The Corpse with the Sapphire Eyes (5 page)

“Never got my strength back, and began to lose my looks almost immediately. All my hair fell out a month after I had her,” announced the old woman.

“I'm terribly sorry about that, Mother,” Mair sounded annoyed, yet bored. I suspected the apology was well rehearsed.

Mair had taken up a position behind her mother, and her hand rested lightly on the back of the wheelchair. She was in her early fifties, rather than her seventies as I'd judged from her back view. Mair was no beauty. Her mother's portrait, and the old woman herself, had a fire in the eyes that Mair just didn't possess. Though, in her favor, she did have a hint of her mother's original hair color, and her blue eyes matched those of her brother. I sensed a tension about her that I couldn't name. It worried me.

Mair turned her attention from her mother to me. “Cait, the young lady hovering back here is my mother's nurse, Janet Roberts. She joined our household about six months ago, was it, Janet?”

“She's an angel,” said Alice, beaming at the pink-faced, fair-haired girl, who was in her late twenties. “Lifts me very nicely, and tends to me much better than Mair ever did. Better than Danuta too. Danuta was my last nurse. Danuta Mazur, a Polish girl. She kept secrets from me, which is why I got rid of her.”

“Are you local, Janet?” I asked by way of conversation filler.

“Reynoldston, originally,” the nurse replied, referring to a village less than fifteen miles away. “So, pretty close. Funny really, I used to see this old place when I was little, and now I live here. Right turn up for the books, isn't it?”

I smiled. “It certainly is a small world. I used to see this castle from up on top of the common that abuts the Cadwallader Estate when I was young, and the first time I saw it I thought it would be a wonderful place to be married.”

“Sounds like my cue,” said Bud, joining us.

“Dinner is served,” shouted Mrs. Jones from the doorway. “On the table in exactly five minutes.”

“What is it tonight, Dilys?” called back Alice.

“You'll find out at the table,” replied the cook, who was wearing a navy blue dress that looked like a tent. She looked more presentable than I remembered her, though still sour-faced.

“And the police phoned,” she added. “They won't be here tonight after all. Can't. Nasty accident on the M4. Them coaches, big old buses, taking Arsenal fans back to London from the Swansea City game—four of them have run into each other on the motorway, they have. Terrible bad, they say. Hundreds were hurt. They did a news flash about it on the telly. They've had to cut some of the bodies out of the wreckage.” The cook sounded almost gleeful. “Pound to a penny, no seat belts. Too busy drinking themselves silly. The Swans won, see. Tidy. Probably blood all over the place. Hours, they'll be. Maybe days. Amb'lances everywhere. My friend Audrey Williams phoned me about it too. She'll have to have her grandchildren overnight. Daughter's a nurse, see, and the hospital won't let her go home. Telling people to stay away from the emergency wards, they are, unless they're at death's door. Morriston's overflowing, she said, and Singleton's not much better. Overwhelmed. Sending some of them to Cardiff, she told me. Must be bad for them to do that. Terrible. So, now the police have said they can't come till tomorrow, could Idris please come downstairs and help me move him to the back kitchen? Not sanitary having him lying there like that, it's not. Dangerous.”

Before Alice had a chance to reply, the cook disappeared. Idris prepared to follow her.

Alice remarked to Siân, Bud, and myself, “So cheeky. Never changes. The Joneses and the Cadwalladers go back for generations. Dilys, that's Mrs. Jones, was born and raised in this very house. Her mother and father both lived in. To be fair, she's a very good cook, and I hear they are not easy to find, these days. Idris informs me it's the age of the chef, and that ‘cook' is a very unfashionable word.”

“That's not what I said, Alice,” replied Idris as he left the room.

“Never mind what you said, I know what I heard,” said Alice abruptly. Then she added, even more sharply, “This sherry is not good, Idris. Get me another, and make sure it's my proper one.”

“That
is
the proper one, Alice,” replied Eirwen on behalf of her absent husband. “Your Amontillado as always. Only you drink it, and it's the only bottle we have.”

“Well it's too warm then,” she replied testily. “Cool it down, but don't you dare dilute it with ice, and bring me a glass to the table. I'll drink it in the dining room. Let's go.”

“Right-o,” shouted the young blond nurse.

Alice took off at speed across the drawing room toward the door. “You'd all better get a move on because I don't like anyone being late to the table,” she added, then she was gone.

It was as though a particularly effective collie had yapped at a herd of sheep, because within about thirty seconds, everyone had left. Siân, Bud, and I had a moment alone. I gulped my drink, which was very refreshing. My mouth was dry, and I knew I was probably still dehydrated from the flight. Too late, I wondered if a gin and tonic had been the best choice of thirst-quencher. As soon as I put my empty glass onto the little table beside me, Bud and I squeezed hands.

I noted quietly, “No one seems very upset about the passing of David Davies. In fact, everyone seems to be in quite good spirits.”

“You're not kidding,” he said. “When I came down for drinks, it was as though no one had died. It was surreal. I kept wondering if I'd imagined it all. It's a really strange atmosphere here. I'm not one to believe in ghosts, but if they did exist, I guess they'd hang out in a place like this. And, of course, the weather's not helping. The storm doesn't seem to be letting up at all. Can you hear that wind whistling at the windows? Spooky enough for you?” Bud grinned.

“Mattie and Beccie would love it here,” said Siân wistfully. “There'd be no stopping them from hunting for secret doors all over the place.”

I patted my sister on the back as I said, “At least the windows in here don't rattle like mine.”

“Let's just hope that Mrs. Dilys Jones is as good a cook as she is a you-know-what,” quipped Bud, “because she's very, very good at being one of those!”

We crossed the great hall holding hands, with Siân beside us. Right on cue, my tummy rumbled.

I could have sworn I heard it echo off the stained glass roof that arced high above our heads.

THE DINING ROOM AT CASTELL
Llwyd was positioned directly beneath my very own bridal boudoir, so when the three of us walked into the round room, its scale and layout were already familiar to us. As in my bedroom, the dining room had windows almost all the way around—here curtained with dark burgundy velvet—interspersed with wooden panels below painted plaster walls. Rather than the Mabinogion myths that graced my walls, the dining room showcased scenes from nature, with a heavy emphasis on fruits and vegetables. Cute furry creatures poked their attractive little faces through various stems and tufts of edible vegetation, while spectacular birds and iridescent insects hovered in the sky—which was the ceiling. There was a vast rectangular table at the room's center, surrounded by eighteen dark wooden chairs with tall, Gothic-arched backs. As in my room, the segment of the circle adjoining the rest of the wing was windowless, but here it featured a monumental fireplace. It was tiled, buttressed, painted with a good deal of red paint, and highlighted with glinting gold leaf. Beside it was a massive door. My room had a little door in the same spot that led to a bathroom. I wondered what was behind the door in this room.

“Sit to my right, Cait,” called Alice Cadwallader from across the room. Her rasping tones bounced around, and it was immediately clear that any sound of chatter would do the same beneath the high ceiling, which was beamed like a spider web, with a massive iron chandelier hanging from its mid-point. “And you, the fiancé, sit to my left. I want to find out more about you. You look rather interesting. Mair, Owain, move along.”

I felt awkward as I took the seat vacated by the daughter of the house, and my embarrassment was heightened when Alice's imperious demands resulted in everyone shuffling from seat to seat. We eventually all settled with Alice at the head of the table, Bud to her left, next to Mair, then Idris, who'd just rushed in to join us, having presumably finished his grisly task in the kitchen. I sat to Alice's right, next to Owain, then Siân, then Janet. The rest of the table stretched away, unused, making us look like a very feeble gathering.

Dilys Jones entered from the great hall carrying a huge tray, which she placed on a discreet sideboard. She placed platters of pâté, toast, and butter in the center of the table. She rather ungraciously plopped the plates down, reaching between us as though we were in the way.

“It's not what you were supposed to be having,” the cook announced grumpily, “but with all that fuss about David I wasn't able to do a roast. I managed to get some toast done, and this was ready for tomorrow, but you're having it now. It's rabbit pâté. The main will be cawl, which should have been your starter, but you can have bigger bowls. Then there'll be trifle. Not really appropriate, but it'll have to do. I can make
teisen lap
for tomorrow instead, but I didn't have time to do the rice pudding I'd planned.” It seemed that David Davies's death had been an imposition.

“Mair, come and serve me,” said Alice loudly, “and tell me again what happened to David. Was it a nasty fall?”

I heard Mair sigh heavily, clearly holding back anger, as she left her seat. “I told you, Mother, he's dead. He died. He broke his neck. Of course it was a nasty fall.”

“You never said he was
dead
.” Alice's shock changed to horror. “You mean he
died
? Why didn't anyone tell me? It is my house, you know. I just let the rest of you live in it. I have every right to know. I should have been informed. Was it instant?”

As Mair piled pâté and butter onto a plate, then balanced a few slices of toast beside the glistening mounds, she almost hissed, “He fell down the servants' stairs, Mother, and his neck was broken in the fall. He was dead before he hit the bottom.”

“You don't know that,” said Owain. “He might have been alive for some time, then died just before he was found. Or even after he was found.”

As Dilys circled the table she replied to Owain, “He must have been dead by the time he hit the bottom. The way his neck was broken, he couldn't have lasted the fall. Seen enough birds with broken necks in my time to know he was dead.”

“I hope it was a quick, clean death,” said Mair quietly and thoughtfully.

“Death is death,” snapped Alice. “There's nothing clean about it. It's a filthy business. Even when it's just an accident.”

“Mother.” Mair sounded shocked.

“Grow up, girl. I think I made a mistake with you—you don't seem to have matured at all, you've just grown older. I should have sent you out into the world. But I needed you near me.” I caught Mair's expression of silent rage at her mother's words. “He was lucky he didn't suffer, like some of us do.”

Mair snapped, “You don't suffer, Mother. You live in luxury, with people tending to your every need. Since Father met you when you were sixteen, you have never wanted for anything. You are in excellent health for a woman of your age.”

“Mair, sit down and eat your dinner, so you don't embarrass our guests.” Alice spoke as though her daughter was five years old, and Mair acted accordingly, quietly sitting and doing as she was told.

Bud and I dared to exchange a knowing glance across the table, but our attention was then immediately captured by Owain, who pressed the cook with, “So how did he look? I've never seen a dead body. Not a fresh one. Lots of very ancient ones, of course.”

“Not appropriate, Owain,” commented Mair.

“Why not?” he asked plaintively.

“We're eating,” replied his mother.

Everyone applied themselves to their loaded plates in silence for a few moments. I was assessing the family dynamic—
it's what I do, I can't help myself
—as I slathered my whole-wheat toast with what I was pretty sure was salted butter, then topped that with a thick dollop of moist, rough, rich pâté. The sensation as I bit into it was exquisite, the flavors a delight. It was definitely salted butter, and the pâté—oh the pâté! The rabbit was almost sweet, and there were hints of pepper and raspberry, a distinct note of salty acidity from capers, and finally, triumphantly, the richness of brandy in there somewhere. It seemed that Mrs. Dilys Jones was, indeed, a good cook. I was pleased and relieved, and I gave myself up to the pleasure of enjoying the first course in happy anticipation of an excellent meal.

Siân had decided that half a slice of toast with a smear of pâté was enough for her, so while the rest of us were still nibbling and munching, she had nothing to do but chatter. “Of course we were all very sorry to hear about the accident. I gather Mr. Davies lived here, is that right?”
I wish she'd picked a different topic.

Eirwen answered, which I suspected was a brave move on her part. “He arrived after he married Rhian, that's Dilys's daughter, about six years ago. You'll have met Rhian, Cait; she's the person who's been planning your wedding. They have . . . um, had . . . well, Rhian still
has
, an apartment in the private wing. As do we all. Alice has the floor above the drawing room, and Janet has a room there too. Owain and Mair have the next floor up, then Idris and me, and the children of course, have the next, with Dilys, and Rhian and David on the top floor. We all manage very nicely.”

As I continued trying to swallow the mouthful I'd taken, my heart became a big lump in my chest. Rhian Davies.
Of course.
It was
her
husband who'd died. I'd grown to like Rhian—we'd been in touch for months, planning the wedding.