by Rhys Bowen
“Blast the stupid Rannochs,” she said. “This place has brought me nothing but grief. I should have married the nice young vicar at St. Stephen’s in our village, but I wanted to be a duchess.” She really was closer to hysterics than I had ever seen her.
Fortunately the doctor arrived at the same time as the ambulance, causing Fig to put on a brave face and resume her role as duchess. His face was grim as he examined her. “A nasty business,” he said. “I don’t see any signs of a fractured skull, but to have been knocked out this long would indicate a severe concussion at the very least. We must try and transport her to hospital without disturbing her. Lift her very carefully, men. I’ll come with you.”
They put her onto a stretcher and off they went. Earl went with them, as did the countess and Fritzi. The nearest hospital was in Perth and they announced that they’d take a hotel room nearby. Mrs. Simpson, on the other hand, did not go with them.
“Of course I want to offer support to dear Babe,” she said, “but I see no point in sitting in dreary waiting rooms or hotels, waiting until she is well enough to receive visitors. In fact I rather think it wouldn’t be wise for me to be spotted in a Scottish hotel room. It might give rise to gossip, you know.”
So the prince won out over her dearest friend. Mr. Simpson looked fed up. I wondered how much longer she’d keep him around for respectability’s sake. But they did go out to dine, as did Hugo Beasley-Bottome, so it was essentially only family plus Siegfried who were at dinner when the haggis was ceremonially piped in. Then, of course, we had to pretend that we enjoyed it. It wasn’t awful or anything, just not, as Fig had put it, our cup of tea. But after all the trouble we’d forced poor Cook to go to, we simply couldn’t send any back. So we struggled with it manfully, except for Siegfried, who pushed his portion away, declaring that he never ate anything when he couldn’t identify what part of the animal it came from.
Only Murdoch and Lachan tucked into it with glee, with much chomping and smacking of lips. I glanced across at Lachan. Oh, dear, I could never marry a man who smacked his lips over haggis.
There was no suggestion of any kind of evening jollity tonight. I went up to bed almost immediately after coffee. I was feeling completely exhausted, I suspect by the shock of two alarming events in one day. I lay there, listening to the sigh of the wind while I tried to blot images from my mind—the world swinging crazily as I hung upside down, and then Babe, lying in the midst of all that blood and water with the lavatory cistern broken around her and her little white bottom exposed for all to see. Someone was at loose in our midst who had evil, if not murder, on his mind. I had been charged with trying to find out who it was and I hadn’t done anything so far. I had better get a move on with my investigation. This had to be stopped.
Chapter 22
Castle Rannoch
August 20, 1932
Promising to be a lovely day.
I was woken by the sound of tapping on my door. It was already misty daylight. I must have slept through the piper, if indeed he had played again this morning. Maggie came in with my morning tea, followed by Hamilton, with a perplexed look on his face.
“I’m sorry to wake you, my lady, but . . .”
“What is it, Hamilton?”
“There is a person in the front hall, wishing to speak to you.”
“What kind of person?”
“A person from the lower classes, my lady.”
“And what does he want with me?”
“He says to tell you that he came ‘as quick as he could, and Bob’s your uncle, he’s here.’ But I don’t think that Bob is your uncle, is he, my lady?”
I sat up in bed, laughing. “It’s a Cockney expression, Hamilton. And it’s not a person, it’s my grandfather.”
“Your—grandfather, my lady?” There was a distinct gulp.
“My mother’s father, Hamilton.”
“Am I to understand that he will be staying here, at the castle?” He must have been rattled. He forgot to add “my lady.”
“Oh no. Not at all. He’s going to stay in one of the empty cottages on the estate. The one next to Nanny looked quite nice, I thought.”
I saw the relief sweep over his face. “Very suitable, my lady. And what should I do with him until you come down?”
“Put him in the morning room with a cup of tea and the paper,” I said. “He is house-trained, you know.”
“My lady, I wasn’t implying . . .” he stammered.
“Tell him I’ll be down immediately,” I said and jumped out of bed. Hamilton backed out and I instructed Maggie to hand me the first items of clothing she could find. I was so excited, I wriggled impatiently as she did up my buttons. If Granddad was here, then everything would be all right. I could stop worrying because he’d know what to do. As I came down the stairs, a sticky problem presented itself. If my grandfather had taken the night train, he’d want breakfast, and I wasn’t quite sure how to handle introducing him to the breakfast room. I couldn’t risk letting him come into contact with Fig. Not that I didn’t think he could give as good as he got, but Fig could be crushingly snobby and he didn’t deserve that. Maybe if it was early enough, we could have the room to ourselves.
I positively ran down the stairs. Granddad was in the morning room, perched on the edge of a brocade and gilt chair, a cup of tea in his hand, looking uneasy. He stood up as he heard my approaching feet and a big smile spread across his face. “Well, look at you.” He put down the teacup and opened his arms wide. “Don’t you look a treat. Blimy, some gloomy great place you’ve got here, haven’t you?”
“You’ve never been to Castle Rannoch before?”
“Never been invited, my love. And never had the desire to come this far north, if you want to know. We in the Smoke have the belief that civilization ends south of Birmingham. I only came because I got the feeling you wanted me here.”
“I do,” I said, hugging him fiercely. Fig would never have approved of such a wanton display of affection. She and her parents only ever shook hands. I wondered how little Podge was ever conceived, but then I supposed she had been instructed to close her eyes and think of England. “It was good of you to come so quickly,” I went on. “I really didn’t expect to see you for days.”
“It’s all right, my turning up now, isn’t it? I mean, there is a place for me?”
“Of course. The cottage is unoccupied. I looked at it the other day.”
“So let’s take a look at this cottage, shall we?” Granddad asked. “This place is giving me the willies.”
We were just crossing the great hall when Fig appeared, looking worried. “They’re all off to Balmoral. A day to ourselves, thank heavens,” she said, and then noticed my grandfather. “Oh, I didn’t realize . . .”
“This is my grandfather, Fig,” I said. “He’s come up to Scotland for a while.”
“Your grandfather? You mean your mother’s father?”
“I don’t think he’s the old duke’s ghost, the one who plays the bagpipes on the ramparts at midnight.” I grinned. “Of course he’s my mother’s father.”
Fig held out her hand and said, “How do you do?” in the frosty manner she employed with anyone not of her class.
Granddad took the hand and pumped it heartily, “Pleased to meet yer,” he said.
“Are you just passing through the area?” Fig asked, still plum-in-mouth frosty.
“No, he’s going to be staying for a while.” I watched her face. “If that’s all right,” I added.
I could see Fig trying to picture my Cockney grandfather at table with a prince or two. She opened her mouth several times then shut it again.
“In one of the empty cottages,” I said. “He’ll be able to keep Nanny company.”
Relief spread across her face. “One of the cottages. Of course. Of course.” And she gave an almost hysterical laugh.
“I’m taking him there now,” I said. “Please excuse us.”
I led him out of the front door and down the steps.
“Blimey,” he said. “That’s your sister-in-law?”
I nodded.
“Looks like she’s got a bad smell under her nose, don’t she?” he said.
“She does rather.”
“No wonder you wanted to get away.”
We crossed the forecourt. I noticed one of the shooting brakes being loaded up with guns and bags in readiness for the shoot at Balmoral. Poor Earl—he had been looking forward to a shoot. Now the party from here would be reduced to Prince Siegfried, the cousins, and Hugo Beasley-Bottome. I wondered if the Simpsons were included in the invitation. Hardly.
“So what did your friend Mrs. Huggins say about leaving her to travel up here?”
“It worked out nicely because her daughter’s taken a cottage down in Littlestone on the Kentish coast and she wants ’Ettie to go with them. ‘You go and enjoy yourself, Albert,’ she said to me. ‘It will do you a world of good.’ So here I am.”
“I’m so glad.” I beamed at him.
It was a misty morning and rooks were cawing madly from the big elms. The cottages loomed as indistinct shapes through the mist. We opened the one I had in mind and I set to work taking dust covers off furniture and then locating a broom to give the place a good sweep.
“Cor blimey, look at you wielding that broom.” Granddad laughed. “Don’t let that lot up at the castle see you doing that. They’ll have a fit.”
“It’s what I do for a living these days,” I said. “I’m actually getting rather good at it, don’t you think?”
“Oh yes. Smashing,” he said, coughing through my cloud of dust.
“Now, we need to make you up a bed. . . .” I found a linen closet and we made the bed between us. “And I’ll have supplies sent down from the kitchen. I’d invite you to come up to the castle and eat with us, but I’m afraid . . .”
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, ducks,” he said. “I wouldn’t feel right among all those toffy noses. I shall be right as rain in this snug little place, if you don’t mind coming down to visit occasionally.”
“Of course I will,” I said. “In fact I’m going to need your help.”
“What’s up?” he asked, looking at me with concern. “Something’s wrong, I can tell.”
I knew I was sworn to secrecy but I felt that I could tell my grandfather anything. So I did. I recounted the whole story from the encounter on the train to the various accidents that had happened since.
“I can only conclude that the rope was meant for Prince George,” I said, “and that the cistern that came down on that poor woman was also designed for the prince, although Binky and Fig also use that bathroom.”
“Are you sure you’re not reading too much into this? Accidents do happen. Back when I was on the force, we used to say that bad luck came in threes. Maybe what you’ve told me was bad luck, no more: a rope that broke, an old lavatory that collapsed?”
“That rope was cut, Granddad. I’m sure of it. And what about the ghost that the countess saw? And the trap that caught Binky’s foot? It’s too much at once, especially after what Sir Jeremy told me. A whole string of accidents, all aimed at the royal family.”
He nodded. “Supposing you’re right, do you have anything to go on?”
“Nothing at all,” I said.
“Back when I was working for the Met, my old inspector would have said the first question to ask is ‘Who benefits?’ ”
“I can’t think,” I said. “Someone next in line of succession? But then nobody here fits that bill.”
“Are you sure?” Granddad asked. “What about that Siegfried fellow you went climbing with?”
I laughed. “He’s an heir to his own country’s throne, if they don’t assassinate everyone in the near future, and I don’t think he’s related to us at all. Besides, why would Siegfried lure me up onto a mountain and then have a rope break? There are plenty of ways to bump somebody off at Castle Rannoch without that long trek.”
“So anyone else staying here who might see himself with a crown on his head someday?”
I laughed nervously. “Granddad, I’m thirty-fourth in line and I believe I know everybody ahead of me. So it would have to be somebody who wanted to bump off at least thirty-four people, which simply doesn’t make sense.”
“Maybe it’s someone with a grudge against the royal family, then,” he said.
“Like the communists, you mean? But Sir Jeremy said that they’d checked that possibility and it couldn’t be an outsider.”
“Then maybe someone who’s staying in the area isn’t what he claims to be. What about that whole nasty affair with your foreign princess? The communists managed to fool you all then, didn’t they? And almost bumped off Their Majesties.”
My thoughts went straight to Hugo. I remembered how he had miraculously appeared to rescue me the previous day and then how he’d tried to sneak into my bedroom when I was resting. Had he been coming to finish me off? I wondered.
“It seems to me that the first thing I should do today is to take a look at that line of succession,” I said. “And to have a talk with Binky about one of our guests, called Hugo Beasley-Bottome.”
“Blimey, what a name,” Granddad said. “So you think he might be suspicious, do you?”
“Well, he was right there on the spot when I had to be rescued from that rope. What was he doing hanging about on a mountainside? And I know nothing about him. He just invited himself to stay at the castle and appeared out of nowhere.”
“How did he manage to invite himself?”
“He was at school with Binky, apparently.”
“Then ask your brother about him. And if that rope was tampered with, find out who had a chance to tamper with it. Where was it kept?”
“It came from Balmoral with Prince George, so Siegfried said.”
“Now that’s a thought,” Granddad said. “Which one is Prince George?”
“He’s the king’s youngest son. Sixth in line.”
“He’s ’ere, is he?” Granddad asked.
“He was. He was called back to Balmoral.”
“So either someone could be working to get rid of him or”—he paused and looked up at me, his bright little Cockney eyes twinkling—“or he set up the accidents himself to make it look as if they were aimed at him.”
“Why would he do that?”
“I can’t tell you that. But why wasn’t he climbing if he’d brought the rope?”
“He was summoned back to Balmoral, apparently,” I said, my voice trailing off at the end of this.
“Which is why he didn’t use his lav either, I suppose.”
I nodded, then I shook my head vehemently. “That’s silly. He’d have no motive for playing these tricks on other people. For one thing, nobody here is ahead of him in the line of succession. And anyway, he said how glad he was that he wouldn’t have to be king one day and how he didn’t envy his oldest brother.”
“All the same, I’d check into that rope if you feel you must do something. So is there anything I can do to help you?”
“Nothing at the moment. Why don’t you get yourself settled and I’ll introduce you to Nanny. She bakes wonderful scones. Then you might want to take a walk around the estate. See the lay of the land.”
He put a hand on my shoulder. “Look, you take care of yourself, my love. I don’t want you putting yourself in harm’s way and if you ask me it’s ruddy cheek of this Sir What’s-His-Name to ask you to get involved.”
“But I am involved, Graddad, whether I like it or not. I was the one dangling on that rope yesterday and my brother has a crushed ankle. This person has to be stopped before he kills one of us.”
Granddad made a tsk-tsk noise with his tongue. “Then you leave the stopping to the trained professionals—those blokes in the special branch. Why aren’t they up here, doing their job?”
“I expect they are,” I said. “Or at least one of them is. I was told that someone was in position at Balmoral and would introduce himself to me.” My min
d immediately jumped one stage ahead as I said this. Was it possible that Darcy was that person? Why else would he be up here?
“Well, the sooner you pop over to Balmoral and find this bloke, the better,” he said. “I don’t want you sticking your neck out again. This sounds to me like a spiteful, twisted kind of person—the sort of person who gets his pleasure out of other people’s suffering. That trap, for example—just downright nasty.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be extra careful,” I said, as breezily as I could manage, but as I walked back to the house I began to wonder. How could I be extra careful when danger could be lurking anywhere around me and I didn’t know whom to trust?
Chapter 23
Castle Rannoch
August 20
When I returned to the castle, after having made sure Granddad was comfortable in the cottage, I noticed that the shooting brake had already left for the day’s grouse shoot at Balmoral. I also remembered that I hadn’t yet had breakfast. I found the breakfast room empty, so I tucked into a plate of bacon, kidneys and fried bread, plus a couple of slices of toast and Cooper’s Oxford marmalade. It’s amazing what country air does for the appetite.
Then I went into the library and sat down with paper and pencil. First I made a list of everyone who had been staying here, or in the area, then I checked what connection they might have to the British throne. I was half expecting to discover that Babe was a long-lost relative, but she wasn’t. Gussie had distant connections, as did Darcy, through his mother. But I couldn’t come up with anybody in the direct line in the top hundred or so.
Maybe we’ve got this wrong, I thought. Maybe this is some kind of personal grudge. I knew that Prince George, for example, ran with quite a wild crowd. What if he was involved in drugs or some kind of underworld pursuit? Both of the accidents yesterday seemed to have been aimed at him. But then, there were the previous ones—the broken saddle girth on the Prince of Wales’s polo pony, the wheel that came loose on his car . . .