Murder at the Castle (19 page)

‘When you say “we”, I assume you mean Sir John.' Alan's voice was flat and expressionless.

‘Well, yes. That's why I don't know if he'll do it. It would cost a lot of money.'

‘And you were planning to hold this party where? In the castle?'

‘It would have to be, wouldn't it? If it were anywhere else, some people wouldn't come. And there'd be no way to make them come. But at the castle, as a surprise right after the concert . . . we could ask Sir John to invite them all, as a personal favour to him, so he could express his appreciation for all their hard work. Something like that. Only there's almost no time, and the logistics . . .' I ran down.

There was silence while the other two considered the scheme.

‘The problems are obvious,' said Alan at last, ‘but I don't have a better idea. You're right. At this point we must make the most efficient possible use of what time we have, and an informal gathering of the whole boiling of them might be what we need.'

‘Or what will appear to be an informal gathering,' said Inga. ‘I like it, Dorothy. It's the perfect setting for my gossip-mongering, at any rate.'

Alan looked at his watch. ‘It's just on twelve thirty. The concert starts at two. It'll be over at – what, four?'

‘No later than that,' said Inga.

‘Then we need to get cracking right now. You two change into whatever you're wearing to the concert. I'll find Mairi and ask her about a caterer who can feed a couple of hundred people at short notice, and then I'll phone Sir John.'

‘He'll be in the middle of rehearsal!' said Inga, scandalized.

‘Then he'll just have to be called away.' Alan headed for the kitchen and Inga and I for our bedrooms.

I hadn't finished dressing when Alan called upstairs. ‘Dorothy! I've found a caterer. She wants to talk to you about the menu.'

‘But I don't even know if Sir John is willing to do this!' I hurried down the stairs, shoeless. ‘Or whether there's a room at the castle we can use, or anything!'

‘She needs to know now, this minute. In for a penny, in for a pound. We'll worry about the finances of it later.' He handed me the phone.

I found it hard to take Alan's attitude. We're not hurting for money, but we're not made of it, either. An impressive bash for two hundred people would make a hole in our bank balance big enough to drive a Rolls Royce through. Alan had been teasing about a pub bill for all those people, and this would be much, much worse. However, the caterer was waiting. I gulped and took the phone.

A menu was quickly settled. Four o'clock was tea time, so we'd have finger foods, but substantial ones, like bara brith and a new Welsh speciality I'd encountered at a village bake shop, called lamb oggies. A bit like pasties, little meat-filled pies, they can be delicious, and they're certainly filling. The caterer suggested other treats, saying firmly, ‘I haven't time to bake anything, but I've these things on hand, frozen, and they'll do nicely. And tea?'

‘Tea, yes, but also beer and wine. I'll leave the varieties up to you, but I want plenty. These people are going to be thirsty, especially the singers.' And it won't hurt a thing if they're well lubricated, I added mentally. We may have to arrange for some of them to be taken home.

I'd leave that up to Alan.

We settled details of tables and chairs, plates and glasses and napkins, and got down to the bottom line. I took a deep breath and asked.

It was fortunate for my peace of mind that Alan came up just then, mobile in hand. He simply smiled and nodded as I passed along the awesome total. ‘You'll only be charged for the drinks that are consumed, of course,' she assured me.

‘It's not a problem. Sir John Warner, the music director of the festival, will be paying the bill. Will you require a deposit?'

We settled that, too, and I punched the phone off and stood, weak-kneed. ‘You came along in the nick of time. I think I might have had a seizure. I hope Sir John knows what he's getting into.'

‘He said not to worry about the cost. He wants this matter settled and is willing to do whatever it takes. He thought it a brilliant idea, by the way.'

‘And he wasn't upset about being interrupted in rehearsal?'

Alan chuckled. ‘He wasn't. His secretary was. I had to do quite a lot of convincing before she'd let me talk to him, but he seemed unperturbed.'

‘You can be very persuasive in full chief-constable mode.'

Inga came down the stairs, dressed rather more quietly than usual. Not that she's ever a flashy dresser, but she likes bright colours, and they set off her exquisitely fair colouring, inherited from her German mother. This time, though, she was dressed in monochrome, shades of black, white, and grey. The individual pieces of her ensemble were quite attractive, but they didn't go together. She looked a trifle dowdy, in fact.

Alan was somewhat taken aback, but I grinned. ‘The harmless gossip, interested in the glamorous lives of others.'

‘Got it in one.' She grinned back. ‘Lead on, Macduff.'

‘Yes, the sooner we get there, the better.' I was having a serious attack of nerves. ‘I think I understand a little of how Eisenhower must have felt just before D-Day. And don't you laugh at me, Alan Nesbitt!'

He composed his face, with an effort, and led the way to the car.

The concert was over an hour away and the musicians were still rehearsing when we got to the castle. It was surprising how little of the sound escaped the thick walls. We could hear only isolated high notes from the car park, where we were nearly the first to arrive, the musicians all having strict instructions to park elsewhere.

I headed straight into the castle, without waiting for Alan and Inga. My first job as general of this operation was to find a place for the party. I had forgotten to bring my guidebook to the castle, with its convenient map, so I snatched one from the gift shop display rack as I went past. ‘I'll pay later,' I called to the outraged clerk, and sailed into the castle proper.

The entire inner ward was occupied by the festival, both performers and, soon, audience. The anterooms along the way were also in use, for the office, storage, and the like. But the outer ward, some little distance away, had great possibilities. It was floored in nice soft grass, and one end of it was the right shape for a long table or two, to hold the food. There was also plenty of room for chairs, not in rows, but set about informally, the better for people to talk. They'd have to juggle their drinks, but party-goers everywhere have to learn to do that.

Yes, this would do. And it was, I judged, far enough away from the inner ward, with lots of nice thick walls between, that the caterers wouldn't disturb the concert as they set up. There was even, thanks to a wall that had crumbled centuries ago, access to the area that didn't lead right through what I now thought of as the concert hall.

Now, if only the caterers would get here with the tables and chairs and other paraphernalia before most of the audience began to arrive . . . And here, if I wasn't mistaken, they were.

At least, a woman in a white jacket was approaching me with a businesslike air. ‘I'm looking for the person in charge,' she said briskly. ‘No one in the gift shop seemed to know.'

‘You must be Mrs Williams.' I held out my hand. ‘I'm Dorothy Martin. I talked to you earlier.'

‘Yes. Wanted the impossible, you did, and here am I to make it happen. You have a cheque for me?'

‘Sir John does.' At least I sincerely hoped he did. ‘They should be finished in a few minutes – or do I hear them breaking up now?'

The music had ceased, and we could hear Sir John's voice, carrying more clearly than the music had a moment before. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for an admirable rehearsal. I am greatly privileged to work with such a fine group of dedicated musicians, both professional and amateur.' He pronounced the word the French way, with its implication of lover, devotee. A nice touch, I thought. ‘I have what I hope will be a pleasant surprise for you after the concert. Because I've had to call you in early for this rehearsal, many of you will have had to do without your lunch. Therefore, I've arranged a party after the concert. This has been organized in some haste, so I'm not quite sure in which part of the castle it will be held; I'll let you know before the end of the concert. I've been assured that there will be plenty of food for all.' He paused artistically. ‘And plenty of drink!'

That brought a roar of approval. Mrs Williams smiled.

‘Two requests, then,' Sir John went on. ‘I would like to ask you all to stay for the party, at least briefly, as I will have some important announcements to make. Second, please be discreet about mentioning it to any of the audience, as the festival can't quite afford to feed all of North Wales.'

And with that he dismissed them on a wave of laughter, and Mrs Williams and I could approach him about that little matter of money.

With that settled, Mrs Williams went efficiently about her business, directing the men bringing in the tables and chairs and beginning to unload coolers full, presumably, of food. I was sorely tempted to filch some of it; lunch had been awfully skimpy. But I refrained. There were much more important things to worry about than my stomach.

Inga had, I felt, the easiest assignment. She had only to encourage gossip, never the hardest thing to do in a group of people, especially when the beer and wine were flowing.

Alan was seeking some specific information, about who was on the canal boat on that fateful day. That might be hard for me, but he was trained to conduct interviews, and was very good at it.

Nigel and I, on the other hand, had no training at all. Nigel at least knew some of these people, having worked with them for two or three weeks. I had an acquaintance with the twins, Larry and Laurie, and less than that with the people who'd joined us at the pub a few nights before. What possible excuse could I make to justify my questions about Pat and James?

With my head empty of anything except forebodings, I found Alan and Inga and we took our seats for the next-to-last concert of the series.

I
'd been looking forward to this particular concert for a long time. The programme featured sacred music, mostly choral, mostly short and familiar. The first piece, and the last, were Alleluias by Randall Thompson and Mozart, respectively. In between were selections by composers as diverse as Bach and John Rutter. Every now and then an especially lovely passage would catch my attention, but then I went back to worrying about what was to come.

This was crunch time. By suppertime tomorrow, all these people would have dispersed, scattered to the four winds. If we hadn't found our murderer by then, it would be too late. The official police were not inclined to treat either death as murder and would have no interest at all in pursuing someone to another country, if that was the way our investigation pointed.

If it pointed in any direction at all. I faced the terrible possibility that we would never come to any conclusion – that these murders, if such they were, would never be solved, and that Dan Green and Delia Warner would never be granted the justice that was surely their due.

That was one of the times when the music broke in to my distracted consciousness. They were singing ‘The Lord Is My Light', the old anthem I remembered from my youth in Indiana. It's always been one of my favourites, with its stirring music and its message of reassurance from Psalm 27. ‘Whom then shall I fear?' And for a little while my fears were stilled, only to return when Sir John launched his forces into something I didn't know.

All too soon the final brilliant ‘Alleluia' sounded, followed by thunderous applause that went on and on. I agreed with the sentiment, but wished they would stop and go home, so I could tackle my uncertain duty.

Sir John held out his hands to still them. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, if you would like one more—'

He wasn't allowed to finish. The crowd roared their approval.

‘Then we'll play and sing something I suspect you all know, and you'd be very welcome to sing along with us. In English or Welsh, as you choose.'

The orchestra played the last few bars of the great Welsh hymn that Nigel had led us in singing on the canal boat. Then Sir John turned around and gave the audience their cue.

They sang lustily. The words were incomprehensible, because even the English words had several variations, and with the Welsh mixed in, all that could be heard was the blending of voices and the strong goodwill that rose like a visible cloud from the hundreds of singers.

I tried to sing along, but I couldn't utter a sound. Alan took my hand and squeezed it, and of course that made things worse. When they had finished, to another round of applause, I had to find a tissue and dab away the tears.

‘Okay?' Alan murmured in my ear.

‘Okay. It was just . . .'

‘I know. You can't listen to that sort of music impassively, can you?'

It was more than that, of course. Yes, I choke up when music touches me deeply, but I was also remembering the last time I'd heard this hymn, on the boat with the strong young voices singing in perfect harmony. And two of those voices were silenced forever.

It didn't do to dwell on that now. I had a job to do. Alan gathered Inga and me with a glance, and together we moved into the fray.

It wasn't yet four in the afternoon, not my usual hour for libations, but I felt an abstemious glass of wine would ease my nerves.

‘Best have some food to go with it,' said Alan at my elbow. ‘Find a place to sit down, and I'll bring you a plate.'

‘But I need to circulate, mingle.'

‘After you have some sustenance, love.'

I obeyed, the more meekly as I hadn't an idea what else to do. I looked around for any familiar face and spotted the twins sitting together with a small group. They had got their food and drink and were talking with animation. As I hesitated, Laurie looked up and saw me, and waved.