Death at Glamis Castle Read Free Page B

so bold as t’ ask, sir, wot’s so important that they’re willin’ to block th’ line?”
    Charles swung his legs off the wall. “I haven’t the foggiest,” he said.
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    A half-hour later, Kate piloting their Panhard through a wretchedly rutted lane, they bounced over a ridge and saw the train waiting for them on the North Eastern Railway line. Charles, still expecting only a rather ordinary locomotive and tender with a single coach, was startled to see a new Big Atlantic, the monster locomotive that was being operated experimentally by the North Eastern line. Its out-sized boiler and firebox dwarfed those of ordinary locomotives, and it hissed steam through the exhaust vents of the piston cylinders like a leaky dragon, impatient to be about its business. To this massive engine and its formidable tender were coupled, not the single passenger coach that Charles had expected, but a Royal Mail coach, two baggage cars, and three large passenger coaches. A motley group of men lounged about the idling train, smoking and talking.
    â€œMy goodness,” Kate gasped in dismay. “They’ve sent that behemoth for us? Where in the name of heaven is it taking us, Charles?”
    â€œNot to London,” Charles replied, “unless the engineer plans to run to Newcastle in reverse. The train’s headed west, toward Carlisle.”
    â€œBut what about our automobile?” Kate asked uneasily. “We’re not going to leave it here, I hope.”
    As she pulled on the brake and brought the motorcar to a stop, a dapper, mustached gentleman in an ulster and felt hat, stick tucked under one arm, stepped smartly forward and stopped, snapping his heels together, his spine straight as a ramrod. Charles expected him to offer a salute, but after a second’s hesitation, the mustached man extended his hand.
    â€œLord Sheridan,” he said in clipped tones, “Paddington here. Apologize for the inconvenience. Good of you to break off your holiday and join our little expedition.”
    Charles climbed out and shook Paddington’s hand. On the other side of the car, Kate was being helped out by several of the men. They were dressed, Charles saw, in civilian clothing, some of it ill-fitting and worn, although the men themselves were clean-shaven and well-groomed and carried themselves with a wary alertness. At the train windows sat others, similarly attired. Despite their efforts at disguise, they had the look of the military about them. But all available military men of this caliber had long ago been dispatched to fight the Boers, and there were virtually none left in England. None, that is, except—
    Charles looked once more at the lounging men. “Household Guards?”
    Paddington regarded him with a rueful smile. “Found us out, have you? Coldstream, First Battalion. Colonel Paddington, at your service.” He executed a flourish with his stick.
    â€œI see,” Charles said crossly, not seeing at all. “What the dickens is this all about, Paddington?”
    â€œAfraid I haven’t a clue, sir,” the colonel replied in a brisk, cheerful tone. “Happy to put you in the picture with what little I know, though, once we’re under way. If you’ll board—”
    Charles put a hand on the motorcar. “Lady Sheridan is coming with me, of course,” he said. “And the Panhard.”
    â€œAh,” the colonel said, less cheerfully. He glanced at Kate and the motorcar. “Afraid my instructions didn’t mention—” He managed a tactful cough. “That you were accompanied.”
    Kate raised the veil of her motoring hat and bestowed her most dazzling smile on Paddington. “The Panhard doesn’t take up a great deal of space, Colonel, nor do I. Surely you have room enough for all three of us and our baggage.”
    Paddington visibly melted under her charm. “Right you are, your ladyship.” He