Silent as the Grave

by Bill Kitson

  Eve had been leaning against me with every step. I could feel her body against mine as I helped her towards our destination. It was a strange sensation, mildly sensual through the layers of our various garments. I had watched her face as she was speaking and she seemed to be in much less pain than previously. Eventually, we stood outside the chapel. It was an ancient building; small and sturdy, but a perfect cruciform church in miniature. I tried to estimate its age but I’m no expert on architecture. ‘How old is this building, Charlie, do you know?’

  ‘I’m not certain, about four or five hundred years, I think.’

  That would place it at about 1500. I tried to remember my history. As far as I could recall that was slap in the middle of the Tudor dynasty. One of the last two Henrys would have been on the throne at the time if Charlie’s information was accurate. I looked at the building again. ‘Is there power to the chapel? Is there light inside?’ I asked him.

  ‘Oh yes,’ he told me. ‘Well, there’s some electricity. We hold four services a year in the chapel. One of them should be tomorrow …’ He smiled. ‘But I don’t think the priest will make it somehow.’

  ‘Right, so if you unlock the door,’ I handed him the key, ‘can you switch the light on without actually going inside?’

  ‘Easy, the switch is on the wall just to the left of the door.’

  ‘OK, do that and we’ll see if anyone’s been inside, shall we?’

  I helped Eve over the step into the porch whilst Charlie fiddled with the large iron key. ‘If anyone has been in here we’ll be able to tell easily enough. The building will be cold enough for the snow not to have melted.’

  As soon as Charlie switched the light on we could tell there had indeed been at least one visitor to the chapel. As I’d guessed, the snow they’d got rid of from their footwear hadn’t melted. It glistened in the dim reflection of the single bulb above the entrance. ‘Well that answers one question,’ I told my companions, ‘but at the same time it raises a few more.’

  ‘So you were right all along, Adam. Beaumont did come here,’ Eve said.

  ‘Someone did, for sure. But we can’t be certain it was Beaumont.’

  ‘Who else could it have been?’

  ‘It might have been the person he’d arranged to meet.’

  ‘So what are the other questions it raises?’

  ‘First of all, the obvious one; why did they come all this way to meet up? It doesn’t make sense. Second, if Beaumont didn’t return to the castle, where is he? If we don’t find him in here that’s another unsolved mystery. The other thing that’s niggling me is the keys. Why was the chapel key in Rathbone’s pantry when the garden door key is still missing? At first I thought the person who had used the garden door had been unable to return the key to its hook; but the fact that the chapel key was in place knocks that theory for six.’

  ‘No it doesn’t, Adam,’ Charlie said quietly. ‘There are two keys to the chapel door. I’ve only just realized it but when we collected them from Rathbone there was only one in place. Someone has the other key.’

  ‘Which means they either haven’t had chance to return the keys unnoticed or they intend to use them again.’

  ‘I can live with that theory. Don’t you think we should go inside and see if we can get the answers to your other questions?’ Eve said. ‘Apart from anything else I want to take the weight off my leg. I know church pews aren’t the most comfortable seats going, but I’d prefer one to standing up much longer.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Evie; that was thoughtless of me.’ I’d intended to say Eve but the word Evie slipped out. She didn’t seem to mind.

  The chapel was small, as befitted a private family place of worship. There were only six pews on each side of the aisle, but although the building was in miniature it was complete in every detail: altar, pulpit, font, vestry, choir stalls, and a lectern on which stood a large and ancient-looking Bible. As we reached the aisle I saw Charlie cross himself. I glanced round the church again and saw a confessional. I stopped suddenly.

  ‘Charlie,’ I said, ‘I didn’t realize the Rowe family are Catholics?’

  ‘Sort of,’ he admitted, ‘there was a bit of trouble about it a few hundred years ago.’

  ‘Yes, I had heard something about that, I just didn’t realize it. I suppose because I knew your mother to be an Anglican.’

  I glanced at Eve who nodded a confirmation. ‘It’s all a lot more relaxed nowadays,’ Charlie said, ‘none of the old renunciation business. Pa’s more or less lapsed anyway, he just continues with the traditions for Grandma’s sake.’

  ‘Right, we’d better get on with what we came here for. Time’s getting on and the weather doesn’t look like relenting. It’ll be dark before we get to the castle, especially as we’ll have to take it slowly.’ I smiled at Eve. ‘Charlie and I will search the chapel, you rest your leg a bit longer, Evie.’ There – I’d said it again, but again Eve didn’t seem upset by the familiarity. Perhaps the snow was forming a small bond of friendship …

  Aside from the main body of the chapel there was a small transept on either side. In each of these was an impressive tomb. ‘Who lies in those?’ I asked Charlie.

  He grinned. ‘Two of the bad lads of the family. They’re the reason this place was built. It’s one of the few family legends my father enjoys telling. Roland and William Rowe were twins. They were notorious for almost anything wicked: rape, kidnapping, murder. You name it, they did it. The only reason they got away with it was because they were rich and powerful. They were so evil the Church told them they would never allow them to be buried in consecrated ground so they had this place built to thumb their nose at the authorities. In the end they fell out over some female. Apparently, Roland had carried her off and was keeping her to himself. William wanted a bit of the action so he snatched her one night when Roland was drunk and took her off so he could enjoy her. They fought over her and killed each other.’

  ‘They sound like a nice pair of lads,’ I remarked gently. ‘So what happened to the title after they came to a sticky end?’

  ‘There was no problem with that, they had plenty of children between them; both legitimate and otherwise. Legend has it they fertilized most of the female population for miles around, but they were both married. William was married twice. He was the elder twin and he had eleven legitimate children; although only two of them survived infancy. It was from Roland and William that the stories about the family madness originated.’

  ‘Who wants boring ancestors anyway?’ I suggested.

  ‘I’m not sure the local inhabitants at the time would have agreed with you.’

  We searched the vestry, a tiny room with barely room for both of us, the choir stalls and the nave before examining the transepts. I took the one containing William; leaving Roland for Charlie to examine. The tomb was a large oblong marble construction, topped by a sleeping effigy of a knight. His expression was of a soul at peace and I wondered if the stonemason had been instructed to sculpt the features like that or whether his sense of humour had taken control. I turned away. There was nothing to indicate Beaumont had been there; or anyone else I thought. As I did so, I noticed out of my eye corner a small speck of colour against the grey marble of the shield and sword of the sleeping knight. I turned back and looked again. I peered closely and saw that it was a spot of reddish-brown. I reached out and touched it with the index finger of my right hand. I looked at my finger. Whatever the spot was it was still damp. ‘Charlie,’ I called out, ‘come here a moment.’

  He hurried over and Eve hobbled after him. I showed them the tiny stain on the tomb and they looked at me; their thoughts the same as mine. ‘Is that blood?’ Charlie asked in awe.

  ‘I think so, but there’s only one way to be sure.’ I licked my finger, bringing a look of distaste to both their faces. There is no mistaking the taste of blood. ‘Yes,’ I told them, ‘I’m sorry I had to do that; and I’m sorry to say it is blood.’

  We walked slowly from the tomb back along t
he transept towards the rear of the chapel. Now that we had found one bloodstain others became easier to see. I counted six in an irregular line before we reached the entrance to the building. ‘Someone has walked along here with blood dripping from some sort of wound,’ I told them, ‘and what’s more, the wound was beginning to bleed more profusely as he walked. Look, these bloodstains are much larger than the ones nearer William’s tomb.’

  We searched again, concentrating on the rear of the building but were unable to find any further sign of either Beaumont or whoever he had come there to meet. Eventually, we had to give up on the chapel. We left the building and as Charlie relocked the door I looked at the scene outside. The snow had lessened whilst we were inside; but darkness was approaching rapidly, delayed by the lying snow. ‘Time we were heading back anyway,’ I said, ‘there still looks to be a lot more snow in that sky.’

  I looked at Eve, ‘Will you be able to manage the walk?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, if you give me a hand I’ll get there,’ she said with a brave smile.

  There is something about children, boys in particular, and snow. Boys are rarely able to resist a decent-sized snowdrift. Whereas adults avoid them, boys like to plough through them. We had only gone about a quarter of the way back to the castle when Charlie, who was ranging on ahead, saw a good looking mound of snow off to his right near a small retaining wall.

  He went to churn up the snow, which was about two-feet deep. I was smiling a little at the boyishness of his antics when I saw him stumble against some unseen obstacle and went sprawling full length. ‘Not another injury,’ I groaned as he stayed down. ‘Come on, Evie; let’s see if he’s all right.’

  We were attempting to reach him as fast as we could, given Eve’s injury, when he sat up. ‘Adam,’ he called and it was obvious he was in some distress. ‘Adam,’ his voice was high with incipient hysteria, ‘Come here please, Adam, now.’

  We reached him. Charlie was staring fixedly at the snowdrift; his face a mask of horror. Eve hugged him tightly. ‘Charlie, are you hurt?’ she asked.

  He shook his head and pointed to the snowdrift, his finger trembling. Only it wasn’t a snowdrift at all. It was the body of a man, the corpse of what I could only assume had recently been Edgar Beaumont.

  Chapter Seven

  There was nothing in the least triumphant about our return to the castle. Every aspect of my theory had been proved correct. Eve and her nephew had been fully justified in championing me. Nevertheless, our mood was sombre. Shock was fast overcoming young Charlie; he held tight to his Auntie Eve for comfort. For so much of the day I had forgotten his age; for he had talked and acted far in advance of twelve. Now he was just another young boy, witness to a dreadful sight and in need of comfort.

  Eve was also in great distress, partly from shock and partly from the pain of her ankle injury. She clung to me as tightly as Charlie clung to her. I held her tightly, partly to comfort her and partly for the solace I got from it. I don’t care how much experience of war or the dreadful acts of man against man you experience; there is never a point when you become inured to the sight of violence.

  In this case it was the unexpected encounter with what seemed at first sight a brutal assault that enhanced the shock. We reached the kitchen entrance and walked through, careless of our appearance. The kitchen was now an oasis of calm compared to the frenzied hive of activity we had left. Only Cathy Marsh was there, superintending the steady dripping of coffee into the filter jug. ‘You’ve missed your dinner,’ she told us curtly. ‘There’s nothing left for you, I’m afraid.’

  She should have said, ‘I’m glad,’ for it was what she meant.

  I was quick enough to beat both Charlie and Eve to a reply. ‘If you’ll take my advice I’d stick a bottle of brandy in that coffee and dish out some indigestion tablets instead of the After Eights. That lot in there will need them by the time I’ve finished.’

  I turned to help Eve and Charlie into the dining hall and turned back. ‘You can also have your husband and Rathbone here in the kitchen in half an hour to await my orders.’ I saw a look of astonishment on her face as I left the room.

  If the dining hall at Mulgrave Castle had a Shakespearian feel to it, our entrance would have done justice to any Stratford production of the Bard’s works. From Charlie’s white, tear-stained, and woebegone face to Eve, distressed, limping, and obviously in pain the replete diners gaze transferred to me. In hindsight I suppose my appearance would have been admired by the make-up artists in charge of any performance of the Scottish Play. There was blood on my hands from where I had examined Beaumont’s sickening wounds. This seemed to have transferred to my coat and trousers in great quantities.

  Polly Jardine was in the middle of a sarcastic, ‘The wanderers return,’ when she saw the state of us and fell silent. The rest of the party fell silent as well. Bailey, I thought irreverently, you’ve done it again.

  ‘Harriet, would you help Eve take Charlie upstairs and look after him, he’s had a pretty nasty experience, I’m afraid. When you can spare some time, take care of Eve’s ankle too. I’m afraid it’s badly sprained.’

  Lady Charlotte stood up. ‘I’ll go with Harriet. I was a nursing sister during the war,’ she said by way of explanation. Harriet sat there a second too long. ‘Harriet, now!’ Charlotte said.

  I turned to Eve. ‘Will you be OK? I must start sorting things out.’

  She laid her hand on my arm. ‘Come up to my room when you get chance, don’t leave me out of things.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I won’t.’

  Harriet appeared at her son’s side. ‘No Harriet, this side,’ I told her curtly. ‘Eve needs help as well.’

  I looked up. Tony was on his feet, concern on his face. I waited until Harriet and Charlotte had taken Charlie and Eve out of the room then turned to the now downcast looking gathering. ‘Tony, we need to talk in private. Your study, I think.’

  I addressed the gathering and I couldn’t resist the dig, ‘You might as well know that whilst you lot were feeding your faces and no doubt laughing at our stupidity for venturing out in a snowstorm on a wild goose chase, we found your missing guest. He was lying in the snow as he must have been since last night. He was lying there because somebody beat his brains to a pulp. Somebody from within this house, because it wouldn’t have been possible for anyone from outside to reach the castle. So if you start to feel just a tad complacent, remember the person next to you could be a murderer.’

  I’d done it again. If anyone wanted the ideal person to introduce a mime artist I’d be the one. Tony and I exited the dining hall to the sound of our own footsteps.

  When we reached the privacy of his study Tony sank into the chair and said pleadingly, ‘Adam, can you go through it for me, slowly. Just what happened out there? What did you discover and what are the implications?’

  By the time I’d finished Tony was ready to pick the phone up. ‘Listen, Adam, I’m sorry I misjudged you. There’s so much going on around me that I don’t understand. I’m good with money but I don’t understand people like you do. You seem to attract women and they respect you. You also think through situations like I can’t do.’

  My heart warmed to Tony. He was a baronet, wealthy beyond anything I could achieve, with a mansion that just missed being a palace and countless acres of land. He had a loving wife (I hoped), and a trio of delightful children, yet in that moment I realized he was as confused and lost about life as the rest of us were as we blundered along, trying to find our way. ‘Tony,’ I told him directly, ‘I think before you phone the police we should have a straight talk. One thing I am not is a ladies’ man. Neither am I a magnet for them. Quite the opposite. My track record speaks for itself. Let me tell you something. Your wife, as you well know, had an affair with me when we were at university. That has nothing to do with what is going on today. It happened years ago; before you met Harriet. Last night she came to my room,’ – I held up my hand to still his protest – ‘and why do you think she came to m
y room? Because she was dreadfully worried about you, that’s why. She loves you and knows you are frightened stiff about this inherited family madness nonsense. Can I ask you a serious question, Tony? What on earth makes you worried about the madness thing? Because you seem to me to be one of the sanest men I ever met.’

  Tony smiled. ‘Adam, I had my doubts about you, I admit. Then I met you. I like you. You don’t weasel about like some of my so-called friends and relatives. I just hope you can help us with this fix we’re in.’ He dialled 999.

  He was still trying to get through to a police officer of some rank when to our surprise Eve hobbled in, followed by Rathbone, bearing a tray with three glasses and a whisky decanter. ‘Tony,’ she told her brother-in-law, ‘kindly order this cretin back to work. Adam hasn’t eaten since breakfast, neither has Charlie, and neither have I. We all need something to eat and he’s whinging that you said the staff could have the rest of the day off. He doesn’t seem to realize what the situation is.’

  Tony held up one hand and spoke into the receiver, ‘Hold on a moment.’ He turned to the butler who was dithering about arranging the contents of the tray. ‘Rathbone,’ he told him, ‘All bets are off. I want you and Marsh in the kitchen, that’s both Cathy and Frank. First of all I want a round of sandwiches and a cup of hot chocolate sent to Charlie’s room, then another salver of sandwiches in here at the double. I want them delivered within the next five minutes.’

  Rathbone trudged disconsolately from the room and I pulled a chair out for Eve. ‘You shouldn’t be here, you ought to be resting your leg,’ I told her.

  ‘I didn’t want to miss out on anything and I thought you might need some help,’ she told me.