‘Dead? Oh, his poor mother!’ exclaimed Lady Rothbury, holding her table napkin to her mouth. ‘Had he collapsed or something?’
Lord Rothbury shook his head. ‘He’d been terribly badly injured, especially around the head.’
Henry, who had been listening in shocked silence, spoke croakingly. ‘Had one of the horses kicked him? Juniper was lashing out a bit today when he was being saddled up but I’ve never known him to kick anyone before.’
Lord Rothbury’s words hung heavily in the air, changing everything. ‘Hamish was beaten to death by someone with a riding crop. Dear God! What will go wrong next? And you say we’re not cursed?’
Lizzie sat on the edge of the bed as Laura lay propped up on pillows, discussing the latest tragedy before they went to bed. ‘Hamish was such a nice lad and so good to his mother. Do you think someone had a grudge against him?’
Laura shook her head. ‘No. He was popular with everyone. Good at his job, too.’
‘The police will no doubt get to the bottom of it but what a tragedy! Poor Papa really does believe we’re cursed, doesn’t he?’ said Lizzie.
Laura raised her arms and put her hands behind her head. ‘Don’t you think Freddie behaved very strangely at dinner?’
Lizzie looked at her sharply. ‘In what way?’
‘I’m sure he was drunk.’
‘Where could he have got alcohol from? You know Papa makes sure none of us can get hold of even a glass of wine.’
Laura spoke as if she hadn’t been listening. ‘That yarn about tripping over one of the dogs? I don’t believe a word of it.’
Lizzie looked shocked. ‘What are you saying?’
‘I’m sure there’s more to this than meets the eye. I’m scared, Lizzie. How did he get that graze on his cheek?’
Lizzie shrugged. ‘I think you’re getting carried away. Whatever the outcome Mama will insist on the truth being kept secret to avoid a scandal and she’ll make sure Hamish’s mother is well looked after in case she tries to make trouble for us.’
‘Lizzie, you’re so cynical.’
‘No, I’m just being realistic.’
‘Have you heard what’s happened?’ Diana exclaimed, rushing into the library where her sisters were writing letters.
They looked up expectantly.
‘Papa has been told the inquest held on poor Hamish found that he had been most severely beaten by a riding crop and then kicked in the head several times by a boot.’
Laura’s eyes widened in shock. ‘Do you mean he was murdered?’
Diana nodded. ‘The police will be returning any minute now to examine the riding crops in the stables. I suppose they’re looking for blood or something.’
‘I can’t believe it!’ Lizzie exclaimed. ‘Who on earth would want to kill Hamish? He was such a gentle lad, and only a year older than Freddie. His poor mother – what can she be feeling now? It’s one thing if someone is kicked by a horse, but to be murdered is terrible.’
‘Does Mama know?’ Georgie asked.
‘Yes. She’s in a terrible state. I afraid she’s more worried about the scandal than anything else and how it will affect the family.’
‘She can’t be,’ Diana said sadly. ‘It’s got nothing to do with any of us.’
‘You know what boys are like. He must have got into a fight with one of the other lads. Or maybe someone tried to break into the stables and steal a horse and he tried to stop them?’ Georgie commented.
‘This is terrible,’ Beattie wailed as she listened to the others. ‘What is Papa going to do about it?’
Lizzie spoke calmly. ‘There’s nothing we can do except look after his mother. She’s the one who must be in a terrible state. Imagine! Your child – your son – is murdered while he’s at work.’
‘But we will be the centre of attention and gossip,’ Beattie pointed out. ‘The police will want to interview everyone on the estate, I suppose.’
Laura and Lizzie looked at each, thinking the same thought but fearful of giving voice to it.
The little ones had been put to bed and Lady Rothbury came to kiss them goodnight, as she did every evening.
‘Mama! Mama!’ Alice, Flora and Catriona clamoured, reaching out to her with eager little hands. They reminded her of little angels with their long, dark brown hair and sweet faces. Dressed in white flannel nightgowns to their feet they put their arms around her neck, kissed her cheeks and wanted to sit on her lap. She felt a pang of sadness that they couldn’t stay like that for ever. Little children were so easy to please, so charming and obedient, and then they grew up and everything changed. The closeness was gone. She worried about her older children all the time. Would the boys do well with their studies? Would the girls make good marriages? None of them were married yet; Lizzie was already twenty-one and she feared that Laura had decided she’d never marry because there’d never be another Rory.
Sighing nostalgically, she gave her little angels another kiss as they snuggled under their eiderdowns. ‘Goodnight, my darlings. Sleep well.’
As she passed the schoolroom and the boys’ rooms she called out, ‘Freddie, Henry – I hope you’re getting ready for dinner?’
‘Yes, Mama,’ Henry answered obediently. She particularly loved her younger son. He was affectionate and yet respectful and she secretly wished he’d been William’s heir. Then she hurried to her own quarters to get changed for dinner.
‘William! William!’ Lady Rothbury’s voice echoed loudly along the wide picture gallery as she ran out of her room. ‘William! Come quickly!’ she shrieked in panic. Several bedroom doors were flung open. Beattie, Laura and Diana were the first to rush to her side.
‘Mama! What’s happened?’ asked Laura. Their mother looked demented and she was wringing her hands.
‘Get your father! Make him come quickly,’ she said, her voice breaking.
‘What the devil’s going on?’ Lord Rothbury boomed as he came up the stairs towards her.
‘Something terrible,’ she exclaimed.
‘What’s happened?’ He’d turned pale. ‘For God’s sake! Tell me what’s happened!’
‘They’ve gone! Everything’s gone!’ Lady Rothbury shrieked as she hurried along the corridor, followed by her husband. ‘Someone has been in our bedroom.’
Doors were flung wide open along the corridor and Lizzie was the first to reach her mother.
‘Mama, what is it?’ she asked as she and her sisters gathered around. They’d never seen her in such a state.
‘Everything’s gone!’ she repeated, and her face crumpled as she started to weep.
‘What’s gone?’ Diana demanded, while her father strode on down the corridor to the master bedroom.
‘All the family jewels!’
‘You mean they’ve been stolen?’ Beattie asked, aghast. ‘But I thought you kept them in a locked chest in your bedroom?’
‘Yes, but it’s been broken into. The tiara, the diamond necklace, your great-grandmother’s emerald and diamond stomacher! Oh, God, this is a calamity! There’s nothing left.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ Diana said soothingly.
Lady Rothbury wiped her eyes with a small lace-edged handkerchief. ‘Papa always said I should keep the jewellery downstairs in the strong room with the silver but it’s such a business getting it out every time and I do like to choose what I want to wear every day.’
A minute later Lord Rothbury came charging back, looking enraged. ‘How did this happen?’ he roared. ‘The jewel case is empty.’
‘I don’t know what happened.’ She raised her tear-stained face. ‘I’m sorry, William. Please don’t be angry with me . . .’ She stopped, unable to continue.
‘Someone must have broken into the castle during the day,’ Georgie said bluntly.
He turned on her with fury. ‘How could anyone have broken into it when our bedroom is on the first floor and the whole place is crawling with people?’ He strode back down the corridor again and they all followed in shocked silence. W
hen they entered the room they stood still, trying to take in what had happened.
On the far side the large stout oak chest stood in front of a wall hung with a large tapestry. The lid was flung open; the four layers of fitted trays which were covered with green felt had been thrown to one side. The awful emptiness of what had once held magnificent jewels appalled them all and for a moment they could only stand and stare.
‘Who could have done this?’ Lizzie exclaimed at last.
Laura looked at the empty trays with deep sadness. ‘Everything has gone,’ she murmured while Lady Rothbury sank down on to her carved four-poster bed, unable to stand any more.
‘When did you last open this chest?’ her husband demanded.
Lady Rothbury looked at him with agonized eyes. ‘This morning. I wanted to wear my pearls today and I know that I locked it afterwards and hid the key in the usual place.’
‘Who else knows where you hid the key?’
‘Only you, William.’
‘Where did you hide it?’ Beattie asked curiously.
‘In that cubbyhole behind the sliding panel by the bed. No one knows about it except Papa and me.’
‘Quite obviously someone else did know,’ Lord Rothbury fumed.
Laura turned to her father. ‘Do you think it may have something to do with Hamish’s death? Perhaps someone did this as an act of revenge on our family?’
‘Hamish only had a widowed mother,’ Beattie pointed out. ‘The servants would have noticed a stranger so it’s obviously someone in the castle who did this. The question is, who?’
‘Stop prattling on, girl,’ William bellowed. ‘That lad’s death had nothing whatsoever to do with anyone in the family, so let’s have no more stupid ideas. We must get the police at once.’
Lizzie had a sudden thought. ‘Should we check the silver in the strong room, Papa?’
Her father looked horrified. ‘I’ll go and see but McEwan keeps the keys on his person at all times.’ He sighed gustily. ‘God Almighty. When will it ever end?’
After the police had been, strongly suggesting that at first glance it looked like an inside job, they left, saying they’d be back in the morning.
‘Don’t let anyone touch anything in the bedroom,’ the chief constable warned as he left.
It was late when the family sat down to dinner; the beef had been overcooked and so had the vegetables, which put His Lordship in a worse temper than ever.
‘Where is everyone?’ he demanded, glancing down the table.
Henry hurried into the dining room, apologized for being late and sat down quickly. ‘I’m afraid I lost track of time,’ he confessed.
‘Where’s your brother?’ Lord Rothbury demanded.
‘I don’t know, Papa. I’ve hardly seen him all day.’
‘What do you mean, boy? You don’t know?’
Henry shook his head. ‘I don’t know where he is.’
‘You’d think all the commotion this evening would have brought him out of his room. Freddie is getting lazy, Margaret,’ he said, addressing his wife as if it were all her fault. Then he turned to the butler. ‘McEwan, send someone up to Lord Fairbairn’s room to tell him to come down to dinner immediately.’
‘Yes, M’Lord.’
‘Are the police going to take all our fingerprints tomorrow, Papa?’ Beattie asked.
‘Don’t be stupid. Why should they take the fingerprints of anyone in the family? We didn’t steal our own jewels,’ he added mockingly.
‘Of course not,’ Lady Rothbury murmured as she toyed with her poached salmon. Her heart was actually aching as if she’d been punched in the chest, and she felt cold and shivery. Her jewellery – her beautiful jewellery which she so loved, especially the pieces that were of sentimental value – had all been taken and she was literally heartbroken. How could anyone have done something so cruel? May God forgive his sins, she said to herself, but I for one will never be able to.
A few minutes later McEwan came back and there was something urgent and yet reluctant as he spoke to the Earl in a low voice. ‘M’Lord, it might be better if you came into the hall,’ he murmured.
‘What’s that? Speak up, McEwan.’
‘One of the chambermaids has been up to His Lordship’s room. She has something to tell you, M’Lord but maybe not in front of the ladies.’
‘What is happening, William?’ his wife asked from the other end of the table.
‘God knows,’ he groaned, rising to his feet. ‘If he’s got a girl in his room I’ll kill him.’
The sisters looked at each other with a mixture of interest and alarm, while Henry remained impassive.
Ruby the chambermaid was standing in the middle of the great hall, looking terrified. Her hands were trembling and she was trying not to cry.
‘Tell His Lordship what you’ve just told me,’ McEwan commanded.
She gave a loud sniff. ‘Pardon, M’Lord.’
‘It’s all right,’ Lord Rothbury said with unusual kindness. ‘Just tell me what you found in my son’s room.’
She spoke in a low voice. ‘His clothes are all in a heap in the corner and his boots too, and they are all covered in blood. There’s no sign of him and it looks like he’s gone away, M’Lord.’
There was something akin to fear in His Lordship’s eyes. ‘What do you mean, gone away?’
‘Left ’ome, M’Lord. His wardrobe was all open and it looked like ’e’s taken some things with him.’
Lord Rothbury stood stock still for a moment, then without another word he strode off across the hall to his study. A moment later he opened the bottom left-hand drawer of his vast mahogany desk. It took just another few seconds for his worst fears to be realized. Freddie’s passport was missing.
‘Dear God!’ Lord Rothbury groaned. ‘I always feared Freddie was a wild card but not in a million years did I think he’d do a thing like this!’
‘You can’t tell the police, William!’ Margaret Rothbury pleaded.
‘How the hell can we keep it a secret?’ he raged. ‘Everyone on the estate will know by tomorrow morning about the death of Hamish, the stolen jewellery, the bloodstained clothes and then Freddie’s disappearance; how can we possibly keep it a secret?’
‘How could he have done this to us?’ She’d aged ten years in the last few hours as she tried to take in the appalling tragedy that had enveloped her family.
Sleep was impossible. At three o’clock in the morning she and her husband lay close together in their vast bed and yet a million miles apart in other ways. She could see no plausible way out of this appalling mess and yet reporting what had happened to the police seemed to be an unforgivable option.
‘The sins of the fathers . . .’ the Earl quoted as if he was talking to himself.
‘Your father didn’t commit any sins, William.’
‘No, he didn’t. He was a good man.’
‘Well then, who?’
He didn’t answer but pretended to have fallen asleep.
Lochlee Castle stood defiantly against the tsunami of scandal that engulfed it and the Fairbairn family in the ensuing months. Freddie had not been traced and it was reluctantly assumed he’d fled the country, although every shipping line had been on the alert to look out for him. One of the photographs taken of Freddie standing with the rest of the family in the garden at the time of Laura’s engagement had been circulated to all the newspapers. The report that the ‘young Viscount Fairbairn is being hunted by the police in connection with the murder of a stable boy at his Family Seat’ made sordid reading in the downmarket newspapers, accompanied by further reports that he’d also stolen the family jewels.
For the first time in five hundred illustrious years shame was being heaped on their heads, besmirching their reputation for ever. From the moment Freddie’s bloodstained clothes were found abandoned in his room, it was obvious to everyone that he’d killed Hamish, then stolen the jewellery and scarpered. After the initial shock the whole family had reluctantly come round to acceptin
g Freddie’s guilt. Even his mother.
As howling winds swept across the now-frozen grouse moors the atmosphere inside the castle was no warmer. Lady Rothbury had retired to her own quarters since the disappearance of Freddie, refusing to join the rest of the family for meals and sitting by the fire in a deeply distressed state of mind.
Meanwhile, her husband’s depression took the form of being angry one moment and wallowing in guilt the next, although he refused to admit it. He talked more than ever about the family being doomed and how he only expected the worst.
‘I know it’s to do with the fight we overheard him having with someone,’ Lizzie insisted. ‘I tried to get it out of him but he refused to talk about it. If only we could find out who it was we might be able to get to the bottom of things.’
Alice, Flora and Catriona were saved from the gloom and constant sense of anxiety that pervaded the castle because they were all under six years old and looked after entirely by Nanny and her two nursery maids. Their only contact with their mother was when they were taken to her private sitting room after tea every day. Lady Rothbury found it hard to play with them and usually resorted to reading them a story before Nanny collected them again to get ready for bed.
Henry was also rather withdrawn and even his kindly tutor was unable to get much out of him.
‘Did you have the faintest inkling that Freddie was going to do a runner?’ Mr Stuart asked one day, knowing that Henry had told the police he neither knew nor had suspected anything.
Henry shrugged and averted his gaze. ‘We weren’t that close,’ he replied vaguely.
‘You must miss him, surely?’
‘Not really. He was always putting me down.’
Mr Stuart remembered very well how Freddie, whom he had never liked, would taunt Henry about being ‘bookish’ and told everyone Henry was ‘soft’ because he didn’t particularly enjoy ‘the slaughter on the moors’, as he described the shooting season.
Secretly, Mr Stuart shared the view of all those who worked at Lochlee that Freddie would never come back. To him personally it was a case of good riddance.
The five older sisters now depended even more on each other and spent most of their time together endlessly talking about the tragedy.
The Fairbairn Girls Page 9
