The Lammas Curse (27 page)

The Countess nodded, relieved
that the actress was not as stupid as she imagined and not as
defensive as she feared. “Can you recall the two occasions?”

“Yes,” said Lola with
surprising certainty. “The first time was during the first
rehearsal in the chapel. I came back to my room and found that
things on my dressing table, the chest of drawers and both bedside
tables had been moved just a fraction.”

“Darling, why didn’t you
mention it at once?”

“I was feeling utterly drained
and had a frightful headache. I didn’t have the strength to deal
with anything after that appalling rehearsal. Besides, nothing was
missing so I put it down to the maid’s carelessness.”

“And the second time?” pressed
the Countess.

“The second time was the night
of the séance in the library. I came back to my room, dazed and
giddy from my swoon, and after a brief rest noticed that several
things were not in their usual place, including several pairs of
shoes and some hat boxes. That’s why I thought the maid’s story
unlikely, it meant someone had rifled through my dressing room.
Again, nothing was missing.”

“Before I leave you I would
like to ask you one last question,” the Countess began gently.
“Last night I saw you in the upper gallery at midnight. May I ask
where you were going?”

“Where was I going?” Lola
repeated dizzily, feigning a momentary spell of forgetfulness. “Oh,
yes, now I remember. The play being such a success, my mind was
racing and I couldn’t sleep. I decided to read until I felt sleepy
but I had left my book in the conservatory that afternoon. Silly of
me! You must have seen me when I went to retrieve my book.”

All gleams and graces, the
Countess smiled agreeably. “By the way, where is the key to the
document chest? Not that it matters now that the tiara has been
stolen from the library.”

Lola looked relieved and rather
proud of herself, her ample bosom rose to the occasion. “Well, at
least it wasn’t stolen while it was with me. Old Hecate would never
have let me forget it.” She turned her head to the Boule armoire
and smiled triumphantly. “I took a leaf from Shakespeare or Marlowe
or someone who writes plays. The key is hidden in plain sight,
sitting in the lock of the armoire. I wound a red ribbon around it
and attached a tassel to it to make it look fancy. I thought that
the more it stood out, the less likely anyone would take any notice
of it.”

“You are very clever, darling,”
praised her fiancé, gazing at her bosom while bringing her hand to
his lips and kissing it fondly, happily forgetting that a priceless
heirloom was still missing. “I think that was in a book by Sir
Walter Scott.”

“It was Poe,” said the Countess
as she left the lovers to themselves, marvelling at Cupid’s
delusion. She felt equally certain of something else too. The tiara
had not been stolen by an outsider. Most likely it had been stolen
by someone who had been creeping about during the night. And that
meant the tiara was still somewhere inside the castle. “He writes
horror.”

Dr Watson was alone in the
library looking for clues when the Countess returned to the scene
of the crime. He was on all fours under the glass cabinet,
inspecting shards of glass, lint, food crumbs and wilted flower
petals.

“Murdered or not?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Lady Moira,” he reminded
flippantly.

“Oh, yes,” she pouted. “I must
admit I was extremely disappointed to find her still breathing.
Have you found any clues?”

“Every man and his dog was in
this room last night and they all left a clue,” he returned with
disgust. “Take your pick!”

She got down all fours not to
look for clues but to recount what Lola had told her about the
derangement of her room and the key with the tassel.

He sat back on his haunches,
deftly avoiding the broken glass. “So the theft was not impulsive
but planned and last night provided the perfect opportunity to put
that plan into action. After you left the library I took advantage
of everyone’s confusion and eagerness to clear their name. I asked
them to account for their movements during the night.”

She waited for him to flip open
his pocketbook.

“Mr Dee went to his sister’s
room to discuss the decision that had been made about granting Mr
Larssensen and Mr Bancoe an extra game. They claim they were
incensed and wanted to discuss a strategy of counter-attack which
they planned to put into action at breakfast.”

“They provide alibis for each
other,” observed the Countess.

“Yes, we have only their word
that they remained together until two o’clock when Mr Dee took
himself off to bed. By the way, I recently discovered that they
have dressed as each other in the past, with great success. If they
needed to give each other an alibi it would not have proved
difficult, especially from a distance. You think you are looking at
Miss Dee when it is Mr Dee instead, and then vice versa straight
afterwards.”

“Yes, very handy. And Mr
Larssensen?”

The doctor glanced at his
notes. “He says he left his scoring book in his changing room and
forgot to pick it up at the end of the performance. He was worried
it might be mistaken for rubbish and went to retrieve it as soon as
he realized it was missing.”

“He was crossing the entrance
hall when I spotted him so it is possible he may have been on his
way to the chapel to retrieve his scoring book before going to meet
Lola in the conservatory.”

“What makes you think they met
in the conservatory?”

“She claimed she left her novel
in the conservatory and went to retrieve it because she was having
trouble sleeping. I seriously doubt the veracity of her statement
but I don’t think that indicates she stole the tiara. I believe she
was trysting with her lover. What surprises me is that Lord
Cruddock appears oblivious to the deception. He appears to be a
besotted fool.”

“He is never far from a whiskey
tumbler – it dulls the senses.”

“Perhaps that is the point – it
dulls the brain too. What about Mr Bancoe?”

The doctor checked his notes
again. “He says he went down to the billiard room for a tipple of
whiskey because he was wound up from the play and couldn’t
sleep.”

“Another dipsomaniac! He was
heading for the bachelors’ stairs when I spotted him. They lead to
the billiard room, so it is possible he was telling the truth. He
was wearing one of those silly old bed caps that went out of
fashion last century, mismatched golfing socks, a bright red
dressing gown and he was slipperless. He looked like a pantomime
version of Father Christmas and Scrooge rolled into one. I nearly
burst out laughing.”

“What about Mr Larssensen –
what was he wearing?”

“He was still dressed in his
dinner suit.”

“And Mr Dee?”

“Purple velvet smoking jacket,
chartreuse cravat and tartan pyjama pants. The combination was very
stylish.”

“Really!”

“Oh, yes, I think a velvet
smoking jacket gives a man a sense of panache. I could buy you one
for Christmas. I have been wracking my brains for a suitable
gift.”

He gave a hearty dismissive
laugh as he closed his notebook. “I would not be caught dead in a
velvet smoking jacket! By the way, what do you fancy for
Christmas?”

“Well, there’s a nice little
Caravaggio – Michelangelo not Polidoro - that I have had my eye on
for some time at the Chasleton Art Gallery in Bond Street.”

“In that case, you can expect a
Christmas card and a box of chocolates.”

“And you can expect a dark
green velvet smoking jacket with a quilted cerise silk collar and
the same for the buttons, with a chartreuse cord. Did you get a
chance to quiz Lord Cruddock or the Rajah about what they were
discussing in the study at that late hour?”

He was trying
not
to
picture the smoking jacket from hell. “They said they were going
over the accounts pertaining to the golf tournament.”

“And Miss Lambert was fetching
some warm milk for Lady Moira. I saw the glass she was carrying.
That accounts for everyone.”

“You don’t seriously suspect my
niece?”

“Your wife’s niece,” she
corrected. “And no, I don’t. The only person conspicuous by absence
is the ubiquitous shadow-cat, Mr Chandrapur. Where was he at
midnight?”

The doctor crawled out from
under the cabinet and brushed himself down. “I cannot see a devoted
servant stealing a tiara that his master has agreed to
purchase.”

“Mr Chandrapur is not exactly a
devoted servant,” said the Countess, adjusting her petticoats and
straightening her skirt.

“I stand corrected –
factotum.”

“I meant that Mr Chandrapur is
the Rajah’s half-brother.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this
sooner?”

“I did not think it was
important. I’m sorry. You’re right. We cannot withhold information
from each other no matter how trivial it may seem. Which reminds me
- the Rajah once remarked that he likes to keep his enemies close
and his family closer – implying something underhand, some danger.
I don’t think the factotum is as devoted as he seems.”

The doctor pulled some lint off
his sleeve. “That puts Mr Chandrapur in an entirely different
light. The theft of the tiara could well be his doing. Let’s return
to Graymalkin. There is nothing more to be done here. The servants
have been instructed to search high and low for the tiara,
including scouring the gardens, the stables and the golf links,
leaving no stone unturned. The steward has set off on horseback for
Edinburgh to telegraph to Scotland Yard, however I think it will be
a day or two before a detective arrives to take charge.”

Together they walked to the
library door.

“Something puzzles me,” said
the Countess, looking back at the shards of glass. “Am I imagining
things or did Lord Cruddock and the Rajah appear unmoved by the
theft?”

He stopped suddenly and looked
back too as if picturing the scene in his mind’s eye. “Yes,” he
said pensively. “So they did.”

When they reached the door the
Countess put her hand on top of the doctor’s to defer him from
turning the brass knob. She brushed off another bit of lint
clinging to his sleeve and lowered her voice. “Something else just
occurred to me. The factotum may not have stolen the tiara for
himself but he may have been instructed to steal it for someone
else?”

“Such as?”

“Someone who has had something
stuck in his craw for a long time…someone who might not wish to pay
for something which once belonged to him in the first place.”

Thane was toasting himself in
front of the coal range and Hamish Ross was sitting at the kitchen
table with his mother when the doctor and the Countess returned to
Graymalkin. They had just finished their lunch and they had already
heard the news concerning the missing tiara. Hamish had been
charged with the task of scouring Jackdaw Wood and searching the
cottage of Mother MacBee since no other man was brave enough to
take on the task. The cottage was set in a part of the wood where
some trees had been felled in a storm a few years back. The fallen
trees pointed the way better than a compass. He bid them a good day
and kissed his mother on the cheek.

The doctor caught up to him on
the footbridge.

“Wait up!” he called to the
ghillie. “I have been meaning to ask you something.”

The waters of Fickle Beck were
running high since the yew had been removed. They made a hell of a
clamour as they tumbled over the stones where the two men stood
facing each other. Hamish was clearly in a hurry but the doctor was
not one for long-windedness.

“I understand you looked into
the tea trade venture that went horribly wrong?” he phrased without
preamble. “The one where your mother lost her savings and which
Colonel Ardkinglas had recommended.”

The hardy-handsome features
twisted themselves into a bitter scowl. “More like a swindle than a
venture,” he said with rancour. “But it is water under the bridge
now. Why bring it up?”

“I’m not sure, but do you
remember the name of the ship that sank?”

“East Wind.”

“Apart from Mr Crawford Dee and
the Ardkinglas family can you recall anyone else who lost a
substantial amount of money?”

“What do you call substantial?”
the young man grated out belligerently, turning abruptly on his
heel and stalking off.

He got to the end of the
footbridge before reconsidering. Dr Watson was still watching
him.

“The Rajah of Govinda lost the
most,” Hamish shouted back over his shoulder. “Twice as much as Mr
Crawford Dee and more than all the rest put together.”

Catherine and Carter Dee
arrived unexpectedly at Graymalkin in the afternoon. Cruddock
Castle was being turned upside down and inside out. Everyone’s
rooms were being ransacked and there was no privacy to be had
anywhere. Lady Moira and Miss Lambert had removed themselves to
Mawgate Lodge but not before having their bags thoroughly
inspected. Lady Moira was livid with indignation and Miss Lambert
was pink with embarrassment. The guilty never blush philosophised
Mr Dee. And Miss O’Hara had become insufferable, added Miss Dee
tartly. Posing for photographs and giving interviews which had
nothing to do with the missing tiara but focused on her life story
growing up in Dublin, liberally sprinkled with anecdotes about all
the plays she has starred in. She changed her clothes three times,
each time with more décolletage on display, much to the delight of
the reporters and photographers who were now going over the library
with a fine tooth comb like a bunch of Sherlock’s.

“What is worse,” complained
Miss Dee as they settled in front of the fire in the sitting room,
“is that my brother and I have been told we cannot even play a
round of golf. The links are out of bounds until a search has been
conducted.”