“Percy is dead!”
Theodore ran to her, ran past her, ran into the room and saw the male figure lying face-down on the bed, his arms and legs limp and dangling, blood still dripping to the floor.
And then he turned around.
He had just heard Percy speak – in the corridor.
Sixteen
The shouting and chaos had drawn Adelia out into the corridors of the castle just like everyone else. With a hastily-grabbed cloak around her shoulders, which was the nearest thing she had to hand, she hurtled up the stairs to see a crowd of servants around Percy, who was standing in the corridor outside his own bedroom, leaning over someone on the carpet. Adelia pushed her way through and was taken aback by Percy’s curious appearance.
He was dressed in shabby tweed trousers and a crumpled jacket as if he had spent the past few weeks out grouse-shouting in the wilds of Scotland, with a twisted linen scarf around his neck and his hair all rumpled and standing on end. He was bending over Felicia, who was curled up on the carpet and whimpering. Theodore emerged from the bedroom and roared, suddenly and fiercely, at the gawping servants. Adelia did her bit by lending her voice to his, directing all the staff to return to their posts immediately. They melted away. Theodore remained in the doorway, his hands out to each side, gripping the frame. It looked as if he were screening the room off from casual onlookers.
Felicia was muttering, “But you’re dead, you’re dead, I saw you in there – did I dream it? Was it another dream? But you’re dead, but you’re dead.”
“I am not dead,” Percy said, a note of desperation in his voice.
Theodore spoke and it stunned Adelia. “But you did not dream it, Felicia; you saw the truth. A man is in there and he is dead.”
“Don’t say such things!” Percy cried out.
“But it is the truth and she ought to know when she is correct, or she will think she is more mad than she is,” Theodore said, and Adelia winced at the badly-expressed logic. He was right, of course.
Then Adelia’s mind caught up with what he’d just said. “Who is dead?” she blurted out, now being as blunt as her husband.
Percy straightened up. “Who the hell is in there?” he said, in wild confusion.
Theodore kept his hands tightly gripping the door frame. “I don’t actually know.”
Even Felicia seemed to calm down. She sat up and gazed around. “I did not dream it?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
Theodore nodded at Adelia. “Can you take her back to her room? Percy and I shall deal with this.”
“I ...” Percy began but he stopped. If he were going to protest, he clearly thought better of it. Adelia helped Felicia to her feet and walked with her a few yards along the corridor, steering her into her own room. The door closed and silence descended on them both. Felicia allowed herself to be led to an armchair and she curled into it as Adelia tucked a thin blanket around her. Adelia, still in her own nightclothes, sat on the end of the bed, and they looked at one another in mute astonishment at the night’s strange events.
There didn’t seem anything to talk about. Adelia asked if Felicia felt unwell, and her daughter said that she did not. And then they remained in silence, wondering what on earth was going on, as footsteps and voices and passed to and fro in the corridor outside, muffled and distant, and they had to trust to Theodore and Percy to set everything straight again.
THEODORE SLIPPED INTO the room about an hour later. He was now dressed, and he brought them food. Felicia had been dozing and Adelia was hungry and grateful for the bread, although her appetite waned as Theodore told them what had been going on.
“The body is of Percy’s valet, a man called John Parker, who travels with Percy. Percy says that Parker had spent the night in Percy’s room – he has a small side room made up with a travelling cot. But Percy himself was not there.”
Adelia looked at Felicia with fear growing in her heart. “Where was he?” Felicia whispered.
Theodore snorted. “He claims that he cannot sleep in a house, in a bed, like a normal person, or at least, not for the first few weeks after returning from a long trip at sea or overland. He says that he feels confined and uneasy. He claims that he took his hammock out into the small coppice on the other side of the ice house, and spent the night sleeping there, out in the open.”
“Do you believe him?” Adelia snapped.
“I do. The state of his clothes, the dew on his shoes, the moisture pearling the wool of his tweed suit; all are consistent with what he’s described.”
“What utter nonsense,” Adelia said.
But Felicia shook her head. “It is true. It is not the first time he’s done it. I am used to it. I should have realised what had happened but I had had such bad dreams all night and when I saw the body ... I thought ...”
“Of course you thought it was him. And so,” Theodore went on, “did the killer.”
Adelia stifled her gasp. “Percy was the intended victim!”
“So I certainly believe, yes. Percy is a little more unwilling to face that fact.”
Felicia pulled the blanket more tightly around her shoulders and she was crying again, which was perfectly understandable. A murderer was on the loose, and no one was safe – that much was obvious. “How did he die?” Felicia asked.
Adelia shook her head at Theodore and he nodded slightly in
