by Anna Lord
The Countess drew the curtains on another grey day and perched herself on the window seat where dull light fell from behind and provided a fair aspect of both Miss Lambert and the dowager – she wanted to observe their reactions. “There is another reason I decided to look in on you, Lady Moira. It is rather bad news, I’m afraid. The Lammas tiara was stolen during the night.”
Miss Lambert gasped and her hand flew to her breast.
Lady Moira’s reaction was more controlled, though not as cavalier as that of her son. It befitted her age, her position and her experience of life’s vicissitudes. “That’s what comes of having a golf course on the estate and inviting total strangers into your home. I suppose the imbecilic police will blame one of the servants. Was anything else stolen?”
“All the other curios were in place, though no one has yet made a thorough search of the castle.”
“I suppose my son left the key to the glass cabinet lying around?”
“I believe a fire poker was used to smash the glass.”
The old lady tut-tutted. “Now we must suffer another investigation. The police will stick their noses into every nook and cranny. They are perfect fools. I would not put it past that Irish actress to have staged the theft to garner more publicity for herself and the wretched golf course while she has all those reporters and photographers eating out of her vulgarly painted hand. Fetch my white wool dress with the high neckline and the plisse cuffs, Miss Lambert. It is time to get up and take charge.”
The Irish actress was seated at a dressing table positioned in a bay window, staring unhappily into an oval mirror. “Oh, Countess Volodymyrovna,” she said with surprise, catching the reflection in the silver glass without needing to turn around. “I was expecting the maid with my breakfast tray.”
“She will be along any moment,” replied the Countess. “There has been an upset this morning and she has been delayed.”
Lola, wearing the same satin peignoir she had worn at midnight, pushed lazily to her feet and sashayed slowly toward a chaise longue in the middle of the room, an impish smile played at the corners of her lips. “Upset?”
“Something untoward happened this morning,” continued the Countess blandly, endeavouring to position herself at such an angle as to observe the actress’s face when she broke the bad news.
“I suppose the Dees are making a frightful fuss.” Lola ran some fingers languidly along the back of the chaise then swivelled to face the Countess. Morning light caught her full on the face which had been schooled into perfect serenity, the impish smile no longer at play.
The Countess realized Miss O’Hara was alluding to the extra game being granted to her lover and Mr Bancoe. It was time to strike. “I came to tell you that the Lammas tiara was stolen during the night.”
Lola uttered a tiny cry, like a baby bird caught in a poacher’s net, as she clutched her breast and went down like a nine pin. No sooner had her body crumpled to the floor with a heavy thud than Lord Cruddock entered.
“My God!” he cried, sprinting past the Countess to gather his fiancé into his arms. “Darling! Darling! Speak to me!”
A lack of blood to the brain caused by a sudden shock does not last long. Lola came to her senses within moments of fainting and allowed herself to be transported to her richly festooned bed. Her fiancé perched himself on the side and patted her manicured hand.
“Darling,” he said tenderly, fearfully, “are you all right? What happened? Shall I summon the doctor?”
Lola was in command of herself once more. “I just heard the news, Duncan. Is it true? The tiara has been stolen – is it true?”
“Yes, darling, it’s true, but do not concern yourself. The tiara will turn up, mark my words. It cannot have gone far.”
The Countess stepped forward with practiced poise. “That’s what I came to speak to Miss O’Hara about,” she said, looking not at his lordship, who sounded oddly sure of himself, but at Lola, the consummate actress, who had momentarily revealed genuine surprise and vulnerability in that moment when she fainted. That was no clever piece of play-acting. The actress had hit the floor with a painful thump and in her delicate condition that could not have been an easy thing to stage-manage. A clever and consummate actress would have gone into a swoon, fallen languorously across the chaise with a limp hand to her forehead. “I was hoping you could answer just one question.”
Lord Cruddock turned on the Countess with seigneurial rage. “Just one question! I hold you responsible for what just happened! My fiancé could have been seriously injured when she swooned! I insist that you leave this room at once!”
Fighting back her own rising anger, the Countess turned to go. It was as if he didn’t care a jot for the tiara whose sale to the Rajah stood to stave off the wolves at the door.
“Wait!” called Miss O’Hara. “If it is about the tiara, I don’t mind answering. The sooner it is found, the sooner I will be able to breathe.”
Without removing her hand from the door knob the Countess looked squarely at Lord Cruddock, perceptively bristling, while addressing herself to the actress. “I came to ask Miss O’Hara if she noticed whether her bedroom had been deranged at any time since the commencement of the tournament?”
“Deranged?” said the actress, sounding baffled.
“It is French, darling, it means if you noticed if anything was out of place.”
“Oh, yes, yes, I did, on two occasions I came back to my room to find items not where I had left them. I like to arrange my scent bottles and hair brushes and ribbon boxes just so. It is a habit instilled by the theatre where one must have everything swiftly at hand between curtain changes. The first time it happened I accused my maid of carelessness and she seemed quite hurt. The second time I accused her of tampering with my things in my absence and she denied it most strenuously and said that someone must have come into the room. I thought it an unlikely story as nothing was actually missing, though it appeared as if someone had rifled through my jewels and even my clothes. But that’s what you think too. You think someone came into my room in search of the key to the document chest where the tiara was kept. Is that it?”
The Countess nodded, relieved that the actress was not as stupid as she imagined and not as defensive as she feared. “Can you recall the two occasions?”
“Yes,” said Lola with surprising certainty. “The first time was during the first rehearsal in the chapel. I came back to my room and found that things on my dressing table, the chest of drawers and both bedside tables had been moved just a fraction.”
“Darling, why didn’t you mention it at once?”
“I was feeling utterly drained and had a frightful headache. I didn’t have the strength to deal with anything after that appalling rehearsal. Besides, nothing was missing so I put it down to the maid’s carelessness.”
“And the second time?” pressed the Countess.
“The second time was the night of the séance in the library. I came back to my room, dazed and giddy from my swoon, and after a brief rest noticed that several things were not in their usual place, including several pairs of shoes and some hat boxes. That’s why I thought the maid’s story unlikely, it meant someone had rifled through my dressing room. Again, nothing was missing.”
“Before I leave you I would like to ask you one last question,” the Countess began gently. “Last night I saw you in the upper gallery at midnight. May I ask where you were going?”
“Where was I going?” Lola repeated dizzily, feigning a momentary spell of forgetfulness. “Oh, yes, now I remember. The play being such a success, my mind was racing and I couldn’t sleep. I decided to read until I felt sleepy but I had left my book in the conservatory that afternoon. Silly of me! You must have seen me when I went to retrieve my book.”
All gleams and graces, the Countess smiled agreeably. “By the way, where is the key to the document chest? Not that it matters now that the tiara has been stolen from the library.”
Lola looked relieved and rather proud
of herself, her ample bosom rose to the occasion. “Well, at least it wasn’t stolen while it was with me. Old Hecate would never have let me forget it.” She turned her head to the Boule armoire and smiled triumphantly. “I took a leaf from Shakespeare or Marlowe or someone who writes plays. The key is hidden in plain sight, sitting in the lock of the armoire. I wound a red ribbon around it and attached a tassel to it to make it look fancy. I thought that the more it stood out, the less likely anyone would take any notice of it.”
“You are very clever, darling,” praised her fiancé, gazing at her bosom while bringing her hand to his lips and kissing it fondly, happily forgetting that a priceless heirloom was still missing. “I think that was in a book by Sir Walter Scott.”
“It was Poe,” said the Countess as she left the lovers to themselves, marvelling at Cupid’s delusion. She felt equally certain of something else too. The tiara had not been stolen by an outsider. Most likely it had been stolen by someone who had been creeping about during the night. And that meant the tiara was still somewhere inside the castle. “He writes horror.”
Dr Watson was alone in the library looking for clues when the Countess returned to the scene of the crime. He was on all fours under the glass cabinet, inspecting shards of glass, lint, food crumbs and wilted flower petals.
“Murdered or not?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Lady Moira,” he reminded flippantly.
“Oh, yes,” she pouted. “I must admit I was extremely disappointed to find her still breathing. Have you found any clues?”
“Every man and his dog was in this room last night and they all left a clue,” he returned with disgust. “Take your pick!”
She got down all fours not to look for clues but to recount what Lola had told her about the derangement of her room and the key with the tassel.
He sat back on his haunches, deftly avoiding the broken glass. “So the theft was not impulsive but planned and last night provided the perfect opportunity to put that plan into action. After you left the library I took advantage of everyone’s confusion and eagerness to clear their name. I asked them to account for their movements during the night.”
She waited for him to flip open his pocketbook.
“Mr Dee went to his sister’s room to discuss the decision that had been made about granting Mr Larssensen and Mr Bancoe an extra game. They claim they were incensed and wanted to discuss a strategy of counter-attack which they planned to put into action at breakfast.”
“They provide alibis for each other,” observed the Countess.
“Yes, we have only their word that they remained together until two o’clock when Mr Dee took himself off to bed. By the way, I recently discovered that they have dressed as each other in the past, with great success. If they needed to give each other an alibi it would not have proved difficult, especially from a distance. You think you are looking at Miss Dee when it is Mr Dee instead, and then vice versa straight afterwards.”
“Yes, very handy. And Mr Larssensen?”
The doctor glanced at his notes. “He says he left his scoring book in his changing room and forgot to pick it up at the end of the performance. He was worried it might be mistaken for rubbish and went to retrieve it as soon as he realized it was missing.”
“He was crossing the entrance hall when I spotted him so it is possible he may have been on his way to the chapel to retrieve his scoring book before going to meet Lola in the conservatory.”
“What makes you think they met in the conservatory?”
“She claimed she left her novel in the conservatory and went to retrieve it because she was having trouble sleeping. I seriously doubt the veracity of her statement but I don’t think that indicates she stole the tiara. I believe she was trysting with her lover. What surprises me is that Lord Cruddock appears oblivious to the deception. He appears to be a besotted fool.”
“He is never far from a whiskey tumbler – it dulls the senses.”
“Perhaps that is the point – it dulls the brain too. What about Mr Bancoe?”
The doctor checked his notes again. “He says he went down to the billiard room for a tipple of whiskey because he was wound up from the play and couldn’t sleep.”
“Another dipsomaniac! He was heading for the bachelors’ stairs when I spotted him. They lead to the billiard room, so it is possible he was telling the truth. He was wearing one of those silly old bed caps that went out of fashion last century, mismatched golfing socks, a bright red dressing gown and he was slipperless. He looked like a pantomime version of Father Christmas and Scrooge rolled into one. I nearly burst out laughing.”
“What about Mr Larssensen – what was he wearing?”
“He was still dressed in his dinner suit.”
“And Mr Dee?”
“Purple velvet smoking jacket, chartreuse cravat and tartan pyjama pants. The combination was very stylish.”
“Really!”
“Oh, yes, I think a velvet smoking jacket gives a man a sense of panache. I could buy you one for Christmas. I have been wracking my brains for a suitable gift.”
He gave a hearty dismissive laugh as he closed his notebook. “I would not be caught dead in a velvet smoking jacket! By the way, what do you fancy for Christmas?”
“Well, there’s a nice little Caravaggio – Michelangelo not Polidoro - that I have had my eye on for some time at the Chasleton Art Gallery in Bond Street.”
“In that case, you can expect a Christmas card and a box of chocolates.”
“And you can expect a dark green velvet smoking jacket with a quilted cerise silk collar and the same for the buttons, with a chartreuse cord. Did you get a chance to quiz Lord Cruddock or the Rajah about what they were discussing in the study at that late hour?”
He was trying not to picture the smoking jacket from hell. “They said they were going over the accounts pertaining to the golf tournament.”
“And Miss Lambert was fetching some warm milk for Lady Moira. I saw the glass she was carrying. That accounts for everyone.”
“You don’t seriously suspect my niece?”
“Your wife’s niece,” she corrected. “And no, I don’t. The only person conspicuous by absence is the ubiquitous shadow-cat, Mr Chandrapur. Where was he at midnight?”
The doctor crawled out from under the cabinet and brushed himself down. “I cannot see a devoted servant stealing a tiara that his master has agreed to purchase.”
“Mr Chandrapur is not exactly a devoted servant,” said the Countess, adjusting her petticoats and straightening her skirt.
“I stand corrected – factotum.”
“I meant that Mr Chandrapur is the Rajah’s half-brother.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”
“I did not think it was important. I’m sorry. You’re right. We cannot withhold information from each other no matter how trivial it may seem. Which reminds me - the Rajah once remarked that he likes to keep his enemies close and his family closer – implying something underhand, some danger. I don’t think the factotum is as devoted as he seems.”
The doctor pulled some lint off his sleeve. “That puts Mr Chandrapur in an entirely different light. The theft of the tiara could well be his doing. Let’s return to Graymalkin. There is nothing more to be done here. The servants have been instructed to search high and low for the tiara, including scouring the gardens, the stables and the golf links, leaving no stone unturned. The steward has set off on horseback for Edinburgh to telegraph to Scotland Yard, however I think it will be a day or two before a detective arrives to take charge.”
Together they walked to the library door.
“Something puzzles me,” said the Countess, looking back at the shards of glass. “Am I imagining things or did Lord Cruddock and the Rajah appear unmoved by the theft?”
He stopped suddenly and looked back too as if picturing the scene in his mind’s eye. “Yes,” he said pensively. “So they did.”
When they reached the door
the Countess put her hand on top of the doctor’s to defer him from turning the brass knob. She brushed off another bit of lint clinging to his sleeve and lowered her voice. “Something else just occurred to me. The factotum may not have stolen the tiara for himself but he may have been instructed to steal it for someone else?”
“Such as?”
“Someone who has had something stuck in his craw for a long time…someone who might not wish to pay for something which once belonged to him in the first place.”
Thane was toasting himself in front of the coal range and Hamish Ross was sitting at the kitchen table with his mother when the doctor and the Countess returned to Graymalkin. They had just finished their lunch and they had already heard the news concerning the missing tiara. Hamish had been charged with the task of scouring Jackdaw Wood and searching the cottage of Mother MacBee since no other man was brave enough to take on the task. The cottage was set in a part of the wood where some trees had been felled in a storm a few years back. The fallen trees pointed the way better than a compass. He bid them a good day and kissed his mother on the cheek.
The doctor caught up to him on the footbridge.
“Wait up!” he called to the ghillie. “I have been meaning to ask you something.”
The waters of Fickle Beck were running high since the yew had been removed. They made a hell of a clamour as they tumbled over the stones where the two men stood facing each other. Hamish was clearly in a hurry but the doctor was not one for long-windedness.
“I understand you looked into the tea trade venture that went horribly wrong?” he phrased without preamble. “The one where your mother lost her savings and which Colonel Ardkinglas had recommended.”
The hardy-handsome features twisted themselves into a bitter scowl. “More like a swindle than a venture,” he said with rancour. “But it is water under the bridge now. Why bring it up?”
“I’m not sure, but do you remember the name of the ship that sank?”
