awoke just before dawn the next morning drenched in sweat despite the damp chill in the room. A serving girl brought me hot water and I quickly washed and shaved and donned some of my new, warmer clothes. Stowing my shaving kit in my valise, I caught the gleam of the knife and without a thought tossed it into my trousers pocket. Abruptly I realized I had forgotten to leave word of my lodgings for Holmes and would need to return to the station.
With the smell of strong coffee wafting from the inn’s pub below, I made my way downstairs in eager search of a quick breakfast. I had no sooner sat down before a large dish of porridge when I became aware of a shadow looming over the table from behind me.
Holmes! He stood smiling down at me, dressed for the Scottish weather in his familiar tweed ulster and travelling ear-flapped cap, a suitcase in hand.
‘Holmes!’ I cried, ‘You found me! I am so sorry, I forgot to leave word.’
‘Watson, my dear fellow, you leave quite a footprint behind you,’ said he. Setting the case down, he removed his outer garments and sat before me, ordering nothing but a cup of black coffee.
‘I see you managed to equip yourself for this visit,’ he said, eyeing my clothes.
‘Yes, a Mr MacAuliffe has furnished me nicely and – for some reason – he saw fit to give me this.’ I withdrew the beautiful knife and lay it on the table. Holmes stared at it in surprise.
‘That is a bonnie thing! The clothier gave you this? Why?’
‘Yes, it did strike me as odd. He seemed to be a bit worried about my going to Braedern. Said none in Aberdeen would stay overnight in the castle. Haunted, can you believe?’ In the morning breakfast room, with the sun pouring through the leaded window, it all seemed rather silly.
‘Well, a knife would do little against a ghost, Watson,’ said Holmes with a smile. ‘You do, however, have your Webley on hand, do you not, in case we encounter any living enemies?’
‘Always. Was your visit with Dr Fleming fruitful?’
‘Yes. But he has more to study. His initial theory is that death resulted from a brain haemorrhage under a flat, wide, eggshell crack to the occipital portion of the skull, as from a fall. Decapitation was probably post mortem, and done with a serrated blade, with the edges then burned, presumably to hide this. But he will be investigating further to confirm the cause of death, and I hope to hear from him in a day or so.’
We set out on a train journey of several hours westward towards Ballater and thence travelled by carriage to Braedern Castle.
As promised, there had been heavy snowfall during the night, which slowed our journey but made it all the more beautiful. It was a crystalline morning, the sky a deep blue, and the temperature down considerably from the day before.
The tracks ran along the valley of the Dee, passing the Catholic College of Blair, into rolling countryside, blanketed in snow and heavily wooded in areas, passing numerous glittering streams, croft houses with smoke arising from chimneys, small villages and various farm vehicles creaking over icy, rutted side roads. I caught a glimpse of Drum Castle and other ancient structures. Behind the nearby hills were smaller mountains – the so-called ‘Caledonian Alps.’ I was struck by the brilliant cold light and a sense of wildness that is not found in the southern regions of Britain. The Scottish Highlands have always been described as mystical and so they appeared to me as we made our way towards our remote destination.
Holmes, rarely moved by country scenery, ignored the sights, taking far more interest in the details of what MacAuliffe had told me of the legendary hauntings at Braedern, and especially of the laird’s hiring the ‘unhirable.’
‘Where does he find these men, I wonder?’ mused Holmes.
I knew, and told him. There were organizations in London who dealt with returning veterans damaged by the war and who had no means of sustenance. I reminded him that I had been in a sorry state myself when I arrived in London before we had met. But there were men far worse off than I. I had declined these same services when offered, but some unfortunates had no choice.
At last, after alighting at Ballater, we were conveyed by private coach another ten miles to the Castle Braedern, arriving in the early afternoon. The medieval castle stood on a hill, a monumental stone structure which had been added onto many times over the years. It had evolved as an uneven rectangle, with two wide round turrets and two quatrefoils taking up the four corners. An enormous wooden gate stood open, affording a glimpse of the courtyard within.
Beyond the castle and down the hill, at the side of the quickly flowing river, stood a large group of buildings, from one to three storeys high, one of which was topped with an odd, pagoda-like structure. Behind these lay a cluster of modest brick residences. Grazing fields and barns took up another area to the east, along with what looked like a reservoir.
‘A remarkable estate,’ I said.
‘The laird is one of the wealthiest men in the country, Watson.’
I was taken aback. Their stay at in Antibes, their clothes, and their casual change of holiday plans had left a clear impression of ease, but their holdings were impressive nonetheless.
‘How wealthy, Holmes, do you know?’
‘Their fortunes were built on land, water rights, and steel, but whisky is the laird’s passion. They could buy the Grand Hôtel du Cap if they so chose to do so.’
‘Well, they certainly thought they could buy you.’
‘All in service of my plan,’ said Holmes. The carriage turned and approached the massive open gate, entering a large courtyard paved in rough stones. Within were several carriages of various sizes, and some rougher wagons as well with a number of grooms handling the horses. The driver pulled up to a gothic arched main entrance We were greeted by a footman, who immediately fetched the butler, a taciturn, balding man.
We entered a reception hall, which was enormous, freezing cold and empty. A wide stone staircase led steeply upwards.
The butler signalled and two tall footmen approached. They looked like wrestlers so muscled and rough were they. ‘Your weapons, please,’ demanded the butler as two men stepped forward to receive them.
Holmes and I exchanged a glance. ‘Ah, yes,’ said Holmes. ‘An old Highland custom, guests are to leave their weapons at the door. That did not go well for Duncan, did it? Well, I have nothing. Only my wits, which I am told, may have a rather cutting edge. And Watson here, well, you have what, that penknife?’
Did he mean the jack-knife given me in Aberdeen?
‘You peeled an orange on the train?’ prompted Holmes. ‘Remember?’
‘Ah, yes,’ I said and fumbled for the small, dull little knife that I usually carried.
The butler stared at me suspiciously. ‘It will be returned to you,’ said he. ‘But certainly Mr Holmes carries a weapon of some sort? You are in a dangerous business, are you not, sir?’
Holmes turned an icy glare to his interlocutor. ‘My business is none of yours. And no, I have nothing further.’
‘The laird awaits you this way, sir,’ said the butler, indicating a passageway to the right. Holmes swept past the butler and directly through the two footmen who stepped aside to let him pass.
Handing the butler my penknife with a look I hoped was more remonstrative than worried, I followed Holmes, secure in the knowledge that I had both a Webley and the strange Scottish knife I had been given secreted about my person. I was already leery of Scottish customs.
We soon found ourselves in the Great Hall, a strange and cavernous combination of medieval pageantry and modern convenience. It was two stories tall, with gothic arches leading in various directions, and stone walls decorated with an array of Scottish weaponry and heraldic banners. Beams of light crisscrossed the ornate tile floor, augmented by modern electrical lighting fixtures spilling small pools of light at regular intervals along the walls and on various carved tables around the perimeter.
Isla McLaren and Sir Robert stood on a rich Turkish rug before a large roaring fireplace. The mantel was taller than a man’s head, and carved with either writhing or dancing figures, I could not discern.
The lady, upon spotting us, cried out in joy and rushed forward. ‘At last you are here, Mr Holmes and Dr Watson. I am so very glad! These are troubled times.’
The laird stepped forward with a look I could not read. Pain, certainly, was part of it. ‘I am relieved that you are here, gentlemen. I am sorry to have left France so suddenly. Your telegram arrived this morning, only a few hours before yourselves. I apologize for not having sent my carriage to the station.’
‘Let us commence the inquiry into the late parlour maid’s demise,’ asked Holmes. ‘The longer we wait, the colder the trail.’
‘Immediately,’ agreed the laird. ‘I will have your things brought to your rooms in the East Tower. My daughter-in-law is perhaps your most ardent admirer, Mr Holmes. She has convinced me that no one is more qualified than yourself to deal with your vexing problem.’
‘Good, then let us begin, Sir Robert,’ said Holmes. ‘What have the police been told?’
The laird looked past us to where the footmen stood with our luggage. ‘What has become of the … do you have with you the—’
‘The girl’s partial remains are with a forensic medical expert in Edinburgh. I should have more information soon from him. And now, Sir Robert, the police?’
The laird and Isla McLaren exchanged a look.
‘I have not brought them in on the matter.’
‘And why is that?’
‘Mr Holmes,’ said the lady. ‘Sir Robert knows of my earlier visit to you.’
‘That was apparent before,’ said Holmes with irritation. ‘The point, madam?’
‘Isla expressed to you her low opinion of the local constabulary. They were unable, for example, to find the culprit for a small matter of theft a month or so ago, and so bungled the attempt and irritated my workers that I was forced to ban them from the property.’
Holmes’s eyebrow shot up.
‘Come now, Mr Holmes. My reading tells me you do not have the highest opinion of your own police in London,’ said the laird.
‘They must be notified, however, and present at the arrest.’
‘I appreciate your confidence that the culprit will be found. However, I am accustomed to handling things on my own,’ said the laird.
‘I will not be party to vigilante justice, Sir Robert,’ said Holmes. ‘My work serves the law.’
Except when it does not, I thought. There had been occasions where Holmes had served as judge and jury on those guilty parties whom he confronted at the end of a case. However, he was never led by feelings of retribution or revenge. He was more likely to let someone go free if he felt they would be of no future harm. The chance of this happening in these circumstances was nil.
‘Oh, no, you misunderstand me!’ said the laird. ‘I mean to have the culprit arrested and dealt with by the law. I simply do not want the idiots who are our local police interfering in your work. Mr Holmes, I refuse to involve them just yet. Those are the conditions of your employment here. And now, as to the matter of a fee—’
‘I am not employed, I consult, Sir Robert, at my own discretion and using the methods I prefer. I will do my best to find your culprit. In terms of a fee, you may reward me commensurately at the end, as you see fit. But delaying official police notification may cast suspicion on you and your family.’
The laird paused. He and his daughter-in-law exchanged a look. The wisdom of Holmes’s words was not lost on them.
‘A compromise, then,’ said the laird. ‘I give you three days to solve this mystery. At the end of this I will call in the police, or another detective as I see fit. I mean to see this solved, and you have my word that I intend the culprit to receive due process of law. And Mr Holmes, I am sure you will find it easier to make your inquiries unencumbered by the bumbling local police.’
It was Holmes’s turn to pause. ‘Agreed,’ said he, finally. ‘I will begin by interviewing each of the family members in their private quarters, as soon as possible, without preamble, and preferably before any cleaning takes place.’
The laird nodded. ‘As you wish. However, you should know that a very thorough housecleaning was undertaken by the staff upon our departure for France. It is our custom at this time of year.’
‘That is unfortunate,’ said Holmes. ‘Let us proceed at once.’
The butler was then dispatched to release our coachman and oversee our luggage delivery.
Our things were brought in, and led by a stoop-shouldered old servant introduced as Mungo, we were led to the East Tower. I reflected on Holmes’ insistence on seeing each family member’s private quarters. He would no doubt infer a great deal from the details there. I smiled inwardly at the thought of what one might erroneously infer from Holmes’ own messy abode, or indeed my own, now festooned with flowers and doilies by my wife.
In this remote corner of the castle, daylight seemed a treasured resource to be sparingly allotted. Our route took us up steep circular stone stairs, worn by the ages and lit with few windows. We then entered a long dark hallway, where a lavatory entrance facing a narrow window was pointed out down at the end of the hall. The latest of modern plumbing had been installed over the remnants of a medieval latrine, we were told, as they had been throughout the living quarters of the large castle. No expense had been spared.
The lighting in the hallway was extremely dim. The newest electric fixtures or bright gaslights had shone in previous rooms we had seen, but only candles and oil lamps were in evidence here.
We were given two near but not adjoining rooms with heavy wooden doors that must have dated back at least two or three centuries. The bedrooms were comfortable enough, with carved wooden bedsteads and walls hung densely with tapestries against the frigid air. But here, too, there was a lack of modern lighting.
There was no time to linger in these rooms to unpack or explore, for Holmes was eager to begin the investigation. We returned to the Great Hall, where Holmes informed the laird he would begin with him.
The laird agreed to this, and to being first, but then Holmes surprised us both.
‘Laird Robert, I should like to begin with a quick tour of your distillery, and interview you initially there.’ The laird acquiesced and stepped away to call for horses to be readied.
‘Why the distillery, Holmes?’ I whispered.
‘We have met the family. I must determine the scope of our search for suspects. If there are more there, I should like to know it now.’
The three of us bundled up against the bitter cold and left the castle for the courtyard, where the laird called for horses.