A Small Hill to Die On: A Penny Brannigan Mystery (7 page)

“Well?” said Penny when Eirlys returned.

“I don’t think we have to worry too much about Handz and Tanz, Penny,” said Eirlys, handing her the price list. “They don’t charge as much as we do, but there were no customers and the atmosphere is terrible.” She described the argument between the man and woman and then added, “I think anyone who would go there would not be someone who would come to us, so I don’t think we’ll lose any of our customers to them.” And then: “In fact, now that I think about it, I don’t know who they’re in business to serve. Older women like Mrs. Lloyd wouldn’t dream of going there, and everyone my age likes coming to us.”

“They may cater to women who like artificial nails and tanning, so you might be right about them not appealing to our clients,” said Penny. “But tell me about the crying woman. What did she look like?”

She listened and then nodded. “That must have been Mai, the woman who came here that day to tell us the nail bar was opening. I wonder who the man is, though. Gareth told me her husband is English.” Eirlys shrugged.

“What should I do about the manicure I booked for tomorrow?”

“Cancel it. We’re not giving them any of our money, and if you want a manicure, I’ll give you one after work tonight.” She picked up the ends of Eirlys’s fingers and looked at her nails. “Yes, you could do with one.

“Right. Now, can you take over from Rhian while she goes to lunch? I need a word with Gwennie.”

*   *   *

“Oh, her.” Gwennie bent over and tossed a few more towels into the washing machine in the laundry area on the ground floor behind the kitchen. “I haven’t heard that name in a long time. Dilys Hughes. She must be in her seventies now. Daft as a brush, folk used to say about her. All that nonsense with her twigs and berries.”

She set the controls on the machine and straightened up as the wash cycle began.

“If you’re ill, see a doctor, is what I say. That’s what they’re for and they know a sight more than she does. That’s what they go to school for. And for a long time, too.”

She reached into the dryer, pulled out an armful of towels and set them on her wooden folding table.

“Why are you asking about her?”

“Because Mrs. Lloyd told me this morning she’s returned to the area. Apparently she’s been gone for years. Says she thinks Dilys is living in a tied cottage up at Ty Brith Hall with her brother.”

Gwennie rested her small hands on the soft pile of white towels.

“So she’s back, is she? Well, that is interesting.”

“Why is it interesting, Gwennie?”

“Well, her brother, Pawl, who was the head gardener at Ty Brith for years, he was courting that woman Juliette Sanderson, who turned up dead in the ductwork of our Spa. And Dilys disappeared or left the area about the same time as Juliette went missing. I hadn’t thought about that for years. It was hearing her name again that reminded me of that connection, I guess.”

“Gwennie, tell me. Exactly where is this cottage? I want to talk to them.”

“You can try, I suppose, Miss Penny, but you might not get much sense out of either of them.”

“Well, look, can you draw me a little map of where I would find their cottage? Ty Brith is a big place.”

“Go on the bus, will you?”

“Yes, I’ll have to. Victoria’s not here to come with me and she’s the one who drives.”

“Right, well, you want to get off at the stop after the one at the bottom of the road that leads up to the Hall. If you give me a piece of paper, I’ll draw a map of how to get to the cottages the back way through the woods so you won’t be seen from the house.”

Penny dashed into the photocopier room next door and returned with a piece of paper from the recycling bin. “Here, use the back of that,” she said, handing Gwennie the piece of paper and pulling a pen out of her pocket.

Gwennie started to sketch the route Penny should take, and then paused.

“I was meaning to speak to you, Miss Penny, about the laundry facilities. I don’t like the clothes dryer. I was wondering if we could have a drying rack installed. These are nice towels we’ve got and they’ll last longer if they’re air-dried. And when spring comes, we really should hang them up outside. They might be a little crispier, but it’ll be better for them in the long run. And the clients will love the way they smell.”

“Yes, Gwennie, that’s a great idea. Of course we can. And we’ll save on the electricity costs, too.”

At the end of the day, Penny double-checked to see that the alarm was armed, then locked the Spa door behind her, stepping out into the cold, clear evening. She had left Eirlys in charge for the next morning so she could go to Ty Brith Hall in search of Dilys Hughes and her brother, Pawl. She wished Victoria were here to come with her. So much had happened that she would have loved to discuss with her friend. But Victoria had e-mailed to say she’d be home next week, and Penny couldn’t wait to see her.

Fourteen

Llanelen changes instantly from town to country. There is no gradual transition from urban architecture to rural landscape. There’s one last stone house and, beside it, rolling farmland, where horses and sheep spend their days grazing in peaceful coexistence. The landscape surrounding the town is steeped in the natural beauty of the British countryside—woodlands, deciduous forests, narrow winding roads edged with grey stone fences that hem in lush green pastures and meadows, hedgerows that shelter small birds and animals, and everywhere, an abundance of plants, shrubs, and trees. To the casual observer, that’s all they are—plants, shrubs, and trees. But to Dilys Hughes, they were an endless, always open pharmacy of herbs and botanicals. The cure for everything that ailed man or beast—baldness, insomnia, gout, acne, lameness, depression, unrequited love, aching muscles, and so much more—was right there for the picking, if only you knew where to look and what to choose. And Dilys did. She spent her days foraging along the roadsides and across the fields with the handwoven basket she’d used for decades over her arm, cutting leaves of sorrel here and digging up dandelion roots a little farther on.

She dressed the same in all weathers: a long, black waterproof coat over a tattered green cardigan and, beneath that, layers of grey nondescript clothing. Her hands were always gloved, covered in the soil that gave life to the leaves she loved. The soles of her old boots, tied on with broken laces, were caked with sheep dung, mud, and dried bits of grass and dead leaves.

No one knew where she had been or what she’d been doing for all the years she’d been gone from Llanelen. One day she was gone, and decades later she was back. It was as simple as that

She’d promised their mother a long time ago that if anything should happen to her brother, she’d take care of him. So when she’d sensed that something was not right with him, burdened with painful memories and now well into her seventies, she had come home.

*   *   *

The next morning, clutching Gwennie’s map, Penny stepped off the bus at the stop Gwennie recommended and walked a few feet along the side of the road, looking for the path indicated on the map that would lead to the Ty Brith cottages where the Hughes brother and sister lived. The cottages, Gwennie had told her, were located behind a small wooded area, adjacent to the now unused stable block.

A light wind ruffled her hair as she walked steadily along the path, which rose at a slight incline. The ground, littered with last year’s frost-crisped leaves, was firm beneath her feet. Patches of snow lay beneath the trees where the sun, too feeble as yet, had not been able to reach them. But the silent, brown winter landscape was beginning to soak up the light, and in open sunny spots a scattering of snowdrops displayed their milky-white, bell-shaped flowers. Penny paused for a moment to admire them and then pushed on. A few minutes later the woodland gave way to a small clearing. Ahead of her was the wooded area that separated the grey stone buildings of the stables and outbuildings from the three terraced cottages built in the same grey stone. Beyond the little woodland, the peaked outline of the roof of the main house, Ty Brith Hall, was silhouetted against a bright blue sky. Smoke curled out of the four chimneys and then, caught by the breeze, drifted over the valley until it disappeared.

Penny walked behind the cottages until she reached the one on the end closest to the path that led to the Hall. She thought she heard voices coming from inside, so she made her way along the side of the house, and with a quick glance in the direction of Ty Brith Hall, she knocked on the front door. The voices inside fell silent.

While she waited, she studied the small sign mounted on the wall of the cottage beside the door frame. Etched in slate were the words
Y BWTHYN BACH
. The Little Cottage.

She knocked again and heard low, urgent voices. A moment later the door scraped open a few inches.

“Yes? What do you want?”

“Are you Dilys Hughes?”

“What if I am?”

“My name is Penny Brannigan and I’d like to talk to you.”

“What about?”

“About someone who worked at Ty Brith Hall a long time ago.”

The door opened a little wider, revealing a woman with dark, pinched eyes, thin lips, long grey hair, and a shapeless brown felt hat pulled low over her ears. She wore an outdoor coat and fingerless gloves.

“I know you,” she said. “I’ve seen you around and about. You do that thing with pencils.” She moved her hand back and forth in rapid strokes.

“That’s right,” said Penny. “Sketching. Yes, I do.” The woman leaned closer, giving off a surprisingly pleasant odor that seem to combine the old-fashioned scents of lavender and violets with clothes that had recently been mothballed. The woman peered into Penny’s face.

“You’re not sleeping,” she said. “I’ll give you something.”

Penny started to protest, but Dilys repeated, “I’ll give you something. You’d better come in. Mind your head.”

She pushed the door open, stepped back and waited. “I’ve just come in from one of my rambles. Give me a minute to take my coat off and wash my hands and I’ll be right with you.”

It took a moment for Penny’s eyes to adjust to the gloom, but when they did, she saw that the front door opened onto a small hallway with a kitchen on the right and a room that served as sitting room on the left. Every inch of wall and surface was covered with something either decorative or useful. Old books and coloured bottles jostled for space on shelves and tables. Plants hung upside down from the low, blackened ceiling beams to dry. The room smelled of the passing of time. The dust on the deep-set windowsills mixed with the papery aroma of faded photographs, candle wax, and old wood.

In the dim light, she noticed an elderly man sitting in an armchair in the corner at the back of the room. His legs were covered with a tattered burgundy plaid blanket, its hem resting on a scuffed pair of brown carpet slippers. Patches of pink scalp, dotted with large brown spots, peeked through thin wisps of white hair. He regarded Penny with a mix of curiosity and childlike trust. He gave her a toothless smile and nodded. “Growing the herb,” he said and tapped his nose.

“Oh, right,” said Penny. “You must be Pawl. You used to be the gardener here, didn’t you?”

He nodded and held up a bony hand. “Gardener. There’s another one now. Not right.” His head wagged from side to side.

“Take no notice of him,” said Dilys as she returned to the room and began weighing out dried leaves. “So tell me. What brings you here?”

Penny reached into her pocket and pulled out a copy of a black-and-white photograph that Detective Sergeant Bethan Morgan had given her a few months earlier of the woman whose body had been found in the ductwork of the Llanelen Spa during the renovation. The photo had been found among the effects of an American man who had died at Conwy Castle just before Christmas.

It showed a young woman holding the hand of a small boy dressed in shorts and a Fair Isle vest and wearing sturdy boots. He smiled awkwardly at the camera, as if the photographer had told him to. The woman gazed down benignly at the boy, her face lit up from within as if by love.

Behind them was a closed wooden door, set into a sturdy stone frame with rosebushes growing up each side. On the door was a knocker in the shape of a dolphin. It was without question the back door of Ty Brith Hall.

Penny hesitated for a moment and then handed the photo to Dilys Hughes. “Do you recognize that woman? She used to work here. Can you tell me anything about her?”

Dilys set a small packet down on her worktable and turned to Penny. She took the photo and glanced at it. Her eyes slid over to her brother, who was gazing out the high-set window over the fields, seemingly lost in his own world. He raised a cup of tea to his lips and took a loud slurp.

“We knew her,” Dilys said in a low voice. “She worked in the kennels here. Looked after the dogs. Pawl wanted to marry her. Her name was Juliette Sanderson.” Pawl Hughes let out a sudden, loud cry that startled both women. Dilys dropped the photograph, which fluttered to the floor. As she bent over to pick it up, her brother caught sight of it and tensed. In an instant he was transformed from a mild, friendly man into one filled with rage. As a great fury welled up within him, he threw his half-empty cup at his sister. His hands were clenched in fists of rage as he tried to strike out at her. “You, you, you,” he bellowed, as a trail of spittle dripped from one corner of his mouth.

“You’d better go now.” Dilys glanced at her brother and then picked up the small packet wrapped in brown paper and tied with purple string she had set down on her worktable a few moments earlier. “It’s just enough for a few nights,” she said, handing it to Penny. “If you want more, and I expect you will, you can come back. I’ll be ready for you.” As she accepted the packet, Penny was startled by the appearance of Dilys’s hand.

The skin was taut and smooth. There were no liver spots or any other signs of aging. It looked like the hand of a much younger woman, younger by decades.

She touched Penny’s arm and gave her a firm push toward the door. “My photo,” said Penny.

Dilys reached over, picked it up off the floor, and gave it to Penny. “Here, take it.”