‘Does he work on the estate somewhere? I met him in the forest and he was carrying a rifle.’
‘When was that?’
‘Two days ago. The day Lily disappeared.’
Vince thought for a moment. ‘The same man you thought you’d seen a couple of times. Come on, Rose, what’s the connection – only that you’ve got a good memory for faces.’
I could hardly explain without telling him the reason was that at first glance he looked like Danny. That would sound so absurd, this painful reminder, no longer mentioned between Vince and me since Jack and I married. The past had ceased to exist; it had been very carefully laid in the grave beside Danny.
Vince was frowning. ‘Oh, I expect this fellow will be questioned with everyone else.’
I couldn’t understand, it seemed that he was the obvious person, the prime suspect. I went back to the Ballater incident. ‘The way our driver Dave said it, rather coyly, seeing them together, I wondered if they might be lovers.’
‘Really?’ Vince sounded interested. ‘Did Dave know him?’ he asked.
‘No, but he said he’d seen him around the stables and the description sounded like him.’ As I repeated it, Vince smiled, a little wearily, I thought. ‘Tall, thin, dark hair! Looked like a gipsy.’ Vince laughed. ‘Come on, Rose, that could apply to half the young men in Deeside. Pure coincidence.’
In my experience coincidence is never pure but there was no point in arguing. Vince was saying: ‘HM had a word with me this morning. He is, of course, seriously concerned, as am I, about the fact that the girl was living in his private cottage. You know how anxious he is not to let that get abroad and I was made to feel somehow that it was my responsibility to sort it all out. Clear the path, as he called it.’
He laughed bitterly. ‘He trusts my discretion. He reminds me constantly that Inspector Faro was his mother’s personal detective and how she valued him. He saved her life once or twice, as I expect you know. Anyway, seems to think I helped Stepfather in some of his cases and that I might have inherited some of his genius. He is now seeing me in that role. Which is, I’m afraid, too big for me.’
A good doctor but a poor actor, I thought. That was true. But the role wasn’t too big for me, I was used to solving crimes – Lady Investigator, Discretion Guaranteed, crimes small and large, and that included murder.
I decided I would say no more, keep it from Vince, go undercover as it were, and find the answer to Lily’s death, for I was certain that this was no accident.
I had not a great deal of time either; we were to return to Edinburgh after the Highland Games at Invercauld, the climax of the royal season. Olivia sadly would have to miss it; as well as her pressing London engagements, she had a family wedding, a Gilchrist niece getting married in Surrey, that she could not cancel. At her side Faith constantly bemoaned having to be parted from Meg, while Olivia’s patience wore thin.
‘After all, Faith knew that we wouldn’t be here all the time with you,’ she shrugged. ‘Of course, she didn’t expect her cousin Meg, so much younger, would turn out to be a soulmate.’
I sympathised since I got plenty of the same kind of moans from Meg. These domestic issues were all very trying as I had additional very real fears of my own about those Games and the opportunity they would provide for Lily’s killer on the loose among all those illustrious guests.
But I was no longer free to pursue my investigations as I might have been in Edinburgh. Here I had family commitments, of the most pressing kind. I was a mother now. I had a seven-year-old to take care of, my first duties were to her, and I must never forget that with Faith gone Meg would need me to share the hours of her lonely days.
I had also expected Mabel to take her departure with Olivia, sharing the long train journey back to London, since her main reason for coming with us had been, as well as the women’s suffrage meeting, to be reunited with her old friend. Some tactful hints that she would miss Olivia were dismissed with a sad shrug but she showed not the slightest inclination to cut short her holiday. She was clearly enjoying herself and had adapted to the lack of a personal maid, quite content with daily expeditions in the pony cart, either following the guns or into Ballater. Never the easiest or jolliest of companions, here she would remain with us until the holiday ended and Vince saw her safely onto the London train.
Then suddenly we heard from Vince news that we had been dreading and everything else was momentarily swept aside by another crisis looming. A crisis closer to my heart and to Meg’s than even her distress at Faith’s imminent departure. On our doorstep this time, the secret of Thane’s presence was out.
The King knew we had a magnificent deerhound, more than usually large for the breed. And he was very interested. That was all that had been said, but it awoke volcanoes of terror.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
We decided that this information must be kept from Meg. Vince hoped that with the Games looming, the King might be too busy and that by the time he remembered about the deerhound, it would be too late and we would be back in Edinburgh, with Thane safe to roam again on Arthur’s Seat.
That proved to be a forlorn hope, however, and we were fated to have a quite unexpected encounter. From the cottage we often had a fleeting glimpse of HM riding out of the stables, if we were up and about early enough each morning. A creature of habit, he normally followed a set daily route around the estate which we were careful to avoid, regarding our little wood as quite safe, the only place where we exercised Thane each day, completely cut off from any view from the castle.
We had got to know it well and Meg was intrigued by the tiny island mid-river with its monument, and each time we passed the wee anchored boat she reminded me that I had promised we were going to row over and explore.
‘We can’t take Thane,’ I reminded her again. ‘He is much too large, we would capsize. And you are never to go without me. Understand?’
The boat looked very old and fragile but I was determined to take it out and test its safety before risking Meg, especially as there had been wistful hints of a picnic with Faith before she left, arousing fears that Meg with her sense of adventure might persuade Faith to tackle it on their own.
Meg had decided that the folly was set up by Queen Victoria over a graveyard for her beloved pet dogs. I thought that improbable but it had that touch of sentiment and romance that she enjoyed, always preferring real stories rather than Grimm’s fairy tales.
Suddenly Thane rushed back to us and took his place at our side.
We felt the ground shake, birds happily chirping in the treetops took off into the air with startled cries at the sound of horse’s hooves and the jingle of harness.
Two horses appeared. There was no mistaking the rider in the lead. Meg and I curtseyed, expecting him to ride on, but the King reined in, looked down not at us but at Thane at our side, fearing for our safety, not his own.
‘That is a very fine animal,’ said the King to his companion, presumably an equerry. ‘Bring him over.’
The man dismounted and came over to us. Thane was stiffly on guard as the man approached. The equerry looked at me and said sharply: ‘Why has he no collar?’
‘He never wears a collar.’
‘That is surely most unwise for a valuable animal,’ was the disapproving reply. ‘No lead either, I see, and that is a requirement on the estate.’
Ignoring that remark, I said: ‘He is very obedient and will go with you if I tell him to.’
There was nothing I could do. Meg was at my side, trembling, her grip on my hand painful. Thane was looking at us both, hesitating.
‘Go with him,’ I said.
Thane trotted off looking offended, his backward glance at us anxious as the King dismounted.
Meg whispered: ‘Why did you do that, Mam? You should have told him to run away. Hide among the trees!’
‘Shh’ I said. The King was examining Thane, his head, flank, ears and mouth were explored by what seemed expert hands. Through all this Thane stood a
lert, his head averted, and if a dog could be said to signal displeasure, he was doing so. The King of England was just another human and he was fussy about being handled, much less being touched, by strangers.
The King looked up and spoke to the equerry who signed to us to come forward. It was no more than a few paces but it felt a lot further.
Again we curtseyed and he looked up from handling Thane as if aware of us for the first time. We weren’t important.
‘He is your dog?’
‘Yes, Your Majesty.’
‘How old?’
‘About ten, Your Majesty.’ A wild guess since I had no idea, only that he had been with me for ten years. I could only pray that an advanced age might put the King off the idea of owning such a dog.
‘Indeed? Remarkable, he looks quite a young animal.’
Turning from stroking Thane’s head, he looked up at me, a flicker of recognition in those hooded eyes. ‘Ah, my physician’s sister, is it not?’
‘Yes, Your Majesty.’
He nodded towards Thane. ‘We like your deerhound. He would fit excellently into our kennels. He is without doubt the best specimen of his breed that we have encountered,’ he added approvingly.
A pause as he regarded me, smiling expectantly. I made no move and the pause became longer than was polite, as I knew and he knew what was next. What was expected? That I should curtsey again and say: ‘I would be honoured if Your Majesty would accept him?’
But I was damned if I would! Meg’s grip on my hand was imploring. I was so angry. Who had invented this ridiculous archaic custom by which a monarch had the right to claim everything he clapped eyes on? I wasn’t having any of it, it belonged to the Middle Ages and this was the twentieth century and I was a suffragette.
The King’s regard was very hard now, his smile growing thin. He wasn’t used to being kept waiting. His equerry was staring at me, frowning, shuffling his feet, an impatient throat clearing.
‘Your dog, is he not?’ the King asked again.
Suddenly Meg stepped forward, curtseyed and put a hand on Thane’s head.
‘No, Your Majesty. He is my dog. I cannot give him to you’ – she choked on a sob – ‘you can put me in the Tower of London if you wish, but you cannot have my Thane.’
Her voice broke, her courage failed and, kneeling, she flung her arms around Thane. But she wasn’t finished with the King yet. She looked up at him. ‘Your Majesty has a lot of dogs, but I have only Thane and he would die of a broken heart if we were parted.’
The King was taken aback; his open-mouthed equerry broke the silence, murmuring about extraordinary behaviour to me as if I was a very lax parent, adding something about the presence of royalty.
But the King cut him short, held up his hand. He looked at Meg for a moment, as she clung there holding onto Thane as if her life depended on it. He smiled thinly. ‘We would not dream of depriving you of your dog and he has an excellent name. Did you know that Thane is the word used by the ancient kings of Scotland?’
The equerry whispered, twittering, and the King said sharply: ‘Nonsense, Charles, besides we have no suitable bitch of his breed for mating.’ Remounting, he looked down at Thane regretfully. Puzzled he shook his head. ‘And we have no idea where we would find one to match him.’
As they rode off, Thane gave what was an almost human sigh of relief and we all went home to tell a shocked but relieved Vince of our encounter.
Meg was smiling now. ‘He is really quite a nice man, your king, Uncle Vince,’ was her verdict on the incident.
When Mabel heard, declaring Meg’s behaviour quite disgraceful and hinting that she should be punished, she was also surprised that anyone, especially the King of England, could seriously want That Dog.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Now that crisis had been dealt with I knew I could delay no longer. I must leave Meg with Thane and Mabel and set off immediately if I was ever to solve the mystery surrounding Lily’s death, whether it had been an accident, or whether, as I firmly believed, she had been murdered. And I had only days left to do this, even though I was acting against Vince’s wishes, Inspector Gray’s stern command and with precious few clues to follow.
The first place to begin was also the nearest. The stables where, according to Mabel, Lily had spent many of her leisure hours.
My entrance caused a little stir and not just among the horses. Unlike Olivia and Mabel, who were very definitely upper-class ladies, the appearance of this small woman with unruly yellow curls and a rather untidy gown raised considerable doubts as to whether the situation demanded the manner appropriate for what the stable lads had been brought up to regard as their betters. There was an air of uncertainty. Was I to be treated as serving maid or lady?
I remembered that first occasion when I had called in to enquire about a pony trap for the girls to discover that Mabel had the only one available. One lad bolder than the rest made up his mind, sallied forth and gave me an impudent stare. Another lad nudged him, winked and said: ‘Go to it, Bobby.’ Bobby had the look of a wide boy eyeing me up and down, considering his chances as he would all females from sixteen to sixty. A Casanova born in the wrong century and the wrong society to wreak havoc in female hearts, he was doubtless the lad Mabel had seen talking to Lily. Doubtless he had taken her on too.
Later, reporting my interview with Bobby to Mabel, she sighed wearily and said: ‘I dare say she would be delighted, grateful to have any fellow give her a second glance.’
‘Oh, I think it was perhaps more than that.’
On this occasion the lads came forward and stared at me again, uncertain.
‘Where is Bobby?’ I asked.
Jock, the older of the lads, came closer. Weather-beaten with a skin like crinkled leather, the result doubtless of forty years in charge of the stables, he shrugged. ‘Where is he? Who knows, miss? (I left that misstatement uncorrected) A right chancer, that one.’
‘Did he say when he would be returning?’
Jock stared at me. ‘No. Just walked out. Here today and gone tomorrow. Typical of lads these days. Not like when I was young and loyal to the family—’
My mind was racing. Two days ago, around the time Lily was drowned. Was Bobby her killer? I interrupted: ‘Did he say where he was going?’ I smiled, trying to make it sound like a usual polite enquiry, but Jock wasn’t fooled. He frowned, gave me a hard look. Why did this woman across at the cottage want to know Bobby’s movements? A bit old but you never knew with Bobby. His glance suggested he was calculating if I was one of his tarts.
I knew what he was thinking and decided immediate explanation was needed. ‘It concerns Lily, the young girl who drowned. Just talking to people who knew her, like Bobby,’ I added lamely.
Jock nodded. This seemed to satisfy him. ‘We dinna’ ken all that about the lad. Came from over Ballater way. Beater first, for the shooting, when he was about twelve. His mother was a servant up at the castle. He was adopted as a bairn—’
Now that was an interesting link to follow but I didn’t want his life story which, having won Jock’s confidence, I felt might be lengthy.
‘Was he friends with Lily?’
Jock paused and laughed. ‘Friends? Is that what you ladies are calling it now? There’s no word like that for Bobby, not with a lass. Ask the lads here.’
One of them listening, stopped polishing the harness and grinned. ‘Not with Bobby. It was all or nothing. A leg over—’
Jock coughed, threw an embarrassed glance in my direction and the lad stopped, flushed, and resumed polishing the saddle with great vigour. Here was a reason for getting rid of Lily. Had she regarded Bobby as her chance to escape from Mabel, form a new life? And had he lost his temper at that suggestion and killed her?
Jock had turned to another lad who had been on the fringes listening to the conversation. ‘Pete, you kenned Bobby more than the rest of us. This lady wants to know about him and the poor lass that drowned.’
Pete came forward nodding eagerly.
‘Ye ken, Jock, we all saw them at your seventieth birthday party.’
Jock took up the story, grinned. ‘Aye, aye, loads of ale and other things too, ye ken.’
I suspected drugs too, as Pete went on: ‘Right enough. Seems the lassie didna’ understand what we were saying. Only came in a lot ’cos she liked the horses, talked to them.’ He shook his head. ‘Bobby didna’ understand a word of it. Like foreign, it was.’ That didn’t surprise me. The locals were used to speaking Gaelic and I found the Aberdeenshire dialect when they reverted to it for my benefit completely baffling too.
‘Aye, Bobby thought he’d made it with her, that she was maybe from one of yon places abroad, ye ken,’ said Jock.
‘Austria, the Lipizzaners,’ the knowledgeable Pete nodded. ‘Where they breed them special kind o’ white horses.’ He shook his head. ‘Aye, kenning so much about horses, I said it was a pity they didna’ employ stable girls here.’
‘We wouldna’ get much work done, I’m thinking,’ said Jock and raucous laughter met this remark with all its possibilities where lascivious lads like Bobby were concerned.
As for me, I was getting nowhere fast, and trying to sound casual I asked if they knew where he had gone.
Jock shook his head. ‘Bobby could be very secretive-like, didna’ say all that much about himself ’cept when he was bragging about all the girls he’d had. He was aye after the main chance, ye ken.’
‘Was he upset about the girl drowning?’
Again Jock shook his head. ‘Could be. But not what you might call heartbroken for a lass he had been courting. All he said if I mind it right was “Too bad. What a waste of a good—”’ He stopped, blushed at the word he had bitten back, forgetting that I might be a lady.
‘Does his mother still work up at the castle?’
Jock looked vague. ‘I think she left a while back, found the work too hard for her. Chronic rheumatism, and all the early mornings, the stairs and them cold corridors.’
The Balmoral Incident Page 12
