Death at Glamis Castle (14 page)

Charles studied the woman's upper torso, noting the pallor of the skin. Turning her gently to one side, he saw that her back was blue and mottled, where the blood that remained in the body had pooled. He lowered the body.

“Did Duff or the constable tell you in what position she was found?”

“I don't believe they did,” the doctor said. “But from the mottling, I should think she was lying on her back.”

Charles nodded. “I agree with your assessment,” he said, taking out the small fingerprint kit that had been made up for him at the Yard. “But it seems to pose a problem. A short while ago, when Duff took me to the spot on the path where Flora found her mother, he said that the victim was discovered lying facedown.”

The doctor's mouth tightened. “Ah,” he said regretfully.

“And when I examined the soil of the path, I could find only a few small spots of blood, nothing like the larger quantity that must have been spilled had the victim's throat been cut there.” Gently, Charles grasped the dead woman's hands and began to ink the tips of her fingers, in preparation for taking her prints.

“It would seem she must hae been killed elsewhere, then,” the doctor said, his eyes fixed on what Charles was doing. “And brought tae the place where Flora found her.”

Charles nodded. He felt it quite likely that Hilda MacDonald had been killed in Prince Eddy's apartment. And judging from Duff's demeanor, at the same time antagonistic and abashed, he was quite sure that the man possessed a guilty knowledge of the crime. Charles was not yet ready to share that information with the coroner, however, and went about his work in silence.

The doctor, observing, frowned. “I hae read about the uses of fingerprints,” he said. “Collectin' them is one o' yer hobbies, too, I take it.”

“Yes,” Charles said. “I've been helping to set up a project designed to obtain fingerprints from every prisoner incarcerated in English prisons.”

“I take it that the pris'ners aren't permitted tae object,” the doctor remarked. With a dry
harumph,
he added, “Calipers measurin' our skulls, X rays peerin' into our bones, microscopes lookin' into our bluid—it won't be long before there willna be naethin' secret. Science will hae discovered everything.”

“Everything?” Charles shook his head. “We're some distance from that. Although I must confess to being glad that science has given us a few tools that may help us solve crimes like this one.” He finished the job, wiped the ink from the woman's fingertips, and covered the body again. “I think that will be all for the moment,” he said, and he and the doctor returned to the consulting room, where the cheerful fire felt especially welcome.

Seated in his chair and holding out his cup for more tea, Charles opened a new subject. “I understand that you have had occasion to treat Lord Osborne, at Glamis Castle.”

“Lord Osborne?” the doctor asked in a startled tone, splashing tea on Charles's hand. He looked up, the light glinting on his gold-rimmed glasses. “Sorry,” he muttered. He handed Charles a napkin. “Hope I havena burned ye.”

“I'll survive,” Charles said, wiping his hand. He added a sugar cube to his cup and stirred. “Perhaps I should have mentioned,” he went on, not looking up, “that I am also here at the request of King Edward. He is deeply concerned for Lord Osborne's health and safety—as you might imagine.”

“Aye, and well he might be,” the doctor said without inflection. “He might indeed.” He gave a long sigh. “Well, then. What can I tell yer lordship of the gentleman in question?” His voice became dry and ironic. “The gentleman who is so dear tae the heart of the King.”

Charles regarded him thoughtfully. “I take it that you were told that Lord Osborne disappeared about the time of Hilda MacDonald's murder?”

“Aye, Angus Duff told me,” the doctor replied, refreshing his own cup. “And sorry I was tae hear it, I must say. I have been summoned quite frequently tae treat the poor chap. His health is not robust, as ye may know. Throat ailments, lung troubles, a bout or two with pneumonia. Had he been my son and in need of private care, I would hae sent him off tae the south of France, rather than tae a drafty castle in Scotland.” A smile tugging at his lips, he added, “He's remarkably well, though, for a man who's been dead nigh on a decade.”

“I daresay,” Charles agreed, hiding a smile.

The doctor gave him a sidelong look and grew serious. “But it isna jokin' matter, of course. Lord Osborne isna strong. If he's out there somewhere in the rain and cold, he shall most certainly fall ill.”

“I understand that Lord Osborne suffers from a hearing loss.” When the doctor nodded, Charles asked, “And his mental state?”

“Nearly as perilous as his physical health, I'm afraid.” The doctor pursed his round mouth and his eyes glittered. “He suffers from the delusion that he is our Bonnie Prince Charlie, and that he has come tae Scotland in pursuit of the Stuart throne, stolen by those Hanover thieves.”

Not an altogether unreasonable presumption,
Charles thought ironically,
since Prince Eddy himself has been removed from the succession and the throne denied him.
Aloud, he murmured the words of “The Skye Boat Song.”

 

“O'er the sea tae Skye,” the doctor replied softly. “I have heard Lord Osborne sing the song again and again, with Flora playin' the fiddle.”

Charles raised his eyebrows. “He is able to sing, in spite of his deafness?”

“I shouldna be surprised,” the doctor said dryly, “if Lord Osborne's deafness be half-pretense, a means of escape from social interchange. In the event, he has guid pitch, and he and Flora often sing together.”

“This delusion,” Charles said. “It's persisted for some time?”

“Two years or more, I should say, though it waxes and wanes. Of recent weeks, it's been quite strong and persistent. He has spoken often of goin' tae Skye.”

“You would not describe it as an insanity?”

“Not insanity, since he frequently comes back tae himself.” The doctor gave Charles a rueful look. “I hope I am not tae blame in this. Lord Osborne is quite nervous and excitable, y'see. When I first began tae witness his delusion, it seemed tae me that he was rather more calm when under its influence. I encouraged Hilda and Flora tae go along with his odd notion.” He smiled. “The girl rather enjoyed it, I should say, playing Flora tae her Prince. She and Lord Osborne hae spent a deal o' time readin' the great Sir Walter Scott together.” The smile became ironic. “Particularly, I fear,
From Montrose to Culloden
.”

Charles frowned. He himself had read and reread Scott's four-volume history of Scotland, reveling in the heroic tales of the battle at Culloden Moor and Prince Charlie's flight to the Isle of Skye. If Eddy had immersed himself in Scott's powerful tale of the Forty-Five uprising, no wonder he'd fallen into the notion that he was the Bonnie Prince.

“The two MacDonalds, mother and daughter,” he said, after a moment's silence. “Duff says they were not told Lord Osborne's real identity.”

“Aye. But Hilda may hae guessed it frae the many photographs of King Edward and Queen Alexandra in Lord Osborne's apartments—although I'm sure you'll find photographs of the Royal Family in every home in the countryside. She never mentioned a suspicion tae me, though, and I'm sure she didna share it wi' her daughter. She'd been in service with Lord and Lady Strathmore for most of her life, y'see, and was utterly loyal. Flora herself grew up at the castle, playin' as her mother worked. She would've been a child when she first met Lord Osborne.”

“His mental state,” Charles said carefully. “Might it have led him, do you think, to violence?”

The doctor rubbed his upper lip for a moment, considering, then shook his head. “I shouldna hae thought so. He is a verra gentle man, kind and thoughtful, especially tae Hilda and Flora.” He frowned. “If ye're suggestin' that Lord Osborne might hae slit Hilda's throat, m'lord, I should disagree most vehemently. He regarded her with the deepest love and affection, as if she were a mother tae him, and Flora his sister. I canna believe that he would harm either in any way.”

“And if it was discovered that the victim was killed in his apartment? What would you say then?”

The doctor's round eyes narrowed. “Then I should say that whoever killed her also made off with him,” he said firmly. “I couldna entertain any other explanation.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Charles sat for a moment, gazing thoughtfully at the fire, then roused himself. “I suppose, in the circumstance, you might be willing to postpone the inquest for a day or two? By that time, we may be able to identify the killer.” He did not speak with any great conviction. It was beginning to seem to him that the solution to Hilda MacDonald's murder might come about only through some stroke of great good luck.

“If that is your wish,” the doctor said heavily, “although I remind you that the condition of the body—” He cleared his throat. “And Flora's feelings mun be considered. I'm sure she wishes tae bury her mother soon as may be.”

“No doubt,” Charles said. He finished his tea and put down the cup. “Only a few more questions, if you don't mind. The constable, Oliver Graham. What sort of fellow is he?”

The doctor shrugged. “Local man, a good sort, although rather too serious about his position at times. Occasionally a wee bit officious, although that is most likely due tae his youth and inexperience. He's a verra young man.”

“Has he spoken to you about possible suspects he might have turned up?”

“Only to say that he hasna found anything.” The doctor gave Charles a slantwise look. “However, he told me last night that he thought he should walk up tae the castle and have a go at Lord Osborne, tae see if that gentleman had anything tae do with Hilda's murder. He's empty-handed and frustrated, I'm afraid. It might be easy for him tae latch onto Lord Osborne as a chief suspect, especially if he should learn of his lordship's disappearance.”

“I see,” Charles said, hoping that the house steward at the castle would have the wisdom to turn the constable away without providing any additional information, and certainly without telling him that Lord Osborne had gone missing. That would only fuel whatever speculations the frustrated constable might be inclined to entertain.

The doctor sighed. “We dinna see many murders here, o' course, and Oliver's not experienced in such matters. I should like tae hae viewed Hilda's body where it was found, for instance. Had I seen it, I should hae deduced for myself that she had been moved.”

Charles set down his cup. “Does Graham have any connection with the castle?”

“Relations who work there, you mean?” The doctor's eyes twinkled. “Nae, but he has a bit of an interest in Flora. As well he might,” he added. “She's a verra pretty girl, although a deep one. 'Tis hard tae know what's in her heart.” He cleared his throat, not quite meeting Charles's eyes. “She might, for instance, fancy Lord Osborne.”

Charles sighed. If that were true, it was not a romance that promised a happy ending. It would, however, add another twist to this already bizarre plot. How many complications were there to be in this case? He was about to ask the doctor for more details, but he was interrupted by a light tap at the door. Maud put her head through.

“ 'Tis Constable Graham tae see ye, Doctor Ogilvy.” She glanced nervously over her shoulder. “He says tae tell ye it's urgent. He seems a wee bit disturbed in his mind.”

“Disturbed, is he?” The doctor looked at Charles, and at his brief nod, turned back to the servant. “Well, then, show the guid constable in, my lassie. And bring us another pot of tea.” He sighed heavily. “I fear we shall need it.”

“To Althea, From Prison” Richard Lovelace, 1618-1657

 

 

 

 

This might not be the comfortable quarters in which he had spent the previous months of his exile, the Prince thought as he looked around his stone-walled, stone-floored cell. But at least he was no longer bound and gagged in the cave—the ice house, as one of his captors had called it—or wandering in the cold, wet woods, as he had until Flora had found him.