Well, perhaps I could find a music store somewhere and at least take a look at violin strings. I realized I actually had little idea what they looked like off the instrument. And surely I could find some way to examine that balcony. If someone had hung something from its ceiling, there ought to be some trace.
The strings might even still be there! If the castle had been locked up since the rehearsal . . . if no one had been up there . . . And then I was deflated again. The police had been up there. They had presumably investigated thoroughly. If there had been anything hanging from the ceiling, they would have noticed.
But wait. Delia had been pawing at her face and hair. Suppose she had torn them down. Would they have been clasped in her hands as she fell?
Slowly I shook my head. If she had felt something in her hands, she would have thought it was part of a spider web, and would have been frantic to get rid of it. I knew that for a certainty. My arachnophobia isn’t as severe as my claustrophobia, but it’s bad enough that I knew exactly what Delia would have done.
And in that case . . .
Alan came back into the room, freshly showered and shaved. ‘You have an “aha” look about you, woman,’ he commented.
‘My famous un-poker face again, eh? I’ll tell you all about it after I’ve cleaned up.’
So, fifteen minutes later, while I was combing the tangles out of my wet hair, I told him where my train of thought had led me.
‘You’re quite sure she wouldn’t have grasped them?’
‘Quite sure.’ The mere thought made me shudder.
‘What is it about women and spiders?’ Alan inquired, shaking his head a little.
‘I don’t know. I have no idea. Some of them are poisonous, of course, but not many, certainly not most. It’s no more rational than any other phobia. I know spiders are very useful creatures that eat things like flies. I know they’re amazing engineers, that their webs are admirable structures and often very beautiful. I also know that when I see a spider, or especially when I brush up against a web, my skin starts to crawl and I have to get away.’ I shuddered again. ‘I’d rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind.’
Alan accepted that, though still obviously wondering how an otherwise intelligent and fairly sensible women could so fear a harmless creature perhaps a millionth her size. ‘So what do you think happened to your hypothetical violin strings?’
‘I think she pulled them down. Now that I come to think of it, that could have been what made her fall. They caught in her fingers, and they offered some resistance. That is, if they were taped or glued to the ceiling. She wouldn’t have expected that and – oh, Alan, that would have made it much, much worse! It would have been as if the spider was pulling back – quite irrational, but dreadful. She would have fought all the harder, and when the strings suddenly gave way, her momentum . . .’
‘You have too good an imagination, love. You’re looking quite distraught. What you need is some breakfast to take away the nightmares. Get into some clothes, and let’s see what Charles and Mairi have for us this morning.’
I was happy enough to drop the subject of spiders, but on the way downstairs I said, ‘After breakfast, I want to find a music shop and look at some violin strings.’
TWELVE
Nigel and Inga were just finishing their last pieces of toast when we walked into the breakfast room. ‘Morning, sleepy-heads,’ Nigel greeted us.
‘Ah, youth,’ I declaimed. ‘Up with the birds, full of energy. Actually, I was up before any of you. Only I fell asleep again.’
‘Ah, age!’ said Nigel wickedly. ‘The privilege of sleeping late, dreaming away one’s days, basking in the golden years.’
‘A little respect for your elders, boy,’ said Alan. ‘And since you’re astir so early, what are your plans for the morning? The concert’s not until three, if I remember correctly.’
‘Yes, and I don’t have much to do today. It’s song cycles – well, you’ve read the program – and there are only two for tenor. And I’ve sung them before, so I don’t have to practice. Inga and I thought we might drive in to Chester, spend the morning there and have a bit of lunch. I’ve oceans of time.’
That suited my purposes splendidly. Chester’s a good-sized cathedral city, and a big tourist destination because of the cathedral, the Roman wall and other ancient remains, and most of all its unusual shopping area, the Rows. Beautiful half-timbered buildings, some authentically Elizabethan, others lovely Victorian copies, hold shops of every kind. That in itself would be enough to attract visitors, but Chester is, I believe, unique in that the shops are on two levels. Above the street level, arcaded walkways lead to a second set of shops above the first. Some are simply the second storeys of large establishments, but most are separate entities, often small, quirky, and entirely delightful. There was bound to be at least one music shop among them.
‘Oh, Nigel, what a lovely idea! Alan and I would love to go with you. At least I would. Shopping isn’t always his thing.’ I questioned him with a glance.
He, of course, knew perfectly well what I was thinking. He grinned and said, ‘I think I’ll go for a stroll instead, if nobody minds. There’s some lovely countryside around here, and I haven’t stretched my legs in days.’
Well, that suited me. I could combine my search for intelligence with a bit of real shopping, and I truly do love Chester. The taste Alan and I had had of it on our way to Tower had only whetted my appetite. ‘Right,’ I said. ‘Oh, Mairi, good morning. I think I’ll just have cereal and toast this morning. I’ve been eating far too much, and I’m keeping Nigel and Inga waiting.’
I hurried through my breakfast, with some regret at the thought of the lovely bacon I was missing, and brushed my teeth in record time. I’d floss tonight, I assured my mirror, a promise I make with regrettable frequency and too often forget to keep.
The day was another picture-perfect one. ‘How long can this last?’ I wondered as we sped toward Chester, just the other side of the Welsh-English border.
‘Until the festival’s over, I devoutly hope,’ said Nigel. ‘A storm like the one on Saturday would be a disaster.’
‘Couldn’t you move the whole operation into the church?’
‘Not easily, and I’d imagine not without paying a whacking great fee for the privilege. Of course I don’t have anything to do with the business end, but a small festival like this one doesn’t take in a lot, and then there’s the RNLI to think about. Extra expenses are a constant worry.’
‘Sir John has pots of money,’ said Inga comfortably. ‘He could come up with the cash if necessary.’
He might not have had so much if he’d had to pay Delia what she was demanding.
For an awful moment I was afraid I’d spoken the thought aloud, but as there was no response from the other two, I realized I hadn’t. They were very quiet, though, and I wondered if they might be thinking much the same thing.
Delia’s death had been awfully convenient for a lot of people.
Most of the shops weren’t open yet when we got to Chester, so we wandered about in the cathedral for a while. It’s smallish, as cathedrals go, but then most cathedrals look small compared to Sherebury’s. Chester’s has some lovely details, including the most magnificent bishop’s throne, or ‘cathedra’, that I’ve ever seen. As the good cathedrals almost always are, it was teeming with visitors.
‘Too bad more of them don’t make it to church on Sundays,’ I murmured. For England, these days, is not a nation of church-goers, more’s the pity. Even if I had no concern for English souls, I hate to think about the beautiful medieval churches all over the United Kingdom being closed for lack of attendance, and going into disrepair for lack of funds.
When we left the cathedral, blinking in the sunshine, we headed straight for the Rows. I had forgotten how festive the shops could look on a brilliantly sunny June day. I could let my eyes unfocus and almost believe I was watching a medieval market day, for the area was closed to almost all vehicular traffic,
and people were everywhere. Flowers decked many shops, flags and banners hung from others, and the noise was terrific.
‘All right, I have some shopping to do, and I’m sure you two have your own plans. So before we separate, where shall we meet for lunch, and when?’
‘The Coach House?’ suggested Inga. ‘They do a lovely ploughman’s, with local cheese.’
‘A good pub,’ I agreed. ‘Twelve thirty? One?’
‘We’d better make it twelve thirty, because I need to be at the castle a bit before three. And the first one there orders beer for three, right?’
On that happy note we separated and I headed straight for the Tourist Information Office to ask them to help me find a music shop.
I got lost a couple of times, but finally found the shop, and . . . Oh, dear!
I suppose I should have expected such hordes. There was a big music festival in town, after all, or if not exactly in town, then not very far away. Musicians need musical supplies. Duh.
And of course the first people I ran into were the twins, Larry and Laurie.
‘Hello!’ said Laurie. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t remember your name, but we met at the pub last night. I didn’t know you were a musician.’
‘Dorothy Martin. And I’m not. A musician, I mean.’ I looked around, frantically hoping to see something that would give me an excuse for being there. Instruments. Instrument cases. Printed music. Music stands. Stand lights. The hundreds of other small items that musicians require. ‘I think, actually, I may be in the wrong place. I was hoping to find some CDs of the music being performed this week, but it looks as though this place stocks only items for making music, not for listening to it.’
Weak, but they were Americans, too, and unfamiliar with British shops. They might buy it.
‘I suppose you’re here for new violin strings,’ I went on brightly. ‘Such a shame about yours going missing.’
‘Yeah, and if I ever catch whoever took them, I’ll wring his neck. I don’t suppose you have any idea how hard it is to play a whole concert on a brand-new string.’
‘Well, no, I actually don’t. Why does a new string make it harder?’
‘Well, for one thing, it wasn’t the kind I usually use. I prefer gut strings, and the one I bummed is steel. There’s a lot of difference in sound. But the big thing is, strings stretch as they’re played. Once you’ve got your strings played in, they’re pretty good at maintaining pitch. But a new one, besides sounding crude, stretches out of tune really fast, so you have to keep retuning. It’s a big pain.’
‘I can see it might be. But I thought all violin strings were made of cat gut. Though as a cat lover I find the idea somewhat repellent. Aren’t steel strings for guitars?’
‘Come on.’ She took me by the hand and led me through the crowded shop. ‘You need an education.’
I wasn’t sure I actually did need exhaustive knowledge about violin strings, but I certainly needed to take a good look at some, and Laurie was giving me a wonderful opportunity to ask questions without raising suspicion.
‘Here we are.’ We had arrived at the back of the shop. ‘Now look. See all the different brands? They really are different, too, and some are a lot more expensive than others.’ She pulled one packet off its display hook and showed me the price tag.
‘Seventy pounds?’ I was in shock. ‘For a few feet of . . . whatever they’re made of?’
‘I told you. These are the very best. They’re gut at the core – sheep gut, by the way, it never was cat – wound with silver and gold, and they have the most gorgeous sound. They break in fast, they’re really stable once they’ve stretched; they’re ideal, really. But that’s . . . what . . . well, over a hundred dollars, anyway. I buy these at home; I can’t afford them here, not with maybe having to pay duty when I get back to the States. And of course I also have to buy a replacement set for Jessie, the guy who gave me his.’
‘Now I understand why you were so upset at losing yours. So what are you going to do?’
‘I’ll get these for myself.’ She replaced the first packet with care amounting almost to reverence, and pulled another off a hook a few displays down. ‘These are perfectly adequate, at about half the price. I don’t like the sound much, but they break in relatively fast. If I replace the e-string right away and play like mad until tomorrow, it’ll do well enough. Better than Jessie’s, anyway.’
‘Tomorrow? Not today?’
‘Today’s just art songs. Larry’s singing a couple of them, but they’re accompanied by piano. So I’ve got the day off, or I would have if I didn’t have to spend it fiddling. And I’ll get these.’ She pulled off another packet. ‘They’re the kind Jessie uses. I can’t stand them, but to each his own. And it was really nice of him to let me use his. I was panicked.’ She pulled a wallet out of the colourful canvas carryall she was using for a handbag and surveyed its contents ruefully. ‘Looks like cheese and crackers for the rest of the trip! Now if I can shove through to the checkout . . .’
‘Look, Laurie.’ I planted myself in front of her. ‘We don’t really know each other, but we’re fellow Americans. And I’d hate for you to leave this country remembering a theft as your most important experience. I’d like to pay the difference between those,’ I pointed to one of the packets, ‘and the strings you really want. It’s not so much, really, and I’m not on the kind of budget you are. And then I’d like to take you to lunch. I’m meeting Nigel Evans and his wife at a delightful pub not far from here. How about it?’
‘Oh, I couldn’t let you do that, really. I’m sorry I griped so much about it. Honestly, these will be fine.’
‘They won’t, and you know it perfectly well. Besides, it’s silly to spend your money on something you’ll never use again after this week. Laurie, I’d like to do this, for you and for the sake of music.’
I could see her hesitating. ‘My dear, I’m nearly seventy. I don’t have all that many more years to listen to music, even if I keep my hearing to the end, and to tell you the truth it’s getting a little dodgy. And I don’t have children of my own to give presents to. And my husband and I aren’t exactly rich, but our money will certainly last us to the end of our days. So please?’
She gave in, with a broad smile and hug. ‘We’ll make it a loan, okay? As soon as I get home and start earning some money, I can pay you back.’
‘If you think you must. Now let’s buy those things, and then would you like to come shopping with me? I need a new summer hat.’
Laurie, who had probably never worn a hat in her life, was greatly bemused by my efforts to find one I liked. ‘But where do you wear them?’ she asked.
‘Anywhere I like. I know almost no one else does any more. I don’t care. I like hats and I look nice in them, and I’ll tell you a little secret. Men love hats. I’ve had more compliments than I can count from perfect strangers. Makes Alan quite jealous.’
‘Really?’ was all she said, but she tried on a hat or two, all the same. When I finally found one I loved, I caught her in front of a mirror with a modest straw boater on the back of her head. She burst into giggles when she saw my reflection looming in the mirror.
‘I look like an idiot!’
‘Well . . .’ I took the hat off her head. ‘That’s a nice hat for you, but this is the way to wear it.’ I put it well forward on her head and tilted it over one eye. ‘There. Now you look like an old-fashioned French schoolgirl.’
She did, too. Laurie had shoulder-length blonde hair. Last night she’d had it pulled back in one of those scrunchy things, but today she’d held it in place with a huge barrette, the kind that always reminds me of a heavy-duty paper clip. She’d removed it to try on the hat, and her hair rippled down, clean and shiny. With the hat, she looked exactly like Leslie Caron in Gigi, if Gigi had been a blonde.
‘You don’t think I look silly?’
‘Do you think you do?’
‘Well . . . actually I think I look sort of nice.’ She took the hat off with some reluctance. ‘But I
can’t afford it, and anyway I’d never wear it.’
‘I’ll accept the poverty excuse. Been there, done that. But never be afraid to do something because you think you’ll look foolish. The secret to enjoying life is not to mind making a fool of yourself. Now, let’s go find Nigel and Inga and some lunch.’
I wore my new hat out of the store. It was a broad-brimmed pink affair with a single, huge pink rose, and it didn’t go at all with my jeans and T-shirt. Never mind. I liked it, and on the way to the pub two men told me how nice they thought it was. I winked at Laurie.
Nigel and Inga were, of course, used to my eccentricities, and didn’t turn a hair at my appearance. ‘New one?’ asked Inga.
‘Just bought it. What do you think?’
‘It suits you,’ said Nigel. ‘I’ve ordered you a pint and a ploughman’s. I hope that was all right. I’d have ordered something for you, Laurie, but we didn’t know you were coming.’
‘I didn’t know myself. We ran into each other, and Mrs Martin invited me to come along.’
She looked over the menu and settled on a ploughman’s lunch, also. ‘Not that I really know what that is, but if you all say it’s good, it’s okay with me.’
Inga noticed Laurie’s parcel. ‘Did you find something exciting?’
‘Just new strings. I got two sets, one for me, one for Jessie, the guy who let me use his.’ She opened her mouth to say something more, with a glance at me, but I gave a tiny shake of my head. My small contribution to the deal was our secret.
‘May I see?’ asked Inga. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen them except on a violin.’
I breathed a sigh of relief that I’d said nothing of my suspicions to anyone except Alan. Inga was perfectly natural in her request, and had played nicely into my hands.
Laurie obligingly took out the expensive packet of superior strings. ‘They don’t really look like much.’ She opened the packet and let the strings slide out on to the table, making sure first that it was clean. ‘Amazing that something so ordinary-looking can make such beautiful sounds, isn’t it?’
Murder at the Castle Page 10
