The Adept Book 3 The Templar Treasure (22 page)

He went on to explain himself. Listening to the young artist’s half of the conversation, Adam was relieved to hear that Lauder seemed to be not too resistant to what Peregrine was suggesting. When the young artist at length set down the receiver, he was flushed with triumph.

“We’re in!” he announced jubilantly. “Lauder and his wife will be expecting us to turn up around eight o’clock tomorrow night.”

“Excellent!”

“There
is
one minor inconvenience.”

“How minor?”

“Well, to increase its revenue, the Trust hires out premises in a number of its historic properties,” Peregrine said. ‘ ‘There’s a do scheduled at Fyvie for tomorrow night—a black-tie dinner-dance for some consortium of North Sea oil executives from Aberdeen. It shouldn’t be a problem,” he hastened to add. “We’ll just have to take care to stay out of their way.”

Rolling his eyes, Adam consulted the floor plans again.

“Well, if they confine themselves to the Dining Room and Drawing Room, I shouldn’t think they’d have any business where we need to be,” he decided. “Actually, this could be a distraction that will work to our advantage. For one thing, it means your Mr. Lauder and his good lady will probably be too occupied with their guests to pay much heed to what the three of us might be doing. All that remains is to prime Noel as to what he’s got to do to put on a convincing front as an expert in seventeenth-century plaster ceilings.”

He telephoned McLeod himself. Apprised of the plan, the inspector displayed understandable reservations.

“Why me?” he grumbled plaintively. “What I
don’t
know about art would fill an encyclopaedia. Wouldn’t Peregrine be better suited?”

“Not this time,” Adam said. “The castle administrator already knows him for his work with portraiture.”

“All right,” McLeod allowed grudgingly. “But why
ceilings,
for God’s sake?”

“We need you to be expert in something that can’t be moved out of the room we need to look at,” Adam said. “Also, our excuse for this visit on such short notice is that you’re going to be in the neighborhood only for the day, and want to make optimum use of the time. You’re advising me on the ceiling restorations at Templemor.”

“You think of everything, don’t you,” McLeod said with a sigh of resignation. “All right. If you want me to be a ceiling expert by tomorrow, I’d better hustle my hips over to the library before it closes, and pick up a book or two on ornamental plasterwork.”

“You can do that if you want,” Adam said with a laugh, “but I’ll plan to have Peregrine give you a full briefing on the way up. Your time would be better spent working on the whereabouts of Henri Gerard.”

“Fair enough,” McLeod conceded, “though I’m not having much luck on that so far. What time did you want me at the house, then? I can take the whole day if I need to, but I’ve already had a lot of time off in the last couple of weeks.”

“Could you be here by three?” Adam replied.

“All right. I sure hope we know what we’re doing . . .”

Chapter Twenty-One

THE INSPECTOR
proved to be as good as his word, arriving punctually on the dot of three o’clock the following afternoon. In deference to the fact that he was going to be posing as a scholar, he had traded his familiar black zipper bag with POLICE stencilled on the side for a plain, smaller version in brown. It still held the usual collection of police paraphernalia, including a high-powered torch with extra batteries, a cellular phone, and his Browning Hi-Power automatic, together with spare ammo clips. He also had three heavy books on architectural ornamentation and a crabbed assemblage of notes.

“The Gerard investigation wasn’t going anywhere, so I decided to read about plaster after all,” he remarked, as he shifted his bag into Adam’s Range Rover. “You should have seen Jane’s face when I lugged these tomes into the house last night. When she asked me what I wanted with them, I told her I was thinking about retiring from the police force and taking up a new career as an interior decorator. She said, fine, I could make a start on the back bedroom first thing tomorrow morning.”

Adam chuckled. “That sounds like Jane. She’s not worried, is she?”

“Not that I could see,” McLeod answered. “Should she be?”

“No more than usual,” Adam said. “At least not right now. Come on in and have a bite to eat before we get on the road.”

Humphrey had set out a substantial snack of sandwiches and soup on the table where Adam’s books were still laid out in the library. Even though Peregrine knew full well that there would be no time on the road to stop for a proper meal, he was unable to repress a pained grimace as soon as Humphrey’s back was turned.

“I’m beginning to wish matters would come to a head,” he sighed, eyeing his plate with disfavor. “I feel as if we’ve been living on sandwiches for
days
now.”

“Careful what you wish for, laddie,” McLeod said thickly through a mouthful of bread and ham. “Wish for trouble, and you just might get it sooner than you bargained for. “

Adam was standing at the window gazing out into the grey afternoon as he also chewed on a sandwich, but at this exchange he turned around.

“Noel’s right,” he said. “If we can help it, we don’t want anything to happen before we’re as well prepared as we can be.”

“Well, I just hope this enterprise comes off as planned,” Peregrine said. “I’d hate for Julia to get a call later on tonight to tell her I’ve been gaoled in Aberdeen on suspicion of vandalism and attempted robbery.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about
that,
laddie,” McLeod said lightly. “The last I heard, impersonating a plaster expert wasn’t listed on the books as a viable offense. If you’re determined to worry, worry about what Henri Gerard might be doing while we’re poking our noses around in Fyvie’ s dark corners.”

The rest of their impromptu meal concluded in thoughtful silence, broken only by the faint country sounds intruding from the garden outside. As they headed out to the car, Humphrey came to see them off, watching as Peregrine stashed his art satchel in the backseat, Adam’s medical bag joining it. Waxed jackets and rubber wellie boots had been added to the paraphernalia as well, for the weather looked to be worsening rather than improving, off to the north.

“Sir,” said Humphrey, “I’ve taken the liberty of putting a large flask of hot tea in the back of the car, along with a smaller one containing coffee. Is there anything else you think you might require?”

“Not that I can think of, but thank you, Humphrey,” Adam said. “We may stay the night in Aberdeen, if the weather gets too bad, and come back tomorrow. So don’t wait up.”

“Very good, sir,” Humphrey said, and added softly, “You
will
be careful, won’t you, sir?”

“Have no fear on that account,” Adam said reassuringly. “We’ll take no unnecessary risks.”

But he knew even as he spoke that circumstances might well force them to take grave risks, indeed.

Dusk came early that afternoon, for they drove into pelting rain as they headed north with Adam at the wheel. Peregrine and McLeod spent the first hour reviewing the inspector’s notes on ornamental plaster, Peregrine augmenting what McLeod had learned with information from his own experience. Once past Dundee, however, they had covered just about all McLeod could be expected to retain from so short a study. As the big Range Rover sped up the A94 toward Aberdeen and Fyvie Castle, conversation gradually died, each of them wrapped in his own thoughts and fears.

It was just after six when they hit Aberdeen, busy center of the North Sea oil industry. Traffic was still heavy, made worse by the rain, as Adam threaded the Range Rover westerly around the city, but it thinned as they headed out on the A96, making for the refuge of the low-lying hills. At Inverurie, they struck out northward toward Oldmeldrum, carrying on through a gradually darkening landscape of woods and fields until at last they were approaching the village of Fyvie. Just past the village center, McLeod spotted a sign sporting the familiar blue logo of the National Trust for Scotland, together with an arrow pointing the way to Fyvie Castle.

“There’s our turn,” he told Adam, pointing, and glanced down at the chronometer on the dash. “We’re early, though. You want to pull over and kill time for a few minutes?”

Nodding, Adam pulled the Rover into a lay-by and cut the engine. “I need to organize myself anyway,” he said. “I can’t very well take my medical bag into the castle without raising eyebrows. Peregrine, would you hand it up, please? And have some tea or coffee if you want it, both of you.”

Neither of them did, but they both watched avidly as, in the dimness of the car’s cockpit, Adam opened the black bag Peregrine handed forward and delved into its depths. From the black jeweller’s box came Dundee’s Templar cross, whose black silk cord Adam looped over his head, tucking the cross itself inside the burgundy V-necked sweater he wore under his navy blazer. The cord became invisible, tucked close under the collar of his tattersall shirt.

The Dundee ring went into his left-hand jacket pocket, his
skean dubh
into his right. He was wearing his signet ring, but the others were not, lest the coincidence be marked by their incipient host. Just before Adam closed the bag, he handed McLeod the impression of the Seal, wrapped in a burgundy silk handkerchief with white spots.

“I don’t know that we’re going to need that tonight,” he said, “but if we do, we can’t use it if we don’t have it with us. Peregrine, have you got a sketch pad?”

“A small one, in my pocket,” Peregrine said. “I’ve got a pocket torch too. Nights like this, you never know when the power’s going to go out, especially in these old properties. When I was working here as a student, I used to carry a cigarette lighter, even though I don’t smoke. Needed it more than once too.”

For answer, McLeod held up a blue disposable lighter and a pocket Maglite, as Adam passed his bag back to Peregrine.

“I’m right with ye, laddie,” the inspector said. “On
that
front, I think we’re well prepared.”

They sat there for another quarter hour, Peregrine rehearsing McLeod one more time on his bona fides as a plaster expert, Adam oddly silent. Then, as Peregrine mostly cleared out his art satchel to make room for the Crown they hoped to bring out of Fyvie, they headed on along the curving road that led to the castle entrance.

Fyvie Castle was visible from the road as five tall towers standing above the trees of the surrounding park, glimpsed only intermittently between scudding clouds when the watery moonlight could silver the towers. As they drew nearer, details emerged of an imposing structure combining the strength of a baronial fortress with the architectural grace of a manor house. The narrow rectangular windows on the lower floors were ablaze with lights, bright enough to lay long swatches of light across the attendant sweeps of lawn. Lively snatches of music could be heard floating out across the forecourt from somewhere inside the building, proclaiming the presence of a formal function in progress. The rain had stopped, but the sky presaged more rain to come, and soon.

The car park adjoining the castle’s east entrance was full to overflowing with executive automobiles belonging to the guests attending the evening’s festivities. Adam swung the Range Rover off the gravel a short distance up the drive and cut the ignition, giving himself a few seconds to let any mental impressions register as he gazed up at the floodlit facade. He registered a glance at his two companions, and the three of them got out of the car, Peregrine grabbing up his art satchel, before they proceeded up the drive on foot toward the castle entrance. McLeod found the bellpull to the right of the doorway and gave it a vigorous tug.

A metallic jangle sounded beyond the heavy door. A moment later, the door swung wide, opened by a middle-aged man in the severe black and white formal attire of a serving butler. His welcoming expression turned politely quizzical when he saw that the three men on the doorstep were not in evening dress, but Adam moved smoothly to take command of the situation.

“Good evening,” he said pleasantly, handing the man one of the cards he used on purely social occasions that said, simply,
Sir Adam Sinclair, Bt., F.R.C. PSYCH
.
“My colleagues and I are here to see Mr. Lauder. I wonder if you’d be good enough to let him know that Mr. Lovat’s party has arrived?”

His manner, though genial, was weighted with cultivated authority. The butler, glancing at the card, executed a respectful bow and said, “Certainly, Sir Adam. I’m not entirely certain where Mr. Lauder is at the moment, but if you gentlemen would care to step inside, I shall endeavor to find him for you.”

He disappeared up the passageway, returning a few minutes later in the company of a tall man in dinner clothes, with grey hair and high coloring. Shrewd grey eyes behind bottle-glass spectacles lighted on Peregrine, and the mouth that went with them framed a grin.

“Hullo there, Mr. Lovat!” he exclaimed heartily. “Welcome back to Fyvie! I hope you haven’t been kept waiting overlong.”

“Hardly any time at all—we’ve only just arrived,” Peregrine said, returning the grin. “I’d like you to meet Sir Adam Sinclair of Strathmourne—”

“A pleasure, Sir Adam,” Lauder said, shaking his hand.

“—and this,” Peregrine said, indicating the inspector, “is Professor Noel McLeod.”

“Aye, the gentleman who’s interested in our ceilings,” Lauder acknowledged with a sapient nod, also exchanging handshakes with McLeod. “It’s nice to have you with us as well. Am I right that you come from America?”

“It’s where I live and work,” McLeod said with a straight face, “but I was born and bred in Edinburgh. Fortunately, my research brings me back here now and again,” he added, “if only for a week or two at a time.”

“Aye, Mr. Lovat did say you were scheduled to fly back to the States in the next day or two,” Lauder acknowledged. “Glad we managed to fit you in at such short notice.”

“Thank you for making the effort,” McLeod said. “We appreciate it.”

“Not at all. Now, tell me again which rooms you wanted to see.” He glanced at Adam. “I understand that you’re restoring a tower house, and you want some advice on plasterwork. “

“That’s correct,” Adam agreed. “The core of the structure goes back to the twelfth century, I suspect, but I’ve decided to put it back to about what it was in the late seventeenth century. Much earlier than that, and it wouldn’t be particularly comfortable to live in.”

“Sir Adam is nearly ready to begin reinstating the ceilings, “ McLeod offered, “and Mr. Lovat told us there are some ceilings here that are similar in scale to Templemor. Work by Robert White, I believe.”

Lauder nodded. “You’ll want to see the Douglas Room, then, for certain, and also the Charter Room, for comparison. I’d also suggest you take a look at the Morning Room, but that may be a bit larger than you had in mind. Unfortunately, I can’t let you see the Drawing Room or the Gallery, because that’s where the party is set up.”

“They’d be too big anyway,” McLeod said, making a gesture of dismissal as he shook his head. “We’ll be perfectly happy with the smaller rooms. We looked at the Vine Room at Kellie Castle earlier today, but it just wasn’t what Sir Adam had in mind.”

Lauder nodded knowingly. “Interesting work, that, but I think we’ve got better here at Fyvie.”

“I agree,” Peregrine replied. “Anyway, if Sir Adam likes what he sees, I thought I’d make some trial sketches to give to the stuccadores before they start on the ceilings at Templemor.” He patted the satchel slung over his shoulder. “We won’t get the craftsmanship you’ve got here at Fyvie, but at least they’ll have something to aspire to.”

Lauder beamed at the compliment. “Well, you couldn’t have come to a better place for inspiration. The Charter Room alone—”

He was interrupted by a sudden loud crash from the corridor at his back, accompanied by the dissonant clatter of breaking dishes. Voices rose in a babble of dismay. Lauder winced and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. A moment later, a middle-aged woman in a starched waitress’s apron over her black skirt and white blouse popped around the comer with dismay writ large on her face.