Crowned and Dangerous Page 13

  We all waited expectantly that evening for the sound of a motorcar. At last it came but only Darcy got out. He ran to the front door, as it was now raining heavily again.

  “He wouldn’t come,” Darcy said. “Absolutely refused, whatever I said to him.”

  “How annoying,” Oona said. “What a waste of a good duck.”

  “Georgie and I are here,” Darcy replied. “I hope you don’t think it’s a waste to feed us.”

  “Of course not. But I was hoping . . . Oh, never mind. The man is his own worst enemy. How does he expect help if he rejects every olive branch extended to him?”

  “That’s the point,” Darcy said, taking off his wet raincoat. “He doesn’t expect help. He doesn’t want help. He seems to me quite resigned to his fate. He babbled some nonsense about joining his dear Mary.”

  “Well, that’s a good sign, isn’t it?” Oona said. “He must think that that sweet soul is in heaven, so he must expect to be headed in that direction himself. If he’d actually committed murder he would be going to t’other place.”

  We went through into a vast dining room. Places had been laid at one end of a long mahogany table that would easily seat thirty. Only that one end had been dusted, and candlelight twinkled on the polished wood. Treadwell came in with a tureen of thick vegetable soup, then served the roast duck, accompanied by roast potatoes and tiny Brussels sprouts.

  “Did you actually cook this, Treadwell?” Darcy asked as he was served.

  “Lady Whyte does most of the cooking these days,” Treadwell replied. “She has become rather proficient at it.”

  “Well, there’s a rare compliment,” Oona commented as the butler left us. “Usually he lets us know how inferior this household is to his usual standards.”

  The meal was rounded off with an apple pie and custard. Then a good cheddar and biscuits.

  “I’m sorry we’re down to so few courses these days,” Oona said. “We’re living the life of peasants.”

  “It was all quite delicious, Lady Whyte,” I said.

  “Please, call me Aunt Oona. Everyone else does.” She gave Darcy a knowing look.

  “So what are we going to do about this father of yours?” she asked as we went through to the sitting room and Treadwell brought in coffee and brandy. “Have you had your thinking cap on yet, Dooley? What might be his best line of defense? Insanity? Runs in the family, you know.”

  “Oh, not insanity,” Dooley said hastily. “They’ll lock him away for life in a mental institution. We wouldn’t want that for him.”

  “I’ve been thinking,” I said. “Two things, actually. Has anyone checked into this man’s inheritance? Might there be other claimants who would get the fortune if and when Mr. Roach died?”

  “The Garda must have notified the authorities in Chicago by now,” Darcy said. “His next of kin would have to be told.”

  “So they should know if any of them had recently traveled to Ireland, shouldn’t they?”

  “Good point,” Oona said. “In my experience money and greed are behind a good many murders.”

  Darcy laughed. “And how many murders have you experienced, Aunt Oona?”

  “One reads newspapers,” she said haughtily. “But Miss Georgie was going to add a second thought when we interrupted her. One thing she should know about this family is that we never shut up. Go on, Georgie. Tell us what you were going to say.”

  “I was told that he was killed by a blow to the back of the head, and yet the manservant said there had been signs of a struggle. Those two don’t seem compatible, do they?” I looked around at those faces in the candlelight. “If you are struggling with somebody, you can’t very well hit him in the back of the head—even if one of you falls over, it would usually be faceup. A blow to the back of the head to me implies creeping up behind someone and catching him unawares.”

  “The girl has a good head on her shoulders,” Oona exclaimed.

  Darcy nodded agreement. “That did cross my mind too,” he said, “but unfortunately it wouldn’t exactly help my father to suggest that he’d crept up behind Roach and bashed him to death, rather than struggling with him and maybe killing him accidentally.”

  “Yes, I see your point,” Oona said. “If the death was accidental during a struggle, it would be manslaughter, not murder. And if your father’s lawyer could prove that the American instigated the struggle, maybe attacked first, then your father was defending his own life.” She turned to her husband. “You’re awfully quiet, Dooley. What has that sharp little mind of yours been thinking?”

  “I’ve been thinking about the club,” Dooley said. “So was it really a shillelagh, a walking stick, or a weapon we are talking about here?”

  “They said it was one of the weapons that was hanging on the walls,” Darcy replied.

  Dooley wagged a finger excitedly. “In that case it was the Burda club. I wondered about that.”

  “The Burda club?”

  “A rare artifact,” Dooley said. “A Celtic weapon of great antiquity, owned by the O’Mara clan from time immemorial. Did your father never show it to you? It was dug from the bog and miraculously preserved. I wrote all about it in my book on bogs of Ireland. I was surprised to see it hanging carelessly on a wall in Kilhenny Castle rather than being in the museum in Dublin.”

  “So it’s a valuable object, is it?” I asked.

  “Priceless. Absolutely priceless,” Dooley said. “Do you know how many wooden artifacts have survived from Celtic times? Almost none.”

  “Worth killing for, would you say?” Oona asked.

  “If anyone actually knew of its value,” Dooley said. “Not your everyday burglar.”

  “But that doesn’t add up, Aunt Oona,” Darcy said. “If you came to steal it, you’d kill and take the club with you, not leave it lying beside the body.”

  “That’s true.” Oona sighed. “Dooley always did say I could never think or drive straight. Never mind. We have three good brains here. You’ll figure it out between you.”

  Chapter 16

  TUESDAY, DECEMBER 4

  AT MOUNTJOY IN IRELAND.

  Feeling a little better now that I’m with Darcy again.

  After that meal I slept surprisingly well. The room was warm and if any ghost came to visit during the night she did not disturb me. I awoke to find the sun shining on me, a brilliant blue sky dotted with puffy white clouds. When I looked out of the window there was Oona down below feeding chickens. It was all very rural and pleasant, hard to remember for a moment that a man’s life was at stake. From Dooley’s babbling on about ancient clubs the previous night it was clear that he probably wouldn’t be much use to us. It was up to Darcy and me to find a way to save his father. I got up, bathed and was on my way back to my bedroom when I found Dooley loitering on the landing.

  “Well, hello there,” he said. “You slept well, I trust?”

  “Very, thank you.”

  “Jolly good,” he said. “So no mysterious visits during the night?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  As I headed for my room I noticed that he was following. This was awkward. One cannot slug one’s host, even if he did try anything improper. I could almost feel his breath down my neck and wondered if I could slam the bedroom door on him in time, or even if the bedroom door had a lock. Luckily I never had to find out if his intentions were dishonorable. Help came in the form of a booming voice, yelling, “Dooley, what are you doing? Are you annoying that young woman? Leave her to get dressed in peace.” And Oona appeared at the top of the stairs as Dooley gave an embarrassed little smile.

  Oona beamed at me. “It’s wonderful. Absolutely wonderful, you know. Old Dooley is feeling his oats again. Hasn’t been as perky as this for years. Well done, you.”

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about helping Old Dooley to be perky but decided he was probably quite harmless. I
finished dressing and had eaten a most satisfying breakfast of eggs, bacon and sausage by the time Darcy arrived. Darcy joined me at the breakfast table and tucked into a breakfast himself.

  “So what do you think we should do first?” I asked as we found ourselves alone.

  He frowned. “Thinking about this in the cold light of day, Georgie, I’m still not at all sure I want to involve you. Now that the word has got out that my father is home at Kilhenny the village is already crawling with reporters. I think it might be wiser if you stayed safely here with Oona and Dooley and you three used your thinking caps from afar.”

  “But I want to help, Darcy,” I said. “Nobody will recognize me, I’m sure. If asked I’ll say I’m reporting for the Horse and Hound.”

  This made Darcy and Oona chuckle.

  “And I’ll hide as we go through the village, if you like.”

  “Let her go with you, Darcy,” Oona said. “The girl has a good brain. Your stupid father needs all the help he can get at the moment. Did he appreciate the portion of duck I sent back with you?”

  “He pretended not to, but I noticed by this morning that he’d eaten it,” Darcy said.

  “You see, stubborn as ever, but we’ll win him round, won’t we, Dooley?” she asked as Dooley poked his head in through the door.

  “A splendid day for Wellington today,” he said. “Don’t you want to come up to the attic and see it for yourselves? It’s not every day you can witness an epic battle.”

  “They’ve a battle of their own, Dooley,” Oona said. “And frankly you should leave Waterloo until my nephew is exonerated, and put that brilliant mind of yours to saving him.”

  Dooley sighed. “Very well, my dear. If you say so. Do you think I should come over with you and talk to him myself? I’d like to hear his side of the story.”

  “At the moment I don’t think he’d talk to you, Uncle Dooley. And the problem is that he half believes he is guilty. He went on a bender, you see. Blind drunk. Can’t remember a thing.”

  “Dear me, that’s too worrying,” Dooley said. “Even I couldn’t come up with a good defense for a man who thinks he has done the deed. Perhaps he did.”

  “Of course he didn’t,” Oona said hotly. “You know Thaddy too well for that, Dooley. When has he ever shown signs of violence?”

  “He has always lost his temper with monotonous regularity,” Dooley said. “He hates to lose at cards. He hates to be laughed at.”

  “But did he ever try to throttle you for any of those things? As I told the young’uns, he’s all bark and no bite.”

  “All the same I would like to talk to him myself,” Dooley said. “Perhaps he needs a sympathetic ear at this moment.”

  “He wouldn’t talk to me,” Darcy said. “But then, he hasn’t wanted me around since my mother died.”

  “So put it to him,” Oona said. “Remind him that Dooley used to be in the legal profession and could have had a brilliant career if he hadn’t been so softhearted. See if he’ll agree to talk to Dooley. You never know. Something might just come out of it.”

  “I’ll try.” Darcy gave her a halfhearted grin.

  I put on my overcoat and jammed my hat low onto my forehead, so that I shouldn’t be recognized, then I climbed into the Rolls beside Darcy.

  “I suppose it’s out of the question to see the scene of the crime for ourselves?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “There are still police guarding the house,” he said. “And the inspector from Dublin wouldn’t take it kindly if we were poking our noses in.”

  “Is the manservant still living there?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Then they must have cleared him of suspicion or he could have disposed of any potential evidence.”

  “Why would a manservant want to kill his master? He had a damned good job and I’m sure he was paid well. Americans always do overpay, don’t they? Now he’ll have to go back to a country still mired in a depression. And if you were a servant and wanted to kill your employer . . .” He paused.

  “You’d poison him slowly,” I said. “Or at the very least make it look like an accident.”

  Darcy laughed. “You have a criminal mind, do you know that?”

  “That’s just it,” I said. “This whole murder scene. Leaving Mr. Roach lying on the floor with the weapon nearby. If you’d just killed, wouldn’t you try to dispose of the weapon, or at least wipe it clean and put it back on the wall with the other weapons so that nobody would notice it?”

  Darcy nodded thoughtfully. “If my father was blind drunk at the time, he might not have been thinking clearly. Or he might have just wanted to get back to the lodge as quickly as possible before the manservant heard the commotion and came to investigate.”

  “In which case, being blind drunk, he would have staggered back, probably knocked something over, touched a tree with a bloody finger. We should try to retrace his route. And surely if this man guarded his privacy as they say he did, wouldn’t the manservant have had to let your father in? Served them drinks?”

  “Unfortunately, not necessarily. He says the servants’ entrance was rarely locked and anyway he believed my father still had a key. He had come into the house unannounced before.”

  “Are those big gates always kept locked?” I asked. “Is there a gatekeeper?”

  “No gatekeeper, these days,” Darcy said, “but I understand the new gates are always locked and anyone who comes to visit has to communicate with the castle by telephone before they are let in. At this moment there is a constable on guard just inside.”

  “I saw him when I arrived in my taxi,” I said. “So how did your father even get onto the grounds?”

  “Ah, that’s simple,” Darcy said. “There is a small side gate in the wall behind the lodge. And a path that leads up to the house.”

  “And that is not kept locked?”

  “You’d have to know about it to find it,” Darcy said. “It’s more or less hidden under the ivy. When we were young it was always open. But then so was the main gateway. No gates across it at all.”

  “So anyone could get in if they found out about the secret little gate?”

  “I suppose so. If anyone was determined enough he could climb over the wall. There are places where trees grow close enough to make it possible.”

  We reached the bottom of the driveway and turned out into the lane. How different it looked on a sunny day—the fields an unbelievably bright green, almost glowing. The whitewashed cottages sparkled and even the sheep looked like bright little dots against the green of the fields. It was the sort of day when one simply had to feel more cheerful.

  “I wonder why Roach felt the need to put up such impressive gates and to lock them,” I said. “One would think he had something to hide, or he believed items in the castle were worth stealing.”

  “Or he was one of these strange people who are paranoid about being pursued. Maybe that was why he chose to flee to an out-of-the-way place like this. Maybe we can find out whether he has been seeing a doctor while he has been in Ireland.”

  “Your father should know whether he showed any signs of insanity or persecution. After all, they worked together for quite a while before that horrid incident at the stables.” I glanced across at Darcy. “Speaking of which, we should go to the stables and try to find the truth about what happened with that horse doping. Someone there may know.”

  “And if we find out?” Darcy asked. The bleakness had now returned to his face. “I can’t see how it would help prove my father’s innocence. I’m sure my father wouldn’t have doped one of his horses, but enough people believe that he did. And it only gives him another motive for murder if he felt he was wrongly sacked from his job. The prosecution will make hay with it.”

  I touched his hand on the steering wheel. “I know it all looks awful and hopeless, but maybe we’ll find a glimmer
of hope soon. Actually we’ve already got one. That club that Dooley was talking about. If it really is as priceless as he says then maybe someone did sneak in to steal it. Roach confronted him and he swung the club.”

  “But then the club would have had someone else’s fingerprints on it, not just my father’s.”

  “Doesn’t that strike you as odd?” I asked. “Just your father’s prints? Think how many other people must have handled that club.”

  “Maybe they mean recent and clear prints, as opposed to old and smudged ones.”

  “If you think we can get onto the grounds we should trace your father’s route. If he was as drunk as he says, he would have bumped into things, maybe left a bloody fingerprint somewhere.”

  “You forget it’s been raining for several days. Wouldn’t any traces have been washed away?”

  I slapped his hand now. “You’re being negative, Darcy. This isn’t like you. The Darcy I know is game for anything, takes on the hardest challenge. Anything I suggest, you shoot down. I came over here to help you, you know.”

  He managed a weak smile. “I’m sorry. Yes, I am being negative, I know. I just can’t seem to find much hope.”

  “I’m here. I’m beside you no matter what. Doesn’t that make you feel a tiny bit better?”

  “It should do, but all I can think is that I don’t want you to go through this. I really wish you were miles and miles away.”

  I sat beside him in silence. Was I being selfish to give him additional worry? Should I admit defeat and go back to London, let him wallow in his own misery and face things by himself?

  “All right,” I said at last. “If that’s what you really want. I’ll collect my things from Aunt Oona’s and go home. But I would like to point out to you that I do have some experience with this sort of thing. And I am prepared to believe that your father is innocent until someone hands me irrefutable proof that he’s guilty.”

  Again there was a silence, then he said, with emotion in his voice, “You’re a grand girl, Georgie. And I don’t know what I want. I want you safe and far from scandal. I don’t want your life blighted. . . .”