Death at Thorburn Hall

by Julianna Deering

  “How one is to predict accidental happenings, I cannot say,” Kuznetsov mourned, “but I will do as best I’m able.”

  “Excellent.” There was a muffled rattle as Drew dropped the spoons into his own coat pocket. “Lady Rainsby is quite fond of Mrs. Pike, and I shouldn’t like to have to step in to make sure neither of those ladies is upset.”

  The count laid a hand over his heart. “I shouldn’t like to have you trouble yourself over it.” With a slight bow, he made his way up the metal stairway and down the corridor toward his room.

  Drew went back to the dining room and found the butler inspecting the table, already set for the next day’s breakfast. He tapped on the half-open door. “Pardon me, Twining, might I have a word with you?”

  The butler gave a very correct bow. “Certainly, sir. Is there some way I might be of service?”

  “Yes, well, it’s a bit awkward, but these seem to have wandered out of the dining room unattended.” He took the spoons from his pocket and put them on the table. “I thought you might want to escort them home.”

  One pale eyebrow went up. “Thank you, sir. I will not inquire as to how they came to be in your possession, but I do thank you for sparing me a most unpleasant task.”

  “I take it, then, that you were already aware they had gone missing.”

  “I was, sir. I did not like to speak to Lady Rainsby about it, but I have my duty to perform.”

  “And did you know who had taken them?” Drew asked.

  “I had grave misgivings, sir.”

  “About . . . ?”

  Twining gave a discreet cough. “The Russian gentleman seems more than commonly attracted to shiny objects, sir.”

  “He certainly does, but I’ll be keeping my eye on him in the future.”

  “It’s not my place to say, sir,” the butler said, “but the gentleman does bear watching.”

  “At least now he knows he’s being watched.”

  “I suppose that will make him mend his ways,” Twining said with a morose nod. “Or improve his craft.”

  Drew was sure that, one way or another, the man was right.

  The riding party was scheduled for early the next day, just a short jaunt in the meadow that ran alongside Thorburn Hall. Nothing that would interfere with all of them going back to Muirfield for the second round of the Open.

  There was no rain, so despite the soggy grounds and the brisk wind, they set out in good spirits. The Pikes stayed behind to attend to Count Kuznetsov’s fickle muse, and Nick and Carrie decided they would remain at the Hall as well until it was time to go out to Muirfield.

  Despite his age and sedentary appearance, Rainsby proved to be a good rider. Certainly an enthusiastic one. He led them all to a low rock wall and took it at a jump.

  “Didn’t expect that of an old man, eh?” he crowed from the other side.

  Lady Louisa frowned. “Gerald, do behave. You’re likely to end up on your backside in the mud.”

  “In his dotage, I tell you,” Mac said with a shake of his head. “If you break another leg, Rainsby, don’t say you weren’t warned.”

  “Dotage, is it? Did you hear that, young Farthering? Remind me to tell you how I nearly rode for Hurlingham at the London Olympics. The way he talks, you’d think Mac was your age rather than mine.”

  “I’m beginning to think you’re the one who’s my age, sir,” Drew said. “I suppose there’s nothing to do but match you.”

  Drew took the jump and then looked back at Madeline, beaming.

  “I’m sure you two must be the same age,” she said, scowling. “About five and a half.”

  “Come on, darling,” Drew coaxed. “It’s not much of a jump.”

  “Not in this mud, thank you very much.”

  “Not to worry, ma’am,” Rainsby said. “I’ll see to the gate.” He gave Mac a rather smug look. “For all you ladies.”

  He rode a few yards along the wall until he reached a wooden gate. In another moment, he had it open and held it for the others to pass through.

  “Come along now, all of you,” he said, closing the gate once more. “At this rate, I’ll be in the drawing room with my feet up before any of you make it back to the house.”

  He dug his heels into his horse’s sides, making it spring forward, and soon he disappeared into the thick trees ahead.

  With a little glance at Drew, Madeline nudged her mount and pulled up next to Lady Louisa. “Isn’t the meadow lovely?”

  “Oh, yes,” the older woman said. “It’s the best time of the year for wildflowers.” As they rode along, she began pointing out the cranesbill and campion and the red poppies that stretched as far as one could see.

  Drew dropped back beside MacArthur. “I understand you and his lordship have known each other a long while.”

  Mac nodded. “Since before the war. He always did have a bit of swagger to him, especially on horseback.”

  “He seems all right enough,” Drew said, glancing over to where the ladies were going into the wood.

  “Of course he is,” Mac blustered. “He’s in his fifties, not his eighties. But you know horses. I can tell by the way you ride. You know as well as I do that even the best of us gets tossed off now and again.” He put one hand to the small of his back with a rueful smile. “Those falls leave more of an ache than they did twenty years ago.”

  “No doubt.” Drew was silent for a moment, then said, “I understand you’re a cartographer. I don’t believe I’ve met one before.”

  “You haven’t missed much.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Drew said. “I daresay the army would’ve been a bit stuck without good maps during the war or even now.”

  “Oh, to be sure.” Mac shrugged, suddenly concerned with watching his horse’s hooves. “Most of what I do now goes into atlases and textbooks. Perhaps the odd bit of work for a town council now and again.” He glanced up with a nonchalant smile. “Still, better that than war, eh? Those were dark days, young man, and we’re well rid of them.”

  Drew narrowed his eyes, peering into the dense trees. “It’s growing rather dark again, wouldn’t you say? Italy and Ethiopia. Spain. And that fellow in Berlin . . .”

  MacArthur shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. It seems Mr. Hitler has to have done something right, eh? Aren’t his people working again? It might be some of our chaps in Parliament could learn a thing or two from him.”

  Drew managed to look only mildly surprised. “I suppose you’re right so far as it goes. But if most of their work is the wholesale manufacture of arms, tanks, and aircraft—”

  “Poppycock. I wouldn’t have pegged you as one of those nervous Nellies, Farthering. You’re sounding like Rainsby now. He looks at me as if I’d just spat on the Union Jack any time I mention something Hitler’s done that seems to be good for his country and for Europe at large.”

  “Still, if all they’re preparing for is peace . . .”

  “Of course, it seems a tremendous amount of weapons now, but you must see that they had everything taken from them after the war. Surely a nation ought to be able to defend itself. So long as Germany is held down and made to feel abused, then it is a danger. Like a whipped cur that’ll bite the moment it gets the chance, eh? But if we allow the Germans to stand again, heads held high, shoulder to shoulder with the rest of Europe, surely they’ll feel no need for war.”

  “Perhaps so,” Drew said, not believing it in the least. “But with the Dollfuss assassination last year and . . .” He broke off, looking toward the commotion coming from the other side of the trees.

  “Gerald?” Lady Louisa was calling, her voice high and taut. “Gerald!”

  With a glance at MacArthur, Drew urged his horse into a trot and caught up to her. She and Madeline were hurrying their mounts across a low, open space, where Lord Rainsby’s gray stood wild-eyed, saddleless and riderless.

  “What’s happened, Louisa?” Mac asked.

  “Oh, Gerald will make an utter fool of himself when we have company. If
he’s broken something again, Dr. Portland will be very cross. Gerald!”

  Drew moved closer to the skittish horse and managed to catch its bridle. “Here, darling.” He tossed Madeline the gray’s reins and then smiled at Lady Louisa. “Not to worry, ma’am. We’ll fetch him back, good as new. Mac, you’d better give me a hand hunting him down. Where’s he likely to be?”

  “This way. There’s a path.”

  Mac led him through the trees and then pulled up short. There in a heap, with his saddle under him, lay Lord Gerald Rainsby. His sightless eyes and the awkward angle of his neck made it clear he was dead.

  Four

  The doctor and the police arrived at nearly the same moment, not very long after Drew and MacArthur had found Lord Rainsby dead there in the meadow with his broken saddle under him. Dr. Portland, the Rainsbys’ physician, proved to be a dour but unflappably competent man. He was quick to pronounce the victim dead and then hurried a dazed Lady Rainsby to the house to be looked after.

  By then the local police had inspected the site of the accident and questioned the witnesses. Satisfied that there was nothing untoward about the scene or the victim, there seemed little for the inspector and his sergeant to do after that other than allow two sturdy footmen to carry the body back into the Hall and up to the waiting Dr. Portland as decorously as possible.

  Half an hour later, with the pall of mourning settled heavily over the house, Dr. Portland came down the stainless-steel stairway, his purposeful steps loud. At Drew’s request, he came into the drawing room, sank onto the sofa, removed his spectacles and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  “I wish there were more I could tell you. He’d been warned, time and again, to take it easy.”

  “Was it his heart?” Drew asked, careful to keep his voice low. “I thought his neck—”

  “Oh, quite right. Quite right. His neck was definitely broken. The girth on the saddle pulled loose and he was thrown.”

  The doctor glanced at the door that led into the hallway, clearly impatient for his promised cup of tea. He looked weary. Perhaps he was tired of giving medical advice that was seldom followed.

  “Then there’s no question of its being an accident,” Drew said.

  “I see no reason to think otherwise. But it was foolish all the same. He was a heavy smoker and a heavy drinker. Diabetic as well. His bones were brittle, and I told him he ought to give up riding if he couldn’t give up the whisky and cigarettes. At least the jumping, at any rate. After he broke the same leg twice, I told him a fall could easily kill him. But he knew better. Ah well, I’m just the doctor. What would I know about it?”

  The man was well into middle age and must have been in practice thirty years or more. This sort of thing had to have grown tiresome to him years ago.

  “How’s Lady Rainsby bearing up?”

  “As well as might be expected,” Dr. Portland answered. “It’s all a shock, naturally, but she isn’t the hysterical type. Still, I’m glad you and Mrs. Farthering and the others are here. Lady Rainsby oughtn’t to be left alone at such a time.”

  “Not to worry. My wife and I will stay and see if we can be of any assistance. And then there’s Mrs. Pike, whom she’s known for years. I doubt she’ll be much help, but Lady Rainsby might find her a comfort. Or at the very least, a distraction.”

  “Excellent.” The doctor looked to the doorway again, sighed, and pushed himself to his feet. “I won’t wait. I’ve got other patients who’ll want to ignore my advice. If you would, when Lady Rainsby is up to it, let her know I will see to the death certificate and send over the undertakers.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be most grateful.”

  “And Miss Rainsby? I take it she’s from home.”

  Drew nodded. “Coming back today sometime. I believe she’s been sent a wire to let her know what’s happened.”

  “Very good. Do let me know if you think Lady Rainsby needs me to return.”

  Drew stood and shook the doctor’s hand, then walked with him to the front door.

  Lady Rainsby spent the evening in her room accompanied only by Mrs. Pike. All the others spent an hour or so after dinner playing cards, but eventually the games broke up, and one by one everyone retired for the evening. Everyone but Drew.

  “Someone ought to wait up for Miss Rainsby,” he’d told them.

  Madeline had offered to wait with him, but when she dozed off for the second time, he walked her upstairs and put her to bed. Then he went back into the library, found an unabridged edition of War and Peace, and settled himself in an armchair to await the return of the daughter of the house.

  Finally, well after midnight, a cab pulled up to the front steps, and a young woman in a plain black frock let herself out through the rear door. Drew recognized the girl from the photograph in Rainsby’s study, dark-haired, patrician-looking, though she was a bit older now. Older and in mourning.

  She crushed out her cigarette on the drive and came into the house.

  “Miss Rainsby?”

  She started when he spoke to her. She hadn’t noticed him waiting there. “Who are you? Where’s my mother?”

  “In her room, I believe. I’m Drew Farthering. She and my father were cousins.”

  Joan blinked and then gave an almost imperceptible shrug. “Oh. I remember now. She said she was going to ask you here. I’m sorry.”

  “My condolences.” Drew made a slight bow. “May I escort you up to her?”

  That brought a touch of a wry smile. “I’m not quite the hothouse bloom my father thought I was. I think I can find my own way.”

  “Just as you say.” He stepped back. “If I can be of any help to either of you, do let me know.”

  She put her black-gloved hand on the gleaming steel stair rail and then stopped, not looking at him. “I hate to make my mother think about all this just now, but, well . . .” She drew a little breath, not quite enough to be a sob. “Were you there? I mean, when he fell?”

  “I didn’t see the accident, no. But Mr. MacArthur and I found him a few minutes afterward. He’d ridden ahead. My wife, Madeline, and your mother were following him while MacArthur and I were a little behind, talking. Your father’s horse came back without him, and without its saddle, so MacArthur and I went out looking.”

  She turned, her pale forehead puckered. “Atalanta didn’t have a saddle?”

  “No,” Drew replied. “It was a blustery day and there were several tree branches down. It seems something of that nature must have startled the horse and, while your father was trying to get it under control, the girth must have broken and he was thrown. That saddle seemed awfully worn.”

  “He liked that one.” There was a touch of wistfulness in her expression. “We’d got him several others, very nice, very expensive, but he finally told us not to bother. He said that the one was comfortable and he was too old to adjust to another.”

  Drew nodded. “It seems rather a shame, doesn’t it?”

  “I suppose things like this happen. Still, it wasn’t like him not to check his tack before he rode. He was very particular about that. From his polo days, I imagine.” She rubbed her eyes, looking perplexed and horribly exhausted. “I’d better go up to Mother.”

  “If there’s anything I can do for either of you . . .”

  Without offering a response, she trudged up the stairs and disappeared into the white hallway.

  “It’s a bit awkward, isn’t it?” Drew ate another bite of onion-and-bacon tart, trying to keep the divine combination of flavors from interfering with his ability to think logically. Clearly the staff were well trained, and the excellent service continued even in the face of tragedy. “I don’t quite feel right staying on when the ladies of the house are in mourning, but it would seem unfeeling to rabbit off before the funeral, don’t you think?”

  Lady Rainsby and her daughter had not appeared at breakfast that morning and were absent from the midday meal now.

  “Perhaps we ought to find out what Lady Rainsby would prefer,” Carri
e suggested. “I didn’t really want anyone around when my father died. Not in the house anyway. I needed someplace to get away from all of them, no matter how kind they all were.”

  Madeline nodded. “I felt that way when Uncle Mason died. I didn’t want to talk to anyone.” A smile touched her lips, and she squeezed Drew’s hand. “Hardly anyone.”

  “I tried to speak to Lady Rainsby this morning,” Drew said, “but her maid informed me that she wasn’t seeing anyone quite yet. According to Twining, however, she’s left word that we’re all welcome to stay for as long as we like.”

  Kuznetsov perked up at that and helped himself to another plateful of rashers.

  “Until the funeral,” Pike growled at him. “Then we’re going.”

  “But if Louisa needs us . . .” Mrs. Pike began, her bright eyes pleading, and her husband softened.

  “We’ll see.”

  She turned to Madeline and Carrie. “I know if either of you had a terrible loss like this, you’d want the other to stand by you.”

  “Naturally,” Carrie said.

  “Well, that’s how Louisa and I are. We’ve been friends since well before we were your age, you know. I couldn’t leave her on her own at a time like this, now, could I?”

  Madeline gave her plump arm a pat. “No, not at all. And if there’s anything Drew and I can do to help, we’ll stay, too.”

  “It’s awful, that accident,” Carrie said, looking down at her half-eaten tart. “I’m glad it was only an accident. I don’t know if I could take it if it were more than that.”

  Nick glanced at Drew. All right, they hadn’t discussed it, but clearly Nick was wondering it as much as Drew was—wondering if Lord Rainsby’s death had been something more than just an accident. Drew returned him the subtlest shake of the head. No. There was no evidence of anything extraordinary about the death. Rainsby had taken a silly risk and had paid for it with his life. Sad? Yes. Even tragic. But not sinister.

  Following the pork pie, cold pea-and-basil soup, and the goose confit salad, there was a pudding of strawberries, blackberries, blueberries, and raspberries with sponge cake and whipped cream. Afterward, Mrs. Pike went up to see Lady Rainsby while Mr. Pike shut himself in the library to make some business-related telephone calls, and Count Kuznetsov announced that he was going to go write the more tragic parts of his long-awaited symphony. Somehow Drew suspected his efforts would begin and end with his napping on the library sofa.