Death at Glamis Castle (7 page)

A Tour Thro the Whole Island of Great Britain
, 1724-1727
Daniel Defoe

 

 

 

 

The train was traveling up the Valley of Strathmore on the Caledonian Railway, while Kate watched the dawn come up in a slate-gray sky. Late on the previous night, a fault had developed in one of the locomotive's steam valves, and the engineer had been required to reduce the speed. Having arrived at Perth, they had lain by for several hours while midnight repairs were organized, and Kate, snuggled in blankets against the chill, tried to sleep in the uncomfortable seat. Now they were once again heading north, past Scone and Balbeggie, with the brown pillows of the Sidlaw Hills visible to the east in the metallic gray light of a drizzly dawn. The highest of the hills, at a thousand feet, Charles told her, was Dunsinane, where a ruined fort called Macbeth's Castle was the traditional site of Macbeth's final defeat.

“ ‘Fear not,' ” he reminded Kate, “ ‘till Birnam wood do come to Dunsinane.'
Macbeth,
Act Five, Scene Five.”

“I'm not in the least afraid,” Kate replied, “although I will confess to being more than a little glad when
we
have come to Dunsinane, or wherever it is we are meant to be.” She stretched wearily, her eyes grainy with sleep. “Do you have any idea where we are, or where we are bound?”

“As a matter of fact, I can tell you where we are,” Charles replied, “although where we are bound, I haven't a clue. We're north of the Firth of Tay, traveling through the Strathmore Valley, not far from Glamis Castle.” He pronounced the word
Glamis
as one syllable, so that it rhymed with the word
palms.

“Glamis Castle?” Kate exclaimed. “Oh, I should love to see it, Charles. I've heard that it is a beautiful place, and haunted.”

“Beautiful it certainly is,” Charles said, “although I'm afraid I'm not up on the hauntings. Glamis is the home of Lord and Lady Strathmore,” he added. “I visited there several times some years ago, as the guest of their son, Patrick Bowes-Lyon.”

“Do you think we're going to Glamis?”

Charles shrugged. “I'm afraid we'll just have to wait and see.” He spoke philosophically, but there was an undertone of excitement in his voice.

Kate regarded him thoughtfully. He was the same Charles she loved, his face so familiar to her now that it was almost commonplace. But behind what she always saw—the sincere and resolute strength, the mature deliberation, the steadfast moral courage that led him to support unpopular Liberal causes in the House of Lords—she now glimpsed something different. A certain boyishness, perhaps, that was intrigued by this summons from his sovereign. A strength that might reach to obstinance, a courage that might be tempted to recklessness if there were a need for defiant action. These were glimpses of a different Charles—perhaps the Charles of his military career, about which she knew almost nothing—and they made her wonder. She thought again about the Victoria Cross, which she knew was awarded only for the greatest acts of valor, and the resigned commission. She leaned forward, thinking to ask Charles what was behind Colonel Paddington's earlier remark, but he had turned away to consult with one of the men, and the opportunity was lost. It would have to wait for a more private moment.

Within the quarter hour, the train began to slow. The valley had broadened and was filled with fields of golden grain and grazing cattle. Shortly after they crossed a broad, clear river—the Dene Water, Charles said it was called—Kate heard the screech of brakes.

“Glamis Station, I believe,” Charles said with satisfaction, rising from his seat. “The castle is not far away. It seems that you will be able to see it, after all.”

“But
why,
for heaven's sake,” Kate asked, as she gathered her things. “Why would King Edward send you here? What could threaten the peace and security of the realm in such an out-of-the-way place as this?”

Charles picked up her portmanteau. “Perhaps Lord Strathmore will be able to tell us. Do you recall meeting him and his wife at Marlborough House several years ago?”

“Oh, yes,” Kate said, remembering the dinner that then-Princess Alexandra had given. Lord Strathmore was a hawk-nosed, stern-faced elderly gentleman, Lady Strathmore sweet and motherly. She should be glad to see them both—although why she and Charles and a trainful of troops and bicycles should have been sent to Glamis Castle, she couldn't possibly imagine.

A few minutes later, Kate was alighting from the train into the chilly morning mist that shrouded the tall, redtrunked Scotch pines. She shivered with a sudden chill, despite her warm motoring coat. The Glamis station consisted of a mossy and damp-stained brick platform along either side of the double tracks, with a depot on one side and the stationmaster's house on the other, the whole overhung with gloomy pines. A little distance beyond the end of the train, a stone bridge arched over the tracks, carrying the road.

A fair-haired young gentleman sporting a neat blond mustache and wearing a wool cap and a tan mackintosh detached himself from a small group of men and wagons at the rear of the platform and came quickly toward them.

“Lord Sheridan,” he said with a tight smile, offering his hand. “Welcome to Glamis. I was beginning to fear that something had happened to you.”

“It's good to see you, Andrew,” Charles said. He set down the portmanteau and shook the man's hand. “There was some sort of difficulty with a steam valve. It delayed us in Perth for several hours.”

“It's no matter, now that you're here. I was sorry to interrupt your holiday, but pleased that we managed to locate you.” The man—Andrew Kirk-Smythe, who had sent the mysterious telegram summoning Charles—caught sight of Kate and hurriedly lifted his hat. “My dear Lady Sheridan, a pleasure, as always.”

“Hello, Andrew,” Kate said, offering her hand with a smile. She probed his face for an answer to the mystery of their summons but could read nothing there.

“Her ladyship was with me when I received your telegram,” Charles said. “I trust that her coming along presents no special difficulty.” He smiled and said in a lighter tone, “You know our Kate, Andrew. She would not have allowed me to send her back home, even had I wished it.”

“Of course there's no difficulty,” Kirk-Smythe replied. “I anticipated her coming, so I arranged for you both to be accommodated at Glamis Castle. Lord and Lady Strathmore are traveling abroad, but Lord Strathmore telegraphed their regards from Calcutta. They are delighted to have you as their guests.”

Glamis Castle! Kate suppressed a little shiver of pleasure. She would not only see the most historic castle in Scotland, she would actually
stay
there—she and Beryl Bardwell, who was looking for inspiration for the next book. The opportunity seemed heaven-sent.

Colonel Paddington came up, and Kirk-Smythe drew himself to attention. “Captain Andrew Kirk-Smythe,” he said, introducing himself. “Welcome to Glamis, Colonel.”

So Andrew was a captain now, Kate thought approvingly. Since he had been a mere lieutenant at their first meeting, he had done well.

“I realize that you weren't given much time, Colonel Paddington,” Kirk-Smythe was saying in a deferential, apologetic tone, “but you've obviously succeeded in assembling your detachment in quite good order.” He nodded toward the baggage cars. “Your special equipment was loaded properly?”

“Seems to've been,” the colonel replied, “although there hasn't been time to check the manifest.” Like his troops, whom Kate could see peering through the windows of the train, he had changed into a khaki field uniform. “Your man in London had it loaded before I boarded.”

“Very good.” Kirk-Smythe motioned, and a fleshy, heavy-faced man with vigorous side-whiskers and a heavy mustache stepped forward. He was dressed in a yeoman's thick green tweed jacket and heavy trousers. “This is Angus Duff, Lord Strathmore's estate factor. He has been of great assistance since I arrived from London yesterday, and has offered his help in getting things under way.”

Duff took off his green wool cap and addressed Kate in a musical Scots baritone. “Lord and Lady Strathmore'll be that sorry they werena at the castle tae receive ye, m'lady. Lady Glamis is expectin' ye, however. And sin' ye sart'nly willna wish tae bide here i' the wet, one o' our gamekeepers—Hamilton's his name—is waitin' wi' a pony cart tae take ye an' yer bags t' the castle.”

Kate hesitated, torn between her wish to see the famous Scottish castle and her eagerness to learn why the King had summoned Charles to this remote corner of Scotland. The castle could wait, of course, although she did not like to embarrass her husband by making what might be considered an unladylike protest against her exile, especially since Colonel Paddington, apparently heartened now that he was back in uniform, was giving her a severe look.

Kirk-Smythe cleared his throat. “If you will forgive me, Lady Sheridan,” he said tactfully, “I'm afraid that there is a great deal of rather tedious work to be done just now: unloading the men and gear and setting things in motion.”

Charles put his arm around her shoulder and his lips close to her ear. “Go along with Hamilton, my dear. I'll join you when I can.”

Kate frowned. She disliked being excluded from the action, but she knew that Charles would share as much information with her as he could, as soon as he could. And while it might still be August, this was Scotland, and the platform was damp and chilly. Inside her boots, she realized, her feet were awfully cold.

“Of course, dear,” she said sweetly, giving Charles a look under her lashes to remind him that he now owed her a favor.

In a moment, she was being handed into the cart by a slender, fair-haired Scotsman in a gray knit sweater, a long woolen scarf wound round his throat, and heavy trousers tucked into leather boots. His clothing reeked of whiskey and those wretched Indian cigars that her schoolmaster Crombie favored, and his bloodshot, puffy eyes gave him the look of a man who was suffering the effects of too much drink the previous night. He loaded the bags, then climbed into the cart and clucked to the pony.

“It's very pretty here,” Kate said, venturing conversation.

“Aye, 'tis,” Hamilton agreed sourly. After a long silence, he gave her a sidelong look. “Yer ladyship's first visit tae Glamis?”

“Yes,” Kate replied, “although my husband has been here several times before.”

“His lordship seems tae hae brought a great many soldiers wi' him,” Hamilton remarked in a tone that bordered on brash. He forced a smile. “More'n we're like tae see in our wee corner o' Scotland. Wha's it all aboot?”

“I'm sure I don't know,” Kate said, remembering that the business with the soldiers, whatever it was, was supposed to be secret. “You shall have to ask Lord Sheridan.”

“Aye, that I shall,” Hamilton said, and chirruped to the pony.

The road, with a forest on the left and open fields on the right, crossed over a rippling burn and up a gentle hill toward the village, which was built on both sides of a road junction outside the castle wall. Within fifteen minutes they were driving through a massive stone archway adorned with figures of medieval beasts carved from stone. Whether it was the ominous sky, the overhanging dark trees, or the grotesque animal shapes, Kate was suddenly seized by a shiver. The memory of Macbeth's three sinister witches leapt to her mind, and the opening lines from the play that had immortalized the Thane of Glamis.

 

“What interesting carvings,” Kate said, pushing the lines out of her mind. “I suppose the gate has a history.”

“It be the De'il's Gate,” Hamilton replied shortly.

Kate frowned. “That's an odd name for a gate to a great estate.”

“Ye wilna think it odd when ye ken wha gaes on i' the castle,” he replied, tucking his chin into his woollen scarf.

Kate gave a little laugh. “And what goes on in the castle?”

Hamilton turned to gaze at her. “Ye've nae heard tell of th' Monster o' Glamis?”

“Actually, I have,” Kate replied. She had heard the story from Lord Halifax, who had a passion for collecting ghost stories and telling them to friends after dinner. As she recalled, there was something about a secret room, an ancestral mystery, and a poor, deformed creature—some member of the Strathmore family who was deemed unfit to carry on the family name and was shut away from the world for his entire lifetime.

“I would certainly love to hear more,” she added, thinking that the Monster, or his ghost, might be an interesting character for Beryl's new project. “I like nothing better than a good ghost story.”

“There's nae such thing as a guid ghost,” Hamilton replied. In a darkly insolent tone, he added, “Yer ladyship had best keep tae yer room i' the castle, partic'larly when night cooms.” And then he shut his mouth firmly, as if he had not another word to say on the subject.