by Cathy Ace
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.
Pump
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.
Bud was smiling at Eirwen just a little too brightly as he said, “Let me see if I’ve got this right. You call the entry level the ‘ground floor,’ then the first upstairs floor is the ‘first floor’? Right?”
Eirwen nodded eagerly.
Bud blustered on, “It sounds as though you have a different number of floors in each wing.”
Eirwen smiled, pleased to have a change in topic. “Yes, we have a very unusual layout here. It’s all a bit confusing because each part of the castle has a different number of floors. This wing has three floors, our wing has five, and the middle of the castle, the oldest part, only has two floors, properly speaking, plus the basement, which houses the kitchens. So, in this wing is this floor, which houses the morning room, this dining room, and the library, through there”—she waved an arm in the direction of the “mystery” door—“then there are the four guest rooms on the floor you’re using: the bridal boudoir above our heads, the groom’s room, and two more guest rooms. But there is another floor above that, where we could open up more guest rooms. To do that we’d need to remodel to allow for ensuite facilities, and all the new health and safety regulations. That would take a lot of money, so the floor is shut up for now. But—” She stopped speaking and literally bit her lip. I felt sorry for her. I suspected that the income from a possible contract with a television company would provide the cash necessary for the updating of the potential additional guest facilities.
“You mentioned my private library, Eirwen,” said Owain. “Please don’t give the impression that the room is open to the public.” He nodded in our general direction. “I’m sure you appreciate that a man’s library is his own domain.”
“It’s my library, Owain,” said Alice Cadwallader, wiping the corners of her mouth with an embroidered napkin. She picked up her glass of sherry and drained the last few drops. “I’ll take some wine now, Mair,” she called.
“Yes, Mother,” replied her daughter patiently, pushing aside her plate and rising from her seat. Mair moved to a second sideboard set so perfectly against the rounded wall that it must have been made for the room, just like the one upon which Dilys had carefully placed her serving tray. I thought it odd that Mair didn’t serve her mother from the bottles of wine that sat upon the table, and from which we’d been invited to pour for ourselves. I began to wonder why she would do that, when my attention was taken by a sudden gust of wind that blew open the shutters on the window next to the sideboard, sending the curtain billowing into Mair. The bottle fell from her hand and shattered on the worn rug covering the flagstones.
A general hubbub ensued, which only ended when Dilys Jones, initially summoned by means of a bell-rope beside the fireplace, came rushing back in again with a dustpan and brush, and a copious amount of salt. “That’s all I can do for the stain right now,” she announced glumly, shooting an accusing glance toward Mair, who was ensuring that the window was closed. Mair took her seat when she was finished.
Alice, whose wheelchair had remained in place at
the head of the table, called to her grandson, “Check she’s done that right, Idris. You know what she’s like.”
“It’s shut, Mother,” said Mair.
“I’m sure it’s just fine, Alice,” added Idris, obviously not wanting to be used to belittle his aunt.
“Check it, Idris, we don’t want another mess. Look at all that over there,” snapped Alice imperiously.
Idris succumbed.
“It wasn’t my fault, Mother,” bleated Mair. “The wind blew it open. It is a terrible night out there, or haven’t you noticed?”
“You are the housekeeper, Mair, and, as such, you were responsible for preparing this room for dinner. The fire is hardly alight; the shutters are blowing open every two minutes. Are you trying to make me catch my death of cold? Trying to kill me off? Is that it? Are you trying to get your hands on your inheritance that way?”
Just as Dilys Jones re-entered the dining room carrying another wide tray bearing an impressive tureen, Mair Cadwallader leapt from her seat, and completely lost it.
Chwech
“MOTHER—I AM NOTHING MORE, NOTHING less, than your unpaid skivvy. I am living the nineteenth-century life of a slave-daughter in the twenty-first century. It’s ridiculous. A man is dead. David is dead. It’s a terrible loss. And all you can worry about is yourself.”
Mair clenched her fists as she spoke, her chest heaving with emotion. “Doesn’t it occur to you that he will be missed? We’re all grieving him in our own way. Rhian is so upset she can’t even leave her room. Poor Rhian. Yes, Mother, poor Rhian, not poor you. You insisted that dinner go ahead when I’m sure that Dilys would rather be comforting her daughter. I know that Gwen’s stayed on to be with her, but it’s not the same as having your mother with you at a time like this. But that wouldn’t occur to you, would it? Because you have no idea how that feels—to want to comfort someone. God forbid you’d think of your daughter that way, as someone who needs something from her mother, rather than as a thing, a servant, who can tend to her mother’s every whim.”