Everyone was tired and Olivia reminded Faith that it was bedtime. Tomorrow they would be travelling back to London to prepare for the family wedding. Faith, reminded of their departure, was again near to tears at leaving Meg, only the prospect of that bridesmaid’s dress awaiting made her smile.
I felt sad at them leaving so soon, as Olivia insisted that Jack and I and Meg must come to St James and enjoy all the marvels London had to offer. At that moment it was as remote as the prospect of visiting another planet and although in retrospect I had spent far less time with Olivia than I had hoped for, my sadness was nothing compared to Meg and Faith, who parted with tears shed, promises of everlasting friendship, with letters and as many visits as they could possibly fit in.
A story I had heard before, it was also the story of Olivia and Mabel to some extent as they again parted outside the cottage where Vince awaited to drive them to Ballater. The same promises that they must have made many years ago, and I wondered if both of them had felt let down at the meeting they had looked forward to for so long. They had a walk together most days, when the weather was fine, but from my conversations with Olivia I gathered that their meeting had failed as the joyous reunion those letters over the years had anticipated.
Vince returned from the railway station looking rather bleak too but with stiff upper lip intact. He was used to longish separations from Olivia, Faith and the boys. He merely looked sadly round the now so empty cottage to where Meg was sitting tearfully with her arms around Thane, her accusing wounded looks in our direction blaming us for taking her best friend away.
As Vince departed I suspected that Meg was gearing up for another impossible argument about Faith staying with us, so I went upstairs to my bedroom, made some notes about the visit to Bobby and settled down until supper time to finish off the drawing begun on our train journey to Ballater.
It was of Lily sitting opposite, remembering that I had hoped to give it to her as a present. Perhaps if we found her parents I might send it to them, as offering it to Mabel might be regarded as a merely tactless reminder. I sighed; it belonged among my many other sketchbooks containing portraits and drawings from over the years – some happy times, some sad – an ability, Jack said, which was quite remarkable since I was able to draw from memory.
‘You should have been an artist,’ he said. ‘It’s a great gift.’ I smiled wryly; the only use it had been to me was in my profession, remembering faces and being able to reproduce them as Jack now did with such ease, his new toy a photographic camera.
There was still no word from him, but that was not surprising. We had said all the things to each other that mattered, but those daily postcards to Meg had become less frequent. I had hoped there would be one that would have cheered her up, now that she was very low in spirits, feeling the whole world was against her.
I was finding problems watching over Meg allied to the role of a detective with a possible murder to solve. There was no one I could turn to except Vince, with whom I must discuss my visit to Bobby Biggs, although I was pretty sure what his reactions would be. Perhaps that’s why I put it off.
I was right about that. If I expected to be applauded for my actions I was sadly mistaken. Even as I began I could see from the way his face closed in at the mention of Lily that he did not approve. Even before he sighed and said sternly: ‘You put yourself to a lot of unnecessary trouble, Rose. Why on earth don’t you just enjoy the holiday, this unique opportunity of a cottage at Balmoral that I was able to arrange for you? Everyone has been most accommodating, all meals prepared for you once more if you wish, since Olivia, who enjoyed the role of chief cook has left us. You have everything that I had negotiated for you,’ he repeated reproachfully.
‘Dear Vince,’ I said, ‘Please don’t think for a moment that I’m ungrateful.’ I paused. ‘It was all going so well until Lily—’
He held up a hand, but before he could utter more than a murmur of protest, I went on: ‘There have been developments. The stable lad, Bobby Biggs, was threatened.’
He looked at me. ‘Wait a minute. What do you mean, threatened?’
‘Warned off. I don’t suppose you know or realise the significance of that?’
And as I told him the exact words from my meeting with Biggs, I expected a reaction, natural curiosity, but his expression never changed. He merely sighed.
‘Aren’t you even just a little surprised?’ I asked indignantly.
‘No, Rose. I’m merely thinking the obvious.’
‘The obvious?’ I repeated.
‘Yes, Rose. Don’t you see it yourself?’ he added patiently. ‘That was the prepared story he was telling everyone. If you searched his employment record, you would find that Biggs had committed some misdemeanour which had upset a person in authority.’ Pausing he shook his head. ‘That sort of thing will not be tolerated here—’
‘To the extent of having his life threatened?’ I interrupted. ‘That person must have been very high in authority.’
Again Vince sighed wearily. ‘All I meant is that he overstepped the mark. The moral standards are very high for even the most menial in royal employ. They have to be. And it’s fairly clear from your talk to the stable lads that he fancied his chances with the ladies, and the likelihood is that he made some improper advance to one of the maids up at the castle. A complaint was made and as it probably hadn’t been the first time, knowing the lad’s character, he was dismissed.’
‘With ten quid in his hand,’ I said slowly, ‘that’s a lot of money.’
Vince smiled. ‘Not at all and not a bribe. A year’s wages, Rose, and rather generous in the circumstances, if you consider it.’
We went on walking, silent for a moment. Suddenly I decided to tell him about the man I had seen when we went to collect Mabel at Peebles and then seeing him again and on the Ballater train.
‘Could you be sure of that?’ Vince interrupted. ‘There was a man working but he was some distance away. I certainly would never have recognised him again.’
Although I was no longer sure, I was reluctant to admit that.
‘I have very good eyesight and an excellent memory, never forget a face. It’s an essential in my profession,’ I reminded him. ‘If this was the same man, then he followed us to Scotland.’
Vince was silent. He studied me, frowning, then said quietly. ‘You could be mistaken, Rose. The man on the train, who I think is one of the ghillies, maybe reminds you …’ He paused and eyebrows raised, added casually, ‘A slight resemblance to someone?’
‘So you’ve seen it too.’ I had a heart-sinking feeling, knowing he meant Danny but would never say so.
He smiled sadly. ‘It is not unusual, a medical fact indeed, that when one loses someone close, particularly in tragic circumstances, in the depression that follows, a patient shows a tendency to imagine strangers who bear a slight resemblance to convince themselves that their loved one is still alive.’
‘I am not imagining that,’ I said indignantly. ‘I know Danny is dead. I saw him die – to save my life. Remember!’
My voice broke and he put a comforting arm around me. ‘I know, I know, Rose dear. He is dead, but not for you, not ever. You’ll keep on seeing him. The Penby gardener was the first and the ghillie fellow who was on the train—’
‘What is his name?’
Vince frowned, thought for a moment, shrugged and said. ‘Not sure. Brown, I think.’
I laughed. ‘Mr Brown and Mr Green, very colourful names for those working at the castle. Are we to meet a Mr Blue, Red and Yellow and even Orange – we already have – or had – a Miss White.’
Vince didn’t think it funny. ‘Brown is very common hereabouts, the name the Highlanders adopted when their clans were sequestered.’
A moment to let this information sink in then he said sharply: ‘Take my advice, Rose, that part of your life is ended for ever. Be thankful you have a husband like Jack, who understands you so well, and don’t go chasing a ghost of the past.’
This was the nearest Vince and I had ever had to a disagreement, but worse was in store.
‘And I must beg you, Rose, for my sake if not for your own, if there is any mystery regarding Lily or anyone else for that matter, it is not yours to deal with, and by mystery I mean meddling in affairs that don’t concern you. Remember you are on royal property, the rules are different here and your actions could well endanger my future too.’ And reminding me again: ‘You are my guest and I am responsible to HM for you. And if you do something to offend him, then I will suffer too.’
At least there had been no repercussions over the King’s interest in Thane and Meg’s spirited reactions, as Vince went on: ‘In the nature of my situation here it follows that I am trusted implicitly not to introduce anyone who might be a troublemaker.’
I wanted to ask if the description ‘troublemaker’ could also apply to a killer, but we were interrupted by one of the footmen hurrying towards us.
Doctor Laurie was needed urgently. There had been a scalding accident in the kitchen to one of the maids.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Next day Jack walked in unexpectedly. No letter, no warning. He wanted to surprise us, having a few days respite after being in Aberdeen for what was proving to be a very complex and exhausting investigation regarding a criminal organisation in Edinburgh with links in other cities.
I had been so looking forward to seeing him and so had Meg, although maybe not quite so much as me. Thanks to Vince, she was making new and exciting friends and yesterday had been to a children’s party up at the castle. Several of the young royals were present including the King’s grandson Edward, son of the Duke of York. She said he didn’t join in the games and added scornfully that he thought a lot of himself and was at the age when boys didn’t like girls very much.
But to return to Jack’s unexpected visit. As ill luck would have it, on the morning before he arrived, having been given a lift from Ballater railway station, I realised I was feeling distinctly unwell, in for a horrendous cold, or even the dreaded influenza. No one else had it, thank goodness, and heaven knows where I picked it up. I rarely take ill but when I do the symptoms make up for that rarity in their severity. A streaming nose, a violent headache equal I was sure to any of Mabel’s, who eyed me with anxiety, perhaps touched with resentment since the province of severe headaches was hers alone.
There was nothing I could do but retire to my bed with lemon drinks fortified with hot toddy or medicinal whisky, keep out of everyone’s way and hope to sleep myself better. I did not want to pass it on and if I was thankful for anything, it was that the delicate Faith had gone home.
Jack came upstairs and took one look at me. Sympathy tinged with irritation, I suspected, as if I had got the damned cold just to be awkward.
He sighed; he had so many plans for the precious few days together. However, he soon came round to forgetting all about me lying in my sickbed upstairs by spending every moment with Meg. I heard their voices from time to time, merry laughter drifting upwards, while I could hardly raise my head and felt that death would be too good.
I was just beginning to recognise signs of survival when Jack was about to return to Edinburgh, the carter giving him a lift into Ballater for the train next day.
Apart from sitting at my bedside and chatting for a while after Meg went to bed, we had had no time together, as I insisted that he sleep in the bedroom Meg and Faith had shared, which considering my state of health, did not grieve him in the least.
As I rallied on his last day, it was imperative that I talk to him. I had a lot to tell.
‘Anything interesting happen?’
‘I expect Vince has told you about Mabel’s maid?’
The two men had spent convivial evenings downing drams together by the sounds of laughter drifting upstairs.
He nodded. ‘What a tragedy. Mabel must have been very upset.’
It wasn’t like that at all, I realised, the version he got from Vince. ‘Did Vince tell you that it might not have been an accident?’
Jack groaned and patted my arm. ‘He said Rose thought it might not be and I thought, “There you go again.” Typical. You can’t resist it, can you? Here for a holiday and you seize on a drowning as suspicious circumstances.’
He laughed and regardless of any lingering germs, gave me a hug. ‘Darling Rose, all you get when you have time on your hands is an overactive imagination.’ I began to protest vigorously. Only that morning, hearing male voices in the garden had revealed below my window, Jack and Vince in deep conversation with Inspector Gray.
When I asked why Gray was here, Jack shrugged. ‘Just a private matter.’
‘Staying at the castle?’
‘I believe so.’ And that indicated the private matter concerned the royals.
‘Someone stealing the spoons?’ I said lightly, aware that Inspector Gray’s presence meant considerably more than that; it suggested matters of deep concern to the state.
Jack smiled and said hastily: ‘Nothing to do with us, love.’ And eyeing me steadily with what I knew well enough to be a warning look he went on: ‘Whatever you’re thinking, love, just forget it, please. You’re not here for a murder investigation, even if the girl’s death wasn’t an accident, it’s none of your business or mine. They have a very efficient division, I’m sure, dealing with such matters.’
And suddenly, because I was being misunderstood again, I wanted to tell him about the Penby man, or Mr Brown as Vince had called him. But I was trapped. If he asked me why I was so interested, I couldn’t say it was because he reminded me of Danny.
Danny was the forbidden subject, it still hurt him to be reminded that Danny was the love of my life, my first love and that he believed he could never be more than second best.
And yet I had learnt to love Jack, I owed my survival to him in tricky situations back in Edinburgh where my investigation into a murder case had gone seriously wrong.
In all relationships someone once said: ‘There is one who kisses and one who is kissed.’ Jack knew which was his role. He loved me with a depth of passion I could never return and it had made him happy that after years of saying ‘no’ I had married him, although he protested at the time it was only for Meg’s sake to give her a mother. I insisted that it wasn’t, I had given him my word, and my solemn promise in those wedding vows, that I loved him. We were happy, the three of us and I thought that was all that mattered.
Now, as he was leaving, I wished I could gather up Meg and we could go back together. But Meg had another party to go to and she had made a new friend, Rowena, whose mother Yolande worked in the kitchens and, with Jessie, brought us our daily meals and did our laundry. The exotic Yolande was a real gipsy. Meg was very excited about that.
And then there was Mabel to contend with. What to do about her? After the disappointment of the Aberdeen suffrage experience, when she had hoped to meet the Pankhursts which was her main reason for coming to Scotland, it would have been reasonable to expect that she would have wished to make the long journey back to London with Olivia. But it had obviously never occurred to her to cut short the Balmoral holiday, which had been a happy coincidence, and it would have been hardly tactful or polite to suggest it when she seemed quite content to remain with us until after the Highland Games and then return to London on the train via Edinburgh.
Alone with her most days, she was not the most engaging of companions by any stretch of imagination, a rather dull woman, self-centred to the extreme, a law unto herself, who I knew not one whit better after three weeks living under the same roof than I did at our first meeting. Always polite, our conversations were negligible and mostly concerned with day-to-day domestic matters. She no longer talked of dear Emmeline and Christabel and seemed to have forgotten all about them, although her reading matter was still devoted to books about the movement.
After Olivia’s departure when we had been somewhat relieved to revert to meals delivered from the royal kitchen, never fond of walking, Mabel either spent tim
e in her room reading or on most days with the pony trap driving around the estate, following the shooting party or driving into Ballater. I suspected that she was a lonely person when in a rare moment of confidence she said it reminded her of the governess cart of her childhood, and when she suggested that any time I wished I could accompany her into Ballater, I felt rather guilty as, thanking her, I declined since I had my bicycle.
Perhaps it was the symptoms of the cold that had struck me down, but after Jack left I was unhappy, ill at ease and homesick for my own home, for Arthur’s Seat and Edinburgh. Suddenly I felt confined by this cottage holiday, which instead of a month of easy, happy, carefree days enjoying a new experience, had seen a tragic accident to one of our party, which I still believed was murder. I had almost quarrelled with my beloved Vince, and Jack’s hoped-for visit had seen me laid low with an atrocious cold and fizzled out like a damp squib.
Meg, however, with all the resilience of childhood seemed to have forgotten her heartbreak over cousin Faith and had found an exciting new friend, off each morning to play with Rowena. We hadn’t met as yet but Meg whispered proudly that although Rowena lived in the royal household her mother was a true Romany and they had once lived in a caravan.
Thane had also been temporarily abandoned in her new regime, which was not a bad thing. I had no means of knowing how he regarded this temporary desertion. He did not reveal any sign that he had lost Meg and merely returned to being my shadow, my loyal protector.
But even in the brief time we had left, the holiday had its surprises and some grim events lay in store.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
My thoughts were never far from Lily’s death, where every instinct as a detective told me this was no accident whatever they wished to pretend, and any reasons for upsetting the royal shooting season’s apple cart appeared thin indeed.
Murder was murder and being expressly forbidden, also by Jack, to keep out of it, did not lessen my determination to solve it. What was the hidden agenda, what were the authorities, namely Inspector Gray, so anxious to conceal? I realised it was becoming an obsession, a permanent itch impossible to ignore. With another week to endure before the Games and our return home, I thought longingly of Solomon’s Tower.
The Balmoral Incident Page 15