnaby scoffed. “Certainly not. I could tell he was fairly well nettled over them, whatever they were, but he didn’t say anything more about it to me.”

  “Did she know he came here that day?”

  “I have no idea. I got the impression at the time that she did not. He said he told everyone he was going somewhere else, his club or some such. I really can’t remember the particulars.”

  Drew scanned the paper once more. “Any other significant changes from his previous will?”

  “I couldn’t say,” Barnaby admitted. “I didn’t handle his previous will. He only ever consulted with me about business matters here in Scotland. His will and other personal matters were handled by his London firm. All I can suppose is that he was so angry about whatever had happened between himself and Lady Rainsby, he didn’t want to wait to exclude her until he was in London again.”

  “Maybe so,” Drew murmured, still thinking. “Maybe so. Besides his daughter, I see there are others he provided for.”

  “Yes, a few pet charities, pensions for servants, his foundation, something for a nephew who lives abroad, I believe. I suspect that’s the same as in his current will.” Barnaby smiled thinly. “He hadn’t rowed with any of them, eh?”

  “No, I suppose not.” Drew sighed. “Is there anything else of note that you remember from that day?”

  “I’m sorry. No.”

  “You say he was nettled. Was he in a state as if whatever had happened had taken place that very day?”

  Barnaby frowned. “No, I would say it was more of a cold sort of fury, too raw to be old but well contained all the same. He’d thought out what he wanted to do.”

  “He didn’t have any other business he wished to discuss with you? No other concerns?”

  The solicitor shook his head. “I’m just sorry he was unable to sign this new will so his last wishes would be carried out. Of course, if I had known what was to be, I would have had it prepared for him to sign that day. I feel as if I’ve been horribly negligent.”

  “It’s a tragedy,” Drew said, “but none of us is guaranteed his next breath. You couldn’t have known.” He stood. “You’ve been most helpful, sir. I do appreciate your time and trouble.”

  “I’m pleased to offer my assistance.” Barnaby gave Drew’s hand a firm shake. “It’s a bad business, this. I hate to make any assumptions based on a will that was never executed, but it’s hard to overlook the part Lord Rainsby’s considerable fortune could have played in everything that has happened.”

  “Financial interests are always the first consideration,” Drew said. “I suppose you’ve been over all this with the police already.”

  “Naturally. But if you have any other questions, please don’t hesitate to call.”

  Drew awoke that night stiff-limbed and cotton-mouthed, more weary than before he’d gone to sleep. At first he was alarmed not to see Madeline curled up on the other side of the bed, but then he remembered where she was and why. He resisted the urge to telephone The Swan just to make sure she was there, safe and sound. She was. He knew she was. No need to rouse
the whole village just because this case was getting to him.

  He didn’t want to rouse the house, either. If he turned on the faucet in the bathroom just enough to get a mouthful of water, it shouldn’t make too much noise. Then maybe he’d be able to get to sleep again. It was half past two.

  He slipped out of bed and went to the sink, glad the water made only the softest hiss as it came out of the pipe. He drank a handful of it and then splashed his face. The coolness helped, but the room still felt too warm. Too close. He couldn’t remember his dream, only that he had been searching for something, something lost in a desert of hot sand. Or was it one of the hazards on the course at Muirfield?

  He went to the open window, hoping to feel more of the breeze. All was quiet outside, everything as it should be. He noticed the vague outline of a motor car someone had left parked under the trees near the road. The grounds keeper wouldn’t care for that, but otherwise . . .

  He froze. Something had moved near the car. First he thought it was the swaying of the tree limbs in the pale light of the moon, but then he saw something else. Someone was moving in the shadows, making for the back of the house.

  Drew shoved his feet into his slippers and threw on his dressing gown. Another glance out the window showed him that the figure was nearly at the kitchen door. He snatched up the poker that leaned against the hearth and then slipped out the door, closing it behind him with the tiniest metallic snick.

  He padded soundlessly down the hall to the back stairs and down to the kitchen. Soon he was standing by the door, listening for the soft click of the lock. Finally it came. Whoever it was had a key. The figure moved inside and latched the back door closed again. There was a moment of silence, a slight rustling sound, and then silence again. Then the door next to Drew began to swing slowly open. Whoever it was had crept across the stone floor without shoes on.

  Drew pressed himself back against the wall near the hinged side of the kitchen door and held his breath, hoping whoever it was didn’t open the door wide enough to hit him. He needn’t have worried. The door opened just enough for a slight figure in black to step into the dark corridor. Drew put down the poker he had held at the ready and stepped from behind the door.

  “Joan.”

  She gasped, and he immediately shushed her. “Don’t wake the house.”

  Her shoes clutched in one hand, she put the other over her mouth, her breath coming in little hitches until she was steady again.

  She grabbed his sleeve and pulled him into the kitchen with her. “What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed, dark eyes blazing in the dim light of the low-banked hearth fire. “I nearly came out of my skin!”

  “Sorry. I thought you might be an intruder. With everything that’s gone on, one can’t be too careful. What were you doing creeping about out there at all hours?”

  “I . . .” Her lips trembled into a taut little smile. “I was feeling all shut in up in my room. I had to get a little air, that’s all.” The smile turned defiant. “I could ask you the same thing. What were you doing up to even be able to see me?”

  “You have me there,” he admitted. “It is a little close upstairs.” He didn’t tell her about the nightmare.

  “I’m glad you’re keeping watch, though.” There was something vaguely troubled in her expression. “I shouldn’t like anything else to happen. I just wish all of this would go away, you know?”

  She looked as if she desperately wanted a cigarette, even though he could smell the last one still on her clothes. His eyes were adjusting to the darkness now, and he picked a little bit of hay off her sleeve.

  “Visited the stables, did you?”

  Her eyes widened, and she brushed her hand over one shoulder and then the other and finally down the back of her head. Two more fragments of hay drifted to the floor, and her once-pale face turned suddenly crimson.

  “I just wanted to see my horse. Sometimes I—” there was a tiny catch in her voice—“I just need to feel I’m not alone, to hold on to something warm, something breathing.” She swiped a hand over her eyes and gave a derisive huff. “Don’t listen to me. I don’t know what I’m saying.”

  “It’s a natural thing to want to be comforted,” he said softly. “To be admired. Loved.” There was another piece of hay sticking out from under the collar of her blouse. He pulled it out and handed it to her. “But there are those who take advantage of that need, who play on it for their own ends, not caring who they hurt.”

  She lifted her chin and tossed the bit of hay to the floor.

  “Believe me,” he said, “I know how it is. The infatuation. The utter obsession with one person. The willingness to do anything and everything just to hold on to that perfection. The profound need to believe everything you’ve been told is true, that you are loved and desired and, by some miracle, at least to that one person, as fascinating a creature as the one who fascinates you. I know, too, what it’s like to find out it’s all a lie and that you’d been played for a fool all along. It’s not pleasant, and I’m sure that when he tried to keep Tyler away from you, your father was only trying to protect you.”

  “Dad didn’t know him.” Her whisper was fierce, but the firelight caught the sparkle of a tear in her eye. “He didn’t understand how we feel about each other. I know Jamie has done some things he’s not proud of. I know he has a past. I don’t care. I love him. I want him.”

  She wiped her eyes and stood there glaring at him. He hadn’t expected such a depth of passion from her.

  “I know you think I’m a bad girl. Well, I am a bad girl, and I don’t care.”

  Rather than wicked, he thought she merely looked young and a trifle foolish. “I’m curious,” he said. “Whose car is that out there? Your fellow’s?”

  “Jamie doesn’t have a car. I’m not sure whose that is, but it’s hard to see much of anything out there at the moment.” She looked toward the pantry. “I’m a bit hungry. How about something to eat? Just to tide us over till breakfast.”

  He shook his head, still watching out the window. “You stay here. I’m going down there to see what I can find out.”

  “Are you sure you should? Maybe you ought to wait till you can see a bit better. In the morning—”

  There was the sputter of an engine, and then the motor car eased out of the shadows and onto the road. Before Drew had a chance to do any more than wonder about the identity of the driver, the car was gone.

  He frowned as he turned back to Joan. “Might have been nothing, anyway.”

  Eleven

  Madeline looked out of her sitting room window at The Swan and down into the street. Where were they?

  “Nothing?” Carrie stood on tiptoes in an attempt to see, too.

  “Nothing. It would be only fair if we went to dinner without them.”

  “In that case,” Carrie said, “we can just have Mrs. Drummond bring us up some sandwiches, and I’ll get out of these shoes.”

  Her dainty pumps were white, as were her dress, her gloves, and the pearl-trimmed Juliet cap that sat on the arm of the sofa. White was the perfect color for her, a pristine canvas to set off her brilliant hair.

  “I suppose it’s not quite the same without them.” Madeline gave her arm a squeeze. “But don’t worry. Nick will be here, and he’ll be smitten as always. That is, if Drew hasn’t dragged him into some kind of escapade.”

  Carrie looked stricken. “You don’t think—”

  “No, I don’t think they’re up to anything too outlandish. It’s more likely they’re poking their noses where they don’t belong and forgot what time it is.”

  There was a tap on the door.

  “See?”

  Madeline flung open the door to find Drew and Nick standing there and looking like two very naughty, grubby schoolboys.

  “You’re late.” Madeline narrowed her eyes. “What in the world have you been doing? You’re filthy, both of you.”

  “Now, now, darling, don’t scold.” Drew gave her a careful peck on the cheek.
“We’re not as bad as all that, are we?”

  “You’re not fit to go out,” she said. “Denny would be ashamed of you both, and I hope you didn’t let Plumfield see you. Why do you look as if you’ve just swallowed a canary?”

  Drew walked into the sitting room with Nick right behind him. “I daresay you’ll be happy to see us, filth and all, once we show you what we’ve brought.”

  “What I have brought, thank you very much,” Nick corrected. “And I’ve brought it for Carrie.”

  “Oh, dear. What have you been doing now?” Carrie was still at the window, looking afraid to come closer in her all-white ensemble. “Nick, you can’t really expect to go to dinner looking like—”

  “We may have a slight delay,” he said, “until everything can be arranged. I trust you won’t mind too much.”

  He and Drew had such a look of eager delight, Madeline wasn’t able to keep the sternness in her expression.

  “What is it?” Carrie asked with a little smile.

  “Close your eyes and hold out your hands,” Nick replied as he reached into his coat pocket. “You too,” he said to Madeline.

  They both did as they were told, and after a bit of rustling, there was a piercing, plaintive cry.

  “Oh, Nick!” Carrie squealed. “A kitten!”

  Madeline’s eyes flew open. Nick held a squirming little bundle of orange fur that must have been dozing in his pocket all this time.

  “We found him out in the stable at Thorburn Hall.”

  “The little darling,” Madeline cooed, reaching for it, but Nick was already setting it in Carrie’s gloved hands.

  “For me?” she said, her eyes as blue and bright as the kitten’s.

  “Wait, Carrie.” Madeline snatched up a towel and took the kitten from her. “Poor baby, he may be the only thing in Scotland more in need of a bath than those two.”

  “We decided that because he is Scottish, he ought to have a right royal name,” Drew said, following her into the bathroom. “He’s been Bonnie Prince Charlie ever since.”

  Charlie gave a yowling mew and tried to wriggle out of Madeline’s hands, but Drew took him from her again. “As you say, I’m already filthy. I’ll hold him for the time being.”