The Incident at Fives Castle (An Angela Marchmont Mystery #5)

by Clara Benson

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Freddy. ‘Why, I’ll bet you’ve done all kinds of exciting things in your time. I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if you’d left a trail of bloodied enemies and distraught lovers scattered in your wake.’

  ‘Well, naturally I have, darling,’ she said, ‘but haven’t we all?’

  She blew him a mocking kiss and then escaped before he could ask her any more questions.

  THIRTEEN

  When Angela went up to her room after lunch she found Marthe attending to last night’s evening clothes with an expression of mild disgust.

  ‘Ah, madame,’ she said as her mistress came in. ‘I am trying to understand why your dress is covered with dust. Is Scotland a particularly dusty country?’

  ‘Not as far as I know,’ said Angela. ‘I’m sorry, Marthe, but I’m afraid I allowed myself to be persuaded into a game of Sardines last night. That’s probably where the dust is from.’

  ‘Sardines? Fish?’ said Marthe. ‘What is this game?’

  Angela attempted to explain the rules to her, and she listened politely but was clearly at a loss to understand why grown men and women should want to run around in the middle of the night in an undignified fashion, squeezing themselves into spaces that were too small for them.

  ‘Anyway,’ finished Angela, ‘we all ended up hiding in an old cupboard in the billiard-room, which was probably rather grubby.’

  ‘The billiard-room?’ said Marthe. ‘But that is where they found the dead body, n’est-ce pas?’

  ‘What do you know about a dead body?’ asked Angela in surprise.

  ‘Why, all the servants are talking about it, of course,’ said Marthe. ‘They are saying that a famous scientist was shot dead and hidden in a wooden chest by a lady. Me, I do not believe a woman would do such a thing and ruin her clothes.’

  ‘Is that what they’re saying?’ said Angela. ‘So much for secrecy. How did they find out about it?’

  ‘Servants know everything,’ said Marthe simply.

  ‘Not everything,’ said Angela. ‘They don’t know who did it.’

  ‘Non? Who is this lady who is meant to have shot him, then?’

  Angela coughed.

  ‘Me, I believe,’ she said.

  ‘Ah. Did you do it?’ said Marthe with perfect unconcern.

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Then I shall tell them so, madame. And I shall not listen to them any more.’

  ‘Oh, but please do,’ said Angela. ‘If they know about the body in the chest then they very likely know lots of other things that might be useful. Do keep your ear to the ground and tell me if you hear anything.’

  ‘Such as what?’

  ‘Well, for example, I’d like very much to know what the professor was supposed to be bringing with him to Fives Castle.’

  ‘What do you mean, madame?’ said Marthe.

  ‘It appears that something was taken from his pockets, presumably by the murderer, but I have no idea what it was. Perhaps the servants know.’

  ‘Perhaps. I will find out what I can.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Angela. An idea struck her. ‘Oh, and another thing—see what you can find out about Eleanor Buchanan, the Foreign Secretary’s wife. I’m curious to know more about her.’

  ‘I know the lady you mean,’ said Marthe. ‘Her maid is also French. She will talk to me, I have no doubt. Do you think she is the murderer?’

  ‘I haven’t the faintest idea,’ replied Angela. ‘I had thought her unfriendliness was due to shyness, but then I saw something last night that made me look at her in a different light. Perhaps it’s nothing, but if it does fit in somewhere I should like to know.’

  Marthe assented with a nod, then bade Angela hold still while she attacked her with a clothes-brush. Angela stood obediently, wondering about what she had seen yesterday evening. Why had Eleanor Buchanan been meeting Claude Burford in secret? Claude had struck her very much as the type to know exactly on which side his bread was buttered. He was engaged to the beautiful daughter of an influential aristocrat, and was the protégé of the Foreign Secretary himself; why, then, should he risk it all by consorting with the Foreign Secretary’s wife? It made no sense, unless Eleanor Buchanan had drawn him in in some way. But that in itself was an odd idea. Angela could make no sense of it.

  She left her room and went downstairs. In the hall she met Gertie, who was looking a little better after a hearty lunch. She was holding something in her hand.

  ‘Look at this,’ she said in some merriment. ‘Miss Fo must have dropped it.’

  It was a notebook which was scribbled over from cover to cover. Evidently it had been insufficient to contain all Miss Foster’s ideas, for it was stuffed with a number of loose leaves, also covered in her handwriting. Angela took one of the sheets and read with some difficulty, for the writing was crabbed and blotted:

  ‘“‘Hie ye awa’ the noo, wee Mac a’ Bhiataich, for the Sassenachs are a’ coming ooer the brae, ye ken,’ cried the Lady Lucinda. Her long, flowing brown locks gleamed in the sunlight and she hoisted up her quivering—”’ She turned over the page. ‘Oh, it seems to end there,’ she said. ‘What a pity. This scene must take place before Lucinda contracts the deadly fever and is forced to have her head shorn.’

  Gertie took the paper from her and shoved it back into the notebook.

  ‘Give that to Miss Foster, will you?’ she said to a passing servant, then turned back to Angela. ‘Isn’t it marvellous? Just you wait: before you leave she’ll pin you into a corner and force you to listen to the first ten chapters, all declaimed in authentic voices and accents.’

  ‘Splendid,’ said Angela.

  ‘I say, come out for a walk in the garden, will you?’ said Gertie. ‘I want to blow away the cobwebs and clear my head, and it’s stifling in the house. Besides, I want to talk to you about something.’

  A few minutes later, wrapped up warmly, they passed through the great oak doors and walked around the castle and onto the terrace. Gus and Bobby were down on the lawn, taking it in turns to pull each other about on a wooden sledge. Gus had evidently fully recovered from his misadventure of the night before and was yelling quite as loudly and capering quite as energetically as his brother. Angela felt a twinge of envy at the resilience of the very young, and was about to mention this to Gertie when the younger woman turned to her and said suddenly:

  ‘Come on then, tell me all about the murder.’

  ‘Is there anybody in the house who doesn’t know about it?’ said Angela.

  ‘Oh, probably. I dare say Mother has no idea, and I certainly shan’t tell her.’

  ‘How did you hear about it?’

  ‘By listening at the study door,’ replied Gertie shamelessly. ‘You see, I was sure there was some funny business going on—funnier than the normal political stuff, I mean. It started when I came downstairs this morning. I had the most beastly headache, and should far rather have stayed in bed, but I felt bad about running off last night and leaving Gus’s mess for the servants to clear up, so I was trying to get into the billiard-room to find out whether it still needed doing, but of course I couldn’t because it was locked. Then Father came to the door and opened it just a crack and peered through—thinking I was one of the maids, I suppose—and practically whinnied in horror when he saw it was me and sent me packing. I pretended I hadn’t noticed anything, but as soon as they all retired to the study I scooted straight along after them and applied my ear to the keyhole. I must say, I heard some rather interesting stuff.’

  ‘What exactly did you hear?’ said Angela, who was not above eavesdropping herself if the occasion required it.

  ‘Well, some of it was a bit muffled, but I gather you found Professor Klausen’s dead body in the old chest after we’d left the room—is that true?’

  Angela nodded.

  ‘Then that must be what we heard last night, when we thought Bobby had come into the room,’ said Gertie excitedly. ‘It was the murderer dumping the body. But how did he die?’


  ‘He was shot through the heart, it seems,’ said Angela.

  ‘I say, how thrilling!’

  ‘Not for him, I imagine.’

  ‘No,’ conceded Gertie. ‘One ought to make a decent show of sympathy, I suppose, but I’d never met the man so it’s rather difficult to be sincere in such cases. I am sorry he’s dead, of course, but only in a vague kind of way. If it were Father who had been shot, naturally I’d feel differently. Anyway,’ she went on cheerfully, ‘apparently he was carrying something that’s now gone missing.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Angela. ‘Did you hear what it was, exactly?’

  ‘Some papers, I think. I don’t know what’s in them, but I do know Father and Sandy are very scared that they are going to fall into the hands of the enemy.’

  ‘Good gracious,’ said Angela.

  ‘And by the way, I rather think they suspect the enemy is you,’ said Gertie. ‘Or possibly Freddy. They were talking about searching your rooms. I hope you don’t have anything incriminating in your trunk.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Angela. ‘I believe my luggage is impeccable, so they’re quite welcome to look through it. Besides, if I had stolen whatever it was, I should hardly be stupid enough to hide it in my room.’

  ‘No, you wouldn’t. And neither would Freddy. Why do they think you two did it?’

  ‘I suppose because we are the only strangers at the castle,’ said Angela. She did not feel it necessary to mention that she had also been caught rifling through the dead man’s pockets.

  ‘I wonder who really did it,’ said Gertie. ‘I say,’ she said suddenly. ‘Clemmie will be distraught when she finds out that her scientific hero has met a violent and tragic end. I think she was hoping to get his autograph. No chance of that now.’

  ‘Oh, but we mustn’t tell her,’ said Angela. ‘It’s supposed to be a secret—although I admit it doesn’t seem to have remained very secret so far. I think your father and Henry Jameson want to do some detective-work of their own before the snow is cleared and they have to call the police. I rather think they are hoping to hush up the purpose of Professor Klausen’s visit, too.’

  ‘Are you sure we can’t tell her?’ said Gertie. ‘I’ll bet she can guess what these missing papers are if anyone can.’

  Angela shook her head doubtfully, but was unable to reply for just then Gus and Bobby came rushing up to greet them. They were still excited by the snow and were going to build an igloo, they said.

  ‘Are you quite recovered?’ said Angela to Gus.

  Gus blushed.

  ‘Yes, thank you, Mrs. Marchmont,’ he said. ‘I felt a little queasy when I got up but once I’d had breakfast I was quite all right. Ugh, though,’ he said with a grimace. ‘I shall never drink whisky again.’

  ‘Then the experience has been worth it for you,’ said Angela with a smile. ‘There will be plenty of time to appreciate a good single malt when you are older and more inclined to drink it from the glass than the bottle, but in the meantime there is lots of fun to be had that won’t end in your being sick.’

  ‘You see?’ said Bobby to his brother. ‘I told you she’d be all right about it. Not like Claude.’ He turned to Angela and Gertie and said indignantly, ‘Claude gave us a good telling-off this morning about the whisky—and I didn’t even have any!’

  ‘Dear me,’ said Angela. ‘How did he find out about it?’

  Gus huffed a little.

  ‘Priss told him, the sneak,’ he said. ‘It was a rotten thing to do, and she’d better watch out for frogs in her bed, just wait and see. I shan’t forgive her in a hurry.’

  ‘She probably didn’t think, that’s all,’ said Gertie in some amusement. ‘I don’t suppose she meant to get you into trouble. What did Claude say?’

  ‘He said we’d been very bad, and that he’d tell Father and Mother about the whisky if we didn’t tell him exactly what happened last night, and then Father would give me a beating and it would serve me right. That’s a shabby trick to play on a sick man, and it’s not as though I was being deliberately naughty.’

  Angela tried not to laugh at Gus’s righteous indignation.

  ‘What did he want to know?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know exactly, said Gus. ‘He was asking all sorts of strange questions about what we were doing in the cupboard, and what we could see and hear while we were in there. He wanted to know whether I saw whoever it was who came in and looked inside the chest, and I said, “Do you mean Bobby?”, and—’

  ‘—and I said it wasn’t me,’ chimed in Bobby.

  ‘—and I said I didn’t know that, and Claude wanted to know who it was if it wasn’t Bobby, and I said I had no idea—’

  ‘—but he kept on insisting that Gus must have seen something through a crack in the door, didn’t he Gus?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Gus. ‘I swore I hadn’t seen anything and said why didn’t he ask Gertie and Mrs. Marchmont if they’d seen anything, and he said he would. I don’t know why he’s so interested in that old chest, anyway.’

  ‘Then he turned on me and wanted to know if I’d seen anyone wandering around the castle while I was searching for all of you,’ said Bobby, and snorted in disgust. ‘Of course I did. I saw lots of people, in fact. Practically everyone was still up. Mr. and Mrs. Buchanan and the Americans were playing cards in the drawing-room, and Father and Mr. Jameson were doing something in the study. Then there was some dirty-looking fellow I didn’t know who had got lost on his way home from the party. And Claude was up for ages himself, so why didn’t he see anything?’ he finished.

  Angela glanced at Gertie.

  ‘Who was this fellow who had got lost?’ she said.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Bobby. ‘I bumped into him when I was coming out of the gun-room and gave him a shock. I told him he was going in the wrong direction and the door was back the other way, and he said thank you, and I said he’d better hurry before the snow got too thick for him to pass, and he sort of nodded and ran off.’

  ‘Was he a local?’ said Gertie. ‘I thought we knew everybody who came to the dance.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Bobby, frowning. ‘He didn’t have a Scots accent at any rate. He spoke like one of us, but he was all dirty, as though he’d been sleeping in a hedgerow, or something.’

  Angela and Gertie exchanged glances again.

  ‘Young or old?’ said Gertie.

  ‘Young, I think,’ said Bobby.

  ‘Did you mention him to Claude?’ said Angela.

  ‘Yes, but he didn’t seem very interested,’ said Bobby.

  Angela raised her eyebrows. Either the mention of the mysterious man had not registered in Claude’s mind, or he had a reason of his own for discounting its importance—and presumably that reason was that he suspected someone else.

  ‘What do you think?’ said Gertie when the boys had gone back to their igloo. ‘Could this man be our murderer, do you suppose? He doesn’t sound like anyone we know. He wasn’t a villager, and the only people around here who speak like us are us—if you see what I mean.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Angela thoughtfully. Gertie glanced at her.

  ‘Come on, out with it,’ she said. ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘Just that those tracks the boys and I followed yesterday might be more significant than I thought,’ replied Angela. ‘I thought they were probably made by a local at first, but now I wonder.’

  ‘Do you mean because of the man that Bobby saw?’

  ‘Yes, and don’t you remember what Clemmie said the day we all arrived, about a suspicious-looking stranger who had to be chased off?’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course,’ said Gertie. ‘Perhaps it was the same man. Do you think he has been hanging around here waiting for Professor Klausen in order to kill him and steal the documents?’

  ‘It’s possible, don’t you think?’

  ‘But we’ve been snowed in since last night. That means he must still be here,’ said Gertie.

  ‘Yes,’ said Angela.


  ‘Let’s go and find him,’ said Gertie.

  They looked at each other.

  ‘We’ll need a gun,’ said Angela.

  FOURTEEN

  Inside the castle Lord Strathmerrick, Sandy Buchanan, Henry Jameson and Claude Burford were conferring in private.

  ‘It’s damned awkward, that’s what it is,’ the Earl was saying. ‘Why the devil didn’t somebody tell us earlier about Nash and Mrs. Marchmont? I should never have invited her had I known he had such a conflict of interest.’

  ‘Oh, come now,’ said the Foreign Secretary. ‘Why, you couldn’t possibly have known that Klausen was going to get himself killed.’

  ‘No, but even so—even had everything gone according to plan, the whole situation is extremely delicate, and it’s not going to get any less complicated when we have an attractive divorcée, or widow, or whatever she is, sashaying about the place, trailing former lovers in her wake. Especially when one of those former lovers happens to be the American Ambassador.’

  ‘Do you think Nash has compromised himself, then?’ said Buchanan.

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ said Lord Strathmerrick. ‘One would hope not, given that he has brought his wife with him. However, it’s clear he’s still rather sweet on the Marchmont woman and so I’m not certain we can trust his judgment.’

  ‘Then you are quite certain she and Pilkington-Soames are mixed up in all this?’ said Henry Jameson.

  ‘I have no doubt of it myself, sir,’ said Claude, addressing the Earl. ‘I know very little about her, but I was at school with Pilkington-Soames and I know him of old. I’ve never met a more dissolute and unprincipled fellow in my life. He fagged for me at school and I never liked him—always found him to be a sneaking, insinuating little crook of a boy, and not above indulging in all kinds of unnatural activities, I’m certain, although I could never prove it. I took every opportunity to try and thrash it out of him but he always bounced back with that smug look of his. I always knew he’d go to the bad. And he and Mrs. Marchmont seem to be as thick as thieves—or worse. If she is guilty then I’m certain they’re in league with each other. I’ve no doubt she’s come under his influence and will do whatever he says.’