Murder at the Castle

by Jeanne M. Dams

  ‘It’s Dorothy, and I didn’t do a thing. She’s a very resilient lady, your wife, as well as being beautiful. And your children are darlings.’

  We shook hands, Alan tucked the letter safely into his breast pocket, and we hurried down to the car.

  ‘Whew!’ I said when we were out of earshot. ‘I feel as if I’ve lived several lifetimes since we got up. And I’m starved. I was too busy worrying to eat breakfast. Those poor people. Um . . . are you sure we’re on the right road? I thought we turned back there for Tower.’

  Alan grinned. ‘For once, dear heart, your sense of direction is accurate. We’re going to the police station in Wrexham, to give the Inspector this letter.’

  ‘But isn’t Pat due at Tower any time?’

  ‘She is. I phoned Nigel earlier to expect her. He’ll cope.’

  We were longer at Wrexham than I had anticipated, since everything had to be explained, and the Inspector was a painstaking man. I was on tenterhooks the whole time. What if Pat felt threatened somehow, and fled again? What if Nigel asked her too many questions? What if she’d changed her mind and never came at all?

  When we finally, finally, got back to Tower, however, we found Nigel, Inga and a girl I assumed to be Pat sitting at the breakfast table drinking coffee.

  Pat would have been a pretty girl if she hadn’t looked so miserable. Her dark, curly hair framed a face that was meant to be round and cheerful. Instead, she looked gaunt, with dark circles under her eyes. Her clothes gave the same impression. They were attractive and unusual, a blue T-shirt and jeans, both trimmed with elaborate and unusual black crocheted lace, but they had the air of being thrown on without thought.

  ‘You’ll be Pat Stevens,’ I said, holding out a hand. ‘Dorothy Martin. And I have to say, my dear, that I’ve never seen such an interesting outfit. Casual and dressy at the same time. Wherever did you find it?’

  ‘Oh.’ She looked down at her clothes as if she’d never seen them before. ‘I made them. Made the lace, I mean.’

  ‘I’m impressed,’ I said truthfully. ‘I’m no good at that sort of thing.’

  I plumped down at the table, gazing with longing at the one remaining piece of toast, and Mairi poked her head in as if reading my mind.

  ‘All right?’ she asked.

  ‘Mairi, we’re being perfect nuisances, and I’m so sorry.’

  ‘No, no. What can I get you for breakfast?’

  ‘Just coffee for me, thanks,’ said Alan, ‘but I think Dorothy would like the lot. It’s been a rather . . . interesting morning.’

  ‘Right,’ said Mairi. ‘I’ll just be a moment.’

  ‘It’s nearly ten,’ I said, ‘and that poor woman undoubtedly has other things to do besides cook me breakfast. But thank you. I wouldn’t have had the nerve to ask. It’s a pity one doesn’t tip at a B & B.’

  ‘When this is all over, we’ll take the two of them out to the finest dinner we can find, and tell them the whole story,’ said Alan. ‘Meanwhile, Pat, we’re eager to hear what you have to tell us.’

  She shrugged, a little helplessly. ‘I don’t know what you want from me. Nigel’s told me I might know something about what’s been happening, that woman’s death and all, but I can’t imagine what. I never even met her.’

  ‘We’d like to know what Daniel told you about her,’ said Alan. ‘I do realize this may be painful for you, and I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t terribly, terribly important.’

  She swallowed. Alan poured her a glass of water and waited.

  ‘He told me a lot of stuff, most of it months ago. Do you want all that?’

  ‘Please. Everything you can remember.’

  ‘Well, when we both auditioned and were accepted for the choir, Dan was really excited. He sings – sang – in the cathedral choir in Manchester. It has a really good choir, did you know?’

  ‘An excellent choir,’ said Nigel, nodding.

  ‘And Dan thinks – thought – Sir John’s the next thing to God. He just couldn’t get over how wonderful it was to be singing for him. We were both over the moon, actually. So we went out to dinner to celebrate. We didn’t do that a lot, because neither of us had much money, you know? But we were both so . . .’ Tears welled up, but she brushed them away impatiently. ‘Anyway, Dan took me to this really expensive place, and there was this other couple there, and we could hear them talking, and Dan got really upset, because they were talking about Sir John.’

  Mairi slipped into the room with my breakfast, and I tried to eat noiselessly while Pat went on with her story.

  ‘The woman was being really cruel, talking about how she was going to make him pay, make him sorry he’d ever left her, and so on. So I asked Dan who she was, and he said her name was Delia something or other, and she was Sir John’s first wife.’

  ‘How did he know that, Pat?’ asked Alan.

  ‘I’m not sure. He was rather jibbering, because he was nearly beside himself with anger. I think he’d seen her before at some concert he sang in way back when he was a treble, just a kid. It must have been before that shipwreck, because he kept saying that she was supposed to be dead, and what a . . . witch she was, and what this would do to Sir John and his family, and . . . well, it spoiled the evening for us.’

  ‘I’m sure it must have done. When was this, by the way?’

  ‘The middle of February, because that’s when the audition results were announced.’ Another tear escaped.

  ‘You’re being very brave about this, Pat, and we appreciate it. I have only a few more questions. Did Dan talk to you any more about this incident?’

  She sighed. ‘He talked of nothing else! At first he wanted to find this woman and try to talk her out of what she was planning, though he didn’t have any clear idea of what that was. He’d wanted to do that even that night, just walk over to their table and . . . I don’t know, scream at her, I suppose. I’d managed to drag him away before he could do that, but he wouldn’t stop talking about it. Then he wanted to go to Sir John and tell him his wife was still alive and planning mischief, but I persuaded him to wait until after the festival. He finally agreed to that, because I kept telling him how it would upset the man, and ruin the festival he’d worked so hard for. Sir John, I mean, but of course Dan too, and me, for that matter, and all the musicians. It was in aid of such a good cause, and it meant so much to everyone involved. So he let the subject drop, most of the time, but I knew it was still weighing on his mind.’

  ‘I have a question, if you don’t mind, Pat, about that first evening, when Dan recognized the woman. Did either of you know who the man was, her dinner partner?’

  ‘Not then, but we both thought we recognized him later, when rehearsals began. He looked a lot like the concertmaster, Ben Peterson.’

  TWENTY-THREE

  ‘Right,’ said Alan, after we all exchanged glances. ‘Now I know you’ve had enough, Pat, but there’s one more question I’d like to ask. Before I do, though, I should tell you that we know that the woman you and Dan saw in the restaurant that night was indeed Sir John’s first wife, but the marriage had long been legally dissolved. Her real name was Delia Warner, but she had adopted the stage name of Madame de la Rosa.’

  Pat gasped.

  ‘Yes. The mezzo soloist for the festival, the one who died. Further, we do not know, but we believe, that she was responsible for Dan’s death.’

  ‘So that’s . . . James kept talking about Madame . . . but I didn’t know . . .’

  ‘No one knew the two were one and the same, except of course Sir John, perhaps Dan, and presumably Mr Peterson, if he was the man you saw with her in April.’

  ‘But if James thought she killed Dan,’ I said gently, ‘it wouldn’t have mattered to him what her name was. He would have hated her for killing his friend.’

  Pat sat up straight. ‘Are you saying that James killed this woman? Madame de la Rosa, or Delia, or whoever she was?’

  ‘We have no evidence whatsoever,’ said Alan, with a warning look at me, ‘that
Delia’s death was anything but accidental. We do believe that she was responsible for Dan’s fall from the canal boat, either by accident or by design. We think James must have seen her push him, and we’d very much like to talk to him about that in order to put the matter to rest. Can you tell us where he is?’

  ‘We quarrelled. He . . . I . . .’ She made a little face and clasped her arms around her chest in a classic defensive pose.

  ‘He became possessive?’ I suggested gently.

  ‘He seemed to think because he was Dan’s friend, and Dan was gone, that he owned me now! And I don’t even like him! He was bloody awful to me before Dan died, but then he turned to me afterwards, I suppose because we were both grieving. I went with him because I felt sorry for him, but when he started . . . well, I told him to bugger off!’

  Anger had replaced her tears, but the tears wouldn’t be long in coming back, and this time she’d really break down, if I was any judge.

  ‘Pat, you have no reason to protect him,’ I said urgently. ‘When did you and James O’Hara part company, and where is he now?’

  ‘I pushed him out yesterday, and if I had to guess, I’d say he’s back in Wicklow, and be damned to him!’ And she buried her face in her hands and began to sob.

  Alan had arranged with Mairi for Pat to stay at Tower for a night or two, if she wished, and as she was plainly in no state to drive back to Penzance, Inga and Mairi helped her up to her room. Inga stayed with her while the rest of us put our heads together.

  ‘My heart aches for that child,’ I said with a sigh. ‘She seems to be quite alone, and she’s at an age when even a small crisis can seem like the end of the world, let alone the death of a beloved. I hope she’ll be all right. But what are we going to do now?’

  ‘I’m going back to the police with all this,’ said Alan. ‘We have enough now to request a review of the whole case, and enough to ask Inspector Owen to bring James O’Hara in for questioning. Nigel, when do you have to be at the castle?’

  Nigel glanced at his watch. ‘Not till two. The concert’s at three today. Sir John wants to go over the Pié Jesu, but most of us know it quite well, so it’s just a matter of balance and his own interpretation, that sort of thing. It’s only ten thirty, so we’ve piles of time.’

  ‘Good. Then I’d like you to phone the festival office – you’d better ring Sir John first, so you won’t run into roadblocks – and find the Andrews twins. You know where they’re staying, yes? Then go and talk to them about, first, James and what led Larry to think he might have engineered Delia’s death, and second, what either of them might know about Ben Peterson. If I can get back to the castle by one I will, or a little earlier if possible, because I want to talk to the twins too, and to Mr Peterson. Dorothy, if you will, I’d like you to come with me. I’ll drop you off at Soughton Hall, and you can make sure all is serene there. Tell them not to worry any more. Oh, and you might say I think I know who sent the letter.’

  ‘What? Who?’

  ‘What letter?’ asked poor Nigel.

  ‘Later,’ shouted Alan, heading for the front door.

  Nigel turned to me. ‘What letter?’

  ‘I can’t tell you just now. I’m beginning to have a glimmer, but . . . I’m sorry, I can’t tell you. It’s not my secret. I have to go.’

  And I hustled to the car. I sincerely hoped I’d have time to change clothes before the concert. Jeans and sneakers aren’t my idea of proper concert attire, even an al fresco one. I could have asked Inga to bring me something if I’d thought of it. Never mind.

  ‘Who?’ I asked Alan the minute I was settled in the car.

  ‘Haven’t you worked it out?’

  ‘Maybe. It all depends on the postmark, doesn’t it?’

  Alan beamed at me. ‘I knew you’d get it.’

  Soughton Hall, which had been slumbering peacefully when we left it earlier, was now bustling with activity. A marquee had been set up in the back garden, and the staff were carrying tables and chairs and china and cutlery and flowers out to it.

  Somebody was getting married. Well, they had a beautiful setting for it.

  When I inquired after the Warners, the desk clerk told me she thought they had taken the children for a walk in the garden. It must, I thought, be difficult to keep two active toddlers busy and happy for such an extended stay away from home, and now that their nanny had flown the coop, Cynthia certainly had her hands full. Not for the first time, I wished I were better with small children. School-age ones, the middle grades, I could deal with, but the little ones . . .

  I had wandered past the marquee by now and into the gardens, which were formal and not, I thought, terribly child-friendly. For one thing, there was a pond which any right-minded child would find irresistible.

  Sure enough, there they were at the other end of the pond. Jack was throwing bits of gravel into the water, while Jill was leaning over it, gazing intently. Her father squatted beside her, a firm hand on the waistband of her skirt.

  ‘No fish,’ said Jill in a tone of disapproval.

  ‘No, darling, I don’t think this is the kind of pond with fish.’

  ‘Jack’s scaring them away. You stop, Jack!’ She tried to move toward her twin, but her father’s grip kept her where she was. ‘Let go, Daddy!’ she commanded.

  ‘Let’s go see what the chipmunk is doing, shall we?’ He scooped her up in his arms, and turned and saw me.

  ‘Getting just a little bored, are we?’ I said. ‘Hello, Jill.’

  She buried her head in Sir John’s shoulder.

  ‘Bored and restless. Frieda had promised them a little jaunt to the seaside today, and they’re not very happy about missing it.’

  ‘I wish I could help, but I’m terrified at the idea of supervising two active children at such a hazardous place as the seaside. Oh!’

  Sir John raised his eyebrows. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘No. I’ve just had an idea. Inga and Nigel have a little boy almost exactly the same age as your two, and I know she’s missing him dreadfully. Well, they both are, but Nigel has such a lot to do, and Inga’s more or less along for the ride. What if she were to take the children out today? She’s perfectly reliable, I can attest to that, and I know she’d love to do it.’

  ‘Want to go to seaside!’ Jill cast her vote in favour of the proposition.

  ‘Let’s ask Mummy, shall we?’

  Cynthia, who was looking frazzled, agreed with enthusiasm, so all that remained was to phone Inga to see if she was agreeable.

  ‘Oh, I’m glad you called. Of course I’d love to take the kids to the beach. Nigel can take us, on his way to talk to Larry and Laurie, and we’ll get a cab or a bus or something when everyone’s tired. I don’t mind missing today’s concert; Carmina isn’t one of my favourites. And I think we should take Pat along. She’s feeling better, having got all that off her chest, but she needs some distraction, and I could use a second pair of hands and eyes. We’ll be there in . . . half an hour? And would you like me to bring you some smarter clothes? I thought of it after you left.’

  I thanked her for everything and reported to the Warners, who were delighted. The twins, of course, were overjoyed. The half-hour sped past as we got the children ready and assembled all the necessary paraphernalia. We spent the last few minutes outside watching the final preparations for the wedding.

  ‘Birthday party?’ queried Jill.

  ‘Even nicer,’ said her mother. ‘A wedding.’

  ‘With cake and games?’

  ‘Cake, but probably not games.’

  ‘Birthday party’s better,’ she said with finality.

  There were a few sticky moments when the children realized they were going off with people they didn’t know, without their parents, but Inga and Pat dealt with them competently, and when they’d left both parents heaved a great sigh of relief.

  ‘Now, I may have to impose upon you for a ride to the castle,’ I said as we went back inside. ‘Alan’s off to Wrexham to talk to the poli
ce and set some things in motion. And I was to tell you not to worry, that everything’s under control, and he thinks he knows who wrote the anonymous letter.’

  ‘Who?’ they asked in unison.

  ‘He didn’t say. He can be terribly annoying at times. And I think I’m beginning to have an idea, but I’d better not say, in case I’m wildly wrong. But we really are on the right track at last, I think, and truly, this nightmare is nearly over.’

  They looked at me searchingly, but I simply smiled. Alan could tell them the whole story, if we ever did work it out. I wasn’t going to tantalize them with hints and guesses.

  They treated me to an excellent early lunch at The Stables, then I changed clothes, begged a toothbrush from the management, said goodbye to Cynthia, who had decided to stay behind and rest, and was ready to go back to the castle.

  For the last time. The last concert. I found myself hoping with ridiculous fervour that it would go well, that there would be no untoward incidents to spoil it, that the musicians and the audience alike would be lifted to that exalted state of consciousness that only music can evoke. I wanted to learn who had killed Delia, and how. I wanted the Warners out from under the cloud of doubt and suspicion. But I wanted none of the solution to cast a pall over the concert.

  John cast a wary eye at the sky as we set out. ‘I hope the weather holds. We’ve been unbelievably lucky so far, but this fine weather can’t last forever. Those clouds . . .’

  I peered out the window. ‘They look like fair-weather clouds to me. I’m sure it’ll be all right.’ But there was a heaviness to the air that, back home in the States, might have boded a storm.

  Things are different here in Wales, I reminded myself.

  We were very early. Alan had arrived, but the only musicians there were Nigel, the Andrews twins, and a disgruntled concertmaster, who was inclined to be snappish.

  ‘I have a demanding concert to play this afternoon, in case it had escaped your notice,’ he snarled.

  ‘I need only a few minutes of your time,’ said Alan, but his tone was in no way conciliatory. ‘I believe the late Madame de la Rosa was a . . . good friend, shall we say, of yours?’