Detective Watters Mysteries

Chapter 4-2

Tree boughs swung behind the man as he turned to run. Watters followed, wincing as a flexible bough smacked across his face. "Dundee Police! Stop!"

The man increased his pace, ducking beneath the branches, jinking around the tree trunks, and glancing over his shoulder as Watters gradually decreased the distance between them. When the fugitive reached the tall stone wall that marked the edge of Pitcorbie"s policies, Watters leapt the final few feet.

"Stand there!"

The fugitive threw himself onto the wall, and for one moment, Watters had a clear view of his face. Young, with luxuriant red whiskers, he looked more scared than dangerous, and then he slipped over the far side of the wall. By the time Watters scaled the wall, the fugitive had vanished into the rapidly encroaching darkness.

"He sported red whiskers," Watters noted in his notebook. "But so does every fifth man in Dundee." He snapped his book shut. He could have been anything from a poacher to a well-wisher. Or a potential fire-raiser.

He could have been anything from a poacher to a well-wisher. Or a potential fire-raiser.By the time Watters returned to the front door of Pitcorbie House, hard-working servants had removed Charlotte"s carriage to the stable block, and the sound of feasting was already evident.

"I presume that you were not required?" The taller of Mrs Mary Caskie"s two footmen looked down his long nose at Watters. "There were no armed Russians or mutinous Indian sepoys attempting to disrupt the wedding?"

"Not yet," Watters agreed, "only a large-mouthed servant." Pushing past both men, he followed the sound of revelry to the wedding breakfast in the grand hall. Mr Beaumont must have spent a fortune on the flowers, with every column boasting a floral garland, the long table an arboretum of roses, and even the crystal chandeliers be-flowered. The table for the bridal party, set at right angles to the other, was hidden beneath orange blossoms and roses. Nor had Beaumont stinted on food, with the table piled high with every delicacy that Watters could conceive, and much that he did not recognise.

"Did you catch him, Sergeant?" Beaumont spoke from the side of his mouth as he watched his daughter and her husband.

"No, sir. I chased him away."

"Well done, Sergeant." Beaumont moved on.

Charlotte stood in one corner of the hall, arm in arm with her husband. As the principal bridesmaid, pretty Amy was in her element, talking twenty to the dozen as she reminded her sister of the names of people that she had known for years.

After eating, the guests drifted to the great hall for the dancing. Pressed against the wall, Watters watched for the trouble that he hoped would not come. He patrolled from the door to each curtained window, scanning each face for the return of the red-whiskered man, occasionally visiting the hall to check the servants were alert.

"Oh la, Mr Watters, are they not energetic?" Mrs Foreman flapped a fan in front of her face as she spoke. "Is it not enchanting to see so many young people enjoying themselves?"

Watters forced a smile. "Indeed it is, Mrs Foreman."

"I believe that you are a friend of the family, Mr Watters." Mrs Foreman was about forty with intense brown eyes and a smile that hovered at the edges of her thin lips.

"I am honoured by the association, Mrs Foreman."

"Yet I have never met you," Mrs Foreman said, "and none of the other guests are paying you the least bit of attention."

"I am rather a quiet man," Watters said.

"You are not from Dundee, are you?" Mrs Foreman peered into Watters"s face as if she was accusing him of a major crime.

"Not originally," Watters admitted.

Mrs Foreman leaned closer and dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Nor am I. I"m from Perth. Us strangers should stick together, don"t you know?"

Watters managed another weak smile as he watched the servants glide in and out of the room and wished he had time to review their backgrounds.

"Well, Mr Watters, I feel neglected, while you are alone. Can you think of a solution to both our predicaments?" Mrs Foreman"s smile transformed her face into something quite attractive.

Watters looked around the room, hoping for an escape that was not there. He was trapped. "Shall we join in the dancing, Mrs Foreman?"

"Why, Mr Watters, what an excellent idea." Mrs Foreman gave an elegant curtsey and accompanied Watters to the dance floor.

"I am not much of a dancer, I"m afraid." Watters excused himself in advance, in case he should trample on Mrs Foreman"s feet.

"Oh, Mr Watters, neither am I." Mrs Foreman proved her words by raking her boot down Watters"s shin.

Watters disguised his wince with a deaths-head grin. "I hope that Mr Foreman will not disapprove of you dancing with me."

Mrs Foreman shook her head. "Mr Foreman has been gone this last four years," she said, taking control of the dance and nearly whirling Watters off his feet. One of her hands strayed until her fingertips rested on his right buttock. "Are you a married man, Mr Watters?"

"I am, Mrs Foreman." Watters was acutely aware of the position of Mrs Foreman"s hand.

"Oh, that is such a pity." Mrs Foreman shook her head. "And you are such a handsome fellow." Her hand patted lightly.

"Mrs Watters might not agree to that," Watters said.

"I am sure that you are both very well matched." Mrs Foreman broke off as the music ended. She led Watters back to the seats. "There is nothing as happy as a well-matched marriage, although I cannot see Mrs Watters here."

"She is not here," Watters said.

"In that case, you must make do with me." Mrs Foreman laid her gloved hand on Watters"s arm. "And I will glory in your company. Do you think that the happy couple is well matched?"

"They seem happy enough," Watters said.

"I do not think they are well matched at all." Mrs Foreman leaned closer to Watters and dropped her voice to impart her vital information. "I think it is a marriage of convenience to patch up Mr Beaumont and Mr Caskie"s business rivalries."

Watters refrained from the temptation to write that in his notebook. "What makes you think that, Mrs Foreman?" He gave a slightly lopsided smile. "Women are much better at working out such things than men."

"Well," Mrs Foreman settled down to enjoy her gossip, "Mr Beaumont and the Caskies have been business rivals for years. When old Mr Caskie died, and that was mysterious, don"t you know? When old Mr Caskie died, young William Caskie took over the family business and suddenly became interested in Charlotte."

"How did Mr Caskie die, and why was it mysterious?" Mrs Foreman"s words had aroused Watters"s professional interest.

Mrs Foreman leaned even closer to Watters so her breath was hot on his face. She put a hand on his thigh for support. "I think it was poison." She patted his thigh, nodding for emphasis. "One minute, Mr Caskie was right as a thrupenny bit, and the next, he was dead. Now," she sat back with a look of triumph on her face, "you tell me that was natural, Mr Watters, and I"ll tell you that the sea is blue claret."

"I did not realise there was any suspicion." Watters looked up as the urbane figure of Sir John Ogilvy strolled up to him.

"Do you have a moment, Sergeant Watters?"

"Sergeant Watters?" Mrs Foreman placed a hand over her mouth. "Are you in the Army?"

"No, Mrs Foreman." Watters smiled, knowing that people did not like a policeman. "I am a detective sergeant in the Dundee Police."

"Oh." Mrs Foreman"s eyes widened. "Oh, how positively delicious."

"Excuse me, please, Mrs Foreman." Watters stood, bowed, and stepped away. "Yes, Sir John."

Dressed in the full regimentals of the Dundee Rifle Volunteer Corps, Sir John Ogilvy saluted Watters with his glass of brandy and water. "Mr Beaumont informs me that you served in the Army?"

"No, sir. I was in the Royal Marines."

"Rank?" Ogilvy demanded. As a local landowner as well as a Member of Parliament and head of half a dozen committees and charities, Ogilvy was used to instant obedience. Watters let him wait for a moment as he watched Charlotte walk to her new husband. She did not look as if the marriage was misaligned.

"I was a sergeant, sir." Light from the chandelier gleamed on Charlotte"s wedding ring. She smiled upwards as William took her arm.

"She will make a perfect wife, I imagine." Ogilvy had also been watching Charlotte. "William is a lucky man. You have experience in training men then."

Watters nodded. "Some, sir."

"I know that you are already a sergeant in my regiment." Ogilvy stepped back as a press of dancers clattered across the room with a laughing Miss Amy in the forefront. "I would like Mr Mackay to grant you more time with my Volunteers. I do not trust the French. With much of our attention on events across the Atlantic, it would be like them to stab us in the back."

"I don"t know about the French, sir," Watters said, "but my work keeps me fairly busy."

Ogilvy nodded. "So I hear, Watters."

"Yes, sir." Watters rescued a brace of brandy glasses from a passing footman, automatically passed one to Ogilvy, and cradled the second in his hand. He refused to be intimidated by this powerful man.

Sir John accepted the brandy as if it was his right. "I will ask Superintendent Mackay to give you some more time. There"s not just the American business; who knows what might happen with Garibaldi. Europe is in a fearful mess just now."

"I agree, sir." Watters had been keeping an eye on the papers. The Courier and Argus was full of news from the war in America and the captivity of the Italian patriot Garibaldi. "Perhaps Mr Bismarck can keep Europe stable. His proposed army reforms may have the French watching their northern border rather than bothering us."

Courier and ArgusOgilvy looked surprised that a mere sergeant was aware of international affairs. He eyed Watters over the rim of the brandy glass. "Perhaps so indeed, Watters. I can see that you are a man who bears watching." He took a sip. "I shall certainly speak with Superintendent Mackay about you, sir. Mark my words."

"Sergeant Watters!" Amy, bereft of all dignity and with her eyes bright with excitement, tugged on Watters"s sleeve. "Mrs Foreman sent me to find you! She said that she needed you to partner her on the dance floor!" All curls and excitement, Amy bobbed a small curtsey to Ogilvy. "Pray forgive me, Sir John, but Mrs Foreman requires the sergeant."

Ogilvy bowed slightly. "Who am I to stand in the way of Mrs Foreman? She may have Sergeant Watters with my compliments, Miss Amy. Off you go, Watters. We can"t keep the ladies waiting, can we?"