The Lammas Curse by Anna Lord Read Free Book Online Page B

we boarded I
spotted the porter picking something up. I pretended it was mine
and he handed it through the window. There was no time to send him
to carriage number eleven.”
    Dr Watson gratefully pocketed
his little treasure. “You must let me pay for lunch.”
    “That is not necessary,” said
Miss Dee, dispensing a tight smile while buttering a bread roll
with a firm and steady hand.
    “I insist,” argued Dr Watson.
“I will not take no for an answer. I thought my letter was lost
forever and now here it is. I am most grateful.”
    “This letter sounds quite
valuable,” laughed the brother, slapping butter onto his roll with
the dexterity of a clumsy child. “What is it? State secrets?
Investment tips? A formula for turning metal into gold!”
    “Oh, shut up, Carter!” snapped
his sister. “You can be such a fool!”
    “And you can be such a bore!”
he snapped back.
    The sister flashed her brother
a chilling reprimand before turning amiably to the Countess and
turning on a much friendlier smile. “You must forgive us. We are a
bit nerve-wracked at the moment. We are about to compete in an
important tournament.”
    “The golf tournament at
Lammermoor?” confirmed the Countess.
    “Yes, how ever did you
guess?”
    “When you introduced yourselves
I recognized your names from a newspaper article I read, oh, about
a week ago now, but I thought the tournament had been halted?”
    “It had been halted,”
supplied the brother, steadying his hand, “but we received a
telegram yesterday in London telling us that it is now going ahead
as planned so we are hurrying back to Scotland.”
    “No wonder your nerves are on
edge. It must be wretchedly thrilling to play in such an important
tournament,” observed the Countess without sounding even slightly
condescending, “and you both look so young for such a world class
competition.”
    “We have always looked young
for our age,” replied the sister. “It’s the whitish hair and the
pale blue eyes and babyish faces. We are actually both
twenty-five.”
    “You are one day older,”
reminded the brother, looking meaningfully at his sibling. “You
were born just before midnight and I was born just after.”
    “A few hours the difference,”
dismissed the sister curtly before turning to the doctor. “Do you
play golf, Dr Watson?”
    “Indeed I do and since we will
be staying near to where the tournament is being held I am looking
forward to picking up some handy pointers that may improve my
game.”
    “Oh,” she said in an interested
monotone as the waiter came to clear the soup bowls, “Where will you be staying?”
    “Countess Volodymyrovna,” he
replied, indicating his travelling companion with a smile and a nod
of his head, “owns an old dwelling at the southern end of Loch
Maw.”
    “I inherited it from my aunt,”
the Countess added blithely, “it may be quite a ruin. I have never
even seen it.”
    “You must mean Graymalkin,”
intervened the brother. “You know the old peel tower, sis, the one
built on the little island at the place where the loch narrows and
gushes down the beck to Duns.”
    “Oh, yes!” she exclaimed,
sounding delighted. “I don’t believe anyone has stayed at
Graymalkin for ages and ages. Mrs Ross, the housekeeper, will be
thrilled to have some company at long last.”
    “Yes,” seconded the brother
with an ironic inflection, “simply thrilled.”
    The entrée course arrived and
they all turned their attention to the curried haddock served on a
bed of rice. No one spoke for several minutes. Dr Watson broke the
silence.
    “How long have you been playing
golf?” he asked, directing his question at neither twin in
particular.
    “Most of our lives,” responded
the sister, who seemed to do most of the talking. “Our father was a
keen golfer. He instilled in us a love for the game and we started
caddying for him at about the age of five. By the time we were ten
we had our own clubs.”
    “That was in South