Death at Thorburn Hall

by Julianna Deering

  “Is he really for me?” Carrie asked once more.

  “If you want him,” Nick said, searching her face. “You do, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do.” She started to take the kitten from Drew but then looked at her immaculate white outfit. “But maybe not right this minute. Do you think he’ll mind a bath very much?”

  “He seems too young to be away from his mother,” Madeline said.

  Drew stroked the still-squalling kitten with his finger. “He’s probably five or six weeks old, so I daresay he’s old enough to be weaned but young enough not to be happy about it. We asked about and it seems the stableman’s sister took the mother and her two other little ones back to her house in the next village, only they seem to have missed this one. Somehow he got himself stuck up in the loft, and we had a devil of a time getting him down.”

  Madeline brushed off his coat and then sneezed at the dust and chaff she had stirred up. “Excuse me,” she said with a sniff. “No wonder you’re such a mess. What exactly were you doing in the stable when you were supposed to be taking us to dinner?”

  “Give us a minute to tidy up and then we’ll take the kitten to Mrs. Drummond. Perhaps she can look after him while we’re at dinner. Then we’ll tell you all about it.”

  Just minutes later, they left Charlie with the innkeeper and made their way to an Italian place down the street. It was small and hardly elegant, but it smelled deliciously of freshly baked bread, roasted garlic, steaming pasta, and savory chicken and beef.

  They had barely placed their orders when Madeline demanded to know what Drew and Nick had been up to. “Don’t come to take us to dinner filthy and smelling of horses and not tell us what happened.”

  “We don’t still smell of horses, do we?” Drew asked, looking positively alarmed.

  She laughed. “No, thank goodness.”

  “It’s not all that exciting,” Drew assured her, “except for finding Charlie.”

  “But what were you doing? Why were you in the stable in the first place?”

  “I chanced to see Miss Rainsby coming in very late last night. She had some bits of straw on her jumper. On the back mostly.”

  Madeline raised an eyebrow.

  “I thought,” Drew continued, “since Nick and I were heading into the village and no one at the house would miss us, we might have a look about out there. Not just to have a look at the number of cigarette ends left behind—some of them Joan’s brand, others not—but to see how difficult it might be to get in without a key. Despite what Joan said, we didn’t find it hard at all. We also went down to the cottage out in the woods beyond the stables. I doubt anyone is living there, though the place hasn’t been abandoned altogether.”

  “A cottage?” Carrie looked at Nick. “How do you know someone’s been there?”

  “Cigarette ends again,” he told her. “Joan’s again, it seems. Fresh footmarks too—boots far too large for her little feet.”

  Madeline’s eyes widened. “You can’t mean she was meeting someone there, too?”

  “Could be,” Drew said. “We don’t know quite yet. It could be just a coincidence. About the cigarettes, I mean. There was also a strange motor car parked near the road. Under those trees just where it makes the bend. When I talked to Joan last night, she seemed rather determined for me not to notice it.”

  “Whose car?”

  “Couldn’t say, but it drove away not long after she came in. And I’m given to understand that Muirfield caddies are generally without the means to afford motor cars.”

  Their meals arrived, and the saltimbocca alla Romana, followed by tiramisu with the most excellent coffee Drew had had since his arrival in Scotland made him content to let the case rest for a while. For the evening, a lovely wife and good friends were more than enough.

  They stopped to see Mrs. Drummond after dinner. Much to Carrie’s delight, the kitten was clean and fluffy and sleeping soundly in a basket near the stove.

  “There’s Charlie,” she said, scooping it up and cuddling it, even as the kitten protested having its sleep disturbed.

  Mrs. Drummond chuckled. “That’s noo a Charlie, miss. More a Charlene.”

  “What?”

  Carrie looked at Nick, Nick gaped at Drew, and Madeline laughed at all of them.

  “Bonnie Princess Charlie, is she?”

  “I thought . . .” Nick began.

  “No need to look smug, Mrs. Farthering,” Drew said. “Most ginger cats are male, as you well know. We merely assumed—”

  “I don’t care.” Carrie pressed her lips to the kitten’s fluffy head. “Charlie or not, she’s a bonnie thing and Bonnie she shall be.”

  “I like it,” Nick said, touching its red-gold fur and then Carrie’s red-gold curls. “Nothing prettier.”

  She blushed and, bidding Mrs. Drummond good-night, hurried to the stairs. Nick followed her, and they spent a moment with their heads together, their voices low and intimate.

  Drew smiled as he took Madeline’s arm. “I suppose we’d be wise to walk very slowly toward them.”

  “That would be thoughtful,” she said, pressing close to his side. “I’ll be glad when we don’t have to be apart anymore.”

  “No more so than I will. I hope we’ll have this all sorted out soon.”

  “Have you talked to Joan?”

  He shook his head. “We chatted just a bit when she crept into the kitchen last night. I’m fairly sure she was meeting that caddie out in the stable. But who might have been at the cottage, I couldn’t say. I hadn’t looked out there until Nick and I did this evening.”

  “Maybe you’d better ask her about it,” Madeline said, and then her forehead wrinkled. “I just can’t imagine her seeing two of them on the same night. I hardly believe she’s seeing one. As much as she tries to hide it, I don’t think she’s the hard-edged sophisticate she makes herself out to be.”

  “I don’t know what to make of her. She claims she and Tyler are passionately in love. It may be so.”

  “If that’s the case, who’s the other man?”

  “I’ll talk to her about it,” Drew said, “but I think you’d better be with me when I do. She seems a fairly straightforward and level-headed girl, I know, but she’s still rather young.”

  Madeline put her arms around his neck and stood on tiptoes to touch her lips to his. “And you don’t want to tramp all over her delicate sensibilities.”

  “More or less.”

  There was a decided twinkle in her eyes. “You’re such a brute.”

  “You know what I mean. As much as I hate to admit it, Nick’s right. I can be a bit ham-fisted at times, especially with the ladies.”

  She kissed him again. “Only when you have a lead and you’re trying to get right to the point.”

  “I suppose I do get overeager, but that, darling, is why I need you.” This time he kissed her. “We’re so much better together than apart, don’t you think? How would I ever get out of all these scrapes if I didn’t have you?”

  “And without you, how would I ever get into them?”

  “You’d find a way,” he said, giving her a squeeze and releasing her. “Now, shall we say good-night? If we wait much longer, I’m afraid Nick will have to be dragged out bodily.”

  Nick and Carrie were standing closer than before, their gazes locked. He had his arms around her waist. She cradled her sleeping kitten in one hand and cupped his face with the other. Drew cleared his throat, and they stepped reluctantly apart.

  “Come along, Nick, old man. It’s just a few hours till Sunday services. You needn’t look as if you’re about to spend a year at sea.”

  He and Nick escorted the girls up to their sitting room and said their farewells, promising to return in the morning. Then the two of them walked back to Thorburn Hall.

  Joan and Lady Louisa did not attend church the next morning, though the Pikes did. Afterward, once Nick and Carrie had turned in at The Swan to have lunch and Mrs. Pike and Madeline walked on ahead toward the Hal
l, Drew slowed his pace to match Mr. Pike’s lumbering gait.

  “How is Mrs. Pike holding up?”

  “Right enough, I suppose,” Pike rumbled. “I have a business dinner to attend on Wednesday, courting the financier Camden Emerson to invest in my company. That ought to take Elspeth’s mind off things here for a bit.”

  “She seemed her usual chipper self at the service. I had no idea she was such an enthusiastic singer.”

  Pike gave a rueful chuckle. “I suppose you could say that.”

  “I was afraid this business with the count would have upset her.”

  The big man shook his head. “In a way, I think she rather likes it. After all, if Kuznetsov was appealing as a tragic refugee and misunderstood artiste, he’s even better as a man wrongly accused and persecuted for his nationality.”

  Drew smiled. “I think you must be terribly fond of Mrs. Pike to have put up with all this for so long.”

  “One day I’ll toss our so-called count out a window,” Pike said matter-of-factly. “See if I don’t. But a murderer? I don’t know.”

  “No,” Drew said. “I don’t suppose you have any theories about what actually happened to Rainsby.”

  Looking away, Pike said, “No. I just wish I hadn’t let Kuznetsov talk us into coming for the tournament. We’d all have been better off had I declined.”

  Drew stopped short. “It was his idea?”

  “Insisted on it.”

  “That’s odd. I got the impression he wasn’t the least interested in the tournament.”

  “Still.”

  “I suppose he thought he’d pick up at few worthwhile trinkets at the Hall that would never be missed by anyone.” The scoundrel.

  “I don’t think so,” Pike said. “Elspeth was planning to accept an invitation to Lady Edrret’s, and I’m sure he always returns home with a bit of her plate, no matter how much Elspeth denies it. Much more profitable than anything Thorburn Hall has to offer. Nevertheless, he convinced my wife the Open was the event of the season and we simply must make the trip to Scotland.”

  Drew could see her just up ahead, fluttering her plump hands and chattering away. There was no use questioning her about what Kuznetsov had said. She probably hadn’t thought twice about it. Even so, he promised himself he’d take it up with the count at his earliest opportunity.

  They arrived back at the Hall just in time for lunch.

  “No, you haven’t missed it, sir,” Twining told Drew. “Cook tells me it will be ready at half past. I was just going to inform Miss Joan. Sometimes when she’s reading, the time gets away from her.”

  “Shall we fetch her in for you?”

  The butler made a slight bow. “I would be most gratified, sir.”

  Joan was sitting out in the rose-covered folly, clearly not reading the book in her lap. She started when Madeline called to her.

  “May we join you?”

  “Certainly.” She marked her place with one finger and slid to the end of the marble bench. “Do sit down.”

  “Anna Karenina,” Madeline said, nodding toward the book. “How are you liking it?”

  Joan sighed. “Wretched. Real life is depressing enough at the moment. I don’t know why I picked this one up.”

  Drew remembered the story. Adultery, alienation, misery, suicide . . . “I’d much rather read Wodehouse myself. A bit of Jeeves and Wooster most always puts one right.”

  Joan merely looked annoyed. “That twaddle. I’m not saying it isn’t amusing in its way, but it’s hardly full of deep meaning.”

  Drew took the book from her, marked the place with the ribbon bound into it, and shut it firmly. “Well, there’s only so much ‘deep meaning’ we mortals can take in one sitting.” He glanced at Madeline and then plunged ahead. “I know this must be a very upsetting time for you, and I’m sorry to have to address it at all, but I did promise your father I’d look into things for him. I can hardly drop the matter now, can I?”

  There was a slight quivering of her lower lip. “Maybe it’s best not to know. After all, it won’t bring him back.”

  Madeline gave her hand a soothing pat. “But at least we’d be able to stop whoever it was from hurting anyone else.”

  Joan blinked. “Anyone else? What do you mean?”

  “The killer wouldn’t be able to kill again,” Drew said. “I shouldn’t like that to happen if we could have stopped him in the first place.”

  “No,” Joan murmured. “No, of course not. Do . . . do you think this killer really would? Kill someone else, I mean.”

  “They often do.”

  “But why? If someone wanted my father dead, then it’s over and done with. Why kill anyone else?”

  “Sometimes it’s more convenient to do away with a confederate than to trust he will remain silent.”

  Joan looked down at her book and didn’t reply.

  “Tell me something,” Drew said. “About that car that was parked under the tree the night I saw you coming into the house late.”

  Joan’s eyes grew wide, and she pursed her lips. “What about it? I told you it wasn’t one of ours, I’m certain of that much. Does it matter?”

  “Still, did you recognize it? Do you know whose it might be?”

  “I don’t know. I couldn’t see.”

  “And you’re sure your Mr. Tyler doesn’t have a motor car?” Madeline asked.

  Joan snorted. “Very sure.”

  “Tell me about that cottage in the woods,” Drew said, watching her face. “Do the two of you ever meet there?”

  There was a flash of something in her eyes. Temper? Fear?

  “No.”

  “I noticed a number of your cigarette ends near the stoop and along the path there.”

  “Mine?” She gaped at him, obviously surprised, and then gave him a tremulous smile. “Oh, yes, the cigarette ends. I sometimes go there to think, to get away from everyone. That’s all.”

  “I see.” He didn’t see. Not quite yet. But he was beginning to wonder. “But you were alone.”

  “Naturally.”

  No one said anything for a while, and the only sound was the squabbling of a pair of starlings overhead.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Drew said after a moment. “That will your father never signed, I know the police have asked you about it already. Have you come to any conclusions about it yet? Anything come to mind about why he would change his will and exclude your mother?”

  Joan looked at Drew with fierce eyes and a set mouth. “I think it’s all a mistake. Mr. Barnaby must have misunderstood what my father wanted. Dad would have gone back to sign it and seen what rubbish it was and made Barnaby start again.”

  “A fairly egregious mistake, don’t you think?” Drew asked.

  “Does any of this really matter?” she said, ignoring the question. “My father is dead. Nothing’s going to change that. Maybe . . .” She hesitated a moment and then became defiant. “Maybe you should leave well enough alone and go back to Hampshire. It was probably Kuznetsov, anyway.”

  Drew studied her for a moment. She was as eager for him to stop investigating as she had been for him to begin. What was she afraid of? It seemed ludicrous, even if she were seeing two men at the same time, that she would meet them in such short succession. Judging from the bits of hay still on her clothing, she had come directly from her tryst in the stable when Drew met her creeping into the Hall. But if she’d met someone at the cottage first, why hadn’t he driven away earlier? Something about it didn’t add up. Why had she so desperately wanted him to find her father’s murderer and now suddenly did not? And what did she really think about her father’s unsigned will?

  Madeline gave Drew a subtle look that told him she had the same misgivings. He squeezed her hand in acknowledgment.

  “Don’t you worry,” he told Joan. “I don’t mean to abandon you quite yet. You’ve given me some things to consider, and I hope I won’t have to trouble you any more on a Sunday. By the way,” he said before she could object, “
Twining sent us to fetch you in for lunch.” He offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

  Madeline took his other arm, and they made their way into the house.

  As they walked to Gullane early Monday morning, Drew told Nick about his conversation with Joan.

  “Two things,” Nick said after he’d had a few minutes to digest everything. “Either she’s behind the thing herself or she’s protecting someone.”

  “If she were behind her father’s death from the beginning, why would she practically beg us to look into it all?”

  “No, I suppose she wouldn’t.” Nick paused to add a handful of pink thrift to the bouquet of wildflowers he planned to give Carrie when they met for lunch later on. “First off, she doesn’t seem the type, and before she insisted that saddle be looked at, no one thought Lord Rainsby’s death was anything but an accident.”

  “Precisely. Which means she’s protecting someone. The caddie’s the most logical choice, but if that’s the case, why would she admit he was in the stable with her but deny he was the one driving the motor car?”

  “I suppose another talk with Mr. Tyler is in order.” Drew sighed. “I don’t seem to be figuring out much of anything about this case yet. Still, a nice chat with Mr. Barnaby might shed some light on this will business.”

  “Are you sure he’ll see you without an appointment?” Nick asked.

  “That’s why I wanted to start out bright and early, old man. The office opens at nine. If he’s like old Whyland in London, he doesn’t start taking appointments until at least ten. We’ll have a few words with him and then have plenty of time to spend with the girls before lunch. Can’t say fairer than that, eh?”

  “Very nice, I’m sure,” Nick said, but then he came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the road. “Look here, Drew, I know you’re eager to hash this all out again, and I’m keen enough to do it, but when we get to the inn I hope you’ll leave all the murder talk for later. Carrie and I had a lovely lunch and a splendid afternoon and evening together yesterday. We didn’t talk about Lord Rainsby or Lady Rainsby or Joan or MacArthur or anyone. She was happy, and I very nearly popped the question right then. She may very well have said yes, too.”