Eat, Drink and Be Buried (5 page)

A large well stood near the tents where the jousts took place and the wooden bucket on a rope glistened with drops of water. Clearly, Harlington Castle aimed at authenticity.

Two figures were coming out of one of the tents, one normal-sized and the other unbelievably diminutive. As they came closer, I could see that the smaller of the two was Eddie.

“Too early in the morning for me,” he was grumbling. “I'm not at my best till noon time.”

“You're never at your best, Eddie,” said the other. “Not at noon time and not after.” He was in his thirties, strongly built, and had a shock of black hair. He nudged Eddie. “Aren't you going to introduce us, you ill-mannered midget?”

Eddie did so, and I shook hands with Norman, the younger son of Lord and Lady Harlington. He looked nothing like his brother or his father. He did not even have that look of the nobility about him. He seemed to be on good terms with Eddie, however, and the dwarf's less than good temper did not seem to bother him at all.

“Ah, yes, you're the fellow who's going to put the kitchen back three hundred years,” Norman said with a grin.

“That's my mission,” I agreed, “and I trust it will prove a great advance.”

“If it brings more money into the coffers, it will be the advance we're looking for.”

“Yes, that's what it's all about, isn't it—money?” Eddie said with a sour face.

“Don't mind our tiny friend here,” advised Norman. “He takes a small view of life.”

“So would you if you were in my shoes,” grunted Eddie.

“You should buy a bigger size. Sheer vanity, that's all it is. Keeping up your image.”

The badinage between them was obviously nothing new. Even the weak smile with which Eddie regarded Norman showed no true ill will.

Norman sensed my reaction. “We should have a double act,” he grinned.

“‘Mirth of the Middle Ages' or ‘Cromwell and the King—Laugh Your Head Off.' Ë® He turned back to me. “Police been at you yet?”

“I had an interview with Inspector Devlin,” I told him.

“Regular terror, isn't she? Wouldn't want her on my trail, I can tell you. Did you help her with her inquiries?”

“As well as I could,” I said. “Not a lot I could tell her.”

“It should all become clearer when we know what poor old Kenny died from,” Norman said. He seemed to be waiting for some input from me, but I wasn't inclined to stick my neck out again with any comments on poisoning, so I just nodded agreement.

“I've told Richard time and time again that he ought not to be doing the joust,” Norman went on, “but he doesn't listen to me. He doesn't listen to anybody, for that matter.”

“Except maybe somebody in the village,” Eddie muttered darkly.

Norman ignored him and went on, “He could have been killed easily—it should have been him in that suit of armor.”

“Everybody thought it was him, I suppose,” I remarked lightly.

“Yes,” Norman agreed readily, then stopped as he realized where that comment was leading him. He went on quickly, “Still, the lucky son of a gun got away with it that time.”

“Let's hope there won't be any other times,” I said, keeping innuendo out of my tone.

Norman patted the top of the head that was near his hand. “All right, come on, small stuff, we've got work to do. Must keep the flag flying and the gold flowing into the castle treasury.”

I watched them go, arguing good-naturedly. Norman certainly was different from his brother. Did I detect some resentment there? It was understandable if there was some sibling rivalry, but he had seemed genuinely concerned about Richard's lack of caution. When Eddie had referred to Richard's girlfriend in the village, Norman hadn't responded. What did that suggest?

I still had one more member of the family to talk to—the younger sister, Angela. If our paths were not going to cross, I would have to contrive an encounter.

The opportunity came after lunch. I ate in the big staff dining room next to the kitchens. Lunch was also served in the other dining room for guests, but for my present purpose, this was the better place. Now that I had an additional assignment, it was more useful at the moment to get familiar with the staff and the family than the guests.

They ate in shifts and I was with the first shift. At my table were two of the stuntmen, who told me they put on sword fights and did some fancy riding; a young woman who ran the library and kept the archives; and one of the staff from reservations.

It was a competent meal, satisfying and well balanced. First came a salad with artichoke hearts, endives, and tomatoes. It resembled the Arlesienne style and lacked only olives and anchovies to be completely authentic. Following that came a choice of seafood risotto gleaming yellow with saffron, or veal schnitzel, or a mushroom and leek casserole.

No alcohol was served, but there were soft drinks, tea, coffee, and a “Castle Cider.” As this was being explained to me, it elicited a few winks and laughs. It was made from apples from the castle's own orchards and, though non-alcoholic, I gathered that alcoholic versions occasionally appeared. I was well aware of the powerful ciders from Somerset, which can have an alcohol content higher than that of most beers. Desserts were passed over by most of the table, though one of the stuntmen had a dish of mixed fruit, berries from the castle's own gardens, shiny blackberries and rich red raspberries.

The room was beginning to thin out as I said casually, “I haven't run across the younger daughter, Angela, yet. Does she come in here?”

The librarian, a West Indian girl with a light brown complexion, smiled. “You haven't met Angela yet? It's amazing she hasn't met you.”

One of the stuntmen laughed and said something to the other that seemed to be apropos, but I didn't catch it. The young man from reservations was listening with amusement. “Angela usually comes in about this time when she's around. Generally sits at that table.” He nodded to one nearby.

The stuntmen took their leave and so did Lisa, the librarian. I stretched out a cup of coffee with the young clerk, but before I could get him away from the problems of running what he described as a castle, a circus, a museum, a hotel, a restaurant, and a stately home all rolled into one, he broke off. He motioned.

“There she is now. That's Angela.”

S
HE WAS WEARING A FLOWERED
dress that would have had made some women look as if they were trying for a country look. But then it would have made some women look casually rural, too. In Angela's case, it made her stand out in the crowd.

Having decided that, I realized that she would stand out in any crowd and that the dress had nothing to do with it. She had large dark eyes that were never still, darting around as if she were afraid of missing something. Her lustrous black hair didn't have the look of having come from a hairdressing salon, but that was probably the look she wanted. Her complexion was smooth and contrasted with her dark hair. She had high cheekbones and a face that was both sensuous and strong at the same time.

She came in with three young men. After making their selections at the buffet, they all sat down at a nearby table, talking excitedly. “Don't know how she does it,” said the fellow with me, admiringly. “Different bunch every day.”

“A popular girl,” I commented. “Friendly.” He gave me a pitying look.

“Got to get back to work,” he said, rising. “Best of luck.”

I drank my coffee slowly. One of the young men stayed only a couple of minutes, then left. Another demolished his pork chop, boiled potatoes, and carrots as if famished, then he too left. The remaining young man ate two large sandwiches as Angela ate a salad. As they rose to go, the young man took her plate and his own and headed for the disposal. I seized my chance.

I introduced myself as I materialized at her side. She gave me a smile that was both gentle and inviting. “Oh, yes, you're helping us with the medieval menu idea, aren't you?” she said. Her voice was soft and had an undertone of intimacy that seemed wholly natural and without artifice.

“That's right. I'm also the one who happened to be on hand when Kenny died.”

Her dark eyes clouded. “Wasn't that terrible? Do the police know yet what he died from? They seem to be swarming all over the castle.”

“If they do, they haven't told anyone here, as far as I know.”

“You were there when he was brought in, weren't you?”

“I came in immediately afterwards. I saw the joust, then went into the tent to see if the Black Knight could possibly exist without a head.”

Her mouth crinkled in a slight smile. “Yes, they do that very well, don't they? But what happened then?”

It occurred to me that she was asking all the questions and I had read enough mystery stories to know that was not how it should work. I ought to be asking the questions. But the appealing face was turned up to me, and I told myself I could be patient and wait for my turn.

“Don McCartney helped release Eddie from his armor, then he went out. I was talking to Eddie when McCartney came back in. We talked for a few minutes, then we heard loud voices nearby. A young man came in and said Kenny was ill. McCartney and I went to him. The young man said Dr. Emery had been called and he arrived a few minutes later. He had Kenny taken to the hospital, and that's all I know.” I hoped I implied that was the end of my role answering questions, but she was too quick for me.

“Didn't someone say it might be food poisoning?”

I decided to adhere very strictly to the truth—very strictly. “I didn't hear anyone say anything about food poisoning.”

“H'm,” she said as she mentally prepared another question. This time, I got in first.

“It seems unlikely, though, doesn't it? No one else has complained. How could Kenny be the only one to be poisoned by food?”

We were walking out of the cafeteria and into the open air by this time. The same weird mixture of people was walking in various directions. Some wore business clothes; one man had on a carpenter's apron; a brown-robed monk strode by, and three girls in long dresses with bright colored lacing and puffed sleeves were arguing cheerfully.

Angela said nothing for a few paces, but when she spoke it was in a reflective tone. “Have you seen our Plantation?” She was back to the questions.

“Not yet. I want to see it, though. I might get some ideas there for medievalizing the menu.”

She did not reply immediately. She was looking straight ahead and seemed to be weighing her words. “It was Felicity's concept, you know. She loves growing things.”

Her tone of voice as she said the last words prompted me to say, “And you don't?”

“Ugh,” she said expressively, wrinkling her nose. “All that rurality…horrible.”

“I thought you were raised here among all this pastoral beauty.”

“Not me. I'm a city girl.”

“But you live here.”

She gave the slightest of shrugs. “I'm old enough to leave if I don't like it. Is that what you mean?” A cooler edge was creeping in by the time she reached the end of the sentence.

I was composing a placatory answer when she smiled, giving a wave to a young man in a page's uniform. “Well, maybe I will, one of these days,” she said. She sounded as if she meant it, had already been doing some thinking along those lines.

We were still walking and seemed to have strayed some way from the castle. Pathways ran in and out of the clusters of shrubs and bushes, and the gardening bill alone must have run into an awful lot of money. A little further and the castle was out of sight.

“It has just occurred to me that I don't know where we're going,” I said lightly.

She smiled again, this time a mocking smile that might have a lot of meaning in it. “There's a gazebo out here you ought to see. The story is that the fourth earl proposed to Lady Emmeline in it after he came back wounded from the Battle of Naseby.”

“She accepted, I presume?”

“Oh, that's just a legend, in my opinion. I don't think he proposed to her there at all. I think it's where he first made love to her.”

“Do the castle archives support your view?” I asked.

“Of course not. The archivist would have been hung by the thumbs for writing anything like that.”

“You've studied the life of the Lady Emmeline, I suspect.”

She glanced at me keenly. “Yes, I have. What makes you say that?”

“I'll bet you found her to be quite a little minx.”

“Why do you think so?”

“She sounds like the sort of young woman that a modern girl might want to pattern herself after.”

Angela sighed. “You're right. I suppose I do. Role model—that's what she would be called today, isn't it?”

“I believe so. So is there no kind of saucy detail in your massive library?”

“Hints, that's all. Very disappointing. There are lots of names, though, of people who were around during that time. Sir Robert this, the Earl of Somewhere, and Lord James that. They couldn't all have been tutors or uncles. I'm sure some of them must have been lovers.”

The grass was thick underfoot. The trees, huge oaks, were getting closer together, and the air had a lush smell. Occasional bird calls rang out joyously and leaves fluttered down from the heavy branches.

“So you're taking me to this gazebo, are you?” I asked.

She didn't look back at me. “You want to know all you can about the castle, don't you?”

“Certainly, and I can't think of anyone I'd rather learn from.”

She took my hand and we went on through what I believe would be called a leafy glade. We were closer together now and our shoulders rubbed. The air was developing some kind of an electric charge, or so it seemed to me when—

“Hello, you two! Whither are you bound?”