The Incident at Fives Castle (An Angela Marchmont Mystery #5) (5 page)

‘What?’ said Angela. She was not pleased with the turn the conversation had taken.

‘Oh, she and Aubrey have no secrets from one another. They are quite the open couple. She knows all about his life before they were married. You were quite friendly with him before he met Selma, weren’t you?’ He spoke carelessly but there was a mischievous glint in his eye.

‘Hmm,’ said Angela, who liked her private concerns to remain private. ‘That is none of your business. And anyway,’ she went on, to detract attention from herself, ‘what’s all this “Selma”-ing? You’ve only just met her, and it’s already “Selma” this and “Selma” that.’ Freddy coughed but did not reply, and Angela shook her head in mock-exasperation. ‘How long have you been here?’ she said. ‘Eighteen hours? That was fast work.’

‘Time is immaterial when it comes to the sphere of the human heart,’ said Freddy with a sentimental sigh.

‘Idiot,’ said Angela. ‘Isn’t one woman at a time enough?’

‘Selma is jolly nice. And clever too. Not as nice or as clever as you, of course,’ he said, giving her nose a playful tweak.

Lady Strathmerrick happened to be passing in company with Eleanor Buchanan just as he did it. The Countess pursed up her lips when she saw them, but walked on without comment. Angela slapped Freddy’s hand away crossly.

‘Will you stop it?’ she hissed. ‘I believe you did that on purpose.’

Freddy opened his eyes wide.

‘What an extraordinary suggestion,’ he said. He turned and looked after the two women thoughtfully. ‘Now, that’s another thing we might investigate.’

‘What do you mean?’ said Angela.

‘Eleanor Buchanan. What has she got to be so suspicious about? You must have noticed that tense manner of hers. I wonder what it’s all about.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Angela.

‘Then we must try and find out. I shall leave that in your capable hands.’

Selma Nash could just then be seen descending the stairs, wrapped up in furs and wearing a pair of thick boots.

‘I’m all set,’ she called to Freddy.

Freddy bowed.

‘Just coming, my lady,’ he said, then lowered his voice. ‘Go and be nice to Aubrey,’ he said. ‘I’m sure he’ll be overjoyed, and Selma doesn’t mind sharing.’

‘Freddy, you really are the limit,’ said Angela, hardly knowing whether to laugh or frown. Freddy wagged his eyebrows at her.

‘Well, it’s your decision,’ he said. ‘Do as you please. In the meantime, we’re off to make some footprints in the West meadow.’

He joined Selma and they went out together arm-in-arm.

When Freddy and Selma had gone, Angela was left standing in the entrance-hall, wondering what to do with herself. Everyone, it seemed, had disappeared on business of their own, leaving her alone. Priss, Gertie and Clemmie had been pressed into helping set up the ball-room for the dance that evening. Angela briefly contemplated offering to help, but decided that she would be more likely to get in the way than anything else. What to do, then? She looked out through the great double doors of the castle. It was a crisp, bright afternoon and the snow was very tempting. She decided to go out and explore.

A few minutes later she descended the stone steps under the portico and struck out down the drive, with the vague intention of finding a suitable spot from which to gain a good view of the castle. It seemed to her that the best place would be the top of a nearby hill, but between here and her objective the road dipped and rose steeply, and she feared that her way would be blocked by snowdrifts. She tramped through the snow for several minutes, relishing the silence, which was almost complete save for the sound of her own breathing and the crunching of her boots, but soon found that she had been right about the impassability of this route when she unexpectedly sank up to her knees.

‘Oh dear,’ she murmured, as she extricated herself with difficulty and grimaced at the unpleasant wet and icy sensation that was now intruding itself into her boots. ‘Rather foolish of me, really.’

She scrambled back to safety and hobbled over to a nearby tree, where she balanced on one foot at a time and emptied the snow from her boots.

‘Perhaps it will be better to keep to the beaten track after all,’ she said to herself. ‘I don’t want to get buried in a snowdrift.’

She made her way back up the drive and onto the lawn, where she caught sight of a figure, swathed in shawls and wearing a rather odd broad-brimmed hat, who was standing and regarding the two snowmen with interest. It was Miss Foster. She looked up as Angela approached.

‘Hallo, Mrs. Marchmont,’ she said brightly. ‘Are you enjoying the snow?’ As Angela assented, she went on, ‘I am not fond of it myself, but I am a little stuck on my latest chapter, and so I thought a turn in the fresh air might provide food for my imagination.’

‘And has it?’ said Angela with a smile.

‘Not exactly,’ said Miss Foster. ‘The first thing I saw when I came out was these two snow-figures, which distracted my thoughts from my work and sent my mind wandering down an entirely different path, since they put me in mind of a pair of tragic lovers, doomed to die together under the heat of the sun.’

‘I hadn’t thought of it like that,’ said Angela, ‘but I suppose you’re right.’

‘All very romantic, of course,’ said Miss Foster, ‘but a little beside the point, since I am at present trying to solve a very different problem. I am trying to think of a way in which my heroine might escape from a locked room without leaving the door open and alerting her captors to her flight.’

‘A lock-pick fashioned from a hair-pin?’ suggested Angela.

‘Yes, I had thought of something similar. Unfortunately, however, in the previous chapter the lady was struck down by a dangerous bout of fever which almost killed her, and therefore had all her hair shorn off, leaving her without the need for hair-pins.’

‘I see,’ said Angela. ‘That’s rather inconvenient for the purposes of your story.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Miss Foster, ‘and I can’t change the part about the fever because it is essential to the plot and explains why she was unable to meet her lover on the battlements as she promised. He is now under the impression that she has thrown him over for the evil Sir Willoughby Edgerton, and has gone off in despair to fight at Culloden. No,’ she went on, ‘I believe she will have to escape through the window, even though she is being held at the top of the North tower, one hundred feet above the ground. Perhaps I can have her climb down the ivy.’

‘What is the name of your story?’ asked Angela politely.

‘
Lucinda of the Isles
,’ replied Miss Foster. ‘It is a historical novel set during the Jacobite Rebellion.’

‘And do you hope to have it published?’

Miss Foster gave a genteel little laugh and put her hand to her mouth.

‘Oh, Mrs. Marchmont, you flatter me,’ she said. ‘I am a mere amateur. I don’t deny that it is a dream of mine one day to see my works in print, but that day is far in the future. My talents and skills are simply not up to the task at the moment.’

‘Does no-one read your stories, then?’ asked Angela, and immediately bit her lip, suddenly fearful that Miss Foster would take the opportunity to press one of her works upon her with an exhortation to read it. But Miss Foster did not appear to have such a thing in mind.

‘Oh, yes, I do have a select group of friends who read what I write, and for whom I return the favour,’ she said.

‘A kind of writers’ circle, do you mean?’ said Angela.

‘Yes,’ beamed Miss Foster. ‘That’s exactly it. We communicate by correspondence, mostly, although once or twice a year we do meet for an evening of literature and poetry, with perhaps a glass or two of home-made elderberry wine. No more than that, though,’ she finished, wagging her finger playfully.

‘Naturally,’ said Angela, suppressing a shudder at the thought of home-made elderberry wine. ‘And do you criticize each other’s work?’

‘Oh yes,’ said Miss Foster. ‘That is an essential part of the arrangement. Each of us agrees to complete one chapter every month. We then send it to another member of the circle, who reads it and gives a considered opinion on the chapter itself and its place in the story as a whole.’

‘What sort of people are in the circle? Are you all women?’

‘Not at all. As a matter of fact, the idea was thought up by a man. Mr. Adams runs a small publishing house in London, and he began the circle with the idea of helping aspiring authors polish their talents, and perhaps become good enough one day to be published.’

‘I see. I would say that that was very kind-hearted of him, but I should imagine he has another motive too,’ said Angela with a smile. ‘No doubt it is of benefit to him to watch over your progress—for then he may get some new books to publish.’

‘Indeed, you are right,’ said Miss Foster. ‘However, even if nothing happens in my case, it is an enormous privilege to receive criticism from such an expert.’ She gave a little sigh, and went on, ‘It’s a pity the snow is so deep. My latest chapter is almost ready to send off. No matter, though—perhaps I can make some changes in the meantime.’

The sound of loud, childish voices was heard in the distance just then, and the two women turned to see Gus and Bobby running towards them, carrying an odd assortment of objects.

‘We’re a search party,’ announced Gus breathlessly in reply to Miss Foster’s inquiry. ‘We’re going to hunt for Professor Klausen. He’s got lost.’

‘I dare say he’s buried in a snowdrift somewhere,’ said Bobby. ‘He’s probably freezing to death. We’re going to rescue him before he gets encased in the ice like a woolly mammoth.’

‘Goodness,’ said Angela. ‘We don’t want that, do we?’

‘Don’t you think it’s more likely that the professor saw the weather and decided to remain at home rather than try to get to Fives Castle?’ said Miss Foster more practically.

‘It’s possible, I suppose,’ said Gus doubtfully, ‘but it’s probably best to make sure.’

‘Would you like to come, Mrs. Marchmont?’ said Bobby, who had taken rather a liking to Angela.

‘Why, I should love to,’ said Angela, judging that she had better tag along in order to make sure the boys did not get into any difficulties.

‘Oh, good,’ said Gus. ‘We’ve got all the equipment we need, I think.’

‘So I see,’ said Angela, trying not to laugh, for the boys were indeed laden with the most extraordinary assortment of tools and ironmongery. Gus had a length of rope coiled around his waist and held a torch in one hand and a coal shovel in the other, while Bobby carried a hammer, some nails and an axe. ‘Why do you need a hammer?’ she said.

‘Once we’ve dug him out we’ll need to build him a shelter,’ Bobby explained. ‘We’ll cut some wood with the axe and build a den for him. I’ve got some matches in my pocket too, so we can light a fire.’

‘The snow is very deep,’ said Angela. ‘You’ll have trouble keeping your balance with your hands full like that. Suppose you leave some of it behind. We can come back for it if we need it, but you’ll need your wits about you for a while and it won’t help if you’re loaded down.’

The boys were eventually persuaded to leave behind everything but the rope, the torch and the matches, and they prepared to begin. Miss Foster murmured something about being expected by Lady Strathmerrick and returned to the castle.

‘Which way shall we go?’ said Angela. ‘I suppose the obvious place to search is along the drive, but I tried to go that way a few minutes ago and got stuck. We’d need skis to search properly in that direction. Shall we try somewhere else first?’

Gus thought for a moment.

‘There’s the path through the woods,’ he said. ‘It goes to the village. He might have come that way, I suppose, but wouldn’t he have had a motor-car if he was coming from London?’

‘He might have left it in the village and done the last half-a-mile on foot,’ suggested Bobby.

At length it was agreed that they would try that way first, and they set off. The path led through a tunnel of bare-branched trees which was bounded by a fence on one side and a dark, rushing stream on the other, and their progress was delayed for some minutes as the boys occupied themselves with throwing sticks into the water and trying to overturn an interesting-looking rock.

‘Look out for signs,’ said Gus as they reluctantly moved on. ‘He might have tied his handkerchief to a fence-post, or left a trail of breadcrumbs. That’s what I should do if I were lost in the snow.’

‘There’s no use in looking for footprints, anyhow,’ said Bobby. ‘Why, this whole path has already been trampled all over by people coming from the village to help get things ready for this evening.’

‘That’s true enough,’ said Gus, staring in disgust at the many sets of footprints which indicated that a steady stream of people had passed towards the castle that day. ‘They’ve ruined any chance we might have had of finding the professor’s tracks.’

‘And wouldn’t someone have found him by now if he’d come along this way?’ said Bobby. They stopped and stared at each other uncertainly.

‘Perhaps we ought to try somewhere else, then,’ said Gus.

‘Oh, but look,’ said Angela, who had seen something just ahead. She pointed.

‘Oh!’ said Bobby. ‘Footprints!’

In this particular spot the stream moved away from the path to take a sharp detour around a large alder tree. Most of the footprints continued straight along the footpath towards the castle, but one set broke away and crossed the snow towards the stream.

The three of them gazed at the marks. Judging by the size of them, they had been made by a man.

‘Look,’ said Angela. ‘They continue on the other side of the stream. He must have tramped about a bit here while he held onto the tree for balance and used that rock as a stepping-stone.’

The boys were excited.

‘It must be the professor!’ exclaimed Bobby.

‘And look, he fell in the stream!’ said Gus. He pointed to the other bank. There, the mess of tracks did indeed indicate that whoever it was had jumped from the snow-covered rock to the other side and then slipped backwards into the water.

‘He must have got soaked,’ said Angela.

Bobby snorted.

‘What a duffer,’ he said, and before Angela could stop him, leapt lightly onto the stepping-stone and then to the other side of the stream. Gus followed.

‘I don’t know if I can do that,’ said Angela, in some embarrassment. ‘I’m not as sure-footed as you two.’

‘Oh, but it’s easy,’ Bobby assured her, jumping back and forth several times to demonstrate.

‘I could tie the rope to this tree here and throw it across to you, in case you lose your balance,’ suggested Gus, after a moment’s thought.

Angela agreed to this, and Gus immediately fastened one end of the rope to a sturdy-looking tree that overhung the water.

‘There,’ he said. ‘That’s fast enough. Now, look out.’

He threw the line across the stream to Angela, who caught it and, taking a deep breath, sprang as lightly as she could onto the stepping-stone, and then to the other bank without mishap.

‘You see, you didn’t need it after all,’ said Bobby kindly. ‘If you got a little more practice you could do it as easily as we do.’

‘I dare say you’re right,’ said Angela. ‘Now, which way did he go?’ She did not suppose for a second that the tracks really did belong to Professor Klausen, but she was caught up in the game now and was curious to know where they led.

‘This way,’ said Gus, who was busy coiling the rope around his waist again.

On this side of the stream the woods grew more thickly, shutting out much of the light—which in any case was starting to fade as the afternoon advanced. Here and there the ground was less thickly covered or even bare where the snow had been unable to penetrate through the trees, but even so, it was still easy enough to follow the tracks of their mysterious quarry. In some places the footprints headed one way only to turn back on themselves after a few yards as the man came up against an impassable thicket or other obstacle, but always they headed in the same general direction: towards Fives Castle.