The Corpse with the Sapphire Eyes (7 page)

“
My
treasure,” said Alice. “And what do you mean exactly, Dilys?”

“I know what I knows,” said the cook, tapping her nose. Thrusting herself between diners, she picked up the priceless nineteenth-century Swansea china soup plates and allowed the silver spoons we'd been lucky enough to use to clatter about in them as though they weren't worth a fortune.

“And what would that be?” asked Mair.

Dilys looked across the room toward the impressive, dark oak dresser that stood between two of the sets of curtains. “Never could take his eyes off that, could he? Always staring at it, mumbling, he was.”

I followed her gaze and noticed the large, rectangular platter that had pride of place on the middle shelf of the dresser.

“Is that the puzzle plate you were all talking about before dinner?” I asked.

“It is indeed,” replied Owain. “Please, feel free to take a good look at it, Cait. It is there for anyone to see, though of course we remove it, along with all the other china, before members of the public are allowed to troop through this room. Some people are very light fingered, you know.”

I took my chance, left my place at the table, and was peering at the plate in less than a moment. It measured about two feet long by eighteen inches high, with slightly rounded corners. All the decoration was in a mid-blue on a white background, typical of Swansea willow-pattern china, and its border was painted with a pseudo-Chinese design, which I found curious. The center was hand painted with a verse:

Where the fire meets the earth, where the water meets the air,

Where the face of beauty smiles, the treasures will be there.

Black gold in a seam, now popping with a spray,

For every humble man, there is a time to pray.

The breath of Llŷr and Neptune's tears—the same, there is no doubt,

When they are gone, what gold is left, we cannot live without.

The worthy man sees treasure through the silver and through glass,

The vain man only ever sees the beauty that will pass.

Cadwalladers will never leave the castle of the gray,

As long as ancients rest in peace and old walls not give way.

By the rushing of my lifeblood, I swear this on my grave,

The wise man will discover them, and my kin be ever saved.

“It's beautifully painted,” I noted.

“It is a good deal more than that,” said Owain proudly. “It is proof that the original Cadwalladers hid a treasure hereabouts, and I intend to find it. The clues are tantalizing, and I believe I am making headway.”

“You say it's from the Swansea Pottery?” I asked.

Owain nodded. “Founded in 1790, closed in 1870. Very sad. Produced the best wares between 1814 and 1817. I'm pretty confident that was when this plate was made.”

He looked very pleased with himself, which rankled me. I felt like telling him what I really thought, but I satisfied myself with a polite, “Surely it can't be that old.”

“Know a lot about the Swansea Pottery, do you?” challenged Owain.

Bud glared at me, but it was too late. I bit. “I'm familiar with the writings and collections of W. J. Grant-Davidson, as well as the Glynn Vivian and Swansea Museum collections. I would say this plate is much later than the true period, dating to maybe the late nineteenth century, or maybe even the twentieth. The glaze is all wrong, and the body seems far too thick.”
Maybe I bit a little too hard.

Owain was red in the face. “Preposterous!”

Bud looked horrified, Siân worried and strangely tense, and I noticed a wicked smile play at the corners of Mair's mouth.

“That's shut you up for a while,” said Owain's mother to him, as though he were a naughty boy. “Told you she was brainy, that one. Been here two minutes and she's already seen something you couldn't, even though it was staring you right in the face.”

“True,” said Mair quietly, though I got the impression she wasn't referring to the puzzle plate.

“What do you make of the puzzle then, Cait?” continued Alice. “Does that gibberish mean anything to you?”

“She barely looked at it, Mother, what can you expect?” was Owain's angry retort.

Having retaken my seat at the table I decided that I didn't want to play nice anymore; I'd give the overbearing Owain a run for his money. “I can come up with several theories,” I replied.

I think Bud wanted to kick me under the table, but he couldn't reach.

I began quietly enough. “I believe that the first couplet is a very general introduction, telling us that there is treasure in three different places, those being where some sort of fire meets some sort of earth, where air and water meet, and where ‘beauty smiles,' which might be a literal place, such as on a face, or could be more metaphorical, meaning a natural beauty of some sort, rather than a human being. I believe that each of the next three couplets then refers to each one of the three different places in turn—following the order of the introduction. So, ‘Black gold in a seam, now popping with a spray / For every humble man, there is a time to pray' refers to the location introduced as ‘Where the fire meets the earth,' and so on. I see the final four lines as an acknowledgment that the discovery of the treasure would allow the Cadwalladers, somehow, to retain ownership of the ‘castle of the gray,' or Castell Llwyd.”

“Rubbish,” said Owain. “All the treasure is in one place—why would anyone spread it around? It's quite clear that all three clues have to be taken as a whole. Believe me, Mother, I have spent years researching this. With respect to our guest, she's given it no more than a few moments' thought.”

“And yet she's said more about it in those minutes than you have in all those years,” said Alice. She turned from her son in disgust and said to me, “Tell us more, Cait. What do you think the treasure might be?”

Bud was glaring at me, and I took the hint. We weren't on a treasure hunt.

“Oh, now there's a turn up for the books,” interrupted Dilys, who'd been listening with lively eyes alight with scandal, “her just being here a little while. I think David thought a bit different about them clues than you did too, Owain.”

“Don't say anything to this lot, Dilys,” said Alice quickly. “If anyone should know what David Davies was up to under my roof, it should be me. You can tell me after dinner. Now serve the trifle and let's be done with this evening. I'm very tired and I want to go to bed.”

It seemed that Alice was determined to shut down the conversation.

From the far end of our group Janet called, “You won't be able to go to bed for an hour after you've eaten, and you know that. So why not give the trifle a miss for now, Alice, and I'll wheel you to your little chair lift. Then I can get you some nice hot milk with a drop of something in it, and you can sip that while your dinner settles, alright?” She smiled indulgently at her charge as she spoke, and, as always seemed to be the case when Janet said anything, there was a chuckle in her voice.

“Can I have a drop of my special whiskey in it?” Alice brightened.

“If you're a good girl, yes.” Janet smiled.

“Right then,” said Alice with determination, “goodnight all, I'll see you in the morning. Help me reverse, Janet, then I'll meet you at my lift.” As soon as she was out from under the table, Alice pushed a little stick on her armrest and zoomed off across the dining room. I was pretty sure I could hear the squeal of brakes echo in the great hall as she took corners.

“She'll be the death of me, that one,” said Janet as she rushed after Alice.

I realized that Dilys Jones had vanished too, and we were all left to contemplate what she'd meant about David Davies hunting for the treasure. I couldn't help but wonder if it might have something to do with his death. Then I told myself off and turned my attention to the dessert that Dilys had plopped in front of each of us before she'd dashed away.

I ENJOYED EVERY MOUTHFUL OF
the small portion of sherry trifle. I hadn't tasted a real trifle in years, so the thick, golden custard topped with smoothly whipped cream, the sponge fingers generously soaked in sherry, and the scarlet fruit—strawberries, raspberries, and cherries—suspended in the blackcurrant-flavored jelly were a joy in which I reveled for a few, brief moments.

Too brief, it seemed, because I was called back from taste bud heaven by my sister saying, “I can't keep my eyes open any more, folks. I'm sorry, I'm going to have to hit the hay.” It looked as though she'd eaten half a spoonful of jelly, and that was it.
No wonder she's so thin, she hardly eats at all.

As Siân stood to leave the table, she swayed alarmingly. Both Bud and I jumped to our feet and rushed to her side.

Owain's reaction was surprising. “It's a heck of a trip from Oz. She'll need a good sleep, and no mistake.”

Siân rallied and replied, “Been there, have you?” She spoke as though the idea seemed unlikely, and swatted Bud and me away at the same time.

“Once or twice,” replied Owain. “Geology is a passion of mine, along with history. The two are so inextricably linked. And, of course, both my father and grandfather were well known for their geological knowledge, and their ability to exploit it. I'm afraid I'm rather lacking in that particular ability.” He sounded as disappointed about this circumstance as I suspected his mother might be.

“Todd's in mining. My husband,” responded Siân groggily. “You two would probably get on like a house on fire. He's never happier than when he's talking about sediment, formations, strata, and deposits. Serves him right I've left him alone with the kids for once.” I'd never heard Siân say anything along these lines before, and I couldn't help but feel that she was in a particularly vulnerable state. “Flies all over the place he does, for weeks on end. He has no idea what it's like to spend real time with them. Up country to the iron area, off to Newman and Tom Price, and inland to Kalgoorlie for the gold and God only knows what else—I dare say the topless bars there keep him entertained.”

I had to act, so I steadied Siân, nodded to Bud for him to do the same, and we steered her toward the door. “I'm taking Siân to bed now. I think she needs some sleep. As Owain noted, she's very tired. I'm sorry we're all leaving so abruptly. Dinner was delightful . . .” By the time the last words were out of my mouth the three of us were in the great hall and beginning to negotiate the first few steps of the staircase.

I realized then that Siân had more or less been a non-participant in the table conversation for some time, but it was almost as though she'd gone from stone cold sober, if disengaged, to falling down drunk in the space of about five minutes. Such is jetlag. It never warns you when it's about to bash you over the head with a brick—it just does it, and down you go.

“Is she going to be okay?” mouthed Bud as we dragged Siân, who now seemed to be almost unconscious, up each step. She looked slim enough, but she was a dead weight. It wasn't an easy trip to her room, but eventually we managed to get her inside and lying down on her bed, underneath the old-fashioned eiderdown.

“Let's just leave her in her clothes,” I said, motioning for Bud to leave with me. “She should be warm enough under that quilt. It's not as drafty in here as it is in my room. Fewer windows, for a start, and I might be imagining it, but I think that the wind's died down a bit, too.”

I shut her door as quietly as possible, and Bud and I both let out a huge sigh of relief.

“Leaving the light on inside her bathroom was a good idea, Cait,” he said quietly. “If she's disoriented when she wakes, at least she'll be able to navigate her way there.”

I nodded. “Who knows if she'll sleep until morning. It's still only nine-thirty, so if she can sleep in until at least eight, she should be refreshed. How about you? How do you feel?”

Bud rubbed his temple. “To be honest, I've got a bit of a headache, and I think I could at least do with lying down. I just need to stretch out, you know?”

“I know exactly what you mean,” I replied. I did. My back was aching, as were my neck, shoulders, and legs. “I know it's early, but I don't think I can keep going any longer, Bud. However intriguing the death of David Davies, that wonderful plate, and the Cadwalladers' dysfunction might be, I need my bed. So let's just call it a day?”

Our parting embrace quickly resulted in each of us supporting the other, which led to giggling.

“Off to your bed, young lady,” said Bud, chuckling.

“My bridal boudoir, you mean.” I smiled as I waved to Bud from my door. “Goodnight, husband-to-be. Love you lots.”

“Love you more,” replied Bud from his own doorway.

“Love you most,” I whispered back and shut my door so that I became the clear winner.

The massive bed looked inviting, but so did my bathroom, so I changed in there, where the radiator allowed for the smaller square footage to be a little less chilly, then scampered across the expanse of the room and dove under the covers. I was almost asleep by the time I switched off the bedside lamp four seconds later. Then . . . nothing.

I awoke with a start and grabbed the bedclothes to my chest. I probably looked like a right twit as I stared into the darkness, trying to work out what had woken me. The wind howled around my turret. The windows rattled. But, other than that, I couldn't hear anything else.

I looked at my wristwatch. It was 2:37
AM
, and, lo and behold, I was wide awake. I snuggled back down, but I was restless. My mind raced. The characters painted on the walls and ceiling seemed to be moving in the shadows. It was disquieting. I knew it was all a trick of the dim light that seeped through the crack at the bottom of the door, but it didn't help. My mouth was dry, and my fingers and ankles were still painful and swollen from the flight. I lay there trying to make spit, twirling my ankles, and clenching and unclenching my fists. The knock at my door startled me so much that I bit my tongue.