Royal Flush

by Rhys Bowen

  “You think it might be foul play?”

  “What else could it be?” he muttered, grunting with exertion as he dragged Godfrey’s body ashore.

  “He was always creeping around at the water’s edge, trying to listen to other people’s conversation,” I said. “He could have slipped, fallen and knocked his head on a rock.”

  “Possibly. But why was he spying on other people?”

  “He’s Godfrey Beverley, the gossip columnist. Trying to find the next scoop.”

  “Then I say he found it and paid for it with his life,” Darcy said grimly. “If there had been no other death around here, then I’d be prepared to call it an accident, but after what we are learning . . .”

  He broke off as the boating party made their way down the jetty toward us and we heard a clear voice exclaiming, “Oh no. I simply can’t go past that thing! I can’t even look. Somebody come and give me a hand.”

  It was, of course, my mother, looking ridiculous stage-nautical in a navy and white sailor suit and matching hat. Several male hands obliged to help her down from the jetty. She started tottering over the stony beach in high-heeled platform-soled shoes until she saw me.

  “Darling,” she called, rushing to my arms, “isn’t it too, too terrible? It is Godfrey, isn’t it? That poor little man. I still can’t believe it.”

  “You loathed him,” I reminded her.

  “Yes, but I certainly didn’t push him into the water and drown him,” she said. “Much as I’d like to have done. He really does look more disgusting in death than in life, doesn’t he? Like a malformed balloon. Do you think he’d pop if one stuck a pin in him?”

  “Mummy, don’t be awful,” I said.

  “I’m just trying to make light of the situation because it’s so horrible,” she said. “God, I feel quite faint. I need a brandy. I do wish Max would leave that stupid boat alone and hurry up.”

  “Come on, old girl. Come and sit in the car,” Granddad said, appearing suddenly from the motorcar.

  “Good lord, Father—what on earth are you doing here?”

  “What’s this with the ‘Father’ nonsense? I always used to be plain old Dad and that’s good enough for me. Always did give yourself airs and graces, didn’t you?”

  “Don’t forget I used to be a duchess, Father,” Mummy said, glancing around in case this conversation was being overheard. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

  “Keeping an eye on your daughter, which is more than you’ve ever done.”

  “Now don’t start that again,” she said. “Some of us were just not cut out for motherhood. I did my best and she’s turned out all right, hasn’t she?”

  “She’s turned out a treat, but that’s beside the point. Anyway, let’s not argue now. Come and sit in the car. You look like you’ve had a nasty turn.”

  “Yes, I think perhaps I should sit down until Max gets here.” She allowed herself to be led to my estate car and collapsed with great drama into the front seat. I turned my attention back to the dock to see if Max was anywhere in view and was amazed to see Paolo was coming toward me, with Belinda clutching his arm.

  “Oh, Georgie,” Belinda cried, letting go of Paolo’s arm and rushing up to me. “What a horrid thing to have happened. I was looking out of the back of the boat and it just sort of bobbed to the surface and I couldn’t think what it was to start with.”

  I put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “It is rather beastly, isn’t it?”

  She nodded. “So lucky Paolo didn’t strike the body when he was going really fast. He’d have killed himself for sure.”

  “But what is Paolo doing back here?” I asked. “The last I saw of him he was being bundled into a police car.”

  “They had to let him go,” she said, with a triumphant toss of the head. “He proved to them that he was actually dining with people on the other side of London when the poor girl was run down. Of course I knew he couldn’t possibly have done anything like that.”

  Paolo took her arm. “Come, cara. I do not wish to be here when the police arrive. I have had enough of English police.”

  “These are Scottish police,” I said.

  He shrugged. “English, Scottish, all the same. All very stupid and cannot see past the end of their noses. I kept telling them they make a mistake and somebody steals my motorbike, but they do not listen.”

  “I’ll see you later, Georgie,” Belinda said, as Paolo dragged her away.

  Max arrived with Digby Flute, and my mother extricated herself from the car to fly to his side. “Max, darling. It’s been such a horrible shock. Take me away from here,” she said, giving a fabulous rendition of a tragic heroine about to expire.

  “Do not worry, Liebchen. We go,” he said.

  The crowd had dwindled. A few of the boys still lingered, watching wide-eyed. Darcy was bending over the body, covering it with his jacket.

  “Someone’s done a good job of giving him a nasty bash on the back of his head,” he said, straightening up. “I suppose it was okay to let all the witnesses go. We know where they are staying if the police need statements.”

  I nodded. I was starving and I really wanted to go home, but I didn’t want to leave Darcy alone to this unpleasant task. I just didn’t want to leave Darcy.

  “I thought you said you had to go away,” I said.

  “I changed my mind.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “Anything else happen that I should know about?”

  “Nothing, apart from someone shooting at me when we were out riding this morning.”

  “Georgie—I thought I told you to stay put and be careful.”

  “I was with Princess Elizabeth on the Balmoral estate. And there were policemen on the property.”

  “Whoever is doing this is getting desperate,” he said.

  “Yes, well, I have some idea now about who that person might be,” I said. “I tried to find Sir Jeremy but I couldn’t locate him.”

  “You say you have an idea who is doing all this?”

  “Only an idea,” I said, “but I believe it might be Major Padgett.”

  “Padgett, who works on the royal estate? Ronny’s father?”

  I nodded. “It does seem strange, doesn’t it, but he fits the picture and he had the opportunity.”

  “But he’s been with the royal family for years,” Darcy said. “Why would he want to harm anybody?”

  “I thought that he might be, you know, insane? There was some scandal about him and someone said he’d had a nervous breakdown, which was why he was sent up to Scotland. And he was there on the shoot, wasn’t he? And he did try to persuade the police not to investigate further.”

  “Yes, but—” He broke off, then nodded. “All right. I’ll pass along the information if I get a chance.”

  “Oh, and Darcy,” I said, “can you find out about someone called Maisie McPhee?”

  “What about her? Accomplice?”

  “No. She’s in an insane asylum, but she’s linked somehow, I’m sure. She’s probably in her late forties. Can you find out if she had a child about thirty years ago? Can you find out if she married?”

  “That’s a tall order,” he said, “but someone will know how to check through the records in Edinburgh, I suppose.”

  “You should get home. You’re shivering,” I said.

  “I’ll have to stay until the police get here,” he said.

  “Looks like there’s a bobby on a bike coming this way now,” Granddad called from the car. It was Constable Herries, red faced and peddling furiously. It turned out he had already summoned an ambulance and was going to stand guard until it arrived.

  “Have you notified your superiors?” Darcy asked.

  “No sir, we don’t usually bother them about a drowning,” Constable Herries said. I saw Darcy frown. “The boy told me that the body just bobbed up in the middle of the loch.”

  “It did. We both observed it,” I said. “Mr. O’Mara swam out and dragged him into shore.”

/>   “Poor fellow. I wonder how long ago he fell in and drowned?”

  “I saw him alive yesterday,” I said.

  Constable Herries frowned. “That’s unusual, that is. Usually they lie on the bottom until their stomach contents start fermenting and that takes days.”

  “I don’t think he drowned,” Darcy said. “There didn’t appear to be water in his lungs.”

  “What do you mean, sir?”

  “I think somebody killed him and then dumped him into the lake.”

  “Murder, you mean?”

  “That would be my guess.”

  “Dear me.” Constable Herries pushed back his helmet and scratched his head. “Someone should be told about this.”

  “Don’t worry, Constable. We’ll telephone from Castle Rannoch and report it,” I said.

  “If you’re sure, my lady.”

  “I am.” I turned back to Darcy. His dark curls were plastered to his face and he was still dripping. “And I should probably take Mr. O’Mara home and let him change into dry clothes, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course, my lady. You do what you think is best.”

  I turned to Darcy. “You’d better come up to the house and get out of those wet clothes. We can supply blankets and have someone dry your clothes for you,” I said.

  “Thank you for the offer,” he said. “I think that’s the first time you’ve actually invited me to take off my clothes, but I’m afraid I should go straight back to where I’m staying and then get to work if you want me to notify people about your suspicions.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “I’m very grateful.”

  “Just doing my job, ma’am.” He touched his head in mock salute.

  “Jump in the car, I’ll run you home.”

  “I’d make the seats wet.”

  “We’ll risk it,” I said. “How else were you going to get there?”

  “Well, I didn’t fancy rowing in this wind,” he admitted and walked toward the car, leaving a trail of drips behind him.

  Granddad opened the door and Darcy climbed into the backseat. Then Granddad took the passenger seat beside me.

  “You bring your chauffeur and then you drive?” Darcy sounded amused.

  “This isn’t my chauffeur, it’s my grandfather.” I laughed.

  “I’m sorry, I forgot you two hadn’t met before.”

  “Holy Mother of God. You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” He held out his hand. “How do you do, sir. Darcy O’Mara. A pleasure to meet you.”

  “Likewise, I’m sure. I take it this is your young man,” Granddad said.

  “Granddad—” I began, my cheeks turning red, but Darcy interrupted. “You take it correctly,” he said.

  Chapter 32

  Castle Rannoch

  August 21 and 22, 1932

  I don’t even remember driving home. I only came down off my cloud when I walked into Castle Rannoch to be met by an irate Fig.

  “Where on earth have you been?” she demanded. “We’ve not seen hide nor hair of you for ages. You simply don’t turn up for meals and I’m left to entertain and make conversation on my own.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ve been at Balmoral again. Princess Elizabeth wanted me to go riding with her.”

  “Well, in that case, I suppose you couldn’t turn it down, could you?” she muttered, looking annoyed. It always made her cross that I was related to the royal family by birth while she was only related by marriage.

  “Am I too late for tea? I’m starving,” I said.

  “I took tea with Podge in the nursery today,” she said. “With all these people here I’ve been neglecting him fearfully. And there was nobody in for tea, except Binky. Siegfried’s out somewhere. The Simpsons have finally gone, by the way.”

  “Have they really? Hooray.”

  “As you say, hooray. I thought we’d never get rid of them, especially when they elected to stay on after the other Americans went. But I think your cousins finally proved too much to endure. They are a trifle primitive, aren’t they?”

  “What happened?”

  “We were in the middle of the meat course last night when Murdoch described how he’d dismembered a deer he’d shot. It would be venison, of course. Quite put them off their meal, I could see that.”

  I grinned. “Well, you finally have your way. They’ve all gone.”

  “Except for those awful cousins of yours. The amount they eat and drink. I’ve asked Binky to give them the boot, but you know how soft he is. We’ll be reduced to tea and toast for the rest of the year.” She eyed me critically. “What is wrong with you?”

  “Nothing. Why?”

  “You’ve had a silly grin on your face all the time I’ve been talking.”

  We passed an uneventful evening. I was tense and uneasy all through dinner, at which Fig, myself and the two cousins were positioned along the full length of the huge banquet table, making conversation almost impossible without shouting. I was waiting for Sir Jeremy to telephone or appear in person at any moment, but he hadn’t contacted me by the time I was ready for bed. This probably meant that he had not returned to the inn yet, or that the idiot girl was manning the shop and had forgotten to give him the message. Either that or her accent was so broad that he hadn’t understood what she was saying. I wasn’t sure what to do about this. Apart from telephoning the inn again, to see if he’d come back, I had no way of getting in touch with him and I worried that something else might happen at Balmoral the longer Major Padgett was on the loose. I just hoped that Darcy had managed to contact the appropriate people and that all would be well. Anyway, there was nothing more I could or should do now. I would be acting foolishly to attempt to go back to Balmoral again. Instead I’d attempt to enjoy myself. I’d take Granddad for some of my favorite walks. I might even teach him to fish.

  The next morning I slept late and awoke to glorious sun streaming in through my open window. I breakfasted well and was on my way to visit Granddad when I heard a voice calling across the parkland: “Hector. Come out this minute, wherever you are. This is no longer funny.”

  And Podge’s nanny came into view, looking around anxiously.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked.

  “That naughty boy, he’s hiding from me,” she said. “I let him out of his pram because he does so love to run across the grass and now I can’t find him.” She sounded close to tears.

  “Don’t worry, he can’t have gone far,” I said, but my insides clenched themselves into a tight knot. I kept telling myself this was a simple case of a naughty three-year-old, but my mind was whispering other, darker possibilities.

  “Get Graham to round up the gardeners and gillies to help you look,” I said, indicating one of our groundsmen, who was working in the kitchen garden. “Tell him I said so.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “And I’ll start looking too. Where exactly did you lose him?”

  “Not far from here. He was playing with his ball on that lawn, running around quite happily. I went to sit on the bench and when I turned back, he was gone. Of course I thought he was just playing a silly trick on Nanny, then I called him and he didn’t answer. Oh, what can have happened to him, my lady?”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll find him. You didn’t hear the sound of a motor, did you?”

  “What do you mean, my lady?”

  No sense in alarming her unduly. “Not important. Go and get Graham now. Go on.” I pushed her in the direction of the kitchen garden and I started to hurry toward the spot she had indicated. If he really had run off, or was hiding, he couldn’t have gone too far. He only had little legs. And if his nanny hadn’t heard or noticed a motorcar then it wasn’t likely that someone had driven away with him.

  I searched through the shrubbery, calling his name, telling him that Auntie Georgie wanted to play with him, then that his papa wanted to see him—Papa being the most important person in his life. Nothing stirred among the bushes. Perhaps I am overreacting, I told myself. Perhaps
he went back to the house to fetch a toy. Perhaps he’s safely in his nursery at this very moment. But I couldn’t shake off the feeling of dread.

  I had just reached the driveway when I heard someone calling my name and saw my grandfather waving. “What’s the big hurry, ducks?” he said. “Are you training to run a race?”

  “No, Granddad. It’s little Podge, my nephew. He’s missing and I’m worried that—” I let the rest of the sentence drift off into silence.

  “Are you sure he hasn’t just wandered off? Kiddies do that, you know.”

  “I know. But we’ve called and called and he’s not anywhere.”

  He put an arm around me. “Don’t worry, ducks. He’ll turn up. You get on with your searching and I’ll help. But he wouldn’t have got this far from the house on his own, would he?”

  “I wouldn’t have thought so, but . . . wait! What’s that down there?” I had spotted the glint of something red, lying on the light gravel not far from the gates. I ran toward it and bent to pick it up. “It’s one of Podge’s toy soldiers,” I shouted. “Go and tell them.”

  I started to run as fast as I could until I reached the castle gate. I looked up and down the road. I heard no sound of a retreating motorcar. There was silence apart from the sigh of the wind in the pine trees and the gentle splash of waves on the shore of the loch. I stood, hesitant, at the side of the road, not knowing what to do next. I had no way of knowing in which direction he might have gone if he had, in fact, come out of the gate by himself. Someone should alert the police, of course. I hoped Granddad would do just that.

  At that moment I heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. It was a small motorcar, a Morris, by the look of it. I stepped out into the road, waved it down as it approached and wrenched open the passenger door. “You haven’t seen a small boy, by any chance, have you?” I asked. Then I realized that I recognized the driver. “Oh, Ronny, it’s you.”

  “Oh, hello, Georgie,” she said pleasantly. “A small boy? About how old? There were a couple of boys fishing about a mile back.”

  “He’s only three. My nephew, Podge. He’s run off. His nurse is beside herself.”