Death in the Castle

by Pearl S. Buck

  Kate had not stirred from where she stood. Was this a nightmare and in the middle of the afternoon? Why did her grandfather coax Sir Richard as though he knew what it was all about? And Lady Mary—“Oh, please,” Kate moaned.

  Then Sir Richard saw the three charabancs standing in the drive, and the people strolling across the terrace and into the garden. “They’re attacking again!” he screamed. “They’ve come in full force!”

  Now Kate ran to his side, and suddenly she knew exactly what to do. “Sir Richard, come down off your horse. We must go into the castle, all of us quickly, and lock the great gates. You’re quite right. We are besieged.”

  He looked at her uncertainly. The people in the garden stared at them but went on with their tour.

  “Come, come,” Kate urged, “before they take the castle.”

  He responded at once. “To the throne room then,” he shouted. “Meet me there, Lord Dunsten! Kate, help me—this sword—damned heavy—I daren’t put it down.”

  She helped him dismount, Lady Mary standing by, the tears running down her cheeks, and they went into the castle, not by the great hall, filled with tourists, but by the side entrance, across the west terrace, into the library.

  “Leave him to me,” Kate whispered to Lady Mary. “I’ll coax him to his room. … Grandfather, tell the people to go away again—he’s ill, tell them—they’ll have their money back—”

  Wells nodded and she followed Sir Richard, taking his arm, letting him lean on her. He seemed lucid again for a moment or so she thought when they had reached his rooms.

  “I’ve ridden a long way, Kate,” he said in his usual voice. “There was some urgency it seemed—only what am I doing with this great sword?”

  “I’ll take it,” she said.

  He looked at her with sudden wild suspicion, a look of desperate fear.

  He was someone else again.

  “No, no—I’ll not let it out of my hand. It’s a trick—do you think I don’t see it?”

  She stood facing him, bewildered, and then to her horror, he pointed the sword at her and advanced toward her. She backed away from him until she was against the wall and could go no farther. She stared at him terrified, speechless. He stood over her, his eyes glaring under the brushy brows. Then he lowered the sword and a strange savage melancholy took the place of anger.

  “My child,” he muttered. “My child—my child—”

  His voice was husky, his eyes suddenly tender, and she was only the more frightened.

  “Don’t,” she gasped. “Don’t hurt me!”

  He shook his head, smiled, and laid the sword down on a table; then, seeming to forget her, he pressed the panel behind her. It slid back as she stepped aside. He entered the space it opened and the panel closed again. She caught her breath and then ran to find Lady Mary and tell her—tell her what? That Sir Richard had disappeared!

  She found her back on the terrace, an indomitable figure of command, while Wells pushed the grumbling people into the waiting charabancs.

  “The bloody aristocrats—”

  “We’ll report them, never fear—”

  “Castle belongs to the public now, don’t it?”

  “A heap of rubble—that’s all it is.”

  Kate went to Lady Mary. “Come, my dear,” she said gently. “Come and have your tea, before you die of all this.”

  The dust stirred by the bases had scarcely settled when Philip Webster drove up in his small and noisy car. He was surprised to see Lady Mary with Kate beside her standing on the terrace, and Wells shaking his hands as if he could never free them of contamination.

  “Then I’m not too late for tea?” Webster asked hopefully.

  “No, no.” Lady Mary’s manner was always gracious when entertaining was in order. “As a matter of fact, we were just going in to make ourselves ready. It has been an unusual afternoon.”

  “Are you feeling better now, Lady Mary?”

  “Certainly, Philip. I’m not sure that there was ever anything wrong with me. Where have you been and what have you been doing with yourself?”

  “I’ve been on the telephone for hours, Lady Mary”—he spoke rapidly, nervously—“whenever I could get David Holt off it. My, my, how long-winded an American can be! I presented our case over again to all the top people, and they promised to look into it as soon as possible, which may mean next week or next year. I say, where’s Sir Richard?”

  “He is in the castle. I only hope he is all right,” Lady Mary said as she led the way inside.

  Wells disappeared in the direction of the kitchen muttering something about tea, while Kate walked beside Lady Mary.

  “What, what?” Webster spluttered as they walked. “Is there another mystery?”

  “Let us go and find him,” Lady Mary said.

  Kate spoke. “I think he’ll be in his room, my lady.”

  “What about tea?” Webster complained.

  They were deaf to the complaint and he could only follow Lady Mary and Kate. Somewhere along the passage Wells joined them unobtrusively. The door to Sir Richard’s room was closed but not locked, and Kate opened it. Across the room the panel stood open again. Sir Richard had come back—ah, for the sword! It was gone from the table.

  Lady Mary turned to Webster, her face gray, her voice cold. “Did you know about this panel, Philip?”

  “Yes,” Webster said. “It was his father’s idea. This was always his room, you know, but when he died Sir Richard moved into it.”

  “I never knew that,” Lady Mary said. “Nor did I know about this—this exit. Where does it lead?”

  “To the east tower room,” Webster replied. “I was there once. As a matter of fact, his father died in that room.”

  “That, too, I did not know,” Lady Mary said.

  “I knew, my lady,” Wells put in. “I was there when he died. So was Sir Richard—a very young man he was then. The death came all of a sudden. His father was sitting in the big oaken chair that’s still in the room. They were looking at a book—a biggish book, very old. It tells about the castle. Suddenly his father gave a loud sigh and fell forward, his head on the book. It was a fearful shock, though we knew his heart was bad ever since he was wounded so grievous. In the war. At Liège. He’d been joking with Sir Richard—the two of them were very close—almost mysterious—and he’d just said something about his son, the prince, and he raised his arm and waved an old silk flag that was folded into the book—Sedgeley coat of arms it was on the flag—and he sang out something like ‘The King is dead—long live the King,’ in French it was, and he was laughing. The very next minute he was dead.”

  “How much I’ve never known,” Lady Mary whispered. Her white face was whiter than ever. She looked about the room vaguely. “Where is Kate? Tell her I—I—I must—”

  “Here I am, my lady,” Kate said, alarmed. “Shall you go back to your own room, dear?”

  Lady Mary shook her head. “No. We must find him … in there. …”

  She pointed to the open panel and again led the way, now into the passage beyond, Webster on one side, Kate on the other and Wells behind. They walked in silence up the ascending way until Wells spoke. “There was stairs here once, my lady, but his father—Sir Richard’s father—had them made into a ramp, so he could walk more easy-like.”

  No one replied. They walked on until they came to the end, winding their way through the tower until they reached the closed door at the top.

  “I remember this,” Lady Mary said. She tried the door but it was bolted from the inside.

  “Richard,” she called. “Open the door, please.”

  They heard no sound except a strangled cough.

  “Richard, open the door at once,” she commanded.

  Something fell to the floor. A chair moved—a heavy chair.

  “Let me talk to him, my lady,” Wells said in a low voice. He went close to the door and raised his voice. “My liege, the enemy is defeated. We’ve routed them. I am at your service, my liege!”r />
  Sir Richard made instant reply in a great voice. “You are a traitor, Lord Dunsten! It was you who allowed the enemy to enter my castle! Call my guards!”

  They listened, they looked at Wells. He shook his head and began again bravely. “Your Majesty, you wrong me—indeed you do! I served your father and I serve you faithfully! But if you believe me guilty, I’ll call the guards—I’ll give myself up!”

  “Dismiss those persons who are with you,” Sir Richard shouted. “I will open the door but only to you.”

  Lady Mary nodded, she motioned to Kate and Webster to follow her and they walked some feet away along the passage and looked back at Wells. He stood for a long moment, giving out great gusty sighs. He took a few steps away, then returned again to the door. He folded his arms, glanced at them, bowed to them as though in farewell, then gave seven knocks on the door.

  They heard the sound of the bolt

  “Are you alone?” Sir Richard’s voice echoed down the passage.

  “Yes, my liege,” Wells said in a loud voice.

  “Have the horses saddled! You’ll follow me.”

  “Saddle the horses!” Wells shouted, his high old voice cracking with effort. “His Majesty’s orders! Americans to be routed!”

  The door opened to reveal not Sir Richard but his right arm, holding the sword. Wells went in and the door closed with a slam.

  Lady Mary held her breath until the door closed. Then she turned with sudden strength to Webster.

  “Call the doctor,” she said. “Tell him to come at once. We do not know what will happen behind that closed door—tell him there is no time to waste.”

  She walked rapidly down the passage toward the great hall.

  Kate ran after her. “My lady,” she gasped. “If you will excuse me for a moment—I’ve thought of something. Wait for me in the great hall, my lady.”

  She had indeed thought of something—John had said he was not leaving the village yet! She flew to the pantry telephone and called the inn. The innkeeper himself answered.

  “Is Mr. Blayne there, George? This is Kate at the castle.”

  “He’s here, all right, just sat down to a cup of tea in the garden. What’s amiss? You’re breathing like a grampus.”

  “I must speak to him, if you please,” she cried. “A very important message, tell him.”

  “Well, I’ll call him,” George grumbled.

  “Please, George,” she begged, A moment or two later she heard his voice.

  “John Blayne—”

  “Oh,” she cried, still breathless. “Please, will you go to America immediately?”

  “Kate! What on earth?”

  “Please, I can’t say it on the telephone, what with the whole village listening in—but it’s very dangerous for you. Don’t delay at all, not a moment!”

  He remonstrated. “Now, really, Kate, this is too mysterious! If it’s as dangerous as that, I shall come to the castle and see for myself.”

  “Indeed you must not!”

  “Then tell me—”

  “It’s—it’s that Sir Richard’s not well—he’s not himself. We don’t know why—but he wants to—to—kill you.”

  He laughed. “Kill me? How absurd!”

  “Ah, but he does! It’s better if you never see him again. Believe me, better for all of us.”

  “Why should I be afraid?”

  “He thinks you’re his enemy.”

  He laughed again. “Nonsense—we’re not living in the Middle Ages.”

  “Sir Richard is—and it’s not for laughing, either, if it’s me you’re laughing at! I tell you he wants to kill you!”

  “Kate—”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you afraid for me?”

  Her voice came very small and hesitant. “Yes.”

  “Then I’m coming.”

  “No—please, please leave the village—leave England—pack your things now, at this moment—”

  “Can’t I wait until tomorrow just to see how he is?”

  “No. It’s life and death. Good-bye, good-bye.”

  “Good-bye, Kate,” he said and hung up.

  When he turned, the innkeeper was standing behind him.

  “What was all that?” he inquired. “What’s wrong at the castle, Mr. Blayne?”

  “They want me out of the country,” he said slowly. “I don’t know why. I don’t understand.”

  “When Sir Richard gives an order, he means it to be obeyed.” The voice held a note of warning.

  “Perhaps it depends on who receives the order.”

  “That Kate is a strong-minded lass, Mr. Blayne, but she’s a good girl. Lady Mary is lucky to have such a maid in this day and age. Why, it’s all I can do to get—”

  “She’s not a maid, George.”

  “What is she then?” George’s round eyes grew rounder. “Who is she then?”

  “I shall find out. That’s why I’m staying.”

  “Shall you want a room here at the inn tonight, Mr. Blayne?”

  John did not answer for a moment, then he nodded his head thoughtfully. “Perhaps I will, George, just for tonight, just in case.”

  “What will you be doing now, Mr. Blayne?”

  “I’m going back to the castle as soon as I’ve finished my tea.”

  … In the tower room Wells was facing his master.

  “Put down the sword, Your Majesty,” he said.

  Sir Richard, with the sword pointed at Wells, muttered thickly, “I’ll run you through.”

  The room was dancing in circles through his bloodshot eyes, purple circles shot with brilliant lights. He could barely see Wells, a dim ghost in the whirling colors.

  “I must open the door, my liege,” Wells said. “Your queen must know everything now.”

  “I’ll tell her myself, you traitor,” Sir Richard roared. He advanced, searching for the gray figure that now was there and now was gone.

  Suddenly he heard noises behind him—someone grunting and groaning, the shriek of a bolt in its rusty hasp. Wells had stepped behind him. He whirled about, nearly fell, and recovered himself. Wells had to sidestep, the door still fast shut.

  “You devil!” he shouted. “You’d trick me, would you? You’d run to my enemies! I’ve a way to stop you at last. Richard the Fourth—I’ll do what Richard the Third did—this sword—this sword—these damned colors floating everywhere! … Hah, but I see you there!”

  He did indeed see a white and terrified face, the face of an old man, a stranger. He thrust the sword toward that face and even as he did so the body crumpled and fell to the floor. He saw a head at his feet and the sword in his hand. He stared down, bewildered.

  “It’s bloody,” he muttered in disgust. He dropped the sword and it clattered on the stone floor.

  …Outside the door the little group stood in the passage, listening in awe and terror. Nobody had come to help them. The doctor, Webster reported, was not in his office. The Americans had long since been dismissed.

  “Should I not call the vicar, at least?” Kate was saying, and at that moment saw John, at the far end of the passage and running toward them.

  “Oh, thank God, thank God,” Lady Mary cried at sight of him. “Only, how did you know that we needed help?”

  “Kate told me not to come—some sort of danger—so, of course, I came. I went straight to Sir Richard’s room and that panel was open—I simply went through it and kept going like the White Rabbit in Alice in—” He broke off at the sight of their faces. “Tell me quickly,” he demanded, suddenly grave.

  “Sir Richard is in there.” Lady Mary gestured. “He’s bolted the door.”

  “My grandfather is in there, too,” Kate said and stopped.

  “Sir Richard is very ill,” Webster said. “We must find a way to reach him.”

  “The dungeon,” Kate exclaimed. “There’s a passage—”

  “The door to it is solid iron,” Lady Mary reminded her. “And it’s locked.”

  “There’ll be a key
somewhere,” Webster said. “The lock will be rusty, of course, but if there was a hatchet—”

  “Wait,” John cried. “Is there electricity down there?”

  “Yes,” Kate told him. “Sir Richard’s father had it put in for the wine cellars.”

  “If the door’s iron—” Webster began but John cut him short.

  “One of my men had an electric drill with him, he was coming back tomorrow to get it.”

  He turned quickly and sped back through the passage, Kate after him. By the time Lady Mary and Webster could reach the dungeon door they heard the sound of the electric drill cutting through the metal. The machine made hideous noises and it was impossible to speak. They could only wait.

  “Now,” John said at last, “help me, Webster. This door is heavy and we must let it fall easily. Lucky it’s narrow! Kate, take this machine away. Now then, Webster—you on that side. I’ll take this. Stand back, please, Lady Mary.”

  They obeyed him without a word. Together he and Webster lowered the door slowly to the stone floor. They peered into the darkness beyond and saw a windowless cell. John stepped over the threshold.

  “It’s a shaft,” he exclaimed. “Look, Webster—there’s no ceiling. I see a square of light at the top.”

  Webster went in and stared upward. “You’re right—it leads up the tower.”

  “How to get there,” John mused. “There must be steps—yes—in the wall here. Can you feel them?”

  “Good God, yes,” Webster exclaimed. “But I’d hate to—”

  “Do you hear a voice?” Lady Mary called.

  “Not even a whisper,” John answered. He was searching the steps carved into the rock. “I can climb. I’ll climb up and see—what—”

  “Oh no!” It was Kate, pressing into the shaft. “Oh please, don’t climb up there. If you fall—”

  “I shan’t fall,” John said. “I’m a mountain climber, Kate—a good one.”

  He was already beginning to climb, clinging with his hands to the step above him, feeling his way.

  “Oh, but what will happen to you when you get there?” she cried, wringing her hands. “How do you know—”

  “The only way to know is to find out. Take Lady Mary upstairs. Obey me, Kate—Webster, go with them. I’ll meet you at the top when I get that door open.”