by Rhys Bowen
“I suppose you can use it if you insist upon it,” Fig said. “It’s just that we never do. Not after luncheon.”
“It’s probably haunted,” the big man chuckled. “The ghost only appears after the stroke of twelve midday. Babe swears she saw a white figure floating down the corridor upstairs.”
“That would be the White Lady of Rannoch,” I said. “Did you hear her moaning? She often moans.”
“Moans?” Babe looked apprehensive.
“Frightfully,” I said. “She was thrown in the loch with a great stone tied to her for being a witch. The locals also say that they see bubbles coming up from the loch and that could be the White Lady returning. Of course, it could be just the monster.”
“Monster?” The countess sounded alarmed now.
“Oh yes. Didn’t you hear we have a famous monster in the loch? It’s been there for hundreds of years.”
“Mercy me,” the countess said. “I think I might skip the cards tonight and go straight to bed. Fritzi, would you pop up ahead of me and make sure there’s a hot water bottle in the bed and that my nightdress is wrapped around it?”
“Of course, Mama.” He nodded dutifully and went.
“Well, I need my nightly gamble,” the big man said. “You guys go take a look at that morning room place and I’ll go fetch the roulette wheel.”
They disappeared. Fig looked at me. “Now you can see for yourself,” she said. “Torment, utter torment. Did you ever hear of anyone wanting to use the morning room after luncheon?”
“Never,” I agreed.
“You’d think the one who became a countess would know better, wouldn’t you? She does have a castle in Austria.”
“And the other man is an earl, isn’t he?” I commented, watching his large retreating rear.
Fig broke into tense laughter. “No, that’s just his Christian name. I made the same mistake and called his wife ‘countess’ and she thought it was a hoot.” She went to walk ahead then turned back to me. “But tell me, what was all that about the White Lady of Rannoch? I’ve never heard of her.”
“I made her up,” I said. “It occurred to me that if you want the Americans to leave, you should make them want to leave. The occasional nighttime haunting by the family ghost might help to do the trick.”
“Georgiana, you are wicked,” Fig said, but she was beaming at me with admiration.
“And we can institute some other measures to make them uncomfortable,” I said. “Turn down the boiler, for one thing. We did that at Rannoch House when we wanted the German baroness to move. They won’t stay if they can’t get their hot showers.”
“Brilliant!” Fig was still beaming.
“And does Fergus still play the pipes?” I asked, referring to one of our grooms who led the local pipe band.
“He does.”
“Have him play them on the battlements at dawn, like they used to do in the old days. Oh, and serve them haggis for breakfast. . . .”
“Georgiana, I—I mean, we couldn’t. Word would get back to the Prince of Wales and he’d be angry with Binky.”
“What for?” I asked. “We’re just carrying on our normal family traditions to make them feel welcome.”
She stared at me hopefully. “Do you really think we dare?”
“Let me put it this way: how long do you want them to stay here?”
“We’ll do it,” she exclaimed. “We’ll turn it into a castle of horrors!”
The sound of laughter erupted down the hallway from the direction of the drawing room. “And I should go and remove the whiskey decanter from those two cousins of yours,” she said. “They break things when they get drunk.”
“I suppose I should come and say hello,” I said hesitantly.
“You should.” Fig strode ahead. She pushed open the drawing room door. Two young men in kilts looked up as we came in. The room was in a fog of cigar smoke—Binky’s cigars, I suspected.
“Och, hello, Cousin Fig. Come and join us,” one of them said. “We’re just celebrating the removal of the American terror.”
“And finishing Binky’s good Scotch, I notice,” Fig said, holding up an almost empty decanter. “When it’s gone there isn’t any more, you know. We’re absolutely paupers, Murdoch.”
Murdoch’s eyes drifted past her to see me standing in the doorway. “And who’s yon bonnie wee lassie?”
“This is your cousin Georgiana,” Fig said. “Georgiana, these are your cousins Lachan and Murdoch. I don’t believe you’ve met for many years.”
Two giants with sandy hair rose to their feet. They were both wearing kilts. One had a red beard and looked like the Rannoch ancestors come to life. Then I looked at the other. He was clean shaven and was—well, rather good-looking. Tall, muscled, rugged. Like a Greek god, in fact. He held out his hand to me. “No, this is never little Georgie. Remember when you used to make me play at being your horse and carry you around the estate on my back?”
“Oh, that was you.” I smiled, the memory returning. “I do remember when Murdoch threw that tree trunk through the window.”
“Och, he does things like that,” Lachan said, still smiling down at me and still holding my hand. “So come and sit down, have a wee dram, and tell us what you’ve been doing.”
“I’ve just had a drink with Fig,” I said, in case she thought I might be joining the enemy. “And I’ve been leading a blameless life in London. How about the two of you?”
“Running the estate, mainly,” Murdoch said. “We can’t afford the manpower any longer so we both have to work like dogs to make a go of it.”
“Apart from the times you’re away at your Highland Games,” Lachan pointed out.
“I win prizes at those Highland Games. Didn’t I win us a pig last year? And a barrel of whiskey?”
“You did. But then you also went down to Aintree for the races and then to St. Andrew’s for the golf,” Lachan said with a grin.
“Well, that’s business, isn’t it?” Murdoch replied. “I have to go to Aintree to watch our racehorses.”
“While I’m stuck at home dipping the sheep.”
“Of course, I’m the elder.”
“But I’m the smarter.”
“You are not. Whatever put such an idea into your thick head?”
They had half risen to their feet. Fig looked at me nervously, suspecting this might come to blows. “Georgiana, you really should look in on your brother before he goes to sleep.”
“Of course,” I said. “Excuse me, won’t you?”
“Come back when you’re done,” Lachan said. As I went out I heard him say, “Whoever thought that wee Georgie would turn out so nicely?”
And for the first time in ages I smiled to myself.
Chapter 11
Castle Rannoch
August 17
Now very late in the evening.
“So that’s the sum total of your house party?” I asked Fig as we started to climb the staircase to Binky’s room. “Two wild cousins? In which case it’s lucky Mrs. Simpson brought her own friends.”
“Of course that’s not the sum total,” Fig said. “We have two more young men staying here. I don’t know where they’ve disappeared to.”
“No other women?”
“It is a shooting party, after all,” Fig said. “I believe Binky did ask a couple of females but they were busy.”
I grinned to myself. It would indeed take a brave young woman to endure Castle Rannoch. “Not too many women are interested in shooting, I suppose,” I said kindly.
“I can’t see why not,” Fig said. “I absolutely adore it.”
“So who are these young men?” I asked, feeling suddenly hopeful at being the only unattached female in the group. “Anyone I know?”
“Well, you must know Prince George.”
“The king’s youngest son?” I asked. “Oh yes, I know him well enough.” As I said it I remembered a rather disreputable party at which His Highness had begged me not to mention to anyone that I�
�d seen him there.
“An ex-navy officer and quite handsome,” Fig went on. “A good catch for you, Georgiana.”
Again I kept quiet about the look that had passed between him and the performer Noel Coward, and the fact that I’d seen him slip into the kitchen at that party, where I later found cocaine being used. Not such a good catch, in fact. But quite pleasant, as relatives went.
“I expect the king and queen have someone of higher rank than me in mind for their son,” I said tactfully. “A European alliance at this unsettled time.”
“Speaking of which,” Fig said, and stopped short. Voices were coming down the upper corridor toward us. Male voices. One of them had a strong foreign accent.
“Shall we attempt to ascend that mountain tomorrow, do you think?”
I froze on the stairs. “No, not him!” I hissed as I recognized that voice. It was my nemesis Prince Siegfried, of the house of Hohenzollen-Sigmaringen, whom everyone expected me to marry. Since I referred to him as Fishface and knew that he prefered boys, I was less than enthusiastic about this. A horrible thought crossed my mind that this whole thing was a plot. I’d been whisked back to Scotland not to solve any crime but to be thrust together with the man I so vehemently avoided. If I spotted a priest while I was in the same room as Siegfried, I resolved to run.
“Prince Siegfried, you mean?” She looked innocently at me. “You don’t like him? He has beautiful manners and he’s connected to all the great houses of Europe. He might even be king someday. If anything happens to his brother.”
“Like being assassinated, you mean?”
“Well, yes, but . . .” She stopped, as the speakers had come into view. They were chatting merrily and stopped in surprise when they saw us.
“Good heavens, it’s Cousin Georgie,” Prince George said. “When did you get here?”
“Just arrived, sir, “ I said.
“I didn’t know you were expected. How jolly,” my cousin went on. “And look here, you don’t have to call me ‘sir’ when we’re alone. I know my father expects it at all times. Mother even makes the granddaughters curtsy to her each morning. They just can’t see that all these stuffy rules are obsolete. This is the jazz age. People should be free, shouldn’t they, Siegfried?”
“Not too free,” Siegfried said. “Within our class, maybe. But as for encouraging the lower classes to be too familiar, I am afraid I am against it.” He bowed to me and clicked his heels. “Lady Georgiana. We meet again. How delightful.” He sounded about as delighted as one who has been presented with a plate of rice pudding.
“Your Highness.” I nodded in return with an equal amount of enthusiasm. “What a pleasant surprise to find you here.”
“So you’ve come to join the shooting party, have you?” Prince George asked.
“I have. Is Binky still arranging a shoot here or are you going over to Balmoral to join theirs?”
“We’ve been over to Balmoral a couple of times. Binky’s’s a bit out of commission at the moment, as you’ve probably heard. We’ve just been cheering him up, haven’t we, Siegfried?”
“What? Oh ja, absolutely.”
“So why aren’t you staying at Balmoral?” I asked the prince.
“Too impossibly stuffy, and Mummy going on at me to hurry up and get married. And then all the tension with David. They’ve heard that the Simpson woman is here, of course, and, like our great-grandmother, they are not amused.” He grinned.
“Well, would you be?” I said. “The Prince of Wales will be king someday. Can you imagine a Queen Wallis, if she ever casts off her current husband?”
The prince chuckled. “I do get your point. David simply doesn’t take the job seriously. He’s a good enough chap, kind and generous, y’know, but he finds the affairs of state too boring and I can’t say I blame him.”
“You’re lucky,” I said. “The job won’t come to you unless there is another huge flu epidemic or a massacre.” I had been exchanging banter but as I said it I felt a cold shiver pass over me. Could it be true that somebody was trying to eliminate those who stood between him and the throne? I’d have to look at the succession list in the morning and see who that could possibly be. Certainly not Prince George. Being king would put an end to his current lifestyle.
“You’re looking awfully pensive,” he said. “Come down and have a nightcap with us. Are your fearsome cousins still ensconced in the drawing room?”
“They are.”
“My God, what brutes. Throwbacks to the stone age, didn’t we agree, Siegfried?”
“Oh yes, absolute brutes. We risk our lives every time we encounter them.”
I stifled a giggle, as they both seemed rather enchanted with this.
“I’m on my way up to see Binky,” I said, “but I’ll no doubt see you in the morning. Your Highnesses.” I inclined my head again.
Siegfried clicked his heels and we passed on the stairs.
“You see, Georgiana, two charming young men and you hardly say two words to them, much less flirt,” Fig admonished. “You have to learn to flirt, my dear, or you’ll wind up an old maid.”
I stole a quick glance at her solid, angular face. I was dying to ask if she had ever flirted with Binky and if she had, why he hadn’t run screaming in the opposite direction. Apart from her pedigree she didn’t seem to have much going for her.
We continued along the hallway. Cold drafts swept past us, stirring the tapestries and making me think that I could easily do more with this White Lady of Rannoch idea. From outside the castle came the sound of a screech owl. Definitely a place that lent itself beautifully to ghosts and ghoulies and long-legged beasties and things that go bump in the night. At the far end Fig opened the door cautiously. “Binky, are you awake?” she whispered. “I’ve brought someone to see you.”
My brother raised himself from his pillows and turned to look in our direction. “Georgie,” he exclaimed with delight, and held out his hand to me. “What a lovely surprise. And how good of you to come. You heard about your poor brother’s accident and rushed to his side, did you? I call that splendid family loyalty.”
Whatever Fig had been told of the reason for my sudden arrival, she had kept wisely silent. I went over and kissed his forehead. He looked rather pale, and there was an improvised cage over his left ankle that was swathed in white linens.
“I’ll leave you two to chat then,” Fig said. “I’m off to bed. Those Americans have completely worn me out.”
“Sleep well, old thing,” Binky called after her. He looked back at me. “She’s been having a beastly time of it. Glad you’re here to keep her company.”
“How about you? I hear you’ve turned poacher,” I said. “Messing around with traps.”
“I like that. I nearly lose my foot and my sister makes jokes about it.”
“Only because I’m worried about you,” I said. I perched on the bed beside him. “What a rum thing to happen, Binky.”
“It most certainly was. I still can’t fathom it. I mean, if someone wanted to come and poach on our estate, they wouldn’t bother to walk a couple of miles from the boundary, would they? They’d nip under the fence and lay their traps in the woods where they wouldn’t be noticed. This was left out among the heather on that little path up the mountain that I like to take in the mornings. You know, the one that gives the good view over the estate and the loch.”
I nodded. “I used to ride up there sometimes. Lucky you weren’t on horseback or it would have snapped the horse’s leg.”
“It damned near snapped mine,” Binky said. “In fact if I hadn’t been wearing what grandfather used to call his ‘good stout brogues,’ I’d have lost my foot, I’m sure of it. As it is, I have to keep soaking it and having revolting poultices to prevent infection, but luckily no bones were broken.”
“Have you any idea who’d want to do a thing like this?” I asked.
“Some idiot who thought that the animal he was trying to trap habitually used that particular path,” Binky suggested.
“But as to what animal that could be, I’ve no idea. We’ve a couple of grand stags on the property at the moment but nobody could be crass enough to bring down a stag in a trap, could they?”
“If they were hungry enough and poor enough, I suppose.”
“But the risk of being seen when he went to collect the stag would be enormous. Besides, how could he drag it off the property? He’d be almost in full view of the castle all the way.”
“It does seem strange,” I agreed. “You don’t think . . .” I paused, weighing whether to say this. “You don’t think the trap was meant for you?”
“For me?”
“Everyone knows you like to take that walk in the mornings.”
“For me?” he repeated. “Someone wanting to harm me? But why? I’m a harmless sort of chap. No enemies that I can think of.”
“Perhaps someone wants to inherit Castle Rannoch,” I said, but my voice trailed off at the end. “So who would inherit Castle Rannoch if you died?”
“Why, Podge, of course,” he said.
Oh, golly, Podge, his son. Was he in danger too, and how could I warn his nanny without alarming her too much?
“And after Podge?”
“That pair who are working their way through my whisky. Murdoch’s the elder and then Lachan.” He looked at me and laughed. “But you’re not suggesting that they had something to do with this? Murdoch and Lachan? We’ve played together since we were boys.”
“Perhaps it was just a horrible practical joke that went too far,” I said.
“A practical joke? To set a trap that could take someone’s leg off? Not my idea of a joke.”
“I agree,” I said, “but they do seem like a wild pair. Perhaps they didn’t think the trap was very strong.”
“They know all about traps,” Binky said. “They had trouble with poachers a while back and they told me they were thinking of setting mantraps. I talked them out of it.”
“So this wasn’t a mantrap.”
“Oh no. Definitely meant for an animal.” He looked up at me sharply and then laughed. “What on earth put that into your head, Georgie? I mean to say, we’re no longer in the times of the clan wars. I can’t see any brazen Campbell sneaking onto the estate to have off my leg, nor any member of the Clan Rannoch trying to take over the castle. Who’d want it, for God’s sake? There’s no income from it. We had to sell off a good part of the land to pay the death duties, and all that’s left just produces enough for our daily needs. And as for living in the castle—well, I can understand those Americans complaining like billy-o. Of course the plumbing needs updating, and of course it would be a good idea to have central heating put in, but we’ve simply no money to do it.”
