Vivian Conroy - Death Plays a Part

‘I can imagine you don’t want to give up on it. The castle is amazing.’

Bolingbrooke looked pleased. ‘It’s rather nice, isn’t it? You haven’t seen it before? No, I didn’t think so.’ He raked a hand through his wild grey hair, making it stand up even more. ‘Come closer, have a seat. Never mind the dogs. They look fierce, but they’re really as meek as lambs.’ He patted the mastiff’s large head, and the dog immediately licked his hand.

‘This is Rufus,’ Bolingbrooke said. ‘The other one’s called Nero. Yes, after the Roman emperor. Fortunately he doesn’t compose bad verse. What’s her name?’ He nodded at Dolly.

‘Dolly. She showed up at the theatre one day, just sneaked in through the back entrance and ran onto the stage during the performance. Old Carter, our prop man, had to get her off again. But the audience loved it. They all clapped for her. We brought her out on stage with us when we took the final bows. Since then she’s been with us. But she couldn’t live at the theatre of course, so I took her in. She can’t stand being alone. She follows me everywhere I go. I hope you don’t mind.’

While talking, Guinevere sank on the nearest chair, keeping Dolly in her lap. Rufus and Nero seemed to calm down now that she was sitting quite still.

Bolingbrooke ignored her latter remark and said, with a probing look, ‘You’re not from the island.’

‘No, I live in London. I came here to help out with your books. You’re cataloguing them, right?’ She glanced around at the stacks on the floor, the piles on the long table, the overfull shelves. There had to be hundreds of them in this room alone, and there might be more in others. This would be an epic task.

Bolingbrooke waved a hand. ‘I asked Meraud for help, but the stubborn woman doesn’t want to come up here. She’s still concerned about that old feud.’

‘What feud?’

Bolingbrooke folded the map he had been holding. ‘Let’s just say not all Bolingbrookes were pleasant, easy-going fellows like me.’

Pleasant and easy-going, huh, when you threw armour at your own son …

Guinevere tried to smile. ‘I see. Well, I’m not related to anybody on this island or anyone for miles in the distance so …’

‘An uninvolved party. Excellent. Just what we need.’ Bolingbrooke slapped the folded map on the edge of the table, creating a whiplike sound. ‘How would you like a room in the west tower? Has a great view of the sea.’

‘That sounds lovely.’ Guinevere was still working through the information he had so carelessly revealed. ‘But if you wanted to work with this Meraud, won’t she be upset that I’m here now?’ She didn’t fancy meeting someone who felt like her summer job had been stolen away from her by a complete stranger from the city.

‘Nonsense. She had her chance; she didn’t take it. Fine with me. And don’t you listen to anything she tells you about me. She’s prejudiced. Why don’t you come and stay here to see things with an open mind? The castle, the books, me, Oliver.’

‘Oliver?’ Guinevere queried.

‘My son. As he’s back from one of his trips and planning the next one, he has no place to stay. He doesn’t own anything besides that beastly machine of his. When I hear its engine roar down the causeway, I know I have to prepare myself for warfare. Figuratively speaking of course.’

Guinevere gestured to the door. ‘I can’t call throwing helmets around figurative warfare.’

‘I like to underline my point,’ Bolingbrooke said without blinking. ‘I like to be taken seriously, especially by Oliver. Because he has travelled the world and because he’s in the prime of his life, he thinks he can tell me, his old father, what to do. But he had better think twice about that. I’m still able to make up my own mind. And if he doesn’t tread carefully, I’ll throw him out completely. Out of the castle and out of my will.’

Guinevere gasped at the idea of losing access to this beautiful heritage. ‘Does he know that?’

‘If he ever listened. I’ve told him countless times what this property means to the family. He is a Bolingbrooke as well, whether he likes it or not. Since his brother married and moved to Singapore, Oliver is all I have left. He would make such a good keeper of the castle, you know. He could repair so many things that I don’t have the strength for. He’s good with money too. He could have any degree he wanted. But no, he wanted to travel, is always off after some beast on the edge of extinction. Leaving his family heritage to fall apart.’

‘Beast on the edge of extinction?’ Guinevere repeated. ‘He’s into wildlife conservation?’

‘Guinevere doesn’t want to be talked to death.’ Oliver stood in the door opening. The expression on his face suggested he had overheard some of the things his father had told her about him, his lifestyle, and his choices.

Oliver said, ‘Coffee, tea, and sandwiches are ready downstairs. I suppose you’re hungry after your journey out here. I’d better remove your suitcase from the hallway before the guests arrive for the rehearsal and break their necks over it.’ He continued to his father, ‘Where are you putting her up?’

‘In the west tower,’ Bolingbrooke said. ‘You’d better show it to her. I’ll go down to play host.’

‘Just stay out of Haydock’s hair. Last time you two were in a single room, he threatened to sue you for assault.’

‘I barely touched him.’

‘Well, this time don’t touch him at all. A lawsuit is the last thing this castle needs.’ Oliver gestured to Guinevere. ‘Follow me.’

Guinevere carried Dolly out of the room and then put her down. The dachshund seemed excited to explore the castle and dashed ahead of them, up the steep winding stairs inside the tower.

Despite the suitcase Oliver was carrying for her, he took the steps two at a time, and Guinevere had trouble keeping up. Sweat formed on her forehead and between her shoulder blades as she laboured up one broad, worn step after another. There didn’t seem to be an end to them. How much higher still?

She called out to Oliver, ‘Your father … doesn’t like … this Haydock?’ The mention of Haydock threatening him with assault charges suggested they had come to blows. Bolingbrooke’s casual remark that he had ‘barely’ touched him wasn’t very reassuring, given his obvious inflammable temper.

Oliver didn’t seem to have heard her question, or pretended that he hadn’t.

When Guinevere reached a landing, she was positively panting. A door stood open, and muffled sounds came from inside the room. ‘Oliver?’ she called. ‘Are you in there?’

‘Yes.’

She stepped to the door and peeked in. Oliver was brushing his hands over several surfaces, blowing away dust and kicking something under the bed. Dolly scooted after it and dragged it out again, shaking it. It was a woman’s slipper, dark blue with embroidered roses on it. It was covered with dust that scattered under Dolly’s shaking.

‘Give that to me, girl.’ Guinevere rushed to extract the slipper from the dog’s mouth and put it on the old dressing table in the far corner. A velvet-covered chair sat in front of it, while the wall beside it was covered with a wall tapestry showing a hunting scene full of hounds and horses. A cherrywood side table held a marble statue of a deer on a pedestal and a tall mirror in a brass frame. The metal had gone dim but Guinevere bet that with a little polish it would shine again.

In fact, her fingers itched to give this entire room a good cleaning and restore all these beautiful items to their former glory. Put together like this, they formed an odd mix of different periods and different styles, but judged individually, they were all well preserved and had stories to tell.