The Murder Of Gonzago

middle and a white diaphanous dress curtsied.

Lady Grylls shook her forefinger at the TV screen. ‘I know these people! I’ve seen them. They were at the funeral yesterday! The very same!’

‘Clarissa’s aunt. The Hunters,’ Felicity said.

‘Who is the pretty girl?’ Payne asked.

‘What pretty girl? Do you mean Glover? Her name is Renee Glover.’ Felicity pursed her lips. ‘You think she is pretty?’

‘Well, yes.’

‘What are they supposed to be?’ Lady Grylls asked.

‘Characters out of Shakespeare. That, apparently, was the craze at La Sorciere at the time of Roderick’s death.’

‘Of course. There was something about it in the Mail.’

Major Payne stroked his jaw with his forefinger. ‘I imagine Silver Hair is meant to be either Titania or Gertrude, the Helmets Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Miss Glover is Ophelia – or maybe Cordelia.’

A man and a woman were walking at a stately pace towards the chaise longue. They were wearing crowns and richly embroidered robes and were holding hands.

‘The King and the Queen,’ Lady Grylls murmured. ‘Though which king and which queen? Shakespeare is full of kings and queens. I think Roderick is the King… Is Clarissa the Queen?’

Felicity said in a flat voice, ‘That’s my sister-in-law, yes.’

Lord Remnant was heavily bearded and moustachioed; his long hair reached down to his shoulders. His caterpillar eyebrows slanted slightly upwards. Clarissa’s face was white, her lips very dark; she brought to mind some sinister Vampyra – all she needed were fangs, Payne reflected. Her eyes were excessively made up.

The King drew the Queen to himself, brought his heavily bearded face close to hers and kissed her, first on the forehead, then on the cheeks and finally on the lips. The Queen in return stroked the King’s hair.

‘Jolly uncommon for royalty to look so ostentatiously in love, but maybe they did in the old days,’ Lady Grylls observed. ‘Or maybe they are not meant to be British?’

The King yawned and rubbed his eyes. The Queen pointed to the chaise longue.

‘My darling. Do take a nap,’ Lady Grylls said in a funny voice.

The King nodded. He took off his crown and placed it on a little round table. He then reclined on the chaise longue. He lay on his side, folded his arms and shut his eyes. The camera followed the Queen as she tiptoed in an exaggerated manner out of the arched doorway.

Once more the screen went black, then the sleeping figure of the King was seen again, but he was no longer alone. Another man had entered the frame. He was young and handsome and sported a black moustache with waxed-up ends. His head was covered in romantic curls.

In his right hand the man held a tall glass painted black and decorated with what looked like a skull and crossbones. He glanced furtively to the left, and to the right. His eyes then fixed on the crown and he contemplated it for a moment or two.

‘I think I know what this is supposed to be,’ Payne said.

The man stooped over and held the black glass to the King’s ear. For a moment only the man’s back could be seen and the recumbent form was hidden from view.

‘What’s he doing?’ Lady Grylls leant forward.

‘Pouring poison into the King’s ear.’

‘Really? This rings a bell… Hamlet?’

‘Yes. The Murder of Gonzago. The play within the play.’

The King’s body was seen jerking spasmodically upwards. The King’s eyes looked as though they were about to come out of their orbits. His mouth opened in a silent scream. Then he slumped back and lay still.

‘Ruin seize thee, ruthless King!’ Lady Grylls made the sign of the cross.

The Queen re-entered. She glanced at the King, then at the Poisoner who made a slashing gesture across his throat and smiled. The Queen’s hand went up to her mouth, then she smiled too. She crossed over to the Poisoner and the two embraced. The Poisoner then picked up the crown and placed it on his head. He and the Queen kissed again, then arm in arm they walked up and down the room. They waved royal waves.

‘How terribly interesting. The King is dead, long live the King. Who is the new King?’ Lady Grylls asked.

‘Chap called Sylvester-Sale,’ Felicity Remnant said. ‘Dr Sylvester-Sale.’

‘Look! I have an idea they are no longer acting,’ Lady Grylls said.

Dr Sylvester-Sale and Clarissa Remnant were shown gazing across at Lord Remnant’s body. Lord Remnant’s hand was hanging limply, the fingers touching the floor. Dr Sylvester-Sale went up to the chaise longue and bent over the body. Something in his manner suggested none of this was scripted.

‘No, they are no longer acting,’ said Felicity.

The doctor lifted Lord Remnant’s hand and held it by the wrist, checking the pulse. He then turned round and held up his hand; he was stopping the others from getting close. He said something. Louise Hunter was seen covering her mouth with her hand. Clarissa shook her head as though in disbelief.

‘Is Roderick dead? I mean really dead – is that how he died?’

‘It looks like it,’ Felicity said expressionlessly.

‘Heart attack? That’s what it said in The Times.’

Dr Sylvester-Sale was seen bending over the body, once more concealing it from view. He rose and said something which made Clarissa’s mouth open in a show of incredulity. Clarissa turned towards the camera. She looked cross. She waved her hands. The camera lingered on the bracelet on Clarissa’s right wrist.

Clarissa gesticulated peremptorily. The camera swirled round. Hortense Tilling was seen entering the room. She looked flustered. Basil Hunter’s expression was a mixture of dismay and disbelief. Louise Hunter looked outraged. Renee Glover’s face remained blank.

Clarissa was seen speaking to the cameraman again. There was a movement. The cameraman seemed to be walking towards Hortense Tilling, who looked at once frightened and excited. The camera jerked up and down. They saw the ceiling with its ornate plasterwork and crystal chandelier.

There was a momentary blackout and when the image reappeared, it was upside down.

‘What is going on?’ Lady Grylls asked.

‘The camera has changed hands. I think it’s Clarissa’s aunt who’s got hold of it,’ said Payne. ‘Um. I believe she has been asked to turn it off but she doesn’t seem to know how.’

‘Oh, how tiresome! It’s impossible to work out what they are doing now. No chance of turning the box over and watching it upside down, is there, my dear?’

‘Better not,’ Felicity Remnant said.

‘This is making me feel seasick. No, can’t watch it.’ Lady Grylls turned her head and rested her gaze on a picture of a particularly repulsive pug. ‘Can someone tell me what’s happening?’

‘Miss Glover is walking towards the french windows.’ Payne paused. ‘The Hunters have taken off their helmets. Dr Sylvester-Sale is scowling. Now he is putting the black glass with the skull into his pocket. It looks like an automatic gesture. There is a tall black man with them. He has the puzzled expression of a child. The original cameraman, I imagine.’

Lady Grylls spoke. ‘Roderick is not moving? He is not rising?’

‘No.’

‘So he is dead, really dead?’

‘I believe so. His death seems to have been captured on camera. Yes. Mrs Hunter is now walking towards the french window. She looks enormous-’ Payne broke off. ‘Oh. The screen’s gone black. It’s all over. The aunt seems to have managed to switch the camera off at last.’

Felicity tugged at her pearls. ‘What I am interested in ascertaining is the exact cause of my brother-in-law’s death.’

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