Chapter 4 #2
“And did Sgt Finlay have a particular reason for visiting the isle?”
“His platoon is on coastal patrol duty,” said Ltn Greene.
Cador gave a scornful cough. “Patrol duties, I doubt it, with respect, ma’am. That solider were courting one of the dairy maids, Miss Isla, a pretty wench. Not that she would have him, I be bound.”
Judith narrowed her eyes. “And was Sgt Finlay properly courting, or taking advantage? Speak plainly, I beg you.”
“I couldn’t say.” Cador suddenly became wooden again, with a glance at Ltn Greene. “It is not for me to comment on the morals of an English soldier, ma’am.”
Judith winced at the implication. “And this boulder? Does it have any significance, with its name?”
“Aye, it has a story to it.” A glimmer of amusement returned to the fisherman’s deep-set eyes.
“A Lord Lanyon, far back, threw that boulder himself. He was trying to save his lady love from a giant that were chasing her, and threw it all the way from Castle Lanyon, if ye are to believe it, half a mile. But instead of saving her, it landed on her head and killed her dead.” He finished on a note of dour triumph.
Judith blinked in dismay. “What a dreadful story.”
“Ay, and it’s said the lady still haunts the castle. The Crimson Lady of Lanyon, who stalks the corridors at night, both mourning and vengeful.”
Judith pursed her lips sceptically, hearing Cador’s tone distorted by the echo of exaggeration.
Yet this was some confirmation of Drumpellier’s warning of a ghost, though intriguingly not in the cellars.
And she had some sympathy for the poor Lord Lanyon, who in trying to help his beloved had only condemned her.
She shook off the thought, her attention caught by something else: the power to throw a massive boulder sounded very much like the Gift of Impacting.
Was Musing rife round these parts, or well known?
How could she discreetly enquire? The new royal Edicts expressly forbade public mention of the magicks—a long tradition made explicit—but it was possible that Impact had killed the soldier before he fell in the water.
She shot a glance at Ltn Greene. He was in the confidence of Captain Drumpellier, and a lackey of the Custos, so he must know more. Politely, she thanked Cador for his information, and asked Ltn Greene to escort her in a walk across to the castle.
“Certainly, ma’am.” He put out an arm, and she took it, stepping carefully over the wet cobblestones.
As they drew away from the fisherman, Judith lowered her voice. “Cador was covering something up.”
Ltn Greene looked down at her in surprise. “Goodness, how do you know?”
“My Gift can hear it in his voice. He lied when he said he saw nothing suspicious. You can tell Drumpellier that when you see him.”
Ltn Greene looked impressed, then doubtful. “Possibly Cador is merely in league with the smugglers himself,” he suggested. “These Cornishmen don’t understand the larger issues at stake; they are simply after the brandy.”
“Well, that would give Cador himself a motive to dispatch a watchful soldier.”
Ltn Greene nodded, then cleared his throat. “I do apologise, ma’am, that my captain has given you such a tawdry task. He comes from rather low beginnings and doesn’t understand the proper order of things. A lady such as yourself should not be associated with such a sordid investigation.”
She had begun to warm to the lieutenant, but this sentiment annoyed her. “I am perfectly able to look into the matter. It is the captain’s attitude towards the Duke of Sargen that I find improper: not because of his rank, but because even a duke should be granted due process.”
Ltn Greene looked away uncomfortably. “In extremis, I am afraid that due process is often neglected.”
“In extremis?” she said sharply. “What extremis?”
He was silent, obviously regretting his words. She frowned. What could he mean? There was nothing urgent about the duke’s impending trial, was there? But when she pressed him further, Ltn Greene clammed up, refusing to say anything more.
“And you?” she demanded, as they continued the walk along the causeway, the castle growing larger before them. “Are you a Musor? I assume you must be, for you are muddled up with the Custos.”
“I am a Healor,” he replied modestly. “Not much military use, except for when the wounded come in, but Drumpellier keeps me close, as a sort of runner.”
“Oh good. If the duke is injured in his incarceration, you must Heal him.” She thought also of Robert, most likely on his way to Cornwall now, who might need further Healing when he arrived.
Ltn Greene might be a useful person to know, and she softened her tone towards him.
“And do you know of any other Musors on Lanyon Isle?”
“Ah…” He shot her a sideways glance, with some amusement. “I thought it was good etiquette not to reveal someone else’s Gift?”
“True, but in this case, we have a dead body to investigate.”
He winced, the sea breeze blowing a brown lock over his brow. “If you are determined, then I can tell you that Miss Onslow is a Memor. As befits the Gift, she is very scholarly, concerned with cataloguing the castle’s library.”
Interesting. Captain Drumpellier had not thought to mention that. “And the servants?”
“I’m not sure,” said Ltn Greene thoughtfully. “I suspect your butler, Trebellow, might be an Impactor.”
“Why is that?”
“Wait ’til you see him,” was all he would say, with a grin.
At that point, Judith became preoccupied with the view of the isle as they approached.
It was, after all, intended as her new residence, and as she drew closer it sunk in properly that it was not simply a castle, but a whole island.
To the right of the causeway loomed the staunch wall of a harbour, and beyond that the roofs of cottages.
To the left, she could see the glimpse of green fields and cattle grazing.
Above all loomed the massive fortification, grand and elegant, and she felt overwhelmed by the magnitude of it.
How was she to be mistress of all this? Marchioness of Lanyon?
She was a simple rector’s daughter, not cut out for this sort of grandeur and responsibility.
As if hearing her thoughts, Ltn Greene spoke up. “The castle was originally a medieval monastery, built four hundred years ago. There is a lovely church in the middle of it all, though anyone might assume the dairy is the real heart of the island. The Lanyon cream is famous around these parts.”
“Oh yes, so I’ve heard.” Judith cheered up. Cream, jam, and chudleighs would be sufficient recompense and bolster her nerves. She could put dollops of cream in her drinking chocolate.
They reached the end of the causeway and Ltn Greene led her through the grey stone arch, lichened with age.
Veering right, they began the climb to the castle.
The narrow path was pretty, crowded by trees and foliage, hiding the battlements from view.
It was steep, however, and when they came out on the first rampart, the wind was sharp.
Squaring his shoulders, Ltn Greene took her round to the front doors of Castle Lanyon.
It was huge and imposing, and Judith felt quite oppressed as she stood in the shadow of the lintel, as if some sort of doom lay behind its facade, waiting.
She took a step back, trying to shrug off the odd, gloomy feeling.
This was not the sort of greeting one wanted from one’s new residence!
But before she could back further away, the doors creaked open.
In the dark of the frame, a large figure loomed: a mountain of a man, almost two feet taller than Judith. He was clad in the traditional garb of a butler: a black coat, white stockings, and a neat cravat, though his feet were like boats and his shoulders a wall.
“Good afternoon, ma’am.” The mountain bowed, showing a shock of black hair lined with grey, over a craggy nose. “The new marchioness, I presume?”