Cornish Castle Mystery Collection: Tales of murder and mystery from Cornwall. Vivian Conroy
nearby.
Could his or her guilt be proven?
The tower steps seemed even steeper than they had been this afternoon, and Guinevere was glad when she was at her room’s door. She went in and stood a few moments to steady her breathing.
Dolly wriggled to be released, and Guinevere put her down. The dog ran straight to the bed and hid under it.
‘I know how you feel, girl,’ Guinevere said. ‘I wish I could crawl under there as well.’
Guinevere put a chair in front of the door and put her empty suitcase on it. If anybody tried to get in during the night, the suitcase would fall off and create a racket.
Then she went to her handbag and got out the letter Mr Betts had given her to read when she was all settled in. She slipped her finger under the flap and ripped it open, then extracted a sheet full of Betts’s dense handwriting.
‘Dear Gwen and Dolly,’ she read aloud.
At hearing her name, Dolly’s head appeared from under the bed, listening to what came next.
Guinevere continued, ‘You’re reading this, so you must have arrived. I hope you find Cornisea every bit as appealing as I did as a lad. I grew up there, and my sister Meraud still lives there. Hers is the bookshop you have no doubt noticed in the harbour area.’
Guinevere looked at Dolly. ‘Do you hear that? The Cowled Sleuth belongs to Mr Betts’s sister. It looked like a great place to browse.’
Dolly now crawled out from underneath the bed completely. She dashed over to her and sat down in front of her, looking up with a squeak as if to urge her to continue reading.
Guinevere scanned to find her place again and read, ‘Don’t be afraid to ask her for any book you might like to borrow. Especially if it’s about local history and archaeology – she knows it all. I must admit that I set this whole thing up with Oliver. I just wanted to know where you’d land as you left for the summer. I wanted you to be in a safe place.’
Guinevere cocked a brow at Dolly. ‘A safe place, right, girl. Where a murder has just happened!’
Shaking her head, she continued reading: ‘The others also asked me, one by one, as they heard the news of the renovations going through: “Where will Guinevere be going? What will happen to her?”’
Guinevere smiled to herself. They were her family, and as family you cared for each other. ‘We have to buy postcards for them, huh,’ she said to Dolly. ‘We have to send them all our love soon.’
Then she read on from the letter, ‘I wanted you to experience the individuality of the world that Cornisea is. A place that can exist almost on its own, drifting in the sea. People may need to get to know you first before they confide in you, but you have a way of winning people over. In any case, Dolly can help you.’ She winked at the doggy. ‘See, girl? Mr Betts has every confidence in you.’
She turned over the sheet and continued, ‘And the castle … What can I say about that? It’s a heritage. It deserves keeping. You’ll understand that better once you’ve lived in it for a while. Explore its secrets. Look beyond what you first see. Under the surface. Behind the masks. You know how to do it. You are one of us, after all. Don’t hesitate to call me, should you need anything. Love from all.’
Guinevere had to make out the last few words through a blur. Her eyes were a bit wet after reading this. She looked away from the sheet to the view outside the window. Through her tears she caught a glimpse of something. A flash. On and off.
She blinked and focused better.
A little light on the beach below. Lighting, dimming, lighting, dimming.
Like the light was being swung to and fro.
A lantern?
In the hand of a wandering man?
Branok the Cold-hearted, who haunted the beach?
A shiver went down her spine for a moment, and she wanted to back away from the window.
But then she steadied her nerves and forced herself to look at the light. Nonsense. Branok was long dead, resting in a grave, not wandering. It had to be something else.
There. It was gone already.
Guinevere tried to take a deep breath and calm her fluttering heartbeat. ‘This place does make you a little jumpy, hey, Dolly?’ she said.
Looking over her shoulder, she discovered that the dachshund was under the bed again, just her nose peeping out.
Guinevere didn’t reproach her. It all seemed oddly ominous.
Branok was dead, and now the man who had played him for the trial re-enactment was dead as well.
Guinevere came down to the invigorating scent of sausages, scrambled eggs, and fresh coffee. But in the dining room where they had gathered before the re-enactment nothing stirred. She told Dolly to follow the food smells and rushed after the doggy who was running with her ears flapping against her head.
Dolly led Guinevere to a smaller room with a kitchen unit against the wall. Oliver was just scraping the scrambled eggs from the frying pan onto a plate. He hadn’t shaved yet and he wore a baggy grey T-shirt and sweatpants. His feet were bare.
‘Good morning,’ Oliver said, digging a fork into the egg mass. ‘Excuse me while I refill the protein stash.’
‘Have you been exercising?’ Guinevere asked, seating herself on a chair. Dolly was exploring the room, searching for the origin of the sausage scent.
Oliver nodded. ‘Just a quick jog on the beach.’
‘Did you see anything there suggesting that … someone was there last night? Footprints or something?’
‘Nothing particular but then I wasn’t really looking.’ Oliver frowned. ‘How come?’
‘I thought I saw a light from the tower.’
Oliver grinned. ‘See.’
‘No, it wasn’t Branok – I’m sure. Who else might go there at night?’
‘Any of the inhabitants, I suppose. Fishermen do work overnight. Maybe it was one of them?’
‘I thought you said locals avoid the beach because of the Branok legend?’
‘Some do. Not all, I suppose.’
Oliver wolfed down the eggs on his plate, then put it down with a plunk. ‘Can I make you some too?’
‘Yes, please. And do I smell sausages as well?’
‘In that pan on the table. Help yourself.’ Oliver looked at Dolly. ‘There’s dog food here and bowls. Have a look to prepare something for her.’
While Guinevere made Dolly her breakfast, Oliver poured them coffee. Not from a machine but from a pot under a real filter.
‘Here. Best I’ve ever had. You need coffee to function.’ He handed her a mug. ‘Even in the jungle I carried my coffee. I was famous for it among my colleagues.’
She noticed he was talking in the past tense.
Oliver said pensively, ‘If your life’s very irregular and always changing, you get attached to the things that stay the same.’
‘Like this castle.’
Oliver looked at her. ‘Yes, like this castle,’ he repeated. He reached up and rubbed his chin. The stubble made a scratching sound under his fingernails. ‘I have to shave and dress up. I’m meeting a lawyer to get some advice about my father’s position. I want to know if he could really be charged.’
‘I see. Well, as soon as I’ve finished with this delicious breakfast, I’m