The Corpse with the Sapphire Eyes

by Cathy Ace

  “So what happened to the painting of Alice’s late husband? Did she remove it?” I asked. It seemed an obvious question, but it drew a less than expected response from Rhian.

  She drew close to Bud and me and whispered, “She had it taken down a couple of days after he died, and hid it goodness knows where, Mam said.” Rhian looked over her shoulder toward the drawing room, but it was clear from the hubbub that we were the last people anyone was thinking about.

  “Why did she do that?” asked Bud.

  Rhian shrugged. “Mam said that Alice never liked it. She also said that Mr. Gryffudd was a bit weird about the painting of Alice. She said he used to sit in the drawing room talking to it, but he’d completely ignore Alice herself. He’d sit, drink, smoke, and talk—then Alice would come into the room and chase him out. See? Weird.”

  Bud and I agreed with her, and it gave me pause for thought, though Alice’s husband having a strange relationship with a painting of his wife hardly explained why it was now cut to ribbons.

  “And when was that—that he died, and she moved the portrait?” I asked.

  “Well, I was very little. Maybe four or five, so mid to late 1970s, I’d say. Mam would know.”

  “And Alice’s portrait has hung in its central position, over the fireplace, ever since?” I pushed.

  Rhian looked thoughtful. “As far as I know, though, again, Mam would be the better person to ask. All I can tell you is that I only have a very vague memory of there being a man on one side of the fire and a lady on the other. For as long as I can properly remember, there’s just been Alice, above the fire. Why?”

  Rhian seemed suddenly curious about why I was asking so many questions about the portrait, and I could tell by his expression that Bud was equally puzzled.

  “No particular reason,” I lied.

  Pymtheg

  THAT SOME SORT OF NORMALITY was returning to the castle was signaled by Dilys Jones rushing from the drawing room in search of mops to clear up the pooling water that had dripped all over the floor. She shooed Idris into the hall ahead of her, where he almost skidded in the same way I had.

  Alice, who shot out of the drawing room in her wheelchair at a dangerously high speed, was followed by Janet. I was seeing her in her uniform for the first time. Alice completely ignored our little group at the door and went screeching across the wet hallway toward a door in the wall beyond the drawing room.

  As she flew by she called to Janet, “Keep up, girl. Come and open the door to the lift for me and help me turn.”

  The chances of anyone being as fast on their feet as Alice was on her wheels were very slim, unless they were an Olympic sprinter. So Alice had to wait for Janet to catch up.

  In her haste, Janet dropped something from her pocket as she rushed past me, so I bent, picked it up, and followed. At the door of the lift, Janet dutifully helped Alice reverse into a little booth, which was only slightly larger than the dimensions of her chair. Janet tried to close the door gently, but it seemed that Alice hadn’t reversed quite enough, so she pulled at her little control stick, hit the back of the lift, and Janet allowed the door to shut. It still banged on the footrests at the front of the wheelchair, and I noticed the transfer of paint from the interior of the door to the little footrests. I suspected that the device hadn’t been built to cope with the new machine that Alice was driving around the castle as though it were a race track.

  “I’ll see you up there,” called Alice as she pushed a button beside her and the miniscule lift jerked into silent motion. It moved very slowly, but the action seemed smooth.

  “You dropped this as you passed me,” I said, holding out the crumpled piece of paper that I’d picked up.

  Janet took it from me without looking at it, and said, “Thanks, but I can’t stop, I have to race her up. It’s a game we play.” She grinned and took off up the stairs.

  “Ah, the litheness of youth,” said Siân close to my ear.

  “What?” I spluttered, startled. For no apparent reason I’d started to cough.

  Siân sighed. “Sorry, forgot I was talking to you, sis. Litheness is not something you were ever overly familiar with, is it?” She spoke as though she weren’t insulting me. “So, what do you think about that picture being slashed? Pretty spiteful. Nasty thing for someone to do. Seems as though someone’s got it in for the arts. I’d better guard my knitting.” She grinned.

  “What are you talking about?” I hadn’t meant to sound irritated, it just came out that way. I wasn’t feeling my best. I even thought I might be coming down with something because my throat felt a bit scratchy and sore. Getting soaked to the skin hadn’t helped on that score, I suspected.

  “First a choirmaster, now a painting? There’s someone here who doesn’t appreciate art,” said Siân sulkily. “Mair’s been filling me in on what David had been doing with his life. Seems he was quite famous hereabouts for his skill as a teacher and conductor. So that’s what he was now, an artist. And now there’s the damaged painting. You do think the two things are connected, right? I mean, they must be.”

  Bud arrived, breathing heavily. “Don’t do that, Cait. You just went dashing off and then you completely disappeared. I had no idea where you were. I don’t like it when I lose sight of you.”

  I decided to answer Bud, not Siân, so I said, “I picked up something that Janet dropped and came over here to give it back to her.”

  “What was it?” asked Bud.

  “Just a piece of paper,” I replied.

  “You sound distracted,” observed Bud.

  “Hmmm?”

  Siân butted in. “She’s not listening, Bud. She’s thinking. Strewth, she’s always been the same. Just tunes people out. What is it, Cait? Cat got your tongue?”

  By way of a response I held my palm toward Bud. “Coal dust,” I said.

  Siân laughed. “Oh, and that’s typical too. Silence, then some stupid cryptic remark. You’re priceless, Cait. I’d forgotten how annoying you can be. Right, I’m off to find out what Mair thinks about all this. Her mum’s pretty upset about that portrait.”

  I snapped out of my thoughts. “Yes, I wouldn’t mind a word with Mair too, if that’s alright, Siân? I wanted to talk to her about the puzzle plate and the hidden treasure. Could we do that, do you think?”

  Siân snapped, “I don’t know why you’re asking me if it’s alright to talk to Mair, but yes, why don’t we do that? You coming, Bud?” Siân looked at her watch. “We’ve still got an hour before lunch, so there’s lots of time. And as we hunt down Mair, you two can tell me all about the bridge. It’s out, right? Like I said?”

  Bud nodded as the three of us wandered back to the drawing room to look for Mair. “Yes. Too dangerous for vehicles, certainly, but it might be okay for pedestrians. We won’t know until tomorrow, at the earliest.”

  “So no one’s coming or going by that route then,” noted Siân. “Sorry, sis.” She shook her head. “I apologize for being a bit crotchety. I don’t know what’s up with me. Everyone seems to be so cutting toward each other here, and it’s like an infection. I do understand, sis. You must be worried about the wedding.”

  I nodded.

  Siân put her arm around my shoulders. “Come on, buck up, it’ll work out alright. No point brooding on it. Let’s do what we can to find out about David’s death, like we agreed last night. Have you done anything about it yet? I was pumping Mair about him, but then there was all this kerfuffle about the painting. And what about the riddle on the puzzle plate that his mother-in-law said he was fascinated by? I’ve been thinking about that, and I’ve been wondering if the two things could be linked in some way. Should we follow up on that?”

  It seemed as though Siân had returned to her old self. She was bright and energetic, and I couldn’t imagine what was going on with all the mood swings. She interrupted my thought process by grabbing my arm and hissing, “Look, there’s Mair. Okay, I’m going to get everything she knows out of her—it should be easy enough . . .”
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br />   I was about to tell her that she should take things gently, but she was gone.

  “Mair—there you are, we wanted a word,” Siân called toward Mair’s back as the woman was disappearing through a door that led off the drawing room toward the back of the castle.

  Mair stopped, holding the doorknob. “Hullo, Siân. I wondered where you’d got to, though I often don’t know where anyone is in this place. I’m just going to sit in the music room and knit for a while. The light’s better there—such as it is with this horrendous weather. Mother has gone for a lie down, which is the best thing for her, so I thought I’d get on with the socks I’m working on. Want to join me?”

  Siân looked gleeful. “Absolutely yes. I’ve got another shawl I’m working on. We can knit together. We all wanted to talk to you about something else too—but I’d love to see the music room. That piano you talked about earlier must be quite something.”

  Mair walked through the door and ushered us in. “Welcome to the music room,” she announced. We all thanked her politely, then marveled, in chorus, at the sights that met our eyes.

  The room was gold. The carpeting shone with gold thread; the walls were upholstered with gold brocade; the windows, which ran from floor to ceiling, were framed with gold and decorated with gold ormolu swags and crests; and gold-framed mirrors all but covered the wall that faced the windows, and bounced the light around. It meant that even on such an exceptionally dark day, the room felt light and airy. Several upholstered chairs dotting the room looked as though they’d been imported to this magical land from a much dourer place, because they weren’t gold at all, but dark wood, and a bit knocked around the edges. Each was paired with an occasional table. As I wandered around the room I also noticed that it wasn’t just the furniture that had seen better days—the mirror frames, the woodwork at the windows, even the ormolu, were all marked, scratched, and worn in places.

  At the far end of the room, close to a wall with no windows and just one small door, sat the undoubted star of the room: an ornate rosewood piano, with turned legs and a highly decorative fretted music desk. It was open and ready to be played.

  “It’s beautiful,” cooed Siân.

  “It’s a Blüthner, isn’t it?” I said.

  Mair nodded. “You know pianos?” She sounded surprised.

  I couldn’t resist. “It looks like a Blüthner style 7 grand. The lyre-shaped pedal suggests it’s an early one. About 1887? Before 1900, I’d say. Do you play, Mair?”

  Mair shook her head. “I had lessons, for years, but I never found it easy, so I let others do that for me nowadays. David would play for me sometimes. Gwen came here yesterday to tune it for the performance on Monday. Tomorrow. Oh dear . . . your wedding. It’s not sounding too hopeful, is it? Idris was telling me about the bridge. I’m so sorry for you both. Well, all three of you, of course. You’ve come such a long way for this, Siân, and you’ve left your poor children behind, and everything. What will you do? Do you know yet?”

  I jumped right in. “In all honesty, Mair, we don’t think there’s anything we can do until tomorrow at the earliest, so we thought we’d try to ignore it, and just throw ourselves into life at the castle. Of course, we didn’t expect to return to such an unpleasant occurrence. Your mother must have had a nasty shock. Was she the one who first discovered the damage to the portrait?”

  “Yes,” replied Mair. “Mother very rarely comes down from her apartment until dinner time, but today she insisted upon coming down early. As I said, Gwen was here to tune the piano yesterday, and she kindly offered to play for Mother before lunch today. Mother used to play, you see, but she can’t anymore because her hands are in such a terrible state, so it’s always a special treat for her when there’s someone here who can play for her. Mother would always ask her to play the same piece, ‘Trois Gymnopédies’ by Satie, and Gwen would do it for her. Happily. She is really very good. Even I could tell she had a lovely touch. Good control.”

  “So your mother was heading here when she found the painting?” asked Bud.

  Mair nodded sadly. “Yes. Of course it shocked her. It shocked us all. Mother’s always been very fond of that painting. As you saw last night, Cait, she’s very proud of her youthful self. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that, as she’s aged, the painting has become even more important to her. But there, I suppose it’s the same for all of us when we see photos of our younger selves, isn’t it? We don’t all have larger than life oil paintings of ourselves hung about the place, though, do we?”

  I smiled and recalled the photo of me holding my baby sister. I looked across the room at Siân and struggled with my feelings toward her. Surely feeling affection for your little sister shouldn’t be so difficult?

  “It begs the question, who do you think might have done such a thing?” I said quietly.

  Mair shook her head. “I can’t think that it could be one of us,” she said flatly.

  So there we were again. Not one of us.

  Despite my natural reluctance to countenance a nomadic stranger as being a possible culprit, I allowed myself to consider whether there might, in fact, be someone secreted in the castle after all. Then I wondered if I could come up with an excuse to have a good hunt about.

  Un ar bymtheg

  “THE STYLE AND ATMOSPHERE OF this wing is very different to the wing housing my bridal boudoir and the dining room.” I wanted to begin to build a better mental map of the castle, so I thought I’d take advantage of Mair’s knowledge.

  “Very much so,” replied Mair. “Don’t tell Owain, but I actually find the history of this place fascinating,” she whispered. “If I let on, he’d never shut up about it. Besides, I’m interested more in the artistic aspects than the historical ones. I mean, given that we’ve got a prehistoric stone circle and a Roman temple in the middle of our driveway, and a medieval basement, this building is so new, by comparison.”

  I knew I had her, so I allowed myself to settle into a surprisingly comfortable battered old armchair. “I’ve read what’s on the website, about your great-grandfather and your grandfather building the place, but it would be so much more fun to hear it from a family member. How’s the place to live in? Did you grow up here, hunting through secret passages and so forth?”

  We’d all taken seats, and, if you’d peeped through the window into the music room at that moment, you’d have been forgiven for thinking we were a nonchalant group of friends idling away the time, with Mair and Siân both knitting almost absentmindedly. I, however, knew I was investigating, so I was on full alert. I felt safe in the assumption that Bud would have the same perspective.

  Mair looked wistful. “I’ll be honest and admit that my childhood here was anything but happy. Mother decided I should be homeschooled, so with Owain and my late brother, Teilo, away at boarding school, I was the only child in the house. I had my very own tutor, who also pretty much parented me. You see, although Father didn’t die until I was sixteen, he was seventy when I was born, so I didn’t mix much with him.”

  “Your father was seventy when you were born?” exclaimed Siân in disbelief.

  Mair nodded. “Yes. When Mother goes on about the fact that I was a late baby and I nearly killed her, she has a point. She’s told me the story over and over again, though, to be honest, I only have her word for it all. Of course, Dilys backs her up. But then she always does. Dilys was about ten when I was born, and I think she always was a little girl who listened at doors and so forth, so I suppose she’d know. Mother says she didn’t even know she was pregnant with me until she was about five months gone. At forty she thought her ‘symptoms,’ as she refers to them, as though I were some sort of illness, were just signs that her body was changing.”

  “Was it a difficult birth?” asked Siân. “At that age they can be tough.”

  “Who knows,” replied Mair. “Mother speaks of near-death experiences and thirty hours of labor, but I believe she’s exaggerating for effect. In any case, I was born healthy, which they were relieved
about, and they decided to keep me, for which I suppose I should be grateful. No, that’s not fair, I am grateful, because however odd my so-called ‘family life’ has been, I am sure it was a lot better than it would have been if I’d been handed off for adoption.”

  “Why on earth do you think they might have put you up for adoption?” asked Siân. I’d been about to ask that myself.

  Mair looked evasive, then made an internal decision and told us, “It’s another one of Mother’s little weapons. She frequently mentioned it when I was a child—that she and my father were far too old to have a baby about the place, and that they should have handed me off to someone for them to raise. I was constantly made to feel as though I was in the way. Sometimes Mother isn’t aware of how hurtful she can be.”

  I suspected that Alice Cadwallader had a very good idea about the effect her words had, and chose to use them anyway. Once again I began to wonder at how we human beings can be so disconnected from those we are supposed to love.

  We all held our silence and allowed Mair a moment or two, which she took. As she dwelt on the fortune of her upbringing I wondered about Dilys Jones’s early life.

  When a smile crossed Mair’s face, I judged it time to prompt her more. “Did you and Dilys mix as children?” I asked.

  Mair laughed. “Ten years is a big gap, Cait. By the time I was running about and more than a baby, she was a teen. Besides, I wasn’t allowed to mix with the servants. There were many more of them in those days, of course. There were Dilys’s parents—Mrs. Jones did what Dilys does now, she was the cook; her husband did what David has been doing, you know, general stuff around the place. But we had a chauffeur, a housekeeper, three women—or girls probably—who cleaned and waited on us, four gardeners, and, of course, there was Miss Williams, my tutor.”