The Lammas Curse (21 page)

Dr Watson was taking a
different but parallel line. “The rhyme also suggests MacBee can
get in and out of Cruddock Castle without being observed.”

“A fact confirmed by the sweat
she got from a sleeping lord.”

“Exactly! She must have been in
his bedchamber!”

“And she somehow wiped his brow
using his own handkerchief which she took away with her. Perhaps
she is a witch after all?”

“Don’t even suggest it! She
must have a key. She could have stolen one any time in the last
umpteen years. And I suspect that a glass of whiskey is rarely far
from his lordship’s reach. I think it safe to assume he is a heavy
sleeper.”

“She must have been in Lola’s
bedchamber too. She has an eyelash.”

“The brazen old hag!”

“What about the wart from
Redbeard on a slab? That must be a reference to Mr Brown. Did you
notice any disfigurement or incision?”

“He was fully clothed. His face
was horribly bloated but there was no disfiguring. Wait! I remember
looking at his left hand and thinking that the knuckle had been
badly skinned. I presumed it had scraped the wall of the well as it
went down but now that I think on it the cut seemed too neat. She
must have gone down to the cellar and incised the wart.”

“I thought you instructed Mr
MacDuff to lock it and keep the key.”

“I did – that’s another
question I want answered tomorrow morning.”

“Could she have sliced off the
wart before the body was transferred to the cellar?”

He considered the question
thoughtfully, rubbing his chin as he pictured the wound. “No, the
blood had congealed before the wart was cut off. There was no
bleeding around the knuckle.”

“That implies she in unlikely
to be the murderess.”

“In other words, she is merely
mad!”

“Or just practicing witchcraft
– using body parts for her spells.”

“It is sickening! I cannot
believe such practices are still going on at the dawn of the
twentieth century.”

“I agree but let’s not get
distracted by such issues.”

He cast his eyes back over the
paper. “The gore from a thickhead cleaved in two must be a
reference to the Australian who was killed by a falling branch.
What form did the gore take?”

“It looked like dried blood on
a section of scabrous white bark.”

“Yes, that matches the death in
a birch wood. What about the tooth? Roman jaw suggests the Italian
– what was his name?”

“Giuseppe Sforza,” she
supplied.

“Incredible! She must have
ripped the tooth straight out of the corpse’s mouth!”

“And the cat’s paw in the
sack,” she suddenly remembered. “It was black. It must have been
sliced off the drowned moggy.”

“Yes!” he agreed with a
shudder. “And she must have fished it out of the water later
because Mycroft did not describe the black cat as three-legged and
he would not have failed to pass on such a detail.”

“Do you realize what that
means?” she put to him, suppressing a cold shiver. “She seems to be
everywhere and nowhere, lurking about, almost invisible. She might
have witnessed all of the murders. She might even know who the
murderer is.”

He began shaking his head. “I
think she committed the murders herself! Her gruesome treasures
might be gory keepsakes. I think she takes a memento mori to remind
her of each killing. If time is of the essence or she is about to
be disturbed she flees and returns to the corpse afterwards.”

“Some of the keepsakes are not
from corpses,” she reminded.

“Not yet!”

“Blond hair from a Viking nob,
that must be Mr Larssensen and he is still alive.”

“There is no saying she would
not take a keepsake before the deed. If she is mad there does not
have to be any order or method to the killing spree and the grisly
collection.” He ran his eyes over the sheet of paper once more.
“Spittle from an old Salt – I’d wager that refers to Mr Bancoe. He
looks like an ancient mariner. The fingernail from a Darkie’s claw
- that must be either the Rajah or his factotum. They are not yet
dead but there is no saying they might not be next. I don’t want
you to go into Jackdaw Wood on your own,” he finished with
conviction. “In fact, don’t go with anyone at all. Not Mrs Ross and
not even Hamish Ross. It is too dangerous. We do not know who we
can trust.”

“You need to keep your wits
about you too,” she warned. “Three of the deaths occurred on the
golf course.”

“I am more worried for your
sake. Out here all alone.”

“Not quite alone.”

“You know what I mean.”

“In that case, I might tag
along tomorrow as an interested observer. I can provide moral
support to Miss Dee.”

He slapped the side of his
head. “Oh! I just remembered! Your little rhyme put it from my mind
completely. The Rajah has invited you to accompany him to Edinburgh
tomorrow. He is leaving immediately after breakfast and will stay
overnight on his private sailing ship moored in the harbour. If you
wish to accompany him you are to come with me in the morning to
Cruddock Castle with your luggage.”

“Did he say why he was going to
Edinburgh?”

“He said something about some
telegrams he needed to send and some business transactions to take
care of but my impression is that he is growing slightly bored with
golfing in general and Scottish life in particular. If it weren’t
for the Scottish play and the wedding I think he would have set
sail by now.”

“I think I will accept his
offer, not because I need to spend time in Edinburgh but because
the Rajah might throw more light on what has happened.”

“I have a secret,” confessed
the Rajah after they had been travelling for about three hours and
he had answered every question with a question of his own that
could be summarized: “Why does a beautiful young woman need to
dwell on such unpleasant happenstance?” So after three hours of
frustration when he finally said “I have a secret” the Countess
felt a spark of hope.

“Secret?” she smiled
encouragingly.

“What do you know about the
Lammas tiara?”

“Only what I read in the
newspaper – that it is considered to be the jewel in the crown of
Lammermoor. I have never seen it.”

“It is a coronet of diamonds.
The largest diamond, the jewel in the crown, was mined in Govinda.
The tiara once belonged to my family. It was stolen by Colonel
Fotheringay during the Indian Mutiny and commandeered by his
superior officer, Lord Cruddock. I am here to purchase the tiara
and restore it to its rightful place.”

“I did not realize it was for
sale.”

“It was not for sale, but I
approached Lord Cruddock and put to him an offer that was difficult
for him to refuse.”

“I see.”

“I watched him drop a
considerable sum on the baccarat tables in London last year and
noted how each time the magnitude of his bets was accompanied by an
increase in his consumption of whiskey – a tell-tale sign that a
man cannot afford his losses. The following day, when he had
sobered up and the painful extent of his losses dawned on him, I
invited him to dine and we came to an arrangement that suited us
both. Saving face was paramount. I understood that from the outset.
The golf tournament provided the perfect ruse. It was his
suggestion that I come as a guest to Cruddock Castle to observe the
tournament on the pretence of staging something similar back in
India. I would naturally be invited to stay for the wedding, and
afterwards, just as the happy bride and bridegroom embark on their
honeymoon, I set sail with the tiara in my possession and return it
to its original home.”

“I presume that without the
sale of the tiara his lordship would be near to bankrupt?”

“Creditors have been circling
for months. He has been keeping the wolves from the door with fairy
tales.”

“Fairy tales?”

“That his mother is not long
for this world.”

“Is that true?”

“Who knows?” he shrugged.
“Perhaps she is more robust than she appears, most old women are,
but the point is that she has an extraordinary collection of jewels
that have belonged to the family for generations. Upon her demise
the jewels will revert to the Cruddock estate. Presumably, his
lordship will bestow them on his wife but he has let it be known in
certain circles that he will use them to fend off the wolves. Of
course, if he sells the tiara to me he does not need to wish his
mother dead and can still bestow the jewels on his beautiful wife.
He also gets the funds he needs sooner rather than later.”

“If Lord Cruddock is as skint
as you say how is he financing the tournament?”

“I am financing the
tournament.”

“Does anyone else know of
this?”

He shook his head.

“Does anyone else know you are
purchasing the tiara?”

He tapped his nose with his
forefinger. “Discretion, remember? But it is more than just a
matter of saving face. If anyone else got wind of it the castle
door would soon be breeched and his lordship would be torn to
pieces by the wolves, provided his mother did not get to him
first.”

“She is aware of his gambling,”
pointed out the Countess.

“But not the extent of his
losses.”

“And his future wife?”

“She has other things to occupy
her mind.”

“The baby,” she guessed.

He nodded. “The pregnancy does
not fare well.”

“How do you know this?”

“The gossip of servants.”

“You listen to servants’
gossip?”

“Mr Chandrapur reports what he
hears.”

She doubted that servants would
gossip freely in front of a foreign factotum. “He is privy to the
gossip below stairs?”

“He moves like a ghost –
neither seen nor heard.”

“He is a handy servant to
have,” she remarked blandly, thinking again how much the man
reminded her of a cat.

“More than a servant - he is a
brother, the offspring of my father’s fifth wife. Our family is
large. I have twelve brothers and twenty-three sisters. Many have
positions in my household. Keep your friends close and your enemies
closer. The same applies to family – but doubly so.”

“If the sale of the tiara is so
hush-hush why are you sharing the news of it with me?”

He took her two hands in his
and brought them to his lips. “I think you sensed from our first
meeting that I had set my eye on you. When I spoke of taking a
fourth wife I think you understood what I was hinting at. I am
sharing the secret to prove that I take you into my confidence,
that I wish to share my worldly riches with you, including the
Lammas tiara, which I will bestow upon you for your lifetime the
day we are wed.”

“Is this a proposal?”

“Not yet,” he returned suavely,
arching a dark brow playfully. “I am merely voicing my intention,
honourable intention, I might add, and giving you time to think
about the sort of future you might want for yourself and your
future children.”

“You realize I am a widow.”

“I am aware of your
circumstances and your position. That is another reason I am
treading slowly. However, I must warn you…”

“Warn me?”

“I am accustomed to getting
what I want. When I set my eye on something I never fail to obtain
it, for instance, the Lammas tiara. I have waited many years to
secure it. I am a patient man. I bide my time. I wait for the right
moment. And when that moment arises I do not hesitate to obtain the
object of my desire.”

Once again, he kissed her hand
before relinquishing it.

“Think about my,” he paused
circumspectly and his dark brows drew down into a thoughtful frown.
“I won’t say ‘proposal’, that would be too formal, and the word
‘offer’ sounds too business-like, let me repeat, my honourable
intention. India is not as backward as you might imagine. Have you
ever visited my country?”

“Briefly,” she said. “My aunt
and I were guests of the Maharajah of Jaipurana, and I have never
considered India to be backward. Tell me about your other three
wives.”

By midday they arrived at a
coaching inn surrounded by a cluster of barns and stables set in a
clearing where several roads intersected just outside the Cruddock
estate. They had not taken the same road that initially brought the
Countess to the Borders, but took a shortcut through farmland and
forest, cutting north-east across Cruddock land. It sliced hours
from the journey and helped to explain how Mrs Ardkinglas knew to
expect them that first night for dinner even though the Countess
and Dr Watson had set off from Edinburgh hours ahead of Lady Moira
and her party.

While Fedir saw to the horses,
and Mr Chandrapur and Xenia set up a picnic in a sheltered spot by
a brook, the Countess stretched her legs. In a nearby field
children were building a large bonfire and chanting:

Remember, remember, the fifth
of November.

In a small barn an old woman
was busy weaving baskets. At her feet was an old border collie, fur
slightly matted. He gave a low menacing growl but did not move from
his chosen spot.

“Good day to you,” greeted the
Countess upon entering the barn. “Are your baskets for sale?”

“Yes, m’lady,” replied the old
woman. “Them that’s on that table are ready for market.”

“How much for this willow
basket?”

“Two shillings.”

“Do you sell bodkins?”

“Yes, m’lady. All sizes. Over
on that far shelf.”

The Countess checked the lethal
looking tools. “Do you have any five inch bodkins? I recall Lady
Cruddock mentioning that she prefers the five inch.”

“Yes, m’lady. Tis a popular
size for working the withy and it was Lady Cruddock which took the
last of the five inch bodkins only the other day.”

“Oh, that’s right she bought
four new ones.”

“No, m’lady. She bought
five.”