The Lammas Curse (26 page)

“Where are the four footmen?”
barked the doctor as soon as his lordship appeared.

“I dismissed them at midnight,”
responded the other somewhat calmly, “straight after the castle was
locked up. I did not think the tiara would need protecting from
family, friends and those guests whom I had invited into my home.
The glass case was locked and I have the key in my pocket.” He drew
it out and held it up to prove it.

“What about protecting the
tiara from the servants?” quizzed the doctor, stunned by the lack
of security, scanning the faces of the family, friends and guests
massing behind Lord Cruddock, staring in mute dismay at the
shattered cabinet. “Starting with the four footmen!”

“All the servants have been
with me for years. Some have been with the family for decades. The
four footmen were born into service here on the estate. They have
had ample opportunity to steal. Nothing is kept locked up. I take
precautions naturally, but this is not a museum. It is unthinkable
that a servant would purloin the Lammas tiara. Besides, where would
he sell it? How would he dispose of it? It is too famous.”

The Countess concurred with
Lord Cruddock’s reasoning. This was not the handiwork of servants.
In her experience servants were often blamed for stealing and
peremptorily dismissed when in fact it was a member of the family
in need of ready cash, or a poor relation, or simply a good excuse
for dismissal, such as a pretty serving girl that the wife is
jealous of, or a faithful old arthritic retainer the family wish to
replace but do not have the heart to dismiss out of hand.

Cruddock Castle was an
Aladdin’s cave of treasure. It would have been far easier for a
servant to steal an ivory bibelot, a jewelled envelope opener, or a
jade ornament - something small that would not be missed for days
or weeks or years.

“Prior to last evening when the
tiara was placed in the glass case,” posed the Countess, “where was
it kept?”

“It was kept in Miss O’Hara’s
bedroom,” responded Lord Cruddock. “I have a fire-proof document
chest that I no longer require. It was stored inside the chest
which was kept locked at all times. Miss O’Hara kept the key in a
secret place that only she was privy too. She expressed a desire to
try on the tiara with different hair styles in the privacy of her
bedchamber in readiness for the wedding day and I acquiesced.”

“That is extraordinary!”
gurgled the doctor, agog with disbelief. “A priceless heirloom
stored in a document chest in your fiancé’s bedroom!”

Lord Cruddock turned calmly to
the doctor. “If your wife expressed a heartfelt desire did you not
occasionally acquiesce?”

Shame-faced, the doctor
coloured guiltily. He had not been able to deny his dear wife
anything from the day he met her until the day she died. Love was a
great leveller.

The Countess noted the way the
doctor shrank back into himself and took charge. “I agree this
could not be the handiwork of servants, nor do I believe that
someone was daring enough to break into the castle during the night
– though we cannot yet discount it - that leaves only one option.”
She paused and drew breath, allowing those present to comprehend
for themselves what that option might be. “That means it must have
been one of us.”

Immediately on finishing her
pronouncement she held up a hand. “Please keep your indignation to
yourselves. I am not accusing anyone. But I will let you know that
last night I had something on my mind and went to discuss my
concern with my friend, Dr Watson. As I wandered from the east wing
to the west wing at midnight I saw Mr Dee, Mr Larssensen, Miss
O’Hara, Mr Bancoe and Miss Lambert wandering about. I also heard
Lord Cruddock and the Rajah discussing something in his lordship’s
private study. It seems clear to me that no one was asleep and that
everyone had ample opportunity to steal the tiara.” She ignored the
sea of red faces and turned to Lord Cruddock. “Please instruct a
servant to detain Mr Bancoe. His bags will need to be searched. Not
that I am accusing him. It is merely a precaution. Everyone will
have their bags and rooms searched in due course.”

“Not me surely!” remonstrated
the Rajah, looking meaningfully at the Countess.

“Everyone!” she repeated
sternly. “There is more to the missing tiara than meets the eye. We
cannot assume this to be a straightforward theft. Four deaths
suggest something else may be at play and it is high time to get to
the bottom of whatever
it
is.”

“Why should you take charge?”
demanded Miss Dee.

“Yes,” added Mr Dee with an
arrogant tilt of his chin and an icy stare. “Shouldn’t the police
be called? Something as valuable as the tiara is a matter for
Scotland Yard.”

“I have no intention of taking
charge,” the Countess replied with egalitarian hauteur. “I am
merely voicing what everyone else is thinking. I agree the Yard
should be notified as soon as possible and a search of the castle
organized sooner rather than later.” She glanced at the bracket
clock on the marble mantle. It was ten minutes to eleven and she
was acutely aware that neither Lady Moira nor Miss Lambert had yet
come downstairs to breakfast. That was her first concern. She had
had a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach all night and it had
refused to abate. “In the meantime, I will look in on Lady Moira
and inform her of what has happened and then I would like to speak
to Miss O’Hara.” She turned once more to Lord Cruddock and softened
her tone. “With your permission, of course, your lordship. I won’t
disturb your fiancé for long. I have just one question that I wish
to clarify. It may be useful to the Yard.”

Lord Cruddock gave a cavalier
wave of his hand. “Yes, yes, by all means. I better start issuing
instructions to the servants. Everyone else, please feel free to
return to breakfast and then go about as you wish. No one is
accusing you of theft. This unfortunate matter will soon be cleared
up. I am sure the tiara will turn up in some unlikely spot and we
will all have a grand old laugh.”

Disappointment was the only
word to describe what the Countess felt after she pushed open Lady
Moira’s bedroom door without knocking and found the dowager to be
alive and well - or rather, alive and unwell. She expected to find
the old lady dead.

Lady Moira was sitting up in
bed with a cold compress to her forehead. The curtains were drawn.
Miss Lambert was sitting in an armchair by the bedside. A single
lamp cast a dollop of golden light on the book she was reading.

“Er,” stammered the Countess,
smiling wanly, momentarily lost for words, before spotting the
breakfast tray on the end of the bed. “I came up to see if you
should be wanting some breakfast since you did not come down this
morning but I see you have already breakfasted.”

Miss Lambert bookmarked the
page and placed the book on her lap. “Yes, I brought up a tray
earlier, before anyone had risen. Lady Moira is not feeling well
this morning. But thank you for thinking of us.”

“I hope it is nothing serious,”
replied the Countess stepping into the room and closing the door.
“Is there something I can bring you? I always travel with some
comprimes and cachets. Otherwise, I’m sure Dr Watson would be only
too happy to give you an examination.”

Lady Moira opened her eyes and
removed the compress from her forehead. “It is nothing to be
concerned about, Countess Volodymyrovna,” she said cobwebbily. “I
suffer from blinding headaches - a symptom of failing eyesight, old
age and too many Scottish winters. I shall be as formidable as ever
by the time we sit down to lunch. Open the curtain, if you will be
so kind.”

The Countess drew the curtains
on another grey day and perched herself on the window seat where
dull light fell from behind and provided a fair aspect of both Miss
Lambert and the dowager – she wanted to observe their reactions.
“There is another reason I decided to look in on you, Lady Moira.
It is rather bad news, I’m afraid. The Lammas tiara was stolen
during the night.”

Miss Lambert gasped and her
hand flew to her breast.

Lady Moira’s reaction was more
controlled, though not as cavalier as that of her son. It befitted
her age, her position and her experience of life’s vicissitudes.
“That’s what comes of having a golf course on the estate and
inviting total strangers into your home. I suppose the imbecilic
police will blame one of the servants. Was anything else
stolen?”

“All the other curios were in
place, though no one has yet made a thorough search of the
castle.”

“I suppose my son left the key
to the glass cabinet lying around?”

“I believe a fire poker was
used to smash the glass.”

The old lady tut-tutted. “Now
we must suffer another investigation. The police will stick their
noses into every nook and cranny. They are perfect fools. I would
not put it past that Irish actress to have staged the theft to
garner more publicity for herself and the wretched golf course
while she has all those reporters and photographers eating out of
her vulgarly painted hand. Fetch my white wool dress with the high
neckline and the plisse cuffs, Miss Lambert. It is time to get up
and take charge.”

The Irish actress was seated at
a dressing table positioned in a bay window, staring unhappily into
an oval mirror. “Oh, Countess Volodymyrovna,” she said with
surprise, catching the reflection in the silver glass without
needing to turn around. “I was expecting the maid with my breakfast
tray.”

“She will be along any moment,”
replied the Countess. “There has been an upset this morning and she
has been delayed.”

Lola, wearing the same satin
peignoir she had worn at midnight, pushed lazily to her feet and
sashayed slowly toward a chaise longue in the middle of the room,
an impish smile played at the corners of her lips. “Upset?”

“Something untoward happened
this morning,” continued the Countess blandly, endeavouring to
position herself at such an angle as to observe the actress’s face
when she broke the bad news.

“I suppose the Dees are making
a frightful fuss.” Lola ran some fingers languidly along the back
of the chaise then swivelled to face the Countess. Morning light
caught her full on the face which had been schooled into perfect
serenity, the impish smile no longer at play.

The Countess realized Miss
O’Hara was alluding to the extra game being granted to her lover
and Mr Bancoe. It was time to strike. “I came to tell you that the
Lammas tiara was stolen during the night.”

Lola uttered a tiny cry, like a
baby bird caught in a poacher’s net, as she clutched her breast and
went down like a nine pin. No sooner had her body crumpled to the
floor with a heavy thud than Lord Cruddock entered.

“My God!” he cried, sprinting
past the Countess to gather his fiancé into his arms. “Darling!
Darling! Speak to me!”

A lack of blood to the brain
caused by a sudden shock does not last long. Lola came to her
senses within moments of fainting and allowed herself to be
transported to her richly festooned bed. Her fiancé perched himself
on the side and patted her manicured hand.

“Darling,” he said tenderly,
fearfully, “are you all right? What happened? Shall I summon the
doctor?”

Lola was in command of herself
once more. “I just heard the news, Duncan. Is it true? The tiara
has been stolen – is it true?”

“Yes, darling, it’s true, but
do not concern yourself. The tiara will turn up, mark my words. It
cannot have gone far.”

The Countess stepped forward
with practiced poise. “That’s what I came to speak to Miss O’Hara
about,” she said, looking not at his lordship, who sounded oddly
sure of himself, but at Lola, the consummate actress, who had
momentarily revealed genuine surprise and vulnerability in that
moment when she fainted. That was no clever piece of play-acting.
The actress had hit the floor with a painful thump and in her
delicate condition that could not have been an easy thing to
stage-manage. A clever and consummate actress would have gone into
a swoon, fallen languorously across the chaise with a limp hand to
her forehead. “I was hoping you could answer just one
question.”

Lord Cruddock turned on the
Countess with seigneurial rage. “Just one question! I hold you
responsible for what just happened! My fiancé could have been
seriously injured when she swooned! I insist that you leave this
room at once!”

Fighting back her own rising
anger, the Countess turned to go. It was as if he didn’t care a jot
for the tiara whose sale to the Rajah stood to stave off the wolves
at the door.

“Wait!” called Miss O’Hara. “If
it is about the tiara, I don’t mind answering. The sooner it is
found, the sooner I will be able to breathe.”

Without removing her hand from
the door knob the Countess looked squarely at Lord Cruddock,
perceptively bristling, while addressing herself to the actress. “I
came to ask Miss O’Hara if she noticed whether her bedroom had been
deranged at any time since the commencement of the tournament?”

“Deranged?” said the actress,
sounding baffled.

“It is French, darling, it
means if you noticed if anything was out of place.”

“Oh, yes, yes, I did, on two
occasions I came back to my room to find items not where I had left
them. I like to arrange my scent bottles and hair brushes and
ribbon boxes just so. It is a habit instilled by the theatre where
one must have everything swiftly at hand between curtain changes.
The first time it happened I accused my maid of carelessness and
she seemed quite hurt. The second time I accused her of tampering
with my things in my absence and she denied it most strenuously and
said that someone must have come into the room. I thought it an
unlikely story as nothing was actually missing, though it appeared
as if someone had rifled through my jewels and even my clothes. But
that’s what you think too. You think someone came into my room in
search of the key to the document chest where the tiara was kept.
Is that it?”