Silent as the Grave

by Bill Kitson

  ‘Yes, I’ve been awake for ages,’ I teased her. ‘Your snoring woke me up.’

  ‘I don’t snore,’ she reacted sharply; then saw me laughing.

  I got up and stretched. ‘I must admit I feel lots better for that nap,’ I admitted.

  ‘Me too,’ she agreed, ‘Although I only nodded off for a few minutes.’

  ‘Have you seen the time?’

  She glanced at her watch. ‘Golly,’ she said, ‘I didn’t realize it was as late as that. We’d better go downstairs or we’ll be late for dinner.’

  ‘I can’t do with missing another one or Cathy Marsh will get paranoia thinking I’m avoiding her food,’ I agreed.

  I remember that evening’s meal not only for the novelty of my actual attendance at the dining table but also because it marked the culmination of the stalemate that had seemed to descend over events at the castle.

  After it was over I opted for an early night and said goodnight to everyone. I went up to my room and closed the door. The room had been a haven for me whilst I had been recovering from my injuries, now it seemed a little less welcoming. It didn’t take me long to figure out why. That gave me food for thought.

  I was less than surprised when the door opened shortly after I’d got into bed. My night watchman had arrived. Suddenly the room felt warmer, brighter. I looked across the room. My eyes were already heavy with the prospect of sleep. ‘Hello, Evie,’ I smiled.

  She appeared hesitant, reluctant almost. ‘I came,’ she said slowly, ‘to see if you were going to be OK on your own or whether you want me to stay? In case the intruder returns,’ she added, unnecessarily.

  ‘I think it would be wise to avoid taking any chances,’ I replied.

  Her expression cleared. ‘Oh, all right, in that case I’ll go get a duvet from my room and curl up in the armchair,’ she said.

  ‘Whatever for?’ I asked, ‘Why not use the bed like before?’

  ‘It was different then. You were ill and I didn’t … I mean I wasn’t …’ The sentence petered out into uncomfortable silence.

  ‘Evie,’ I said gently. ‘I won’t harm you, I promise. You do believe me, don’t you?’

  She looked at me, her eyes a painful mix of emotions that defied guesswork. ‘I’ve never been alone with a man since what happened to me. Not until I nursed you that is, and it was necessary then. What I mean is, it isn’t you; it’s me that’s at fault. I can’t explain it very well. I’m just plain scared, I guess.’

  ‘You don’t act that way most of the time,’ I said ruefully, remembering our first encounter.

  ‘Will you do me a great favour, Adam? Will you forget that ever happened?’

  ‘If you prefer it, Evie,’ I smiled comfortingly. ‘If you will promise never to be scared of me?’

  ‘That’s asking a lot after what I’ve been through. I won’t promise but I’ll try my very best.’

  ‘That’s good enough for me,’ I pulled back the duvet alongside me and after a moment’s hesitation Eve turned her back and began removing her outer garments.

  I watched her unashamedly. She had a delightful figure. I’d forgotten about the dressing table mirror. Eve turned round. ‘Enjoying the view?’ she asked sarcastically.

  ‘Yes,’ I admitted without a trace of guilt.

  When she climbed into bed alongside me we both found sleep difficult. We talked for what seemed hours. It was that time of night where whispers seem to carry like shouts so we kept our voices low. Eve talked of her career with a major international trading group and the travels that took her all over Europe. ‘It has been fun,’ she said, ‘but now I feel ready for a change. I’m sick of the travelling for one thing. Europe is interesting but I’d rather see it as a tourist. For me it has been one hotel room after another and one boardroom looks very much like the next whether you’re in Rome, Paris, Madrid, or London.’

  ‘I can understand that,’ I agreed. ‘Everyone thinks the life of a foreign correspondent is all glamour but in fact most of the time you’re only called on to report man-made disasters such as shootings, bombings, or terrorist outrages. Alternatively, you get to report on air crashes or train accidents. For comic relief you get elections and a fair proportion of those are either dull foregone conclusions or rigged votes you can’t tell people about.’

  Later, Eve asked me gently if I’d like to tell her about Georgina. I did so with some reluctance because it was still a subject I avoided where possible. ‘She was too gentle; too timid for the acting profession,’ I said. ‘The only way to succeed in that industry it seems to me is by battering people’s door down to get the best parts. Georgina wasn’t made that way. It wasn’t in her nature to force herself onto people and she suffered for it. She had a mercurial temperament.’ I smiled. ‘A bit like yours in some way but nowhere near as violent.’ I waited for Eve’s protest, but strangely it didn’t come. ‘That was a joke,’ I explained. ‘What I meant was that Georgina would be full of fun and laughter one day, the next she’d be in the deepest depression. When the work got less and less so did the good days and the bad days became more and more frequent. I could do little to help. New York is a plum assignment for a correspondent but it also keeps you busy every hour you’re prepared to spend working. You could work twenty-four hours a day in New York and not hope to cover all the stories going. You just have to be lucky and go for the ones you think will make the best headlines and trust to luck and judgement. Sometimes,’ I added with a wry smile, ‘you even manage to get it right.

  ‘In the middle of all that I got a sudden transfer to Ethiopia. Georgina came to the airport to see me off and I could tell she was suffering but there was nothing I could do about it. I couldn’t have foreseen she would get so far down she would just want to end it all.’

  I stopped then and looked across at Eve. I could see tears in her eyes and from the marks on her cheeks I guessed she’d been crying a while. ‘Hey,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to get upset.’

  She composed herself. ‘It seems such a waste,’ she said, ‘a waste for her and a waste for you. Do you think it would have been better if you’d had a family?’

  ‘I don’t really know,’ I said heavily. The past was beginning to bear down on me oppressively as it always did when I dwelt on it too long. ‘Georgina couldn’t have children. It was something to do with a riding accident she had when she was at school. We did talk about adoption but just never seemed to get round to it. That was another problem with the job; being able to offer children a stable family upbringing when you could be posted anywhere in the world at the drop of a hat.’

  ‘Would you have liked children? You would have made a good father,’ she commented.

  ‘I suppose so,’ I thought about it for a moment. ‘It wasn’t to be, so I never thought of it at the time but yes, on balance I think I’d have enjoyed having children.’

  ‘I can picture you with a daughter,’ Eve said smiling, ‘you’d have spoilt her rotten.’

  ‘That’s what fathers are for, isn’t it? What about you? Don’t you want a family of your own or are you happy enough as favourite aunt to Harriet’s three?’

  ‘Given my history I don’t think the occasion will arise now,’ Eve said sadly. ‘I’m getting a bit long in the tooth for it anyway. Add that to the fact that I couldn’t stand having a man near me let alone go to bed with one and I think the odds are pretty long; don’t you?’

  ‘You let me near you and as far as I can see from here you’re in bed with me,’ I pointed out.

  ‘That’s different, you’re different, and I didn’t mean being in bed that way.’

  I smiled but refrained from any further comment on the subject.

  We drifted off to sleep and the next thing I remember was waking briefly sometime in the early hours. Eve, who hated and distrusted all men; who was frightened to be alone with a man, was curled up against me, her head was on my shoulder and her arm was wrapped tightly round my chest. Anyone looking in would have taken us for lovers
, which was far from being the case. But then again the situation was different and I was different and it wasn’t at all like that. I knew this because Eve had said so.

  When I woke a second time it was daylight. The pressure on my chest had eased and Eve’s hair was no longer tickling my neck. I looked at her. Sometime in the night she had gone over onto her left side and was facing away from me. I had turned with her, it seemed. I had been given little choice in the matter for she was holding my hand in her sleep. I drifted back off to sleep. It seemed like only seconds later when I felt her stir and knew she had woken up. I decided to adopt a tactful approach and pretended to sleep on. She removed my hand gently from her waist and held it for a moment. I opened my eyes and looked at her. She looked confused; frightened, and alarmed. She said nothing but got straight out of bed and began pulling her clothes on. ‘I’m going for a shower and then I’ll meet you in the dining hall if you like,’ she said when she was ready to leave.

  I didn’t want her to go. I realized it and knew better than to say it. ‘OK, Evie,’ I said, ‘thank you for taking care of me again. You’re a most efficient bodyguard.’

  She eyed me dubiously, searching for the hidden meaning in my words. It was there but if she found it she didn’t say so.

  I beat her down to the dining room with ease and was talking to Tony and Harriet about a minor domestic crisis when Eve entered. She stood for a moment in the entrance, her expression defiant. She had obviously accepted the challenge thrown out by my remark the previous day and was wearing a close-fitting pair of black cords topped by a white polo-necked sweater and a plaid jacket identical to Harriet’s. ‘Wow, Evie,’ I said, ‘you look stunning.’

  Like I said, I know when to crawl; but in this instance I wasn’t exaggerating. She did look stunning. She smiled a little smugly and greeted her sister and brother-in-law. ‘I was just telling Adam we appear to have mislaid our butler,’ Tony informed her.

  Eve gave a puzzled frown. ‘Rathbone,’ she said. ‘Hasn’t the old soak appeared this morning?’

  ‘No, he hasn’t,’ Tony grimaced. ‘He didn’t seem in too bad a shape last night though. I was about to go check his room when Adam arrived then you came in.’

  ‘I’d be tempted to check the wine cellar on your way past,’ Eve suggested.

  Tony reappeared ten minutes later. Rathbone’s quarters were on the third floor of the castle and Tony was a little out of breath and pink in the face. ‘There’s no sign of him in his room. What’s more it doesn’t look as if his bed’s been slept in.’

  There was dreadful sense of similarity in Tony’s words and I was reminded forcibly of Christmas morning when Beaumont had gone missing. I heaved a sigh. ‘Another day; another search,’ I said. ‘When the rest of the family come down, I should get them to search within the castle. I’m going to have a look outside.’

  Tony glanced at the weather outside and the others followed his gaze. ‘You’ll not be able to see far,’ he suggested.

  The fog that had descended after the thaw began was denser than ever. Our only hope of an early end to the isolation of the castle seemed to be if the roads had been cleared. On this however Tony had more bad news. ‘I was listening to the radio whilst I was shaving,’ he told us, ‘and apparently the melting snow’s caused a lot of flooding. The river has swollen to such an extent that it’s washed away the bridge this side of Kirk Bolton. As that’s the only route up the valley we might be marooned a while longer.’

  ‘That makes it more urgent than ever to find Rathbone,’ I suggested.

  ‘Adam; sit down and get some breakfast before you go dashing off outside. You’ll make yourself ill again if you don’t,’ Eve ordered. ‘I’ll come and help you as soon as I’ve finished eating. My ankle is much better.’

  ‘Eve’s right,’ Harriet added. ‘If anything has happened to Rathbone a few minutes one way or another won’t harm.’

  The remainder of the family began drifting in as we were eating. They all seemed suitably shocked by the news of the butler’s disappearance and agreed to begin searching the castle again after breakfast.

  Once Eve and I had finished our meal we went out to get ready. ‘We’ll need to wrap up well,’ I told her, ‘this fog will be worse than the snow for making us cold. It’s the damp that does it. I’m going to pick up the chapel key and have a look round Rathbone’s pantry before we go. It might give us a clue to where he went and when.’

  It didn’t, however. I stuck the key in my pocket and we went into the corridor behind the kitchen to prepare for our walk outside. Hats, scarves, and warm coats were all essentials. Suitably attired, we set off. The fog had concealed an additional factor to the weather. Overnight the temperature had dropped below zero. What we were faced with was freezing fog in the air and sheet ice underfoot; particularly where the snow had been trodden down.

  As we slipped and slid on our way round the outbuildings and castle surrounds it was all we could do to avoid falling. After Eve; who was less experienced in such conditions had nearly fallen for the third time I took her hand to steady her. I thought it was the least I could do as she’d volunteered to help me. She didn’t seem to mind too much, so I maintained my grip as we continued our search. We concentrated on the outbuildings first but meeting with no success widened our search pattern in a slowly widening arc. We checked the greenhouses as we passed them but from what we could see nothing had been disturbed. Then we began walking towards the chapel. We made slow progress partly because it was treacherous underfoot and partly because I was unable to move quickly owing to the residual effects of my fall. We were totally enclosed within the blanket of fog that seemed to be thickening rather than dispersing. Nevertheless, the exercise was keeping us warm and the clothing repelled the damp. It was a silent walk but a companionable one and I swung Eve’s hand gently as we marched along. She didn’t object to that either. Indeed, when I glanced at her at one point it seemed to me she was smiling but I may have been mistaken.

  We reached the chapel, eventually, and I let go of her hand to unlock the door. If the air outside had seemed cold it was positively Arctic within the chapel. We conducted a rudimentary search at first; then a more detailed one. Our quicker look around had established that Rathbone wasn’t inside but I wanted to attempt to see what had attracted Beaumont to this building on Christmas Eve.

  The detailed search yielded nothing of interest until eventually we stood looking at William Rowe’s tomb. ‘This is where we found the first trace of blood, remember?’ I said to Eve. ‘I still can’t see what it was attracted Beaumont to this spot.’

  I paused and looked at the tomb. The knight looked peaceful. As with all such ancient tombs an effigy of the inhabitant of the tomb had been carved from stone and laid on top of the dead man’s sarcophagus. As I looked at it I noticed a tiny fragment of the hilt of the knight’s sword had been broken off. The break looked relatively new. ‘Hello, what’s this?’ I said and pointed to the break.

  Eve peered over my shoulder. ‘How do you think that happened?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ I replied. ‘It almost looks as if something’s been dropped on it but the chances of that happening when the chapel is used so little seem remote to say the least.’

  I felt at the rough edge of the break and when I pulled my hand away I could feel something adhering to my fingers. I looked at them closely. ‘What is it?’ Eve asked.

  ‘Grit,’ I told her, ‘remember when I washed my hands after I’d moved Beaumont’s body and I found grit on the soap? I think I’ve just found out where that grit came from.’

  ‘Do you think somebody pushed him over or banged his head against the tomb?’

  ‘I don’t think so. It wouldn’t be sufficient to inflict the sort of injuries Beaumont had. His skull was smashed, remember. It would make more sense if someone had hit him with the tomb, or part of it, but it would be too heavy to lift.’

  As I spoke, I put my hand on the slab of stone carved in the shape of a shield. To
my astonishment the shield moved slightly at my touch. ‘That’s odd,’ I looked at Eve puzzled. ‘I didn’t know they were meant to move like that.’

  I looked at the shield again. It appeared to be firmly attached but when I grasped it with both hands it came away easily. I lifted the slab of stone. It took some doing; especially for someone in my weakened state. ‘It’s bloody heavy. Now this could have done the damage to Beaumont’s head without any problem.’

  ‘Try turning it over,’ Eve suggested.

  I did so and we stared at the back of the shield in astonishment. The first thing we noticed was the discolouration. Stains ran from the centre of the shield in all directions. Some of these looked darker than others. I touched one of the lighter ones and my fingers came away red. I stared at them for a long moment and my fears for the butler multiplied with every second. ‘Is that blood?’ Eve asked.

  ‘I’m afraid it is,’ I replied. I pointed to the centre of the reverse side of the shield. ‘Look there; those two claw shaped pieces of stone fit around that bar on the effigy. That’s what holds the shield in place. Or rather it would do but for the fact that one of them has been broken. Presumably that was done when Beaumont was hit over the head, hence the amount of grit in his wound.’

  ‘But if the shield was used to batter Beaumont to death surely the blood would have dried by now …’ Eve’s voice tailed off and she looked at me in horror. ‘Rathbone,’ she said. ‘You don’t think he …?’

  ‘I can’t think of any other explanation. I reckon we should have a look around outside.’

  I hadn’t noticed as we’d approached the chapel that ours weren’t the only footprints in the snow. That might have been because I was preoccupied. I blamed holding Eve’s hand for this. Now I saw there were at least three sets of tracks, although it was difficult to sort them out into individual ones. I pointed these out to Eve then glanced to my left. ‘See there, Evie, there’s one set going off that way and another coming back. Now why would anyone head off in that direction?’