The Corpse with the Sapphire Eyes

by Cathy Ace

  “What on earth are you all up to? And what’s wrong with that then?” Her steely glare pierced our defenses, and we all rushed to our seats and tucked into our luncheon as quickly as we could.

  As I bit into the thick, yielding topping of grated cheese mixed with cream, pepper, mustard, stout beer, and Worcestershire sauce, and the crunchy toast beneath, I was back in our old house in Manselton and it was Saturday teatime. I tried to wipe away a tear before anyone else could see it.

  I cleared my lunch plate—salad and all—as quickly as I could, because I could see Dilys and Rhian hovering in the great hall out of the corner of my eye. It seemed I’d been correct in my assumption that Rhian helped her mother serve food, and I was pleased to see her doing so for this meal. She was following through with her stated preference to be doing something, rather than sitting about and dwelling on her husband’s demise.

  “We’re ready now, Dilys,” called Alice when she’d had enough. “Very good rabbit,” she added as Dilys collected her plate, “as always.” Alice turned her attention to Bud, Siân, and me. “It’s our traditional Sunday lunch,” she announced. “There’ll be a full roast at five o’clock, on the dot. What is it today, Dilys? Lamb?”

  Dilys shook her head, passing off plates to her daughter. “We’re having lamb tomorrow for the wedding lunch, so I thought we’d have beef today, and yes, before you ask, I’ll be doing Yorkshire pudding too, Owain.” Owain glowed.

  Bud leaned into me and whispered, “Why did Alice say it was good rabbit? That was cheese on toast—well, very fancy, tasty cheese on toast—right? Or did she get something different?”

  I kept my voice down as I replied, “Welsh rarebit is also often called Welsh rabbit. Either is correct. The name refers to the fact that the Welsh were so poor they couldn’t afford any meat, not even rabbit, so they had to make do with cheese. I’ve made you Welsh rarebit before, at home, you know I have. It’s the same thing.”

  Bud nodded. “Thanks. There always seems to be something I don’t understand.”

  “Like the death and destruction around here?” I said bleakly.

  Bud nodded, his face grim.

  “There’s teisen lap, some mince pies, and tea in the drawing room. You can help yourselves,” announced Dilys as she left, following Rhian, who was carrying away the used dishes.

  “I’ll catch up with you,” said Bud as he pecked me on the cheek. “I just want a private word with Idris—about our concerns, you know?” I nodded and left the dining room.

  Striding across the great hall I noticed that Janet, who was following Alice’s wheelchair ahead of me, was limping. I scurried after her, touching her on the arm as I caught up.

  “Are you really alright?” I asked. “You seem to be limping.”

  Janet smiled. “That’s not today, that’s from when I fell off a horse when I was little. You just haven’t noticed it till now, I suppose. It does come on a bit more when I’m tired. But, usually, it’s not a problem. I’ve got one leg a bit shorter than the other because of the fall, that’s all. Doesn’t stop me from running around this place all day.”

  “Does it affect you when you’re lifting?” I nodded toward Alice. “You know, when you have to move Alice about?”

  The effortlessly cheery Janet smiled again. “No, light as a feather she is. You should see some of them I have to hump about the place. Well, it’s not their fault—sitting down all day and people trying to tempt you with this and that, you’re bound to get a bit heavy, right? But Alice is on the way down now; she won’t be putting on any weight to speak of any more. Eats well, mind you, and likes a tipple or two. But at her age, it’s smaller they get.”

  We both watched as Alice maneuvered her chair to what appeared to be her favorite spot right in the middle of the drawing room. I dawdled a little and said, “She seems to have got over the distress of earlier on, I see. Does she seem okay to you?”

  Janet whispered, “I put a little something in a drop of warm whiskey milk for her. She always refuses tablets when she knows about them, so I sneak them into something where she won’t notice them. I just gave her something to calm her down a bit and put a smile back on her face. She’ll be fine. It’s funny, what you said about her weight,” she added.

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, there she is wasting away from that beautiful woman she was in the painting, and now she weighs less than the frame it was in. It took both Rhian and Dilys to move it out of the room, they said.”

  “Yes, that is funny,” I replied, lost in thought, “or odd, at least, that she now weighs less than her own portrait.” But Janet was gone, and I found I was talking to myself.

  Pedwar ar bymtheg

  WHEN BUD ENTERED THE DRAWING room, he didn’t come to sit to have a cup of tea. Instead he started gesticulating and nodding his head. I knew very well that he was trying to call me away, without doing so aloud, but he looked so funny that I let him carry on for about thirty seconds.

  “Are you quite well, Bud?” called Alice, noticing his antics.

  Bud grudgingly walked farther into the room. “Yes, thanks, Alice. I was just trying to get Cait to come outside for a private word or two about something.”

  “I would say something about ‘young love,’ but you’re neither of you that young, so I won’t,” said Alice. Rather unnecessarily, I thought.

  Idris and Eirwen appeared behind Bud, each a picture of flat out panic. “Alice, they don’t want a private word about anything to do with their wedding, it’s about us.”

  “What do you mean, ‘us’?” replied Alice haughtily.

  Dilys and Rhian trooped into the room next, each bearing a hot water jug, so we were all present and correct. I knew it was time to step up, so I put down my tea, gave Bud a significant look, and began.

  “Everyone’s here, so I think this should be talked about. I know there’s a popular phrase about ‘addressing the elephant in the room.’ Well this isn’t about an elephant, it’s about a possible murder and some very destructive actions that have taken place here recently.”

  “What murder? There’s been no murder here—just a nasty accident,” shouted Alice, sloshing her tea into her saucer. “That’s a wicked thing to say, Cait. Why would you say such a thing?”

  “I don’t believe that David’s death was an accident,” said Rhian bluntly. “I know, and many of you are also aware, that David was exceptionally good on his feet. The idea that he would fall down those stairs is ludicrous.”

  Rhian’s words, and their meaning, hung in the air. The fire crackled in the grate, and the usually comforting sound of settling logs took on a menacing edge. I felt as though the balance of life in the castle was about to tilt off its axis forever.

  “My plate—the Cadwallader Puzzle Plate—was smashed deliberately,” added Owain, breaking the heavy silence.

  “And then there’s Mother’s portrait,” added Mair, “and me being hacked online.” A few puzzled faces met her last statement, but Mair chose to not elaborate.

  “Bud’s just been talking to us about it all,” said Idris, “and I am thinking about a couple of recent incidents in a new light. Last night, for example, those glass decorations on the Christmas tree in the great hall were all smashed.”

  “The glass balls, you mean?” asked Siân.

  “Exactly,” said Idris. “They’ve been in the family for about sixty years. Eleri and little Hywel know all their stories, and it’s their big treat to be able to place them on the tree themselves. Each one of them, and only those particular decorations, were smashed on the floor. They were a devil to clear up, weren’t they, Dilys?”

  “Yes, glass and glitter everywhere, there was. Horrendous job to get it all up,” she sniffed.

  That explained why I’d managed to cut myself when I fell in the hall earlier in the day.

  “The children will be very upset about it,” added Eirwen. “It was a very spiteful thing to do.”

  “And that’s what seems to be linking all th
ese things,” said Bud. “They are very spiteful, personal attacks against the members of the Cadwallader family. And I really think it’s in everyone’s interests for us to try to get to the bottom of this.”

  “Young man,” called Alice—I bet Bud loved being called that—“do you think that David Davies’s death is somehow connected to these attacks? That the same person has done all these things, including killing David?”

  “It’s a reasonable assumption,” replied Bud carefully.

  Again, silence followed, as everyone in the room let the significance of Bud’s words sink in.

  “My suggestion is that we search this whole place from top to bottom,” said Idris. “And that’s because I cannot imagine that anyone in this room has done any of these things. So it stands to reason that someone else is here, or at least coming and going at will. I believe we should all throw out any ideas about maintaining our privacy, and allow a full search to be made of the place. Starting with all the places that aren’t lived in or used on a regular basis, of course, but not excluding our own apartments.”

  “That’s a very bold suggestion, Idris,” said Alice. She gave the idea some thought. “I agree. You should organize search parties. I suggest you start at the top of each wing, and work your way down.”

  “You want to let people search our rooms? Where we live?” said Dilys, shocked to the core. “I’m not sure that’s very nice,” she added. “It doesn’t say much for trust, does it?”

  Alice’s face softened, as did her tone. “Dilys, I’ve known you since you were no more than a bump under your mother’s apron, and I trust you with my life every day by eating the food you prepare for me. But this is one occasion where I believe that only complete thoroughness will work, to allow us all to sleep soundly in our beds tonight. So, yes, I do want everyone to allow their rooms to be searched, but, out of deference to our long acquaintance, I will suggest that Bud searches yours.”

  “But he’s a complete stranger,” exclaimed Dilys, looking at Bud as though he were Jack the Ripper.

  “Exactly, Dilys,” said Bud, “so when I leave here on Tuesday you’ll never have to look me in the eye knowing that I’ve searched your rooms. And I have been trained to conduct searches, as a professional, so there’ll be no snooping, just hunting with a purpose.”

  “And that purpose is?” asked Owain haughtily.

  “To find signs of entry or egress not formerly known; to discover signs of someone having been in a part of the house you all believe to be unused; to check for signs of someone maybe even staying here for long periods of time; and, of course, to generally be on the lookout for items that have been hidden away in unexpected places.”

  “What sort of items?” asked Gwen, who’d been very quiet all through lunch, and afterwards. It was almost as though she was trying to be as little bother as possible as a guest.

  “Anything out of the ordinary. Something in a place where it shouldn’t be. Or something that should be somewhere, not being there anymore. In our search we are all trying to spot things that are curious or out of the ordinary,” said Bud.

  “There are probably pretty odd things in every room in this castle,” said Rhian. “Those of us who live here would know about things being out of place, those of you visiting wouldn’t. So can I suggest that the visitors—Bud, Cait, Siân, and Gwen—take the parts of the buildings that are supposed to be unused, because you’re as likely to find something odd as we all would be. That means that those of us who live here can focus on a part of the castle we know well. Other than Bud doing Mam’s rooms, of course. And you can do mine with Cait, if you want. Well, anyone can. It doesn’t bother me. I just want to find out if anyone’s been messing about with our home, and, if they have, if they might have pushed my husband down the stairs to his death.” Her mouth set itself in a grim line as she finished speaking.

  “Yes,” I said—maybe a little too quickly, “let’s do that. Bud and I will start on the top floor of the private wing, so we’ll tackle your quarters first, then we’ll go down to the cellar and kitchen areas, because there’s nothing personal there. Maybe you can all agree who will search whose apartments. I suggest you all just swap. Of course, you don’t need to get involved, Alice.”

  “But I want to,” she replied sharply. “Janet can come with me through the music room and the morning room, and we can scan the hall as well.”

  “Good idea, Mother,” said Mair. Her mother looked surprised and more than a little pleased by her daughter’s reaction.

  We all agreed on the pairings—Janet and Alice, Gwen and Siân, Idris and Owain, Eirwen and Mair, Rhian and Dilys, Bud and Cait—and on who would tackle which areas of the castle. Of course Owain insisted that only he and Idris would be allowed to touch anything in his library, but, other than that caveat, and having overcome Dilys’s misgivings, we were all pretty much set to go.

  Bud and I headed up the staircase toward the Davies and Jones apartments. I wondered what we’d find there—if anything.

  Ugain

  ONCE WE’D REACHED THE FIRST landing, where the grand staircase ceased to exist, Bud and I followed our instructions and walked toward where the private wing was joined to the original castle. There we found another set of wooden, carpeted stairs, this time much less grand, which led to the next floor. Having heaved my way up those, we then had to walk through a door beside the stairs to get to the smallest staircase, which led up to the top floor, as well as going all the way back down to the basement.

  “It hadn’t occurred to me that there’d be an alternative route from the kitchen level to the other floors,” noted Bud as I clambered up the stairs behind him, panting.

  “It’s not direct, because you can only get to it on the second floor, but you’re right. I suppose it makes sense.” I stopped for a moment to catch my breath, and noted that this final set of steps was as steep as the one that led down to the kitchen. “It looks like the expectation was that all servants had the constitution of an ox and the climbing ability of a mountain sheep,” I puffed.

  Bud grinned down at me. “Think how much worse it would be if you hadn’t quit smoking a couple of months ago, right?”

  “Let it go, Bud. I think the piece of gum I’m chewing right now didn’t get its shot of nicotine, so just be careful, or the dam might break and the torrent that is my foul temper might wash you away.”

  Bud puffed out his cheeks in mock terror, then continued up the stairs.

  I gathered my strength and continued my climb. By the time I reached the top I was red in the face and lathered with sweat. “Maybe it’s just as well I didn’t bother to change my clothes before lunch. As soon as we’ve finished grubbing about the place I want to wash my hair, have a hot bath, and get into some clean, dry, un-stinky clothes.”

  “I agree that is exactly what you need to do,” said Bud, opening a door and peering in.

  I didn’t respond to his observation, but I too opened a door.

  “I think this must be Dilys’s,” I said, looking at the old-fashioned furnishings and the trappings of an older person.

  Bud joined me and peered in. “I agree. So I’ll take this one, you take the other?”

  I nodded. “I want a good hunt about in David’s place, to get a sense of the man, but I really want to get down to those cellars. Let’s be as quick as we can, but take as long as we need—agreed?”

  “Wish me luck,” said Bud staring into what appeared to be a very orderly apartment.

  “Me too,” I replied, panicking a little as the total disarray in the Davieses’ rooms greeted me.

  I plunged in and got to work. I quickly realized that my first impression—that the apartment was in a state of utter chaos—was not a fair one. It was just very full of furniture. First of all I got the lie of the land. A total of three rooms had been given over to living quarters for Rhian and David, with an archway connecting two separate rooms. The archway was narrow and covered with a heavy brown velvet curtain, but did the job of allowing access,
while maintaining a division of space.

  The door I’d entered by delivered me into what was obviously the sitting room: it contained a television, overstuffed armchairs, and a sofa, plus a sideboard. Bedding was neatly folded on the sofa, and a large bag sat on the floor beside it, the type people carry on to aircraft. I reasoned that this was where Gwen had spent the night. The room held nothing remarkable; the furnishings looked as though they had all come from a store where flat-packs were sold, and they were all well used. Where it existed, the upholstery was dark brown.

  I moved into the next room, where a double bed was positioned beneath the window. I noticed that the rain had eased a little, though the storm clouds were still sufficiently pendulous to promise more before they were done with us.

  The bed itself was in disarray, with pillows bearing the marks of tears and a frustrating night lying stained and dimpled on top of the bedclothes. There were two old-fashioned dark brown, flame-veneered wardrobes set against the wall at the foot of the bed. I opened the one on the right. Neatly hung shirts, pants, and jackets told me it was David’s. Although the wood of the wardrobe smelled old, the clothes smelled like fabric softener and a man’s cologne or aftershave. I sniffed, trying to differentiate between the two. It wasn’t difficult, as David’s choice of aftershave was well known to me—Old Spice, the original fragrance. It took me back to my childhood—our family doctor, Doctor Jenkins, used to wear it, and quite a lot of it at that. For me it would always be the fragrance I associated with the pain of tonsillitis, from which I suffered frequently as a child.

  Rubbing my immediately sore throat, I took time to examine David Davies’s clothing and accessories. His choices were relatively conservative—dark pants, an array of blue shirts, white shirts, and a couple of lilac ones. Work-wear clothing hung at one side, but only the sort of thing a man might wear to perform light duties, rather than heavy work. Beside them at the other end hung two evening suits covered by protective clothes bags. I unzipped the bags to find that one suit was much newer than the other, and each was accompanied by three sets of bow ties, cummerbunds, and wing-collared evening shirts. The conductor obviously took his concert-wear very seriously. There was also a highly polished pair of evening shoes in a cloth bag hanging with the newer of the two suits. I wondered if they were the ones he’d been wearing when I’d watched him conducting the choir in October. There didn’t seem to be another pair, and, pulling them out, I could see that these were not new, but certainly not old. He also had two brown pairs—one dress, one casual—and three black. There were no work-shoes or boots to be seen. A drawer at the base of the wardrobe, which was awkward to open, contained underwear, socks, belts, and a few tees, all of which were neatly rolled.