by Amy M. Reade
She wanted to know all about the day’s events. When I had told her everything, she finally sat back against the sofa cushions to take it all in.
“How did he die?” she asked.
“No one knows yet. I assume we’ll find out more from the police in the morning.”
“How’s his wife taking it?”
“It’s hard to say. I think she’s so shocked that she hasn’t had a chance to let it sink in yet.”
“When’s the baby due?”
“In a few weeks,” I replied. “Annabel has been so excited about the prospect of a grandchild, but I don’t know how this will affect her feelings.”
“She’ll still love the baby.”
“Of course, but I wonder whether she’ll even want to see the baby at first. It will be such a painful reminder of Andreas.”
“But it’s a baby,” Sylvie said, as if the issue were as clear as glass. “Who wouldn’t want to see their first grandchild?”
“Someone who’s devastated by the death of the baby’s father and doesn’t want to look at a face that will remind her of her son.”
Sylvie nodded thoughtfully. “I see what you mean now. I hope that doesn’t happen.”
“I’m sure Sian does, too,” I said. “I don’t know anything about Sian’s family, but I do know she was counting on Annabel’s help when the baby was born.”
“Was the baby going to be born here?”
“No, though that might happen now, depending on whether Sian stays here or goes back to London.”
“Does she have a job?”
“Yes, but I guess it’s an arrangement where she can work anywhere. She doesn’t have to go into an office. Marketing or something like that. So she could stay here and work if she chose to.”
We sat in front of the fire for a while longer, not saying anything, just enjoying each other’s company, but I felt I should get back to the main house and check on Annabel to see if she needed anything from me.
I bid Sylvie goodnight, told her to have a long lie-in the next morning, and returned to the castle via the stone pathway leading away from the coach house. The night had grown colder and the sliver of moon had disappeared behind clouds that promised to bring rain before morning. The scent of pine needles was heavy on the air and I hurried along the path, anxious to get to a place where I could be around other people. I didn’t mind being about in the daylight, but nighttime outside the castle was eerie.
Chapter 5
I entered the castle through the front door and stood in the great hall, listening for any sound. It was silent. I peeked into the dining room, which was empty and dark except for one dim lamp burning on the sideboard. Likewise, no one was in the sitting room or the drawing room. I assumed everyone had gone to their own rooms.
I hesitated before going upstairs to check on Annabel, but I was worried about her and I wanted to make sure there was nothing she needed. I knocked quietly on her door and heard a feeble, “Come in.”
When I peered around the edge of the door, I was not surprised to find Annabel sitting in one of the armchairs in her room, the lights off and the fire burned down to meager flames in the fireplace. She liked to have a roaring fire when she went to sleep at night, but she hadn’t bothered to stoke it on this night.
I touched her shoulder tentatively. “Annabel? Is there anything I can do for you?”
She sniffled and put her hand over mine on her shoulder. “No, Eilidh. I’m afraid there’s nothing. I don’t know how we’re going to get through this.”
“We’ll get through it by taking one day, one hour, one minute at a time,” I told her, pulling up another chair and sitting across from her. The flickering firelight cast long dancing shadows in the dark of the room and by that faint light I could see Annabel’s face, drawn and pained.
“There’s no other way, is there?” she asked.
I shook my head. We sat in silence for a long time, just thinking, until I sensed Annabel had fallen asleep. It was getting chilly in her room, too. I added more logs to her fire, which had burned out, helped her up, and made sure she got ready for bed. She was often a light sleeper, but I fervently hoped she would be able to sleep through the night. She would need as much rest as she could get to withstand the stress and emotions over the next several days.
After I left her room I returned downstairs and crept past Sian’s room. I could hear muffled sobbing coming from the other side of her door, but I was unsure whether I should intrude to see if she needed anything. I decided to leave her alone and let her cry herself out. When I went past Hugh and Cadi’s room, there were no sounds from within.
I crawled into bed, exhausted and finally feeling hunger pangs from having missed dinner. I briefly considered trekking down to the kitchen for a snack, but once I was burrowed under the covers I couldn’t bear the thought of the damp air and the cold stone floor on my feet. I fell into a deep sleep and didn’t wake up until the sun was high in the sky the next morning.
I went first in search of Annabel, who had also slept uncharacteristically late. I knocked on her bedroom door and waited a moment before I heard a quiet “Come in.”
She was sitting up in bed. She looked at me with an overwhelming sadness that told me how she had slept during the night. “I can’t cry anymore,” she said. “I feel empty. I just can’t understand how he could have died.”
I didn’t know what to say. She probably didn’t need me to say anything—what she needed was someone to be with her and simply to listen to her.
“Want to join me for some breakfast? We both slept late this morning,” I told her.
“I’ll be down in a little while,” she said. “Eat without me if you’re hungry.” Annabel didn’t leave her room without looking impeccable. She showered, dressed, and applied make-up before making an appearance in the dining room each morning. I told her I would wait for her and went downstairs to read the newspaper.
I was the first one in the dining room. Apparently the rest of the family had slept late, too. I opened the paper and the first story above the fold was about Andreas’s death. I let out a groan. That was the last thing Annabel or anyone else, especially Sian, needed to see first thing this morning. I skimmed the article.
A body found on Friday by fishermen in the River Bowen has been identified as that of Andreas Tucker, formerly of Thistlecross and currently a resident of London. Mr. Tucker is survived by his wife, Sian Tucker, and their unborn child, his mother, Annabel Baines, brother Hugh Tucker and his wife Cadi, and brother Rhisiart Tucker.
Police are not commenting on the circumstances of Mr. Tucker’s death.
Footsteps sounded outside the dining room and I debated whether to hide the paper. But I knew that would be useless—the family would eventually read the brief newspaper account and it wasn’t my place to be hiding it from them.
Sian appeared in the dining room doorway. Like Annabel, she looked as if she hadn’t slept at all. There were gray bags under her eyes and her shoulders were slumped with the weight of despair.
“How are you doing this morning, Sian?” I asked her. I stood up to pull out a chair for her, but she shook her head.
“Have a seat; I can do that,” she said, giving me a slight smile. “I didn’t sleep very well last night. I can’t drink caffeine, but I wish I could. I have a feeling I’ll need it today.”
She was probably right. The circumstances under which Andreas’s body had been found would no doubt require a police investigation which, I was sure, had already started. I hadn’t given much thought to the police coming to the castle to ask questions, but I supposed it was to be expected.
“We’re all here to help, so don’t hesitate to take a break and get away from everyone anytime you need to,” I told Sian.
“Have the police been here yet?”
“Not that I know of. We all slept late this morning—you, me,
Annabel. I was the first one in here this morning, so I assume Rhisiart and Hugh and Cadi slept late, too.”
“What about your cousin?”
To my surprise, I realized I hadn’t even thought about Sylvie. “I don’t know. I’ll run over to the coach house and see if she’s up yet.”
I excused myself while Sian halfheartedly picked at a plate of eggs and toast. As much as I wanted to help her, I didn’t know her well and I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t imagine how she must be feeling; there was no way I could put myself in her shoes. She must have so many questions. I went outdoors and jogged round to the stone path that took me to the coach house. I had raised my hand to knock on the door when it opened and Sylvie stood there smiling. I was suddenly struck with a feeling of nostalgia that was so strong I stopped short.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“Nothing. Seeing you just reminded me of Cauld Loch, that’s all. It hit me hard all of a sudden.”
She gave me a quick hug and drew me inside. “Have you seen the article about Andreas?” she asked.
“Yes. I didn’t know whether to hide it from the family or not,” I answered.
“I wouldn’t hide it,” Sylvie put in. “It’s not as if they don’t know what happened.”
“That’s true.”
“Will you be helping Annabel with funeral preparations today?” she asked.
“Probably. I’ve only seen Annabel this morning long enough to encourage her to go down to the dining room for something to eat, but I’m sure there’ll be funeral and burial details to discuss.”
“What would you like me to do?” Sylvie asked.
“You can come over for breakfast and meet the rest of the family, then I guess you can do what I had planned for them today—horse riding.”
“That sounds fun, though it would be better if you could go with me. I feel strange being on holiday and enjoying myself when Annabel is going through such a hard time,” she said.
“Annabel really wants you to be here and she wants you to have fun,” I assured her. “She’s very gracious and she knows this is a holiday for you. You didn’t even know Andreas except through whatever your mum said about him, so there’s no reason for you to be in mourning.”
“Do the police really not know what happened to him?” Sylvie asked, lowering her voice as if someone from the main house might overhear.
“Nobody knows,” I said. “I imagine they’ll start questioning people today.”
“I don’t want to be around for that,” Sylvie said with a shudder. No doubt she was thinking about the events back in Cauld Loch two years previously, when Florian McDermott, a client of her husband, had been killed. Florian’s death and the violent events that followed required Sylvie and her husband to deal with the police on many occasions.
“You probably won’t have to be around for most of it, but they may want to talk to you just because you arrived on the same day Andreas died.”
“I can handle that,” she said.
“Let’s go over to the castle so you can see Annabel and the rest of the family and eat breakfast,” I suggested. “Then I’ll introduce you to Griff, who manages the stables for Annabel.”
Sylvie bundled up in a coat and scarf and followed me back to the castle through the morning fog and chill. Annabel was in the dining room talking quietly to Sian when I entered with Sylvie in tow.
“Annabel, you probably remember my cousin, Sylvie Carmichael,” I said. “Sylvie, you remember Annabel Baines.”
Sylvie shook hands with Annabel and expressed her condolences. Then I introduced her to Sian, and she repeated her sorrowful greeting. Sian acknowledged her graciously, then excused herself to go back to her room.
“Sian, we’re going to have to start planning the funeral arrangements today,” Annabel said in a gentle voice. “If there’s anything I can do to help, just ask.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears and Sian looked back.
“If you’d like to make the arrangements, Annabel, that would be fine with me. Or maybe we could do it together. I’m not sure I’m up to doing something like that all by myself.”
“Of course, Sian. Let me know when you’re ready to talk about it,” Annabel answered. If I knew Annabel, she would consider it her duty as Andreas’s mother to participate in the funeral arrangements.
As Sian walked into the hallway, she paused for a moment, her voice quiet as she spoke to someone. Shortly after, Hugh and Cadi came into the room. They must have been talking to Sian. Their faces were drawn, as if they hadn’t gotten any sleep, either. They went directly to Annabel and kissed her cheeks. Rhisiart followed them into the room, walking briskly but his eyes downcast, as if he didn’t want to look at anyone directly. He poured himself a cup of tea before he noticed Sylvie, then he walked over to her and introduced himself. Hugh and Cadi followed suit.
The six of us sat down for breakfast after helping ourselves to some of the food Maisie had laid out much earlier that morning. Brenda came into the room once to see if the teapot or coffeepot needed refreshing, and I watched her closely to see if there was any emotion written on her face. Indeed, she had a stricken look about her and had been crying. She stared straight ahead with red-rimmed eyes, focused on her task rather than on the people in the room. When she asked Annabel if she needed anything for herself or for her guests, I noticed she didn’t look directly at Annabel. Instead she looked over Annabel’s shoulder, where she didn’t have to make eye contact with anyone.
“No, Brenda, that’ll be all for now. Thank you, dear,” Annabel answered. Brenda left the room hastily, her sniffling echoing down the hallway. I knew her routine—she would head to Annabel’s room to make up the bed and tidy up in there, then she would begin the rounds in the guests’ bedrooms. I wondered how she would react when she got to Sian’s room. I felt sorry for her for losing someone she obviously cared so much about, but I worried that her demeanor would further upset Sian.
I wondered if I should tell Brenda to skip Sian’s room. I looked at Annabel, who was talking to Rhisiart about his next book. It seemed both understood their conversation was solely to keep everyone’s mind off their suffering and grief, so he was animated and talkative in discussing his next project.
I leaned down and whispered into Annabel’s ear. “Do you think Sian would appreciate being left alone this morning? I could tell Brenda not to bother cleaning her room.”
Annabel looked up at me in confusion. “I would think Sian would appreciate some order and tidiness in there. Having someone else to do that for her might be very helpful.” I was surprised. Didn’t Annabel see what I saw every time Brenda was near Andreas? Did she miss the signs of puppy love? Maybe I was missing something. But I didn’t think so. I abandoned the idea of telling Brenda to skip Sian’s room.
I should have followed my own instincts.
After breakfast I took Sylvie out to the stables in the glen behind the castle and introduced her to Griff. Since she knew how to ride, all Griff had to do was saddle up the horse and tell her where she would most enjoy riding. Griff and I waved her off, then Griff turned to me. “I read the paper this morning. How is everyone taking the news up at the house?”
“Not well, as you can imagine. I wish I could just ride off with Sylvie, but I need to be up there today.” Griff returned to his work and I went back to the main house. I found Annabel in her sitting room, where she asked me to ring up the vicar in the village and find out when the church would be available to hold Andreas’s funeral service. There were several times available, so I wrote them down and set them aside to discuss with Annabel and Sian in a little while. Annabel was busy answering calls and accepting condolences from friends in the village and the surrounding county. I was happy to be of help to her and Sian, though it might have been nice to get away from everything and go horse riding with my cousin, too.
I had rung off with the vi
car when Annabel and I were startled by shouting in the hallway. It was coming from the direction of Sian’s room. I was the first one out the door, but Annabel wasn’t far behind me.
We ran toward the yelling and stopped short when we found Sian in the doorway of her room, giving Brenda a dressing down at the top of her lungs. Brenda was standing before Sian, her shoulders slumped, her hands limply at her sides, her tears silently falling onto the stone floor.
“Sian, what’s the matter?” Annabel called, hurrying up to them.
“I found her trying to take something from our room!” Sian shouted, jabbing her finger toward Brenda as she spoke.
“What was it?” Annabel asked.
“Nothing, I swear,” Brenda insisted.
Annabel turned to Sian. “What was it?” she asked again.
“I don’t know,” Sian replied angrily, crossing her arms over her chest and resting them on her belly. “She was rifling through one of our drawers when I came into the room.”
“I told you, I was putting away a pair of socks that had been in the laundry,” Brenda said.
“Fat chance of that,” Sian sneered, then she started crying, too. “I don’t know how I’m going to survive this, losing my husband and being eight months pregnant! Do I have to deal with a thief in our midst, too?” she shrieked.
Annabel took her by the elbow and led her into the room, murmuring to her in a soft, low voice. The door closed behind them and Brenda and I were left standing in the darkened hallway. The stone walls and the dim sconces belied the light that was shining bright and cold outside.
I turned to Brenda with questioning eyes. “I didn’t steal anything, I promise,” she said, reading my mind. “I was putting socks away.”
Her eyes pleaded with me to believe her, and I did. I felt sorry for the young woman, being berated in front of us like that. I was surprised that Sian would lose control. Even with all she was trying to endure, she seemed the type of person who would try to maintain a veneer of civility.