by Amy M. Reade
“Let’s chalk this up to grief and suffering for now,” I told Brenda. “You’d better hurry down to the kitchen to help your mum with luncheon. She’ll need help carrying the trays.”
Brenda nodded and scurried down the hallway toward the stairs leading down to the kitchen. I shook my head, mostly out of sorrow for everyone involved in this tragedy, and returned to the sitting room to wait for Annabel.
When she returned she looked exhausted. She ran the palm of her hand over her forehead wearily. “Poor Sian. To accuse Brenda like that. Her suffering is almost too much for her to bear. I’m going to call the doctor you lined up and see if he can give her something to help her rest.” I found the number and she rang up the doctor. Once she explained the problem, he said he would come out to the castle to see Sian before prescribing something to help her calm down and get a little sleep.
As we had expected, it wasn’t long before the police arrived. Brenda admitted two constables to the main hall and came to find Annabel and me in the sitting room, where I was listening as Annabel spoke to her barrister on the phone. He had promised to come out to the castle as soon as possible, but when he heard Brenda announce the arrival of the police, he advised Annabel not to speak to them until he arrived, but she hung up after telling him she would talk to them because she had nothing to hide.
Annabel greeted the constables in the main hall and invited them into the sitting room to answer their questions about Andreas. They asked me to leave the room while they spoke to Annabel. I wondered if she had made the right choice in answering their questions before her barrister arrived.
I waited impatiently in my room for the constables to call for me. I tried reading more of Rhisiart’s novel, but I couldn’t concentrate on the words and kept reading the same paragraph until I put the book aside in frustration. I thought about going outside for a walk, but I wasn’t sure I was allowed to leave the house while they questioned the others. I tried checking email and social media, but I found nothing could hold my interest. Finally I went downstairs in search of Maisie and Brenda to see if they had heard anything as they went about their chores in the house. Brenda had seen the other family members go into the dining room one-by-one, first Sian, then Hugh, then Rhisiart, and finally Cadi, but she hadn’t heard anything about the questions or the constables’ theories on Andreas’s death. Brenda was still upset at having been yelled at by Sian.
When the constables called me into the sitting room I sat down and wiped my clammy hands on my trouser leg. There’s no reason to be nervous, I chided myself. They’re just gathering information. But there’s something about the police being in one’s home and place of employment that makes one jumpy.
The police questioned me about how I came to be working for Annabel and why I had left Cauld Loch. They asked about Aunt Margot’s relationship with Annabel and my relationship with Annabel’s family.
Finally, when they had exhausted all the possible lines of questioning about my past, my ex-husband’s past, the reasons behind his current imprisonment, and my present employment, they turned to their questions about Andreas’s disappearance and his death. I recalled for them the bang I had heard the night Andreas went missing, then the soft crying I had heard afterward. I told them I had gone looking for the source of the crying and hadn’t found it.
When they asked how much I knew about the fight between Andreas and Sian, I had no firsthand knowledge to share with them. I had heard about the fight from Cadi and told them so. I knew Sian had confirmed their argument, but I was not certain about its cause, its outcome, or the words that were spoken in anger.
The police seemed satisfied with my answers, but took all my contact information in case they needed to talk to me again. They also noted that Sylvie would have to be questioned, too, since she arrived at the castle shortly after Andreas’s body had been discovered.
When I had been dismissed, I went in search of Annabel while Maisie took my place in the sitting room. I found my boss in her room, nursing a headache.
“Would you like to lie down for a little while?” I asked her. “I can make calls or do whatever you need me to do while you rest.”
“I would love to do that,” she answered, “but I don’t think I should. I’d like to get all the arrangements in place myself so I can feel like I’ve done everything I can for Andreas and Sian. And if I rest now, I might not be able to sleep tonight, and the thought terrifies me.”
I nodded with perfect understanding. I had suffered so many sleepless nights during that time in Cauld Loch. Daytime stress had sent me straight to my bed to escape the feelings of hurt and anger in sleep, and I paid for it night after night by lying awake, staring at the ceiling and wondering what the future held. I didn’t want Annabel to experience those same feelings.
“What’s next, then?” I asked.
“I’d like you to ring up the village newspaper and the London papers and ask them for the details about submitting an obituary. His London colleagues will need to know what’s happened, and I’m afraid Sian is in no shape to make the necessary arrangements.”
I returned to the sitting room and placed one call. The village newspaper still didn’t have a user-friendly website, so I had to talk to one of the staff members there. She was aware of Andreas’s death and had been expecting my call, she said. She expressed her condolences and I promised to pass the message along to Annabel and the rest of the family. When I rang off I checked the websites of the London papers and gathered the information necessary for the family to submit an obituary. I wondered who was going to write it. Probably Sian was the most logical choice, since she lived with Andreas every day and knew of his hobbies, his business particulars, and his passions. She could incorporate all those things into a lovely tribute to her husband. But I wondered if Annabel would want a hand in writing the obituary, too.
When we all gathered in the dining room later that evening for dinner, Sian surprised everyone by asking Rhisiart to write the obituary.
“Why me?” he asked. Then he added hastily, “Not that I don’t want to. I’d be happy to do it. I just thought it might be something you’d like to write yourself.”
“But you’re the writer. It’ll sound so much better if you write it,” Sian insisted. “And I really can’t bring myself to do it.” Sian looked around the table and for the first time I noticed how thin and haggard her face looked, how much her appearance had changed in just the past two days.
“That’s fine,” he answered. “I’ll do it tonight.” I saw the look of hurt that flickered across Annabel’s face, but she covered it up so quickly that I don’t think anyone else noticed it.
Sylvie had joined us for dinner and told us all about her afternoon spent horse riding. Her story was a welcome respite from the constant talk of Andreas and his death. From the looks she gave during the discussion, Sian didn’t seem pleased that my cousin had been outdoors enjoying the countryside when the rest of us were in mourning, but she didn’t say anything.
I stopped over at the coach house after dinner for a glass of wine. I didn’t want to hear another word about Andreas; Sylvie obliged by telling me all the news about the family and all my old friends and acquaintances back in Cauld Loch. We enjoyed a quiet evening during which I apologized profusely for not joining her on the afternoon’s excursion.
“That Griff is something,” Sylvie said with a wink. “Is he single?”
“Why? Are you looking?” I asked with a laugh.
“Of course not. But there is one single person here,” she said, eyeing me over the top of her wineglass.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I scolded. “I’m not looking for anyone. I’ve sworn off men.”
“You’re most likely to find a good one when you’re not looking,” she said slyly.
“Sylvie, you’re impossible,” I said, draining my glass. “I should get back to the house. I’m exhausted. Hopefully we’ll all s
leep well tonight.” I bid her goodnight and returned to the castle, where the only light came from the small lamp burning in the great hall and the wall sconces flickering in the semi-darkness down the hallways to the bedrooms.
All was quiet, probably because none of us had slept the previous night. I didn’t hear crying or banging or even talking. I woke up well-rested and ready to face whatever challenges the day might bring.
Chapter 6
The first challenge presented itself quite early. The two constables who had interviewed everyone the previous day were back the next morning while the family and I ate breakfast together in the dining room. The doorbell echoed through the downstairs and I could hear Brenda hurrying to answer its ring. Presently she came into the dining room, her gaze darting around the table, with the two constables behind her.
“The two constables are here again to see you,” she said to no one in particular. Annabel stood to greet them.
“How can we help you this morning?” she asked, a worried look on her face.
One of the constables cleared his throat. “Can we speak to Sian Tucker in private, please?”
Annabel turned in surprise to Sian, whose face had drained of its color when she heard her name spoken. She stood up, wobbling a bit, and walked forward. “We can go into the drawing room,” she said, her voice sounding stronger than she looked.
The two constables followed her through the door and into the adjoining drawing room, then one of them pulled the door shut so they had some privacy. The rest of us sat silently at the table, looking down at our plates, casting sidelong glances to see what everyone else was doing and, possibly, thinking.
No sound issued from the drawing room, but only two people returned to the dining room—the constables. Sian wasn’t with them.
Annabel gave the officers a questioning look, then they asked her to accompany them into the drawing room, too. It was only a moment before we heard a wail coming from the room behind the closed door. Hugh jumped up, ran to the drawing room door, and flung it open. Annabel was slumped in a chair, sobbing, holding onto the arm of one of the constables.
“Mum, what’s going on?” he demanded.
It was hard to understand her through her cries, but Annabel raised her head to look at him. The rest of us could see the goings-on from where we sat at the table.
“Andreas was pushed into the river and he drowned. He was murdered!” And she cried harder, her shoulders heaving with the effort of crying and trying to catch her breath. Everyone looked at her in shock.
“But that doesn’t make sense,” Rhisiart said, standing up and walking toward Annabel. “Andreas was a good swimmer. How is that possible? And who pushed him?”
Hugh took charge of the scene in short order. He asked the officers to leave the drawing room and called for me to help Annabel to her room. He asked Cadi to pour tea or coffee for the constables and asked Rhisiart to get the necessary information from them.
But the constables had other ideas. They informed us that Sian had gone to her room through the other exit in the drawing room, rather than facing the rest of us. They said they would need to question everyone again, beginning with Hugh and Rhisiart and continuing with Annabel and Sian when they had composed themselves sufficiently. They also demanded to see Sylvie immediately. One of the officers accompanied me to the coach house to get her and escort her back to the castle. Once inside the officer commandeered the sitting room and the other used the drawing room.
Sylvie waited a long time for the officers to finish talking to Hugh, Rhisiart, and Cadi before being called in to answer questions. She obviously had nothing to say to the police since she didn’t know Andreas or any of the family members or staff at the castle, but the constables nevertheless kept her for almost an hour.
“They were certainly thorough,” Sylvie whispered to me after she had been released from questioning. The constables appeared together in the dining room and asked each of us to go into the village to the police station to give a formal statement. We all agreed to do so, then they asked that Annabel and Sian be brought out of their rooms to answer questions about the night Andreas went missing.
Hugh went to fetch Sian and I went upstairs to Annabel’s room, where I found her reading a book and dabbing her eyes with a tissue.
“How are you feeling?” I asked her.
“Horrible. To think that my favorite son’s last hours were spent in dreadful fear,” she said, tears coursing down her cheeks, “I just can’t bear it.”
“The police need to talk to you,” I said gently.
“Again?” she asked. “Must they intrude now? Haven’t I been through enough?”
“You have,” I agreed, “but they’re just doing their jobs. The quicker we answer all their questions, the quicker they’ll leave and get working to find out who killed Andreas.”
I shouldn’t have phrased my answer that way, because she started crying harder. “Annabel, you just need to pull yourself together for a little while and then you can come back and take all the time you need without any interruptions.”
She nodded, gulping, and said, “Very well. I’ll go answer their questions, but I want them out of here as soon as possible. Are they questioning Sian, too?” I nodded. “Have they no respect?” she asked in disgust.
“They’re just doing their jobs,” I reminded her.
“Bah,” she answered, waving her hand toward me. By this time I knew Annabel well enough to know she wasn’t angry with me, just frustrated by the situation.
One of the constables talked to Annabel in the drawing room while the other questioned Sian in the sitting room. Annabel had asked to be in the sitting room because it was her favorite room in the castle and she felt most comfortable in there, but her request was denied. I wondered why—was it to keep her out of her comfort zone, or was it because the officer in the drawing room had been assigned to speak to her? Probably a combination of the two.
The questioning didn’t end until afternoon. We all convened in the sitting room after the police left to compare notes about what they had asked and to whom. Maisie and Brenda came in to set up a large tea service for everyone. “Did the constables talk to both of you, too?” Annabel asked. Both women nodded, but offered no further information and didn’t seem inclined to gossip about the questions.
I wondered how Brenda was handling all the questions and speculation about Andreas’s death. I hadn’t spoken to her privately in a couple of days. She was looking wan and tired, a signal that she wasn’t sleeping, that the entire situation had taken hold of her imagination and propelled her into a state of despair, but I felt it would be inappropriate of me to ask her. It was none of my business.
I was struck by a sudden and unwelcome thought. Is it possible Brenda knew Andreas better than she was letting on? Is it possible they were romantically involved before Andreas’s death? In that case, it’s no wonder she seems so weepy and fragile. It was an ugly thought, and I kept it to myself, knowing that giving voice to it would create a tension and a level of stress within the family that none of them would handle well. But I made a mental note to discuss the possibility with Sylvie later that evening.
Annabel had asked Maisie to prepare a light meal for dinner, since no one in the household seemed hungry. Our utensils clinked against the plates in the cold silence of the dining room. The funeral was scheduled for the following afternoon and everyone was lost in their own thoughts.
After dinner I went over to the coach house to spend some time with Sylvie. We sat before a roaring fire in the salon, curled up on the sofas in the warm lamplight.
“What do you think?” I asked her after I had presented my thought that perhaps Brenda and Andreas had been having an affair.
Sylvie looked doubtful. “I don’t know. It couldn’t have been much of an affair, if there really was one. Andreas didn’t spend that much time at the castle, did he?”
“An affair is an affair,” I said, “regardless of how often they saw each other.”
But the more she thought about it the more sense the idea made. “You know, not seeing him often would give her all the more reason to pine after him,” she said thoughtfully. “Maybe that’s the reason she’s so distraught, Eilidh. She’s been having an affair with Andreas and she can’t tell the world how much she loved him because he was married. And now he’s gone,” she said.
“You didn’t like the idea a minute ago and now you sound a little too excited about it,” I said with a grimace.
“I don’t mean to. I just think we’ve figured out why a housekeeper is so despairing over the death of someone she allegedly didn’t know very well.”
“You might be right,” I said, pointing at her with my glass.
“So what do you do about it now that you’ve got it figured out?”
“That’s the problem, I suppose. There’s nothing that can be done.”
“What about telling Annabel?”
“I don’t think I could do that,” I said. “She would fire Brenda in an instant. And if Brenda leaves, then Maisie would be sure to leave, too, either on her own or because Annabel might fire her, too. And then we’re left without a housekeeper and without a cook. Besides, what if it’s not true?”
“Are you going to tell the police your theory?”
I thought for a moment. “I don’t think there’s any reason to tell them. After all, it’s just speculation, though I think it makes a lot of sense. Let them figure it out. I’m not in the business of creating more problems for the household.”
As the fire died down and I began to feel comfortably drowsy, I went back to the castle through the moonlit night. Sylvie was already on her way to bed and I was looking forward to a good night’s sleep before the stress of Andreas’s funeral the following afternoon.
