by Rhys Bowen
I tried to eat but in truth I was still too upset. I kept hearing the strange whoosh of that bullet passing close to me and then imagining it thudding into Elizabeth’s back. The thought of it made me quite sick.
I looked around the room, trying to make light conversation, and my gaze fell on a collection of silver-framed photographs on the little writing desk in the corner. I recognized a much younger Major Padgett, with resplendent mustache and a chest full of medals, standing beside Queen Victoria. Another one with King Edward VII. Yet another on a polo pony. He had been a dashing man in his time. Then there were pictures of Ronny: standing beside her plane, holding up a trophy, as a young girl in her swimming suit, laughing amid the waves.
“Is Ronny your only child?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. “She came to us rather late in life. We couldn’t have children, you see. And then we were offered her. It seemed like a miracle at the time.”
“She’s certainly gone on to wonderful feats,” I said.
A smile flashed across the sad, tired face. “Yes, hasn’t she? And we’ve been so happy to see so much of her this summer. Usually she finds Scotland too boring, but this year she’s been coming and going all summer. I realize it is the speedboat trials and not her parents that entice her, but it’s very nice all the same. We are rather cut off here for most of the year.” And her expression reverted to sadness again.
“Hester, old thing, any chance of a cup of tea?” came a booming voice down the hallway, and Major Padgett came in. He started visibly as he noticed us. “Good gracious,” he said. “Your Royal Highness. Lady Georgiana. What on earth are you doing here?”
“They were shot at,” Mrs. Padgett said. “They took refuge here and of course we still have no telephone so I couldn’t let anyone at the castle know.”
“Shot at? Are you sure?” He frowned. “But there is no shooting going on today. In fact we’ve had the place full of blasted policemen, tramping over everything and asking damned fool questions. Well, I hope my wife has kept you entertained?”
I noticed a look that I couldn’t interpret pass between them.
“Very well, thank you.”
“Then we’d better get you back to the castle, hadn’t we?” he said. “Your parents will start to worry about you if you don’t show up soon, Your Highness.”
“We have our ponies,” Elizabeth said firmly. “We can’t leave them here.”
“Princess Elizabeth can ride in your motorcar with you, and I’ll follow with the horses,” I said.
“Splendid.” He smiled at me. He was still a handsome man when he smiled.
We arrived back at the castle without incident. Sir Jeremy was not in evidence but Major Padgett brought me to Chief Inspector Campbell, who listened with a disbelieving scowl. “Are you sure this wasn’t just an overactive imagination?” he said. “After hearing about yesterday’s little incident, maybe?”
“Quite sure,” I replied coldly. “If you’d care to send out some men, I’ll accompany you and show you where the bullet struck the rock. Then you’d know this wasn’t girlish hysteria. And you could retrieve the bullet and see if it matched the gun used in yesterday’s murder.”
“Good God,” he said, looking at me as if I was a sweet puppy that had suddenly revealed itself to be a dangerous wolf. “Very well. I’ll arrange for men and a car.”
We retraced our steps and I was delighted when I was able to locate the rock, point out the scar where the bullet bounced off, and finally see them find the bullet. They were suitably somber as we drove back. So was the chief inspector. Deferential, almost. And he remembered to call me “my lady” this time.
Sometimes it’s nice to be right.
Nobody seemed to know where I might find Sir Jeremy, which was annoying. He had told me I could leave messages for him at the inn in Braemar where he was staying, so I decided I’d have to do this. As I was crossing the hallway the gong sounded for luncheon. I was definitely hungry by this time, but I couldn’t face polite conversation with the queen and her ladies, so I slipped out of the front door. There was nothing else that could be accomplished at Balmoral. I was just on my way to find my grandfather and the car when I encountered Lady Peebles, coming up to the front door with a basket on her arm.
“Hello, my dear,” she said. “Was that the luncheon gong I heard already?”
“Yes, it was.”
“Dear me. How time flies.” She brushed back a wayward strand of gray hair. “What a shocking business yesterday, wasn’t it? I hope you’ve recovered.”
“Thank you. I’m very well.”
“That poor boy,” she said. “Not one of us, of course. What was he doing here, anyway? Who invited him, do you know?”
“He came as part of the house party from Castle Rannoch,” I said, “but I had never met him before. A school friend of Binky’s, I understand.”
“Then that’s not so bad, is it?” She smiled easily. “I mean, it’s easier to take if it is not someone with whom one is intimately acquainted.”
“Of course,” I said. I looked down at her basket. “You’ve been picking flowers.”
“Yes. Aren’t they lovely roses? The queen is so fond of the white ones, so I enjoy bringing her some when they’re just opening up. And where are you off to?”
“I’ve been out riding with Princess Elizabeth,” I said. “Now I’m going home again.”
She smiled. “She needs the company of some younger people like yourself. It’s not good to be stuck with us old dinosaurs all the time. She deserves a normal childhood, I feel.”
We were about to go our separate ways when a thought struck me. “Lady Peebles. Tell me about Major Padgett,” I said.
“Major Padgett? What do you want to know about him?”
“How he comes to be in his current position, I suppose.”
“What is there to tell? Been in royal service most of his life. Army man, of course. Distinguished military career before he went into the old queen’s household. Pally with King Edward when he was the Prince of Wales.”
“And what happened to him?”
“I don’t exactly know. I was not at court myself at the time. In fact I was preparing to be presented. But I gather there was some kind of scandal. All very hush-hush. I heard from someone that he’d had a nervous breakdown. Anyway, he was sent up here to recuperate and here he’s stayed. I must say he runs the estate most efficiently, but perhaps he’s the kind of man who can’t take any strain.”
I left her then and went to find Granddad. He was sitting on a wall in the shade and got up when he saw me, hastily putting his peaked cap back on his bald pate.
“Ah, there you are, love—I mean, yer ladyship. All finished, then?”
“Yes, we can head for home.”
“That’s good. This place gives me the willies.”
“You said Castle Rannoch gave you the willies.”
“So it does. I ain’t used to this kind of thing. Even the servants here are a toffy-nosed bunch. One of them asked me why her ladyship had brought a chauffeur up from London when there were perfectly good men wanting employment up here.”
“I suppose he has a point,” I said. “So what did you tell him?”
“I said her ladyship was being specially kind and giving me a chance for some fresh air, because I’ve had a bad chest. Which is true,” he added.
“So did you learn anything?”
“They were all talking about it,” he said. “Rumors flying like crazy in the tack room where we went for a cup of tea. Most people thought it was an accident, but someone thought the young man was a Russian spy or a German spy and that someone working for our government had finished him off. No suggestion as to who might have done the shooting. But one thing was clear: he wasn’t out in front of the group. Several of the beaters were there and they swore they always kept an eye out for shooters who wandered into potential danger.”
We left the estate and drove along the River Dee toward Braemar. I decided to keep q
uiet about today’s shooting incident. There was no sense in worrying my grandfather unduly. But I found that I couldn’t put it out of my mind. I kept hearing the whooshing noise of those bullets flying past me. Who would want to shoot at us?
I went over the scene in the Padgetts’ dreary living room and my head started buzzing with strange thoughts. Someone with a grudge against the royal family? Someone who was not entirely mentally stable? Someone with unlimited access to the royal lifestyle? Didn’t all these add up to Major Padgett, who had seen a promising career and royal favor shrink to a dreary house tucked away in the back of beyond?
Chapter 30
Castle Craig, Braemar
August 21
As I drove I worked out what I should say in a note to Sir Jeremy. I was, after all, making a preposterous accusation. But it seemed the only concrete lead so far. I remembered Mrs. Padgett’s anxious, guarded face. Had she had to shield a husband with mental problems all these years? Did she suspect that he had anything to do with the shooting? If she did, she was a good actress, I decided. She had looked genuinely startled. So had the major himself. Tread carefully, therefore.
The road ran along the side of the river through a dramatic valley framed by soaring hills. In places the valley narrowed and the river flowed swiftly, dancing merrily over stones on its way to the coast. In other places it was more sedate, with meadows on either side. Fly fishermen in waders stood in the shallows flicking their lines in and out of the water. After a pleasant drive the old granite tower of the Braemar church was visible through the trees and we came into the village. There was nobody at the inn except for a daft-seeming young girl who giggled as she spoke in such broad Scottish that I had trouble understanding her. Something “she’d no ken and she’d whist but she was oot the noo.” Although who “she” was and where she had gone were beyond my comprehension. I presumed this girl was not the normal receptionist or it would have been extremely bad for trade.
Given the circumstances I wrote a simple note. I need to speak to you urgently. Georgiana Rannoch.
I was just leaving when a large woman came in, panting with exertion. “Och, I’m sorry, my dear,” she said. “I was out delivering a meal to old Jamie. He canna cook for himself these days and yon girl is too daft to be trusted not to spill it—aren’t you, you daft ha’porth? What can I do for you?”
I told her I had left a note for Sir Jeremy and please make sure he got it immediately. As soon as I opened my mouth she turned pale and bobbed a curtsy. “Och, I didna recognize you at first, my lady. How is your dear brother, the duke? Keeping well, I hope.”
“Yes, thank you.” I didn’t really wish to go into the details of the trap. I left her and was walking back to the car but those words continued bouncing around my head. “Your dear brother, the duke.”
And I found myself thinking of a recent time when that same phrase had been used, in a letter to me from Mavis Pugh. Older brother, the Duke of . . . What had she wanted with my brother? What had she wanted to tell me, or ask me? And of course now a nagging doubt crept into my mind. Had she found out something important and was she killed because of it?
Then I remembered that Lady Peebles had also uttered a similar phrasing as we walked up the path toward the grouse moor. She was engaged to the king’s older brother, the Duke of Clarence . . .
The Duke of Clarence, I thought. The eldest son who was so unsuitable, so morally unsound, and who had conveniently died, leaving the throne to the more reliable younger son. And I remembered how Lady Peebles had jumped on Lady Marchmont for mentioning the stupid rumor that he hadn’t actually died, but that he was shut away somewhere. Absurd, of course. Someone in the country would have had to know about this and something would have leaked out by now. It was forty years ago, after all. The Duke of Clarence would now be an old man, almost seventy.
“Right,” I said. “We’ve done all we can do. Let’s go home.” I began the long, winding drive that would take us over the pass and then down to Castle Rannoch. About a mile outside Braemar we passed a tall wrought-iron gate on our left. I had half noticed it before, but not given it a second thought. My mind associated it with some kind of hospital. Now I slowed and noticed there was a plate on the brick wall beside the gate. It said Castle Craig Sanitarium.
I brought the car to a halt and jumped out. “I’ll be right back,” I called.
Beyond the gate a driveway disappeared into trees. I caught just a glimpse of a building beyond. I tried to open the gate, but it was locked.
“You’ll no get in there,” a voice behind me said, and I turned to see an old man with a grinning sheepdog beside him.
“Is it under quarantine because it’s for TB patients?”
He shook his head, a slow smile spreading across his lips. “That’s what they’d like you to think, but it’s for those who are wrong in the head.”
“An insane asylum, you mean?”
“They don’t like to call it that. Nervous breakdowns—that’s what they say these days, don’t they? It’s where rich folk put the relatives who’ve gone a wee bit funny. You know, think they are Napoleon or something.” He chuckled. “What did you want in there anyway?”
“I was just curious.”
“You need an appointment before they’ll let you in,” he said. “Terrible strict on security they are, ever since one of their patients escaped and killed his mother with an ax. You must have read about it.”
“Oh, I see. Thank you.”
He nodded and went on his way. I walked slowly back to the car. I was thinking of the three names written on that map. I’d now found two of them. And the third: Dofc . . . “Oh no,” I said out loud. Could those letters possibly stand for the Duke of Clarence? And that rumor that he hadn’t died at all, but had been locked away somewhere so that his more suitable younger brother could take the throne. I remembered how quickly and firmly Lady Peebles had squashed this thought. Did she know something? Was it possible that he was here and that someone was trying to kill heirs to the throne on his behalf? It seemed almost too preposterous for words. . . .
“What’s up now?” Granddad asked as I returned to the car.
“Granddad,” I said cautiously, “how good are you at acting?”
“Acting? We left that to your mother. A proper little show-off she was from the word go.”
“I was wondering if you could possibly play my loony old uncle for a few minutes? You don’t have to do much, or say much, because I don’t want them to hear your London accent. But you could look vacant and smile a lot, couldn’t you?”
“What’s this in aid of, then?”
“This place is a posh insane asylum,” I said. “I need a reason to go and visit and you’d be the prefect reason.”
“ ’Ere, you ain’t thinking of leaving me in there, are you?”
I patted his knee. “Of course not. But I need to find out if a certain person is locked away in there, so I need an excuse to go inside.”
“I suppose I can manage it,” he said. “Yer grandma always said I must be twins because one person couldn’t be so daft.” He smiled, wistfully.
“Super. We’ll drive back into the village to find the nearest telephone box.”
Soon I was standing outside the Cock ’o the North pub, asking the operator to connect me with Castle Craig. A refined voice that sounded as if it belonged on Princes Street in Edinburgh came on the line.
“Castle Craig Sanitarium.”
All I had to do was to pull rank. “Good afternoon, this is Lady Georgiana Rannoch,” I said, switching into full royal mode. “I would like to come and speak to your matron about my great-uncle. He has been acting, well, a little strangely lately and we in the family feel that—he needs a place where he would be looked after.”
“I quite understand, my lady,” she said. “And we would be just the place you are looking for. When would you like to come and visit us?”
“The thing is that I have Uncle in the car at this moment, so I wondered if I c
ould bring him to see you in a few minutes. He goes back to his own house in the far north tomorrow and frankly he shouldn’t be going there alone.”
“This is most irregular.” She sounded flustered now. “Matron never lets anybody visit without an appointment.”
“I rather hoped you’d make an exception,” I said, “seeing that this property is on land originally purchased from the Rannoch estate, and that we are neighbors of long standing.” It was completely untrue that Rannoch land extended this far east, but she wasn’t to know that.
“One moment, please. Let me go and talk to Matron,” she said. “Please hold the line.”
There was a long silence, then I heard the sound of footsteps and the voice said, a trifle breathlessly, “Matron says she’d be willing to make an exception in your case.”
“Splendid,” I said. “You may expect us in a few minutes.”
“Do you mind telling me what this is all about?” Granddad asked as we drove back to the sanitarium. “Exactly why do we need to get inside a loony bin?”
“Because its name was written on a map that was left for me, and the person who wrote it was subsequently murdered,” I said.
“You think it’s one of the inmates who is running around causing mischief?”
I thought about this. If by some ridiculous chance the Duke of Clarence was shut away there, a virtual prisoner, then it wouldn’t be likely that he’d have the ability to influence actions in the outside world. His captors would see that he had no contact with anybody.
I shook my head. Too ridiculous for words. “I’m not quite sure why we’re going there,” I said, “but I just know it has to be important. We’ll keep our eyes open—especially for an old man, about your age.”
“What kind of old man?”
I shook my head. “I have no idea. One who looks like King George?”
By the time we reached the gate it was open and a man in a dark uniform with brass buttons was standing beside it. He saluted me as I drove through. I noticed in my rearview mirror that he was locking the gate behind me. A shiver of apprehension shot through me. Was I recklessly driving into a lion’s den? The driveway led through parklike grounds until it reached an elegant redbrick house, built in the shape of an E. A woman in a crisply starched white uniform was standing on the steps in the middle part of the E.