Crowned and Dangerous (A Royal Spyness Mystery) (26 page)

“It is a ‘they,’” Darcy said. “Leach and Leach in Kildare. Family solicitor for generations, I’m afraid.”

“So I suggest you talk to whichever Mr. Leach is running the business at the moment and ask him to get in touch with me. He may not think I’m the right man for the job, of course. And I warn you that my services are not exactly cheap.”

“That’s of no consequence,” Zou Zou said. “Money is no object in this case. We want the best and we want Lord Kilhenny freed.”

“I also warn you that while I am damned good at what I do, I cannot work miracles,” Sir Grenville added. “A jury may be swayed by the fingerprints. The alcoholic stupor and lack of memory may well make them react negatively. It really all comes down to what transpires in America. If and when this man is identified, then other motives, other suspects may come to light. In the meantime I look forward to hearing from Mr. Leach of Leach and Leach.”

It was all so civilized. I had to remind myself that it was a man’s life we were dealing with.

W
EDNESDAY
, D
ECEMBER
5

B
ACK
TO
K
ILHENNY
.

I could tell that Darcy was really reluctant to visit the Garda headquarters and meet with Chief Inspector Callahan, but Zou Zou could be quite persuasive when she wanted something.

“I’m sure he’ll listen to me,” she said.

“I have to remind you that the man is an ardent republican,” Darcy said. “He is probably also a rabid socialist and wishes to abolish all aristocracy.”

“Silly boy.” Zou Zou chuckled. “It is not my pedigree that interests men, as you very well know.” She gave him one of those looks that felt like a dagger in my heart.

So we returned to the park and the Garda headquarters only to find that the inspector was out, working on a case. Darcy heaved a sigh of relief. Zou Zou was all for doing the rounds of Dublin hotels, asking about American doctors and Professor Peabody, but Darcy thought the next step should be to visit Leach and Leach. “We have
to tell them about Sir Grenville. And my father, of course,” he added. “After all, it is his case. If he doesn’t agree to the barrister, then we certainly can’t engage him.”

“Who could possibly turn down the best barrister in Ireland?” Zou Zou asked. “Especially when he looks the part so well. He’d have the jurors believing every word he said.”

“All the same, it will be my father’s decision.”

“I’m sure I can persuade him,” Zou Zou said. “I usually can. And I think our next mission should not be to boring old solicitors but to somewhere we can have luncheon. I’m positively starving.”

“I’d like to catch the solicitors now, before they go to lunch,” Darcy said. “We’ll grab a bite to eat in Kildare.”

“If I’m not dead of starvation by then,” she said. “Very well. Put your foot down, Darcy.”

He did and we were soon back in Kildare, which was bustling with people trying to to finish their shopping before the weather deteriorated. Indeed the rain had already turned to sleet and the wind had picked up.

“It looks as if it might snow later. It’s certainly cold enough,” Darcy said as he drew up the Rolls outside a row of Victorian houses. “I think, given the weather, it would be better if I went in to see Mr. Leach,” he said. “I don’t want you two ladies to end up looking like drowned rats.”

“He doesn’t want us trying our womanly charms on Mr. Leach,” Zou Zou said as he left us in the Rolls and sprinted toward the front door. “Typical man. Wants to handle everything himself. You must make sure he doesn’t boss you around when you are married, Georgie. Be your own woman from day one.”

“I just hope we do get married,” I said. “If his father is convicted, he has sworn he won’t marry me.”

“Then we’ll just have to ensure that a mere trifle like a hanging
doesn’t stand in the way of true love, won’t we?” she said, with that delightful laugh. Then her face became serious. “I’m sure it will all turn out well, Georgie. They’ll find out the truth about Mr. Roach and then they’ll know who would have wanted to kill him.”

“But if Inspector Callahan can’t get past the prints on that club, then maybe a jury won’t either,” I said.

“Moving on to more practical matters,” she said, waving this aside, “we should not arrive at the aunt and uncle’s house empty-handed. I can see they are not exactly flush with funds, so I suggest we pop into a few local shops and have some items delivered . . . just so that we are not a burden, you understand.”

“All right,” I said.

“And since my mink really does hate getting wet and you are wearing a good stout Harris Tweed, may I possibly ask you to do the job for me? There seems to be a butcher across the road, and a wine merchant too. What luck.”

“What would you like me to buy?” I asked.

“Just some basics,” she said. “A case of champagne, of course. And several bottles of a good Bordeaux. Then a brace of pheasant . . . a leg of lamb, do you think, or is that too mundane?”

“I think a leg of lamb is always lovely,” I said. “And one can make shepherd’s pie with the leftovers.”

She laughed at this. “Leftovers. What a quaint idea.” She opened her purse and produced several five-pound notes. “This should cover it,” she said. “Oh, and maybe they should throw in some sausages and kidneys for breakfast, and a few rump steaks in case we feel like something more solid.”

“How long are you expecting to stay with them?” I couldn’t help asking. It seemed to me like enough food for weeks.

“I’m only ordering enough to tide us over for a day or so,” she said. “I wonder if there is a fishmonger nearby. I could do with some oysters and I adore caviar.”

“I don’t know whether you’d find caviar in the wilds of Ireland,” I said. “And are we close enough to the sea for oysters?”

“Very well,” she said. “I’ll have them sent out from Dublin next time we’re there. Oh, and tell both the merchants to deliver, won’t you? Off you go, then.”

I braved the elements and dashed across to the two shops. When they heard my order they were most accommodating and of course they would be happy to deliver. I returned to the car, thinking again how different and simple life is for the rich. I reached the Rolls at the same time as Darcy and explained I’d been on a food mission for Zou Zou.

He nodded. “That was a kind thought of hers. I must confess I was a little worried about Aunt Oona providing enough food.”

“So was Mr. Leach overjoyed at the news?” I asked as we both climbed back into the motor.

“Not at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. He considers Sir Grenville rather flash and vulgar, in spite of his successes, and feels his obviously aristocratic bearing may adversely influence a jury of common people.”

“Oh dear. So what happens now?” I asked.

“The silly man must be made to see sense,” Zou Zou said firmly.

“He did say he would abide by the wishes of his client. If my father instructs him to hire Sir Grenville then he is obligated to do so.” He glanced across at us as he let out the clutch and the motorcar moved away smoothly, its lovely engine still purring in spite of its age. “I’ve never liked him much. Always came across as very narrow and cautious to me. So it’s up to my father now.”

“And I’m sure he’ll be delighted,” Zou Zou said. I wasn’t so sure myself.

“Now I positively insist that we find somewhere to eat,” Zou Zou continued. “I don’t know about you but I need regular meals and it is already almost two o’clock.”

I had to say I was feeling a little peckish myself and glad when Darcy found a café in the square, where we had a simple but acceptable meal of meat pie and peas, followed by a baked jam roll. Zou Zou declared it to be quaint and interesting, as if she was eating a native delicacy in darkest Africa. You’d have thought that the meal would have put the thought of food from the princess’s mind, but when we reached the village of Kilhenny she spotted a bakery and decided she needed to add some biscuits and cakes to the food she was taking to Oona, and some treats for Darcy’s father too. “Poor man. He doesn’t look as if he’s had a decent meal in months.”

“Oona did invite him to dinner a couple of nights ago, but he wouldn’t come,” Darcy said. “I suppose I can understand how he feels. If you’re worried about your very life, the last thing you want is small talk.”

“Look, there’s Mrs. McNalley,” I said, as I spotted a group of women standing under an awning, deep in gossip. “We need to talk to her. We should ask her whether she took food down to your father that evening. I still suspect he might have been drugged and what better way than putting the substance in his food.”

“Good idea.” Darcy came around to help us out of the motorcar. The rain had indeed turned into a light snow and flakes fluttered down around us as Zou Zou headed for the bakery and we made our way across to Mrs. McNalley.

“Well now, Mr. Darcy,” she said. “And how is your poor father doing? Are you sure he doesn’t want me to come in and do some cooking and cleaning for him? I don’t like the thought of him trying to look after himself.”

“Not at the moment, Mrs. McNalley,” Darcy said. “I’m with him and I’ll make sure he eats. But speaking of food, I wanted to ask you a question.”

“Oh yes?” She moved away from the other women.

“On the evening that Mr. Roach was killed, did you take my father down some food from the castle?”

“I did,” she said. “I made a big pot of stew and left it in the oven, keeping warm, for when Mr. Roach wanted to eat. And I put some in a bowl to take down to his lordship when I went home.”

“So that bowl was left on a counter for a while?” Darcy asked. “Could it have been tampered with?”

“Tampered with? What on earth are you suggesting?”

“That someone might have drugged his lordship’s food,” I said.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” she said. “Drugged his food? What for?”

“So that he fell asleep and didn’t remember anything of that night and was convinced that he’d drunk himself into a stupor, thus having no alibi for the murder.”

“Mercy me,” she said and crossed herself. “Now I think of it the bowl of stew was sitting on the counter for quite a while. That Mickey person told me that Mr. Roach didn’t want to eat in the dining room but would have a tray by the fire in the study, so I could clear away the place I’d set for him. So I went in there and I polished the table a little as it was looking dusty. Then when I came back Mickey said I could go home. I don’t know why he thought he could give me orders, but he always did.”

“And did he know that bowl of stew was going to Lord Kilhenny?” I asked.

She thought then nodded. “He did. In fact he made some snide remark about it. Something about getting the scraps from the master’s table. I replied that I didn’t like to see good food going to waste and it was clear Mr. Roach wouldn’t eat the whole thing.”

“So you took the stew down to his lordship,” I continued.

“I did, and left it beside the stove for him to heat up when he felt like it. He was sitting in his chair with a glass of whiskey beside him and was not in the best of moods, I can tell you. He didn’t even thank me but told me to go away. So I did.”

“Then the whiskey and the drugs would have knocked him out for the night,” I said as we left Mrs. McNalley. “Only everything has been washed up long since and we’ve no way of proving
anything. But it does suggest that Mickey was part of the plan, sending Mrs. McNalley into the dining room to get her out of the way.”

“Again we’ve no way of proving it,” Darcy said. “Oh no. I can see that Zou Zou has been shopping!”

Zou Zou emerged from the bakery while a boy followed her, his arms piled high with boxes. Darcy ran across the street to open the back door for her. I was about to follow when a voice behind me said, “Well, if it isn’t the young lady. What perfect timing. I’ve been dying to have a little chat with you.” And it was the female American reporter I had met at the Harp. She was wearing a raincoat and had a scarf tied over her blond curls. And she was giving me a big friendly smile. “I’d just love to have a little chat, honey. Do you have a minute? I believe the pub is shut, with your stupid licensing laws, but we could go into the tearoom. They do cream buns. Much better than we can get at home.”

“I’m afraid I’m with friends and I can’t just desert them,” I said.

“With a special friend, so I gather.” She gave me a knowing look. I was noticing that in spite of the blond hair her eyes were dark. Not a natural hair color, I suspected. But then neither was my mother’s. She moved closer and touched my arm. “So tell me, he’s the son of the lord, isn’t he? I don’t suppose you could use your charms to get me an interview with his lordship? The police have set up a barrier now that everyone has realized the lord has been released and is at home. We can’t get anywhere near the place. So frustrating.”

“I can assure you that the last thing his lordship wants is to talk to any reporters,” I said. “Please respect his privacy. You can understand what a difficult time it must be for him.”

“So tell me,” she went on, lowering her voice. “Do you think he did it? Is he going to plead guilty when it comes to trial?”

“I’m sure he’s not, and I’m sure he didn’t do it,” I replied. “Now if you’ll excuse me . . .” I broke away from her and was returning to
the Rolls, where boxes were still being loaded onto the backseat, when I spotted a familiar figure parked outside the Harp pub. It was Barney the taxi driver. He waved when he saw me.

“Still here, then? So you found yourself a place to stay?”

“I did, thank you,” I said.

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it? And I notice she’s still here,” he said, nodding across the street to where my American lady lingered, watching me.

“Was she the one who gave you the pound tip?” I asked, remembering.

He grinned. “That’s the one. Of course, after her there have been other daft Americans who don’t know our money and hand out big tips. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. It’s been like early Christmas with all the comings and goings. I just brought in another Yank now. From Chicago, of all places.” He paused, frowning. “Now, that’s interesting, isn’t it?” he said. “The lady was from Chicago too.”

“Well, that’s where Mr. Roach was from,” I said, “so I suppose it would be big news there.”

He laughed. “In Chicago? That’s where the gangsters are, isn’t it? Killing each other left and right every day.”

Then a thought crossed my mind. I went closer to the taxi. “Barney, are you the only taxi that comes out from Kildare?”

“For the most part, yes,” he said.

“Do you remember driving an American professor—a big man—called Professor Peabody?”

He screwed up his face in concentration. “I remember a big chap once,” he said. “That’s right. Had me drive him out here and then back again. He wanted to look at the digging that was going on. But that was a while ago now.”

“So you drove him back to Kildare and he hasn’t come back since?”

“Not to my knowledge,” he said.

“And you haven’t seen him around Kildare?”

“Oh, I’d have heard if a strange American was hanging around in Kildare,” he said.

So that put a damper on our theory that Professor Peabody was somehow involved in the murder, unless he hadn’t come through Kildare on a second occasion, which was quite possible. I thanked Barney and was hurrying back to the others in the Rolls when I saw a figure slink past me, heading for the pub. It was Mickey Riley.