The Balmoral Incident Page 8

  Still, I never liked leaving Thane with Mabel, who had added: ‘Lily will look after us.’ That seemed a forlorn hope indeed, but as I was being urged on every side, I could not refuse without rather pointedly suggesting that Mabel was incapable of spending a day on her own and looking after That Dog.

  The royal household quarters had been severely upgraded since the Prince of Wales became king, and he had speedily demolished evidence of his mother’s sentimental attachment to clutter, in particular to that associated with her long-term widowhood. The modernisation in no way indicated the grandeur of the castle, which was something of a disappointment to Meg whose imagination had soared to lofty ceilings, panelled walls and turret rooms. Vince’s apartment, however, was modest, comfortable and most important, warm. Dismissing the late Queen’s firm belief that chilly rooms and cold beds were bracing and good for the soul, the King, who liked comfort for himself and everyone else, ruled that rooms with generously heated coal fires were de rigueur for his family, their guests and for the servants too. It must have been a great relief for Queen Alexandra – not to mention her ladies-in-waiting, whose pale-mauve complexions and constant shivering both indoors and out had been ignored by the late Queen and regarded as a necessity of character building.

  Leaving his rooms, we followed Vince out into the sunshine, across the lawn and into secluded and private flower gardens, as well as the vast walled kitchen garden which supplied all the vegetables and fruit throughout the seasons.

  Then an unexpected delight for the girls. Turning a corner we were face to face with the Queen, walking with two of her ladies, one of whom acknowledged Olivia. Her name was Alice von Mueller and we were destined to have a closer acquaintance later.

  Vince bowed, we curtseyed.

  The Queen paused. ‘Ah, Dr Laurie, good day to you.’ And smiling down at the two little girls, ‘Enjoy the sun, my dears, while it is shining.’ As she walked on, taking her companion’s arm, she seemed to have a slight limp.

  The girls were quite ecstatic. ‘Mam,’ said Meg in tones of awe. ‘That was just like being presented at Court, wasn’t it? And she called us “her dears”.’ We laughed. It had certainly made their day.

  ‘Such a nice lady, Aunt Rose,’ said Faith.

  ‘I thought she looked a little sad,’ said the ever-perceptive Meg.

  I said nothing, I didn’t envy her her crown or her husband.

  Spending the day with Vince was a rare pleasure. After a splendid lunch we played croquet on the lawn. Tea and cakes were served to us, rich chocolate cakes with lots of cream; the girls were enchanted by such delights, and when darkness fell, they groaned, giving us appealing glances. They were in no hurry to return to the cottage.

  And that gave Olivia one of her brilliant ideas. ‘Let them spend the night here, Rose,’ she whispered. ‘I’m sure nightgowns can be provided. It would be such a thrill for them, wouldn’t it, Vince?’

  Vince frowned. ‘A splendid idea, but remember, dear, some of the household folk are looking in later to meet you.’ And turning to me, ‘Just a small social gathering but if the girls are bedded down, why don’t you stay, Rose? Have some refreshments with us before returning to the cottage.’

  I was easily persuaded and Vince’s ‘neighbours’ as he called them were pleasant, jolly folk. Two were from Edinburgh and we had much in common. They were intrigued to know that my husband was a detective and asked if I ever heard details of Edinburgh crimes, especially murder.

  Vince listened with an amused expression. My profession had not been mentioned. ‘What would they think if they knew?’ he whispered, refilling my glass.

  One of them did. The lady I had seen with the Queen that afternoon who knew Olivia. I was enjoying myself. This was a rare treat. The refreshments provided were all that could be desired. Especially the wine. And that was my downfall.

  I am not used to wine at home in Solomon’s Tower. Alcohol plays a very small part in my life, reserved for special occasions of celebration. But among the merry chatter, the pleasant company, the local gossip of the other royal servants, I allowed my glass to be refilled rather too often.

  Suddenly I came to my senses. I must leave immediately while my legs would still carry me back to the cottage.

  I refused Vince’s gallant, but I suspected reluctant, offer to leave the jolly company and escort me back the short distance, insisting that I would enjoy the walk. Indeed, that was my purpose, breathing the night air with its faint breeze to clear my head. Besides, I had little time on my own just now, and accustomed to a more solitary and active life, the chance of a pleasant moonlight stroll, thinking my own thoughts, at that moment appealed as a very welcome interlude.

  At the door, Vince put my light jacket about my shoulders and kissed me goodnight.

  ‘Sure you will be all right, Rose?’ he asked anxiously. ‘Quite sure?’

  I smiled confidently, not to give him the slightest idea of my limited capacity for intoxicating wines from the royal cellars. ‘Of course, dear. Just a few steps, really.’

  I breathed deeply and then the fresh air hit me. I was floating above the ground. So romantic too, with a moon riding high above the clouds. I wished Jack had been with me as I waved to Vince who was lingering at the door. As it closed I knew I had made up my mind. The short distance to the cottage was not nearly enough to enjoy the beauty of such a night. So humming a tune from a popular song one of Vince’s friends, who had a fine voice, had been singing at the piano, I decided to extend my homeward walk and take the longer way round through the trees where I believed there was a woodland path.

  And that was my second mistake. I had walked no more than a hundred yards when the track vanished. The sky, or rather what was visible through the treetops, had clouded over, the moon had disappeared and as that tall forbidding army of conifers closed in on me I knew I was lost.

  I have absolutely no sense of direction and there was nothing to indicate where I was heading. Jack laughs at me. ‘But seriously, in your profession it could be the difference between life and death, never knowing which way to turn when you are being pursued by a man with a gun. Do I need say more? I’m surprised you’ve survived so long. You must have a guardian angel.’

  Remembering Jack’s warning, trying to think clearly through that wine haze was little help and that guardian angel was having a holiday. Perhaps I could retrace my steps. I turned round knowing only one thing for certain, that idiotically, within a few hundred yards from home, I was well and truly lost in a thick forest with trees growing so close together that there was no possibility in the darkness of finding a path, or regaining the path I had travelled so far, if one existed.

  Even the moon had deserted me. It was up there somewhere hidden by the tall treetops with only a brief glimmer as racing clouds obliterated its faint beam.

  I stood still, momentarily breathless. I had to think of something. In despair I looked around again. What was the point in walking ahead? That was useless, even dangerous when I no longer knew where I was going or if it was the right direction.

  Suddenly the absurdity struck me. Here I was lost somewhere on the royal estate surrounded by civilisation, people everywhere within walking distance, I could even hear the faint clip-clop of carriage horses on the Deeside road beyond the river but I might as well have been in the deserts of the Sahara.

  And although it was hardly the time for frivolous thought that I might be in a serious situation, the wine effects had not yet worn off completely and I had an attack of helpless giggles. But my legs were letting me down; walking on this pine-scattered floor was like carrying lead weights, quite exhausting and treacherous.

  I must stop. Wait for a moment, rest – and think what to do next. I leant against one of the inhospitable trunks, but its sharp bits digging into my back denied any possibility of relaxation.

  Now the silence was invaded by intruders gathering around me. The small secret sounds of the night, the scuffles and twitches of a broken branch as an unseen army o
f small animals busied themselves about their nocturnal business. At least they knew where they were going and they had better eyes than mine. Another of my problems is that I have no night vision. Perfect eyesight by day but blind as a bat in the dark.

  At my back, the spiteful tree trunk was urging me on. I walked a few steps and knew it was hopeless to proceed, perhaps the effects of the wine were wearing off and no longer bolstering my courage, all I felt was a great desire to sit down and close my eyes for a while. To sleep or weep for the predicament in which I had found myself, and for which I had no one to blame but my own stupidity.

  Going ahead, stumbling through the forest was useless. It was like being trapped in a maze and there was only one sensible but unpleasant solution. Sit it out. Find a place and rest there until dawn shed some light on the way out.

  A flicker of moonlight, not much but enough to spot a clearing and kick a pile of soft pine leaves against a nearby tree trunk. Running my hands down it suggested a smoother, more friendly one than the last.

  I had never been afraid of the dark. Until this moment. In the stillness, I became aware of more sounds, a bird’s alarmed cry, an owl’s hoot, a spine-chilling scream from some poor creature caught by a predator. All far away, but closer at hand again those small scuffling, snuffling sounds.

  Then the distant sound of a shot. A broken branch, more like a ghillie out after rabbits – in the dark? After that, I thought I heard the distant sound of dogs barking. Did that indicate the royal stables or were they wolves?

  I listened again, imagination invaded by thoughts of a wolf pack, their eyes glowing through the dark, picking up my scent. No, no, absurd! I had been assured the last wolf had been killed a long time since. What about foxes then with their sharp teeth? I thought of my extremities being nibbled by foxes as I slept. Deer, what about deer? Would they attack? Or would they be more scared of me than I of them?

  I wrapped my jacket more closely about me and too afraid to close my eyes now, I kept listening to the silence. A new sound that obliterated the panic of foxes or that imaginary wolf pack.

  Running water, rushing water indicated a stream or a river somewhere quite close at hand. I must be near the Dee. I stood up. Could I reach it? An encouraging sound but common sense told me it was folly to try, dangerous to follow, stumbling about in the dark. I was suddenly too weary, too tired.

  I sat down again. Got to make the best of a bad job and grateful that it was a windless night and not raining, I snuggled into my thin summer jacket, closed my eyes, said a prayer and settled to await first light.

  I awoke with a start. For a blissful moment thinking I was in my own bed and had had a terrible nightmare. I listened.

  Breathing, definitely human, laboured and close by.

  Then I knew I was not alone.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I was not alone. A man was bending over me, a dark shadow against the pale moonlight. I could not see his face clearly, but I heard his voice.

  ‘Lost your way, miss?’

  Oh, thank God! One of the forest rangers, a ghillie more like. As he moved I heard the metallic sound as he removed the rifle from his shoulder. ‘You know you’ll be catching your death lying there.’

  He sounded amused, a smiling voice. A shaft of moonlight touched his face as he put down rifle and satchel to unroll something. A rain cape, a man’s, smelling of sweat and cigar smoke. He was going to smother me.

  I sat up, alarmed, stifled a scream, fought it off.

  He laughed. ‘What’s wrong with you? I’m not going to hurt you – trying to help. You’re half-frozen.’

  A tall man towering over me. His accent, not local Deeside, more Highland or Irish. The moonlight filtering through the treetops had vanished but not before there was enough to reveal a glimpse of his face. Pale, with that wayward lock of dark hair. So like Danny’s.

  I came to my senses. This was the man I had seen talking to Lily in Ballater. Our driver Dave thought he was a ghillie, had seen him hanging about the stables. What a relief.

  ‘Are you hurt, miss?’ Solicitous, anxious to help, to reassure.

  I jumped to my feet, wobbled a bit and he caught me, held me firmly by my elbows for a moment.

  ‘Steady now, miss.’

  ‘I am quite all right,’ I said coldly and handing back the cape. ‘Thank you, but I don’t need it.’

  ‘Sure now? What happened to you, did you faint or something?’

  I was now standing feeling the cold without the warmth of his arm around me. I said firmly: ‘Of course not. Just got lost, that’s all. Took a short cut in the dark.’

  He had the grace not to laugh. ‘A short cut? At this time of night? And where was it you started from? Do you remember? The gipsy encampment is a fair distance away in the dark.’

  ‘I am not a gipsy,’ I said shortly. ‘I came from the castle, my brother is a member of the royal household. I was at a party—’

  I stopped – why was I telling him all this, excusing myself?

  But he had moved closer. Tall, over six feet, wide-shouldered, he blocked out what little light there was and dwarfed my less than five. He towered over me and leant forward, that damnable forelock almost touching my face. Oh no, not damnable, that other dear memory.

  He sniffed, took a deep breath and smiled. ‘Been drinking? And too much of it for a lady at that party, I’ll be thinking. Not used to it are you, miss?’ His smile was faint reproach. ‘And they go rather heavily on the wine and usquebaugh up yonder at the castle.’

  He paused, hands on hips, regarding me. ‘Newcomer, are you?’ He didn’t wait for a reply, shook his head. ‘Have to be on your guard, know what you’re doing, until you get used to it, miss.’

  I was cold, tired and the last thing I wanted was a moral lecture on the dangers of alcohol.

  ‘Perhaps you would be good enough to tell me where I am,’ I said stiffly in my best Edinburgh accent, so there could be no mistaken identity about gipsies and putting him in his place.

  ‘I can do that, miss.’ That suppressed mockery again. ‘You’re in the midst of the estate forest running down to the banks of the river.’ And no longer teasing, patient now: ‘And where is it you wish to go, miss? Back to the castle, is that it?’

  I ignored the ‘miss’ as I had ignored the gipsy implication. A horrid but familiar error by strangers at first meeting. I thought of the aristocratic lady in Ballater station. My mop of unruly yellow curls now about my shoulders, wildly tangled. My lack of any dress sense that would be regarded not as unfashionable but as distinctly unconventional.

  It wasn’t the man’s fault. Ten years ago in 1895 when I first came to Edinburgh my self-styled designation: ‘Lady Investigator, Discretion Guaranteed’ had caused initial problems. Although to all accounts, mostly flattering, I had changed little since; my appearance sadly belied my forty years.

  I said: ‘Not the castle, if you please. I am staying in a cottage near the stables with my family and my little girl,’ I added pointedly.

  ‘And you are on the right track of it, I’ll see you onto the path over yonder. Follow it, comes out right by the gates. It’ll be daylight soon; you’ll see the castle so you won’t get lost again. Come along, miss.’ And, smiling, he took my arm gently and led the way, a short distance through the trees towards the sounds of the swirling, shining river growing steadily closer.

  I was lost for words, a whirlpool of emotions like that river surging inside me. Tired, cold and hungry, but most of all, overwhelmed by the sinister almost supernatural feeling that this man was no stranger to me. I knew him already. Knew that he could lock me into his eyes, not like Danny’s, not deep-blue Irish eyes, but even in that faint, early light, a strange luminous amber. Eyes I could drown in, fall down, down into a magic world like Alice-in-Wonderland, a world I had lost long ago.

  We had set foot on the path, straight ahead, before us the swift-moving river.

  ‘Over there, see—’ he pointed. There was enough light now for the gre
y outline of the stables. ‘You’ll be back at your cottage directly.’

  He bowed. That was somehow familiar too. ‘I’ll bid you good day, miss.’

  I thanked him, walked a few steps, but when I turned for a last look, he had disappeared, swallowed up by the tall trees of the forest.

  I heard dogs barking as I approached the cottage, dogs I had nearly mistaken for wolves during the night, although I could not have been more than half a mile off course. How was I going to explain what an idiot I had been, getting lost in the dark less than a mile away? Thank heaven Meg and Faith had stayed at the castle.

  I opened the door. Thane was already there waiting to greet me and Mabel appeared in her night robe, staring down the stairs.

  ‘Where on earth have you been, Rose? That Dog has been going mad all night, flinging himself against the door, trying to get out.’

  I was stroking his head, as he leant against my side. I could sense his relief that I was home and safe. That he was trying to tell me he knew I was in danger, he had tried and failed to reach me when I needed him.

  ‘I knew I mustn’t let him out, but I didn’t know what had got into him, going demented like that,’ Mabel was saying indignantly, ‘Keeping the whole place awake. Couldn’t sleep for the noise. He should be trained not to bark—’

  I cut her short, murmured something consoling to her. But I knew perfectly well what had got into him. I hugged him under her disapproving tight-lipped gaze. Thane always knew when I was in danger, now here at Balmoral, as he had in Edinburgh for the past ten years. We still had our strange telepathy that I felt had been transferred to Meg but no, the bond was still there.

  And if Mabel had let him out of the cottage, I would no longer have been lost in that black forest all night. He would have found me and led me safe home through the darkness.

  ‘What happened to you, Rose? And where is Olivia?’ she asked rephrasing her original question. ‘I was told you were just going there for tea,’ she added indignantly.