Murder at Mondial Castle

by Issy Brooke

  “I am looking forward to it. And now if I could possibly beg your forgiveness, I must hurry...” Mondial gave a short bow to Adelia and nodded to Theodore. He pulled out his pocket watch and glanced at it pointedly before he turned to go. Theodore resumed his descent of the stairs.

  Adelia nudged him.

  The housekeeper and butler were both busy with preparations for the dinner so the main doors were swung open by a footman in livery for Mondial to pass through. It was not yet dark outside. Adelia and Theodore reached the ground floor and were able, therefore, to hear Mondial shout out in surprise. Theodore let go of Adelia’s arm and hurried forward to see what the matter was.

  “Taylor!” Mondial was saying in fury. “What in blazes are you doing, man?”

  Theodore reached the front steps. Tobias Taylor was crossing the wide lawn and coming from the direction of the main gravel driveway. He appeared to be heading to the side of the house, not the front steps, which made sense. The servants wouldn’t ever enter by the main doors.

  “My lord!” Taylor said, stopping in surprise and looking up. “I had understood you were to dine out tonight...”

  “I am on my way, but that’s no business of yours. You were supposed to be – away.”

  That was a curious phrase. Mondial suddenly seemed to realise that Theodore was at his side. He said to Theodore, through tight lips, “Do excuse me as I attend to this private matter. I beg you, go back inside.” He strode down the steps and headed for Taylor, clearly intending to prevent him getting any closer. Theodore remained where he was and strained his ears.

  Mondial had his back to Theodore. But that meant Taylor was facing the house and his words carried on the breeze. “It didn’t last like I thought it would. I’m sorry. I knew I shouldn’t have come back but I was going to stay downstairs though.”

  Mondial said something and Taylor was shaking his head, his hands upraised in denial. “No, sir, not gambling as such but I wasn’t as lucky as I usually am.”

  Mondial grabbed Taylor’s upper arm and steered him off around the house. Their remaining conversation was lost to Theodore.

  Adelia joined Theodore. His head was spinning with what he thought he’d seen and what it might mean. The footman was hovering close by, waiting to close the door, so Theodore drew back inside and took Adelia with him to a small anteroom where guests usually divested their outerwear and umbrellas. He stood close to her, unwilling to be overheard.

  She was smiling. “You’ve discovered things, haven’t you? You’ve made connections.”

  “I believe that I have.” He couldn’t contain his confusion and upset. She caught the tone in his voice and her smile faded.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know what to make of it. Of any of it. Mondial said he was robbed, didn’t he?”

  “Yes. They took his – oh, yes!”

  “They took his antique heirloom pocket watch. It was a large thing, unmistakable. Exactly like...”

  “Exactly like the one we’ve just seen. I thought so. That’s why I nudged you.”

  He nodded and chewed on his lip reflexively. And then there was the matter of the return of Taylor, Mondial’s reaction to it, and Taylor’s words.

  They had to go in to dinner and Theodore was aware that his silence throughout the whole meal caused sideways looks and comments but he made no excuse or apology for it.

  He was feeling as if he had been duped – and not by Tobias Taylor.

  Twenty

  Adelia found that no amount of pointed comments, angry looks or even subtle kicks to the ankle could draw Theodore out of his unsocial mood during dinner. She was glad, therefore, that no other guests of note had arrived yet. At least his mother and his daughter were aware of Theodore’s habits and would not judge him too harshly. Quite what Sir Henry made of it, though, was another matter.

  She had spent much of the afternoon with Dido, helping her with the mountain of work that was piling up now that the garden party was less than one week away. The guest list was checked and double-checked. Replies were ticked off and filed. The accommodation plan had been worked and reworked, with everyone housed according to their status. The housekeeper had engaged extra help from the town so that the rooms could be properly and promptly serviced.

  In truth, it was misleading to call it a garden party as if it were a mere few hours of drinks and chat in a vicar’s village garden. Many people would arrive the day before, which was just a few days’ time, so there was a large dinner to plan for that night. Then there was the catering for the breakfast and luncheon, which would lead into the garden party proper. Entertainment had to be laid on. Music, dancing, and the right sort of cultured people were needed to lead the pleasurable activities. The ballroom was to be decorated. The party would last into the evening. More food had to be planned.

  Then there were the drinks to organise; champagne had to flow as if it were endless, and there would be a wide choice of alcohol cups of summer fruits and liqueurs. Lord Mondial was insisting on plenty of “Judy” which was something of an acquired taste but reckoned to be very sophisticated, being a mix of champagne, lemons, sugar, green tea, brandy, rum and mint. There were sherry cobblers and mint juleps for the less adventurous plus all the very best that his wine and beer cellars could offer.

  Also needing overseeing was the planning of the evening entertainment; cards, dancing, more music. It would last late into the night and there was an obligation to serve a special hot meal called the grand ball supper for the dancers between one and three in the morning, with crystallised fruits and the messy, complex business of spun sugar to decorate everything.

  Many people were only attending for the afternoon festivities but those who were invited to stay for longer were the very best of the best. Even at a party, one had a hierarchy and there had been complex decisions to make about who earned a place in a bedroom and at the dinner table, and who was expected to leave before the exclusive late night celebrations.

  Dido had drawn the line at fireworks.

  “Utterly uncouth, totally unnecessary; unthinkable, given the circumstances,” she had said flatly.

  But even without fireworks, there was endless work to do. Dido was holding up well under the pressure and her staff were very capable, which made all the difference. The household was used to holding extravagant events and this one had been planned, in one form or another, for some time. The devil, as usual, was in the details and it was to those details that Dido paid the greatest attention.

  Adelia had simmered with rage when Lord Mondial had alluded to Dido apparently “wasting time in the nursery” during their conversation earlier. On top of her extraordinary household management skills, Adelia considered Dido to be a devoted mother and not a second of her time with her boys was any kind of a waste. If Lord Mondial ever lowered himself to step into the nursery, he’d know that. Unfortunately he seemed to be waiting until the boys were old enough to go hunting and to clubs with him. By then, Adelia thought, it would be too late to start a relationship with them.

  More fool him; it would be his loss and regret and neither Adelia nor Dido could do anything about it.

  Without the presence of Lord Mondial at dinner that night, conversation between everyone except Theodore flowed more freely than it had done for some time, although it was noticeable that no one mentioned the recent events or the absence of the Marquis. They dined at a smaller table than usual and Dido sat alongside her grandmother, Lady Calaway, who delighted in presiding over proceedings. Miss Lamb’s chaperone had gone now, slipping away at first light with the man from Miss Lamb’s grandfather’s house. The house did not seem to notice she had left at all.

  For a brief moment, Adelia let her imagination explore the possibility that the chaperone was an over-looked suspect and had been faking her infirmities all along. It didn’t work out. She could barely lift a spoon to her mouth if it were overfilled with soup. Handling a pair of pistols would have been impossible for the old lady.
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br />   Sir Henry had stayed and Adelia kept in mind what Theodore had said about his naval career, and about the effect of having layers of secrets. She watched how he behaved very closely but he was utterly blameless in all things, as he always was – at least in company.

  She did noticed that he avoided making eye contact with her, however. But she put that down to embarrassment.

  With Harriet making up the sixth person at the table, bringing her wit to play alongside the older Lady Calaway’s, it was a lively but intimate evening and one that went on for a little too long.

  Both Adelia and Theodore rose very late the next day. Adelia’s head was sore and she could tell from the strained look around Theodore’s eyes that he, too, was suffering although he tried to deny it. He disappeared and returned about twenty minutes later with a tonic he had prepared in the kitchens, much to the disgust of the cook and her staff who felt her realm to have been invaded. He also brought up some lightly buttered toast. Smith followed, carrying a tray of coffee things and some fresh fruit. Theodore made her take the fruit away again as being too cold and sharp for a delicate stomach.

  “Dido is already up and about,” Theodore told Adelia as they lounged around their suite, picking at the toast.

  “She is young. We were like that, once.”

  “I wonder what it is about the body that makes it more in need of rest as it ages?” Theodore mused.

  “If you must speculate, do so in silence, I beg you,” Adelia said. She knew she could not bear to hear medical terms about body parts while she was in her weakened state.

  He muttered to himself and poured more coffee. Adelia followed Smith to get dressed in the adjoining room and when she returned a quarter of an hour later, she found Theodore slumped in a wide armchair which he had dragged across the floor so that he could look out of the window. Smith tutted and began to straighten out the rug again, but he dismissed her with a grunt. She was used to him, and took the dirty tray and crockery away with a quick nod to Adelia.

  “My love, perhaps you should return to bed for an hour or two,” Adelia said gently. He was almost grey in the face and his eyes were fixed on the horizon. “I fear you are pushing yourself too hard. Late nights and all this brain-work cannot be doing you any good.”

  “It is the fact that the brain-work is going nowhere which is the problem,” he said. “No, sit with me. Listen. Let me lay it out to you because I am sure, now, that I am missing something very obvious.”

  She settled herself carefully on the couch. He kept his head turned away from her and she let him speak slowly, feeling his way through his thoughts.

  “Tobias Taylor is guilty of involvement in some way in this crime,” he said. “I had my suspicions revived about Sir Henry when I found the pistols but that went nowhere. Taylor was seen by more than one person, Sir Henry included, outside the house at the time of the attack and he has lied about his whereabouts. The jacket that my mother found would fit the man exactly and he habitually wears such colours. I don’t think it would fit Sir Henry, who is too broad. Taylor evokes my suspicion greatly. Yet it is the man’s nature that I do not understand; what possible motive does he have, and why would Mondial cover it all up?”

  He fell into silence. She let him muse for a long time. Eventually she said, “So Lord Mondial is involved in the matter too, isn’t he?”

  “I suppose that he must be,” Theodore said awkwardly. “Yet why? And how?”

  “Is it important that we know why? If you have proof, surely you can take that proof to the authorities and it is down to them to discover the reasons as to why.”

  “Without a motive, all the proof is worthless; it’s evidence that is needed, evidence which may or may not point to guilt. A clever man could explain it all away without hard evidence. And without such absolute proof, I cannot go up against Mondial. He would simply destroy me and what, then, of our daughter, left here in this place? And our grandchildren? It would open up such a rift in the family that I am beginning to think this is all better left alone. Don’t you? Would you risk Dido’s relationship, health and happiness?”

  “I would not.”

  Theodore groaned and put his head in his hands. “There is one good thing that has emerged from all of this tragedy. No, two. Firstly, the knowledge that the man who gave so much to me, though he might not know it, still lives. I must visit him, the old Doctor Hardy. It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t remember me. And secondly, the distance I have had from home has allowed me to see that perhaps ... perhaps you are right. Medical practice is not for me. Those complaints, those libellous cartoons, those threats of legal action. There is perhaps something in it. Logic dictates that I must contemplate, most seriously, the fact that I am a terrible doctor.”

  “No, Theodore, you are not terrible but...”

  “Enough. You do not need to mollify me. Throw no sops to my ego, if you please. I have been in denial for a long time and merely the knowledge that I have lied to myself is a difficult realisation to come to. I am ashamed of it.”

  She felt her heart breaking for him. Yes, he had finally come to the knowledge that she had hoped he would – but it was still terrible to watch as his lifelong dreams crumbled around him.

  He needed new dreams.

  Before she could say so, he went on. “I am ashamed that I deluded myself and I am ashamed of my poor medical skills. And now it seems that I am as bad an investigator as I am a doctor.”

  That stung. It felt as if it were an accusation against her – after all, she had encouraged him to play the part of detective. She tried to keep the annoyance out of her voice as she said, “You cannot think that you are a bad investigator. You have been thwarted by circumstance, that is all, and I am sure that when police detectives are at work they do not succeed in solving every crime that comes their way. And anyway, think of all the things that you have discovered! You have been listing them to me just now.”

  But Theodore was sunk too far into a morose self-pitying mood. He muttered, “Me? I could not have done any of this without your input.”

  She hated the way he would let his misery beat him down. She hated the way it suggested weakness, weakness in the man she believed to be the most strong in the world – well, in her world. She wanted to know that she could rely on him at all times. She needed to know it. This indulgent questioning and crisis of confidence unsettled her and she felt it turn to anger within her. She knew she wasn’t being rational but she could no longer hold her tongue.

  She said, “So, my input somehow tarnishes your own achievements, does it? The fact that you could not have done it without me makes you feel less of a man? Makes you feel like you have failed as an investigator? Is that it?”

  “No, Adelia, of course I didn’t mean that,” he said, his own anger rising.

  She stood up. She was glad that he was angry. His anger was a positive force and far better than his misery. “Well, you will be glad to know I shall give you no more of my worthless input,” she snapped at him, hating herself for saying it and somehow unable to stop herself. She could perhaps blame her hangover.

  In spite of her queasy stomach and spinning head she stormed out of the room.

  Twenty-one

  Adelia walked off her fury in the gardens. It didn’t take long for her to calm down. Her angry words were born out of many emotions all jumbled up, but her love for her husband stayed true underneath it all and the argument would not linger between them. Their disagreements never did last and anyway she knew she had been somewhat irrational in her accusations.

  The air outside was once again stifling and hot, and it reminded her too much of the day of the murder. She could not help scanning the bushes and shrubberies. Would she see Tobias Taylor, intent on some secret business with an innocent maid? Would she see Lord Mondial, hiding his part in events or perhaps hiding some other nefarious secret? Would she see her own brother, still skulking around, waiting for a chance to grab her and demand more money? She hoped that he had taken the grey sap
phire to London, not just because he’d get a better price there, but because she really did not ever want to see him again.

  A few fat spots of rain fell and she had to hurry back inside. She was met by Smith who always seemed to know what she needed before Adelia herself had realised it. They walked almost side by side back upstairs. Distant voices could be heard down the winding corridors of the castle. A young boy laughed. The boys had been kept out of her way, mostly, due to the events of the past week, and she regretted that. It was probably Lord Mondial’s old-fashioned orders to keep the children hidden except on Sundays when they might be permitted to attend church, and the sporadically attended morning prayers. Everyone was supposed to be there for a short while before breakfast but Lord Mondial himself rarely put in an appearance.

  A door thumped somewhere far upstairs. A servant appeared at an entrance, saw Adelia, and melted out of sight until she had passed. Everything had the air of a usual day with a normal busy-ness and in spite of the lack of children playing, it was nice to feel the place lived-in and alive. Dido had brought that to Mondial Castle, Adelia thought with pride.

  “Smith,” she said in a low voice as they ascended the stairs. “What do you make of Tobias Taylor? Please speak plainly.”

  “As you wish, my lady. He is an idiot, my lady. A pretty idiot.”

  Adelia had to stop and press her hand to her mouth, stifling her laugh. “Oh goodness.”

  “Really he is, my lady. He is a charmer and an innocent girl might have her head turned at first but ten minutes into conversation with the man should disabuse anyone of his character and abilities. In that, he has no character and little ability. I suppose the wrong sort of girl doesn’t care about conversation.” She sniffed with disdain. “He has enough fun, I imagine, to suit him, but that will be in the town and not here in the castle.”

  “You have spotted what I suspected. Why does Lord Mondial employ such a man? You’d think he would want his valet to be clever.”