The Balmoral Incident

Home > Mystery > The Balmoral Incident > Page 10
The Balmoral Incident Page 10

by Alanna Knight


  I did know – and more than one – as she went on: ‘You have been very understanding too,’ and when I apologised once again for being unable to help or indeed, offer any useful advice, she shook her head, ‘It has helped, just to unburden myself. Hermann can forgive Scotland, his hatred belongs to England. Balmoral is exempt; he is here for the shooting. I must stay but God knows what will happen when we get home.’

  I wanted to hear more but our interview was cut short by a distraught Meg who burst in on us. I had not heard the motor, besides they could hardly have reached Ballater yet.

  Alice stood up. ‘I must go.’

  She cut short my apology to her and my suitable reprimand to Meg. ‘Perhaps we can meet again later?’ The anxiety in her voice made that urgent and imperative.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ‘What happened? I demanded. ‘Did the motor break down?’

  ‘No, we never got there. Faith was sick in the car, she’s gone back to the castle with Aunt Livvy—’

  Meg’s tears were in full flood. I put my arms around her. ‘No need to get upset, dear. Uncle Vince will soon make her better.’

  She pulled away from me. ‘I’m not worried at Faith being sick – it’s … it’s because she’ll be going back to London – leaving us.’

  She made it sound like the end of the world as I suppose it was, to her, for there followed a vast number of suggestions why she and Faith should not be separated, none in the least feasible or credible.

  No, Faith could not stay here with us without her mother. No, her father was much too busy to look after her.

  ‘Then can she come to Edinburgh and live with us?’ Meg pleaded. ‘I’ve told her all about our Solomon’s Tower, and she says she would love to come.’

  ‘And well she may, dear – to visit us,’ I added sharply. ‘She knows she will be very welcome to come for a holiday any time.’

  Meg bit her lip. ‘I don’t mean that, Mam. I mean to stay – for always,’ she added impatiently.

  ‘No, dear. She cannot do that. She is still a little girl—’

  ‘She will be eleven next year!’

  I ignored the interruption. ‘Until she is older she needs to be with her father and mother – they would miss her dreadfully, think how you would—’

  ‘No, they won’t,’ she interrupted. ‘They’re sending her to boarding school.’

  ‘That is not quite the same thing,’ I said wearily.

  But Meg refused to be placated. The demerits of boarding school came into it somewhere and so it went on and on between us, Meg putting forth ideas, trying to wheedle some sort of wild agreement. Finally, because I was tired and irritable and still feeling the effects of my nightmare hours in the dark forest, I lost my temper with her.

  ‘Do stop talking nonsense, Meg. Please be sensible about this and stop making silly suggestions. Faith must – like you – stay with her parents in her own home.’

  ‘I don’t think my suggestions were silly, Mam. Faith is my cousin, the only close kin I will ever have unless you and Pa are ever going to give me a brother or sister. I keep on hoping every day.’ She paused and gave me a hard look; waiting for the explanation I could not give her that her hopes were in vain. She sighed. ‘I have got the nuns praying for one—’

  That smote me to the heart, as did her tear-filled eyes as she ended: ‘It’s not like you, Mam. You’re not like this, usually we can talk together, tell each other everything. When I tell you things that bother me, you always know what to do. I can rely on you for everything.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘Not this time, though this is the most important thing that has ever happened to me. I want my cousin, the only relation I will ever have,’ she repeated heavily, ‘to live with us.’

  And taking Thane, out she went, her back straight, cold and defiant. And left me feeling that I had let her down and for the first time ever we had come near to quarrelling.

  But that wasn’t the end of my miseries. Worse was in store.

  We had another visit from Aiken and at the sight of him coming up the path the next morning my heart sank. Was this more bad news for Thane, for bad news seemed certain by his grim expression.

  ‘Thought I should tell you, madam, there’s been another tragedy.’ He sighed deeply. ‘The Dee has claimed another victim.’

  I wondered what he was talking about.

  ‘Poor young lass drowned. Found by one of the ghillies walking his dog this morning.’ He shook his head and sighed again. ‘They’re making enquiries. Been a bit bashed about, poor craiter, river’s rough there, boulders, ye ken. Och well, we were all expecting it,’ he added glumly.

  ‘After yon wee lad drowned the very day you arrived. We all ken that the Dee claims three a year.’ And pointing in the general direction of Crathie Church: ‘It’s there written down in the parish records, generations back, and aye, in the kirkyard for all to see their graves.’

  At my look of surprise, he said patiently, ‘The Dee tends to ferocious flooding after the snow melts on the Cairngorms or at this particular time of the year after long spells of rain. Folk hold their breaths waiting for the worst to happen. “Blood-thirsty Dee Each year needs three, But Bonny Don, She needs none”.’

  As an epilogue to this grim piece of folklore, he went on, ‘Aye, that great flood back in ’29 is well remembered for its ravages. The Queen herself had to be reminded of the Dee’s menace when one of the local lairds lost a bairn. Spares nobody,’ he added glumly, ‘high or low.’

  I needed no reminder of how we had seen from the windows the sad procession carrying a drowned lad from the river. The memory still chilled me. An omen somehow that all was not going to be the happy carefree holiday we expected. And a sudden grim thought, a reminder that had I pressed on through that dark forest where I heard its enticing gurgling waters, I might well have been its third victim.

  I was soon to find out that my intuitive feeling of disaster had just begun.

  Vince arrived back with Olivia and Faith who stayed outside with Meg, whispering to her volubly and darting angry looks in my direction.

  Faith seemed none the worse for her sickness and Vince shrugged off my concern.

  Olivia said: ‘A pity, but it sometimes happens. Just going over these rough roads in the motor, I expect.’

  However, one look at Vince’s face as he silently led us into the kitchen and closed the door signalled some catastrophe.

  ‘You had a visit from Aiken, telling you that a girl has been drowned.’ I said how awful and he went on: ‘I was called in. Nothing I could do. She’d been in the water for about two days.’

  Olivia said, ‘Such a dreadful tragedy. Have her parents been notified?’

  Vince said nothing; he was looking at Mabel who had just come downstairs. ‘Where is Lily just now?’

  ‘Upstairs in her room, I expect. Is she needed?’ Mabel sounded slightly disapproving as he said: ‘Ask her to come down for a minute, if you please?’

  ‘Why do you want her?’ But before Vince could reply there was an interruption as Meg rushed in demanding glasses of lemonade. Playing on the swing had made Faith thirsty and yes, they were both hungry, as usual.

  Olivia attended to this and Vince continued to regard Mabel who had not answered his question. ‘Please, Mabel.’

  She sighed and rose from her chair as if this request required too much effort.

  Meg had sat down at the table and with Faith prepared to do full justice to a plate of scones as she chattered excitedly about a hedgehog with five little babies they had found beneath their incomplete tree house – likely to remain that way now, but our recent disagreement over her plans for Faith’s future were momentarily laid aside.

  Vince interrupted. Still watching Mabel, he touched Meg’s shoulder. ‘Do something for Miss Penby, please dear. Save her legs and run upstairs. Ask Lily to come down.’

  ‘Of course, Uncle Vince.’

  Mabel resumed her seat, murmured: ‘Much obliged.’

  We were silent, wha
t did Vince want with Lily? I hadn’t seen her all day but that was not unusual. She was removed from us as much as possible, Mabel reminding us that Lily was her personal maid and that she was not to consider that she was here to run errands and make cups of tea for the rest of us. She had duties to perform each day and Mabel saw that she was kept fully employed.

  And Lily certainly made herself unobtrusive. A silent creature, she made no noise as she moved, flitting in and out of the cottage, so pale she looked bloodless, a large humanised moth.

  We heard Meg run upstairs to the attic, the opening and closing of a door and a minute later she was back with us, alone. She looked at Mabel apologetically. ‘She isn’t in her room, Miss Penby, it is quite empty.’

  Vince looked enquiringly at Mabel who shrugged. ‘Thank you, Meg.’

  ‘Can we go out again, Mamma?’ said Faith. ‘We are playing a fine game.’

  At Olivia’s nod of assent the girls rushed out. Mabel sighed deeply. ‘She must have gone for a walk, for a little fresh air as she calls it. And of course,’ she added heavily, ‘did not think it necessary to ask my permission or even inform me of her intentions, which no doubt takes her in the direction of the stable boys. Her behaviour grows daily more intolerable. Impossible ever since we got here. Seems to have got the idea that she is on holiday too—’

  Vince cut short the tirade, said gently: ‘May I ask you, Mabel, when did you last see her?’

  Mabel shrugged, an irritated gesture, and he said quickly: ‘Today?’

  She frowned. ‘No. That is precisely what I am telling you about—’

  ‘Yesterday?’ Vince put in.

  Ignoring the question, Mabel said crossly: ‘Oh, she comes and goes these days, seems to have forgotten I pay her wages. She does as she likes. I do make allowances, I do not want to be a stern employer but she had better smarten up when we get home or I will be looking for another personal maid.’

  Vince leant across, touched her hand. ‘I’m afraid you will have to do just that, Mabel.’

  She looked confused, angry as if ready to say that it was no business of his. ‘Indeed?’ she said coldly.

  Vince sighed. ‘Yes, indeed. I’m sorry to have to inform you that we believe the girl who drowned is Lily.’

  A horrified exclamation from Olivia. Mabel put her hand to her mouth, gave a sharp scream. ‘Oh, the silly creature, did she go and fall into the river?’

  ‘We don’t know the details,’ Vince said slowly.

  ‘Are you sure it is her, then?’ she asked.

  ‘She has been in the river for at least twenty-four hours. There are obstacles: rocks, dashing turbulent waters. I will spare you the details, but when I was called in to examine the body, I recognised her.’ He paused, bit his lip. ‘I am afraid this is not very pleasant for you, Mabel, but she has to be officially identified.’

  ‘I thought you said you recognised her,’ Mabel said coldly, aware I thought of what was to come when Vince said:

  ‘That is true, but the identification must be made by you as her employer, for the fiscal’s records and so that her family can be informed.’

  ‘I don’t see the necessity,’ Mabel protested. ‘Surely identification by a doctor such as yourself is sufficient?’

  Vince shook his head. ‘Not for legal purposes, I’m afraid. That is your responsibility.’

  This statement put Mabel into a wearisome argument with him until I intervened and said that I would go with her. She seemed surprised and grateful for this offer.

  I did not add that I had looked at many dead bodies in my life. Before those cases in my Edinburgh logbooks, during my ten pioneering years in Arizona, there were Apache raiders in Arizona, scalped soldiers and massacred women and children. A drowned girl would not have any terrors or qualms for me.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  We set off across the grounds to a small building, possibly one of the ice houses for storing venison and game birds, taken over to serve as a temporary mortuary. Inside there lay Lily, her head bandaged, her face only marginally paler, hardly more colourless in death than she had been in life.

  It was a sad and tragic business and I fought back tears for the poor girl, surprised to see at my side, how admirably well controlled were Mabel’s emotions at this bitter waste of a young life. I took her arm gently. Was she feeling guilty that she had not been kinder?

  As we emerged, she took a deep breath of fresh air. I was wrong. She merely shrugged: ‘Foolish girl getting herself drowned. And what am I to do for the next few weeks without a maid, might I ask?’

  I suspected that inconvenience troubled her most. Did she really expect an answer to that heartless question? We returned in silence to the cottage and as I lay awake, I wondered if Mabel slept much that night.

  Vince was waiting with Mr Green, introduced as a member of the household in charge of such matters as accidents on the royal estate. One look at Mr Green whispered policeman to me although he was in plain clothes, slightly more formal than a ghillie, denoting a notch higher in the Balmoral echelons.

  He produced an official-looking notebook and invited us to sit at the table. Vince joined us as his presence was necessary. Meanwhile Olivia tactfully removed the girls to walk in the castle gardens and since dogs would not be allowed, except for the royal pets, Thane was left with us. He did not look happy, confined to the cottage without his companions and I noticed Mr Green eyeing him warily as I produced refreshments and he got down to the sad business of details about Lily from her employer. As my presence wasn’t needed, I decided to remove myself from the scene. I knew nothing about Lily, not even her surname and neither it seemed did Mabel.

  Mabel looked distinctly thoughtful even hesitant.

  ‘Lily? Lily …?’ She frowned. ‘White, I think.’

  An interesting and apt surname that fitted her description like a glove. Mr Green was saying to Mabel: ‘You will, of course, be informing the young woman’s family of their sad loss.’

  I left them to it, went upstairs and a few moments later I heard Mr Green and Vince leave, then Mabel’s footsteps on the stairs as she went to her room.

  The sound of voices outside. Olivia came in alone and we sat down to discuss the appalling tragedy. How had it happened? Neither of us able yet to take it in, shocked that such an accident could have occurred.

  Our speculations were interrupted by a knock at the door. Probably Mr Green wanting more information.

  I opened the door to Vince. At his side the man I least wanted to see, Chief Inspector Gray. His rather cold bow indicated that the feeling was mutual.

  Olivia was introduced and, about to depart into the garden, received a charming smile from the inspector who requested that she remain. He indicated seats around the table and I guessed what was to follow. Although Olivia might be ignorant of the procedure, Gray’s presence struck a new light on the tragedy. He was not satisfied with Green’s report on the accident. His questions would follow a regulated pattern. Where were each of us at the estimated time of Lily’s disappearance and subsequent death?

  He looked at his notes. ‘Miss Penby Worth?’

  The door opened. Mabel had seen him arrive with Vince and, being introduced, she somewhat reluctantly took a seat at the table. Gray began by offering sympathy to all of us for this very unfortunate occurrence on our holiday and, while I was wondering what on earth was a chief inspector of police doing at Balmoral asking questions about a guest’s drowned servant, he opened a notebook, turned to Mabel, repeating Mr Green’s opening line, that she would be informing Lily’s family of their sad loss.

  Mabel’s face was expressionless. ‘We require some details for our official records, madam,’ he said quietly.

  She stared at him as if this was some outrageous request and said stiffly: ‘I have already told Mr Green all I know.’

  Gray shook his head. ‘Which, alas, is not quite enough, madam.’

  Mabel sighed. ‘And what further details do you require?’

  ‘The usual
ones,’ Gray explained patiently. ‘When did you last see …’ and pausing to consult the notes ‘Miss White?’

  Mabel came back promptly. ‘Some time after I returned from Ballater. Yesterday afternoon.’

  ‘At what time would that be precisely?’

  ‘I haven’t the slightest idea,’ she said coldly.

  ‘None at all?’ Gray obviously thought this odd and, placing his fingertips together, regarded her thoughtfully. It was not my place to jog Mabel’s memory but I thought I had heard her go upstairs while I was having tea with Alice von Mueller.

  Mabel shrugged. ‘I gave her some sewing which I needed urgently. She went up to her room.’

  Gray stood up. ‘Which I should like to see, if you please.’

  ‘There is nothing of interest, I assure you,’ Mabel protested.

  ‘That is for me to decide, madam.’ And I remembered hearing Mabel’s voice haranguing Lily. I made to follow them but a stern frown from Gray indicated that this was not wanted.

  ‘The inspection of Lily’s room must have been very cursory,’ Olivia whispered as we heard their footsteps descending the stair a few moments later, Mabel looking rather flushed and angry as Gray motioned her back to the table and took out his notebook.

  ‘I will try not to detain you much longer, madam, but I require some details of the deceased’s next of kin. Presumably this will be her parents, so we need their names and addresses.’

  ‘I have not this information at hand, I am afraid, nor have I the slightest idea about her parents. This is not usually regarded as important when employing a lady’s maid. However, I will look into it when I return home and inform you in due course,’ she added with an air of finality and sat back in her chair. Gray’s prying questions seemed to have offended her.

  The inspector nodded, put down his pen. He was annoyed, that faint smile a dangerous expression that I knew of old. ‘How long was Miss White in your employ? And presumably she came to you with some references, madam?’

 

‹ Prev