Mr. Lincoln just returned to the Charmicle's. Sally's holding on to him until I can get there. He's in good shape but can't say same for your coat. Thought you would want to know. - Skye
Yesterday had been a fiasco. Skye showed up at the Blue Bell before lunch with Mr. Lincoln. They drove to the Charmicle's cottage, passing Castle Taye on the way. Things had changed at the castle. Someone enlarged the car park around two sides of the ancient building, and it was packed with vehicles. The merlon on the north side had been replaced so one could not tell it was ever missing, and the once creepy area had been cleared of old statues and garden ornaments.
Skye explained that Caroline had either leased or sold the property to a company that converted the building into a conference center. No longer a private residence, the castle hosted corporate events and various business meetings almost on a continual basis. Right now, a public relations firm from London was holding a retreat. The Blue Bell accommodated many of the visitors, hence explaining the crowded lobby and pub. The conference center proved a boon to the inn's profits.
Duncan felt real pain as they drove by Castle Taye. His history with the building and its former owner still affected him.
Skye's voice didn't even register with him as she said, "The increase in business is getting to be too much for Dad."
The drive also had its effect on Mr. Lincoln. The dog's panting grew heavy and his tail thumped the back seat over and over, creating a frantic rhythm. The dog even whined as they neared the castle. The mutt forced his head over the back of Duncan's seat and salivated on his shoulder, nudging his warm, wet nose into the investigator's ear. Brilliant, Duncan thought, as Mr. Lincoln managed to graze his tongue over Duncan's neck.
Once they rounded the bend in the road and the Charmicle cottage became visible, the dog became even more excited. There, in the front garden, Sally Charmicle stood, flanked by Roosevelt and General Washington. The general was a small white Scottish Terrier, while Roosevelt was a wild-eyed spotted shepherd. Mr. Lincoln trumped them both in the size and weight department.
Lincoln bounded from the Rover as soon as he could and frolicked in and around the garden with his canine pals. Sally Charmicle, Skye, and Duncan chatted on the lawn for the better part of an hour while the dogs played. It was a beautiful late summer day and as the mercury rose, the Scotsman removed his light jacket, placing it on an empty chair.
The sun felt wonderful on his face, and the scent of hay that mingled with a hint of cinders from morning fires relaxed the investigator. Distracted by the conversation regarding the economics of small farms, Duncan didn't notice when Mr. Lincoln first pulled his windbreaker from its place. Skye pointed to the seat and when the investigator shifted his gaze, he observed the thief in action.
Duncan wasted no time lunging for the mutt, but Mr. Lincoln was faster than any human. The animal leapt backwards and jerked his head in a manner that flung the jacket back and forth through the air. He attempted to approach the canine again, but the dog ran a few meters away, pausing and hunkering down with the coat until the investigator attempted to close the distance between them again. Each time Duncan grew near the animal, the beast hurdled away.
"I'd give up on that if I were ye," Skye yelled after her friend, who had already been led some distance from the garden. "He's toying with ye," she added.
Disgusted, he threw his hands in the air and walked to where Sally and Skye sat. They watched as Mr. Lincoln joined the other animals, dragging Duncan's jacket with him. Just as the dogs were about to wear themselves out, movement in the adjoining field grabbed their attention. A large stag strode at a steady pace towards the Rock of Taye, the steep, rocky hillside behind the castle, visible from the Charmicles' due to its height. The animal was a half kilometer away, yet the mutts still took notice. At once, the three ran off in the direction of the stag, General Washington trailing behind. The deer took no note, until they'd closed about half the gap. Then the beast took up a quick trot, crossed the road, and disappeared beyond the tree line. The dogs had to adjust their direction, but they, too, soon disappeared. The last Duncan saw of his coat, it was being carried in the jaws of Mr. Lincoln into the woods.
After about an hour, when the mongrels still hadn't returned, Duncan grew uneasy. An extended visit might be fine for Skye and Sally, but he did not fancy an afternoon in the garden discussing the weather and village gossip.
"Do you think we should go look for them?" he asked.
Mrs. Charmicle and Skye looked at him as if they had no idea what he was talking about.
"Look for who, Dear?" Sally Charmicle asked.
"The dogs. Won't Lincoln get confused about returning here versus your home or the castle, Skye?"
The women laughed.
"I can see ye've grown quite fond of yer animal, Duncan," Sally said with a wink towards Skye.
The Hound of Hades?
Duncan felt beleaguered by the machinations of Mr. Lincoln, Skye, Donald, and now Mrs. Charmicle. They were all out to get him. He half expected Sally to ask him to take the other mutts off her hands as well.
"They'll show up soon, Duncan. Dinnae fash yersel," Skye said, returning to her conversation with Sally about Robert Abernathy and the dog he recently adopted.
Duncan was hungry and wanted to return to the inn to pack for his drive back to Edinburgh. The afternoon dragged on with no sign of the dogs.
In the end, Skye and Duncan took their leave of Sally and trudged as far as they could up the Rock of Taye, clinging to saplings and tree limbs, calling for the dogs. The incline was steep and rocky, easy for their four legged friends to traverse, but not so much for two of the bipedal variety. There was no sound or sight of the dogs and the pair eventually gave up. But not until they'd dirtied their clothing, twisted the odd ankle, and tweaked a knee. They hobbled back to the Range Rover, the lass happy as a lark and Duncan out of sorts. She later rang up Sally, who promised to keep an eye out for the animals and his jacket.
Now, the investigator was hungry again as he strolled around to the front of The Puffin. Through the window, he could see Donald and another man sitting at a table. Reginald had his back to him, yet the gentleman gave the impression of being the same age as Donald. This was the son of the innkeeper's friend? He must have aged poorly.
"Hallo," Duncan said as he approached the table. He could now see Reginald, and he was in fact, almost as old as Donald.
"Hello, Lad, let me introduce Reginald Norcroft, yer client," Donald said with enthusiasm.
As Reginald rose to shake Duncan's hand, his slight build and height became evident. Thin, short and donning scholarly wire-rimmed glasses, he appeared the physical opposite of the robust innkeeper.
"So pleased to meet you, Duncan. I've heard so much about you from Donald, here, I feel as if I almost know you."
Reginald's lively blue eyes had wrinkles trailing towards his ears that told of someone who enjoyed a laugh. The man's hair was light gray and thinning on top. He appeared in excellent health. His client wore a pair of dark olive tweed trousers, tucked into wellies, and a navy sweater. A tan overcoat completed his attire. In spite of his age and height, there was something a bit dashing about him.
Reginald added, "Please, do join us and do call me Reggie."
He noticed that Reginald did not possess a Scottish brogue like Donald.
"I'm pleased to meet you as well," Duncan stated, taking a seat with the men.
He ordered a breakfast of Lorne sausages, egg, mushroom, tomato and beans. The two older gentlemen chose oatmeal.
"Now, Reggie, why don't you fill me in on this case, how you know Donald here, and anything else you'd like to share. Your friend has already baited the hook and I'm keen to learn more."
Reginald beamed. His nose appeared larger and beak-like when the man smiled from ear to ear. His teeth were white and straight with a small gap between the front incisors. Duncan noticed his ruddy complexion that could mean he spent time outdoors or that he imbibed too often.
> "Yes, quite right. I've never known Donny to exaggerate, so hopefully you won't be disappointed," he said with enthusiasm.
"Of course the lad won't be," the innkeeper interjected.
Reginald continued, nodding at his friend, "Donny was my father's favorite pupil. That's how we first met. You see, I was rather bookish and the professor worried about me, how I was developing in the social sense. He insisted I spend time with Donny and we hit it off."
Donny? The Professor?
"Aye, yer father was wise enough to see we'd be a match made in heaven, as friends go. We ne'er had a cross word between us," Donald said, grinning at Reginald. Referring to Reggie as his mate's son was a small trick the innkeeper played on Duncan.
"Quite right. Donny helped me out of my shell. We've known each other most of our lives," he said as if he just realized that fact. Both older men nodded at each other, pleased with themselves.
"And about the case…" Duncan said, prompting Reginald.
"Oh, yes, the case. You see, I inherited Norcroft Manor. It's been in the family for generations, of course. Bits of the house were built atop a foundation that dates to before the Vikings ransacked the island. My father said talk of a hoard of riches buried on our grounds went back centuries. Family lore stated that a labyrinth, in an old chapel built by the monks, served as the treasure map. It was believed the monks hid some of their wealth from the Vikings, and the maze gave directions to the hiding place. If the labyrinth could be found, whoever figured out its clues would locate the fortune. After the Great War, my grandfather decided to find that cache."
Reginald paused to ensure the investigator followed his story.
Duncan nodded, encouraging him to continue.
"Grandfather went through old family archives, looking for clues, and he told my father, who was a mere boy at the time, he was close to finding the location of the labyrinth," Reginald whispered, then sat back in his chair as if his story was over.
Duncan glanced from one man to the other. The innkeeper had an eyebrow raised as if wondering what he thought of the tale.
"And did he find it?" Duncan asked, after a protracted silence.
"Go on, tell the lad," Donald urged.
Reginald looked at Donald and said, "Quite right." Then he turned towards Duncan and continued, "I don't know. He disappeared and was never seen or heard from again. They found his Baby Austin in the causeway. Everyone assumed he was caught by the sea and washed out with the tide."
"How dreadful. Was your grandfather familiar with the currents?"
"Yes, he'd spent much of his life on the island. He was a bird enthusiast, just as I am."
"The laird here is more than an enthusiast, Duncan. He's a well-respected ornithologist!"
Duncan tried to keep to topic and asked, "Did anyone else work on finding the labyrinth?"
"Not to my knowledge. My father said Grandfather tried to keep his work secret. I'm sure other family members and perhaps some of the staff knew something of what he was doing. After Grandfather disappeared, no one pursued the treasure. My own father, who was away at school when the tragedy occurred, wanted nothing to do with it. He felt the whole enterprise was cursed and blamed it for his father perishing."
Reggie paused and glanced at the innkeeper.
He continued, "And I'm not really a laird, Donny."
"Details, details!" Donald responded.
"Why do you need my help now, Reginald?"
Donald and Reginald grinned at each other and the innkeeper said, "Go on."
"Quite right. My father wanted nothing to do with Holy Island, but I inherited my grandfather's love of birds. I've spent many of my days here and now reside at Norcroft Manor." Reginald leaned towards Duncan and continued in a whisper, "While doing some refurbishment I found something. Seems everyone looked in the wrong spot for the labyrinth!"
Reginald's voice crescendoed in a stage whisper. He could not contain his excitement. Duncan glanced around the room to see if anyone took note of their conversation, but the restaurant was empty. He'd heard the door close moments before when a customer left, and now noticed that the sky outside had grown dark with clouds.
"Perhaps you'd like to show me your discovery," Duncan suggested.
"Quite right! Finish your breakfast and we'll drive to the house straight away," Reginald said.
Duncan cleaned what was left on his plate and gulped down his remaining tea. Reginald's excitement was contagious and he couldn't wait to see what the old man had discovered. He doubted anything would come of it, but it was a mystery and Reggie was likable. He would enjoy his time on the island; he could foretell that much.
-4-
History, Geometry, & Brain Stems
Duncan trailed after Reginald and Donald in the Vauxhall. On the outskirts of the village, Reginald's vintage Jaguar turned left at the fork, marked by the street sign as Sandham Lane. The investigator kept a safe distance between himself and the older men. He'd missed this stretch of road on his early gadabout. After the turn, Reginald opened up the Jaguar's engine and sped down the road as if it were a straightaway at the racetrack. There were no other cars on the lane as the tide was in and no tourists could visit the island. It appeared Reggie had inherited his grandfather's love of cars as well as birds. Duncan watched as the Jaguar reduced its pace and made a hard right onto Crooked Loaning, then raced out of sight.
The Scotsman followed suit, spotting the other vehicle after rounding a turn in the lane. Up ahead, Duncan saw the Jaguar slow and turn right. He glanced in that direction and caught his first glimpse of Norcroft Manor about a kilometer away. It resembled a heap. A lone knoll hid part of the building from view. He could see why Donald called Reggie laird. The man owned a small estate. Beyond the house, high on a hill, stood Lindisfarne castle, he guessed about three kilometers west. The knoll and the hill were the only geological formations to break the island's flat monotony in this area.
Duncan passed what was once an impressive gate, now in disrepair. Large stone pillars with family crests, carved near the top, towered over the drive. He saw the remains of hinges, but no iron bars or fancy swirls to keep anyone from entering. Reginald's property was bordered by scruffy hedgerows instead of fences. He could now get a clear view of the house where the Jaguar had already stopped.
Ruins of what appeared to be a kirk stood close to the left of a home that represented the building efforts of former owners across the centuries. The remains of lancet arches appeared atop a rubble foundation of small, almost black, rock forming the remnants of the chapel. Some tracery survived on one end where a lone wall once held a round window near its apex. A scraggly tree, protected from wind by what was left of the structure, grew where monks once worshiped.
Duncan shifted his gaze to the home's main entrance as he eased the Vauxhall to a stop. The door was set back and sheltered behind a large Tudor arch. Near each corner of the building a turret climbed from the ground to the top of the house. These seemed to grow from the façade, with just their front halves visible, containing the elevation's only windows. An unusual battlement topped the house with stair-step crenels forming two peaks above the entryway. Two smaller towers emerged from the roof, each sporting a flag. These housed decorative trefoil openings, presumably to pour hot oil on would-be invaders.
The Tudor section of the house was constructed of light colored rock, Duncan guessed from the priory ransacked during Henry the VIII's reign. Fine hewn casements of a honey-colored stone surrounded the windows, some with delicate tracery and fine diamond-cut panes of glass. A wing of the house to the far right appeared to be built in the baronial revival style with an onion domed turret at its end. Its uniform, gray stone blocks made him think it was a Victorian addition.
Duncan stepped from the Vauxhall and joined Reginald and Donald under the arch. Just as he did, the skies opened with a bolt of lightning and buckets of rain began to fall.
"Hurry, my boy, let us take refuge inside," Reginald said, pushing the door open.
The pelting rain was creating quite a racket and the older man had to raise his voice to be heard. Duncan glanced back at his car before stepping into Norcroft Manor. The auto was receiving a proper wash.
"Apart from the hall, I'm afraid the place is a regular rabbit's warren, with countless rooms and halls running every which way. Much of the place is in disrepair, and I live in this wing," Reginald explained, as the men moved through a small dark foyer.
"What about the Victorian addition?" Duncan asked.
"Ah, you noticed that, did you? Quite right. You'd assume it would be more livable, but you see, my ancestors took pride in maintaining the Tudor wing. Any funds set aside for upkeep were always earmarked for the more historic bits. I'm afraid that parts of the house have seen sore neglect," he admitted.
The investigator took in the details of the grand hall. Windows along the south wall, not visible from the car park, provided ample lighting. Two multi-tiered brass chandeliers hung from the ceiling high above, and a dramatic black and white marble checkerboard covered the floor. He caught a whiff of old candle wax and wood polish. At the other end of the room, Duncan observed a door in each corner and assumed they led to similar turrets as those at the front of the house. He glanced left and right and noticed like openings, surrounded by carved stone Tudor arches. They must lead to the front towers, he thought.
Midway down the right wall stood a massive inglenook fireplace. A large faded and frayed tapestry drooped above its formidable stone mantle. The walls were all paneled wood, but up top hung the real show stopper. Shaped like the inside of a barrel, the coffered ceiling contained twelve large paintings, each encased in heavy gold frames carved from plaster. Six ran down the center, square pastoral masterpieces, two by two, forming three rows. Duncan tilted his head as far back as possible to examine the images.
Mystery: The Laird's Labyrinth: A Duncan Dewar Mystery of Murder & Suspense (Duncan Dewar Mysteries Book 4) Page 3
