“As well they should be,” Ewan said. “If someone found the sword the best thing they could do would be to sell it to a museum. It’s is piece of history that should be on view for all to see.”
“If it truly exists,” Mrs. Wiggins said. “You’ll find people on both sides of the issue. I’m sorry if I was short with you. Thinking of those on a sword quest angers me.”
“As it should,” Muriel said. “I’m very sorry about your husband.”
Mrs. Wiggins looked down at the table. “My family tried to get me to come back to London, but I said no. Bangor is my home now. We had no children. We always thought there would be more time, but things just didn’t work out that way.”
“May I be blunt and ask who killed him?” Ewan asked.
“A man by the name of Proffer, Sisto Frae.” She was wringing her hands now, and Muriel thought that maybe she was using the motion to try and keep her emotions under control.
“He paid for his crime, of course?” Muriel asked. When Mrs. Wiggins didn’t answer, Muriel glanced at her husband. “Mrs. Wiggins?”
“He was never caught,” she said. “But he did write me a letter about five years ago, saying he was sorry for what happened.”
That shocked Muriel, and when she looked at Ewan she could see he was just as amazed at the pronouncement.
“You gave the letter to the police, of course,” Ewan said.
“Our local constabulary was not interested in the letter.” Mrs. Wiggins got up and walked to the sideboard. “Every time someone comes into the inn I wonder if they are going to ask about the sword. If they are going to do what Sisto Frae did.”
“May I see the letter?” Ewan asked.
“Ewan,” Muriel hissed. “That’s not proper.”
He frowned at her, and then said, “Forgive me if I’m putting my foot in where it shouldn’t be, Mrs. Wiggins.”
The innkeeper looked between them. “You’re not here on vacation, are you?”
“Of course, we are,” Muriel said. “We’re just… nosy.”
“In a pig’s eye,” Mrs. Wiggins said. “Go on your way then and find The Whistling Tree and its resident drunk. Hopefully, it’s early enough in the day that you might be able to get information out of him.”
“We appreciate you pointing us in the direction of Mr. Pregarin,” Muriel said. “May I ask, if we decide to visit one of the lakes tomorrow is there a possibility you could pack a lunch for us? A picnic would be a wonderful part of our vacation.”
“Oh yes, and I can help you to hire a trap,” she said. “Mr. Marteen will give it to you at a reduced price since you are staying under my roof.”
“Always a good thing to save a bob or two,” Ewan said. “We’ll be back in time for dinner.”
“Lamb stew tonight,” Mrs. Wiggins said. “And I make a wonderful pudding to go with it, if I do say so myself. I’ll have tea at four if you’re interested. If not, we’ll see you at supper at seven.”
Once they were on the street, Muriel tucked her hand into the crook of Ewan’s arm.
“Why did you ask about the letter?” she asked, keeping her voice low.
“Don’t you think it’s odd, that we ended up there? I’m telling you something is amiss here. I’m not sure what yet, but there is a reason the porter pushed us in her direction.”
“Because this Sisto Frae killed her husband?” She gently prodded him with her arm. “It has nothing to do with Raef Montgomery.”
“I don’t believe in coincidences, my love.” He gently patted her hand. “You know that.”
“You’re just trying to push me on the wager,” she said. “The legend of King Arthur is rampant in this area. It stands to reason that things would be connected as far as the legend goes. That means, to me at least, that many people would be connected, but not actually connected. Does that make sense to you?”
“Not in the least,” he said with a laugh.
“Let me put it this way,” she said. “Say the two of us were working on the same case. We might talk to the same people, read the same documents, come to the same conclusions. But that doesn’t mean we are connected. It means we’ve studied the same thing.”
“Why would Mr. Jameson send us to an inn where the keeper’s husband was killed by someone who had an interest in finding the sword?”
“Perhaps he’s courting her,” Muriel said. “They are about the same age. She is a widow. He sends business her way and she calls on him to thank him. Or, maybe more to the point, they are lovers. It happens, you know.”
“Always the romantic,” Ewan said with a laugh.
They stopped to ask a passing boy for directions to The Whispering Tree. He agreed to take them there, for a coin, and they agreed.
“What’s your name, lad?” Ewan asked as they walked along.
“Lance, sir,” the boy said.
“Names after Lancelot?” Muriel asked.
The boy blushed. “It’s a popular name around here, ma’am.”
“I would think Arthur would be better, or Merlin.”
They rounded a corner and Muriel saw a sign for The Whispering Tree.
“Tell me, lad, do you know where to find the sword?” Ewan asked as he tossed him a coin.
“Mum says between the pages of a book.” Lance ran off without making another comment.
“That’s quite a legend to live up to,” Muriel said with a laugh as they went inside the public house. The interior was dark, and they stopped inside the door to allow their eyes to adjust.
“There’s our man,” Ewan said after a moment. He pointed to a table in the corner where a man that appeared to be in his early sixties sat. As they drew closer, Muriel could see the man was drinking ale and eating cheese and bread. She looked around the room. Most of the occupants seemed to be doing the same thing, but they were younger than their target.
“Mr. Pregarin?” Ewan asked when they were alongside him.
“Depends on who’s asking,” the man said, and then he laughed. “Do I owe you money, lad?”
“No, sir,” Ewan said.
“Then have a seat and buy me a drink,” Mr. Pregarin said. “This one’s almost empty.”
Muriel noticed that it wasn’t, but as they took their seats Mr. Pregarin tipped back his head and drained the ale in one hard pull.
Ewan got the attention of a passing serving girl and ordered three ales and three more ploughman’s lunches.
“Good of you,” Mr. Pregarin said. “Now, are you of the notion that Excalibur is out there, or are you out to prove it’s not?” They obviously didn’t answer quickly enough because the old man slapped his hand on the wooden table. “Go on, tell me.”
“Will it influence your tale?” Ewan asked. “Do you have a different story depending on how a person answers that question? You tell the Arthurians that Excalibur is hidden in a lake in the hills, and you tell those who don’t believe in the tale that it’s a good piece of fiction?”
Pregarin laughed and pounded the table a few more times. “You’re a smart one you are. And you’re absolutely right. Give the people what they want, you know.”
“What do you believe?” Muriel asked him. She picked up a bit of cheese, despite the fact she wasn’t hungry. To wash it down she took a drink of her ale and grimaced. It wasn’t the best blend she’d ever tasted.
“I believe you should have asked for a glass of wine,” he said. He laughed again, and Muriel wondered if he laughed at everything. Something told her that he did. He’d obviously drank quite a bit already, even though it was early in the day, but she had a feeling he lived in a drunken state.
“I think you’re right,” she said. She pushed the ale aside. “But right now, I’d like you to answer my question. What do you believe?”
“Who sent you in my direction?” Pregarin asked.
“Don’t answer questions with questions,” Ewan said. “My wife asked what you believe. Let us know. We’re not here as scholars and we won’t quote you. We just want to know some info
rmation.”
Pregarin finished his first lunch and pulled a second plate up to him. He ate in silence for a few moments before he said, “From the time I was a babe my father told me about my ancestors, who fought alongside a brave, noble man named Arthur who kept us safe from the Saxons.”
He ate more in silence, and then he said, “You want to know what I believe Mrs.…?”
“McClacken,” Ewan said. “I’m Ewan and this is my wife, Muriel.”
“Treasure hunters?” Pregarin asked. “Going to go up to the lakes and put out your hands and hope the sword swings out of the waves and comes to you of its own accord?”
“It hasn’t happened before, has it?” Ewan asked. “That, sir, would be a miracle if it did happen. That’s what I believe.”
“You’re so right,” Pregarin said. He drank more, almost draining this one as he had the last one. Muriel wondered how he was still able to speak. If she’d had that much ale she would be sleeping under the table.
“The Lady of the Lake isn’t exactly going to surrender it so easily, is she?” Muriel asked.
Pregarin turned his gaze to her, and she could swear she saw fear in his eyes. Ewan must have noticed it too because he gently patted her leg under the table.
“Has there been someone around recently asking about the sword?” Ewan said. “A young, blond man who might have been with a blonde woman?”
“Lots of people come to see me,” Pregarin said. “I don’t remember many.”
“This man is called Raef Montgomery,” Ewan said.
For a moment, Muriel thought he wasn’t going to answer. When he did his voice was very soft.
“I know of him,” Pregarin said. “But I haven’t seen him in a year or so. He and his lot have been searching the hills and lakes for ages.”
“His lot?” Muriel glanced at Ewan, who kept his gaze on Pregarin.
“You seem like nice people,” Pregarin said. “Montgomery and his group are not so nice.”
“What do you mean?” Ewan asked.
Muriel wanted to say they already knew Montgomery wasn’t a nice man. After all, he’d pulled Phee away from her family without asking permission from her father. Even though Phee was a grown woman, he should have asked permission before he spirited her away to Wales.
“If you’re looking for the sword you’ll have to go up to the hills,” Pregarin said. “The lakes.” He glanced between them, and Muriel could swear his eyes were as clear as the dawn. It seemed as if he didn’t have a drop of alcohol in his body.
“What if we’re looking for Montgomery?” Ewan took a drink from his cup.
“There’s a town up there called Monford,” Pregarin said. “It’s a very small town, not often called upon when people talk about Merlin and the sword.”
“Why is that?” Ewan asked.
“Because the people around here stay away from it,” Pregarin said. “You should, too.”
“Then why did you tell us about it?” Muriel asked. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Tell us how to get there,” Ewan said.
“With a horse and cart,” Pregarin said. “There is a very small lake called Chauncery. Find it and take a left and you’ll find Monford.”
Pregarin drained his glass. Ewan signaled for another one, but the older man shook his head.
“Why are you telling us this?” Ewan asked.
“Because you asked about Montgomery,” Pregarin said. “Some things need to be set to rights. I’m too old to do it. When you approached me, I knew you were the one.”
“What do you mean, the one?” Ewan put his arm around Muriel. She felt as if he thought Pregarin was threatening them, and he wanted to protect her.
“I need to talk with someone else,” Pregarin said. “Where are you staying?”
“Black Grouse House,” Ewan said.
“Ah, Mrs. Wiggins,” Pregarin said with a smile. “She is a good woman, although I’m sure she told you I was quite the drunk. She’s right, you know. I am. Her late husband and I were quite good friends at one point. He was a good man. She doesn’t think much of me now. I’m surprised she sent you my way.”
The sadness in his voice caught Muriel’s attention. She watched as he drained the rest of his ale and ordered another.
“I think you owe us an explanation as to your words,” Ewan said.
“Come back tomorrow and I’ll see if I can explain it.” He stood. “Right now, I need to take a nap. It’s been a long day, and I’m old.”
He left before they could stop him.
“I mean that was the oddest thing we’ve ever encountered,” Muriel said. “We should go after him and push him for an answer about this being the one business.
“We’ll come back tomorrow,” Ewan said. “Just like he asked. In the meantime, we should walk the town and see if anyone else has any information about Montgomery. Pregarin might not have seen him in a while, but that doesn’t mean others have not.”
Chapter 19
They were enjoying tea and a full English breakfast the next morning when there was a knock at the front door of Black Grouse House. Their walk yesterday had produced no more information. They’d talked to shopkeepers and even stopped a few people on the streets, but no one had any information on Raef Montgomery. When people had questioned the fact they were asking questions about a missing man, Ewan had come up with a story that Raef was a missing relative, who had come into money and they’d been hired to find him.
Still, no one had given them any information, and they’d come to the inn to enjoy the excellent lamb stew and pudding Mrs. Wiggins had prepared. Despite the fact they had a wing to themselves they had not made love last night. Instead they’d held each other and tried to make sense of what Pregarin had said to them.
They bantered back and forth, but in the end neither of them came up with what they thought was a plausible explanation for why he thought they meant something.
“It was almost as if he’d expected us,” Muriel had said.
Ewan had agreed and said they would demand some sort of explanation when they went back today.
“I’m going to gain a lot of weight staying here,” Muriel said as she bit into a slice of bread slathered with jam.
“That makes two of us,” he said. “We’ll have to find some way to work it off.”
Muriel giggled because she knew exactly what he meant. They exchanged a meaningful gaze right before Mrs. Wiggins burst into the room.
“What did you say to him?” she asked, her voice shaking.
“To whom?” Ewan put down his cup and Muriel looked between the two of them.
“I’m speaking about Pregarin,” Mrs. Wiggins said. “He hanged himself last night.”
Muriel gasped and put down the rest of her toast. She wiped her mouth and tried to make sense of what Mrs. Wiggins had just said.
“He’s dead?” Ewan’s voice was hollow, devoid of emotion.
“By his own hand, God rest his soul,” Mrs. Wiggins said. “All these years and he waits until now. Why?”
She seemed to wobble, and Ewan got up and put his arm around her. He helped her to a chair where she sat down. Muriel poured her a cup of tea and added a liberal amount of sugar.
“Here,” Muriel said as she set the cup in front of Mrs. Wiggins. “Drink some of this. It will make you feel better.”
“All these years,” she repeated. She said it as if she were in a daze, and Muriel squeezed her hand. She looked up at Ewan, who shook his head. She could tell he wanted to ask questions, to see what she meant exactly.
But instead of asking her what she meant he said, “What can we do for you? How can we help you?”
The minutes ticked by on the clock. Muriel wondered if Mrs. Wiggins was going to say something, or if she was going to stare off into space, as if she’d lost all sense of reality, which was what she was doing right now.
Finally, Muriel pushed the cup in her direction. “You really should drink this. Good sweet tea makes everything bett
er.”
“Not everything,” Mrs. Wiggins said. She cleared her throat before she continued, “I don’t know why I’m making such a fuss. It’s not as if I give a damn about the man. It’s his fault—was his fault—that Mr. Wiggins died—was murdered.”
Muriel locked her gaze onto Ewan’s. His mouth opened wide, and then he mouthed the words, “What the devil” to her. Finally, he said, “Mrs. Wiggins, yesterday when we went to see Mr. Pregarin, he said something to the affect that he’d been expecting us, that we were the ones. Why is that do you think?”
“I have no idea,” she said.
“Could you tell us why you think Mr. Pregarin was responsible for your husband’s death when you said a man called Sisto Frae killed him?”
“I need to lie down,” Mrs. Wiggins said. “I feel a bit off.”
“I’ll take you to your room,” Muriel said. “We can talk after you wake.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Wiggins said. Muriel led her up the stairs and to the left. Her room was near the stairs and once they were inside she shrugged off Muriel’s hands and headed straight to the wardrobe.
“Mrs. Wiggins, you really should lie down,” Muriel said.
Instead the innkeeper dropped to her knees and opened the bottom drawer of the wardrobe. She pulled out a blanket and tossed it aside. She reached back into the drawer and pulled out something that was the size of a book and offered it to Muriel. When Muriel didn’t move she said, “Take it.”
Muriel still hesitated. Instead of reaching for it she said, “What is it?”
Mrs. Wiggins put the package on the floor, then stood, putting her hands on her knees for leverage. She picked up the item, which Muriel could now see was a brown paper parcel.
“It will answer your questions, I think.” Mrs. Wiggins put her hand on top of it. “Pregarin tried to give this to me after my husband was killed. He asked me to put it away and not open it until he was dead. I told him to go to the devil. Then, one day I found it under my bed while I was cleaning. There was a note reminding me not to open it until he was dead.”
She took a deep breath and Muriel noticed the woman was unsteady on her feet. Muriel led her to a chair and helped her sit.
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