by Mary Daheim
“And bought him a sports car,” Marie added. “He drove it over a cliff just beyond the village.”
“My goodness!” Judith exclaimed. “What’s the average age around here? About twenty-five?”
The remark had a sobering effect on both young women. “Well,” Beth began, “several people have died young. My brother Frankie was sickly from birth. My mum worried so about him. She’d waited so long to have children, and even consulted astrologers. She still does, in fact.”
“A fertility doctor would have been more to the point,” Judith said.
To her dismay, both young women again went into peals of laughter. “You Americans are always so practical,” Marie said after overcoming her latest giggle spasm. “Beth’s mum enjoys hocus-pocus. But she’s a wizard in the kitchen. You should taste her marmalade.”
“Maybe,” Beth said, “you have. She’s always giving it away.”
Judith remembered the jars of jams and condiments marked with the letter G. “Oh—yes, I thought the initial stood for Mrs. Gibbs.”
“No, for Mrs. Gunn,” Beth said, and looked at her diamond-studded watch. “It’s after seven-thirty. Want another, Marie?”
“Certainly,” Marie said.
“Mrs. Flynn?” Beth inquired.
“No, thank you. But your husband’s Scotch is wonderful.”
“Oh, he runs a fabulous distillery.” Beth poured refills from a cut-glass decanter. The Venetian chandelier over the bar created a sparkling effect on the glassware, the diamonds in Beth’s watch, the sheen of the satin trim on her tiered georgette halter dress, and even the luster of her fair skin. Judith felt as if she were watching a princess tend bar.
“What time do you expect Will to get here?” Beth asked Marie.
“For dinner,” Marie replied. “Poor man, he has to work on Sundays. It’s not fair.”
“You mean,” Judith said, “he has to go into the office? I understand that Blackwell’s headquarters is in Inverness.”
“It is,” Marie said, “but he’s working at home. He said he’d leave our house shortly before eight. I got here before the tide was all the way out. Poor Gibbs had to come fetch me in his funny little boat.”
Settled in with their second drinks, the young women began to talk of clothes. Judith had finished her own cocktail. She had no excuse to linger. Bidding Beth and Marie good evening, she left the drawing room.
Chuckie was in the corridor, rolling oranges on the stone floor.
“Hullo,” he said glumly. “Are you drunk?”
“Not in the least,” Judith replied, filled with compassion for the young man. “Where did you get the lovely oranges?”
“My father brought them from Spain,” Chuckie replied. “He says they’re good for me, but I never eat them.”
“Say, Chuckie, could you give me a quick tour of the castle?”
His face brightened. “Really? You want to see my secret places?”
“Sure. Where do we go first?”
“Outside,” Chuckie replied.
“Shouldn’t we collect your oranges?”
“No. Someone else will pick them up.” He paused, his small, bright eyes darting from orange to orange, a total of six scattered along the corridor’s cold stones. “My father’s very rich. Why doesn’t he hire more people here? Only old Gibbs and Gibbs until summer. I’d like a valet and a groom and…an orange picker-upper.” He smiled broadly.
“I thought you didn’t live here all the time,” Judith said.
“I don’t.” He turned slightly sullen. “Didn’t, I should say. But the last year or so, I’ve been kept here. I’m bored.” He stared at the oranges. “Oh, come on, let’s do the tour.” Chuckie scurried down the corridor and waited for Judith by the entrance.
“Hurry up!” Chuckie called. “You’re slow. You’d never escape the enemy marauders.”
“I’m kind of crippled,” Judith responded. “I have an artificial hip.”
“You do?” Chuckie frowned. “I thought you were normal.”
“Nobody’s normal,” Judith said. “The worst abnormalities,” she went on as she joined him by the door, “are inside.”
“But then nobody knows,” Chuckie argued.
“Oh yes they do,” Judith assured him. “They behave badly and cause trouble.”
Chuckie’s long face revealed intense concentration as he considered the statement. “You mean, like Harry?”
“Harry? Do you mean what happened to him or what he did?”
“Harry was mean,” Chuckie declared, leaning against the heavy door to open it. “He was nasty to me and unkind to Moira. He deserved getting blown up.”
“Nobody deserves to be killed,” Judith pointed out.
“Yes they do,” Chuckie insisted. “I’ll show you.”
He led the way into the courtyard. Judith felt the damp air on her cheek as soon as she moved outside. The only light came from a half dozen electric lanterns that hung from stanchions along the stone walls.
Chuckie pointed to their left. “See there, by the corner?”
Judith peered into the darkness at a wall fountain where water spewed from the mouth of a stone face resembling Neptune. “Yes?”
“That’s where the well was in the old days,” Chuckie said. “Sometimes bad people were thrown in to drown. Served them right.”
Judith refrained from making a comment.
“The guest rooms are where the barracks used to be,” Chuckie went on, strolling ahead and kicking at an occasional pebble. “There was a postern gatehouse in the old days when the castle was still connected to the land. It led to the barracks, where you’re staying now. Have you heard the horses stomping in their stalls at night?”
“Not yet,” Judith replied. She was tempted to say that she had, in fact, heard a voice saying “Open the gate” and “Open the window.” But she decided not to play into what appeared to be Chuckie’s fantasy.
“You saw the chapel,” Chuckie said. “Did my father make you go?”
“Of course not,” Judith replied. “I always attend Sunday Mass.”
“You do? Why?”
“I want to receive the sacraments,” Judith replied. “They give me the grace to try to lead a good life.”
“That’s bosh,” Chuckie declared. “I wager my father told you that.”
“I’ve been going to Mass since I was a child,” Judith said. “I didn’t meet your father until yesterday.”
Chuckie pointed to the second story of the castle’s west wing. “He and bonnie Beth live there, in the apartments for important people.”
“Where do you live?” Judith inquired.
“Wherever I want,” Chuckie replied. He gestured at the central part of the castle. “That was the great hall. It still is, in a way. It’s used for meetings. The kitchen adjoins it.”
“What kind of meetings?”
“Any kind. Sometimes my father holds them there. Sometimes strangers rent them. They go there and plot terrible things. Last month the Rotary Club came to conspire.”
“The Rotary Club?” Judith echoed, wondering if she’d misheard.
Chuckie nodded. “They came from Inverness for the weekend. The world is full of evil.”
“The Rotary Club does good things,” Judith pointed out.
“That’s bosh, too.” Chuckie nudged Judith’s arm. “Look up to the top of the wall,” he urged in an excited voice. “See the twin towers?”
“Not very well,” Judith said. “They’re hidden by the mist.”
“Just as well. Along the entire wall on both sides, there were stone spikes where they used to put the heads of their enemies to frighten anybody else who meant them harm. A fine idea, don’t you think?”
“I think it’s gruesome,” Judith said. “And I’m getting cold. I thought you were going to show me the inside of the castle.”
Chuckie cocked his head to one side. “Oh. Then…if you insist.” He started for the area he’d indicated was the original great hall. “Can yo
u see the smaller towers?”
“I’ve seen them before,” Judith said. “I can’t see much of anything now except for the courtyard and the walkway.”
“The floors were mainly wood,” Chuckie said. “They were covered with rushes in the beginning and later overlaid with carpets, but the wood rotted, so it was torn up in the guest section.” He stopped by a narrow door with iron hinges and removed a small keychain from the pocket of his khaki slacks. “Do you know why this is locked?”
“Not really,” Judith admitted. “I doubt that you have much trouble with burglars.”
“To keep the prisoners in, of course.” Chuckie laughed merrily. “This smaller tower holds the dungeon. And the torture chamber. That’s my favorite place. Come on.”
“Ah…” Judith didn’t budge. “Can we skip that part? I’m not really interested in barbarity.”
Chuckie scowled and stamped his foot. “I thought you wanted to see my secret places.”
“Not if they’re…unpleasant. I should go back to meet my cousin. We haven’t yet had dinner, and frankly, you’re spoiling my appetite.”
Chuckie waved his fists. “I thought you liked me!”
Judith was slowly backing away, hoping she wouldn’t fall over some unseen obstacle. “I like you,” she insisted, though she wasn’t sure it was true. “But I don’t like tales of cruelty and suffering. I get upset.”
“Then you won’t know my secrets!” Chuckie asserted, his voice rising in pitch.
Fearing that he might have a seizure, Judith smiled. “Tomorrow my cousin and I will have a picnic with you if the weather’s nice. Would you like that?”
“No.” Chuckie’s voice dropped as he began to sulk. “I don’t like that other woman. She has an angry face. Yours is kind, like Beth’s and Moira’s. Go away. I’ll play with the rack in the dungeon.”
“Have fun,” Judith said, and turned toward the main walkway. “See you tomorrow.”
“Maybe.”
Judith heard Chuckie slam the tower door behind him. In spite of herself she shivered. Pity mingled with revulsion. Chuckie was a very strange young man in many ways.
She was almost to the guest entrance when she heard footsteps behind her. Had Chuckie changed his mind? Not wanting to turn around, Judith quickened her pace.
Whoever was following her also moved faster. She was almost to the door when she heard a voice:
“Allow me. That door is heavy.”
Judith finally turned around. She saw Will Fleming emerging from the mist with a faint smile on his long face.
“You must be one of the guests,” he said, removing his gloves. “I saw you at Mass this morning.” He opened the door and let Judith enter first. “I don’t think we met officially. I’m Will Fleming, the unworthy man who’s married to Marie.”
Judith put out her hand. “Yes. I was chatting with Marie and Beth a few minutes ago. They’re in the drawing room.”
Will was taking off his navy raincoat. A package the size of a toddler’s shoe box wrapped in brown paper fell to the floor with a clunking sound. “Sorry,” he murmured, picking up the parcel. “I was afraid I’d be late to dinner. It’s a nuisance to have to bring work home on the weekends—but there it is. A global economy never rests. Will you be joining us?”
“No,” Judith replied. “My cousin and I had a late lunch. We’ll dine later, probably in our rooms. It’s very good of Mrs. Gibbs to do the cooking despite her grief.”
“Indeed,” Will agreed, cradling the package. “They’re a wonderfully old-fashioned pair. Philip is fortunate to have them at Grimloch.”
“Apparently their son and his wife are quite different,” Judith remarked. “I haven’t heard if they’ve been notified of their son’s tragedy.”
“Hardly surprising,” Will said, taking off his mackintosh. “They prefer not to be found.”
“Aging hippies?”
Will’s chuckle seemed forced. “Let’s say they find it best to keep moving.” He nodded to Judith, and headed down the corridor.
When Judith returned to Renie’s room, she found her cousin reading a mystery novel.
“Research,” Renie said, putting the book aside. “I’m betting that the LAPD detective catches the killer before you do. Where’ve you been?”
Judith explained how she’d visited with Beth and Marie before running into Chuckie. “He’s very disturbed—and disturbing,” Judith said. “I wanted him to show me the castle, but he spent most of the time dwelling on the awful things that used to happen here.”
“‘Used to’? As opposed to happening since we got here?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do, and speaking of awful, we were going to call our mothers, remember? Your cell phone or mine?”
Judith shrugged. “We can each use our own. But remember, at home it’s almost noon. My mother will be about to have lunch.”
“Mine, too.” Renie got out her cell. “Let’s see if these things will work inside the castle. I have doubts after our first failure.”
Renie stayed on the bed; Judith took her phone to the window embrasure. This time there was static, but she heard the ring at the other end.
And more ringing. Gertrude refused to pick up the phone until the caller was ready to hang up—or pass out. Finally Judith heard her mother’s raspy voice, snarling an unwelcoming “Hello.”
“How are you?” Judith asked.
“Who is this?” Gertrude demanded. “Whatever you’re peddling, I don’t want any.”
“It’s me, Mother—Judith.”
“Speak up, young man. I’m deaf.”
“Mother! I’m on a trip, remember?” Judith was practically screaming. She saw Renie motioning for her to lower her voice.
“I can’t hear you, Mom,” Renie was saying. “Are you sick?”
“A drip in December?” Gertrude said. “The only drip I know of is my daughter’s dim-bulb husband. You want to talk to my daughter?”
“Did you call the doctor, Mom?” Renie asked as she rolled over onto her stomach. “What kind of pain?”
Judith tried to open the window to see if the reception would be better. But the panes were sealed shut. She moved toward the garderobe and slipped inside. “Can you hear me now?” she asked just as Renie said in alarm, “What ambulance?”
Judith shut the garderobe door. “I said—”
“Lunch is here,” Gertrude interrupted. “Mmm…tuna sandwiches with the crusts cut off, deviled eggs, strawberries from California, and oatmeal raisin cookies right out of the oven. You’re a doll, Arlene.”
Judith could barely hear her neighbor’s voice in the background asking who was on the phone.
“Nobody,” Gertrude said, and rang off.
Judith swore under her breath. It was pointless to call back. Her mother would be eating lunch, an inviolable occasion. At least the old lady sounded in fine fettle, which apparently was more than could be said for Aunt Deb. Judith exited the garderobe to find Renie tugging at her unmanageable chestnut hair.
“It’s probably gas,” Renie said in a testy voice. “Mom, you feel puny every time I go more than five miles from Heraldsgate Hill. It’s nerves. You’re trying to make me feel guilty. It won’t work.” She put her hand over the speaker part of the phone. “It does work, but I won’t let her know it,” she whispered to Judith, who’d come to sit on the bed. “No,” Renie told her mother, “I’m not taking you to the doctor tomorrow. Ask one of your friends. You’ve got dozens of them.”
Judith wondered what was worse—Gertrude’s ornery disposition or Aunt Deb’s martyrdom. She waited for Renie to finish listening to her mother’s complaints and queries. “Yes, the bed’s clean,” Renie replied wearily. “No bugs in the food. The white slavers went to Florida. My shoes are sturdy, my nose isn’t running, my coat is plenty warm. No contact with germs, I won’t eat food off the floor, I wash my hands after…I am grown-up. I stopped teething sixty-odd years ago…Why didn’t you say so? Tell Auntie Vance and Uncle V
ince hello. I’m hanging up now.”
Looking drained, Renie clicked off the cell. “Auntie Vance and Uncle Vince came down from their place on the island and are taking Mom out to lunch. Then they’re going to see your mother. My poor ear!”
“I don’t even know if my mother knew it was me calling,” Judith complained. “She did her deaf bit, and I’m never sure if she really doesn’t hear or is just being contrary.”
Renie sat up. “Let’s eat in ten minutes, maybe have a drink first. That Old Engine Oil didn’t see me through the phone call.”
“Well…okay,” Judith said. “I imagine the Fordyces and the Flemings have moved on to the dining room. But…”
“What?” Renie said as she slipped into her shoes.
“I thought I’d call Mrs. Gunn about coming to see her tomorrow.”
“No apology!” Renie cried. “If you go, it’s on your own.”
Dialing for directory assistance, Judith shot Renie a look of reproach. “You have no remorse.”
Renie started shadowboxing.
Ignoring her cousin’s antics, Judith was again connected to Alison. “It’s me, Mrs. Flynn,” she said. “How long do you have to work?”
“I’m home,” Alison replied. “Nobody calls after I leave at five on the Sabbath. The rare request is trunked over to the phone in my bedroom.”
Renie continued punching at the air. “Remember the Alamo!” she cried. “Don’t Shoot Until You See the Whites of Their Eyes!” “Fifty-four Forty or Fight.” She frowned. “Or was it Forty-five Fifty?”
Walking to the window embrasure to get away from Renie’s distractions, Judith asked if Alison knew Mrs. Gunn’s phone number.
“Yes, she being such a good customer,” Alison said, and relayed the number to Judith. “Uh…is Mrs. Jones making amends?”
“Mrs. Jones doesn’t make amends,” Judith said with a stern look for Renie, who had removed a length of green and white twine from her luggage and was fashioning it into a garrote. “She’s unrepentant. But I’d like to apologize for her. I didn’t want to leave Mrs. Gunn with a bad impression of Americans. Most of us have good manners.”