Murder in Thistlecross

by Amy M. Reade

  “But that was because Brian had a passion for polo,” I said, making a pleading gesture with my hands. “He used part of the estate for a polo ground because that’s what he loved to do. He and his friends spent their free time playing polo.”

  “And I have a passion for breeding and racing horses. How is that any different from what Brian did?”

  “It just is,” I insisted. “Brian didn’t convert part of the estate to a polo ground to make money. In fact, he lost money. He did it for fun and the love of the sport.”

  “Who said we’re doing this for money?”

  “Ha!” I scoffed. “Of course this is all about money. I’m not stupid. You’re not a horse breeder or a horse racer—you’re a writer. And you’re good at what you do. Why would you put your energies into something that is so disrespectful of your mother?”

  “And what did she ever do that was respectful of me?” he hissed, leaning close to me so that other people in the pub wouldn’t hear him. “Why does she deserve so much honor from me or Hugh or Andreas’s wife or child?”

  I was taken aback. “Because she loved you,” I said quietly.

  “She had a funny way of showing it,” he said, his nostrils flaring and the vein in his neck bulging. “She let our father beat us senseless and never did a thing about it. We got where we are today not because of her, but in spite of her. And if we want to change the course of the castle’s future and make it into something we want, that’s our prerogative and we don’t have to worry about your so-called ‘honor’ getting in the way.” He heaved a long breath, as if he had been waiting to say those words for a long time.

  I didn’t know what to say. There was an anger in this man I hadn’t known existed. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized it was unfair to argue with him, to try to convince him of his mistaken thoughts.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “You’re trying to reconcile the Annabel you knew with the Annabel I knew, the Annabel my brothers knew.”

  He was right. I nodded slowly.

  “You have no idea what it was like growing up in our family. Our father was a monster. We were kids. There was nothing we could do to stop it short of running away, and where were we going to go that our father wouldn’t find us?

  “Don’t you see? We were dependent on Annabel to protect us from him. But she didn’t. She was a miserable failure. And now you expect us to hold her in some great regard for the wonderful, charitable, community-minded woman she turned into in her later years. But we don’t know that woman. We knew the woman she was when we were kids, the weak, insipid woman who couldn’t save us from our own father.”

  “I’m sorry. I never thought about it that way.”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to. No one but me and Hugh and Andreas can know what it was really like. All we ask is that you and everyone else who wants to voice their opinions remember that Annabel wasn’t always the beloved saint she was when she died.”

  “I knew about the abuse, of course, but maybe you need to give it some thought, too. Your mother was scared. She didn’t know how best to protect you and your brothers and she was afraid that if she did anything against your father’s wishes she and your brothers and you might have ended up in much more dire circumstances, ostracized by the community and having nowhere to go.”

  He shook his head vigorously, as if to rid himself of such thoughts. “No. You don’t get it. She had a choice—she always had a choice. We wouldn’t have cared if we were poor, if we had to depend on the kindness of strangers when we were small. She would have gotten back on her feet, though it may have taken her a little while.”

  “You can see that now, through the lens of adulthood and a lifetime of experience, but when you were small you wouldn’t have understood. You would have resented her for taking you away from your comfortable home and putting you in uncertain circumstances.”

  “All she would have had to tell us is that we were safe, we wouldn’t have to worry about our father hitting us anymore, and we would have understood. A very young child can understand things like that.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” I told him. “I’m sorry for everything you and your brothers had to go through as children. But do you realize how much her heart ached for the three of you? Do you realize that your visit to the castle this time was supposed to be an apology for her failures during your childhood?”

  He nodded, his face somber. “I do realize that. But there are some things that a mere apology can’t solve. This goes too deep and it goes back too far for it to end so simply and comfortably. Even though she said she was sorry before she died, there was still too much left unsaid, too many hurt feelings not addressed, for any of us to feel the urge or the need to forgive her.”

  “You told her you had forgiven her,” I pointed out. “And I wish that had been the truth. Forgiving her would make you feel better. It wouldn’t be for her, don’t you see? It would be for you. So you might not feel so much anger anymore.”

  “I’ll think about it. But don’t hold your breath.”

  The pints had come and we drank slowly, each of us mulling over the things the other had said. I hated to admit that he had a point. Had my respect and admiration for Annabel clouded my beliefs about her? I hadn’t given much thought to the way her children must have felt growing up, in a household where they had no protector, no one to soothe their fears about their father. I suddenly felt an overwhelming sadness for both Annabel and her three children.

  “I don’t know what to say about any of this,” I told Rhisiart.

  “You don’t have to say anything. It’s not your fault. All I ask, all any of us ask, is that you keep an open mind where Annabel is concerned. Everyone has things about them they aren’t proud of, even her.”

  When I agreed to go to the pub with Rhisiart, I had envisioned the evening unfolding in a very different way. I thought I would spend the entire time listening to Rhisiart’s bombastic, self-absorbed rhetoric. I didn’t expect to have my feelings about Annabel challenged in such a thoughtful, and thought-provoking, manner.

  We both ordered another pint and talked about the childhood memories he cherished—visiting his mother’s friend Margot, Sylvie and Greer’s mum. He always enjoyed visiting their house, he said, because his father never accompanied them and because the atmosphere in their home was happy and relaxed. I knew Sylvie would be happy to know her childhood home held such happy memories for Rhisiart, regardless of her feelings for him as an adult.

  He was in the middle of telling me about one of his visits to Margot’s house when something made me look up and glance toward the door of the pub.

  Griff stood in the doorway, holding the door for one of his friends. They walked toward the bar and stood at the burnished oak rail and Griff held up two fingers when the bartender looked at him. Both men shouldered their coats off and Griff took them to the coat rack in the corner near the fireplace. He turned around to go back to the bar and that’s when he spotted me. And Rhisiart. Together.

  I smiled at him, an embarrassed I’ll-tell-you-about-it-later smile, but he gave no indication that he had seen me except for the briefest look of confusion and disappointment that crossed his face. He didn’t look at me again.

  Chapter 15

  I had stopped listening to Rhisiart. The background noise of the pub faded into a murmur of hushed sound as I focused on the blood rushing in my ears. I knew I cared for Griff, but the extent of my feelings for him suddenly hit me when he looked away, pointedly ignoring my presence in the pub with Rhisiart. I hated to think I had upset Griff, and I was sick to think I might have ruined the very young, still-fragile relationship I was building with him.

  “Are you even listening?” Rhisiart cut into my thoughts with a frustrated question.

  “What?”

  “Did you even hear what I was saying?”

  “No. I’m sorry,
something caught my eye and I got distracted.”

  “Yeah. I saw him, too. I don’t know what you see in him, Eilidh.”

  I couldn’t explain my feelings to Rhisiart, nor did I care to. My relationship with Griff was none of his business, and I cursed myself thinking that my “date” with Rhisiart, agreed to solely so Maisie and Brenda could attend Annabel’s funeral service, could spell heartache and disappointment for me. And for Griff, too.

  “This would be good material for a book,” Rhisiart was saying, “if only I wrote sappy romances.”

  I gave him an angry look. “Rhisiart, please don’t be so callous.”

  “He’s nothing but a stable boy, Eilidh. You can do better than that.”

  “Rhisiart, I’ve had enough. I’m going back to the castle. You can’t make statements like that about other people, and especially about other people I care for. Are you taking me back, or am I going to find someone else to give me a ride?”

  “Find someone else,” he said, examining his fingernails. “Maybe your boyfriend would like to take you back.” I was so angry I couldn’t even answer him without sputtering and embarrassing myself, so I stalked away from the table and headed straight for the front door of the pub. I didn’t look at him again, nor did I look in Griff’s direction to see if he had noticed me leaving. I didn’t care—I just had to get out of there, away from my mistakes.

  Once outside I whipped out my mobile phone and rang up Sylvie. She was shocked to hear I needed a ride home from the pub.

  “What are you doing there? How did you get there? Are you drunk?”

  “For God’s sake, Sylvie, I’m not drunk. I’ll explain everything when you get here. Can you just come and pick me up, please?”

  “I’ll be there in just a couple minutes.” She rang off.

  “What on earth is going on?” Sylvie asked when she pulled up less than ten minutes later.

  I took a deep breath to think, to steady my voice, to calm down. “I came here tonight with Rhisiart.” She gasped.

  “I can’t believe you would actually go out with him,” she said in a bewildered voice.

  I explained the agreement I had made with Rhisiart in order to let Maisie and Brenda go to Annabel’s funeral service while she listened in silence. I couldn’t tell if her silence was disapproving or sympathetic or both. Then I went on to explain that Griff had seen me there with Rhisiart and had ignored me after that.

  “Does Maisie know this?” Sylvie asked.

  “No! And don’t tell her. She would be mortified to think I did such a thing so she could go to the funeral.”

  “Couldn’t you have suggested some other arrangement?”

  “Does it matter?” I shot back, then was immediately sorry for my tone of voice. I spoke more calmly after that. “The fact is that I made the agreement with Rhisiart, so it doesn’t really matter what I should have done. Now I have to live with the fallout, whatever that may be.”

  “I’m sorry. You’re right,” Sylvie said, a note of contrition in her voice. “What can I do to help?”

  “There’s nothing anyone can do. Hopefully Griff will listen to me when I try to explain why I was out at the pub with someone he hates.”

  “He’ll understand, I’m sure.” I hoped with all my heart that she was right.

  When we pulled up to the castle, with its forbidding façade and its missing matriarch, I felt a sadness that I couldn’t explain or shake off. I missed Annabel, I missed the happiness that used to reign in the castle, and I missed the cozy, contented feeling I used to experience every time I walked into the massive front hall.

  I thanked Sylvie for coming to pick me up. I hugged her before going into the castle, feeling again an overwhelming gratefulness for her presence and friendship.

  I stopped in the kitchen to see if Maisie needed help before going to my room for the night. She and Brenda were in a frenzy of activity, trying to get everything done before morning. I pitched in to help for a little while, putting canapes on trays and mixing ingredients for finger sandwich fillings, but it soon became clear that I was much better at moral support than at kitchen duties. Maisie thanked me for helping, but tactfully suggested that I get a good night’s sleep before the grueling activities of the following day.

  Giving her an apologetic smile, I bid them goodnight and went to my room. I sat in front of the fire, trying to warm myself from the outside in, but found that there was still a cold nugget of worry in the pit of my stomach—worry that Griff might not understand why I was at the pub with Rhisiart earlier, if he even gave me a chance to explain.

  Staring into the fireplace made me sleepy, and I finally went to bed and fell asleep without much trouble. The last thought that I had before drifting off was a happy one—Maisie and Brenda were going to get to say their goodbyes to Annabel in the morning.

  But when I went into the dining room in the morning, Rhisiart was there. He fixed me with a cold stare. “I see you made it home last night. The stable boy stayed at the pub, so he obviously wasn’t the one who brought you back to the castle. Did you find some other willing man to help you?”

  “That’s none of your business,” I told him. “Have you told Maisie and Brenda that they have time off to attend the funeral?”

  “Ah, but they don’t.”

  I wheeled around to glare at him, my mouth agape. “You told me you would let them have time off to attend Annabel’s funeral if I went to the pub with you last night. You broke your end of the deal!” I said hotly.

  “And you broke your end of the deal when you left in a huff,” he shot back.

  “Our deal was that I would go to the pub with you for a drink. I went to the pub with you and we had a drink. Sounds like I upheld my part of the bargain just fine,” I replied.

  “You were supposed to come home with me, too, not leave me there looking like an arse while you found another ride back to the castle,” he seethed.

  “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

  “It was an implied part of the deal.”

  “That’s ridiculous. You can’t do that to Maisie and Brenda. They’ve worked here for years, especially Maisie. She was Annabel’s friend.”

  “Watch me.” He picked up the newspaper he had been reading and blocked out any view of me with it. I should have known he would pull such a stunt. I stalked out of the room without having anything to eat or drink.

  I went downstairs to the kitchen in search of food that I could eat without having to look at Rhisiart. Maisie and Brenda were hard at work again. Though they shared a cottage in the village, they also had rooms in the castle, where they stayed overnight if the weather was especially bad or if there was a special event and they had extra responsibilities that kept them working late.

  “Did you two sleep at all last night?” I asked.

  “We each took a catnap,” Maisie replied, hurrying from the refrigerator to the counter with a jug of cream. “Brenda,” she ordered, “take this up to the second floor to Miss Sian’s room.”

  “Why can’t she come down for breakfast?” I asked.

  “She called for tea this morning. It’s no different from any other day.”

  Brenda hurried out the kitchen door with the cream and I rummaged through the fridge looking for yoghurt, trying to stay out of Maisie’s way. I sat down to eat the yoghurt and a piece of fruit at the kitchen table, where I watched Maisie, admiring her efficiency and deft skills in the kitchen. I was just finishing the fruit when Brenda came back downstairs, breathless. Her face looked flushed.

  “What’s the matter?” her mother asked.

  “Miss Sian doesn’t feel well,” Brenda answered. “She wants a different kind of tea. Peppermint this time.”

  Maisie rolled her eyes and rifled through the cupboard that was filled with different varieties of tea. She pulled out a tin of peppermint tea leaves. “Got nothin’ better
to do today than wait on these ingrates,” she muttered. Then she gave me a sheepish look, saying, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t talk like that.”

  “Don’t apologize on my account,” I said. “I agree with you completely.”

  Maisie handed the tin to Brenda. “Give this to her and see if that satisfies her.” Brenda took the tea and scurried back upstairs. It made me angry to think that as hard as these two women were working, the family members in the castle were still making unreasonable demands on a day such as this.

  But when Brenda came back to the kitchen, her hands shaking as she set her tray of unused tea things on the counter, her words tumbled out in a rush. “I think the baby’s coming early!” she exclaimed.

  “Not today, of all days!” Maisie wailed. “How are we going to manage this?” She turned to me, her eyes pleading. “What should we do? You’re the manager.”

  All thoughts of anger toward Sian and even toward Rhisiart dissipated in the face of the impending birth of Sian and Andreas’s baby. “Maisie, you go upstairs to Sian and call a doctor if that hasn’t already been done.” I looked toward Brenda, who shook her head. Maisie threw down the towel she had been holding and raced out of the room. “Brenda, you go upstairs to the dining room and tell Rhisiart what’s happening. Then find Hugh and Cadi and tell them. They’re going to have to decide who goes to the hospital with Sian and who represents the family at the funeral.”

  Hugh and Rhisiart decided Maisie should accompany Sian to the hospital. Maisie wasn’t happy about the arrangement, since she felt someone with at least some small bit of fondness for Sian should go to the hospital, but Hugh and Rhisiart, in their typical thoughtless fashion, felt the most senior woman in the castle would be the greatest comfort to Sian in the hours before her baby’s birth. I had made such a mess of trying to get Maisie time off to go to Annabel’s funeral that I thought it best not to interfere with the brothers’ decision this time. And without her mother around to direct arrangements, Brenda was left to her own devices in the castle trying to ready the rooms and the food for the luncheon following the funeral. I was tempted to spend some time feeling sorry for myself, fuming that I had gone out with Rhisiart for nothing, but I decided to stay busy and help Brenda while the family attended the funeral. I knew Annabel would understand why I stayed behind rather than say a final public goodbye to her.