The Lammas Curse (36 page)

The young lady continued to sit
like a marble statue in a museum.

“So you see,” croaked Lady
Moira, gathering breath to speak, “when I spoke to my son about the
termination of the abeyance this morning he flew into a rage and
tried to silence me by killing me. I used the bodkin which I
happened to have in my embroidery bag and stabbed him in the neck
as he came around the desk armed with a letter opener.”

“No! No!” wailed the
dispossessed Lady Cruddock, overcome by a surge of violent despair
as the ghastly truth hit home. “It cannot be true! It is a lie! A
trick! A falsehood! Noooo!”

“It’s all right, darling,”
soothed her lover, patting her glorious hair. “We will escape this
mad, murderous, evil place. It is cursed – the castle, the land,
the links – all of it! Let’s pack our bags and go as fast as we can
away from here before it casts a curse on our child!”

“Yes! Yes!” she sobbed,
wide-eyed and frightened at the prospect of unseen evil afflicting
her unborn child. “But I will take my jewels! They cannot take my
jewels!”

Together the pair rushed from
the room.

Hamish Ross fled out the French
window.

The statue came to life and
chased after him.

Mr Bancoe tried to flee too but
was collared by the long arm of the law.

“It was about witchcraft after
all,” sighed the Countess.

“It was about the golf too,” Dr
Watson reminded, wondering at the lack of triumph in her tone as he
gazed across the undulating greens to where Lady Mawson had finally
caught up to Mr Ross and Nessie had finally caught up to Thane –
both males having slowed themselves down somewhat deliberately.
“Not to mention the tiara.”

Together, they walked to the
end of the terrace without speaking.

“What about those birds at the
window during the second séance?” he said, turning and gazing up at
the battlements. “I suspect you had something to do with that
theatrical apparition?”

She considered denying it but
in the end nodded sheepishly. “I thought a séance might flush out
our thief. First, I had Xenia and Fedir search the golf bags in the
pavilion. When they found the fake tiara in Mr Bancoe’s bag, as I
expected they would, I thought a few tricks involving origami birds
dangling from fishing line tied to golf clubs might prompt a
confession but I’m afraid it fizzled out rather badly - the same
with the dangling tiara!”

He hid his smile behind his
hand. “The night was not a total loss. Lady Moira predicted the
death of her son and discounting supernatural forces she would know
because she would commit the murder. The prediction she made about
the double-double death was obvious too. Everyone knew the Dees
were guilty. A pity they cannot be brought to justice. Death by
stag – who would have thought it! Still, you handled it well back
there. I was worried you might, well, over play your hand but you
did not disappoint. Sherlock would have been proud.”

“So you finally admit I am my
father’s daughter?”

“Not at all,” he denied
strenuously, biting his tongue. “I meant: Sherlock would have been
proud to observe such perfect deductive reasoning from one so
young.”

A surge of emotion welled up as
she fought to steady her voice. “When will you trust me enough to
take me into your confidence? When will you desist with the
delusion my father died at Reichenbach Falls then three years later
came back to life though no one who knew him personally has
actually seen him with their own eyes, and yet articles appear
regularly in the newspapers of cases he has solved and witnesses
swear to seeing the great detective out and about in London, and
you publish yet more chronicles of mysteries solved and cases
closed as if they happened yesterday, when you are merely
re-hashing old exploits, and you display his keepsakes in your
sitting room, not as mementoes mori but to delude visitors, because
it is clear to me he does not live there anymore! Why does Mycroft
refuse to meet with me? Why are you keeping the truth from me? What
are you hiding? What don’t you want me to know? Tell me, Dr Watson,
where is my father? Where is the real Sherlock Holmes?”

Incensed, she didn’t even wait
for him to reply but pirouetted on her heel and left him stupefied,
secure in his self-deluded certainty, afraid of the truth, stuck in
the past, incapable of stepping into the future though it was
staring him in the face and he was standing on the cusp of a new
dawn, a new century, a new way of living, being, doing, seeing,
knowing…

Lady Moira had been confined by
Detective Inspector MacDuff to her own bedroom until her transfer
to Edinburgh gaol could be arranged – though that event was looking
extremely unlikely considering the number of opium twists on her
bedside table.

“That was an excellent
performance you gave,” complimented the Countess after making sure
the dowager was alone.

“Likewise,” returned Lady Moira
pleasantly.

“Would you mind giving me the
fifth bodkin?”

“Whatever for?”

“So that I can slip it into
Lady Adeline’s embroidery bag to replace the one that is missing,
since several people are aware she carries one about with her,
while you don’t actually have an embroidery bag and even if you did
it is unlikely a lady of your rank would have taken it with her
while going to speak to her son in his private study about a matter
as crucial as abeyance, whereas a paid companion who is obliged to
carry numerous items for her employer at all times would.”

“Ah, yes, it is fortunate men
don’t notice details like that. It is the little things that often
trip one up in these matters. It would not do for Miss Lambert’s
bodkin to be unaccounted for.” Lady Moira fished the fifth bodkin
out from the pocket of her cloak. “I don’t know how to thank you.
Will you accept a small token of appreciation - a thistle brooch to
remind you of Scotland - solid silver with amethysts for the
thistle flowers? It is my favourite piece, not the most valuable,
but the one I cherish the most. I have a second one, very similar,
would you be so good as to deliver it to my dear friend, Madame
Moghra. She is currently staying in York. I promised to attend one
of her shows, but it looks as though I will be unable to stay true
to my word after all.”

“Is she starring in one of the
York Mystery Pageants?”

“No, she is a Spiritualist -
the best medium in all of Britain, possibly the world.”

The Countess thanked Lady Moira
for the brooch and turned to go then whirled back. “Will you tell
me what really took place in the study?”

The old lady sighed heavily and
fell weakly into an armchair. “It is as I described earlier but
instead of me it was Miss Lambert who confronted my son in his
study – I use the name for the last time. I walked in as he was
rounding the desk armed with a letter opener, a murderous glint in
his eyes such as I have never before witnessed. He would have
murdered her had my sudden arrival not distracted him and stayed
his momentum. Struggle would have been futile. He was much stronger
than both of us combined. In the blink of an eye she whipped out
the bodkin and stabbed him in the neck. It was an instinctive act
of self-defence. She was protecting me too. Fortunately most of the
blood spurted the other way. Afterwards, I helped her to clean
herself up and change her dress. I also changed my own gown, which
you cleverly pointed out to everyone – thank you for not mentioning
her change of garment - and convinced her that it was better for me
to take responsibility as my days were numbered and it was only
fitting she allow me to atone for 100 years of wrong before I
passed to the Otherside. She was numb with shock and acquiesced
before she had a chance to think about any repercussions. I think
it best she not know we had this conversation.”

The Countess agreed. “It is
just as well men don’t notice minor details like the clothes of a
paid companion and that her ladyship is too narcissistic to notice
the clothes of anyone but herself. It has been a pleasure and a
privilege to know you, Lady Moira.”

“Likewise, dear Countess. By
the way, you are a perfect partner for Dr Watson - and I don’t mean
matrimonially. I met Mr Sherlock Holmes once. You bear an uncanny
resemblance to the great detective. His one failing was that he
viewed crime as a conundrum to be solved, pure and simple. It is
just as well he has retired to the countryside since that terrible
incident in Switzerland, bee-keeping, I hear. With Dr Watson, crime
and punishment is about justice, and in this instance justice will
be served – a life for a life. Bless him, but he sees the world in
black and white, good and bad, right and wrong. But to you, perhaps
because you are a woman - crime and punishment is about
in
justice.”

Dusk was purpling the Borders
with broad strokes by the time the Countess turned over in her mind
what Lady Moira let slip about bee-keeping. Slowly, she drifted
through the painterly mauvish light toward the romantic ruins where
she found MacBee perched on a fallen stone. The third sister was
watching Hamish dismantling the stairs to the parapet, venting his
spleen one angry stone at a time. Jackdaws circled overhead,
lamenting the destruction.

“May I sit with you?”

“Please do, dearie.”

“Did the twins know before they
died who you were?”

MacBee cocked her head and
sniffed the air like a wild animal, as if sensing a change in the
weather for the worse. She blinked back some tears and used a grimy
sleeve to wipe her dripping nose. “Yes, dearie, they did. Mrs Ross
handed them a note the night of the wedding saying I wanted to see
them out by the abbey ruin. My note promised to reveal to them a
great secret. They thought I had some hidden treasure for them and
came running like children after a treat. The truth hit them hard.
They called me a filthy liar and a mad witch. Catherine slapped my
face; Carter spat in my eye. I had already planned to kill them. I
didn’t want them to hang. But I wanted to kill them out of love not
hate. In the end they denied me even that tiny scrap of happiness.
I stabbed them before they realized what I was up to then I thrust
the tines into the wounds to disguise where the knife blade had
gone in. Do you want the antlers back? I hid them under Widdershins
Brig.”

The Countess shook her head.
“Keep them. Perhaps one day you can clean them up and put them back
where they came from. I am going to give Graymalkin to Dr Watson as
a Christmas present. I’m sure he will be happy for you and Mrs Ross
to stay on and look after the place. The old house will not be so
empty. You know Horace has proposed marriage to your other sister
and is planning to make a go of the hotel? I think it will thrive.
There is nothing like a few grisly murders and talk of witches to
attract the beau monde from London!”

MacBee chuckled ruefully. “It
will end well for some at least, perhaps even for the children of
Alice Mawson.”

“Yes, Lady Adeline is talking
about turning Mawgate Lodge into a club house so that the abbey
ruins can remain as they are. She and Hamish will be married as
soon as he comes to his senses and realizes what wonderful
custodians of Lammas Castle the two of them will be.”

MacBee hunched her bony
shoulders and hugged her Black Watch tartan cloak closer to her
sexless breast as the hyperborean barbarian swept across the icy
waters of Loch Maw signalling the start of another bleak campaign.
“I might move back to Graymalkin now you mention it, dearie.
Methinks the days are getting shorter and the Scottish winters are
growing longer.”