Vivian Conroy - Death Plays a Part

‘It’s mine. And I’ll keep it. No matter what I have to do for it.’

Oliver pushed the door open, and Guinevere saw Bolingbrooke and a handsome middle-aged man in a neat grey suit almost nose to nose in the middle of the room.

Bolingbrooke’s right hand rested on the table where the tray with sandwiches sat. The butler had placed another tray beside it with a ham and a round cheese. A sharp knife was placed at the ready for cutting.

Bolingbrooke’s fingers closed round the handle of the knife as if he was ready to pick it up and brandish it at his opponent.

‘Ah,’ Oliver said in a loud voice, barging into the room. ‘You’re already here. Guinevere, this is Arthur Haydock. Haydock, this is our new recruit: Guinevere Evans.’

Following suit, Guinevere reached out her hand, and Haydock had to turn away from Bolingbrooke. His brown eyes surveyed her critically. ‘A new addition to our cast, you mean? I didn’t know we still had any parts left to give out.’

His gaze fell to Dolly, and he snorted. ‘A new addition to your dog park too, Bolingbrooke? Isn’t this one a little small for your tastes?’

‘That’s Guinevere’s dog,’ Bolingbrooke barked. ‘And you can rest assured: Guinevere has nothing to do with your silly little play. She’s here to catalogue my books.’

While speaking, Bolingbrooke inched away from the table and the knife, not looking at Oliver, who shot his father accusing glances. After all, he had warned him about staying away from Haydock and about avoiding a scene like this one.

‘So pleased to meet you both.’ Guinevere shook Leah’s hand now. It was clammy as if she had worked herself up about her father’s behaviour.

‘Leah is a junior partner in my law firm,’ Haydock said with emphasis. ‘And what kind of work do you normally do?’ He looked Guinevere over with a mix of curiosity and bewilderment. ‘This book cataloguing thing is just a summer assignment, I presume?’

‘I work in a theatre,’ Guinevere said. She straightened her back as she spoke, pulling back her shoulders. She was used to people not considering it a real job.

‘You’re an actress?’ Leah asked, her eyes lighting up. ‘You have to tell us something about the plays you perform in.’

‘No, I do costume design. I also help out backstage during performances.’

‘And what do you study?’ Haydock asked in a patronizing tone. ‘I mean, such a job is obviously meant to earn a little something on the side while you get your degree.’

‘I already have my degree, in drama and theatre studies. I was very lucky to find a theatre that could take me on right away.’ Guinevere couldn’t resist adding, ‘In London.’

‘I would love to live in London,’ Leah said. She had a warm, melodious voice, and her tense expression relaxed as she took to the topic. ‘All those historic sites and museums to visit.’

‘Then why don’t you move there?’ Oliver said. His tone was a little too loud for a normal question. It was more like a challenge.

Leah flushed the same colour as her trouser suit. She held her head up, but her shoulders slumped as if she was physically trying to remove herself from the scene.

The butler appeared in the door and announced, ‘Kensa and Tegen Morgan.’

A stout woman in her late forties walked in, carrying a twined basket on her arm. She was already dressed in a woollen garb that gave her a medieval look. ‘I made some changes to the script. I’ll hand out the new information right away.’ She reached under the cloth in the basket she was carrying. Dolly came over to see if there were any treats forthcoming.

‘Not again,’ Bolingbrooke said. ‘Why can’t you just leave the play alone?’

‘There are no changes to the text,’ Kensa countered. ‘Just a few directions as to where everybody should be standing. Body posture and so on.’ Kensa threw Leah a pointed look as she said the latter.

Leah said, ‘Guinevere here works in a theatre. I’m sure she knows much better than you how people in a play should behave.’

Guinevere cringed at being drawn into the disagreement in this way, but Kensa ignored the mention completely and started to pass sheets around with brisk movements.

Leah accepted hers but put it on the table right away without even looking at what it said.

Haydock flashed Kensa a smile and even said something in a low voice that Guinevere couldn’t overhear.

Bolingbrooke made an evasive gesture, and Kensa put the paper beside him on a side table. ‘You have a small part anyway. Doesn’t matter much whether you are any good or not.’

‘A small part?’ Bolingbrooke protested. ‘In the Middle Ages the lord of the castle had the power of life and death over the people under his rule. He could decide to have you strung up just because he didn’t like you.’

The girl who had come in with Kensa was still at the door, watching the scene as if the take-charge behaviour embarrassed her.

Their shared surname – Morgan – suggested these two were related, but there was little likeness in their faces. While Kensa was blonde with bags under her eyes suggesting she slept badly, Tegen had wild raven hair and a deep tan as if she was outdoors a lot. She wasn’t in medieval garb either but a green shimmery cocktail dress that ended two inches above the knees.

Tegen focused on Oliver, and her expression lit. ‘I had no idea you were back here, Ollie.’

Oliver didn’t seem to share her enthusiasm for their reunion. He looked at her dress and said, ‘I’m sure polyester wasn’t around in the Middle Ages.’

‘Well, I don’t want to look like an idiot in front of all of those people. Mum says the society is inviting members from other societies to attend. There might even be a piece in the newspapers. I want to look good.’ Tegen smoothed down the short skirt, the silver bracelets on her left arm tinkling. Intrigued by the sound, Dolly came over, and Tegen sat on her haunches at once to scratch the doggy behind the ears. ‘We need a dog too, Mum. Just a small one like this. At Emma’s there was an ad for puppies.’

Kensa’s eyes narrowed. ‘What were you doing at Emma’s?’

Tegen ignored the question and said, ‘Golden retriever puppies. They’re so fluffy and cute.’

Kensa had returned to her basket and looked Oliver over. ‘Don’t they feed you on your travels?’

‘Mum!’ Tegen shot to her feet and elbowed her. ‘He’s just lean.’

Oliver didn’t seem to hear as he lifted the cloth covering off the basket. There were garments inside like the one Kensa wore herself, of coarse dark material. Oliver scoffed as he ran his hand over the fabric. ‘Haydock’s going to wear this? That’ll be the day. Why didn’t he want to be the judge in the play? Be on the good side of the law?’

Looking past him as if he didn’t exist, Haydock said to Kensa, ‘Now that the costumes are ready for us to wear during our rehearsal tonight it will be even more real than other times.’

He seemed to want to catch Kensa’s eye, but she avoided looking at him, fussing with the basket instead. Her reluctance to engage formed a complete contrast with her earlier dominant behaviour.

Oliver pressed Haydock, ‘Why did you want to be Branok?’

Haydock’s eyes flashed a moment. ‘Branok was a resourceful man. Without him this castle would have ended up destitute. He saved it. He should never have been tried.’

‘He wasn’t convicted,’ Oliver scoffed. ‘He got away scot-free.’

‘Scot-free? He was forced to leave the island. Even without any conviction his old life as he had built it was over. Hardly fair.’

‘Fair?’ Kensa hitched a brow. ‘That man was guilty of the death of two small children. Hurting children is the worst thing anyone can ever do.’