Crowned and Dangerous

by Rhys Bowen

  “But no visitors?”

  The girls checked with each other. “I don’t think so. We’re concentrating quite hard when we work, so we might not have noticed anybody on foot. But we would have heard a motorcar.”

  “There was that priest,” Carol commented. “A young man wearing heavy specs. He asked if Lord Kilhenny was still at the castle and we said he wasn’t. Then he asked if the American was Catholic and we said we didn’t know. And he said it was his duty to visit everyone in the parish and he’d give it a try.”

  “Did he get in?” I asked.

  Carol shook her head. “I don’t know. We went back to work. He was on foot.”

  “And then there was the newspaper reporter that time,” Pamela said. “I don’t think she got in, did she? She tried asking us questions but of course we knew nothing. She’s been around a few times since, but never got in.”

  “I suppose you’ve had quite a few reporters since . . . since the American died?” I said.

  “Oodles of them. It’s too bad we can’t dish the dirt, as they say, but of course there’s nothing we can tell them. We didn’t know the man. We never saw him, except once or twice coming out in the backseat of a big black car.”

  There really seemed nothing more to ask. I looked at Darcy. He nodded to the three of them. “Sorry to have taken up your time. Do let us know if you dig up the O’Mara hoard.”

  He gave them a good-natured wave, then took my arm and steered me across the muddy clumps in the field.

  “Well, that all seems aboveboard, doesn’t it?” I said. “I mean, I thought it was interesting at first that they had started a dig right across the road from the castle so recently. And I began to wonder whether they might actually be digging a tunnel to get into the grounds or something.”

  “It would have to be a long tunnel,” Darcy said. “But I have to think they are what they claim to be. And so easy to check with Trinity as to who is out here.”

  “So strike one line of inquiry,” I said and he nodded.

  The policeman was still standing beside our motorcar.

  “Thank you, Kevin,” Darcy said. “We’ll be off now.”

  “Did you learn anything?” Kevin asked.

  “There was a visiting American professor,” I said. “And a young priest. They seem to have been the only visitors.”

  “Young priest?” The constable looked thoughtful. “Now, I wonder who that would have been? Father Flannery is over seventy and I can’t think of a parish around here that has a young curate.”

  Darcy looked at me. “Interesting,” he said. “Two people who could have been checking on Mr. Roach. Now I’m really interested to find out more about him.” He turned to me. “Let’s head for Dublin right away.”

  “What about the stables?” I asked as we climbed back into the vehicle. “Didn’t we say we’d find out what we could there first?”

  “Don’t we know all there is to know?” Darcy said shortly. “Either my father doped that horse and was found out and fired, or Mr. Roach had someone else dope the horse and let my father take the blame when the horse dropped dead. Either way he has a strong motive for revenge, doesn’t he?”

  “It certainly seems that way,” I agreed.

  “And his anger could have been festering all this time, so that when they had that final blowup the afternoon of the murder it was the final straw. He went home, got drunk and then decided to kill Roach.”

  We looked at each other for a long moment. It seemed all too plausible, but one of us had to stay positive.

  “We need to find out what that final argument was about,” I said.

  He nodded. “If we can get the stubborn old fool to tell us.” He sighed. “All right. We’ll visit the stables first since they are right here.” And we drove down that little lane, past the lodge, until we came to a handsome whitewashed building with a weather vane of a galloping horse on top of a red tiled roof. At the center of that building was an arch leading through to a stable yard beyond, and as we watched, a horse was led across that archway, walking with the easy graceful strides of the Thoroughbred. Darcy stared, went to say something, then turned away, and I saw now why he was not anxious to visit the stables. It was too painful for him to visit a place he had loved that no longer belonged to him.

  “If you don’t want to do this, it’s all right with me,” I said. “I know it must be hard for you.”

  “I got over it long ago,” he said. “When my father first sold up it was very hard. I’d always imagined myself taking over the stables from him one day, training a Gold Cup winner. Now who knows what will happen. It’s all lost, everything.”

  I touched his hand gently. “We’re going to have a good life together somewhere,” I said.

  He nodded, still staring in front of him. I got out of the motorcar and started to walk toward the archway. I heard Darcy slam his door and his footsteps clattered on the cobbles as he came after me.

  “Hey, you,” a voice shouted, and a young man came striding toward us. He was redheaded, red faced and scowling. “What do you want? Not more reporters, are you? You’re the third lot this morning and we’ve work to do.”

  “Who are you?” Darcy asked him.

  “Ted Benson, stable manager,” the man said, eyeing Darcy with dislike, “and for that matter who might you be?”

  “Darcy O’Mara, Lord Kilhenny’s son and heir.”

  The man sneered. “I’m surprised you dare show your face around here after what your old man did.”

  “My old man, as you so crudely put it, is innocent until proven guilty,” Darcy said. “And what happened to Harry?”

  “You mean the old man who looked after the horses when your father ran the stable? Mr. Roach got rid of him. Too old to do the job anymore. He needed a younger man, with more modern ideas.”

  Darcy was looking around the stables where a horse’s head looked out of each open door. “You’ve still got Sultan, I see,” he said, and went over to stroke the nose of a big dark bay. The horse whickered and rubbed up against Darcy.

  “He seems to like you,” Ted Benson commented, sounding surprised. “He doesn’t get on with anyone else here and he’s a devil to ride. Pity because he’s strong over the jumps.”

  Darcy gave the big horse a final pat and came back to me.

  “So you weren’t here when there was the doping incident?” he asked.

  “I was not. Mr. Roach hired me after he got rid of your father. He tried running the place himself for a while but that was a disaster. He knew nothing about horses, did he? Not a thing.”

  “So what is going to happen to the stables now?” Darcy asked.

  “Search me,” Benson said. “I don’t even know if my wages are going to be paid. And we certainly can’t go ahead and enter any of the races in the upcoming meetings. I’m not paying jockeys out of my pocket and the Garda have said nothing. Looking for a will and the next of kin, I suppose. Probably put the whole bally lot up for auction. Some good horses here.”

  Darcy was looking around as if he couldn’t wait to be off again. “We won’t trouble you any longer,” he said, and he escorted me back under the archway. I could feel Ted Benson watching us all the way back to the Rolls.

  “He was an unpleasant sort of chap, wasn’t he?” I said.

  “I don’t know why Mr. Roach fired old Harry,” Darcy said. “He knew everything there was to know about horses, and he had a way with them too. Almost as if he knew what they were thinking. He taught me to ride and to jump. I wonder if he still lives around here.”

  “Interesting that he was sacked right after that horse doping, wasn’t it?” I said.

  “You mean that he might have been responsible?” Darcy asked sharply.

  “Quite the opposite. I mean that he might have deduced what really happened, or seen something he shouldn’t.”

  �
��So what do you think happened?”

  “I’m just surmising, but what if Mr. Roach himself had the horse doped to make it run faster, only it died before it reached the finish line. Perhaps Harry witnessed someone injecting the horse, or suspected what had happened.”

  “Possible. I wonder if he got another job. Not easy at his age. But we can ask at Punchestown Racecourse when we drive into Dublin. Someone there should know what happened to him. And someone there might even be able to shed some light on the horse doping.”

  So it looked as if we had a busy day ahead of us!

  We were just reversing out of the stable forecourt when there was a loud noise above our heads.

  “What the devil . . .” Darcy began.

  A small aeroplane dropped from the sky and skimmed over us, just missing the treetops, then landed in the field, bouncing over the turf and sending the horses racing off in panic.

  Darcy was out of the motorcar in a second, running toward the five-bar gate and vaulting nimbly over it. “The bloody fool,” he shouted. “What does he think he’s doing?”

  The plane was now taxiing toward us and came to a halt. The pilot climbed down and headed toward Darcy.

  “Are you mad? You’re on private property,” Darcy shouted. “And you have frightened the horses. You should leave immediately.”

  The pilot now removed goggles and helmet and shook out luxurious dark hair. “Is that any way to greet an old friend who has come all this way to help you?” said the Princess Zamanska.

  Chapter 20

  STILL TUESDAY, DECEMBER 4

  The princess has arrived. I can’t say I’m thrilled with this new complication! Too fond of Darcy for one thing. But I can’t ask Darcy to make her leave without seeming jealous—which I am, of course.

  “Zou Zou, what are you doing?” Darcy exclaimed. “Have you lost your senses?”

  Princess Zamanska advanced on Darcy, her arms open. “I couldn’t stop worrying about you so I decided I had to come in person to rescue you and offer my help. And I did want to see if my new toy could make it over the Irish Sea—which it did beautifully, I have to tell you. So stop looking so cross and give me a kiss.”

  And she threw her arms around his neck and was kissing him in a most unsisterly manner. I felt a stab of jealousy and had to force myself to stay put and not leap out shouting, “He’s mine. Hands off.”

  “It was kind of you to come, but there’s really nothing you can do to help me, Zou Zou.” Darcy’s voice was unsteady. She was still draped around his neck, her body pressed against his.

  “But of course there is. I was just speaking to my dear pal Sir Roderick Altringham. Do you know him? He’s a QC, you can’t do any better than that. And he’d do anything for me.”

  “Zou Zou, an English QC is of no use to us here. We’re in Ireland. Different legal system. Different judges.”

  “I am aware of that, darling. I’m not a complete idiot.” She stroked his cheek. “But Roddy knows everybody who is anybody. He says he’ll choose the very best barrister that Ireland has to offer for your father.”

  “Zou Zou, again it’s kind of you, but I have to point out that we can’t afford to pay the very best barrister in Ireland. My father is bankrupt. That’s the whole reason he had to sell the estate in the beginning.”

  “Silly, silly.” She patted his cheek now. “I’m happy to pay, of course. Anything to take that worried frown from your darling face and make you smile again. I might even know the odd Irish judge or two if I go through my little black book. . . . Wouldn’t that be helpful?”

  Darcy gave a nervous chuckle. “And I certainly can’t allow you to blackmail a judge for me.”

  “What a nasty word.” The princess released Darcy from her octopus-like grip. “I would merely suggest that they do a favor for an old friend. Someone has to help you, dear boy. Your dear little lady friend was quite distraught when she came to visit me.”

  I could see that Darcy had just remembered I was sitting in the Rolls. I suppose people like Princess Zamanska have that effect on men.

  “My dear little lady friend is actually in the motorcar now.”

  “She is? She came to you after all? I thought you had forbidden her to come.”

  “I had,” Darcy said with the hint of a bitter smile. “But she didn’t listen.”

  “Good for her. She has spunk. I like that.”

  “We’ve been interviewing people who might have seen something,” Darcy said, as they started to walk across the field. “Come and say hello.”

  “Interviewing people? Don’t the police do that over here?”

  “Not very well, it would seem. They are convinced my father is guilty and not looking beyond him.”

  “Your father claims he is innocent, does he? I rather thought it was a foregone conclusion that he did it, from what I’ve read in the papers. I could quite understand it myself. There have been several Americans I’ve wanted to kill, especially the rich ones who think that their money can buy anything. I even met a chap once who wanted to marry me and it turned out that he thought he would become a prince by marrying a princess. I ask you!” She paused, then added, “Well, I suppose there is a certain lady we know who rather thinks she will become queen one day.”

  “To get back to my father,” Darcy said. “Whether he’s guilty or not, we have to do our best for him. We have to come up with the best defense possible, because he’s doing nothing to help himself.”

  Darcy had opened the gate and they came toward the motor. I decided the right thing would be to get out to say hello to Zou Zou. I stepped down and managed a bright smile.

  “That was quite an entrance, Your Highness,” I said.

  She beamed. “My new toy. I adore it. Is it all right to leave it here for the moment, do you think? This field doesn’t belong to you, by any chance?”

  “Used to,” Darcy said. “Now it belongs to a dead man. And I don’t see any harm in leaving it here for now. You can’t stay, of course. There’s nowhere to put you up nearby. Even the pubs are full. I’m camping out with my father at the lodge and there are no hotel beds for miles. The place is buzzing with reporters. In fact the wisest thing would be for you to take off again before anyone in the village comes to have a look at the plane.”

  “But I want to be useful,” the princess said. “Tell me what you need doing and I’ll do it. And as soon as Roddy has found the best barrister in Ireland we’ll snap him up.”

  I could see that Darcy was in an agony of indecision. He didn’t want the princess here, that was clear. He didn’t want her dramatic arrival alerting the press to our presence. But he did want the best barrister in Ireland. “Then I suppose you had better find a hotel in Dublin, at least for tonight,” Darcy said. “We were on our way there now. You can come with us.”

  “Why don’t we all go in my aeroplane?” Princess Zamanska said, waving her hands excitedly. “I’m sure we can just fit in three, if we hold our breath.”

  “You can’t fly an aeroplane to Dublin.” Darcy shook his head. “The airfield is miles outside the city and then we’d have no transportation.”

  “Are there no taxies to be had in Dublin? I always found it a most civilized city.”

  “We’ll drive,” Darcy said. “The object at the moment is to attract the least amount of attention, and zooming over the city in a plane piloted by an exotic foreign princess is hardly what I call going about unnoticed.”

  She laughed and patted his cheek again. “So sweet,” she said.

  “Do you have a bag you want to bring with you?” Darcy said, opening the back door for her.

  She sighed. “I suppose so. This all seems so silly with a hulking great castle sitting right here. How many bedrooms does it have? Surely a corner for tiny moi?”

  “Forty-seven,” Darcy said. “But it’s currently in the hands of the Garda and even if it w
eren’t, it no longer belongs to my family.”

  He went back into the field to retrieve a small suitcase from her aircraft. As soon as he was gone, she turned to me. “This is not good for him, you know. All those frown lines. They are spoiling his handsome face. We must bring this thing to a swift conclusion.”

  “That’s not going to be easy,” I said.

  “So Georgie tells me you’ve started your investigation. What have you found out so far? Any likely suspects apart from your father?” she asked as Darcy returned, and then helped her into the backseat of the Rolls.

  “Not much,” Darcy said. “Almost nothing, in fact. We’ve talked to his valet, to the people at the archeological dig, to the man who runs the stables, but I don’t know if we’ve learned anything significant so far.”

  The princess clapped her hands. “Isn’t this exciting? I feel just like Hercule Poirot. We’ll track down the real killer and make him confess. We’ll summon everyone and sit them in a circle and say, ‘I’ve called you all here to name the murderer.’”

  “This isn’t a game, Zou Zou,” Darcy said, his voice taut with emotion. “It’s my father’s life at stake. It’s the reputation of my family.”

  She reached forward and caressed the back of his neck. “I know that, darling boy. I was just trying to cheer you up. So tell me, what do you hope to achieve in Dublin?”

  “We are trying to find out more about this Mr. Roach. Nobody seems to know anything. He was a recluse. No friends or family came to visit him. He was interested in horses but apparently knew little about them. So we’re trying to find if anyone else had a motive for wanting him dead.”

  “I see,” the princess said. “And who might know this in Dublin?”

  “We’re going to the American embassy,” I said, not wanting this to turn into a dialogue between Darcy and the princess. “They must have tried to contact his next of kin by now.”

  “Good point. So how was he murdered, exactly?”

  “Hit over the head with a club.”

  “Darlings, how terribly primitive. Is your father a violent man?”