by Rhys Bowen
“He can’t have run far if he’s only three. He’s probably hiding somewhere.” She grinned. “I used to hide when I was that age. I used to scare the daylights out of my parents. Once I got up in the attic and couldn’t get down.”
I held up the toy soldier. “I found this on the driveway, not far from the gate, so he must have come this way.”
“In that case, hop in,” she said. “I can help you look if you like.”
“Thanks awfully.” I climbed in and we started off slowly, scanning the lochside and hedgerow as we drove, windows open and constantly calling his name. It suddenly struck me how ironic this situation was, if her father was indeed the kidnapper and she was helping me to chase him down.
We had gone about half a mile when something caught my eye. “Wait. What’s that over there?”
Ronny jammed on the brakes. I jumped out before the motorcar came to a complete stop and ran across to an old boathouse, perched on the edge of the loch. Outside the boathouse I had spotted another glimpse of red. It was a second toy soldier. Ronny had come to join me. I held it up for her.
“Do you think he’s gone in there?” she asked. She started to open the rotting door with great caution. “He must be an adventurous little chap.”
“Maybe someone’s taken him in there,” I said, my voice literally shaking with terror by now.
“The door wasn’t properly shut,” she said, pulling it wide open now. “It’s awfully dark in here.” She glanced back at me. “Podge? Is that his name?” she asked, then called, “Podge, are you in here?” Then she turned back. “I think I might have a torch in the car.”
I stepped inside, dreading what I might be about to find. The only light came from the reflection on the water that lapped a long way below me. A walkway ran along three sides. Up here it was shrouded in gloom and smelled overpoweringly damp and mildewy. I started to poke around amid old sacks and rotting cartons, my heart thumping every time I touched something soft or wet. I was conscious of Ronny standing behind me.
“He doesn’t seem to be in here,” I said, looking up at her.
“No,” she replied. “He’s not.”
“You’ve found him?”
“Let’s just say I know where he is.”
“Where is he?”
“Safe. For the moment.”
“What do you mean?” I stared at her, trying to take this in. “Your father took him?”
“My father? My father is dead.”
“Major Padgett is dead?”
“He’s not my real father, but then you know that, don’t you? Hugo must have told you. Why else did you visit Castle Craig yesterday? You know all about my real parents.”
“Maisie McPhee is your real mother, I presume,” I said.
“Well done. My real mother. She’s gone insane. She doesn’t even know me, but I still go to see her. I feel I owe it to her.”
She looked at me and started to laugh. “You really are terribly naïve and trusting, aren’t you? I planted the soldiers along the way and you, my dear, took the bait so easily . . . and now I’ve reeled you in.”
That’s when I realized that what she was holding was not a torch at all. It was a pistol.
“You kidnapped him? It was you?”
“Yes,” she said in a matter-of-fact voice.
“Why? Why do that to a small boy who has done you no harm?”
“Security, my sweet. I might need a bargaining chip to get me safely out of the country. And you”—she paused as if examining me—“you were becoming a blasted nuisance. Hugo told you everything, didn’t he?”
I was still trying to take this in. “It was you who shot at me yesterday? Who killed Hugo?”
She laughed again. “Poor old Hugo. Too smart for his own good. And too soft too. He had it figured out but then he made the mistake of telling me. He wanted me to do the honorable thing and turn myself in. How silly can you be?”
“I was too slow,” I said. “I should have realized. I knew there was something worrying me. You gave yourself away when we spoke together after Hugo had died. Godfrey Beverley told you that someone had been shot. He didn’t say he was dead, but you spoke of him in the past tense.”
“As you say, you were too slow.”
“And Godfrey Beverley,” I said, as pieces fell into place in my head. “He was looking directly at you when he asked why anyone would need two guns.”
“Stupid little man,” she said. “Always poking his nose where it wasn’t wanted. I realized he must have seen me.”
“And your maid? You borrowed the motorbike and ran her over?”
“She snooped. She had to go.”
I stared at her, noting the easy way she dismissed these murders.
“What have you done with Podge?” I demanded.
“He’s quite safe. You don’t have to worry about him.”
“Of course I worry about him. Take me to him.”
“He’s on my Gypsy Moth, right here on the lake. Climb down into the boat and you can row us out to him.” She indicated a small rowing boat tied at the bottom of the steps and motioned with the pistol that I should go down them.
I was trying to control my racing thoughts, wondering what chance I stood if I dove into the water and went for help. There was nothing nearer than Castle Rannoch and by that time she could have killed Podge or taken off with him. I wondered if I could reach the plane first if I dove in and swam to it. I was a strong swimmer and she would have to climb down the ladder then untie the rowing boat, which would give me a good head start. It was worth a try and it was better than doing nothing. She was obviously going to kill me and probably Podge too. What did I have to lose?
I took a deep breath and launched myself into the black water. I heard the shot echoing around the boathouse. At any second I expected to feel the sting of a bullet but I hit the surface and went under. I gasped at the cold and had to stop myself from coming up to take an immediate breath. Instead I kicked out underwater, praying I was heading in the right direction. I kept swimming underwater until I could see brighter daylight ahead of me. I held my breath until my lungs were on fire and I came up, gasping for air. No sign of the rowing boat yet. I struck out for the plane with powerful strokes, swimming faster than I had ever done before. I hadn’t worked out what I’d do when I reached the aeroplane. She still had the pistol and I was still a sitting target, but I’d work that part out when I came to it.
The aeroplane bobbed on its floats tied to a buoy, within easy swimming distance now. I reached it, hauled myself onto the fin and stood up, holding on to the lower of the double wings. It felt flimsy and insecure. I hadn’t realized before that aeroplanes were made of wood and fabric and wires, like large kites. The rowing boat was now clear of the boathouse and she was rowing hard toward me. This was good news, in that she couldn’t shoot and row at the same time. If I could grab Podge and get him into the water with me, we might just be able to evade Ronny in her rowing boat.
As I stood up and looked into the aeroplane, I could see it had two open cockpits, one behind the other. I looked into the backseat first. No sign of Podge. There were a couple of what looked like rucksacks, half pushed under the seat, but they were too small to hold a child.
I maneuvered my way along the fin to the forward seat and couldn’t see him there, either. I swung my leg over and climbed inside, reaching around on the floor to see if there might be a secret compartment where he could be hidden. But there was nothing.
I didn’t have any time to decide what to do next. The plane started shaking, indicating that Ronny had reached it and was climbing on board. I’d better start swimming again. I swung one leg over the side.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Ronny said. She was standing only a foot or so away and the pistol was now pointed at my head.
“He’s not here,” I said lamely.
“No. He’s not.”
“But you said . . .”
“Georgie, you really must stop believing what p
eople tell you. It’s such a pathetic trait.”
“Where is he?” I was really angry now, even though I knew she had the gun and she was probably going to shoot me. “What have you done with him?”
“I told you he was safe, and he is, for the time being. He’s tied up in the boot of my car. He was there, behind you, all the time.” She laughed as if this was a good joke as she moved nimbly along the float and untied the craft from its buoy.
“Then why take the trouble to bring me out here? You could have shot me in the boathouse and tossed my body into the water.”
“I could have, but I decided that you’d do just as well as a hostage. You swam here under your own steam and I don’t have to go to the trouble of carrying your nephew from the motorcar and risk being seen. Please sit down. I promised to take you up, didn’t I? Well, now you’re getting your chance.”
I noticed, really for the first time, that she was wearing a leather flight jacket. She had come prepared. I was already soaking wet. It was quite likely I was going to freeze to death before she shot me or tipped me out.
“Sit,” she commanded again, indicating the front seat. I had no choice. I sat.
She rummaged in one of the bags in the backseat and threw something at me. “Here.” It was a pair of goggles. “Now strap yourself in.”
“Why are you doing this?” I demanded. “What have we ever done to you?”
“Robbed me of my birthright,” she said. “You know who my father was, don’t you? He was the heir to the throne. The Duke of Clarence.”
“The Duke of Clarence? He was your father? But he died long before you were born.”
“He didn’t die. It was a monstrous conspiracy,” she said. “They kidnapped him and had him shut away up here. He never recovered his health and died when I was a baby, so I’ve been told. So when you look at it that way, I’m the rightful heir to the throne.”
“Even if this is true, I’m sure he didn’t marry your mother, so you’re not the rightful heir to anything.”
“He did marry her,” she said angrily. “He did. She told me.”
“No one would ever believe you,” I said.
“No. That’s why this was the only way to get back at the stupid royal family. And I must say I’ve enjoyed it. I never intended to kill anyone, you know. Just frighten them. Just make them feel they were never safe. And I succeeded.”
“But why? Why waste your energy on that when you have so much to live for? You’re a famous woman. You’ve set records. You’ll go down in the history books.”
“It’s never enough,” she said simply. “There is never enough to fill the void.”
She climbed into the rear seat. “Hold tight!” she shouted. The machine roared to life. The whole contraption started to shake.
Then without warning it started to move, faster and faster, bouncing over the water until suddenly it was airborne. Loch and mountains fell away beneath us. There was Castle Rannoch, nestled among the trees. There was the boathouse and the car parked beside it, looking like a child’s toy. Scotland stretched beneath us—the bleak expanse of Rannoch Moor and beyond it the glittering of the sea and the Western Isles.
“Where are we going?” I turned to shout. It suddenly occurred to me that she was attempting to fly to America and that we’d never make it and come down somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic. I was shivering badly now, both from the cold wind and from the fear. She was sitting behind me so I couldn’t see what she was doing. Not that I could take any action anyway. I was strapped into a seat, up in the air.
Then I felt the plane shake. I swiveled in my seat to look at her and saw, to my dismay, that she was standing up.
“What are you doing?” I yelled.
“I’ve always wanted to fly,” she shouted back. “Now seems like a good time to try it.” Then she laughed again. “Oh, don’t worry about me. I have a parachute on my back. You’re the one who needs to worry. You’ll be up here alone. It’s perfect really. Much simpler than a hostage. Either you’ll go down into the Atlantic or you’ll eventually crash. If you do, the plane is full of fuel. It will explode and you’ll be burned beyond recognition. Everyone will think it’s me. Poor Ronny Padgett. So sad. Give her a state funeral. And I will be making a new life in America! Land of opportunity, they say.”
I was trying to unbuckle my harness to stop her, but I wasn’t quick enough. She launched herself over the side. I watched her falling, spread-eagled, toward the earth.
Chapter 33
For a long moment I just sat there, too stunned to do anything.
“I am alone in an aeroplane, thousands of feet up in the air,” I said out loud, and added, since there was nobody within miles to hear me, “Bugger.” (I thought the occasion warranted a swearword. I only wished I knew some stronger ones. I’d have used them all. Loudly.)
Frankly I was finding it hard to breathe and it wasn’t just the wind in my face. Even if I knew how to fly an aeroplane, there were no instruments in my compartment. And I didn’t know how to fly an aeroplane anyway. Let’s face it—I had never even been in one before. But I wasn’t just going to sit there and accept my fate. “Do something,” I commanded myself.
For the moment we were flying smoothly forward, out toward the Atlantic Ocean. I forced my freezing, trembling fingers to unbuckle the harness, then I turned and knelt on the seat. The wind was so strong I could hardly move. I grasped the struts that held up the overhead wing and pulled myself into a kneeling position on the space between the two seats. There was a windshield, making forward progress difficult. I had to inch one leg around, holding on to that windshield for dear life. The plane reacted to my weight as I slithered hastily into the backseat.
“So far, so good,” I said to encourage myself. Then I took stock of the cockpit. I stared at the instrument panel in front of me, hoping for a glimmer of inspiration. Needles were moving on dials but I had no idea what any of them meant. There was also a metal handle coming out of the floor between my legs. I moved it tentatively to one side and the machine started to bank. Hastily I restored it to its previous position. So I could turn the machine if I wanted but what use would that be? I presumed that pushing the stick forward might therefore make it go down, but I had no idea how I would slow it down enough to land on water. We were heading due west. Soon we would be out over the Atlantic and then destruction was inevitable. Come to think of it, it was inevitable anyway. I’ve always been an optimistic sort of person and I do have the blood of all those impossibly brave Rannochs coursing through my veins, but I was finding it awfully hard to be brave.
I wondered if I dared experiment in trying to turn the aeroplane before it was actually over the Atlantic. Then I wondered what chance of survival I would have if I brought the plane very low over the water and then jumped out. That made me wonder if the other rucksack contained a second parachute. I opened it and it contained a change of clothing and a bar of Cadbury’s chocolate. I started to eat it. I was halfway through when I became aware of a noise—a loud droning sound. I turned around and found that I was being followed by another aeroplane. Hope sprung up. They had come to rescue me! Then of course I realized that they thought this was Ronny’s machine and they had no idea I was in it.
I waited until the other machine was very close, then I stood up, waving my arms.
“It’s me. Help!” I shouted. Not very informative, but the best I could do in the circumstances.
The other aeroplane signaled to me, a thumbs-up, which I took to be a good thing. I could see two flyers in helmets and goggles staring at me before their machine rose and began to fly over me. It was hovering over me like a giant dragonfly, its shape blotting out the sun, then something snaked down beside me, almost whacked me on the head then swung out again. I realized that it was a rope ladder. Surely they weren’t expecting me to grab it and climb up? On second thought this was a better choice than crashing into the ocean.
As I was leaning out, trying to catch it as it bobbed and danced in the
wind, I realized that someone was climbing down it. Soon this person had hold of the upper wing and was standing on the wooden fuselage right in front of me.
“Can you climb up the ladder, do you think?” he shouted.
“I don’t know.” I looked up at the other plane. “My hands are freezing.”
At that moment the decision was taken from me. A large cloud loomed in front of us.
“Too late,” the man snapped and released the ladder. “Quick. Move up front. I need to fly this thing.” I didn’t really have time to think as we were swallowed up in cloud. “Careful now,” he said, as I stood up and he stepped down into the cockpit beside me. He held on to me firmly as I reversed my previous maneuver, inching around the windshield and into the front seat.
“Good girl,” he shouted. “Strap yourself in.”
We came out of cloud into bright sunshine. There was no sign of the other plane.
“I don’t want to do that again in a hurry,” my visitor shouted. Finally I recognized the voice. I turned to look at him. It was Darcy.
“What are you doing up here?” I yelled back to him.
“How about ‘Thank you for coming to rescue me’?”
“Do you know how to fly one of these things?”
“No, but I’ve got the instruction book here. You can read it to me.” He reached into his jacket and then looked at my face and laughed. “Actually I have flown a plane before. I’ll get us down safely.”
Suddenly I felt my stomach drop as the plane swung to the right. We were circling, dropping lower and lower. There was a large sea loch ahead of us. We were skimming over bright water. Then we were bumping crazily until we came to a stop a few yards short of a rocky outcropping.
Darcy unbuttoned his helmet and took off his goggles. “Phew, that was close,” he said, standing up. “I’ve never landed on water before.”
“This is a stupid time to tell me that,” I snapped and promptly burst into tears.
“Georgie.” He reached forward and dragged me into his arms while the aeroplane rocked dangerously. “It’s all right. We made it. You’re safe now.”