Free The Lammas Curse by Anna Lord

somewhat surprised. “I read that the
caddies and assistants are all staying here. And there must be
dozens of keen golfers eager to be part of a sporting
spectacle?”
    “We were fully booked up until
the third death,” she explained grimly. “The guests started to
trickle away after that, frightened off by talk of dead spirits and
curses and such, and when the tournament was halted indefinitely,
and detectives arrived from Scotland Yard - that scared off the
last of them. The assistants got the wind-up when a superstitious
old fool swore he saw three witches in Jackdaw Wood. When he got a
toothache and another fool got a sty, and another fool developed a
limp, that was the end of them, they high-tailed it back to Duns as
fast as they could run. And then last night two more players
withdrew even though the tournament is now going ahead.”
    “Which two?” asked Dr
Watson.
    “The two Canadians.”
    “That only leaves four
players,” he calculated. “Mr Larssensen, Mr Bancoe and the
Dees.”
    “Yes,” she confirmed unhappily
before continuing. “The two Canadian caddies checked out this
morning, quick to follow their masters. There are now only two
caddies left and no assistants. Gardeners at Cruddock Castle have
been roped in to help with the tournament so that it doesn’t
fold.”
    “Would you like the golf course
to go ahead?” quizzed the Countess.
    “Yes,” said Mrs Ardkinglas
without hesitation. “It will be good for business. We don’t have
many tourists venturing this way, just a few hikers and ramblers,
mainly in the summer months. The serious stalkers and shooters
prefer the Highlands. I had to give the Swiss chef his marching
orders yesterday. If business doesn’t pick up I may have to sell
the place to the Cruddocks. The old hunting lodge belonged to my
husband’s family. It was my husband’s intention to turn it as a
fine hotel but then,” she faltered and swallowed dry, “he died
suddenly. I don’t think I can carry on much longer - not on my
own.”
    That brief conversation gave
them food for thought while they ate their dinner.
    After their meal, Dr Watson
went to round up Horace, Xenia and Fedir and it was more bad news.
Horace had heard the story about the three witches and nothing
would induce him to travel through Jackdaw Wood after dark. They
were forced to take rooms at the hotel and continue their journey
come morning.
    Dr Watson, clearly a favourite
Scottish son, was allocated the royal suite with the balcony and
the best view of the loch. The Countess, having no Scottish
connections, was consigned to the bedroom at the top of the tower,
optimistically referred to as the deluxe suite.

    “That is the first time I have
ever slept in my dressing gown and socks and in a room with no
corners,” the Countess said first thing the next morning at
breakfast. “I went to bed cursing Horace and his childish fear but
now that I have warmed up I think it was better that we rested
before completing our journey. Graymalkin is sure to look cheerier
in the clear light of day.”
    “It may work against us,”
quipped Dr Watson, humour restored after a good night’s sleep in a
large and comfortable chamber with a cheery fire, “we will be able
to see all that moss on the ceiling and the walls dripping with
damp!”
    They were having a good chuckle
when they spotted two men sporting tweeds, plus fours and golf
bags, heading north towards Cruddock Castle.
    “They must be the last of the
caddies,” commented the Countess, pouring some tea from a chipped
Spode pot into china cups and passing one to her companion.
    “Mr MacDuff and Mr Brown,”
supplied Dr Watson.
    “How do you know their
names?”
    “I checked the hotel register
this morning.”
    “Oh, well done!” she praised.
“So the tournament recommences today?”
    “Not according to Mrs
Ardkinglas. The weather in this part of the world has been bleak.
Torrential rain has reduced huge stretches of the golf course to
one giant