Detective Watters Mysteries

Chapter 4-1

Watters tugged at his starched collar, fidgeted uncomfortably, and wished he could at least look at his watch to see how much longer he had to endure this t*****e. His natural dislike of weddings was not improved when he did not know the participants.

"I could stand outside the building, sir," Watters had suggested.

Mackay had shaken his head. "I"ve spoken to Mr Beaumont. You"re down as a friend of the family and an usher."

"Yes, sir." Watters knew that as a police sergeant, he could be working in the most noxious of alleys one day and guarding the queen the next. He accepted that was part of the job, but he did not have to enjoy it.

Watters looked up as the organist began the music and Charlotte Beaumont appeared. From the long veil that concealed her face to the bouquet of orange blossom in her white-gloved hands, past the frilled white dress that enhanced her trim waist, then flounced out to hide the flat white shoes, Charlotte looked as pristine as a bride should.

For a second, Watters nearly smiled for the gloves, from Henry Adams of Dundee, had been his present to her, which Marie had chosen with care.

"You"re going to a wedding," Marie had said. "You have to give the bride something."

"I"m not a guest! I"m on duty."

"I"ll choose a suitable present," Marie told him. "You guard the guests."

Watters nodded; there was no advantage in continuing the discussion. Marie had made her mind up.

The instant the ancient church doors creaked open, the bells began to ring. The great and the good of Dundee were present, together with relatives from both families. Watters saw a hundred eyes examining Charlotte as she walked down the aisle supported by her father and followed by her bridesmaids.

Watters concentrated on the guests, searching for potential troublemakers. There was Sir John Ogilvy of Baldovan House, the local Member of Parliament, resplendent in the scarlet of the Volunteers. There was David Jobson, Provost of Dundee, together with his frowning wife. There was Bailie George Ower, sitting stiffly at attention in a soberly cut suit, and beside him was William Foggie, the Hospital Manager. Fidgeting on the nearest pew to the aisle was Charlotte"s personal friend, Mrs Foreman of the Dundee Abolition Association. None of these people was likely to cause any trouble, murder stray seamen, or set fire to mills.

George Beaumont"s business associates clumped together in a solid block of Dundonian respectability, some looking as uncomfortable as Watters. The Cox clan, whose huge Lochee works was already among the largest jute factories in the world, spoke quietly with the linen and sailcloth dynasty of the Baxters. Patrick Anderson, the Director of the Dundee Banking Company, winked at Charlotte. He had been a family friend for years, as had George Welch, manager of the Tay Whale-Fishing Company. Watters slid his gaze over them. None of these dynamic and respectable gentlemen or their ladies would be any threat to the wedding.

There were others whom Watters did not recognise but knew only by the business cards he had collected at the door. The Earl of Panmure or Joseph Holderby, the United States Consul, were unlikely to be associated with fire-raisers or murderers. Dismissing them, Watters examined the others whose names he strove to remember.

When Charlotte nearly stumbled, Amy, her sister and maid of honour, encouraged her with a hand on the small of her back. Recovering, Charlotte looked up the length of the aisle where the old maids clustered to touch her gown for luck, and the groom"s relatives studied her to see what sort of woman was entering their family. For an instant, Watters met the eyes of William Caskie, the man who was about to marry Charlotte, and then he looked away. The groom did not interest him.

Watters glanced upward. Despite the autumn sunshine, candles were necessary to penetrate the gloom of the church, their light flickering off the profusion of late flowers that Amy Beaumont and the groom"s sister Elizabeth Caskie had spent hours arranging.

Watters shifted on the pew. He would have brought his revolver until Marie said that would be sacrilege, so instead, he had his cumbersome baton under his jacket. He heard the subdued murmur as the congregation tensed in anticipation for the c****x of the ceremony. Watters shook his head, remembering that Marie had ordered him to observe the women"s clothes and tell her every detail. He swept his eyes across the gathered women. What the devil do I know about women"s fashions?

What the devil do I know about women"s fashions?He turned around as the church door opened.

"Excuse me, sir? You seem to be an usher." The man who had entered indicated the white ribbon on Watters"s shoulder. He was about forty years old, five-foot-eight tall, dark haired, and sallow featured with a fine set of whiskers. His clothes were immaculate, yet it was the smooth drawl with which he spoke that drew Watters"s attention combined with the sheer elegance of manner. "I am sorry to be late, but where do you recommend that I sit?"

"Could I have your name, sir?" Watters consulted the list with which the Beaumonts had issued him. Mrs Mary Caskie, the groom"s mother, together with Beaumont and Charlotte, had spent hours compiling guest lists.

"James Dunwoody Bulloch." The man said each word distinctly as if the name should mean something. He smoothed a hand over his side whiskers.

"I"m afraid that you"re not on my list, sir." Watters was barely aware of the minister"s voice droning behind him.

"I am a business associate of Mr William Caskie." When Bulloch smiled, his face looked ten years younger. "Perhaps the groom was not consulted when the bride issued the invitations."

"Perhaps not." Watters deliberately moved to block Bulloch"s view of the interior of the church. He kept his voice level. "However, sir, I am afraid I cannot permit you to enter unless you are on the guest list."

Bulloch raised an elegant eyebrow and swung the cane that he carried. His smile did not falter, but he allowed his eyes to survey the rows of packed pews. "You have some distinguished men here," he said, "and some fine-looking women."

"Indeed we have." Watters refused to be drawn. "And I am certain that you are equally distinguished, but with the greatest respect, I must ask you to leave."

Charlotte"s voice sounded across the otherwise hushed church, "I do," cool and clear and low.

When Watters nodded towards the door, Bulloch reached into his waistcoat pocket and produced his card, which he held up. "And you have Mr Joseph Holderby too, I see. Perhaps there was a good reason for William not to invite me." He proffered the card. "Please present this to Mr William Caskie, sir, and inform him that I did attempt to attend his wedding."

"I shall do that, Mr Bulloch." Watters placed the oblong piece of pasteboard in the pocket of his waistcoat. "I apologise for my inflexibility, but I have instructions."

"Which you are carrying out admirably, I am sure." Bulloch spoke with just a hint of irony. He bowed from the waist. "Your servant, sir." Withdrawing with a languid grace that Watters could only admire, he walked through a crowd of spectators to a waiting gig. Watters quietly closed the church door.

Removing the business card, Watters glanced at it. James Dunwoody Bulloch it said with little else except the name of his city, Richmond, Virginia. Watters grunted. It was as well he had not allowed Bulloch entry. Having a representative from both the Federal and Confederate sides of the American conflict could have proved uncomfortable for the wedding party.

The congregation was singing as Mrs Mary Caskie led the procession out of the church. She looked neither to the right nor left but moved with the same precision as she seemed to do everything. Mr Beaumont was next, and then Charlotte, with one hand resting lightly on the arm of her husband. Although the veil covered Charlotte"s face, Watters was sure he saw a hint of moisture in her eyes. He nodded to the groom.

"Congratulations, sir. You have a fine bride there."

William Caskie nodded, with the little imperial beard highlighting his powerful chin. "Thank you for your approval, Mr…" he hesitated then shrugged and stepped outside the church door, his tight lavender trousers emphasising muscular legs.

William Caskie placed the top hat back on his head, took a deep breath of the autumn air, lifted Charlotte clean off her feet, swept back her veil and kissed her soundly. It was the first time that Watters had seen Charlotte close up, and he realised that she was much the plainer of the Beaumont sisters despite her elegance of carriage.

"Three cheers for Mr William and Mrs Charlotte Caskie!" It might have been the head gardener that raised the cry, but the assembled crowd joined in lustily to the apparent embarrassment of Charlotte, who looked like fainting until William tightened his arm around her waist.

"Come along, Charlotte! We"re man and wife now; don"t let me down."

At a nod from Watters, two of the crowd threw showers of rice, with some oats for good measure, and raised more cheers for the lucky couple. Mrs Mary Caskie nodded her approval as Watters signalled to the driver to bring the wedding carriage closer. The dark-green bodywork had a gold trim, with high, yellow wheels that crunched smoothly across the gravel. The traces had been specially extended to allow an extra pair of horses, so four matching whites pawed at the gravel.

"A fancy machine, Watters," Mrs Mary Caskie commented.

"That"s Sergeant Watters, ma"am," Watters said. "Mr Beaumont had Mr Lewis Mackenzie build the coach especially for the wedding. It is his wedding present."

"So I believe." Mrs Mary Caskie"s flower-topped bonnet swayed as she nodded. "I hope it will not be an unnecessary expense."

"I"m sure the happy couple will find a use for a carriage, ma"am."

When the driver opened the door, William Caskie handed his new wife into the leather-padded interior and drew himself after her. Shouting their destination to the driver, he waved to the crowd before slamming shut the door.

Beaumont waved back, whispered something to Amy, and sauntered across to Mrs Mary Caskie.

"That was an excellent ceremony, Mrs Caskie, without a hitch. Let us hope the wedding breakfast is as trouble free."

"Complete nonsense, Mr Beaumont." Mrs Mary Caskie shook her head. "All this fuss for a marriage. Of what practical use is a white dress? When will Miss Charlotte ever wear such a creation again? In my time, we wore sensible clothes that would last for years, but ever since Her Majesty married in white, all young girls think they should too. Stuff and nonsense!" She straightened her bonnet. "Come along, Mr Beaumont, we at least are of an age when we are not afraid to walk. Give me your arm, sir!"

Pitcorbie Parish Church stood only a hundred yards outside the stone wall that marked the policies of Caskie"s Pitcorbie House. Mrs Mary Caskie had insisted that everybody walk from the church to the wedding breakfast within the house but made allowances for her son and his new bride. Now, she led by example, striding through the ornate wrought-iron gates with the lodge housekeeper bowing as they passed. Watters kept to the rear of the party, ensuring that all the guests survived the walk safely and no unwanted villagers or hangers-on entered the house. He grunted as he saw a man at the edge of a belt of woodland standing apart from the guests.

"Do you know that man, sir?" Watters asked Beaumont.

"I do not, Sergeant Watters." Beaumont peered into the dim of the late afternoon.

"Then with your permission, I will investigate." Watters smiled to relieve any fear. "It"s probably perfectly innocent." Lifting his cane, he strode toward the woodland, increasing his pace as the man slid back between the trees. "Halloa! You there!"