Royal Flush (20 page)

Chapter 28

The laird’s lug and later Balmoral
August 21

Sir Jeremy took his leave soon after, saying that he had an appointment with the Aberdeenshire police at Balmoral. He’d be taking a room at the inn in Braemar, to be on hand, and I could always leave a message for him there.

“But this is in the hands of the police now,” he added as I escorted him down to the front door. “They’ll take fingerprints and with any luck the right guns will turn up. And we’re putting extra men to guard the members of the royal family.”

I watched him drive away, feeling empty and frightened. I wished that Darcy hadn’t gone. My grandfather was in a cottage nearby but this case was out of his league. He couldn’t barge into Balmoral and find a member of my social set who was trying to kill members of the royal family.

Then I stopped to think about this. Had I witnessed, actually witnessed personally, anyone trying to kill members of the royal family? The tumbling lavatory, the broken rope were not necessarily meant for Prince George. Hugo had possibly been shot quite deliberately because of what he had found out. So who had done something he needed to keep concealed? Of course my thoughts went straight to Paolo. He loved anything risky. He was currently under arrest for running down a helpless servant girl. I remembered how fast he was driving away from Balmoral yesterday. Had he shot Hugo and then gone to Castle Rannoch to retrieve Hugo’s notes before showing up at the boat, as cool as a cucumber?

I went out of the front door and started to walk across the park. A herd of fallow deer stood in dappled shadows. At the sound of my footsteps they looked up and darted away. I watched them bounding away and wondered how it would be if one always had to live on the lookout for predators. I identified with them at this moment. My thoughts moved on, replaying everything that had happened since I came to Scotland. I cringed with embarrassment as I remembered Hugo trying to talk to me. He had tried to get me into the laird’s lug—the one place where we had no chance of being overheard.

I froze on the spot. The laird’s lug—was it possible that he had left something there for me to find? I ran back to the house and through the great hall, then pushed aside a tapestry in the darkened hallway beyond. The small door in the wall opened and I felt my way up the steps into the small round chamber. It was only when the door closed behind me, plunging me into complete darkness, that I realized that of course there was no electric light. I was seized by a sudden and irrational fear that the killer would be waiting for me and I half stumbled, half slithered back down the stairs. I couldn’t find the doorknob for a moment and was about to hammer on the door when my fingers closed around it. I pushed out past the tapestry, nearly giving one of the maids a heart attack.

“Oh, my lady, you gave me such a fright,” she gasped. “I had no idea there was a door there. Oh, my goodness.” And she had to lean against the wall with her hand over her heart.

“Go and have a cup of tea, Jinty,” I said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Off she went and I went to find a candle and matches. Luckily they were not hard to locate in a place where frequent power cuts were the norm during bad weather. I also brought with me a doorstop and propped the door open. The candlelight flickered from the stone walls as I went into the chamber. Of course it was quite empty. It most resembled a prison cell, with a stone bench running around the wall and the ceiling tapering to a vault just above my head. Set into the wall were narrow slits that allowed past lairds to listen in to conversations in the rooms on the other side—presumably to see if anyone was plotting to assassinate him.

I felt silly about my panic and was about to leave when I noticed the map, lying on the bench in the far corner. I picked it up. It was a road map of central Scotland, put out by the RAC. Someone had drawn a circle extending about twenty miles out around the Balmoral area and written the words:
CastleCraig? Gleneagles? Dofc?
The last looked as if he had left a word unfinished.

I stood staring at it in the flickering candlelight. Had this map lain in the laird’s lug for ages, left by someone who wanted to do a bit of rambling through the glens, or had Hugo left it for me to find? The latter seemed a bit far-fetched until I looked down at the floor and noticed that it hadn’t been swept for some time and that there were signs of fresh footprints from a shoe bigger than mine. A man had been in here recently.

Leaving, I shut the door behind me and smoothed the tapestry into place, and encountered Hamilton coming out of the servants’ quarters. I asked him about the names.

“Castle Craig? Gleneagles? Dof-something? No, I can’t say I’ve heard of any of those places.”

“So you don’t think they are around here?”

“They are not any towns with which I’m familiar, my lady,” he repeated.

I wasn’t sure what to do next. Pass on the information to Sir Jeremy, I supposed. I also wondered what Fig would say if I requested the use of a car again. All that petrol to and from Balmoral would be beginning to add up. As I came into the great hall, I heard the sound of voices coming from the breakfast room.

“And I rather think they’ve gone out riding.” It was Fig’s voice, sounding annoyed.

But her words triggered a memory: I had promised Princess Elizabeth that I would take her out riding today. I had a perfect excuse to return to Balmoral and to pass on my information to Sir Jeremy. I went upstairs to change into my jodhpurs and hacking jacket, then I grabbed the remaining bun from the plate in Binky’s study and went out to find a motorcar.

“I am most happy to drive you, my lady,” our chauffeur said in a peeved voice when I asked for the keys.

“I really think you should be available in case Their Graces require you,” I said diplomatically. “Besides, it’s a rare treat for me to be able to drive myself.”

“I understand, my lady.” He handed me the keys and I climbed into the estate car. The moment I turned out of the carriage court I remembered that I hadn’t visited my grandfather yet. I should at least pop in to see him before I left. He’d be happy to know I was doing something harmless like going out riding with a princess. I pulled off the drive and left the estate car under the shade of a horse chestnut tree, then crossed the kitchen garden to the cottage.

I was just passing the runner beans when I had a brilliant idea: I broke into a run and arrived at Granddad’s cottage out of breath.

“Where’s the fire?” he asked.

“What fire?”

“You came bursting in here like all the ’ounds of ’ell were after you,” he said. “Don’t tell me something else ’as ’appened.”

“No, but I’ve just had a wonderful idea. I’m about to motor over to Balmoral. I wondered if you’d like to come along, as my chauffeur.”

He looked at me then burst out laughing. “As your chauffeur? I wouldn’t be no ruddy good at that, ducks. I can’t drive. I never learned. Never had no need either, what with living in the Smoke.”

“Come anyway. I can drive. Lots of my sort of people drive themselves and bring their chauffeur along to watch the motor when they leave it. I’ll find you a peaked cap, and bob’s your uncle, as you would say.”

He looked at me, head to one side like a Cockney sparrow, then laughed again. “You’re a card, I’ll say that for you. Now, can you see a bloke like me at Balmoral, hobnobbing with royalty and gentry?”

“You’d only be hobnobbing with their servants and that might be a great help to me. You might be able to worm some information out of them about the shooting yesterday. Servants love to gossip. And how often would you have a chance to visit a royal palace?”

His smile had faded. “You really want me to come along, don’t you?”

“Yes, I’d like it very much. I feel more secure with you around.”

He frowned. “You don’t anticipate any more funny business, do you? Because if so, I don’t want you going near that place.”

“I’m going out riding with Princess Elizabeth. I’m sure we’ll be quite safe,” I said.

“All right, then. What are we waiting for? Where’s me titfer?”

“Your what?”

“Tit for tat. Hat. Rhyming slang. Ain’t I taught you nothing yet?”

Five minutes later we were breezing down the side of the loch. There was no sign of activity at the jetty. For one thing it was clearly too windy to attempt any trials of the speedboat; besides, its driver was under arrest and presumably facing charges in London. Poor Belinda, I thought. Then I changed my mind. From our last conversation it sounded as if she was growing tired of him. Besides, Belinda always landed on her feet. She’d be off to new pastures without a second glance back.

I left the loch behind and concentrated as the road climbed and wound through the mountains. The gatekeeper at Balmoral looked weary as he opened the gate for me. “So much coming and going, your ladyship,” he said with a dignified bow. “It’s been like Waverley Station at the rush hour. The police are here again. There’s men tramping all over the place.” And indeed I noticed a man standing not far from the driveway, watching us. Sir Jeremy and Darcy had already produced results, I thought with a sigh of relief. At least some investigation was being done.

At the castle I left Granddad guarding the estate car in the back stable yard, then was shown up to the princesses’ nursery where the two girls were busy playing with toy horses. Elizabeth leaped up with delight. “You’ve come!” she exclaimed, eyes glowing. “I was hoping and hoping that you would.” She turned to her governess. “Now may I go riding, Crawfie?”

The Duchess of York was consulted and it was agreed that it would be fine for the princess to go out with me, providing we didn’t venture too far afield. Elizabeth changed into her riding togs and we left the nursery to Margaret’s wailed protests that she was a good rider too. Ponies were saddled up and off we went. It was a glorious day for riding and we set out at a brisk trot.

“Could we go a bit faster?” Elizabeth asked after a while. “Trotting is so boring, isn’t it?”

“All right. But don’t fall off, or I’ll be in trouble.”

“I never fall off,” she said scornfully and urged her pony into a fast canter. I let her ride ahead of me. She really was a splendid little rider. Up a broad path we went, through the woods and then out onto the moor.

“Hey, Lilibet, slow down,” I called. “We shouldn’t go too far from the house, remember.”

She brought her pony to a halt and waited for me.

“Isn’t it heavenly up here?” Elizabeth said, looking around at the vast sweep of hills and glens. “I love the way we can be free to be ordinary at Balmoral, don’t you?”

“I’m usually ordinary,” I said, “but I do understand.”

We walked on.

“Mummy even takes us down to the village shop and I can spend my pocket money,” Elizabeth went on. “I wish we could stay up here all year long.”

“Your daddy has important work to do for the country,” I said.

“I’m glad Uncle David will be king,” she said. “Daddy would hate it. So would I. When I grow up, I want to marry a farmer and have lots of animals—horses and dogs and cows and chickens.” She looked at me. “Who do you want to marry?”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“You’re blushing,” she said. “I bet you do know who you’d like to marry. Is he handsome?”

“Very.”

“Are you going to tell me his name? I promise I can keep a secret. Then I’ll tell you the name of a handsome boy I know.”

She broke off as we heard a strange humming, whooshing sound. Something whizzed past us. At first I thought it was a bee. Then, when the second one came, followed by a metallic ping as something hit an outcropping of rock, I realized what it was.

“Someone is shooting at us,” I said. “Ride as fast as you can.”

“But surely—” she began.

“Go on. Ride. Go!” I slapped her pony’s rear and it took off like a rocket. I let her get a head start before I followed. Her pony was going as fast as it could but it was small and our progress seemed painfully slow. At any moment I kept expecting to feel a bullet hit me in the back. Then the path dipped into a stand of trees and swung around some rocks. Only then did I realize that we were probably out of range and slowed to a trot.

“Are you sure someone was shooting at us?” Elizabeth asked, wide-eyed.

“Pretty sure. The speed those things went past, they had to be bullets. And I heard a sort of ping when one struck a rock.”

“But who would want to shoot at us?”

“I’ve no idea. But somebody was shot yesterday.”

“I know. Mummy told me. She said he was silly to have wandered off, and the other shooters couldn’t see him in the mist, but it’s not misty today, is it, and we’re not near the grouse moor.”

“There are supposed to be policemen all over the estate, looking after us,” I said. “Let’s hope we run into some of them soon, because we can’t risk going back the way we came.”

“There’s a house over there.” Elizabeth pointed to a large gray stone building nestled in a dip in the landscape and half hidden by large pine trees.

“Good idea. Let’s go and they can presumably telephone the castle.”

We urged on our horses again and dismounted outside a white gate.