Clifton Chronicles 01 - Only Time Will Tell (38 page)

‘I’m trying to find out if we’re being followed,’ said Giles, ‘and the next part of my plan will involve you.’

‘What role will I be playing this time?’ said Harry, sitting on the edge of his seat.

‘Certainly not Romeo,’ said Giles. ‘When the train stops at Dunbar, I want you to get off while I watch if anyone follows you. Once you’re on the platform, walk quickly towards the ticket barrier, then turn back, go into the waiting room and buy a cup of tea. Don’t forget you’ve only got four minutes to be back on board before the train sets off again. And whatever you do, don’t look back, or he’ll know we’re on to him.’

‘But if there is someone following us, surely he’ll be more interested in you than me?’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Giles, ‘and certainly not if Captain Tarrant is right, because I have a feeling your friend knows more than he’s willing to admit.’

‘That doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence,’ said Harry.

Half an hour later, the train shuddered to a halt in Dunbar. Harry opened the carriage door, stepped out on to the platform and headed for the exit.

Giles caught no more than a glimpse of the man as he hurried after Harry.

‘Got you,’ Giles said, then leant back and closed his eyes, confident that once the man realized Harry had only got off to buy a cup of tea, he would look in his direction just to make sure he hadn’t also left the carriage.

Giles opened his eyes again when Harry returned to the compartment holding a bar of chocolate.

‘Well,’ said Harry, ‘did you spot anyone?’

‘Sure did,’ said Giles. ‘In fact, he’s just getting back on the train.’

‘What does he look like?’ asked Harry, trying not to sound anxious.

‘I only caught a glimpse of him,’ said Giles, ‘but I’d say he’s around forty, a little over six foot, smartly dressed, with very short hair. The one thing you can’t miss is his limp.’

‘So now we know what we’re up against, Sherlock, what next?’

‘First, Watson, it’s important to remember that we have several things going for us.’

‘I can’t think of one,’ said Harry.

‘Well, for a start, we know we’re being followed, but he doesn’t know we know. We also know where we’re going, which he clearly doesn’t. We’re also fit, and less than half his age. And with that limp, he won’t be able to move all that quickly.’

‘You’re rather good at this,’ said Harry.

‘I do have a built-in advantage,’ said Giles. ‘I am my father’s son.’

By the time the train pulled into Edinburgh Waverley, Giles had gone over his plan with Harry a dozen times. They stepped out of the carriage and walked slowly down the platform towards the barrier.

‘Don’t even think about looking back,’ said Giles as he produced his rail warrant, then headed towards a line of taxis.

‘The Royal Hotel,’ said Giles to the cabbie. ‘And can you let me know if another taxi follows us?’ he added before joining Harry in the back.

‘Right you are,’ said the cabbie, as he eased off the rank and joined the traffic.

‘How do you know there’s a Royal Hotel in Edinburgh?’ asked Harry.

‘There’s a Royal Hotel in every city,’ said Giles.

A few minutes later the cabbie said, ‘I cannae be sure, but the next cab off the rank isn’t far behind us.’

‘Good,’ said Giles. ‘How much is the fare to the Royal?’

‘Two shillings, sir.’

‘I’ll give you four if you can lose him.’

The driver immediately put his foot down on the accelerator, causing both of his passengers to be thrown back into their seats. Giles recovered quickly and looked through the back window to see the taxi behind them had also speeded up. They had gained sixty or seventy yards, but Giles realized that advantage wouldn’t last for long.

‘Cabbie, take the next turning on the left and then slow down for a moment. After we jump out, I want you to continue on to the Royal and don’t stop until you reach the hotel.’ An outstretched arm appeared. Harry placed two florins into the palm.

‘When I jump out,’ said Giles, ‘just follow me, and then do exactly as I do.’ Harry nodded.

The taxi swung round the corner and slowed down for a moment just as Giles opened the door. He leapt out on to the pavement, toppled over, quickly picked himself up, then dashed into the nearest shop, throwing himself on the floor. Harry followed only seconds later, slammed the door behind him and was lying by his friend’s side just as the second cab shot around the corner.

‘Can I help you, sir?’ asked a sales assistant, hands on hips, looking down at the two young men lying prostrate on the ground.

‘You already have,’ said Giles, rising to his feet and giving her a warm smile. He brushed himself down, said ‘Thank you,’ and left the shop without another word.

When Harry stood up, he came face to face with a slim-waisted mannequin wearing only a corset. He turned bright red, ran out of the shop and joined Giles on the pavement.

‘I don’t expect the man with the limp will be booking into the Royal for the night,’ said Giles, ‘so we’d better get moving.’

‘Agreed,’ said Harry as Giles flagged down another cab. ‘Waverley station,’ he said before climbing into the back.

‘Where did you learn how to do all that?’ asked Harry in admiration, as they headed back in the direction of the station.

‘You know, Harry, you should read a little less Joseph Conrad and a little more John Buchan if you want to know how to travel in Scotland while being pursued by a fiendish foe.’

The journey to Mulgelrie was considerably slower and far less exciting than the one to Edinburgh had been, and there was certainly no sign of any man with a limp. When the engine finally dragged its four carriages and two passengers into the little station, the sun had already disappeared behind the highest mountain. The station master was standing by the exit waiting to check their tickets when they got off the last train that day.

‘Any hope of getting a taxi?’ Giles asked as they handed over their warrants.

‘No, sir,’ replied the station master. ‘Jock goes home for tea around six o’clock, and he’ll nae be back for another hour.’

Giles thought twice about explaining the logic of Jock’s actions to the station master, before he asked, ‘Then perhaps you’d be kind enough to tell us how we can get to Mulgelrie Castle.’

‘You’ll have to walk,’ said the station master helpfully.

‘And which direction might it be?’ asked Giles, trying not to sound exasperated.

‘It’s about three miles up yonder,’ the man said, pointing up the hill. ‘You cannae miss it.’

‘Up yonder’ turned out to be the only accurate piece of information the station master had offered, because after the two of them had been walking for over an hour, it was pitch black and there was still no sign of any castle.

Giles was beginning to wonder if they were going to have to spend their first night in the Highlands sleeping in a field with only a flock of sheep to keep them company, when Harry shouted, ‘There it is!’

Giles stared through the misty gloom and although he still couldn’t quite make out the outline of a castle, his spirits were lifted by flickering lights coming from several windows. They trudged on until they reached a massive pair of wrought-iron gates which had not been locked. As they made their way up the long driveway Giles could hear barking, but he couldn’t see any dogs. After about another mile they came to a bridge spanning a moat, and on the far side, a heavy oak door that didn’t look as if it welcomed strangers.

‘Leave the talking to me,’ said Giles as they staggered across the bridge and came to a halt outside the door.

Giles banged three times with the side of his fist, and within moments the door was pulled open to reveal a giant of a man dressed in a kilt with a dark lovat jacket, white shirt and white bow tie.

The head steward looked down on the weary, bedraggled objects that stood in front of him. ‘Good evening, Mr Giles,’ he said, although Giles had never set eyes on the man before. ‘His lordship has been expecting you for some time, and wondered if you would care to join him for dinner?’

40

L
ORD
H
ARVEY
handed the telegram to Giles and chuckled. ‘Sent by our mutual friend, Captain Tarrant. He only turned out to be wrong about what time you’d arrive.’

‘We had to walk all the way from the station,’ protested Giles between mouthfuls.

‘Yes, I did consider sending the car to meet you off the last train,’ said Lord Harvey, ‘but there’s nothing like a bracing Highland walk to work up a good appetite.’

Harry smiled. He’d hardly spoken since they’d come down for dinner, and as Emma had been placed at the far end of the table he had to satisfy himself with the occasional wistful gaze, wondering if they’d ever be left alone together.

The first course was a thick Highland broth, which Harry finished a little too quickly, but when Giles was served a second helping, he also allowed his bowl to be refilled. Harry would have asked for a third helping if everyone else hadn’t continued making polite conversation while they waited for him and Giles to finish so that the main course could be served.

‘There’s no need for either of you to be anxious about anyone wondering where you are,’ said Lord Harvey, ‘because I’ve already sent telegrams to Sir Walter and to Mrs Clifton, to assure them you are both safe and well. I didn’t bother to get in touch with your father, Giles,’ he added without further comment. Giles glanced across the table to see his mother purse her lips.

Moments later the dining room doors swung open and several liveried servants entered and whisked away the soup bowls. Three more servants followed, carrying silver salvers on which rested what looked to Harry like six small chickens.

‘I do hope you like grouse, Mr Clifton,’ said Lord Harvey, the first person ever to call him Mr, as a bird was placed in front of him. ‘I shot these myself.’

Harry couldn’t think of an appropriate response. He watched as Giles picked up his knife and fork and began to slice tiny pieces off the bird, bringing back memories of their first meal together at St Bede’s. By the time the plates were cleared, Harry had only managed about three morsels and wondered how old he would have to be before he could say, ‘No, thank you, I’d prefer another bowl of soup.’

Things improved a little when a large plate of different fruits, some of which Harry had never seen before, was placed in the centre of the table. He would have liked to ask his host their names and the countries they originated from, but memories of his first banana came to mind, when he had definitely slipped. He satisfied himself with following Giles’s lead, watching carefully to see which had to be peeled, which had to be cut and which you could simply take a bite out of.

When he’d finished, a servant appeared and placed a bowl of water by the side of his plate. He was just about to pick it up and drink it, when he saw Lady Harvey place her fingers in hers and moments later a servant passed her a linen napkin so she could dry her hands. Harry dipped his fingers in the water and, like magic, a napkin immediately appeared.

After dinner, the ladies retired to the drawing room. Harry wanted to join them so he could at last catch up with Emma and tell her everything that had happened since she’d poisoned herself. But no sooner had she left the room than Lord Harvey sat back down, a sign for the under-butler to offer his lordship a cigar while another servant poured him a large glass of Cognac.

Once he’d taken a sip, he nodded and glasses were placed in front of Giles and Harry. The butler closed the humidor, before filling their glasses with brandy.

‘Well,’ said Lord Harvey after two or three luxuriant puffs. ‘Am I to understand that you are both hoping to go up to Oxford?’

‘Harry’s a safe bet,’ said Giles. ‘But I’ll need to score a couple of centuries during the summer, and preferably one at Lord’s if the examiners are going to overlook my more obvious deficiencies.’

‘Giles is being modest, sir,’ said Harry. ‘He has just as good a chance of being offered a place as I do. After all, he’s not only the captain of cricket, he’s also school captain.’

‘Well, if you are successful, I can assure you that you’ll experience three of the happiest years of your life. That’s assuming Herr Hitler isn’t foolish enough to insist on a replay of the last war in the vain hope that he’ll be able to reverse the result.’