Death at Glamis Castle by Robin Paige

the long Vistas of the Park are so differing that it does not seem like the same Place any two Ways together.
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A Tour Thro the Whole Island of Great Britain , 1724-1727
Daniel Defoe
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    The train was traveling up the Valley of Strathmore on the Caledonian Railway, while Kate watched the dawn come up in a slate-gray sky. Late on the previous night, a fault had developed in one of the locomotive’s steam valves, and the engineer had been required to reduce the speed. Having arrived at Perth, they had lain by for several hours while midnight repairs were organized, and Kate, snuggled in blankets against the chill, tried to sleep in the uncomfortable seat. Now they were once again heading north, past Scone and Balbeggie, with the brown pillows of the Sidlaw Hills visible to the east in the metallic gray light of a drizzly dawn. The highest of the hills, at a thousand feet, Charles told her, was Dunsinane, where a ruined fort called Macbeth’s Castle was the traditional site of Macbeth’s final defeat.
    â€œ ‘Fear not,’ ” he reminded Kate, “ ‘till Birnam wood do come to Dunsinane.’ Macbeth, Act Five, Scene Five.”
    â€œI’m not in the least afraid,” Kate replied, “although I will confess to being more than a little glad when we have come to Dunsinane, or wherever it is we are meant to be.” She stretched wearily, her eyes grainy with sleep. “Do you have any idea where we are, or where we are bound?”
    â€œAs a matter of fact, I can tell you where we are,” Charles replied, “although where we are bound, I haven’t a clue. We’re north of the Firth of Tay, traveling through the Strathmore Valley, not far from Glamis Castle.” He pronounced the word Glamis as one syllable, so that it rhymed with the word palms.
    â€œGlamis Castle?” Kate exclaimed. “Oh, I should love to see it, Charles. I’ve heard that it is a beautiful place, and haunted.”
    â€œBeautiful it certainly is,” Charles said, “although I’m afraid I’m not up on the hauntings. Glamis is the home of Lord and Lady Strathmore,” he added. “I visited there several times some years ago, as the guest of their son, Patrick Bowes-Lyon.”
    â€œDo you think we’re going to Glamis?”
    Charles shrugged. “I’m afraid we’ll just have to wait and see.” He spoke philosophically, but there was an undertone of excitement in his voice.
    Kate regarded him thoughtfully. He was the same Charles she loved, his face so familiar to her now that it was almost commonplace. But behind what she always saw—the sincere and resolute strength, the mature deliberation, the steadfast moral courage that led him to support unpopular Liberal causes in the House of Lords—she now glimpsed something different. A certain boyishness, perhaps, that was intrigued by this summons from his sovereign. A strength that might reach to obstinance, a courage that might be tempted to recklessness if there were a need for defiant action. These were glimpses of a different Charles—perhaps the Charles of his military career, about which she knew almost nothing—and they made her wonder. She thought again about the Victoria Cross, which she knew was awarded only for the greatest acts of valor, and the resigned commission. She leaned forward, thinking to ask Charles what was behind Colonel Paddington’s earlier remark, but he had turned away to consult with one of the men, and the opportunity was lost. It would have to wait for a more private moment.
    Within the quarter hour, the train began to slow. The valley had broadened and was filled with fields of golden grain and grazing cattle. Shortly after they crossed a broad, clear river—the Dene Water, Charles said it was called—Kate heard the screech of brakes.
    â€œGlamis Station, I believe,” Charles said with satisfaction, rising from