Vivian Conroy - Death Plays a Part

There was a short tense silence. Haydock seemed to have flinched under her words as if they struck him across the face.

Then Kensa said in a forced light tone, ‘Do you have the Branok ring?’

‘Yes,’ Haydock said, reaching into his pocket as if to produce it.

Everybody watched him expectantly, but he retracted his hand. ‘When I’m dressed, I’ll put it on.’ He looked around slowly. ‘You’ll be surprised to see it. It’s the genuine article.’

‘I don’t believe you have a ring dating back to Branok’s lifetime,’ Oliver said at once. ‘Where would you have found it?’ He surveyed him suspiciously.

‘Maybe not dating back to Branok’s lifetime, but it’s centuries old. And intimately connected with Cornisea.’ Haydock smiled as he said it, hiding some secret satisfaction related to the ring he carried on his person.

Everybody waited for him to go on, but he didn’t seem willing to reveal more about it right now.

Then Bolingbrooke said, ‘Yes, well, let’s get on with it. Everybody better get dressed and then I’ll lock Branok in the dungeon. Perhaps Oliver can go down there already to light the torches?’

He looked at Guinevere and explained, ‘We still have no electric light in the dungeons. It’s old-fashioned torches along the wall.’

‘More like lanterns with tea lights in it.’ Oliver gestured at her. ‘Do you want to come along? Then you can see the dungeon. Everybody else has already seen it.’

The latter seemed meant to stop Tegen, who appeared about to invite herself along.

Guinevere agreed and snapped her fingers at Dolly, who immediately came to her side. They followed Oliver out of the room. The last thing Guinevere saw was Tegen, whispering angrily to her mother. Kensa wasn’t listening though as she was watching Haydock and his daughter Leah with a brooding look.

‘Nobody seems to like each other,’ Guinevere observed as they took a corridor that led into a dim recess. ‘Is all this tension just because of the play? Kensa seemed to force her directions onto the others.’

‘That’s just the way she is.’ Oliver sighed. ‘She thinks she did most of the work for the play, gathering information from sources kept here at the castle. So she believes she should tell everybody how to act the part. Besides, they’ve all been stuck here for all of their lives. They have history with each other.’

‘History?’ Guinevere asked, trying to interpret the word.

Oliver made a gesture. ‘If you asked my father, he’d say Kensa is always supporting Haydock, because she’s in love with him. But that was ages ago, before she married her husband. Haydock was ambitious even then and he would never have married someone who wasn’t in his league. The woman he did marry brought in money and connections so he could establish his law firm. His only disappointment in life is that he doesn’t have a son to take over.’

‘So he took Leah in.’ Guinevere understood. ‘Is she her father’s successor now?’

‘She’d be very stupid if she agreed to that.’

Oliver sounded bitter again, like he had before. Apparently, there was also history between him and Leah. Concerning her professional choices?

‘Why would it be stupid?’ Guinevere probed. ‘Leah seems so eager to please her father.’

‘That’s exactly why. The old kitchens,’ Oliver said, waving his hands in that direction. ‘But we’re going down here.’ He took the iron ring on an old door in his hand and pulled. The door opened slowly with an ominous creak.

Guinevere felt a shiver go down her spine. Dungeons had been creepy places in times gone by. People had been locked up there with the rats, awaiting trial or execution. Without daylight, with just a little food. And foremost no hope of ever getting free again.

Oliver gestured. ‘Ladies first.’

Dolly yapped and seemed eager to explore the dark void ahead.

Guinevere hung back and protested, ‘But I have no light.’

‘Here you go.’ Oliver reached inside the door and produced a large torch. ‘Hold tight, it’s heavy.’

Guinevere took it from his grasp and switched it on. The light fell on a stone floor that soon turned into steps that went down. Guinevere moved forward carefully, keeping her eyes trained on the floor right before her feet. Dolly didn’t seem to mind the darkness as she jogged ahead, sniffing every few paces. Her nails scratched across the stone.

Behind Guinevere’s back the door fell to a close. The sound echoed away into the emptiness ahead of her. Goose bumps rose on her arms.

‘Spooky, huh?’ Oliver said at her shoulder.

Guinevere shivered, imagining rustling ahead of them and reddish rodent eyes lighting up in the darkness, but she forced herself to walk on quietly. ‘What was that between your father and Haydock anyway? They seemed ready to come to blows. And you had even warned him to avoid such a situation.’

‘Yes, well, Haydock should of course not set one foot here. It’s asking for trouble. But he’s in the play, he’s our leading man even, so we have to put up with him.’ Oliver took a deep breath. ‘Haydock and his Cornisea Historical Society are after the castle.’

Chapter Three

It was a short terse statement with a lot of implications.

Oliver said, ‘They believe they can do a better job of exploiting it. Open it to the public.’

‘It would draw people in droves. It’s so beautiful.’

‘It’s also private property. People should respect that.’ Oliver tapped her shoulder. ‘Watch your step now; it’s very uneven in places.’

They reached a large room with metal cage constructions along the wall. There were four of them on either side. Each cage had metal rings in the wall to which the prisoners used to be shackled. In one of the cages there was a table and a chair.

Dolly managed to squeeze herself through the bars and dashed under the table. When she ran out on the other end, she touched the chair, and it tottered, almost falling over.

‘Come here, girl,’ Guinevere called and added to Oliver, ‘The floor is really ragged there.’

‘Yes, the cells were never meant to have furniture in them. But Haydock claimed that by the time of the Branok trial these cells weren’t what they had once been. He wants to sit at that table, writing up his last will. History does say Branok wrote a will in here, or a map with directions to his hidden stash, whatever you like to believe, but I bet he did it shackled to the wall. If he could write at all, of course. Over time he must have become larger than life, while he might just have been a lawless scoundrel.’

‘But he was steward at the castle, right? Shouldn’t a steward have been able to read and write?’ Guinevere asked curiously.

‘Not necessarily. Branok might have been appointed because he was shrewd and knew how to play people. A clerk may have kept the accounts. Many orphans who had been raised at monasteries could read and write and they found positions at keeps like this one.’

‘If Branok had a clerk who knew about all his dealings, and some of them were unfair, that clerk must have been his accomplice,’ Guinevere mused. ‘Was he heard at the trial?’

‘A partner in crime?’ Oliver winked at her. ‘I doubt that Branok shared his illegal transactions with the clerk who kept the official records for the castle. He probably went about that business alone.’ He scanned her expression. ‘You sound like you know something about trials.’

‘More about murder investigations. We’ve been rehearsing a play set in the roaring Twenties about a murder at an estate where young ladies are groomed for high society. I helped working out some kinks in the scenario.’

‘In the scenario?’ Oliver frowned.