Murder at Midnight (3 page)

Rex looked at the couple expectantly. “Care to share what you know?” he asked.

“Well, it’s really quite exciting,” Ken took up again. “And it’s mainly thanks to Humphrey that we are in possession of a valuable clue.”

“A clue to the whereabouts of the treasure?” Cleverly’s guest, Margarita Delacruz, exclaimed, her dark figure appearing as out of nowhere. It was the longest string of words Rex had yet heard her speak, and she delivered them with barely an accent.

“Now it must be said,” Ken Fraser continued, as though wrapped up in the sound of his own pedantic voice and oblivious to her question, “that most of the clansmen took the secret of its location to the grave, even under dire torture. One of the chiefs had his tongue cut oot!”

“How could he divulge the secret if his tongue was cut out?” Helen asked sensibly.

“The money was to go to helping Charlie’s supporters escape the English Duke of Cumberland, known as The Butcher, and to aid those who’d been wounded at Culloden and dispossessed of their property. The survivors of the battle, which took place near Inverness, incidentally, hid oot in caves in the Highlands, and the loyal clansmen got money to them at great risk to themselves. The rest of the French gold was buried by the south banks of Loch Arkaig.”

Rex was still waiting for the clue, which Ken, by design or distraction, was not being forthcoming in supplying.

“So, what was the clue?” Julie asked for him. She and Drew had been listening in on the conversation. By now, even the two lovebirds in the window seat were eavesdropping, as was Zoe, though pretending not to as she sat on the arm of a chair, swinging her foot beneath the hem of her green chiffon dress. Alistair’s young partner had gravitated toward the group with his tumbler of twelve-year-old malt and stood beside the black-clad figure of Margarita Delacruz, who struck a theatrical pose as she listened intently to Ken, her black lacquer cigarette holder extended in one slender, manicured hand. Only Ace Weaver remained by the hearth, asleep in his wheelchair.

“I’m getting to that,” Ken snapped, clearly wishing to proceed at his own pace and hold the floor for as long as possible.

“Sorry I asked,” Julie retorted.

“Not all the Jacobites were as honourable, however. A Fraser, one of ours, I regret to say, was spying on the diggers and absconded with thousands of French guineas and gold bars, about ninety pounds’ worth in weight, which he hid in a couple of beer kegs.”

“Which was very ingenious,” Catriona said. “Our ancestors were known to like their booze, so this was the perfect decoy!”

Everyone laughed except her husband, who attempted a smile but seemed annoyed by the interruption. “Fortunately the thief died of gout before he could spend most of it. In a deathbed confession to his priest, he revealed that he had reburied the treasure he’d stolen from the loch.”

“But where?” Alistair’s partner asked, eyes wide with curiosity.

“Ah, John, we did not ken that until the priest’s writings turned up in an estate sale last year. The family had kept the old papers in an antique chest, not thinking there was anything remotely important in them. Most of the stuff was in Latin and Gaelic. But Humphrey here, erudite historian that he is, was able to acquire them, at least temporarily, and translate them. The name Fraser came up in the priest’s diary along with a description of the deathbed confession, and there was a poem in the collection, as well. The diary entry referred to a riddle that the dying Jacobite recited before he gasped his final breath.”

“Well?” asked Margarita throwing up her hands in a Latin gesture of impatience. “Tell us the clue!”

“Humphrey, would you do the honours?” Ken asked pompously. “After all, you translated the poem.”

“How thrilling,” Julie all but squealed.

Cleverly cleared his throat. “I’m no poet,” he warned. “I took a few liberties with the Gaelic to keep it in rhyming verse, but I didn’t change anything of substance.” He cleared his throat again and paused. The room stood quiet in a brief respite from the storm, except for the crackling of the fire and the ticking of the mantelpiece clock, where the hour hand pointed to ten. Everyone held their breath, waiting for the professor to begin. Rex too was swept up in the historic tale of guilt and greed. The whereabouts of the Loch Arkaig Treasure remained one of the great unsolved mysteries of Scotland. Was it possible the people in this room were on the brink of discovering what had become of part of it?

Cleverly stared hard at the rug, slowly nodding as though in
recollection. After a final decisive nod, he began the first words, but was cut short when a warbling voice from the fireplace recalled attention to the man in the wheelchair. Rex had assumed the invalid was asleep as, apparently, had the others, because everyone jumped.

“Closer, please, so I can hear. My ears aren’t what they used to
be.
”

“Very well,” Professor Cleverly replied in surprise. “I’ll stand here in the centre so everybody can hear.” Accustomed to giving lectures, he began for the second time, addressing the entire room, where everyone listened spellbound.

3
a gaelic poem

Seek high, seek low

For the Jacobite gold

Brought over the seas in a stout ship’s hold

A princely sum raised by France and Spain

That bonny brave Scotland might fight again.

Hidden in the glen where the eagle soars

Above the loch where the burn in spring roars

For forty-odd years buried long and deep

How many more years its secret to keep?

A brief silence ensued,
and
then everyone began talking at once.

“I don’t see any specific clues,” Julie said, slightly the worse for drink and slurring her words.

“Don’t you?” the professor asked with a sly smile amid his gray stubble.

“It’s all in the words
glen, eagle, buried,
and
keep
,” Catriona explained. “As in the keep of a castle. Gleneagle Castle.”

“It’s pretty obvious when you know the location,” Rex agreed. “‘Above the loch where the burn in spring roars,’” he quoted. “When the ice melts in spring, that burn runs swift and positively clamours.”

Helen alone seemed to appreciate the sarcasm in his words, and cast him a knowing look, suppressing a smile.

“Exactly,” Catriona exclaimed in triumph. “It’s clear as daylight. And we know the gold came to the west coast of Scotland, not far from here.”

“But,” said Flora. “Sorry to put a damper on things … Glens, lochs, eagles, and even castles, are common in Scotland. And castles were often built on hills and near streams.”

“But the priest’s diary refers to a Fraser from these parts,” the professor countered. “‘A laird plagued by the shame of his forebears,’ an entry reads, ‘who could not escape his dark and cowardly destiny of betrayal and deceit.’” Cleverly succeeded in instilling the most sinister sentiment into his quote. “A man who stole from the Young Pretender and his loyal and brave followers. It was fitting that he died before he could enjoy all his gold.” He shook his bald head and gave a heartfelt sigh. “The curse of the Red Dougal Frasers.”

“This is giving me goose bumps,” Helen said, rubbing her bare arms.

The professor, brusquely swiveling his red paisley cravat out of the way, set down his tumbler of whisky on the nearest table and put himself in a semi-crouch, hands open before his face, as if warding off danger. “Imagine the clansman, swathed in tartan stained with sweat and soiled with the earth, digging up bags of gold from the loch-shore, where he’d previously marked the spot by carving out a cross with his dirk in the bark of an alder tree. Perhaps he wore a white cockade on his bonnet, the emblem of the Jacobites.” Cleverly stopped his mime of digging and cupped a hand to his ear, as though listening out for the sound of voices echoing across the purple glen or horses trampling through the fallen leaves of the valley. The guests stared at him owlishly, captivated by his description of the furtive robber.

“He digs under cover of darkness, afraid of the sound his spade makes sluicing and scraping into the ground, afraid of the whistling of mallard wings over the loch. To be caught means certain death, a traitor’s ignominious and terrible death. After hours of digging he hides the bags in his beer kegs, which he straps either side of a mule. Then, leaving the hiding place as though nothing ever was, he takes to the forests and hills, hiding from English soldiers and from his own kith and kin until, finally, he reaches his castle. He dares not rest until his clinking cache of gold is safely buried once more, this time deep under the flagstones of the keep.”

The professor took a curt bow to indicate his story was concluded, and received a hearty applause. Jason tooted loudly with one of the paper blowouts he had brought to the party.

“Everyone’s in high spirits,” Rex commented to Helen with the satisfaction of a successful host.

“Spirits is right,” she said pointedly, her glance sweeping the empty bottles on the table.

Cleverly resumed in his professorial tone, “The Highland clans- folk among whom the prince sought refuge never betrayed his whereabouts to the government troops, even though a fortune in bounty was offered on his pretty head.”

He stroked his own pate, but whereas the Young Pretender had been famed for his fair curls, Cleverly could only feel scalp. “And no one knew what to do with all the gold once Charlie left, although many hoped he would return to attempt another armed action. Enough gold to sink a ship had been delivered to Loch nan Umah, seven or eight barrels of it aboard the
Bellona
, each containing five thousand glittering gold pieces, the total worth over ten million pounds today, an astounding sum back then. Much of it simply vanished into thin air.” He performed a conjuring motion with his hand. “Until now, that is.”

“To excavate the gold, always assuming it’s buried in the keep, as the poem suggests, would cost an arm and a leg,” Alistair contended. “And there’s no real guarantee that it’s there.”

“Perhaps Jason can assist you with that,” Drew Harper said, leveling a look at the student.

“What do you mean?” Jason demanded.

“Why don’t you tell all us curious people what you found there?” Drew’s somber blue eyes challenged him unflinchingly.

Jason’s mouth formed an angry line as he glared back at the house agent. “Why don’t you mind your own business?” he blurted after a brief pause.

“What’s going on here?” Alistair stepped between the two men, both of them athletic; but whereas Jason was stocky, Drew was tall and lean. “Stop being so obscure, Drew. If you know something relevant to the subject of the alleged buried gold, cough it up, why don’t you.”

“I will, if Jason won’t. I just wanted to give him the opportunity to come clean.”

“Jason?” Flora began questioningly behind her boyfriend.

He held her back. “Come clean?” he returned, staring Drew down. “You make me sound like a criminal.”

“I’m sorry, but stealing is a criminal activity.”

Rex decided to intervene at this point. Tempers were rising, and he didn’t want the mood at his party to sour. “I’m sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for this. Jason, lad, why don’t you tell us in your own words what Drew is referring to and lay this possible misunderstanding to rest?”

“Hear, hear,” said Ken, availing himself of more Scotch.

With a contemptuous glance at the house agent, Jason told how, being a metal detector enthusiast, he had walked over the glen from the Loch Lochy Hotel, where he and Flora had been staying one weekend in the autumn to visit her family. It had been a breezy day, and Flora had wanted to spend time with her brother Donnie, whom Jason explained to those of Rex’s guests who might be unaware, was learning-disabled and very close to his sister, with whom he shared a special bond. Flora nodded with a tender expression in her wistful gray eyes. Anyway, Jason went on, gaining confidence, he had decided to go on a hike and taken his metal detector with him, because you never knew what ancient artifacts and weapon parts you might find in this remote area. Professor Cleverly murmured assent. Jason had seen Rex’s “No Trespassing” and “Hunting Strictly Prohibited” signs, but none had been in evidence up by the castle, and so he had switched on his metal detector and begun a search around the castle walls and inside the ruins.

“You found something?” Catriona interrupted, electrified.

Jason nodded gravely. “I did. In a sort of gutter leading out from the wall of the keep, deeply buried in mud and dead leaves. The detector gave off a signal and I started to dig. I had brought a trowel and a bag with me in case I found anything.”

“And what was it?” Ken asked with a crack in his voice.

“Well, it was a golden guinea, a French
louis d’or!
” The Frasers both gasped. “I rubbed off the dirt and almost fainted when I saw the engravings. The head of Louis Fifteenth on one side, and a triple fleur-de-lys and the date seventeen hundred-and-forty on the other. When I got back to the burn, I rinsed it clean and it gleamed yellow in the sun. It was the most amazing thing ever, to hold something whole and precious in your hands that no human had touched for centuries,” Jason whispered with reverence.

The Frasers hugged each other. Margarita Delacruz crossed herself while the professor nodded in perfect understanding of Jason’s words. “Untouched rebel gold,” he mused aloud.

“It must have escaped from one of the laird’s bags,” Catriona uttered. “Or maybe he dropped it …”

“That’s why you were so excited when you got back to the hotel,” Flora said to Jason, resentment cutting into her voice. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Her boyfriend shrugged in apology. “I don’t know.”

“I do,” said Drew. “It’s illegal to keep any ancient coins you find. You’re supposed to turn them over to Treasure Trove in Scotland.”

“It was just one coin.”

“One historical gold coin,” Drew corrected.

“But where there’s one coin, there may be others, eh?” Professor Cleverly addressed the Frasers.

“Did you search anywhere else?” Ken asked Jason eagerly.

“I stayed at it for another hour, but not a beep. I had to get back
to the hotel in time for dinner, and Flora and I headed back to
Inverness in the morning. I’ll return the coin to you,” he told the Frasers sheepishly. “I’ve never taken anything that didn’t belong to me before.”

“We didn’t own the castle in the autumn,” Catriona told him. “We only took possession three weeks ago. The coin doesn’t really belong to us, or does it? Does he have to give the coin up, Rex? Alistair? You’re the legal experts.”

“But I’m not a policeman,” Rex said. “I’ll not report it. Let this young man’s conscience be the judge.”

Alistair held out his palms in front of him. He didn’t want to get involved either.

“What aboot the previous owners?” Drew asked.

“Why should you care?” Jason demanded. “Were you spying on me that day? Come to think of it, what were
you
doing there?”

“My job,” Drew replied evenly. “Isn’t it strictly the previous owners’ property?” he went on, addressing the gathering, “and shouldn’t they be the ones to return it to the Crown?”

“Or to France?” the professor suggested smugly. “It came from French coffers, after all.”

“I think the boy should just keep his coin,” Se
ñ
ora Delacruz surprised everyone by stating. “Much simpler, no?”

“How much is one of these French louis worth?” Julie inquired.

Professor Cleverly clutched his chin as he did a mental calculation. “A golden guinea was equal to thirteen pounds Scots in old money, so, let me see … between two and three hundred pounds in actual value today? But historical value? Almost priceless if it is part of the Jacobite gold.” He opened his arms wide. “Reputedly, there were not only louis of France, but crusadoes of Spain and English guineas donated to the Jacobite cause, as well. The location of the gold was kept secret in the hope of another rising in Scotland, but with the passing of Charles Edward Stuart in seventeen hundred and eighty-eight, all hope was finally lost.” Humphrey gazed at nothing in particular as though caught in the past.

“Here’s to a new chance at Independence,” John said brightly, clinking glasses with Alistair and Jason. “No offence to the Sassenachs here …,” the medic added, referring to the two English ladies from Derby.

“None taken,” Helen said cheerfully. “We’re very pro Scotland,
aren’t we, Julie?”

“Definitely,” her friend replied, sneaking a glance at Drew’s handsome profile. Helen and Julie exchanged knowing glances, Drew clearly oblivious to the forces at work on his future.

Glasses were refilled. The mood around the fire grew more animated still. Crystal clinked and toasts were made.

“The gold has to be there, don’t you see?” Catriona said, unable to drop the subject. “Buried in the keep like the poem says. Now, thanks to Jason, we have proof !”

Jason smiled, while Drew scowled.

“How come your ancestors never found it?” Vanessa asked. She and her daughter had been quiet for much of the discussion, but had paid close attention. Ace Weaver had dozed off after Professor Cleverly recited the poem, and no one seemed to give him another thought.

“They tried,” Catriona replied. “They all but tore the castle apart looking for it. But it must be buried really deep under the flagstones. Or else they didn’t know where to look. The ground will have to be dug up.”

Rex inwardly groaned at the thought of the heavy equipment that would be brought into the valley, no doubt at the expense of several trees. He had bought Gleneagle Lodge to get away from noise and disturbance and crowds of people. Now he would have to postpone his weekend and holiday visits until the work was completed. No doubt nature would flee as well. The news did not bode well for the coming year. He was almost sorry he had thrown a party. Bad news could wait, and certainly had no place ruining his Hogmanay celebrations.

“Don’t worry, Rex,” Helen consoled him in an undertone. “It may never happen.”

“It could be a fool’s errand,” Alistair warned the Frasers. “One of your ancestors may have already found the gold and spent it.”

“That cannot be the case,” Ken argued, his mouth a small square in his short-clipped gray beard. “The family fortune would have been restored, and clearly it wasn’t. Malcolm Fraser was a miser and would not have told anybody of its exact location. Many a clan member went mad or suicidal from despair looking for it.”

“The inbreeding would have accounted for much of the insanity,” Alistair remarked to general amusement. Even the Frasers took
his comment in good spirit. Margarita Delacruz crossed herself
again.

“The treasure came to be a curse, to be sure,” Ken Fraser related. “But for the gold, the clan would have gone about their business and continued to thrive instead of staking all on a gamble. The priest mentions gold bars or ingots in his journal. These possibly came from Spain.”

“Gold bars don’t fall under the same category as coins, do they?” Jason asked.