Death at Thorburn Hall

by Julianna Deering

  Lady Louisa shook her head. “Not quarreled. Not really.”

  “But she doesn’t care for him.”

  “Oh, he was always telling Gerald and me that she was too grown up now to always be given her way. It wasn’t good for her. Now you give me the name of just one young girl who appreciates anyone who tries to spoil her fun.”

  Drew chuckled. “I’m afraid you have the better of me there.”

  “I tell her all the time she won’t appreciate us until we’re gone.” The spark of humor in Louisa’s eyes died, and she looked down, absently stroking the black velvet trim on her sleeve. “Poor child.”

  Drew was silent until she looked up again. “And you don’t know of anything else his lordship could have been concerned about with MacArthur? They didn’t quarrel again?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’m sorry. There isn’t anything. Mac seemed busier than usual, not coming to visit as much as he had, but I thought that was because the business was picking up and he didn’t have the time.”

  “That seems the most likely case,” Drew said, and then he stood. “I trust you’ll be joining us at lunch?”

  “Yes. I’ve been up here alone long enough. Gerald wouldn’t have wanted that. Not because of him.”

  “No, of course not.” He gave her a wink. “I’ve had a peep into the kitchen. Welsh rarebit and strawberries with clotted cream.”

  “Strawberries for you, I’m afraid, but not me. I’m terribly allergic. But Gerald loved them and so does Joanie, so we have them often, especially when we have guests. But Cook usually makes cinnamon apples for an alternative, so I don’t have to miss out on a sweet entirely.”

  “Apples or strawberries, we can’t do without you.”

  That made her smile again. “We can’t have that, can we? Will Madeline and Miss Holland be joining us?”

  “I’m afraid Mr. Dennison has taken Miss Holland into Edinburgh for lunch and perhaps a look at the sights. But I’m going to fetch Madeline at precisely eleven-thirty and escort her back here.”

  “Lovely,” Lady Louisa said.

  “Oh.” Drew turned at the door. “Do you know if Mr. MacArthur has a particular lady friend just now? I understand he and his wife parted ways not too long ago.”

  Louisa’s smile faded. “Yes, poor man, though he never speaks of it. But I don’t know that he’s seeing anyone at the moment. Of course, he wouldn’t say anything about women to me. I suppose he and Gerald talked about that sort of thing. Men always do.”

  “We’re notorious gossips,” Drew admitted. “It’s a terrible scandal.”

  “You know, now that you ask, I think there is someone. Gerald saw them together a time or two.”

  “He didn’t know her name by chance?”

  “Not that he ever told me.” Lady Louisa thought for a moment. “All he said was that she was an attractive blond girl. Far too young, but never tell Mac I said so.”

  He put one finger to his lips. “Mum’s the word.”

  Drew took the short walk into Gullane with nothing more in mind than collecting Madeline from The Swan and escorting her back to the Hall for luncheon. As he passed a little tearoom called Juster’s, he noticed a motor car parked in the street. It was a drab color, small, cheaply made, not the kind that would generally attract his attention, except he was almost certain he’d seen it before.

  He slowed as he walked alongside it, peeping into the front seat to see if anything looked familiar. There wasn’t much, but he certainly recognized it. A leather bag, three or four notebooks with little scraps of paper sticking out from between the pages, a scruffy-looking wool scarf in a hideous shade of mustard that looked as if it had been stuffed under the seat at least since the previous autumn and left out in all weather, a newspaper . . .

  He frowned. It was today’s edition of The Rosyth Register, a local newspaper from about thirty miles west of Gullane. Most of it was covered up by the notebooks, but he could see it all the same. Rosyth. Coincidence?

  He took a quick look round. The street was still empty, so he took a pencil from his coat pocket and used it to open one of the notebooks. Figures, sketches, notes that made little sense to him except he was certain they had to do with mapmaking. Still careful not to touch anything, he used the pencil to prod the leather bag, but it didn’t budge even slightly. Something heavy inside, no doubt. Tools perhaps? They had to be.

  He made a slow circle around the car. Nothing unusual. The rear seat was empty. He didn’t dare try to open the boot. Still, that newspaper . . . it was such a little thing, but then Lord Rainsby had given him precious little to go on.

  Seeing nothing else of note, he strolled again in the direction of The Swan. He had just passed the tearoom door when it opened behind him.

  “Farthering.”

  He was not surprised to turn and see MacArthur.

  “Hullo.” Drew offered the man his hand. “Stopped in for a bite of lunch? You should have come over to the Hall. I’m sure Lady Louisa would have enjoyed seeing you.”

  MacArthur shrugged and fiddled with the hat he still carried. “Thought I’d better make myself scarce a bit for now, don’t you know. Joan and all.”

  “Yes, well, perhaps that’s best. So where are you bound? Off to work?”

  “Done for the day, I think,” MacArthur said. “At least the outdoor bit of it. Now I must take my notes back home and make them into something useful.”

  He glanced toward the notebooks in the front seat, and his eyes widened almost imperceptibly. He tossed his hat into the car, and it just happened to land so it blocked Drew’s view of the newspaper.

  Drew smiled. “I see. I hope you didn’t have to travel too far this morning. That can be rather tiring day in, day out, I suppose.”

  “Not this morning, I’m happy to say. I did some work down on the beach about a mile east of here. Almost a holiday, it was such light work.”

  “Jolly nice for you, I’d say, though I wonder you didn’t leave your car at home and walk, it being such a pleasant day.”

  MacArthur gaped at him for a moment. “No. Heh, uh, no, wouldn’t do at all. Too much to carry, and more in the boot, don’t you know. Wouldn’t do at all.”

  “Right,” Drew said. “I suppose that’s why you’re the expert. Well, if I can’t convince you to come back to Thorburn with me, I suppose I’d better go collect Madeline before she thinks I’ve forgotten her.”

  “She’s far too charming for that,” MacArthur said with blustering gallantry, and Drew tipped his hat.

  “I’ll tell her you said so. Good afternoon.”

  It seemed rather obvious now that MacArthur had been to Rosyth that morning and didn’t want anyone to know it. Rosyth was where the navy dockyard was located, not far from the naval base at Port Edgar. Drew would have a lot to discuss with Madeline during their walk back to the Hall.

  Luncheon at Thorburn Hall was interrupted by Twining’s announcement of the arrival of Inspector Ranald. Sergeant Shaw, looking more than ever like Pitt the Younger, was at his side. Drew was determined to make an ally of the man.

  “I understand, Sergeant, that we have a mutual acquaintance in Chief Inspector Birdsong of the Hampshire Police,” Drew said once the inspector had bid Lady Louisa good afternoon.

  The sergeant beamed at him. “Yes, sir. I was in Winchester my first two years with the police.”

  “More to the matter at hand, Shaw,” Ranald snapped.

  “Yes, sir,” the sergeant said, his face suddenly stone. “Sorry, sir.”

  Ranald glared at him and then turned to Lady Louisa. “Do forgive me, my lady, but I have business with Count Kuznetsov.”

  The count dabbed his mouth with his napkin. “With me, Inspector?”

  Ranald gave him a curt nod. “I should like to make an inspection of your things, if you please.”

  “My things? Most certainly not. It is an impertinence, sir, and I won’t have it.” Kuznetsov stood and put his hands on his hips, his chin thrust defiantly forward. “
This is a civilized country, and I am not required to have my personal effects rifled through without a proper warrant.”

  Ranald took a folded page from his coat pocket and handed it to the count. With a sneer, Kuznetsov opened it and glanced over it. Then his mouth tightened. “This is an outrage.”

  Lady Louisa stood, her napkin clutched in her hand. “What do you mean by this?”

  “It’s ridiculous,” Joan muttered under her breath.

  Pike took the paper from the count. Mrs. Pike tugged his arm lower, and they both looked over the document.

  Pike returned it to the inspector. “Looks legal to me.”

  “It is all perfectly in order, sir,” the inspector said, sounding as if he was already bored with the entire matter. “Now, if you will accompany us to your quarters, Count Kuznetsov, we will make this as brief as possible.”

  Drew stood to go with them, but Ranald held up his hand. “Just the count, if you please, Mr. Farthering. If anyone else is required, I will send the sergeant down.”

  Drew sat again, unable to do more than shrug when Madeline looked questioningly at him. Everyone stayed at the table, speaking in low voices, drinking what was left of their morning tea or coffee, until Ranald and Shaw escorted Kuznetsov back into the dining room. The sergeant carried Kuznetsov’s small traveling bag. The count turned his eyes martyr-like toward heaven.

  “I beg your pardon, Lady Rainsby,” the inspector said, “but I would like to know if you recognize this.” He held out his hand, displaying a gold ring set with two emerald chips.

  Lady Louisa took it from him, looking from it to Kuznetsov to Mrs. Pike. “It’s one of mine. Not very valuable. Why have you brought it down here?”

  “When was the last time you remember seeing it, my lady?” Ranald said, bypassing her question.

  “I’m sure I don’t know, Inspector. I wear it now and again just for sentimental reasons. An old school friend gave it to me. Why?”

  “We found it and a number of other valuables in Count Kuznetsov’s luggage.”

  Ranald took the case from his sergeant, set it on the table, and opened it. Inside were several small items. Lady Louisa pressed her lips together.

  Mrs. Pike wrung her podgy little hands. “Oh, Louisa, there must be a mistake. I’m sure he can explain everything. Misha, tell her. Alfred, you have to get the inspector to understand.”

  “I understand perfectly,” Ranald said, and he put one hand on Kuznetsov’s shoulder. “Mikhail Kuznetsov, I arrest you for the murder of Lord Gerald Rainsby on or about the morning of June twenty-seventh. Sergeant Shaw, if you please.”

  There was a general and startled intake of breath as Shaw took firm hold of the count’s arm.

  Kuznetsov’s already pale face went white. “Murder? I . . . Madam. Mr. Farthering.”

  “I must warn you,” Ranald said, “that anything you say will be taken down and might be given in evidence.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Mrs. Pike yipped, her stout little body quivering with indignation. “Murder? I’ve never heard anything so rude. Alfred—”

  “Be quiet, Elspeth,” her husband told her. He stood between her and Ranald. “Now, what is this about, Inspector? My wife—”

  “Your wife, sir, should do a better job of choosing her friends.”

  Pike’s heavy jaw quivered, but he said nothing.

  “Yes, Inspector, what is this about?” Drew asked. “You may have grounds to charge him with theft, but murder?”

  “I’ll have to ask you not to interfere, Mr. Farthering. Finding these items in the count’s possession was the last bit of confirmation we needed in order to bring charges.”

  “Mr. Farthering,” Kuznetsov pled, “surely you can convince these Cossacks that I am entirely innocent.”

  “Patience one moment,” Drew told him. “Now, Inspector, precisely what evidence do you have against this man?”

  Ranald smirked. “Besides all the stolen articles?”

  “They’re hardly worth bothering over,” Lady Louisa said, her tone severe. “I can’t see how they prove anything.”

  “Mr. Farthering,” the Russian protested, “dear sir, you must tell them that all of that was a misunderstanding of the most innocent variety. Surely Lady Rainsby would not want such scandalous doings here in her own home.” He looked desperately at Lady Louisa, but she responded with only a shake of her head.

  “Please, Inspector, it’s very true,” Drew said. “To be sure, there are these little items and there was the matter of some spoons, but that’s been sorted out already. Lady Rainsby—”

  “Her ladyship already told us about that, sir,” the inspector said implacably, taking charge of the prisoner. “If you will just step aside now, thank you, we’ll just be going.”

  “But Inspector—”

  Ranald stopped short where he was, still with Kuznetsov by the arm. “Mr. Farthering, I have had quite a chat with your Chief Inspector Birdsong. I don’t know how they do it down in Hampshire—rather curiously, if you ask me—but here in Scotland we have our own ways. And when one man has good reason to kill another and that second man ends up in the kirkyard, well then, we look upon that first man with a rather disapproving eye.”

  “You don’t think he could have killed Lord Rainsby over a few demitasse spoons, do you? That’s absurd.”

  “It may seem so to you, but that is a motive. Perhaps not just the spoons, but all these valuables. And, actually, not over these items themselves, which we understand amount to less than a hundred pounds, but for fear his lordship was going to speak to his patroness, Mrs. Pike, over what he’d done and cause her to withdraw her support.”

  “It’s a travesty,” Kuznetsov said. “Madam would never believe such a tale. She would—”

  “Inspector, you must stop this nonsense at once.” Mrs. Pike pushed away her husband’s restraining hand, looking more like a breathless Pekinese than ever. “Misha, now you must tell him you did no such thing as killing his lordship or anyone. Louisa, you simply cannot believe such tales.”

  “I will have to ask you to compose yourself, madam,” the inspector said. “This gentleman is under arrest, and if you attempt to interfere with duly sworn officers in the performance of their duties, you could be charged with a criminal offense yourself.”

  She blinked, horrified, then clutched Drew’s arm. “Please, Mr. Farthering, surely there’s something you can do. Lady Rainsby—”

  “Lady Rainsby won’t be able to do anything just at the moment,” Drew said as soothingly as possible. “I’m afraid these gentlemen have to carry on doing their job until we can get everything sorted.”

  Kuznetsov made a squeak of protest.

  “But I’ll see what I can find out,” Drew assured them both. “In an unofficial capacity, of course,” he told Ranald. “Surely the accused has the right to counsel and to visits from friends and family.”

  “We will do everything possible to put everything right,” Lady Louisa said, a touch of urgency in her voice, and then she took her friend’s arm. “Don’t worry, Elspeth dear.”

  “Everything will all be seen to,” the inspector said. “In time.” He put on his hat and tugged at the brim. “Good afternoon, Lady Rainsby. Ladies. Gentlemen.”

  Ignoring Mrs. Pike’s continued objections, he propelled his prisoner out of the dining room. A moment later there was the sound of his car sputtering to life out on the front drive, and soon it faded into the distance.

  It took a few minutes and promises of immediate action to calm Mrs. Pike. Joan moved as far away from her as possible, obviously nettled by the little woman’s lack of restraint.

  “Ridiculous,” she muttered again, lighting one of her ever-present cigarettes. “The worst they could charge the buffoon with is being insufferably annoying.”

  “Well,” Mrs. Pike huffed.

  Lady Louisa patted her hand, glaring at her daughter. “I’m so sorry this has happened, Elspeth. It has to be a dreadful mistake.”

  “Sounds t
o me,” Drew observed, “as though they had to make an arrest, no matter how little they have to go on. Just so the public would see something was being done about the case. Now I expect they’ll assign some poor blighter fresh out of school for his defense and he’ll be hanged by Friday.”

  “No, he will not,” Mrs. Pike insisted. “We’ll have our Mr. Devlin from London come up. I’m sure he can be here by this evening.”

  “Elspeth,” Mr. Pike rumbled warily, “Devlin is involved in a very important case just now. He can’t—”

  “Now, yes, Alfred. Yes, he can. You can arrange everything, I know. You’d like Mr. Devlin,” she told Drew, waving her plump hands and brightening again. “He’s a terribly clever man for a solicitor and dances beautifully.”

  “I’m sure that makes all the difference,” Lady Louisa soothed. “Let’s go into the library and have some tea to settle us down. What do you think?”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Pike said thoughtfully. “Tea would be just the thing. Oh, it’s just too irritating. You don’t think Misha could have killed his lordship, Louisa. You can’t think so.”

  “No, no. Of course not.”

  By then she had the other woman through the dining room door and halfway down the corridor.

  “I’d better go telephone down to London,” Pike said with a sigh. “Devlin won’t come, but he ought to know someone up here who can take the case.”

  Joan watched him trundle away. “I don’t know which of the two is more absurd, she for buying the so-called count’s claptrap or he for humoring her.” She gave a humorless huff of a laugh. “Ridiculous.”

  “It does seem a bit ridiculous, Ranald actually arresting the man,” Drew said. “But, again, I suppose once it got out that that saddle was tampered with, he felt he ought to be seen doing something about it.”

  Joan looked up at him, the sneer gone from her lips, leaving a vulnerable softness in her expression. “Are you making any progress yet? Anything at all?”

  “No,” Drew admitted. “I’m sorry.” He studied her piquant face, trying to judge whether she was up to answering his questions just now. He decided to forge ahead. “Do you know anything about Mr. MacArthur? About his personal life, I mean. Your mother thinks he’s seeing someone. Do you know anything about that?”