Dolly came up to her and circled her legs. Her ears were back, and she whined.
‘What’s up, girl?’ Guinevere said. ‘Do you smell another dog? There might be some staying at the B&B. Maybe they played here, huh? It’s not our private beach.’
Dolly flattened herself onto the sand, and when Guinevere wanted to push on to the pier, Dolly stayed behind, lying down with her head on her paws.
Guinevere looked her over. ‘What’s wrong, girl?’ The dog’s behaviour had changed completely from carefree frolicking to downcast, almost anxious behaviour.
‘Come on,’ she coaxed her. ‘Come over here.’
She even snapped her fingers, but the dachshund wasn’t moving. She had pulled up her upper lip and snarled as if there was a threat nearby. But Guinevere didn’t see a soul. No dog, no human.
Not Jago either.
Usually he went home early in the morning when the fishing was done. Why had he stayed here?
‘Dolly! Come to me.’ She sat on her haunches, holding out her hand.
The dachshund came skulking low, pressing herself close to Guinevere’s leg. Guinevere patted her. ‘Hey, are you not feeling well? Did you hurt yourself somehow?’
Maybe her wild antics had been too much this time?
Carefully running her hands over Dolly’s body, Guinevere examined her but didn’t find anything out of the ordinary. She even opened her mouth to see if the driftwood had left something in her tongue or palate. But everything seemed to be all right. What then had disturbed Dolly’s audacious behaviour and tendency to poke her nose into everything?
‘Come on then.’ Guinevere clipped the leash onto Dolly’s collar. She rose and gave a tug. ‘Off we go.’ She wanted to walk to the pier but Dolly stepped in front of her as if to stop her. She looked up at her and barked.
Guinevere narrowed her eyes, surveying the pier. There seemed to be something lying on it, reflecting the sunlight. She dropped the leash and ordered Dolly to stay. Then she walked onto the pier. The wood under her footfalls creaked. Her heart beat fast.
The object lying on the planking a few feet away from the end of the pier was a silvery flask like men carried to take a quick swig of whisky. Had Dolly smelled the alcohol? Had that made her nervous, as it was unusual in the open air?
Then something else drew Guinevere’s attention. A discoloured spot on one of the wooden poles used to fasten boats on. A smear of something. Reddish brown.
Her neck pricked.
The smear on the pole looked a lot like dried blood. Her gaze travelled to the flask. Near it was a dark spot as well. More blood?
Her eyes swept the choppy water around the pier. Her stomach squeezed. Jago knew these waters and he was a careful man. But he was also older, and the flask suggested he had been drinking. Maybe he had taken a fall and hurt himself?
Maybe he had tried to clamber into his boat to row home and ended up in the water?
The smears of blood had dried up already. It had to have happened earlier. Maybe even last night.
If Jago had really fallen into the water during the night, he had to be …
No. Not another death on their island.
Guinevere turned around. She pulled her mobile phone out of her pocket and called Oliver. When his voice resounded on the other end of the line, she said, ‘I’m at the pier. There’s blood here and an abandoned flask. Jago’s boot is moored here. But I don’t see him. Anywhere. If the flask is his, however, and the blood is … Then …’
She couldn’t put the rest of her terrible suspicions into words.
Oliver asked, ‘Is the blood fresh?’
‘No, drying already.’
‘Where are you now?’
‘Still at the pier.’
‘Stay there, I’m coming over right away. Don’t do anything until I’m there.’ The call ended, and she listened to the tone.
She just stood there with the phone held to her ear, staring at nothing. She wanted this to be a bad dream, her waking up in her bed, laughing off the idea that something could happen to Jago. He was big and strong, a man used to taking care of himself.
But the wind on her face was real, and so was the anxious dachshund winding herself around her legs. She had to have smelled the blood. Dogs’ senses were so much better than people’s.
Guinevere picked up Dolly and held her tight, closing her eyes a moment. She hoped Jago was all right …
***
Oliver arrived and said curtly he had called Constable Eal the moment he had finished his conversation with her, so help would arrive soon. Eal represented the law on Cornisea, keeping an eye out for poachers, teens making fires on the beach at night, people not paying their fees for docking their boats in the harbour. He knew everyone who lived on the island and regularly came there, could identify each bird and sea mammal, but he was also set in his ways, with strong opinions. Not an easy man to deal with.
Oliver went onto the pier and looked at the flask. ‘That is Jago’s. I saw him with it earlier this week.’
He studied the blood a moment, not commenting, then retraced his steps down the pier, looked at the sand of the beach in both directions. Apparently he was looking for traces of Jago leaving the scene, by land.
Guinevere waited with bated breath for him to find a clue that Jago had walked away from here. Away from the water that could be very dangerous when a man had been drinking and then got hurt, disorientated.
Oliver gave a cry and pointed under the pier. ‘Something is floating in the water there. It looks white. Fabric.’
He waded into the water at once to get it.
Guinevere waited, her hands clenched together. Her heartbeat sped up, and her breathing didn’t want to steady itself.
Oliver held up a soaked object, square, dripping water. ‘Handkerchief,’ he called to her. ‘Marked with a J.’
Guinevere swallowed hard.
Voices called out, and Constable Eal showed up with two more men whom Guinevere had seen in the harbour. They all went into the water to search.
Guinevere retreated to where a log lay and sat on it, waiting for something good to happen: Jago showing up, calmly waving his pipe at them and asking what on earth they were doing. How they would laugh together at all their trouble when it turned out he had merely cut his hand on something and that was how his blood had ended up on the pier and the pole.
Maybe he had pulled out his handkerchief to wrap his hurt hand and the wind had caught it and blown it into the water?
Yes, there had to be an innocent explanation for all of it.
But Jago didn’t appear.
Oliver came to her, dripping and grim to tell her to go back to the castle as it might take a while. ‘Call around to ask if Jago has been seen this morning. Find out who saw him last and where. Don’t say anything to my father yet. I don’t want him to worry. Jago and he go way back together.’
Guinevere nodded and went, forcing herself to walk briskly, hoping against hope the old fisherman would be OK. But why had he not picked up his flask then?
At the gates she ran into Max, armed with his camera. He lifted it playfully as if to snap her.
‘Please,’ she said in a choking voice, pushing past him.
‘Are you OK?’ Max came after her. ‘What’s up?’
‘There has been an accident on the pier. Somebody may have hurt himself. They are looking for him.’
‘Oh. You went there for your walk with the dog and saw the search party. I’m so sorry.’ Max put his hand on her arm. ‘Maybe it will turn out to be nothing. People here can take care of themselves, you know.’
‘Maybe. I can’t talk now. I have to make calls.’
‘Is there anything I can do?’
‘I don’t think so, but thanks for asking.’ She smiled at Max, then walked in and sat on the bottom of the stairs to make calls with her mobile phone. She could try the bakery, Emma’s Eatery, and Meraud’s bookshop.
Dolly pressed herself close to her, licking her ankle.
Guinevere placed the first two calls and got the same reply. Nobody had seen Jago this morning or last night. He hadn’t dined at the eatery as he usually did. Emma thought though that she had seen his boat from a distance, crossing to Cornisea, later in the evening.
Guinevere felt colder and colder. He had moored the boat at the pier and … Yes, then what?
She sat with her face down, staring at the floor, her mind blank. Trying to block out the thoughts about Jago being hurt.
Or worse.
Her phone rang, and she almost dropped it. It was Meraud. She asked, ‘I hear you’re looking for Jago?’
‘Yes.’ Guinevere felt relieved, hopeful even that Meraud would know something. Why else had she called her? ‘His boat is at the pier here on the island, but he himself is nowhere to be found. And there’s blood in several places.’
Meraud inhaled slowly. ‘Jago was going to meet someone on the island.’
‘Meet?’ Guinevere asked. Her stomach knotted.
‘Yes. He was in my store the other day asking about a specific book on the history of Cornisea. He wanted to borrow it to show it to someone. Someone who was going to visit the island.’
‘A man called Wadencourt?’ Guinevere asked, her heart pounding.
‘He didn’t say. I would have been reluctant to let him take the book as it is quite old and fragile, but it was busy and he managed to slip away with it.’
‘He just took it?’ Guinevere asked.
‘Yes. When he turns up again, tell him I want my book back.’
‘If he turns up again.’
‘Nonsense, Jago is a man who can fend for himself. He wouldn’t have an accident.’ Meraud sounded certain. ‘You tell him, all right? And stop by some time. I’m not seeing enough of you. I have to tell my brother something when he calls to ask how you’re doing.’
Meraud’s brother was Guinevere’s boss in London, the director of their theatre. ‘Mr Betts calls to ask you how I’m doing at the castle? Why doesn’t he call me?’
‘I guess he wants an excuse to call me and hear the latest about Cornisea.’ Meraud sighed. ‘It’s so see-through. Well, talk to you later.’ She disconnected.
Guinevere lowered the phone. Mr Betts’ strained relationship with his sister would normally occupy her thoughts, wondering how she might help to smooth things over, but right now she was fully focused on Jago’s disappearance.
So Jago had wanted to meet someone on the island to show off an old book. What for?
She should have asked Meraud about the contents of the book.
She lifted the phone again and called Meraud but there was no answer. Guinevere checked her watch. It was too early for the bookshop to be open yet. She tried again. Meraud had to be near that phone.
After endless ringing Meraud answered, ‘Yes?’ She sounded exasperated.
‘Guinevere here. I just wanted to ask what that book Jago borrowed was about. It might be relevant somehow.’
‘I was pulling Vivaldi away from a pillow he slaughtered. The entire shop is full of duck feathers now.’ Meraud sighed. Her new dog Vivaldi, a lively golden retriever puppy, was proving to be a handful.
Normally Guinevere would laugh at the pup’s antics, but right now her heart was heavy and her head full of questions of what Jago had been up to before he had disappeared.
Meraud continued, ‘The book was on genealogy. It goes back through the centuries outlining who lived on Cornisea. Marriages, births, departures, new arrivals.’
‘Also of the Bolingbrooke family?’
‘Yes, I think so. How come?’
‘I’m not sure.’ Could Lady Rose be in it? Her marriage to the lord of Cornisea Castle, where the wedding goblet had been used in the ceremony tying the knot between them? ‘But thank you.’ She disconnected and rested the phone on her knee.
Dolly watched her with inquisitive eyes as if she wanted to know what they’d be doing next.
‘Why are you sitting there all alone?’ Bolingbrooke’s voice boomed from on high.
Guinevere cringed. She had hoped his lordship would stay in bed until nine or ten like he usually did. But today of all days he had to get up early and catch her sitting there. She had to make sure he didn’t notice her dejection. Or Oliver’s absence. If Jago was all right, there was no need to worry Bolingbrooke by telling him about the blood on the pier and the handkerchief floating in the water.
‘Where’s Oliver?’ Bolingbrooke asked.
‘Out jogging,’ Guinevere lied quickly. It was Oliver’s morning routine, so his father had no reason to doubt the veracity of her statement. ‘Shall I make you some coffee?’ She passed him in a rush, so he couldn’t look too closely at her expression.
‘Fine,’ Bolingbrooke called after her. ‘I’ll be there in a minute. I want to see if Cador already has the morning paper.’
A bunch of newspapers were delivered to the island early in the morning and were then spread around and Cador usually ambled down to get one at the eatery or had an acquaintance bring it up in exchange for a cup of coffee and a chat about local gossip. The butler seemed to be more interested in the news than his master, as Bolingbrooke hardly ever touched a newspaper.
Guinevere stared after him as he vanished out of her sight. Why was Bolingbrooke suddenly interested in the morning paper?
Then she shrugged it off and went up to make the coffee. While she was at it, her phone rang. She picked it up.
‘Oliver here.’
The tone of his voice said it all. Her heart skipped a beat. She clenched the edge of the sink.
‘We found him.’ Oliver’s breathing was ragged. ‘He’s dead. Drowned, I suppose. Eal tried first aid, but I could tell right away it was too late for that. It must have happened hours ago. Probably last night.’
‘Did you find a wound on him?’ Guinevere’s voice trembled.
‘Yes. On the temple. He must have been unconscious when he fell in. That’s why he couldn’t save himself.’
Oliver swallowed before continuing, ‘Eal will take care of it from here. There will probably be an inquest, but Eal’s fairly certain it will be seen as death by accident. Eal told me …’
He took a deep breath before he could go on. ‘He told me that Jago was drinking a lot lately. Eal assumes he was drunk and stumbled, hurting himself. He must have tried to untie the boat anyway and …’
‘I see.’ Guinevere swallowed. The whole murder investigation earlier that summer had hit Jago hard. He hadn’t been the same since. Was that why he had started to drink a lot? The flask seemed to support the theory he had been intoxicated when he fell.
Still something bothered her. ‘Is there any indication someone was with him on the pier?’
Oliver was silent a moment. ‘No, why? The flask and the handkerchief are his. Why would someone have been with him? If Jago had an accident with someone present, that person would have helped him, right?’
‘Yes, I suppose so. It’s just that … I called around to ask if anyone had seen Jago this morning and Meraud told me that Jago took a book from the Cowled Sleuth bookshop yesterday, while she was helping customers. He wanted to meet someone on the island to give them that book. Or at least show it to them. I just wonder if he ever met that person.’
Oliver said, ‘There’s no book here on the pier. Or on his person. It could be in his boat.’
‘Ask Eal to look for it.’
Oliver was silent again. ‘What are you thinking?’ he asked at last.
‘I don’t know. It might be nothing. But with this whole goblet business … Last night when I looked out of my window I saw Lady Serena on the beach, with binoculars. At least I think it was her. The posture was right and the clothes. I thought she was watching the castle like she had said she would, but what if she was waiting to meet someone on the beach?’
Oliver sighed. ‘I see. I’ll ask Eal what he thinks. And don’t
tell my father anything about Jago’s death. I want to do that myself.’ He disconnected.
Guinevere raised her hand and covered her eyes. She took a couple of deep breaths. Poor Jago. The old man hadn’t been happy after the recent murder investigation and the stain it had put on his beloved Cornisea. Now he was dead himself. Taken by the sea he had loved and trusted.
‘Here it is,’ Bolingbrooke’s voice called, as he came jogging up the steps with the newspaper in his hand. ‘No coffee yet?’
He passed Guinevere, waving the paper. ‘In the library please as soon as it’s ready.’
It helped Guinevere to calm down by focusing on the coffee preparation. She had to look her usual self when facing her employer so Bolingbrooke wouldn’t get suspicious. It would take some time before Oliver was back at the castle to break the bad news to his father.
With a deep sigh Guinevere put the coffee pot on the tray, together with cups, sugar, milk, and the biscuit tin. Dolly looked up at her and whined. It was as if the doggy had known from the start Jago was dead. Had she smelled it on the pier?
But Jago had been alive when he had fallen. He had drowned, right?
Stepping into the corridor, Guinevere carried the tray carefully, step by step, to the half-open door.
‘Let me get that for you.’ Max appeared beside her and pushed the door open so she could walk in easily. ‘I could use a cup of that. Good morning, your lordship. What’s up in the world today?’
Bolingbrooke sat on a chair, the newspaper open in his lap. He looked up with a pained expression. ‘Excuse me?’
‘What’s happening in the world?’ Max repeated. ‘Crisis, earthquake?’
Bolingbrooke shut the newspaper and dropped it beside his chair. ‘More of the same. Ah, coffee. How did you sleep? No creaking to keep you awake?’
His tone was forcefully cheerful as he kept asking questions about his castle being such a tough place for guests to settle in as it groaned and grunted in every nook and cranny.
Guinevere eyed him suspiciously, and then the newspaper he had discarded.
She had the impression Bolingbrooke had been reading on one of the very first pages. Could she sneak a peek at the paper later to determine what had upset him?
Rubies Among the Roses Page 6