Murder at the Castle by Jeanne M. Dams Read Free Book Online Page B

atmosphere. I even imagined I heard a bloodcurdling scream a few minutes ago. A ghost in the dungeons, no doubt.’
    â€˜Oh, dear.’ I could feel my face growing warm. ‘That was me. I’m an absolute idiot about spiders, and I thought I saw one. I know for certain there was a web.’
    â€˜Ooh! I hate spiders! I was shut up in an old basement once when I was a child, and it was full of them.’ She shuddered. ‘And the webs are just as bad. When they brush against your face . . .’
    Alan’s mobile tootled just then. He glanced at it, then answered. ‘Ah, Nigel. We were beginning to wonder what had become of you two.’ Pause. ‘Yes, we gathered as much. No, we’re having a fine time exploring Flint Castle. Are you going to have time for lunch?’ Pause. ‘Right. Give me directions, and I’ll repeat them to Dorothy so she can write them down.’
    He dictated Nigel’s directions to a pub not far away. ‘Penny,’ he said courteously, ‘we’re about to have lunch with some friends. Will you join us?’
    â€˜Thanks, but I’m meeting someone for lunch, too. Great to see you again!’
    We waved and made our way to the car park. I left the castle somewhat reluctantly, spider and narrow passages notwithstanding. Now that we were out in the sunshine, I was once more fascinated with the labyrinthine design of this remarkable structure, with its spaces for living and working and sleeping and praying, its massive defences, and its ability to withstand its enemies, except for the final and inexorable one of time.
    â€˜Let’s come back after lunch,’ I urged Alan as he looked for the way out. ‘I want lots of time to explore this place.’
    â€˜Excepting the inner passageways, I presume?’
    â€˜We can buy a flashlight somewhere. Light helps a lot.’
    When we met up with Nigel and Inga, everyone was full of explanations and apologies.
    â€˜I thought I’d said where we were rehearsing,’ said Nigel. ‘No, no, this round’s on me. What’s everyone having?’
    The day had become very warm, so I opted for cold lager, the rest jeering at my American tastes, ‘wanting every drink to freeze one’s teeth’. I ignored them. ‘So where are they in fact rehearsing?’ I asked Inga, while Nigel and Alan went to the bar to get the beer and order our food.
    â€˜Well, they couldn’t very well keep the castle closed to the public for two whole weeks, not in high tourist season, so Sir John, or his secretary probably, found a nice big parish church nearby. The acoustics are quite different from an outdoor venue, of course, but there’s plenty of space, and there’ll be mikes and speakers at the castle, so Nigel thinks it should work out. That’s not the problem.’
    â€˜So what is? Thank you, Nigel.’ I raised my glass in salute.
    â€˜You tell them, Nigel.’
    He nodded, but first buried his face in his pint. ‘Ahh! That’s better. Good beer in this place. So Inga’s been telling you about our prima donna, has she?’
    â€˜No,’ I said, ‘she’s left the story to you. Tell.’
    He downed another healthy swallow of beer. ‘Well, you know I told you the mezzo hadn’t got here when she was supposed to? She lives in South America somewhere – Brazil, I think – and there was some problem about flights. Weather or something. Anyway, she’s here now, so we’re doing the opera scenes, without the chorus, just the quartet. And I personally think she’d have done us a favour by staying away.’
    â€˜Oh, dear. Why? Can’t she sing?’
    â€˜Oh, she can
sing
.’ Nigel finished his beer. ‘She’s not perfect, but who is? Lots of power, lots of drama, and she’ll make a fantastic Carmen. What that woman doesn’t know about sex . . .’
    â€˜Right,’ said Inga, addressing