by Cathy Ace
“I’m sure she was very happy being at college with me as a friend instead,” replied Gwen a bit snippily.
I decided to not pursue what seemed to be a sensitive topic, and tried to think of another one. “Rhian mentioned that you used to visit Cambridge for music courses, or that you did at least once. Did you like the place?”
Gwen’s sour countenance cleared. “Oh it’s beautiful. I was only there once, for a summer school focusing on the music of Henry Purcell, at Queens’ College. You were very lucky to live there for so long. You must have liked The Anchor Pub.”
I sighed. “Yes, it was a nice pub.” I’d spent many hours of my life there, not all of them happy.
“Did you prefer it to The Mill, and The Eagle?” she asked.
I nodded absently. I was grappling with ghosts from my past.
“I saw you there, you know,” added Gwen quietly.
I snapped back to reality and forced a smile. “Really? Why didn’t you say hello? It would have been nice to see you.”
Gwen blushed. “You were sort of busy. You were having a bit of a row. On the street. You stormed off after shouting at a man.”
I swallowed hard. “Really?” I tried to sound natural.
“You shouted after him, ‘If I had a drink in my hand right now I’d throw it over you.’ You were crying. I didn’t think it was . . . appropriate to say anything to you. You walked right past me, but I didn’t stop you. I don’t think you saw me at all. But there, that’s not so unusual. Most people don’t.” Her voice had trailed off, and I suspected self-pity was setting in.
I tried to sound like I meant it when I replied, “Oh, I’m sure it was something and nothing. It’s a shame we missed having a drink together then, all those years ago—but, hey, we’re doing it now, so cheers!” I chinked my glass against Gwen’s, and we both smiled.
She took a sip of hers, and I took a great big gulp of mine.
I could hardly believe that Gwen Thomas had heard me utter the last words I ever spoke to Angus before he was dumped, unconscious, into my flat, a few nights later—the night he’d died. I found it very worrying. The word “coincidence” crawled around the back of my mind.
“You two reliving old memories of schooldays?” asked Bud cheerily as he joined us.
“Cambridge, actually,” replied Gwen, suddenly bright again. “She didn’t know it, but I did Cait a favor when I was visiting there. I owe her so much, you see, Bud. You’re marrying a wonderful woman. She always encouraged me, when I was young, to follow my dreams. And I have.”
“She’s like that,” said Bud, beaming at me. “She’s still out there, guiding students on their future paths. And she does a great job of it.”
I could feel myself blush. I’m not good at accepting compliments.
Gwen continued, “She told me I should never ever let anyone get in the way of me being able to do my best, and I took it to heart.”
I held up my hand. “Oh come on now, you two, my head will be too big to get out through that door if you don’t stop. Enough—okay? But thank you both. Though I’m not sure I’d have said you shouldn’t let anyone get in your way, Gwen.”
“It sounds exactly like something your teen self would have said, Cait,” remarked Bud. “Now, of course, I guess you know better. But, hey, we were all young once, right?”
I nodded. “Yes, the greatest folly of youth is possibly that we’re only able to see black and white, right and wrong. It takes experience to discover that there are all types of grays in between, and that good and bad are not absolutes. We have to consider the consequences for others before we act, and not solely put self-interest first.”
“Five minutes and it’s on the table,” called Dilys at the doorway.
I beamed. “Good—I’m starving. I’ve been imagining roast beef and Yorkshire pudding since Dilys mentioned it earlier. She’s a good cook, isn’t she, Gwen? Do you eat here often?”
“Not often,” replied the woman. “They sometimes invite me to stay, so I like to come with a bag so I can—it’s such a treat. But I’ll leave when you do. I don’t want to stay where I’m not wanted.”
“I’m sure you’re wanted,” said Bud.
Gwen shook her head. “David’s not here anymore, so there’ll be no reason for me to visit again. I’ll miss this place. It’s magical. I feel special when I’m here. It’s like a different world. I’ll miss that lovely piano too. I know it very well. It’s such a shame there’s no one here who can play it as it deserves to be played. They don’t like it, you know.”
“What’s that?” asked Bud politely as he took our empty glasses.
“Pianos. They don’t like not being played. They aren’t just pieces of furniture, they are instruments with their own voices. And every voice deserves to be heard.” She smiled a strange little smile. “That’s another thing you told me, Cait. That my voice had as much right to be heard as anyone else’s—I just had to find a way that worked for me. And I’ve done that too.”
“I’m glad for you, Gwen, truly I am,” I said, as Bud took my arm.
“Time for dinner,” he said as he pulled me toward the door.
I winked at Gwen. “Seems like this man wants me to accompany him, and he is a retired cop, so I suppose I’d better go quietly.”
“Yes, you better had,” she said.
Naw ar hugain
ONCE AGAIN I FOUND MYSELF in the round dining room at Castell Llwyd, but, unlike the previous night, Alice didn’t insist that Bud and I sit beside her. This time it was Siân and Gwen who got the special treatment. I was slightly relieved, because I knew it would give me a chance to talk to Owain about what he believed to be the meaning of the riddle on the puzzle plate, and it would allow me to try to engage Mair a little about David.
Two things were immediately evident as we sat again at the table: no conversation about any of the recent occurrences was going to be tolerated by Alice, and it seemed that a roast didn’t require a first course, so when Dilys and Rhian arrived, they were carrying trays bearing a glisteningly appetizing prime rib of beef and a triumphant Yorkshire pudding that, for all the world, looked like a priceless golden crown—it had risen to perfection.
“Almost as good as yours, Cait,” whispered Bud as Dilys passed by.
His tone wasn’t low enough for her to miss what he’d said, and she replied caustically, “My money’s on mine being better.”
Bud rolled his eyes as she passed. Laying her tray on a sideboard, she announced, “I’ll carve now.”
As she did, Rhian disappeared, then returned to the room carrying three tureens, which she placed on the table.
“Cauliflower, roasted potatoes, and peas,” she explained.
Having taken a large spoonful of cauliflower, Bud leaned over and said, “What on earth have I just put on my plate? I thought Rhian said it was cauliflower. This isn’t cauliflower.”
I explained, “In Wales the cauliflower is sold with its large outer leaves fully intact. They aren’t cut off, as in most other places. It’s a shame. I love it this way, with the green and the white all mashed in together.”
Bud nodded approval. “It’s really good,” he said. “We could do this back home with florets and kale, couldn’t we?” he asked between mouthfuls, with enthusiasm.
I grimaced. “The day kale comes in through our front door, I’m leaving you, Bud Anderson. It’s disgusting.”
He grinned. “I’ll get you to like it yet. Just give me a few years.”
“You might die trying,” I replied.
The cauliflower topic dealt with, I settled to my own, rather full, plate. Unfortunately the beef was ruined; I like mine to be pink, but this was just the way I’d grown up eating it—dark brown right through. That said, it tasted wonderful, and the gravy prevented it from being too dry. The vegetables were delicious too—glistening roast potatoes that were crisp on the outside, but light and fluffy inside their shell; perfect cauliflower that might well have been half butter; peas sweet and not ov
ercooked at all; and gravy, running into the pits and hollows in the Yorkshire, that was absolutely divine.
“You said on your Ravelry page that you volunteer at the Perth Zoo, Siân,” said Mair chattily, forcing me to concentrate on something other than my food. “Is it a good zoo? I mean are the animals well cared for?”
Siân nodded. “I believe so. They have some excellent breeding programs there. I don’t think wild animals should be kept in captivity unless they are serving a real purpose—like helping to save their species. I volunteer so I can be sure they are doing things right. I don’t like to see dead animals at all, and sometimes I can’t help but think of meat that way.”
Alice instructed Mair to serve her with wine, by way of sign language, as she said to Siân, “So are all our stuffed beasts giving you the creeps?”
I could tell she was making fun of Siân, but Siân didn’t seem to mind. She smiled politely at Alice. “Not exactly, but I do think that taxidermists have one of the most dreadful jobs on earth.”
I couldn’t resist. “Hey, sis, don’t knock the art of the animal stuffer. We only exist because of a taxidermist.”
I knew my comment would draw some quizzical looks, and it did.
Bud bit. “Do tell,” he said, with a dose of mock enthusiasm.
“Well, it’s quite simple, really,” I said. “Our mum was a Blitz Baby—conceived during the Swansea Blitz of 1941, as were so many others in air-raid shelters during long nights with no entertainment. That conception was only able to happen because our grandfather hadn’t gone off to fight in the war. He was a baker—a reserved occupation. And the only reason he was a baker was because his uncle—our great-grandfather’s brother—had paid for his training with money he only had because he made a very good living as a taxidermist. He had a shop in an arcade up on Swansea High Street, and did a roaring trade between the wars. He even stuffed a mammoth that was on display at Swansea Museum for many years. He was a master taxidermist, and, if he hadn’t done what he did, and if our grandparents hadn’t done what they did during the blitz, then our mum wouldn’t exist, and we wouldn’t either. Ta da!”
Siân shook her head, smiling, as Bud gave me a little round of applause.
“So the next time I meet a taxidermist I should shake him by the hand and thank him and his ilk for allowing me to ever meet you?” said Bud.
“I’d check where his hand has been before you do,” I quipped.
I felt I’d done my little bit to lighten the mood at the table. With wine, good food, and not bad company, the meal was over in what seemed like a very short time. It was as though we could all breathe again—as though we’d all agreed to lift the weight from our shoulders for just a short time.
As folks chattered, I did my best to try to find out how people had felt about David Davies—and I felt the mood was sufficiently brightened for me to be able to do it.
I gathered that Idris had liked him, though he felt he could have generally achieved more about the place, and more quickly and efficiently. Eirwen seemed to have had little time for the man, who she accused of “swinging the lead” at every possible opportunity. Gwen praised him as a hard worker, dedicated to his music and his choir, and a man with art and artistry in his soul. Mair’s comment—that he was slow to fix things, but usually did a good job when he got around to it—seemed to match that of Idris. Owain claimed to hardly know the man, which I found difficult to believe. When I finally got the chance to ask Janet what she thought of David, I noted that the muscles along her jawline tightened as she told me that he’d always been very polite to her, but that she didn’t see much of anyone except Alice, because of her duties.
It seemed that Alice had overheard Janet’s comments, because she butted in with, “That was a good thing then. He wasn’t a nice man. Danuta, the one before you, didn’t like him. Never trust a man with feet that small, I’ve always said it.”
“Mother, you might as well just say what you really mean, that no man on earth should ever be trusted under any circumstances—whatever his foot size, or choice of footwear, or socks, or anything. I have no idea why you’re like this. Father was very good to you. He gave you, and us, a good life. Why do you hate men so much? What have they ever done to you?” asked Mair.
Looking at Alice, and knowing how beautiful she’d been when she was young, I suspected that she would have quite a lot she could tell us on that score. But she didn’t, she just turned her cold, green stare toward her daughter and said, “You haven’t lived, girl. You have no idea what they can do. I’ve saved you from goodness knows what, I have, and this is the thanks I get, is it? Shouting at your own mother in front of guests? Terrible. All I can say is that things will be a bit different around here now David Davies is gone. Good riddance to him, I say.”
Rhian was standing right behind Alice when she spoke, still holding the plate she’d just removed from the table in front of the old woman. Alice must have known she’d be within earshot, and yet she’d still made her spiteful remarks—and everyone at the table knew it. It felt as though there was no air in the room any more. Even the fire seemed to lose its spirit.
Moving deliberately, Rhian carefully placed the used plate on the sideboard, then ran out of the dining room, almost colliding with her mother, who was entering.
Dilys called out after her daughter, “Rhian, Rhian! What’s the matter with you? Where are you going? Come back here when I call you.” Her angry voice echoed in the empty hall. We could hear Rhian’s sobs fade into the distance.
“That was very, very cruel, Mother,” said Mair, expressing what I think everyone felt.
Alice surveyed each face around the table, her eyes sparkling with hatred. “Stupid girl, marrying a man like that. She’s got what she deserved, and so did he.”
Gwen began to squirm uncomfortably in her seat, and Mair leapt up at exactly the same moment that Janet did.
“Mother—you’re disgusting.” Mair pushed her heavy chair away and stormed off toward the grand staircase, calling back, “I’m going to my rooms.”
Janet said, “Come on now, Alice, I think it’s time we got you up to bed, isn’t it?”
Alice smiled with cruel satisfaction. “My work here is done,” she said, “more than any of you will ever know.”
She looked up at Janet and said, “Take me to my lift, and be quick about it. Then you can tell my daughter I want to talk to her in my apartment. Come on. You’re so slow I could jump over your head.”
“You’d have to get out of that chair first,” said Janet, “and I know how long that takes you. Slower than the second coming, aren’t you?” She dared a wink at the old woman.
Alice’s mouth creased with a sly smile, “You know very well I can manage without you,” she said. “And girls like you are two a penny, so be careful you don’t go too far. You can be out in the morning and a new one in by lunchtime, remember.”
“Well, maybe not quite that quickly, Alice,” said Idris. “Your requirements are rather exacting, and the agency has warned me that our turnover is quite high.” He looked panicked, and Eirwen clutched at his hand.
“See, even they think you should hang on to me,” said Janet. “Besides, I know all your favorite treats now, don’t I? And not everyone would be as understanding as I am, would they?”
Alice became less haughty and tried for winsome. “Oh come on, you know I’m joking, right? Time for some special milk and an early night with you reading to me, I think, Janet,” she said. “I’ll leave Mair to cool her heels, and talk to her in the morning.”
As she raced across the dining room in her speedy chair, she raised a hand from her little steering column to wave to us all as though nothing had happened. She left an uneasiness in the room that we could all have done without.
As guests, I wasn’t sure if we were supposed to leave the dining room, or if a dessert was due to be served—and if one were due, whether it would arrive, since Dilys had disappeared.
Eirwen stepped up and donned the
mantle of hostess. “There isn’t anything else, just the roast, so we could all move to the drawing room where Dilys will have set up coffee, if you’d like some.”
Everyone began to move away from the table as I glanced at my watch. It wasn’t even 6:00 PM. There was a very long evening ahead of us, and now the mood was as black as the night.
Deg ar hugain
“THIS ISN’T YOUR AVERAGE HEN party, is it, Cait?” said Eirwen sympathetically.
“We could have port, by way of a little celebration,” suggested Idris. “We have a couple of bottles of very good port in the dining room. Mother used to drink it, but Janet has banned her from doing so. Just a moment—I’ll get it sorted.”
Idris moved with ease and was rapidly followed by his wife, who explained, “He doesn’t know where anything is, I’ll just give him a hand.”
Owain, Gwen, Bud, Siân, and I sat in silence. I decided it was time for me to start poking about.
“So, Owain, any luck putting that plate back together?” I asked.
Owain squared his shoulders and replied defiantly, “Not yet. I was busy with other things this afternoon.” Having seen his reaction to its being broken, I couldn’t imagine what had been more important to Owain than working on his precious plate.
He continued, “I had Idris prying into all my stuff, at your behest, for a start.” He sounded wounded. “There’s nothing out of the ordinary in my library,” he added, “nothing to find, nowhere for an interloper to secret themselves. It was a pointless and, of course, fruitless exercise.” He dismissed me with a twitch of his beard.
I decided to press him. “But you told me you have some wonderful old passages and staircases hidden in the walls of that part of the building. Couldn’t someone be lurking in there? I’d love to see them, Owain.”
Owain’s brow furrowed. “Well, you are not welcome to do so,” he said abruptly. “I covered all the ground, and there hasn’t been anyone in those passages who shouldn’t have been.”
