Castle Macnab, page 9
‘A tall man with a head like a cannonball ordered him to settle down,’ said Janet. ‘Everyone addressed him as “Baron” and he was obviously in charge.’
‘Yes,’ added Archie. ‘He said something like That’s enough, Kurbin. You don’t want to kill the little wretch. Once Kurbin had dropped the waiter, the baron bellowed for the manager, who came running pretty sharply, as you can imagine.’
‘Roundhead gave him a horrid earful,’ said Janet, ‘reminding him that he was a very important guest. You’d have thought he was the king of Siam the way he was carrying on. The poor manager had to grovel like a slave and offer a free lunch for all three before they would let him go.’
‘And who was the third man?’ Palliser-Yeates asked.
‘A little weasel with a ginger moustache,’ said Archie. ‘He kept his head down during all the fuss. Probably a servant.’
‘That’s really all we know,’ said Janet. ‘We were on our way to meet you at the lodge, so we didn’t see what happened after. I doubt they’re the most popular guests.’
‘I know we fought them in the war,’ commented Archie, ‘but I’ve always found your average German to be a pretty decent sort of fellow.’
‘Not this lot,’ said Janet feelingly. ‘If anyone round here is up to no good, then I’d bet it’s them.’
They crested the top of a hill and saw the handsome stone-built houses of Kinclavers lying below. As they descended they heard the drone of an engine passing overhead. Archie looked up to see a biplane with distinctive red markings descending gracefully as it headed northward over the rooftops.
‘I say, that looks like a DH.50!’ he exclaimed. ‘Those things are brand spanking new. Only somebody with a whacking great wallet could have got his hands on one so soon!’
Lamancha squinted up at the plane. ‘There’s only one man I can think of who would be flying a crate like that around these parts. Where on earth can he be going?’
‘There’s a small landing strip just north of here,’ said Archie. ‘It’s only a couple of fields knocked together and flattened out, but it serves.’
He was forced to slow down as they entered the outskirts of the town. In spite of its modest size, Kinclavers was a bustling Highland crossroads for hunters, equestrians, hikers and sightseers. On any given day one might bump into a party of archaeologists investigating the Pictish circles, geologists exploring the volcanic substrata of the mountains, or folklorists seeking the origin of some ancient Gaelic song.
They drove down the bustling main street past hoardings that advertised the latest edition of the Denroy Weekly Clarion with the headline Farm Labour Dispute Worsens. A trio of high-spirited gents were merrily outfitting themselves at the gun and tackle store, while the local kiltmaker stood in his doorway directing scornful scrutiny at every pair of trousers that passed his shop. Across the street was MacTavish the family butcher, famed for his meat and gravy pies and delicious onion bridies, while next door the window of the bakery was arrayed with currant scones and butteries.
‘Look there!’ exclaimed Palliser-Yeates, pointing to one of the other stores. ‘Mackie and Son, Purveyors of Fine Food. I’ll bet that’s where that wrapping came from.’
‘That just confirms that those Germans Archie and Janet spotted are exactly the chaps we’re looking for,’ said Lamancha.
The town hall clock and the spire of Kinclavers church faced each other across the market square as though engaged in a staring contest between time and eternity. The central fountain had been reduced to a trickle of water that dribbled grudgingly from the mouth of a truculent stone lion whose left ear had been chipped off in the violence of a long ago riot. A shrill whistle and a trailing plume of smoke in the distance announced the passage of a southbound train along the railway track that marked the eastern boundary of the town.
Beyond the square, a disordered flock of sheep had wandered into the street followed by an indolent dog and a furious shepherd, who was swearing loudly that he had only taken his eyes off them for a moment while he partook of some much needed refreshment. Archie muttered some mild imprecations as he tried to force a way through.
‘The Hydropathic is just at the end of this road on the left,’ said Janet, pointing.
‘We’d be there in a few ticks if these wretched animals would just get out of the way,’ Archie grumbled.
‘Look, Archie, you and Janet get out and leg it up to the hotel,’ said Lamancha. ‘Keep an eye on those Germans while John and I follow that plane.’
‘Of course, if you think it’s that urgent,’ said Archie agreeably.
He pulled up and he and Janet got out, allowing the other two men to move into the front seats. As the Roylances worked their way through the sheep to the pavement they heard Lamancha’s command ringing behind them.
‘Clear the way! Clear the way there!’
As if in response to his unquestionable authority, the woolly mass divided, opening a path for the car as the Red Sea had parted miraculously before Moses. With a lordly wave to the animals, Lamancha proceeded up the road.
‘And God gave him dominion over the beasts of the field,’ murmured Palliser-Yeates, loosely misquoting the Bible.
As they passed beyond the edge of the town Lamancha’s sharp eyes fixed intently on the small airfield ahead. ‘They’ve definitely set down there,’ he observed.
Palliser-Yeates could see the tension in the set of his friend’s jaw. ‘Look, Charles, be straight with me – who do you think is in that plane?’
‘Unless I’m very much mistaken it’s someone who could bring even more trouble down on our heads – Edward Prince of Wales, the heir to the throne.’
Palliser-Yeates uttered a choice exclamation of surprise that was well outside the bounds of his usual language. ‘The prince, here at the same time as his cousin the Kaiser? Do you think it’s a coincidence?’
‘I suppose he could be up here for one of his romantic dalliances,’ said Lamancha dubiously, ‘but if it is a coincidence, it’s a whopper that will take some swallowing.’
‘Then it’s as we already suspected: old Wilhelm didn’t travel all this way just to take in the Highland air.’
‘Whatever is going on,’ said Lamancha, ‘if the Prince of Wales is mixed up in it, then we may be on the brink of a scandal that would rock the nation to its foundations.’
12
PRINCE OF THE SKIES
________
Once Lamancha had parked the Hispana outside the fence surrounding the airfield, he and Palliser-Yeates entered through a wicket gate. They passed a pair of wooden sheds that had been erected to store fuel and other supplies and saw the plane at the far end of the runway, its engine slowly cooling.
Closer to hand stood a luxurious Rolls-Royce beside which a folding table had been set up by a uniformed chauffeur. He was pouring champagne for the three men who had disembarked from the aircraft, all of whom were evidently in high spirits after their flight. They had just finished a toast when they spotted Lamancha and Palliser-Yeates approaching. Their manner altered immediately from careless celebration to an obvious wariness.
At the centre of the group stood a slight figure who regarded them from beneath his thatch of yellow hair with the wistful face of a choirboy. His innocently youthful aspect contrasted oddly with his garishly patterned tweed suit and his brown and white brogues. Many people regarded the latter as the distinctive footwear of a cad.
Edward Prince of Wales, eldest son of King George V, served in the Grenadier Guards in the war and his frequent visits to the front had made him popular with veterans. Since then, however, his distaste for the normal protocols of royal behaviour – which were particularly expected of the heir to the throne – was proving a matter of grave concern to his father and to the Prime Minister.
The young man’s expression was solemn as he assessed the newcomers, then, as though a brilliant light had been switched on, his features were illuminated from within by a glowing smile.
‘Lamancha, Charles Lamancha!’ he exclaimed jauntily. ‘Why, I haven’t seen you since the South Oxfordshire Hunt.’
Lamancha shook the offered hand and smiled in return. ‘I see, Your Highness, that you’re quite recovered from the fall you took.’
The prince laughed lightly. ‘Oh, that was nothing. I’ve taken worse hurt from a broken heart.’
‘This is my good friend John Palliser-Yeates.’
The prince acknowledged the introduction with a nod and drained the last of his champagne. As the glass was promptly refilled he indicated the mustachioed figure to his right.
‘This is my pilot Flight Lieutenant Eddie Fielden – “Mouse”, we call him. The blessed fellow’s so timid he wouldn’t let me take the wheel of this beauty in case I dented her on her first flight.’
‘She takes a bit of handling,’ explained the pilot, ‘but we’ll soon get the kinks out of her.’
On Prince Edward’s left stood a very different figure, whose dark probing eyes and assertively outthrust jaw gave a forceful impression of animal vitality combined with an exceptional intelligence.
‘This is my friend and financial adviser Warren Creevey,’ said the prince. ‘Perhaps you’ve heard of him.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Lamancha,’ said the noted English financier as they shook hands. ‘I hear you’re very highly regarded in America, and those people do not impress easily.’ His voice was deep and genial and his smile came easily.
‘And I believe you’re rather a big noise in the City, Mr Creevey,’ Lamancha returned.
‘Oh, I’ve pulled off a few coups,’ said Creevey, ‘but nothing as yet to shake the world.’ There was that in his bearing which suggested he was capable of exactly that.
‘The way you manipulated those Bolivian stocks caught a few people out,’ commented Palliser-Yeates as he and Creevey were introduced.
‘It’s all about spotting opportunities and seizing them before the other chap wakes up,’ said Creevey. ‘If we’re to get the world back on its feet, we need the proper incentives, and nothing incentivises like money.’
Lamancha was used to sizing men up, but in the case of Creevey he felt as though he were scouting an impregnable fortress in order to assess its defences. The financier had the disarming air of a dreamer, but one whose dreams were an incalculable maze of criss-crossing schemes and sudden, brilliant deceits.
‘So, Your Highness, what brings you up here?’ asked Lamancha as he and Palliser-Yeates each accepted a freshly poured glass of champagne.
‘Sheer boredom, I’m afraid,’ the prince declared. ‘London has become stiflingly dull, and after suffering through Shaw’s new play – some God-awful tosh about a woman atoning to her husband for an affair – well, after that I had to get away and clear my head.’
‘Plus we wanted to investigate some new ventures without the royal attendants shadowing us everywhere,’ said Creevey.
‘Half of those chaps are spies for my father.’ Edward shook his head disparagingly. ‘I’m glad to be shot of them, frankly.’
Palliser-Yeates took a small sip of champagne. ‘Are these ventures something I might invest in?’
‘I think they’re rather outside your field, if you don’t mind my saying so,’ Creevey replied, ‘and the risks are pretty steep.’
‘To hear Creevey talk, you’d think he spent his life wrestling crocodiles and performing dentistry on hungry lions,’ joked the prince. ‘In fact most of the time he’s locked away in secret meetings, spending hours on the phone and shooting off an endless stream of transatlantic telegrams.’
‘Don’t think that isn’t dangerous,’ said Creevey with a gleam in his dark, intelligent eyes. ‘Some of the most savage beasts on the planet are to be found in the boardroom.’
‘I expect Mr Creevey has a few notions that might relieve your boredom,’ said Lamancha to the prince.
Edward’s laugh was almost melodious. ‘Well, he has been pressing me to take a trip to America, haven’t you, Creevey? Says I’ll find all manner of pleasant company in New York. I believe the clubs there are the last thing in gaiety.’
‘That’s a flight you’d definitely better let me handle,’ Flight Lieutenant Fielden put in.
‘Before you take off for the delights of the New World, sir,’ said Lamancha, ‘might I have a word with you in private?’
‘In private?’ The prince set his glass aside and raised a comical eyebrow. ‘I say, it’s not going to be a risqué joke, is it?’
‘No, nothing like that,’ Lamancha assured him. ‘But it is something you will want to hear.’
In spite of a warning glance from Creevey, the prince allowed himself to be drawn away out of earshot, leaving Palliser-Yeates and the financier to discuss the markets while ‘Mouse’ Fielden did his best to feign interest.
Once he was certain they could not be overheard, Lamancha set about the delicate task of interrogating his future king.
‘Look, I think we both know it isn’t simply boredom that’s brought you all the way to the Highlands. I have to ask you exactly what you’re doing here.’
Edward lit a cigarette and took a long draw on it before replying.
‘We’re meeting some people at a lodge I’ve rented for the week. I rather fancy a spot of riding, maybe bag a few birds, that sort of thing. Creevey set it all up.’ With an airy wave of his cigarette he added, ‘I’d invite you along, but I’m afraid it’s rather an exclusive group.’
‘Might one of those people be a German cousin of yours,’ Lamancha probed, ‘a man who was once a very important, not to say dangerous, figure in the world?’
Edward’s quizzical expression was nearly perfect. ‘Honestly, old man, I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
Lamancha bit back on his growing impatience with the prince’s evasions. He had no doubt that his hunch was correct and that the only course open to him was to lay his cards plainly on the table.
‘I happen to know that Wilhelm von Hohenzollern is right here in Scotland, possibly only a few miles away,’ he said.
Edward flicked some ash to the ground and responded peevishly. ‘Really? That sounds unlikely, doesn’t it? And if it were true, then it’s a family matter and none of your business.’
‘When I see a fuse burning on a bloody great keg of gunpowder, I think it’s my business to snuff it out,’ Lamancha told him sharply. ‘What would people think of you if they knew you were meeting with the most hated man in Europe?’
An edge of anger flashed beneath Edward’s boyish charm. ‘A lot of people would think it’s a jolly good idea. You see what’s happening over there, plots, murders and Bolshies running around all over trying to bring the world crashing down about our ears.’
‘And your friend Creevey has the solution, does he?’ Lamancha was as sceptical as good manners would allow.
Edward cast an uneasy glance in the financier’s direction, as if afraid he might hear. ‘Last year Creevey was hobnobbing with that German Stinnes and a few other bigwigs. They came up with the notion of certain interested parties getting together in secret to discuss the future of Germany.’
‘They think they can restore the old order?’
‘There’s a new movement afoot,’ said the prince, suddenly heated, ‘one that will bring its own order. We can either play our part or let it all go to the devil.’
‘I’m afraid your little conference has already fallen apart,’ Lamancha informed him grimly. ‘Wilhelm has been kidnapped by a man named Kildennan.’
Edward blanched visibly. ‘You mean old Duncan Kildennan, the laird?’
‘Yes. I don’t think he’s taken him home for tea. He has something a lot less pleasant in mind.’
The prince’s mouth twisted into a hint of scorn. ‘How on earth do you know all this? Crystal ball?’
‘I don’t have time to tell you the whole story,’ Lamancha answered curtly. ‘My friends Dick Hannay and Ned Leithen have gone off to prise Wilhelm out of Kildennan’s clutches, but there’s every chance this will all end very badly.’
Edward tossed away his half finished cigarette and began edging back towards the Rolls. ‘Look, Lamancha, I know you’re a sound fellow and I’m sure you mean well, but you really are poking your nose in where it’s not wanted.’
Lamancha resisted the impulse to grab hold of the prince to keep him in place. ‘You must get away from here as soon as possible. If you sink any further into this mess, the throne itself might be in danger.’
Edward turned away and walked briskly back to Creevey’s side. The financier’s eyes darted between the prince and Lamancha. ‘Important business, was it?’ he enquired sharply.
‘Not at all,’ answered Edward, forcing a laugh. ‘Lamancha was just offering me a few tips for the next race at Aintree. Got them right from the horse’s mouth so to speak.’
‘Perhaps we’d better be on our way,’ suggested Creevey, motioning to the chauffeur to clear away the drinks.
‘Yes, sorry we can’t carry on our chat,’ said Edward, dismissing Lamancha and Palliser-Yeates. ‘I’m sure you’ve got things to be getting on with.’
With a perfunctory bow, Lamancha turned and led his friend away.
‘So, is the prince connected to this business?’ Palliser-Yeates asked as they returned to the Hispana.
‘He’s right in the thick of it,’ Lamancha answered grimly. ‘I only hope he’ll take my advice and get clear while there’s still time.’
13
JANET MACNAB
________
The Kinclavers Hydropathic was a product of the nineteenth-century craze for ‘water cures’. In her eagerness to find a remedy for gout, rheumatism and over-consumption, Scotland heartily embraced the new science of medical bathing, simplified diet and the regular consumption of foul-tasting mineral water.
The hotel occupied a generous spread of high ground a quarter of a mile to the west of the town, a handsome neo-baronial edifice four floors high, with a crow-stepped roof and a matched pair of pepperpot turrets at either end. The ground and first floors were furnished with verandas to provide sheltered access to fresh air and natural light in all weathers, while its frontage boasted a terraced lawn equipped with folding chairs and umbrellas.
