by Cathy Ace
“Good morning, everyone,” she said. “Oh, no, it’s not really ‘good,’ is it? I don’t know why I said that. Sorry, Rhian, I didn’t mean to say ‘good.’ Hello, everybody. For those of you who don’t know me I’m Gwen. Gwen Thomas. David’s accompanist. The choir’s accompanist. Oh dear, I’m saying everything wrong. I’d better shut up now.”
Instead of doing just that, she rushed toward Rhian and continued to fuss. “Can I help you to something, some food from there, Rhian?” I noted a North-Walian accent, which differs from that of South Wales. It’s a very nasal accent, set at the back of the mouth. Once, while at university in Cardiff, I shared a flat with a girl for two weeks before I realized she wasn’t from Liverpool, as I’d thought, but from a little village near Rhyl, in North Wales, and she hadn’t even learned to speak English until she was sixteen.
“Thanks, Gwen, but I’m quite capable of serving myself. Introduce yourself properly to Cait, Bud, and Siân, alright?” Rhian didn’t snap or dismiss the overly attentive Gwen, but I didn’t get the impression that she felt warmly about her. I wondered why Gwen had been accepted as an overnight guest by the grieving widow, and why on earth Rhian would allow her to be the one to accompany her husband’s remains when they were taken away.
I reasoned that maybe Rhian had simply had enough of the fussy little woman. I felt I had already, and I’d only been in her company for two minutes. Gwen Thomas had a constant air of panic about her, which I found immediately unsettling, and, frankly, I was quite unsettled enough.
Gwen dithered beside her companion, and distractedly poured herself a cup of coffee. She then, rather alarmingly, sat herself next to me.
“It’s very nice to see you again, Cait,” she said, “and to get to meet your fiancé, and your sister. Though, of course, it’s a terrible tragedy—about David, you know.”
I was confused, and I must have looked it. “Have we met before?” I asked.
Gwen laughed, too loudly. “Oh silly you. We were in school together. Llwyn-y-Bryn. You were my house captain. Caerleon House. Remember?”
I wracked my brain. Having a photographic memory means I don’t have to do that very often. I was thrown.
“Of course, I looked a bit different in those days,” added Gwen sulkily. “I was a big girl, and I had a difficult time with my skin. And I’ve had my eyes fixed now, so I don’t need those thick old glasses all the time.”
“Got it!” I exclaimed. “You had a lovely voice, very light. Didn’t you turn the pages for the pianist when we competed in our inter-house eisteddfod?”
“Yes, that’s right,” replied Gwen, beaming. “I knew you’d remember me. Of course I was a few years younger than you, so I suppose I was just one of dozens of little girls who followed you around when you were our captain. You were wonderful.” She was almost vibrating with excitement.
“Puppy,” whispered Bud under his breath.
I glared at him for using the term we adopted to refer to the students who trail around after me at the university where I teach, then I returned my attention to Gwen, who was obviously eager to have a conversation with me. “I clearly recall you were a talented and very musical girl, Gwen. Though I don’t remember you having a North Wales accent. How did you come by that?”
Gwen grinned. “I came to Swansea from Wrexham when I was ten, but my mum made me take elocution lessons so I’d fit in better. When I left college I got a job back in Wrexham, so it crept back in again. I moved back here about five years ago. I won’t shake it now.”
“Probably not,” I agreed. “So, if you are the choral accompanist, does that mean you made a career out of your music?”
“Welsh College of Music and Drama in Cardiff after school, then teacher training, and I’ve taught ever since. Piano and voice are my things. I’ve been so lucky. And to get to work with David and the choir was just a joy. I don’t know what will happen now. There aren’t many conductors like him around.” As Rhian joined us at the table, Gwen stopped talking and sipped her coffee.
Rhian sat beside Siân. They exchanged nods. Looking over her coffee, Rhian said, “By the way, Gwen, it seems that the bridge is out, so they probably won’t be able to take the body away when they planned. Isn’t that going to be fun for us all?”
I thought it was a very odd thing to say.
“Oh no! You’re kidding,” exclaimed Gwen, and she burst into tears. Blubbing, she added, “That’s so unfair. He needs to be attended to properly. Oh Rhian, what’s to be done? Oh, my poor, poor David.”
Anyone would have thought she was his widow, rather than just his accompanist.
Looking around the table, I could tell I wasn’t the only one thinking that this was very odd behavior, on the part of both women. I sat in silence for a moment and gave my thoughts to my memories of Gwen at school. I recalled tears at choir practice, a wobbly, spotty little girl who was always being shunned or bullied. I was pleased to see that she’d been able to make a living from her love of music. It had seemed to be her solace even then.
I pulled myself back to my present reality. I was beginning to wonder if I would, in fact, be married to Bud Anderson the next day, or if a collapsed bridge and a corpse would conspire to stop our wedding in its tracks. I determined that I wouldn’t let that happen. But how?
Deuddeg
THE ENIGMATIC PREHISTORIC STONE CIRCLE looked right at home in the horrendous weather, as did the ruins of the Roman temple, both of which we had to pass as we headed toward the bridge. Although we didn’t pass right by the half-timbered, Tudor-style stable block, I could tell, by looking back toward the castle, that Dilys Jones had been correct—the windows from her basement kitchen would have given her an excellent view of the stable block, which was now a garage, as well as the ruins. She’d also have seen anyone on the roadway to the drive and the main entrance, as the road swooped along the gradient of the hillside.
We crunched heavily across the pea gravel, and it was clear that all our spirits matched the weather—miserable. Bud walked ahead with Idris. I walked beside Rhian. For a few moments she was completely silent, then she said something that startled, intrigued, and worried me, in pretty much equal measure.
“You and Bud solve mysteries, don’t you?” she asked. “At least, you’ve told me in some emails that you have done in the past. Right?”
I nodded, apprehensive about what she’d say next.
“Look, I’m just going to come out with it, Cait. I don’t believe that David fell down those stairs. I don’t think he could have. He must have been pushed, or tripped up somehow, and I want you to find out who did it. And why. I can’t pay you anything, but I wondered if you’d do it for me, as a favor?”
I hesitated for only a second before I hugged her and said, “Of course I will.” Bud had already agreed with me the night before that we’d do some snooping on behalf of my sister, so how could this make things any worse?
Her reaction surprised me. She hugged me back, but then pushed away and said, “Right then, what do you want to know? Ask anything and I’ll tell you. Anything about his glad eye, his womanizing, his bad side, or his good side. Whatever anyone else might think, I knew David very well. He was a complicated person, but I loved him.”
She paused and, through the sheets of rain, gave me a piercing look. “I know you’re here to marry Bud tomorrow, and it’s quite clear you’re a very well-suited couple. But have you ever loved someone you shouldn’t have? Have you ever known a person was bad for you, but you just couldn’t stop loving them? Couldn’t stop hoping they’d love you back the same way?”
I turned and began the climb up the hill again as I replied, “I suspect you know the answer to that question very well, Rhian.” I sighed. “Is this a little test?”
Rhian shook her head as she fell into step with me. Drops of rain flew off the end of her nose. “I’m sorry, that was silly of me. Of course I know all about you and your ex-boyfriend. Gwen told me all about it. Then I did a bit of googling.”
“
Really?” I didn’t know why I was surprised. The newspapers had made a real meal of Angus’s death, and my arrest, at the time.
“Oh yes. She followed the whole story, it seems. She’d been on some sort of musical course in Cambridge just before . . . it happened, she said.” Rhian turned her wet face to me and smiled. “I think Gwen worships you a bit—always has, since she was in school with you. She got very excited when I told her your name. I couldn’t shut her up about how you inspired her to take up music, to follow her talent. She’s a strange little woman, but a very good accompanist. David thought a lot of her abilities. Unfortunately, I think she had a bit of a crush on him too—which, of course, he exploited mercilessly.”
“How d’you mean?” I asked.
Rhian almost smiled. “I think he palmed off a lot of the grunt work onto her. She sorts out all the music parts, gets to rehearsals early and leaves late, that sort of thing. And she does all the admin stuff—keeping in touch with all the members, organizing buses to get them here and there, you know?”
Ahead of us, Bud and Idris had already reached the bridge, and we could just see them through the curtain of rain as they bent down to examine the structure at its base. It didn’t look promising. I sighed. I wasn’t likely to be able to change the weather, or shift ancient bridge footings, but I could try to help Rhian. I decided to be direct.
“Rhian, I don’t know exactly what Gwen told you, but I had a rough relationship with Angus. He was desperately good-looking—to me, anyway—and he used his charm on women and men alike. He usually got his way, and he had a terrible temper—he could blow up in a millisecond. I never quite knew which Angus I’d be sharing space with—the charming one, or the angry one. Triggers were utterly unpredictable; a look, a word, a shrug could set him off. But, when he felt like it, he could be the best possible company, the most romantic gentleman. Then he’d snap, and I’d be looking for cover. Is that how it was for you and David?”
Rhian looked horrified. “No, thank God. David never hit me,” said Rhian. “Well, only once, and he apologized for months. It never happened again. Yes, he’d lose his temper with people, but he’d seethe silently, and then he’d plot his revenge. He always said that revenge was a dish best served cold, and I know he got his own back on people after years of waiting for the right moment.”
“Did he have a challenging upbringing?” I asked. I wanted to try to understand the man. It’s what I do.
Rhian shrugged. “Define challenging. Whatever we get it’s normal to us, isn’t it? I mean Mam’s a right tartar, but I’m used to it. I know most people think she’s an old witch, but she’s my mam, and I give her a lot of rope. David’s father was a drinker. He spent most of his time in the pub, or ‘down the club,’ by which he meant the working men’s club—though I don’t think he was much of a worker. On the sick for years. Sick ’cos of the drinking, he was. David’s mother had a job at the Mettoy factory in Fforestfach. Worked shifts. David sort of brought himself up, I think.”
I grinned. Rhian looked taken aback. “Sorry,” I said quickly, “I wasn’t smiling because of David’s lack of parental oversight, but because of where his mother worked.” Her quizzical look demanded a response. “I used to live in Manselton, grew up there. It’s just down the hill from Fforestfach, so the Mettoy factory isn’t unknown to me. Some of the children at school with me had parents who worked there, and they’d get cheap Corgi Toys sometimes. It’s amazing to think how valuable some of those little cars and trucks are these days.”
“I think they were lorries, not trucks.” Rhian grinned. “You’re very Canadian. You know, North American, when you talk.”
“So your mother has mentioned, though not as kindly as you,” I dared.
“Oh, just ignore her,” said Rhian. “Her bark’s worse than her bite.” She cocked her head and smiled as she added, “Usually.”
For a brief moment, we were just two women sharing a little joke in the rain, and I felt a difficult issue pick at my conscience. My sister was just a quarter of a mile away, and all we’d done since we’d been under the same roof was snipe at each other, or admit how little we each knew about the other. I wondered why that was, and why I felt a warmth toward Rhian I really couldn’t find in my heart for my own flesh and blood.
I stopped climbing and pulled at Rhian’s sleeve. Bud and Idris were standing up again and pointing and gesticulating at the bridge, which was awash with water, lumps of rubble lying across it. “Rhian, before we join the men, tell me, why do you think David was killed? Not ‘what was the motive,’ but what makes you think it wasn’t an accident?”
“He was like a goat. As nimble as you like. Light and fast on his feet. Always was. Those feet of his were legendary. Bud told me you saw him conduct the choir, so you’ll know what he was like. It was as though he was dancing. And he was a very good dancer, when it came to it. He’d run up and down those stairs to the kitchen a thousand times, over the years. He wasn’t in great shape, but he wasn’t a plodder. I can’t believe he’d have fallen.”
“Accidents happen, Rhian,” I pressed. “He might have been nimble, but accidents are just that—unexpected happenings that catch us off guard. He might have been distracted, or something might have caught his attention and he simply missed his footing. It’s possible, Rhian. It could have been ‘just an accident,’ you know. Not that there’s any ‘just’ about it, of course.”
Rhian nodded. “Alright, I’ll give you that. But could you prove it? Could you prove somebody didn’t kill him?”
I shook my head and wiped my face, thinking of my suspicions from the night before. “I have no idea. It’s difficult to prove that something didn’t happen. But . . .” I hesitated as I carefully selected my words. “I could do some poking about. If I ask the other question—what motive do you think someone might have had to kill him—what would you say?”
“Cait! Cait!” called Bud, beckoning for me to join him. I waved back and motioned I’d be with him in two minutes. He nodded. I had to give Rhian my attention for a moment longer. I knew he’d understand. At least, I knew he’d understand when I explained what I was doing.
“Two reasons come to mind,” she said thoughtfully. “Women, and money. Loved them both, he did. But I’m struggling with this because I can’t imagine anyone at the castle being a killer, you see. There could well be a few people who might have come to the castle especially to kill him. A few husbands here and there, to start with. But given the way the weather was, and the fact that the front door was locked against the storm all afternoon, I don’t know how they’d have got to him to do it. I mean, how would anyone from outside, or inside for that matter, know he’d be on the stairs at that moment, see? Unless they were following him, and just pushed him down.”
I gave the matter some thought. Rhian made a very good point about how difficult it would have been for someone to happen upon David conveniently at the top of a staircase.
“Would David ever go down the up stairs? Your mother seems quite keen on enforcing her rules, and he was apparently found at the bottom of the up stairs, which doesn’t make much sense, unless he was planning to use them to descend.”
Rhian swallowed a smile. “Ah yes, Mam’s system. A hangover from the old days, that is. To be honest, she’s scolded us all about it so many times over the years it’s sort of automatic to go down and up the correct stairs. I know I do, anyway, but then I’ve lived there all my life. David and Mam used to argue about it all the time when he first moved in, and I know he used to use the wrong stairs just to goad her. But I think even he got used to using the right ones in the end. Besides, he didn’t usually mean to annoy Mam. Not anymore. They sort of called a truce when she realized I wasn’t going to give him up just because she didn’t think he was good enough for me. I won’t say they ever got on, but they did at least stop nagging at each other. It gets very wearing when people do that, doesn’t it? And there’s no point to it—it doesn’t make anyone any happier, after all. So—would he go dow
n the up stairs? I can’t say he wouldn’t, but I don’t think it’s something he did habitually. Maybe if he was in such a rush that he didn’t want to go to the other door he would, but that would mean he’d set off from the dining room side of the house to go down. Then it would all depend on where he wanted to end up, and there’s not much downstairs.”
“What’s down there, other than the two kitchens?”
“There’s them, the boiler room, the laundry area, oh—and the cellar.”
“Wine cellar?” I asked, perking up at the thought.
Rhian smiled and shook her head. “No, the coal cellar, of course. All the fires in the house were coal once upon a time. Not now, of course. We only really have two fires any more—the ones in the drawing room and the dining room, logs now, and they’re as much for show as anything. Oil-fueled central heating—those dreadful radiators, you know? The bane of David’s life, they were. Having to go about fixing them at all hours he was, all over the place.”
“So he wouldn’t need to go to the coal cellar?”
“No.” She sounded very certain.
“Why not?” I asked, thinking of the coal dust on David’s jeans.
“Well there’s nothing there except a few bits of old coal left over from when it was used around the house. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to go in there at all. It would be filthy, to start with, and it’s just a cellar—you know, a big old room with no windows. Probably an old dungeon in medieval times, I’d say.” She looked puzzled. “Anyway, why do you ask?”
I didn’t have a chance to answer, because we’d finally reached the top of the road and the bridge itself. The sorry sight put a stop to our conversation, but I gave Rhian a reassuring wink. “I’ll get on it, right away,” I said quietly.
