Death at Glamis Castle (34 page)

But many people in this world seemed condemned by an accident of birth, Kate reminded herself as she got out of bed and splashed water on her face. And yet they rose above those challenges and hereditary handicaps to fashion useful and more or less happy lives. She stripped off her gown and pulled on her stockings and underthings and a fresh white blouse and gray serge skirt, and twisted her hair into a loose knot at the back of her head, drawing it back from her face with a pair of silver combs. Eddy seemed to believe that he could not escape his inheritance, but perhaps that was true only as long as he was treated as aristocracy, as he was here at Glamis. If he could go to a place where he was not known and get a fresh start, he might be able to put his disappointments and losses behind him and build a new life, a
useful
life. And if Toria could insist on following her own heart's desires instead of merely serving her mother's wishes, perhaps she could have the home and family she wanted. And Flora too—there could be a new life for her, away from the sadness of her mother's murder. A happy ending for all three.

But Kate knew that happy endings, the stuff of romance, were hard to come by in the real world, where the best that could be achieved was the amelioration of pain and the establishment of a kind of balance between good and evil. Prince Eddy had been waited on and catered to all through his life, and learning to do things for himself would likely prove impossible. Toria had never opposed her mother, and it would be difficult for her to find the strength to do so now. Of the three, Flora would be most likely to succeed, Kate suspected. She had the strength, the resilience, and the independent spirit that would allow her to shape her own destiny. She could set her own goals, create her own plans, without having to worry about what others thought about her choices.

Kate gave herself one last glance in the mirror, tucked up a few loose curls, and straightened the collar of her blouse. Her camera and notebook sat on the table beside the door, and she picked both of them up as she left the room. If she and Charles were departing in a day or two, it would be a good idea to make as many notes and take as many photographs as possible, so that she and Beryl could remember what they had seen here. Beryl was still determined to write a Gothic tale set in this spectacular castle, the home of ghosts and monsters and long-dead queens. Kate smiled to herself, thinking about Lady Elizabeth of Glamis, the sweet little baby she had met the day before. Glamis was the home of future queens, too, if the gypsy fortune-teller was to be believed.

With the smile still on her lips, her camera around her neck, and her notebook in her hand, Kate walked down the hallway and stood at the window at the far end. It gave her a second-floor view of a bustling and busy scene: the working area of the castle, where the many self-sustaining components of the estate were all brought together in a harmonious, closely-knit whole. Off to the right lay the kitchen garden with its tidy rows of vegetables and berries, a woman in a bonnet and shawl picking gooseberries from a row of green bushes, while a girl with a hoe dug at the fresh earth. Beyond that was the chicken yard, where a large flock of brightly-plumaged birds scratched in the dirt, and still farther the dairy, where the rich milk from the estate's cows—grazing in the grassy meadows along the Dene Water—was made into butter and cheese for the castle kitchen. Directly in front of her were the carriage houses, stables, exercise yards, and kennels, all freshly-painted and neatly-kept. In the graveled yard, a boy was washing the spokes of a red-wheeled carriage with a long-handled brush, while another boy was leading a handsome brown horse out of the stable to a small forge where a farrier was already at work, shoeing another horse. Some distance away stood an impressive collection of glass houses, some quite large—fruit houses, perhaps—others smaller. Kate took special note of them, intending to ask the gardener to take her through them before she left Glamis. Much closer, between the castle and the kitchen garden, stood several large stacks of wood, and an old man with an ax was splitting fireplace kindling on a chopping block.

Kate raised her camera. Even a Gothic novel needed a few realistic details, and this industrious scene seemed to give a different kind of importance to the castle, tying it to the productivity of the land, connecting it with work and with the life of the workers. It seemed, somehow, a much more satisfying importance.

She pushed the casement window open, snapped one photograph, and advanced the film to take another. As she lifted the camera, though, a man came into the yard, carrying something over his shoulder. He was tall, with dark, ragged hair that brushed his collar, in contrast to the neatly-trimmed hair of the boys and men working in the yard. He wore old trousers, a stained leather jerkin, a dirty red neckerchief, and a brown felt hat that was decorated with colored beads and a feather. As he came closer, Kate could see that he was a handsome fellow, and that the thing he had slung over his shoulder was a tinker's pig.

Kate lowered her camera, frowning. It wasn't unusual for an itinerant tinker to seek work at country houses along his way, to knock at the servants' entrance and inquire whether there were any pots to be mended or knives to be sharpened. But how had he got past the sentries? And was this the same tinker who had visited Flora yesterday? The one—Taiso, Flora had called him—who had asked after Herman Memsdorff, and offered to take Flora and her “uncle” to Perth? The hair on the back of Kate's neck began to prickle, and a growing apprehension made her suck in her breath and hold it as the tinker came closer.

For his part, the man seemed to be quite nonchalant, his lips pursed as if he were whistling, making with a confident and jaunty grace for a door just beneath Kate's window. A few steps from the door, he paused, shifted his pig from one shoulder to the other, and took off his hat, wiping his forehead with a dirty sleeve.

Until that moment, Kate had been unsure of what to do. But as the man stood there, his hat in his hand, she leaned forward. “Taiso?” she asked, in a bright, gay voice. “Are you Taiso the tinker?”

Hearing his name, the man looked up, and Kate saw that he had quite extraordinary eyes, pale blue, so pale as to be almost glacial, and—oddly, for a gypsy—a narrow patrician face and a pinched nose. With a sudden shiver, she recalled another man with those same unforgettable eyes, icy blue eyes, cold as a frozen lake, and she remembered with a chilling clarity the last time she had seen him. It was on a beach in the south of England, near Rottingdean. Then, too, she had had a camera in her hands and she had taken his photograph. His name was Count Ludwig von Hauptmann, and he was a German spy.

The man still looked up, wary now, and suspicious. “Aye, I'm Taiso,” he growled, and then seemed to recollect himself, for he smiled and lightened his voice. “Any razors or scissors to grind? Anything in the tinker's line?”

“You'll have to knock at the door and ask,” Kate said. “I'm only a guest here. But I should very much like to take your photograph, if you will forgive my impertinence.” She leaned over the window sill to get a better angle and, before he could object, quickly snapped the shutter. “Thank you, Taiso,” she added in a satisfied tone. “That will do very well, I think.”

And with that, she turned away from the window and hurried off to find Charles.

Sherlock Holmes, in
“The Adventure of the Dancing Men”
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

 

 

 

 

Charles knew he was going to have a busy morning. He needed to get to the ice house, which seemed to offer at least the possibility of some physical evidence that might have been discarded by Eddy's captors. But the ice house could wait until he had attended to more pressing matters of command, which had to be settled before others could get on with their jobs.

Charles hunched over the Ordnance Survey map that Kirk-Smythe had spread on a table in the castle library, along with the hand-written reports from the checkpoints forwarded by Colonel Paddington, none especially noteworthy. At Charles's request, Angus Duff had come to the library, and the two of them had drafted a description of Hamilton. Charles had added a description of Memsdorff, as well, based on details offered by Flora. Duff had carried these to Colonel Paddington, with Charles's written order to forward them to the troops.

Before he began his work, Charles had ordered quite a large breakfast to be sent to the library. It had arrived just now on three trays, almost enough to feed, Kirk-Smythe had said in surprise, an entire company of soldiers.

“It's not all for us,” Charles said, forking a pair of sausages out of the chafing dish and thinking that Eddy would enjoy the hot food. While they ate, he related the events of the night before, and the story Eddy had told of his abduction and escape.

“So the Prince was in the castle all the time,” Kirk-Smythe said, shaking his head in amazement. He pushed his empty plate away and poured another cup of coffee.

“Not all the time,” Charles reminded him. “Flora smuggled him in the night before Kate and I arrived.”

Kirk-Smythe nodded. “Well, then, what's next?”

“Organizing a careful search for Hamilton and Memsdorff, who seem to have been the ones who kidnapped the Prince. And we have this German spy to think about.” Charles paused. “Flora said that a tinker named Taiso came to her cottage yesterday and asked for Memsdorff by name. We ought to go up to Roundyhill and—”

He was interrupted by a knock on the study door. A young private in field kit stepped into the room, clicked his heels, and saluted smartly. He was breathing hard. “Beg pardon, sir. Sergeant Adams sent me with an urgent dispatch from the checkpoint south of the village, on the Dundee Road.” He handed Charles a folded note.

As he opened it, Charles remarked, “You've pedaled all the way, I take it. What do you think of the bicycle?”

“Haven't used one much lately, I'm afraid, sir.” The private grinned ruefully. “This model takes a bit of getting used to, if you want to stay out of the ditch. But it's better than double time.”

Charles read the note twice and looked up. To Kirk-Smythe, he said, “At daybreak, a pair of boys found the body of a man, facedown in the shallow water along the shore of the millpond. The sentries at the southern checkpoint fished out the corpse and placed it under guard.” He turned to the young trooper, who was now breathing more easily.

“You saw the body, Private?”

“Yes, sir. In the water all night, if you ask me.”

“Can you describe him?”

“Thin, blond hair. The man from the castle who was with us said his name was Hamilton. He was a gamekeeper here on the estate.”

“Hamilton!” Kirk-Smythe exclaimed.

“Ah,” Charles said regretfully. Finding a dead Hamilton was much less profitable than finding a live one, for the dead man could tell them nothing—which might be the reason for his death. He considered the situation for a moment, then said, “Private, tell your sergeant that the body is to be brought here to be examined by the coroner. He should avoid attention in the village by taking the long way round. We don't want a public commotion over this.”

The trooper nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Cover the body, and allow no one to get a look at it,” Charles went on. “And tell your sergeant that this order applies particularly to the local constable. If you encounter him and he causes any difficulty, he is to be taken into custody.”

The trooper registered surprise. “Arrest the constable, sir?”

Charles sighed. “I'm afraid so. Now, be on your way, Private. And hurry.”

“Yes, sir.” The private saluted, executed a smart about-face, and opened the door to leave, only to collide with a breathless Kate, her camera in her hand.

“Charles,” she cried, flying across the room, “I've just taken the most remarkable photograph!”

“How nice, my dear.” Charles went to the desk to scribble a note to the coroner, asking him to come immediately to the castle. He put it into an envelope and handed it to Kirk-Smythe. “Have this delivered to Dr. Ogilvy, Andrew, on the double. We want him here when the body arrives.”

As Kirk-Smythe stepped to the door to give the note to the soldier outside, Charles went back to the table and picked up his coffee. “Do help yourself to some breakfast,” he said to Kate over the rim of his cup. “There's more than enough, and the sausages are quite good.” He gave her a sober look. “And you might be interested to know that the soldier you ran into was the bearer of bad news. Hamilton's body was found in the millpond this morning.”