Royal Flush (23 page)

“No. She’s in an insane asylum, but she’s linked somehow, I’m sure. She’s probably in her late forties. Can you find out if she had a child about thirty years ago? Can you find out if she married?”

“That’s a tall order,” he said, “but someone will know how to check through the records in Edinburgh, I suppose.”

“You should get home. You’re shivering,” I said.

“I’ll have to stay until the police get here,” he said.

“Looks like there’s a bobby on a bike coming this way now,” Granddad called from the car. It was Constable Herries, red faced and peddling furiously. It turned out he had already summoned an ambulance and was going to stand guard until it arrived.

“Have you notified your superiors?” Darcy asked.

“No sir, we don’t usually bother them about a drowning,” Constable Herries said. I saw Darcy frown. “The boy told me that the body just bobbed up in the middle of the loch.”

“It did. We both observed it,” I said. “Mr. O’Mara swam out and dragged him into shore.”

“Poor fellow. I wonder how long ago he fell in and drowned?”

“I saw him alive yesterday,” I said.

Constable Herries frowned. “That’s unusual, that is. Usually they lie on the bottom until their stomach contents start fermenting and that takes days.”

“I don’t think he drowned,” Darcy said. “There didn’t appear to be water in his lungs.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“I think somebody killed him and then dumped him into the lake.”

“Murder, you mean?”

“That would be my guess.”

“Dear me.” Constable Herries pushed back his helmet and scratched his head. “Someone should be told about this.”

“Don’t worry, Constable. We’ll telephone from Castle Rannoch and report it,” I said.

“If you’re sure, my lady.”

“I am.” I turned back to Darcy. His dark curls were plastered to his face and he was still dripping. “And I should probably take Mr. O’Mara home and let him change into dry clothes, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, my lady. You do what you think is best.”

I turned to Darcy. “You’d better come up to the house and get out of those wet clothes. We can supply blankets and have someone dry your clothes for you,” I said.

“Thank you for the offer,” he said. “I think that’s the first time you’ve actually invited me to take off my clothes, but I’m afraid I should go straight back to where I’m staying and then get to work if you want me to notify people about your suspicions.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I’m very grateful.”

“Just doing my job, ma’am.” He touched his head in mock salute.

“Jump in the car, I’ll run you home.”

“I’d make the seats wet.”

“We’ll risk it,” I said. “How else were you going to get there?”

“Well, I didn’t fancy rowing in this wind,” he admitted and walked toward the car, leaving a trail of drips behind him.

Granddad opened the door and Darcy climbed into the backseat. Then Granddad took the passenger seat beside me.

“You bring your chauffeur and then you drive?” Darcy sounded amused.

“This isn’t my chauffeur, it’s my grandfather.” I laughed.

“I’m sorry, I forgot you two hadn’t met before.”

“Holy Mother of God. You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” He held out his hand. “How do you do, sir. Darcy O’Mara. A pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise, I’m sure. I take it this is your young man,” Granddad said.

“Granddad—” I began, my cheeks turning red, but Darcy interrupted. “You take it correctly,” he said.

Chapter 32

Castle Rannoch
August 21 and 22, 1932

I don’t even remember driving home. I only came down off my cloud when I walked into Castle Rannoch to be met by an irate Fig.

“Where on earth have you been?” she demanded. “We’ve not seen hide nor hair of you for ages. You simply don’t turn up for meals and I’m left to entertain and make conversation on my own.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ve been at Balmoral again. Princess Elizabeth wanted me to go riding with her.”

“Well, in that case, I suppose you couldn’t turn it down, could you?” she muttered, looking annoyed. It always made her cross that I was related to the royal family by birth while she was only related by marriage.

“Am I too late for tea? I’m starving,” I said.

“I took tea with Podge in the nursery today,” she said. “With all these people here I’ve been neglecting him fearfully. And there was nobody in for tea, except Binky. Siegfried’s out somewhere. The Simpsons have finally gone, by the way.”

“Have they really? Hooray.”

“As you say, hooray. I thought we’d never get rid of them, especially when they elected to stay on after the other Americans went. But I think your cousins finally proved too much to endure. They are a trifle primitive, aren’t they?”

“What happened?”

“We were in the middle of the meat course last night when Murdoch described how he’d dismembered a deer he’d shot. It would be venison, of course. Quite put them off their meal, I could see that.”

I grinned. “Well, you finally have your way. They’ve all gone.”

“Except for those awful cousins of yours. The amount they eat and drink. I’ve asked Binky to give them the boot, but you know how soft he is. We’ll be reduced to tea and toast for the rest of the year.” She eyed me critically. “What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing. Why?”

“You’ve had a silly grin on your face all the time I’ve been talking.”

We passed an uneventful evening. I was tense and uneasy all through dinner, at which Fig, myself and the two cousins were positioned along the full length of the huge banquet table, making conversation almost impossible without shouting. I was waiting for Sir Jeremy to telephone or appear in person at any moment, but he hadn’t contacted me by the time I was ready for bed. This probably meant that he had not returned to the inn yet, or that the idiot girl was manning the shop and had forgotten to give him the message. Either that or her accent was so broad that he hadn’t understood what she was saying. I wasn’t sure what to do about this. Apart from telephoning the inn again, to see if he’d come back, I had no way of getting in touch with him and I worried that something else might happen at Balmoral the longer Major Padgett was on the loose. I just hoped that Darcy had managed to contact the appropriate people and that all would be well. Anyway, there was nothing more I could or should do now. I would be acting foolishly to attempt to go back to Balmoral again. Instead I’d attempt to enjoy myself. I’d take Granddad for some of my favorite walks. I might even teach him to fish.

The next morning I slept late and awoke to glorious sun streaming in through my open window. I breakfasted well and was on my way to visit Granddad when I heard a voice calling across the parkland: “Hector. Come out this minute, wherever you are. This is no longer funny.”

And Podge’s nanny came into view, looking around anxiously.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

“That naughty boy, he’s hiding from me,” she said. “I let him out of his pram because he does so love to run across the grass and now I can’t find him.” She sounded close to tears.

“Don’t worry, he can’t have gone far,” I said, but my insides clenched themselves into a tight knot. I kept telling myself this was a simple case of a naughty three-year-old, but my mind was whispering other, darker possibilities.

“Get Graham to round up the gardeners and gillies to help you look,” I said, indicating one of our groundsmen, who was working in the kitchen garden. “Tell him I said so.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“And I’ll start looking too. Where exactly did you lose him?”

“Not far from here. He was playing with his ball on that lawn, running around quite happily. I went to sit on the bench and when I turned back, he was gone. Of course I thought he was just playing a silly trick on Nanny, then I called him and he didn’t answer. Oh, what can have happened to him, my lady?”

“Don’t worry. We’ll find him. You didn’t hear the sound of a motor, did you?”

“What do you mean, my lady?”

No sense in alarming her unduly. “Not important. Go and get Graham now. Go on.” I pushed her in the direction of the kitchen garden and I started to hurry toward the spot she had indicated. If he really had run off, or was hiding, he couldn’t have gone too far. He only had little legs. And if his nanny hadn’t heard or noticed a motorcar then it wasn’t likely that someone had driven away with him.

I searched through the shrubbery, calling his name, telling him that Auntie Georgie wanted to play with him, then that his papa wanted to see him—Papa being the most important person in his life. Nothing stirred among the bushes. Perhaps I am overreacting, I told myself. Perhaps he went back to the house to fetch a toy. Perhaps he’s safely in his nursery at this very moment. But I couldn’t shake off the feeling of dread.

I had just reached the driveway when I heard someone calling my name and saw my grandfather waving. “What’s the big hurry, ducks?” he said. “Are you training to run a race?”

“No, Granddad. It’s little Podge, my nephew. He’s missing and I’m worried that—” I let the rest of the sentence drift off into silence.

“Are you sure he hasn’t just wandered off? Kiddies do that, you know.”

“I know. But we’ve called and called and he’s not anywhere.”

He put an arm around me. “Don’t worry, ducks. He’ll turn up. You get on with your searching and I’ll help. But he wouldn’t have got this far from the house on his own, would he?”

“I wouldn’t have thought so, but . . . wait! What’s that down there?” I had spotted the glint of something red, lying on the light gravel not far from the gates. I ran toward it and bent to pick it up. “It’s one of Podge’s toy soldiers,” I shouted. “Go and tell them.”

I started to run as fast as I could until I reached the castle gate. I looked up and down the road. I heard no sound of a retreating motorcar. There was silence apart from the sigh of the wind in the pine trees and the gentle splash of waves on the shore of the loch. I stood, hesitant, at the side of the road, not knowing what to do next. I had no way of knowing in which direction he might have gone if he had, in fact, come out of the gate by himself. Someone should alert the police, of course. I hoped Granddad would do just that.

At that moment I heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. It was a small motorcar, a Morris, by the look of it. I stepped out into the road, waved it down as it approached and wrenched open the passenger door. “You haven’t seen a small boy, by any chance, have you?” I asked. Then I realized that I recognized the driver. “Oh, Ronny, it’s you.”

“Oh, hello, Georgie,” she said pleasantly. “A small boy? About how old? There were a couple of boys fishing about a mile back.”

“He’s only three. My nephew, Podge. He’s run off. His nurse is beside herself.”

“He can’t have run far if he’s only three. He’s probably hiding somewhere.” She grinned. “I used to hide when I was that age. I used to scare the daylights out of my parents. Once I got up in the attic and couldn’t get down.”

I held up the toy soldier. “I found this on the driveway, not far from the gate, so he must have come this way.”

“In that case, hop in,” she said. “I can help you look if you like.”

“Thanks awfully.” I climbed in and we started off slowly, scanning the lochside and hedgerow as we drove, windows open and constantly calling his name. It suddenly struck me how ironic this situation was, if her father was indeed the kidnapper and she was helping me to chase him down.

We had gone about half a mile when something caught my eye. “Wait. What’s that over there?”

Ronny jammed on the brakes. I jumped out before the motorcar came to a complete stop and ran across to an old boathouse, perched on the edge of the loch. Outside the boathouse I had spotted another glimpse of red. It was a second toy soldier. Ronny had come to join me. I held it up for her.

“Do you think he’s gone in there?” she asked. She started to open the rotting door with great caution. “He must be an adventurous little chap.”

“Maybe someone’s taken him in there,” I said, my voice literally shaking with terror by now.

“The door wasn’t properly shut,” she said, pulling it wide open now. “It’s awfully dark in here.” She glanced back at me. “Podge? Is that his name?” she asked, then called, “Podge, are you in here?” Then she turned back. “I think I might have a torch in the car.”

I stepped inside, dreading what I might be about to find. The only light came from the reflection on the water that lapped a long way below me. A walkway ran along three sides. Up here it was shrouded in gloom and smelled overpoweringly damp and mildewy. I started to poke around amid old sacks and rotting cartons, my heart thumping every time I touched something soft or wet. I was conscious of Ronny standing behind me.

“He doesn’t seem to be in here,” I said, looking up at her.

“No,” she replied. “He’s not.”

“You’ve found him?”

“Let’s just say I know where he is.”

“Where is he?”

“Safe. For the moment.”

“What do you mean?” I stared at her, trying to take this in. “Your father took him?”

“My father? My father is dead.”

“Major Padgett is dead?”

“He’s not my real father, but then you know that, don’t you? Hugo must have told you. Why else did you visit Castle Craig yesterday? You know all about my real parents.”

“Maisie McPhee is your real mother, I presume,” I said.

“Well done. My real mother. She’s gone insane. She doesn’t even know me, but I still go to see her. I feel I owe it to her.”

She looked at me and started to laugh. “You really are terribly naïve and trusting, aren’t you? I planted the soldiers along the way and you, my dear, took the bait so easily . . . and now I’ve reeled you in.”

That’s when I realized that what she was holding was not a torch at all. It was a pistol.

“You kidnapped him? It was you?”

“Yes,” she said in a matter-of-fact voice.

“Why? Why do that to a small boy who has done you no harm?”

“Security, my sweet. I might need a bargaining chip to get me safely out of the country. And you”—she paused as if examining me—“you were becoming a blasted nuisance. Hugo told you everything, didn’t he?”

I was still trying to take this in. “It was you who shot at me yesterday? Who killed Hugo?”

She laughed again. “Poor old Hugo. Too smart for his own good. And too soft too. He had it figured out but then he made the mistake of telling me. He wanted me to do the honorable thing and turn myself in. How silly can you be?”

“I was too slow,” I said. “I should have realized. I knew there was something worrying me. You gave yourself away when we spoke together after Hugo had died. Godfrey Beverley told you that someone had been shot. He didn’t say he was dead, but you spoke of him in the past tense.”

“As you say, you were too slow.”

“And Godfrey Beverley,” I said, as pieces fell into place in my head. “He was looking directly at you when he asked why anyone would need two guns.”

“Stupid little man,” she said. “Always poking his nose where it wasn’t wanted. I realized he must have seen me.”

“And your maid? You borrowed the motorbike and ran her over?”

“She snooped. She had to go.”

I stared at her, noting the easy way she dismissed these murders.

“What have you done with Podge?” I demanded.

“He’s quite safe. You don’t have to worry about him.”

“Of course I worry about him. Take me to him.”

“He’s on my Gypsy Moth, right here on the lake. Climb down into the boat and you can row us out to him.” She indicated a small rowing boat tied at the bottom of the steps and motioned with the pistol that I should go down them.