by Rhys Bowen
The candle flickered and I felt a cold draft pass over me. I glanced over my shoulder. The door and the curtains were still closed. I thought I detected the faintest of voices whispering, “Yessss.”
“She’s here,” Charlotte said excitedly. “I knew she’d come. Lady Hortense, we’d first like you to find John Altringham for us. You remember your great-great-grandson, who died so bravely in the war? His son is here with us now. Do you see him? He’d like to hear his father’s voice.”
Again we waited what seemed like an eternity. Then Irene said, “Listen. Someone is laughing.”
We strained to hear and it sounded indeed like distant laughter, very far away.
“It’s Ceddy, having a good laugh at our expense,” Julian whispered.
“That’s not Ceddy’s laugh,” Adrian said.
“That’s Johnnie,” Charlotte said. “Don’t you remember how he loved to laugh, Irene?”
“Yes,” Irene whispered. “Johnnie loved to laugh.”
“Is that you, John?” Charlotte said. “Can you show yourself to us? Can you say something to your son?”
Again we waited but the laughter faded into silence. “It’s no use. He’s choosing not to speak to us,” Charlotte said. “I can feel he’s here. Maybe what he has to say to Jack is private and he doesn’t wish us to overhear.”
“We could try the Ouija board,” Virginia suggested. “Perhaps he is a voiceless spirit. They are sometimes.”
“We could.” Charlotte picked up the planchette. “Jack, put your hand on this with me. And Irene. You are both Johnnie’s relatives. He’ll feel comfortable communicating with you.”
Jack gave me a questioning glance before placing his finger on the little disk. Slowly it started to move across the table. “B . . . U . . . G . . . G . . . E . . . R.” We repeated the letters as the planchette went to them. “O . . . F. . . F.”
“He said, ‘Bugger off,’” Jack said delightedly.
“That definitely sounds like Johnnie,” Irene said. “Always was rude.”
“Anything else you’d like to say, John?” Charlotte asked. But the planchette did not move again. “Apparently not.” She looked around the room. “Let us move along then. The problem of Marcel. Spirits from the other side, we need your help. Tell us what will happen. Tell us what we should do to stop a stranger from taking over Kingsdowne.”
She looked at us as she pushed the Ouija board into the middle of the table. “Place one finger each on the planchette,” she said. We did as she commanded.
“We await you, oh spirits,” she said. Slowly the planchette began to move.
“D,” we said in unison.
It shot across the board. “E,” we chimed.
“A.”
Suddenly there was a great gust of wind. The curtains billowed out. The candle was blown out and we were plunged into darkness. Irene and Virginia rose to their feet with a cry of fright. I think the Starlings screamed as well. My own heart was hammering in my chest.
“Death,” Charlotte whispered. “It was going to spell out ‘death.’”
Chapter 14
KINGSDOWNE
We went up to bed in uneasy silence. I didn’t quite believe in Princess Charlotte and her spirits but I had felt the cold draft in a small, closed room. I had seen the planchette race around to spell out “bugger off.” And I had heard the distant laughter. Now, it was possible that this was Jack’s idea of a joke, but his expression had also looked wary. And whose idea of a joke would it have been to spell out “death”? Of course, again, maybe we were reading too much into it. The word had not finished before the candle was blown out. It could have been “dear” or “deal.” But I had felt the fear in the room.
Queenie was waiting for me, for once cheerful and inclined to be chatty.
“You won’t believe what we had to eat in the servants’ hall,” she said. “Bloody good food they have here, don’t they? I’ll end up as fat as a pig. Come on, turn around. Let me undo your dress.”
“Queenie, I think I can manage from now on,” I said. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather be alone tonight.”
“I don’t know about you,” she said. “When I don’t turn up on time you’re always grousing, and when I do turn up you don’t want me anyway.”
I had to turn and smile at this. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I am normally delighted when you turn up at the right time to perform your duties. It’s just that I’m a bit unsettled tonight and I really don’t want to talk.”
“Oh, in that case just tell me to shut me gob,” Queenie said. “My old dad was always saying that to me. I’m used to it.”
“I don’t think I could ever bring myself to tell anyone to shut her gob,” I said cautiously. “My great-grandmother Queen Victoria would turn in her grave.”
Queenie chuckled and proceeded to undress me in silence, hung up my clothes and even handed me my toothbrush, so that I felt quite guilty for my uncharitable thoughts about her.
“Will that be all, my lady?” she asked.
I nodded. “Thank you, Queenie. You’re coming along quite nicely.”
“Am I really?” She went quite pink and tiptoed out. I curled up in bed, listening to the moan of the wind down my chimney. Eventually I must have fallen asleep, and I awoke to a wild morning with clouds racing across a sky heavy with the promise of rain. The fire was already burning merrily in my grate, having been lit by an unseen, unheard housemaid, but the prospect outside was so unappealing that I lay under the covers until Queenie arrived with my tea.
“Sorry, miss. It’s so bloomin’ dark that I overslept again,” she said. “Shall I run you a bath? And what will you be wearing?”
“My kilt again with a jumper, I think, and yes, please do run me a bath.”
The clock in the great central foyer was chiming nine as I made my way down to the breakfast room. My nanny back in Scotland would say that I was heading down the slippery slope getting up at such a late hour. The three sisters were sitting together at one end of the table, but there was no sign of the other members of the household. They were involved in some kind of heated discussion when I came in, but broke off when they saw me, nodded then went back to devouring kidneys.
“So what do you think it means, Edwina?” Charlotte asked. “It was such an ominous presence and after last night’s séance . . .”
“I’d say it meant that you overindulged at dinner last night,” Edwina said. “Too much cream in the pudding, maybe.”
“Don’t mock, Edwina. You know I’ve had prophetic dreams in the past. Why, I even dreamed of our downfall in Russia. I saw a horde of black ants swarming all over our beautiful picnic, and Orlovski said, ‘Everything is ruined.’ Then the ants turned and swarmed all over him. And look what happened only a month later.”
“Hmmph,” Edwina said.
“So maybe Cedric is the evil presence I saw in my dream—although why he should take on the shape of a black panther, I don’t know.”
“You had a dream last night, Your Highness?” I asked.
“I did. Most real and vivid. I looked out of my window and I saw this huge, black cat stalking through the grounds. Some kind of black panther or leopard, I’d say. And I knew it meant danger for the family and I believe Edwina’s voice said, ‘How did it get in here? It’s dangerous.’ And someone else replied, ‘The family let it in.’”
Virginia shuddered. “What with that and the Ouija board spelling out ‘death’ last night.”
“Fortunately, there are no panthers wandering about Britain as far as I know,” Edwina said. She looked out of the window. “Beastly day. Serves Cedric right for bringing down that architect chappy for his wretched amphitheater. I hope they both get soaked to the skin.”
“I can’t think what the boy was thinking,” Princess Charlotte said. “Hordes of people tramping over the estate. Not a moment of priva
cy. Didn’t you try to talk him out of it, Edwina?”
“Of course I did, but he wouldn’t listen. I’m utterly appalled by the whole thing, especially by his callous attitude toward the tenants in those cottages. People have lived there for generations—our estate people—and he simply couldn’t care a fig. I don’t know how I could have raised such a selfish son. His father would give him a good talking-to. A good thrashing would have been even better.”
“Maybe we should have summoned his father during the séance last night,” Virginia suggested.
“Please, Virginia, no more about that séance,” Edwina said. “News of it has quite upset the servants. In fact—” She broke off at the sound of an anguished wail. “Now what?” she demanded. Far off, we could hear what sounded like a hysterical outburst.
“You see what I mean, Charlotte?” Edwina said. “You’ve got them all frightened.”
We sat there, poised as in a tableau until we heard the sound of feet running in our direction. Elsie, the head housemaid, came bursting into the breakfast room. “Beg pardon, Your Grace,” she said.
“What is it, Elsie?” Edwina had risen to her feet. “Who is making that ridiculous noise?”
“It’s Lady Irene’s maid, Your Grace. She says she can’t wake Lady Irene.”
Edwina was clutching the jet brooch at her throat. “That silly girl. She can’t have . . .” she said. “Elsie, go to Mr. Huxstep and tell him to telephone Dr. Bradley at once. Tell him Lady Irene might have tried to kill herself.”
She started out of the room, her hand clasped to her prodigious bosom.
“I’ll come with you,” I said, and she didn’t turn me down.
Up the grand staircase we went, along the front hall with its magnificent views of the rain-swept lake, toward the sound of uncontrolled sobbing. A thin woman with an unmistakably French profile, dressed in severe black, was cowering in the hallway, a lace handkerchief pressed to her mouth.
“Pull yourself together, Francoise,” the dowager duchess said. She pushed the maid aside and flung open the bedroom door. Irene lay pale and unmoving in her big, white bed. She looked much younger without her perpetual, worried frown, and I could see she must have been quite a beauty once. I went over to her and put my face close to her cheek. I felt the warmth of breath. “She’s still alive,” I said.
“Thank God for that,” Edwina answered. “I hope that wretched doctor will hurry up.”
She sat on the bed beside Irene and took her hand. “Irene, darling, can you hear me? It’s Mama. Time to wake up now, darling.” Then she shook her. Irene didn’t stir.
The duchess looked up at the cowering, sniveling maid. “Did you only just discover her like this?”
“Yes, milady,” the girl answered in her strong French accent. “The countess say last night that she is getting one of her migraines and she will take a sleeping powder, so I must not wake her at her usual time in the morning. But when it was past nine o’clock I wonder if perhaps she would like some tea. So I peek in. And she lies there, so pale, not moving. I am afraid. I try to wake her but it is impossible.” And she started sobbing again.
Edwina looked at her with distaste. “Show me these sleeping powders,” Edwina said. “Do you know how many she had and how many she might have taken?” she asked.
“I do not know, Your Grace,” the girl said. “I am not allowed to touch her medicines that the doctor prescribes. She keeps these shut away in her bathroom cabinet.”
The duchess’s two sisters arrived on the scene, breathing heavily. Charlotte let out a little moan. “You see, I was right. The spirits never lie. I told you they said ‘death.’”
Edwina spun on her, eyes blazing. “Be quiet, Charlotte. Enough of your nonsense. Irene is still alive and breathing, and I intend to keep her that way.” She broke off, collecting herself as the butler tapped on the bedroom door.
“Your Grace, the doctor is on his way,” he said. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Someone should subdue that hysterical French girl,” Edwina said, “and, Huxstep, I think you had better wake the duke. He should know about his sister, and he needs to be up anyway, if he is to meet this architect fellow.”
“Very good, Your Grace,” Huxstep said. “And should I perhaps bring up the brandy decanter and some glasses? You have clearly had a shock.”
“Very thoughtful of you, but no, I do not think alcohol is needed. I will stay at my daughter’s side until the doctor arrives, and I’d appreciate it if the rest of you left us for the present.”
I followed the butler and the two elderly sisters out of the room.
“Do you really think Irene tried to take her own life?” Virginia asked in a stage whisper as we came out into the hall.
“She always did go in for melodrama, even as a child,” Charlotte said. “And she was upset last night. I do feel for her. It’s terrible when one has lost everything—status, power and money—and is dependent on the goodness of relatives.”
“If you’re talking about Cedric,” Virginia replied, “I don’t think there is a large font of goodness to depend upon.”
Charlotte nodded. “Cedric has always thought only of himself. I believe he’d turn out his own mother if it suited him.”
As we walked down the hall, Huxstep was tapping on a pair of gilded double doors set back in an alcove. The door opened to reveal a rather beautiful young man with big, dark eyes and a Mediterranean look about him.
“Mr. ’uxstep?” he asked. “What is zee mattaire?”
“Her Grace requests that you wake your master and tell him that Lady Irene has been taken ill,” Huxstep said.
“But ’e is not ’ere,” Marcel said. “He rises early, and he say he have urgent matter to attend to. He instructs me to bring him a cup of coffee to his study.”
“Ah, thank you, Marcel,” Huxstep said. We followed him down the stairs and I watched him tap on a door then open it cautiously. “Your Grace?” he asked.
Then he pushed the door open wider. “He doesn’t appear to be in his study after all,” Huxstep said to me, coming out again and shutting the door behind him. “Perhaps he went into breakfast.”
“Ah, breakfast. That’s what we need,” Charlotte said, taking Virginia’s arm. “I never did finish my kidneys.”
We were on our way to the breakfast room when we passed Frederick.
“Have you seen His Grace recently?” Huxstep asked.
“Not recently, Mr. Huxstep, but I saw him heading for the front door a good hour or so ago. I asked if I should fetch his overcoat or a brolly, as the weather looked most threatening. He said he’d be fine in his tweed jacket and that he wouldn’t be gone long. He was just going to take another look at the possible building site, and he had a letter in his hand.”
“A letter?”
“Yes, Mr. Huxstep. I asked him if it needed posting but he said he’d pop it in the letter box in the lane as he was going that way and it was important that it catch the first post. I then suggested that the chauffeur could run it into the village, but he said it wasn’t necessary and that a walk would do him good.”
“I see,” Huxstep said. He paused, frowning. “And did any of his young friends accompany him, do you know?”
“I couldn’t tell you that, Mr. Huxstep. I didn’t see anyone else. I shut the front door behind him then I went back to my duties.”
“And this was some time ago, you said?”
“A good hour or more.”
“Was it not raining when he set out?”
“I don’t believe so, Mr. Huxstep, although the sky certainly looked nasty enough.”
“Then I think you’d better put the brandy decanter in His Grace’s study,” Huxstep said. “He will be exceedingly wet and cold by the time he returns. He will need reviving.”
I walked with the sisters and the butler to the breakfast room.
Cedric was not there. Mr. Huxstep left again but the two sisters resumed their meal immediately. I poured myself a cup of coffee, but I was too upset to think about food. I came out into the hall again, wondering what I should do with myself. I wanted to be of use, but I’d been banished from Irene’s bedroom. I wondered if I should go up and speak to her children, but decided that was the prerogative of their grandmother. There was also no sign of Jack, so I went through to the morning room, expecting to find the two sisters there. But it was deserted. A lovely fire was burning in the hearth, and I sat in one of the armchairs. Outside the tall, arched window, great squalls of rain were now sweeping across the forecourt. It was certainly a day for a book beside the fire, and I was rather glad that the obnoxious Cedric was getting soaked as he planned to evict his tenants.
I picked up a copy of The Lady and was about to start reading when I heard the sound of tires on gravel. I looked up to see a sporty Armstrong Sidley come up the driveway. This had to be the doctor arriving. I watched one of the footmen run out with a large umbrella and escort a small, chubby man up to the front door. A few seconds later our door was opened and the footman came in.
“Begging your pardon, my lady, but a gentleman has arrived to see His Grace. A Mr. Smedley—apparently His Grace is expecting him. Would you happen to know where His Grace might be?”
“I gather he went out to take a look at the site he is considering for his theater project,” I said. “This man must be the architect he was expecting.”
“That’s right, my lady. He did mention that he was from a firm of architects. So His Grace is out on the estate?”
“I think so. He doesn’t appear to be in the house.”
He looked dubiously out of the window. “So someone should take this gentleman down to find His Grace.”
I read in his face that he didn’t fancy that someone being himself. I got up. “I’ll take him if you like. I’m used to rain like this up in Scotland.”
I saw the relief flood across his face. “Would you, my lady? That would be most kind of you. It seems that—” He broke off. “That would be the doctor’s car now. I’d better go and escort him into the house, if you’d excuse me.”