Death at Thorburn Hall

by Julianna Deering

  “So there was someone like that?”

  Louisa sighed. “One of the caddies from Muirfield. Taylor or Tyler or something of that sort.”

  “Tyler, I believe.”

  “Tyler, then. Gerald told me he has a most disreputable character. More than one girl’s father has had to pay him off to stave off a scandal. Do you believe it? Joan wanted to bring him here. Naturally, we told her she would do no such thing. I’m afraid Mac is right. We’ve indulged her far too much, and I won’t say there weren’t words exchanged, but it all blew over. She went to Cannes to cool off a bit, and that was all there was to it.”

  “I see.” Drew paused for a moment. “I hate to be indelicate about anything so personal, but I must ask. Was there . . . any sort of payment made?”

  “No. Well, perhaps a very small one. Gerald played at Muirfield one afternoon a few weeks ago, and he had the man brought to him at the clubhouse afterwards. He made it clear that if he continued to annoy our daughter, he would come to regret it. The caddie was a bit sullen about it according to my husband, but he seemed to understand where he stood. Joan was furious, of course, although I think she understood . . . in time.”

  “Naturally.”

  Lady Louisa’s expression was cool. “I’m sorry, but there’s not much more I can tell you about it. I wasn’t there. Actually, I never met the man. My husband said he’d be considered quite attractive, in a low sort of way, but I’m afraid that was about all.”

  “Did he mention anything else Tyler said?”

  Louisa shook her head.

  “Was there any sort of political objection to him?”

  “Political?” Lady Louisa frowned. “You mean he was Labour? Of course, I expect he would be, a man like that, but that wouldn’t have come as a surprise to my husband. He’d object to it, naturally, but that was all part of why we didn’t want him seeing Joan.”

  “No, I mean more than that. I understand his lordship objected to some of the things Mr. MacArthur has said about the current political situation in Germany. Is it possible this Jamie Tyler shared his sympathies toward Mr. Hitler?”

  Lady Louisa laughed. “That’s just as silly as your asking about Mac earlier on. What difference does it make what that man in Germany does? It’s all just so much talk. If his people like it that way, that’s their business, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, I suppose. Except for the ones who’ve got the short end of the stick over there.”

  Her forehead wrinkled. “You don’t think it’s really as bad as that, do you?”

  “It doesn’t sound very hopeful. But maybe our PM and Mr. Roosevelt and some of the other chaps in charge can convince Hitler to behave himself. Someone has to stand up for the defenseless.”

  “Yes,” she said, her eyes troubled now. “Of course they will.”

  “Anyhow, did Lord Rainsby say anything about that when he told you about Tyler? Anything political at all?”

  “No. Nothing. He said they talked about Joan and nothing else.”

  Drew smiled at her, and she seemed to relax again.

  “But you will see they release Elspeth’s count, won’t you? The poor dear, she’s terribly upset.”

  He promised to do what he could and bade her good-night.

  Ten

  The next morning, Drew went to the clubhouse at Muirfield, looking for the caddie with light hair and dark eyes. There was no sign of him inside, so Drew strolled out to the first hole, watching as several parties teed off. There were a number of boys and young men caddying for the players, but none of them fit the description of Jamie Tyler.

  “Carry your bag, sir?” A fresh-faced boy with a thick Scottish accent and a sprinkle of freckles over his upturned nose touched the bill of his cap. “I’m Jem. I know the course like our back garden. Happy to give you advice or keep shut, however you like it.”

  “That would be capital,” Drew told him, “but a chap called Jamie Tyler was recommended to me. Do you know him?”

  Jem made a sour face. “He’s out with a party. Did you want to wait?”

  “How long ago did he go? Perhaps we could catch him up on the inward half.” Drew watched a quartet of portly businessmen and their caddies come off eighteen and head toward the clubhouse.

  “Don’t know if I could say exactly.” Jem followed Drew’s gaze. “Though he went out right after Bobby Lang, if I’m not mistaken, and there’s Bobby coming in just now.”

  “Ah, excellent,” Drew said. “I’d count it a great favor if you’d point out Tyler when you see him.”

  “You’re not a husband, are you?” Jem asked speculatively.

  “A husband? I am married, yes, but I have a feeling that’s not really what you’re asking.”

  “Well, no. I mean, sometimes Jamie, er, caddies for ladies,” Jem said, “and then their husbands come later, asking after him.”

  “I see. And are all of them husbands? No fathers perhaps?”

  “Aye,” Jem said thoughtfully, “but I thought you a wee bit young for that. Might be a brother. Either way, you’ll pardon me if I can’t hang about talking when I’ve got my living to get. If you don’t care to play . . .”

  “Not to worry.” Drew fished in his pocket. “Wouldn’t want you to miss out when you’ve already been so helpful.” He gave Jem what he would have paid for carrying his bag and a little over.

  “Very good of you, sir,” Jem said, touching his cap.

  “So this Tyler fellow has been involved in some . . . disputes?” Drew ventured.

  “Wouldn’t say disputes,” Jem said. “Just talk mostly. Jamie knows he’d be banned the course if he didn’t keep such things under his hat, so to speak.” He paused, shading his eyes against the afternoon sun. “There he is. The tall, blond chap. Dark cap and jacket.”

  The man Jem pointed out was a striking mixture of light and dark. Hair so blond it was almost white, eyes and eyebrows a dark contrast to his fair skin, there was an artist’s perfection in the classic, almost pretty features, square jaw, and lithe, muscular frame. Little wonder a girl like Joan Rainsby would be drawn to him.

  “I see him,” Drew said, “thank you. You’ve been very helpful.”

  Jem paused for a moment. “Excuse me, sir, I don’t mind if you say it was me pointed you in his direction, but the rest of what I said, well—”

  “Not a word,” Drew assured him.

  Jem touched his cap once more and hurried away. Drew made his way toward the clubhouse, reaching the door at the same time as Tyler.

  “I do beg your pardon,” Drew said. “Jamie Tyler?”

  “I’m Tyler,” he said affably enough, his accent indicating he was more likely from Manchester than Edinburgh. “But I was hoping to get a bit of something to eat before I go back out. You might want to try one of the other fellows if you’re starting out now.”

  “I didn’t come to play, actually.” Drew made a quick introduction. “If you wouldn’t mind the company, I would be happy to see to lunch for both of us.”

  Tyler lifted a dark brow. “Very kind of you, sir, but the dining room is only for members and their guests.”

  “Yes, of course, but there’s a pub just down the road that probably isn’t as particular. What do you say?”

  The caddie looked faintly wary. “Look here, what’s this about? Is there something you want from me?”

  “Just a few words is all. It would be much less awkward to discuss things over lunch rather than standing here blocking the doorway, eh?”

  After a moment’s consideration, Tyler shrugged. “I’m never one to turn down a fair offer. Can’t take all afternoon, though. Not on a Saturday.”

  “Half an hour,” Drew promised. “Not a moment more, unless you’re slow about eating your greens.”

  They entered The Brassie and Cleek and quickly found themselves a table.

  “All right, we’re here,” Tyler said once the girl had thumped a pint of beer and a mug of cider on the table and hurried off to fetch their orders of chicken-and-leek
pie. “What’s this about?”

  “I take it you’ve heard about what happened to Lord Rainsby last week,” Drew said, watching his expression.

  Tyler shrugged. “I heard he was killed when he was thrown from his horse.”

  “He may have had a bit of help there.”

  The caddie looked faintly surprised. “Really? That’s too bad, but what’s it got to do with me?”

  “I understand you and Miss Rainsby are acquainted.” Drew took a sip of his cider. “I’d be very interested in knowing more about that.”

  “Wait a minute. Are you with the police?” Tyler shoved his chair back and sprang to his feet. “You have no right—”

  “No need to get your back up,” Drew said, and with one foot he pushed the chair under the man, making him drop back into his seat. “I’m nothing so official as that. I’d just like to know about you and Joan Rainsby.”

  “Joan? Why?”

  “Well, I suppose I rather more mean you and her father. I understand he warned you off.”

  “I pick up a few bob here and there teaching people how to play golf,” Tyler said, his handsome face sullen. “She wanted me to teach her, and then, well . . .”

  “You became friends,” Drew supplied.

  A slow, smug smile touched his mouth. “We had a bit of fun. You know how it is.”

  “Fun the young lady paid for.”

  The caddie shrugged. “As I told you, I’m never one to turn down a fair offer.”

  He took a silver case from his coat pocket, removed a cigarette from it, and offered it to Drew, making sure he saw the engraving on it: Always, J.

  Drew took it from him. A man would have to carry a good many golf bags to be able to afford something as fine as this. “From her, I daresay.”

  “She was always a freehanded girl,” Tyler said, lighting up and then blowing out a stream of smoke from the corner of his mouth.

  Drew slid the case back across the little table to him. “Very nice. Too bad Rainsby put a stop to it, eh?”

  Tyler shrugged one elegant shoulder. “Not much I could do, if you want to know the truth of it. She was packed off to Cannes, and I went back to Muirfield.”

  “It’s a nice club. I take it you do all right for yourself, tips and all.”

  “It’s enough to keep me in last year’s shoes and a room over the greengrocer’s,” Tyler said, only the slightest bit of acid in his tone.

  “Nothing like Thorburn Hall, I suppose.”

  “A grand place, that,” the caddie admitted. “I don’t think I’d have much trouble getting used to living there.”

  “You’ve been in the Hall, then.”

  Tyler snorted. “Seen it from the road. His lordship wouldn’t have wanted the likes of me coming inside, even through the tradesmen’s entrance.”

  “Pity. So you and he met just the one time, is that right?”

  “That was all.” There was a glint of hardness now in the caddie’s eyes. “He had me brought before him in one of the private rooms in the clubhouse. Told me if I didn’t stop annoying his daughter with my attentions, he’d see I was banned the course and every other course in Scotland, England, Ireland, and Wales. Then he tossed a hundred-pound note onto the table, as much as daring me to take it.”

  “You did, of course.”

  Again that touch of smugness was in his expression. “No reason not to. It might be he saw it as an insult. To me it was a hundred pounds.”

  “Seems he got off rather easily,” Drew said. “I’ve heard of men paying a great deal more than that to end an . . . awkward entanglement.”

  “That’s how it was.” The caddie met Drew’s gaze without flinching, tapping ash into the blackened brass bowl that served as an ashtray, and then crushing out the cigarette entirely when the girl appeared with their lunch.

  She set down two plates of well-browned pie and still-hot dark bread, and left them to busy themselves with napkins and cutlery and the first silent bites of their meal.

  “I’m curious about you and Miss Rainsby now,” Drew asked after a few minutes. “Do you hear from her?”

  Tyler swallowed a deep drink of his beer to wash down the chicken and pastry. “I hear she’s been in Cannes since. Not much chance of her staying in touch.”

  Drew glanced at the silver cigarette case that still lay on the table. “‘Always’ didn’t last too very long.”

  “At least J can stand for Jamie as well as Joan.” Tyler grinned, slipping the case back into his pocket. “In case anyone should ask later on.”

  Drew watched him as he swallowed down generous bites of pie, followed by deep draughts of ale. He was certainly not suffering from a guilty conscience.

  “You don’t happen to know anyone called Schmidt, do you?” Drew asked.

  Tyler shook his head and shoveled in more pie. “Should I?”

  “Perhaps not.”

  They finished their lunch in silence, and Drew left him at the Muirfield clubhouse precisely one half hour after they had left it.

  When he returned to Thorburn Hall, Drew found a message waiting for him. According to Twining, it had been left by Hugh Barnaby, the Rainsbys’ solicitor, who had called before lunchtime but did not care to wait.

  Dear Mr. Farthering,

  I should be very glad to have you call on me at your earliest convenience this afternoon regarding the death of Lord Rainsby. My office is in the high street directly opposite the news agent’s. I shall be in until six o’clock. If you cannot come until later, please ring me and I will wait.

  He had signed his name and written his telephone number beneath it.

  “Did he say what he wanted?” Drew asked.

  “No, sir.”

  “Was this about Kuznetsov?”

  The slightest bit of disdain crept into the butler’s stoic expression. “I couldn’t say, sir.”

  “I couldn’t help but notice that from the moment he came to the Hall, you haven’t shown much of a liking toward him.”

  Twining’s thin lips tightened. “I beg your pardon, sir. It was improper of me to give such an impression of any of Lady Rainsby’s guests. It’s hardly my place—”

  “Certainly it’s not,” Drew assured him, “but that doesn’t mean your observations might not prove valuable in this investigation.”

  There was a flicker of interest in Twining’s usually impassive face. “I don’t know that I can be of any real help, sir. He hasn’t said or done anything in my presence that would cause him to be suspected of anything untoward. I’d never have pegged him a murderer, whatever else he might be.”

  “Still, there must be some reason for your disliking him.” Drew leaned conspiratorially closer. “Just between the two of us, eh? Absolutely outside your professional capacity.”

  “Not quality, sir.” There wasn’t a bit of uncertainty in the thoughtful pronouncement. “I’ve served the Rainsbys since I started out blacking boots when I was a lad. I know quality—whether or not it comes along with money or a title—and Count Kuznetsov’s got none of it.”

  Drew chuckled quietly. “I’m glad I’m not the only one to realize it.”

  “He knows the act right enough, and he’s very good at it, but it’s an act for all that. Now, you take Mr. and Mrs. Pike,” Twining said, his tone becoming more conversational. “Salt of the earth. Can’t say a word against them. But quality? Pardon me, sir, but no. More at home at the local pub, if you ask me, and Mrs. P. so eager to appear well-bred, she’d fall for a charlatan such as the count. And needless to say, there are those with all the advantages of blood and breeding who manage to be as common as small beer.”

  “A daresay you’ve seen your share of that, as well.”

  “True enough, sir. True enough.”

  Drew lifted one eyebrow, inviting the butler to continue. “Any specifics you’d care to mention?”

  Twining opened his mouth and then shut it again, looking startled before his face fell into its habitual impassive lines. “I do beg your pardon, sir.�
�

  So there was someone in the household, or someone close to one of them, who also wasn’t quality. “Just between ourselves, Twining,” Drew said as if it were of no moment whatsoever.

  The butler’s voice was as correct and impersonal as always. “It is truly not my place to carry tales, sir. I apologize for having overstepped myself as regards our guests.”

  If Drew pressed now, the man would shut up like Barclays on a bank holiday. Best let it alone for now. “No need to apologize, Twining, and no offense meant. It’s just that old Denny, that’s Mr. Dennison’s father who runs my old place in Hampshire, he knows more than anyone about everyone, and I thought who better to ask about the goings-on here than the chap who keeps things going, eh?”

  The butler raised one severe eyebrow. Denny could have taken lessons from him. “And I trust, sir, he knows how to keep such information to himself.”

  “But in the event of a police investigation . . . ?”

  “He would, no doubt, supply such information as pertained to the investigation.” Twining gave a nod that was somehow smug and deferential all at once. “Will there be anything more, sir?”

  Clearly Drew was dismissed.

  Drew didn’t bother to have Phillips bring out the car again. He merely walked the short way into the village. He found Barnaby’s office with no trouble and went inside. Almost at once, the solicitor hurried out to greet him, one hand outstretched. Fortyish, Drew assumed, and dressed a good ten or fifteen years younger than he ought.

  “Thank you for coming on such short notice, Mr. Farthering.”

  Drew shook his hand. “Not at all. I’m sorry I wasn’t in when you called earlier.”

  “One always takes that chance,” the solicitor said, smiling as he ushered Drew away from the girl at the front desk, past the bespectacled middle-aged woman in his own outer office, and into his cluttered sanctum sanctorum.

  “Do make yourself comfortable.” Barnaby shut the door and gestured toward the leather chair before his desk. “I’ll keep this as brief as I’m able.”