by Issy Brooke
“You ought to get Lady Agnes’s permission before you embark on this quest,” he said. “And so you think that getting involved in the committee for the ball might help? You think you could find some old sailors for Lady Agnes? Salty old tars with only one leg and plenty of gold in their ears?”
“It might help. And I am thinking of officers, dear heart, not sea dogs with beards one could lose a badger in; she is a lady and the daughter of an Earl, after all.”
“My dear, might I request one thing?” he said.
She grew serious again, and listened to him.
“You have convinced me of a problem at the heart of Felicia’s life. Let neither of us get distracted by other things. The ball, the curse, the husband-hunting, none of it truly matters. We are here at the castle for our daughter. We both, I think, have a tendency to bounce off the cushions like an errant billiard ball but we ought to be steadfast and direct while we are here. I shall keep you focused if you will do likewise for me. We ought to steady one another and keep one another on course.”
“Theodore, you speak sense.”
“Don’t sound so surprised! I am hurt.”
She laughed, and they embraced, and she lingered, pressed against his comforting chest, and worried about their daughter and what could possibly be clouding Felicia’s thoughts.
It didn’t take a clever woman to work out what the “event” might have been. Her heart ached for her daughter.
Three
Yet for the remainder of that afternoon and evening, Felicia appeared to behave perfectly normally. She sat in the garden room with Adelia, and was happy to have the glass doors flung open without making a single murmur about swamp air. Before Adelia could speak about the things that were bothering her, Lady Agnes joined them and stayed for half an hour, working diligently on her needlework and not speaking. The air was indolent and heavy, and Adelia nearly nodded off while Felicia sat by a stack of ladies’ journals and cut out pretty pictures for her decoupage hobby. Various maids flitted in and out with cool drinks. When Lady Agnes left to attend once more to The Countess, Adelia tried to engage Felicia in deeper conversation but every enquiry was met with a light “oh, no, mama, everything is just wonderful!” said so innocently that Adelia began to think she had been hallucinating the morning’s hysteria. Any attempt to find out about the “event” the housekeeper had alluded to was deftly batted to one side. When Adelia mentioned The Countess and her abrasive manner, Felicia merely praised the old lady’s stoicism.
I have taught this girl the art of polite conversation, Adelia thought grimly, and I have taught her too well.
Only mentioning Felicia’s sister Mary brought any sparkle of genuine emotion to Felicia’s face. “Yes,” she said. “I have received letters from her and mama, I am so proud of what she’s doing now!”
“Do you feel inspired to follow her example?”
Felicia laughed and bent her head, concentrating on clipping her way around a picture of blooming rhododendrons. “The horse business, mama? Certainly not.”
“Any business?”
“Trade,” Felicia said, “Is not considered a necessary topic in this household. Oh, look at this, mama! Lilies, a great spray of them. This shall take me simply ages to cut out, but I know exactly what I shall do with them. A tray, a tray for taking tea in the garden...”
Adelia grimaced and listened politely to ideas about the merits of a few red flowers against a backdrop of white lilies, or one white lily against a sea of red.
TO ADELIA’S RELIEF, The Countess took her meal that night in her own wing, and Lady Agnes stayed with her. Felicia was still sparkling in her conversation at dinner but only had Adelia and Theodore to sparkle at, and Adelia was somewhat wearied of Felicia’s particularly shallow sparkles; the meal went swiftly and they all had an early night.
Everything, in its very perfection, seemed askew, somehow. Too polished, too painted, too just so.
On Sunday, the next day, almost the entire household trooped down the stony track away from the castle and to the local church. The castle was surrounded not only by swampy areas, but stands of trees, half-hearted attempts at gardens, walled-off areas, hidden paths, tumble-down stone walls, random heaps of granite, and what might have once been a moat. Though the living accommodation was in reasonable repair if not quite at the height of luxury and comfort, everything else had been left to essentially rot. While Percy was away, Felicia seemed disinclined to do anything about it. Many ladies would take control of the landscaping, drawing up great plans of works for gardeners, but not Felicia. She walked with Adelia and they were followed by Theodore at a distance, who was grumbling about the state of the hedges. The Countess tended to pray privately in her own rooms these days except for special occasions, when she would be helped into a low gig and driven to church. Lady Agnes remained at the castle with her.
As they passed the gatehouse which squatted between the castle grounds and the main road, Adelia asked if Lady Katharine would be coming with them. Felicia shook her head and didn’t slow her pace.
“Is there some issue regarding Lady Katharine? Is she well? Might I call upon her later?” Adelia pressed.
“You can indeed call on her. No, there’s no issue at all,” Felicia replied.
“Then why is she not involved in the life of the castle? Surely she would be company for you?”
“No. She would be bad company, or at least, poor company I fear. She is no conversationalist. Life has brought her low, and low she remains, in her heart. But go and see her, do. You will soon see what I mean.”
“What of her son, Oscar?”
“What of him? He lingers like a fog, fading in and out of view. If you see him, prod him to make more of his life,” Felicia said. “He cannot remain as he does. He hangs around like a pet dog when Percy is at home but the rest of the time, we don’t see him at all. Has he not come to see Theodore yet?”
“What’s that?” Theodore asked, coming up alongside them. They were not far from the church and they were already half-distracted with meeting and greeting and nodding at people.
“Oscar Brodie, papa. Have you met him?”
“Yes. Curious young man, so very keen to know about the world.”
“He can’t be that keen. He’s come home from school and spent the last few years just lurking in the woods. He’s twenty-two, twenty-three, or thereabouts. If he were that keen, he would have joined the army or the navy by now. I am sure Percy would help with that. He could see the world, be an officer with his background, do anything that he wished to do, regardless of his lack of title. He can still claim to be part of this family, and that has to count for something.”
If Theodore had any reply to that, it was lost as they were swept into the small parish church. Adelia had to drag him away from the pew at the back, and force him to follow Felicia to the family’s enclosed seating at the front of the church. He was only there to please Felicia, and to admire the architecture, and Adelia didn’t want him able to make a run for it when the sermons started. He muttered and joined them at the front, and was mercifully silent throughout the service.
THEODORE HAD NOT ENJOYED the service but he felt that he had done his duty and was now perfectly within his rights to be excused from any further church services and even family prayers for the remainder of his visit to Tavy Castle. He let Adelia and Felicia chatter to one another as they made their way back to the castle. He was relieved to notice that Felicia seemed perfectly normal, with none of the eccentric behaviour that Adelia had reported to him, but he was aware of some illnesses and fevers having cycles. He would keep his eye on her in case some problem re-occurred.
If anything, Felicia was probably entirely correct in blaming the swamp air for causing her random bouts of sickness. As they passed the gatehouse and the great grey bulk of the central tower loomed up in his sight ahead he sniffed and thought he could detect the foul odour of swamps again. Of course, the age of the castle meant it had hardly been built according to mod
ern principles of hygiene. The location had been chosen with an eye to defence, not to healthy living. Perhaps all that was needed was a good programme of works to improve the sewerage about the place.
A lean young man hailed them from the small, well-tended garden that surrounded the gatehouse. Theodore waved back. “Mr Brodie, sir! Good day to you!”
The youth seemed to beam at being addressed with such respect from a man so much higher above him. “My lord, good day!”
Adelia and Felicia, who were further ahead, stopped. Felicia introduced the young Oscar Brodie to Adelia, and he was perfectly polite. It was certainly apparent that the man had had the very best of educations, and Felicia was right to question quite what he was doing with his life now. After a brief amount of small talk, Felicia and Adelia moved on.
But Oscar Brodie seemed to want to talk with Theodore and Theodore was happy to oblige. If he were perfectly honest, Theodore felt that he was somewhat starved of male company at the castle, the lack of which accounted for his visit to Plymouth almost as soon as they had arrived. Theodore rested his arms on the low wall and listened as Brodie began to ask him about his thoughts on photography and the new kinetoscope which, according to its inventors Edison and Dickson, actually showed moving pictures. “Can it be true?” Brodie said. “I am disinclined to believe what I read in the newspapers.”
“You are right to be so,” Theodore replied. “But I have had it from reliable men who have read papers on the matter, and who knows what wonders await us from year to year? When I was your age, even photography itself was merely blurred daguerreotypes and calotypes. Are you interested in such things?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Perhaps a living might be made from it,” Theodore mused. “It might not be befitting your station in life but if you went into it as a man of science, bent upon improving the methods...”
“Oh, no, that sort of thing is not for me.”
“Then what is?” Theodore asked. Brodie blinked in surprise and Theodore wondered if he had been a little too blunt. Well, it was too late to take it back.
Brodie leaned on the hoe that he was holding. His face was all angles, with sharp cheekbones that gave him an almost skull-like appearance from some directions. He grimaced. “I do not yet know. But anyway, there is my mother to consider.” He nodded towards the gatehouse.
“Is she unwell?”
“No. She’s just tired. But she is alone, and so ... here I am.”
“I say, what do you know about the drains and sewers around this place?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’ve lived here all your life, have you not? Apart from being away at school?
“Yes, I have, but I don’t know anything about sewers. Are you meaning the smell? I barely notice it any longer. Once you’ve been here a day or two, it does fade, you know. Except for Lady Buckshaw. She never seems to get used to anything.” His lip curled in distaste. Theodore assumed he was talking about Felicia, not the old Countess.
“Lady Buckshaw is sensitive, that’s all.”
Brodie merely replied with a grunt. He stabbed his hoe into the ground, a random and unskilled attempt at weeding the dregs of the vegetable bed.
“Well,” Theodore said, pushing himself away from the wall with a decisive gesture, “I shall let you get on with your gardening. Such a shame the castle’s gardens have fallen into disrepair. I don’t suppose you have inclinations towards garden design?”
“No, not a bit of it, sorry.”
“Shame, shame. Never mind. I really ought to persuade Percy to engage a man to oversee all this. Otherwise the next time we visit, we shan’t find the place at all! It will be like Sleeping Beauty’s castle, all hidden by briars, ha ha!”
Brodie smiled thinly. Theodore watched his eyes. Adelia had told him that true smiles wrinkle the skin around the eyes.
Brodie’s skin was smooth and clear. “Ha, ha.”
“Right. Right. Yes, well. Well then. I fancy I shall take a turn about the grounds and see what I can make of the drainage system here. If I am not seen again, send out search parties, will you? Ha ha!”
Not a flicker of amusement reached Brodie’s eyes. He said, “Ha. Ha. Be careful.”
“Of...?”
“The swamps, the rocks, the briars, my lord.”
“Yes, yes, quite. Oh, one more thing. We didn’t have any ices at dinner last night.”
At last an emotion registered on Brodie’s face. He looked confused. “My lord?”
“No ices. Which was a bit strange, you see, as there’s an ice house in the grounds. That’s what that lump is, isn’t it, in the woods?”
“It’s hardly a woods and no, sir, there isn’t really an ice house. It’s not used. I understand it was built by a previous earl who didn’t think about the situation very well. It’s in quite the wrong place, and as soon as they tried to dig down, it filled with water – of course it would. They couldn’t dig anywhere else due to the rocks. Rocks here, swamps there; none of this land is good for anything, sir.” He stabbed again with his hoe to emphasise his point. “And all of the soil itself is peaty and acid and nasty. So anyway, they built up the walls rather than dig down, and heaped soil all around it but it never worked as a place to keep things cool. It wouldn’t. An ice house is a feat of clever engineering, as you know, my lord.”
“So what’s in it now?”
“I don’t know. It’s a rancid place. Rocks, they say. Just full of rocks and slime. I don’t go down there. No one does.” He moved backwards, jabbing with the hoe and making no difference to the weeds at all.
“Well, thank you. I’ll be off.” Theodore looked up at the sky. “Good weather for gardening, at any rate,” he mumbled. “Good day to you.”
“Good day. Wait – sir – my lord, one last thing, if I might be so bold?” Now Brodie’s face was all pleading and hesitancy. “If you are staying for a little while, for the ball and so on, then if you would like to ride out on an afternoon, I should be more than glad to show you the ways and tracks on the moors.”
“I should like that very much.”
As Theodore strode away, he reflected that however starved he was of male company at Tavy Castle, things were far, far worse for the young Oscar Brodie.
THEODORE ATTEMPTED to make a circuit of the castle, but the way that it had evolved over the centuries meant he was often thwarted by sudden outcrops of rock, passages, doors and walls which joined to the tower or the Tudor part, and the whole enterprise was frustrating and confusing. If he had his way, he’d raze the whole thing to the ground and start again. He’d choose a nice, neat, regular style – the Georgians had it right – and fill it with modern conveniences like indoor water closets and the fancy type of bath that his daughter Dido had at Mondial Castle. It squirted water out of a series of pipes and once one got past the notion that one was being spat upon by hot metal snakes, it was a most relaxing experience. He disliked the fashion for ornate pseudo-gothic housebuilding with its pointy rooves and carved eaves and painted arches everywhere. He was of an older generation and longed for rectangular windows and wide corridors, with rooms full of lots of light and chairs littered everywhere so that one could sit whenever one’s aging knees demanded it.
He came around the corner of a red-brick addition to the kitchens area, which did not look at all right against the grey stone of the rest of the building, and found he was looking down a path that led through the willows to the ice house. That would make sense, he thought. The maids would expect to be able to get from the back of the castle to the ice house. He followed the path, looking this way and that for any clue as to the drainage of the place. Apart from half a bit of weed-clogged moat, he couldn’t work anything out, and if he were to be totally honest with himself, he didn’t have the first clue about sewers himself. He thought he’d see something obvious if he turned his trained scientific eye on things, but he didn’t. How deep did foundations go? Where did the sinks drain out to? Did they drain, or were the emptied by sl
op buckets? When were the kitchens built? Indeed, how were kitchens built? He had no idea and felt a little helpless and annoyed.
The ice house itself was the typical dome, built in blocks of stone with a brick surround around the low wooden door. The smell from the swamps was strong here. He knew that the interior of the ice house would be far lower than the surrounding ground and it didn’t take a genius to know that the lower level would soon fill with seeping water, no matter how well they lined it.
He pushed at the wooden door to gauge the extent of the problems. He thought that he might be able to get an idea of how high the water table was here.
The door swung open with surprising ease, and it caught him unawares as he’d given it quite a shove. It flung itself back on its hinges. Though the ice house was in a shaded spot, north of the castle and overhung by gloomy trees, there was enough late summer midday light to illuminate most of the immediate floor by the entrance.
And it illuminated most of the fresh corpse, too.
Four
“How interesting!” was Theodore’s first thought, closely followed by, “I wonder who it is?” He peered down at the stocky male figure and nudged at him with his boot. By bending over he could see the corpse’s half-turned head. It was Hartley Knight, the insufferable house steward, and Theodore’s trained eye spotted immediately that the corpse was very recent. Then he stifled his medical curiosity and backed out of the ice house. There were protocols to be followed, after all. He tried not to feel excited about the situation. He had to do what was right – he had to rush back to the house, alert the staff, have someone fetch the local police, and then secure the scene as much as he could so that nothing got disturbed and all the potential clues remained in place.
All this he did with great speed and efficiency and then, hardly caring to stifle his excitement any longer, he returned to the ice house and stood at the entrance, looking around for clues. He had warned all the staff to remain away.
