Death at Glamis Castle by Robin Paige Page B

order.” He nodded toward the baggage cars. “Your special equipment was loaded properly?”
    â€œSeems to’ve been,” the colonel replied, “although there hasn’t been time to check the manifest.” Like his troops, whom Kate could see peering through the windows of the train, he had changed into a khaki field uniform. “Your man in London had it loaded before I boarded.”
    â€œVery good.” Kirk-Smythe motioned, and a fleshy, heavy-faced man with vigorous side-whiskers and a heavy mustache stepped forward. He was dressed in a yeoman’s thick green tweed jacket and heavy trousers. “This is Angus Duff, Lord Strathmore’s estate factor. He has been of great assistance since I arrived from London yesterday, and has offered his help in getting things under way.”
    Duff took off his green wool cap and addressed Kate in a musical Scots baritone. “Lord and Lady Strathmore’ll be that sorry they werena at the castle tae receive ye, m’lady. Lady Glamis is expectin’ ye, however. And sin’ ye sart’nly willna wish tae bide here i’ the wet, one o’ our gamekeepers—Hamilton’s his name—is waitin’ wi’ a pony cart tae take ye an’ yer bags t’ the castle.”
    Kate hesitated, torn between her wish to see the famous Scottish castle and her eagerness to learn why the King had summoned Charles to this remote corner of Scotland. The castle could wait, of course, although she did not like to embarrass her husband by making what might be considered an unladylike protest against her exile, especially since Colonel Paddington, apparently heartened now that he was back in uniform, was giving her a severe look.
    Kirk-Smythe cleared his throat. “If you will forgive me, Lady Sheridan,” he said tactfully, “I’m afraid that there is a great deal of rather tedious work to be done just now: unloading the men and gear and setting things in motion.”
    Charles put his arm around her shoulder and his lips close to her ear. “Go along with Hamilton, my dear. I’ll join you when I can.”
    Kate frowned. She disliked being excluded from the action, but she knew that Charles would share as much information with her as he could, as soon as he could. And while it might still be August, this was Scotland, and the platform was damp and chilly. Inside her boots, she realized, her feet were awfully cold.
    â€œOf course, dear,” she said sweetly, giving Charles a look under her lashes to remind him that he now owed her a favor.
    In a moment, she was being handed into the cart by a slender, fair-haired Scotsman in a gray knit sweater, a long woolen scarf wound round his throat, and heavy trousers tucked into leather boots. His clothing reeked of whiskey and those wretched Indian cigars that her schoolmaster Crombie favored, and his bloodshot, puffy eyes gave him the look of a man who was suffering the effects of too much drink the previous night. He loaded the bags, then climbed into the cart and clucked to the pony.
    â€œIt’s very pretty here,” Kate said, venturing conversation.
    â€œAye, ’tis,” Hamilton agreed sourly. After a long silence, he gave her a sidelong look. “Yer ladyship’s first visit tae Glamis?”
    â€œYes,” Kate replied, “although my husband has been here several times before.”
    â€œHis lordship seems tae hae brought a great many soldiers wi’ him,” Hamilton remarked in a tone that bordered on brash. He forced a smile. “More’n we’re like tae see in our wee corner o’ Scotland. Wha’s it all aboot?”
    â€œI’m sure I don’t know,” Kate said, remembering that the business with the soldiers, whatever it was, was supposed to be secret. “You shall have to ask Lord Sheridan.”
    â€œAye, that I shall,” Hamilton said, and chirruped to the pony.
    The road, with a forest on