A bloody nightgown?
There had to be some kind of evidence showing Sybelle was a murderer. The woman was so fake Wren expected her to turn into a doll and be frozen in the same position forever. She was playing with the collar of her shirt now that she had destroyed her pearls.
“How much longer do we have to be in here?” she burst out.
Startled, Sybelle’s cup bounced on the saucer as her hand shook. “Wren! They have to eliminate any threat and check for anyone who could hurt us, clues, or all of those types of things.”
“You don’t even know what they’re looking for,” Wren retorted.
“I know, but neither do you. It’s for our own good.”
Wren made a face. If this search led to evidence against her stepmother, all the better. She wanted to know how Sybelle did it.
How did she do it? How could she do it?
Wren gulped down the rest of her coffee. It burned her throat and scalded her tongue, but she wanted to feel anything that would distract her from this moment. Her eyes began to fill as well.
The door opened again. Sybelle came to her feet, and Wren held onto her cup and saucer. Captain Ward entered the room with a handful of other guards.
“Was anything found?” Queen Sybelle stood there, hands shaking.
Wren stared at her stepmother’s hands. She wondered how much acting it took to get the tremor just right. The woman was so obvious.
“Yes, Your Majesty. We found this.”
Holding out a black towel, Wren saw a blood-stained knife. One from their kitchen. Her gasp was instantaneous and sharp in her throat.
“Oh, my God.” Queen Sybelle threw her hand out and grasped the chair she'd just been sitting in. “Where did you find it?”
The pause was breath-holding. Wren's hands tightened in front of her. She waited for the guards to say they'd found it in the king's bedchamber or the library. Neither option was spoken.
“We found it in Princess Wren's room.”
“Wh--what?” she stuttered.
Wren's heart dropped. Her hands fell to her sides, and the cup and saucer shattered on the floor. Drops of liquid splashed across the hardwood floor and onto her slipper.
Unlike Sybelle, she didn’t have the time or energy to throw on clothes. After being awakened by screams, she’d fallen out of bed and took off down the hallway. Sybelle had been standing outside the door, hysterical and wringing her hands.
Guards had rushed in and wanted to know what was wrong, but Wren had proceeded them all into the room. Her father’s room. The king’s room.
He’d been so still. Silent and pale, and his chest had been red, blood red.
Wren put a hand to her mouth, so she wouldn’t throw up. Her head was starting to pound again.
Queen Sybelle turned to look at her stepdaughter and began shaking her head. “Wren, no.”
“I didn't-- I wouldn't-- It's YOU!” Wren lunged at her stepmother but was halted by arms wrapped around her middle.
“Let me go!” she screamed.
The command went unanswered. Wren was dragged away from the tea room and down the hall. She was taken to her room and forced inside. The door was locked from the outside.
Yanking repeatedly on the knob, she screamed and shouted for them to let her out, but no one would come. No one answered her pleas.
“I will get you for this, stepmother!” Her shouts continued until her voice was hoarse, and she could no longer stand and beat against the door. Sliding to the ground, Wren bent her head to sob.
It appeared the queen had won.
2
“I didn't kill him,” Wren repeated to herself.
After weeping on the floor for about twenty minutes, she got up and wandered around the room. She didn’t even know where to begin searching for where the knife had been found. They hadn’t specified when they’d come into the room, and she’d been so furious she hadn’t thought to ask.
“She’s setting me up! I know she murdered father, hid the knife in my room, and retreated back to the bedroom as soon as she could. The guards weren’t there. Why didn’t the guards stay there?”
Wren rubbed her temples. Her headache was starting to work its way through her whole head and into her neck and shoulders. Blinking, she looked all over the floor, in the closet, and under the bed.
Her hand jerked backward, and she tucked it to her chest. There, on the floor, was blood. Dark red, the drops were saturated into the carpet. It wasn’t a question of where it had been hiding anymore. Now it was, who put it there and why?
Standing, she ran to the windows and looked outside. It allowed her to see the arrival of the Heddlu of Rhys and an ambulance, coming through their front gates with lights flashing. About a half-hour later, it allowed her to see her father's body carted out of the front doors like any common man. She could see her stepmother receiving condolences and how the servants hovered close to her.
Looking down at her clothing, she whispered, “I can’t greet them like this. I must get dressed.”
She pulled clothes from her drawers and closet before running into the bathroom. Changing didn’t take much time, and she ran a brush through her hair as well as her teeth. Washing off her face, Wren took extra minutes to examine every inch of her face.
The skin was smooth, her nose straight, and her eyes a stormy grey-blue. She wiped the cloth over her face and examined her irises for evidence of her loss. They had stopped watering and were clear and dry.
“If my head would stop hurting, I would feel a lot better.”
Resting her head in her hands, she blocked the sight of her dead father from her mind. Dwelling on his death wouldn’t help her find his killer. Although, her stepmother had accomplished a strategic move by placing the murder weapon under her bed, Wren wasn’t ready to cave.
“Sybelle will have full control over me, my spending, and everything. She stands to gain so much more than I will lose. She’ll get to sit in on meetings with the Prime Minister until I’m officially eighteen. She did this on purpose.”
Wren’s eyes were blurry when she raised her head and blinked at her reflection. The pounding in her head was becoming excruciating. The realization of being at the mercy of her stepmother and the brutal murder of her father were thoughts drilling into her brain.
A knock at her door had her standing straight. Lids closing for a few seconds, she reopened her eyes when the knocking came again with a voice.
“Wren? May we come in, Wren?”
Speak of the devil, she thought.
Putting down her washcloth, Wren took one last glance in the mirror and exited her bathroom. She walked to the door. Keeping a few feet from it, Wren took a deep breath in an effort to calm her shaking hands.
“Come in,” she called out.
The turn of the lock signaled their entrance, and when the door opened wide, she was confronted by a short man in uniform. His grey-streaked hair and brown eyes were offset by a pair of the bushiest eyebrows ever. They lowered as he looked around her room, eyes scanning every nook and cranny as though he had x-ray vision.
She saw her stepmother and the guard in the hallway with a few other officers. Refusing to make eye contact, Wren turned to look at the chief. Her staff had already proven whose side they were on, and she didn’t want to dwell on it.
“Princess Wren,” he greeted her with a bow of his head.
“Chief Constable Aegnus Hector, thank you for coming to our home. I’m sure you’ve already heard of the horrendous act which was committed. In my defense, I would like to state, I didn’t kill my father. Whether you believe me or not, I will stand by that truth.”
Her voice was calm and collected. She clasped her hands in front of her and hoped the pant suit ensemble she’d chosen to mimic her stepmother was appropriate. She didn’t think wearing her usual jeans and t-shirt would pass on this occasion, and she wasn’t sure what else to do.
“Esgusodwch fi, excuse me. We aren't here to accuse you, Princess. We are only here
to ascertain who murdered your father, the king,” the constable explained to her while advancing into the room a few paces.
Wren shivered when his eyes paused at her bed. The blood stains on the carpet underneath spoke of the knife's hiding place. Shifting her eyes back to his bushy brows, she noticed they were raised as though expecting her to confess.
“Then talk to my stepmother,” she said, instead. “She is the only one who gains from his death. I gain nothing. Nid fi oedd yn ei wneud! I didn't do it.”
“Princess Wren, I want to officially give you my deepest regrets over the death of your father. You have my word, and the word of the Heddlu of Rhys, we will look into this matter from every angle and do our ultimate best to find the murderer. We appreciate your cooperation during this tough time.” The chief constable’s tone was gruff, his bushy brows low, and his eyes steady.
Wren met his eyes and read the honesty in them. She noted his lack of response to her denial. Taking a deep breath and giving the barest of nods, she forced a tight smile.
“Diolch, thank you, Chief Constable. I appreciate your condolences. I know you all will take this matter very seriously and help find my father’s murderer.”
“We have already discussed with your guard what has occurred. My force has taken a look throughout the whole house, and Captain Ward has shown us the exits and escape routes the killer might have taken. Your father’s room is in the midst of being swept, fingerprinted, and photographed. We’re hoping to learn more soon.”
“I understand. Please know you have my full cooperation.”
“Thank you, Princess. Would you mind if we conducted the interview now?”
“Yes, of course.”
“The Swyddogion yr Heddlu will join us for this interview.” He waved at two female officers and two male officers to join them. “With your permission, my team would like to take fingerprints of this room and search it. I know this is an intrusion of your privacy, but we would appreciate ruling out anyone having been inside this room.”
“Please do,” Wren said.
The king’s guard stood at attention inside the doorway but made no move to interfere with the Heddlu proceedings. “What time did you go to bed last evening?”
“I retired to my room after ten o'clock. Father and my stepmother were still in the library. I said goodnight and came here. I got ready for bed, talked with Ellie, listened to some music and read for about an hour, and then turned out the light.”
Taking notes, the chief nodded. “Did you fall asleep right away? Did you hear anything?”
“I was asleep within minutes. I didn't hear or see anything until my stepmother began screaming a few hours later. I’m not a light sleeper, but she has a set of lungs on her.”
The chief cleared his throat and asked, “Who is Ellie?”
“My maid.”
“Last name?”
“Alroy.”
Scratching on his notepad.
“Did you drink or eat anything before you went to bed?”
“I had a cup of tea. We all had a cup of tea. My stepmother poured us each a cup while we were in the library. Father was playing the piano, and stepmother was reading. I always draw or read in the evening, and last night I drew.”
“Did you all eat the same thing for dinner?”
“Yes, we did. I don’t see why what we ate is important,” Wren stated.
“It’s important to establish the routine, Princess. I’m trying to ascertain where everyone was and what they were doing. It might seem irrelevant, but there’s always a reason. Sometimes, it’s one we don’t see. What did you have to eat?”
“We had dinner of pheasant, mashed potatoes, green beans and salad. We all ate the same things.”
“Who brought out the meal?”
“Davies and the footmen.”
“Who's Davies?”
“Our butler. However, I’d like to ask if you questioned my stepmother? She was there too.”
Past his shoulder, she could make out her stepmother, and she watched as Sybelle rolled her eyes and turned away. Wren held back a smile. It would be inappropriate to grin at such a tragic time, but she felt vindicated watching Sybelle turn away.
“Yes, Princess. We are asking similar questions of everybody. Who are the footmen?” he persisted.
“Dewey, Cadell, and Thomas.”
“Have they all worked here long?”
“I believe Thomas has been with us his whole life. His father worked here as a footman before him. Thomas took his place when he passed away. Dewey has been with us all his life as well. His father is our head groom. He came into service after he finished school. Cadell started about ten years ago.”
“Are you close to any of them?”
“They are our servants, and we care for them as if they are a part of our family, but they aren’t our friends. If you have any more questions about them, it might be best for you to ask Davies. He’s in charge of them.”
The chief nodded once and continued to make notes. “Who brought in the tea?”
Wren's eye began to twitch, and her lips tightened into a painful twist for a brief moment. Taking a deep breath, she ignored the headache to the best of her ability. Her eyes took in the men and women searching through her room.
“Davies. He brings our tea to us in the library every night,” she said, straightening her spine. Refocusing, she watched as his pencil scratched on the notepad through her narrative.
“Are you sure you heard nothing last night?” he asked.
“No, I didn't hear a thing. Not until the screaming,” she paused and swallowed. “It disoriented me when I awoke to hear the shrill sound. I had no idea what had happened.”
“Princess Wren?”
Jerking her gaze up to meet his own, she noticed the brown eyes had softened a bit and the stern set of his jaw relaxed. He looked concerned, and for the first time, Wren started to realize why they were all here and what had happened.
“Can we continue?” he asked, quietly.
“Yes, yes, of course. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to be sorry. Now, can you tell me what came next?”
She nodded. “I launched out of bed and ran to find the source. I spotted my stepmother in the hallway screeching about murder. Needless to say, I thought she had taken a pill to help her sleep and dreamed the whole crazy nightmare. I went in and found –” she cut off.
Looking behind her, she pointed to the two chairs and couch. “Can we sit?”
Closing his notepad, the chief nodded and waited for her to take a seat in the plush chair before he sat across from her.
“Can you please tell me what you found when you entered your father’s bedchamber?”
Swallowing, Wren looked down at her hands. She played with the opal ring on the third finger of her right hand. It had been a gift from her father on her seventeenth birthday. The summer before when she’d finished at the elite, private, all-girl’s boarding school.
Her plans to go to college in the fall would have to be postponed. With her father’s death, a new schedule would have to be worked out. Wren knew she wouldn’t be able to attend classes in three weeks. It would be too soon.
“Princess?”
“I’m sorry. What was the question?” she asked, shaking her head and adjusting her position once again.
“Please tell me what you saw when you entered your father’s bedchamber.”
Nodding, she saw the women going through her dresser drawers. Refocusing her gaze on the picture of puppies she’d taken two years ago for a photography class, Wren blinked.
“He was lying there on the right side of the bed. He always sleeps on that side. I didn’t hear or see anything, but my stepmother screaming behind me and the approach of the guards.”
“Yes?” he prompted when she stopped.
Trying to see only the puppies and not her father, Wren sucked in a breath. “He was on his back. A pillow was covering his face, and the sheet and bedclothes he was wearing
were covered in red. The blood was everywhere. I tried CPR.”
“Yes, Queen Sybelle and Captain Ward spoke of you doing so. It must have been terrifying for you to make the attempt.”
“I couldn’t allow my father to die, but I was too late. The efforts were wasted.” Twisting her hands, Wren rubbed her fingers.
“The king wouldn’t have thought your efforts were wasted, Princess.”
She nodded and attempted a smile. “Thank you, Chief Constable.”
Nodding, he cleared his throat. “And?”
“Captain Ward pulled me away and asked another to take me to the tea room with my stepmother. We remained, guarded, there until Captain Ward returned. They made a thorough search of the house.”
“Yes, I know he mentioned he’d taken the initiative to investigate the premises. Captain Ward?” he called out.
“Yes, Chief Constable?” Captain Ward stepped forward.
Looking to Captain Ward, the Constable asked, “Where did you find the knife you gave my officer?”
The captain indicated a red-haired gentleman in uniform to the left. “As I told Officer Dylan, we found the knife in here. Under the Princess’s bed.”
“BETH?” he slipped into their native tongue. “WHAT?” The constable’s face turned a plum color, and Wren was worried by his reaction.
“The knife was found in the Princess’s room?” He turned to look at the captain. “AND YOU LOCKED HER IN HERE? SUT MAE HYNNY’N BOSIBL? HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE?”
“She wants to frame me for my father's death. Then she will get to be queen without worrying about me coming into power when I turn eighteen,” Wren interjected.
“What? That’s not what I meant,” he growled. “Did you touch anything?”
“Na.” The Welsh “no” rolled off her tongue. “I did look under my bed after Captain Ward said he found the knife in here.”
“I need the forensic team in here immediately. I’m sorry, Princess, but I’m going to need to fingerprint the room as well. Clear everyone out now! This crime scene could already be contaminated.” He waved an officer out the door.
“I understand,” Wren added. “I know who put it there though.”
The Four Tales Page 45
