“That’s his suite, there, at the end of the hall.” She lowered her voice. “That was always the room that was kept for the master of the house. And there has been a Roth here since the castle was brought to the United States.” She hesitated. “You know, don’t you, that the bridal suite was once Elizabeth Roth’s room when she was alive?”
“I’ve been told.”
Phoebe looked at him with wide, worried eyes. “You need to be careful. Especially careful now.”
“I don’t believe Elizabeth would want to hurt Jane or me.”
“She hurt the Reverend MacDonald,” Phoebe said. “I truly believe it.”
“Phoebe, sadly, accidents do happen.”
“They happen more often with ghosts,” she insisted.
“What does Mr. Roth believe about the place, or do you know?” Sloan asked.
“He doesn’t believe in ghosts. Which is good—I guess. But then, he’s not here a lot. Too quiet for Mr. Roth. He likes Boston and New York and travel in general. I guess if I had his money, I’d travel, too.”
“Everyone can travel some,” Sloan told her.
“Sure,” Phoebe said. “But, still… be careful, please.”
“We’ll do that. I promise,” Sloan told her. “And perhaps, if you’re worried, you might not want to work on the banister.”
“Oh. Oh!” Phoebe said. “Right!” Gripping the banister tightly, she started down the stairs.
Sloan smiled, thanked her, and headed down the hall. He knocked at the double French doors that led to the suite. Emil Roth answered so quickly that he wondered if he’d been waiting for a summons.
“What can I do for you?” Roth asked.
Sloan studied the man. He was young to have such financial power, Sloan thought. Late-twenties, tops. And he seemed to enjoy the look of a Renaissance poet. His haircut would make him perfect for a Shakespearean play. But his gaze was steady as he looked at Sloan.
“Since you’re here, I was hoping you’d give me a tour of the castle and a tour of your family history,” Sloan said.
Roth stared at him. He was a man with a medium build and light eyes that added to what was almost a fragile-poet look.
“Sometimes, family history sucks, you know?” he said. “I’m sorry about your wedding. I mean, really sorry that a man is dead. By all accounts a good and jovial man. And I’m sorry that my family history is full of asses. But I don’t think that it means anything. A man fell. That’s it. He died. So tragic.”
“I agree. But, we’re not getting married today and we’re still here. And history fascinates me,” Sloan told him.
Roth grinned at that. “You’re a Fed involved with a special unit that investigates when deaths that are rumored to be associated with something paranormal happen. I’m young, rich, and not particularly responsible, but I’m not stupid either.”
Sloan laughed. “I wouldn’t begin to suggest that you’re stupid. I believe that, tragically, Reverend MacDonald fell. But I am fascinated with this place. Jane didn’t really check out much of the history here. She fell in love with the castle. She wanted a small and intimate wedding more or less on the spur of the moment. And sure, under the circumstances, I’d love to know more about the ‘ghosts’ that supposedly reside here.”
Roth grimaced. “The maids have been talking again.”
“Everyone talks. Ghost stories are fun.”
“So I hear. Mrs. Avery thinks that they create the mystique of the castle. I personally think that my ancestor’s desire to bring a castle to the United States is interesting enough. But, we do keep up a lot of the maintenance with our bed and breakfast income, parties, and tours. So, I let her go on about the brilliance of a good ghost story. But, what the hell? I’ll give you a tour.”
“That’s great. I really appreciate it,” Sloan told him.
“What about your fiancée? Maybe she’d like to come, too?” Roth suggested.
“Maybe she would. I’m not sure where she is… I’ll try her cell,” Sloan said.
Jane was number one on his speed dial and, in a matter of seconds, she answered. He cheerfully explained where he was and asked what she was doing. She said that she’d be right there.
As they waited, Roth asked Sloan, “How do you like your room? No ghostly disturbances, right?”
“Not a one,” Sloan told him.
“You should see people around here when they come for the ghost tours,” Roth said. “They all have their cameras out like eager puppies. They catch dust specs that become ‘orbs.’ Sad. But, then again, we’re featured in a lot of books and again, I guess my dear Mrs. Avery is right.”
“I understand she’s a distant relative,” Sloan said. “Pardon me for overstepping, but it doesn’t sound as if you like her much.”
Roth grinned. “I’m that transparent? Sad. No, I don’t like her. Her grandmother was my grandfather’s sister. I guess we’re second cousins or something like that. But, no, I don’t like her. She’s self-righteous and knows everything. I understand keeping the place up and keeping it maintained, but she’s turned it into a theme attraction. I’m really proud of it as a family home. But… anyway, in my father’s will he asked that I keep her employed through her lifetime—as long as she wishes. So, there you go. She’s no spring chicken, but she’s a pretty healthy sixty-plus. I have a few years to go.”
Sloan heard footsteps in the hall and saw Jane coming.
They always managed a real balance when working, as did the others. Those in the Krewe of Hunters units tended to pair up—maybe there was just something special that they all shared and that created a special attraction. Jane had belonged to the Krewe before he had. He’d met her when she’d come to Lily, Arizona, his home, where he’d returned when his grandfather had suffered from cancer. She’d been both amazing and annoying to him from first sight. He’d been attracted to her from the start, falling in love with her smile, her eyes, her mind. In his life, he’d never been with anyone like her. She seemed aware of everything about him, faults and flaws and “talents,” and she loved him. They hadn’t been in a hurry to get married, but they’d both wanted it.
She met his eyes with the same open gaze she always did.
He walked to meet her, slipping his arm around her shoulder. “I’m really pleased. It’s not a good day, certainly, but Emil Roth has offered us a real tour. History, and all else.”
“That’s kind of you, Mr. Roth,” Jane said.
“But you saw the castle before, right? You took the ghost tour, didn’t you?” Roth asked her.
“I took the tour. So I know about Elizabeth Roth and her beloved, John McCawley. He was killed in a hunting accident the day before the wedding, and then Elizabeth killed herself.”
“Come on then. I do give the best tour,” Roth said. “And call me Emil, please.”
“Then we’re Sloan and Jane,” Sloan said.
Emil smiled and nodded. “Let’s start in the Great Hall and go from there.”
He seemed happy. Sloan looked at Jane. He took her hand and she smiled and shrugged and they followed Emil Roth. At the Great Hall, he extended his hands, as if displaying the massive room with its décor of swords and coats of arms and standing men in armor.
“Castle Cadawil was built in 1280 and the Duke of Cadawil held it all of two years, until the death of Llywelyn the Last in 1282 and the conquest of Edward I from the Principality of Wales. That’s why, to this day, the heir apparent to the British crown is called the Prince of Wales. Anyway, the castle wasn’t a major holding. It was on a bluff with nothing around it that anyone really wanted to hold for any reason. So, through the centuries, it had been abandoned, half-restored, abandoned again. In the early 1800s, my self-made millionaire ancestor saw it there and determined that he could move a castle to New England. And he did so. Of course, when it came over, it was little but design and stone. Antiques were purchased and through the years, Tiffany windows added. My family apparently loved their castle. But then, as you know, tragedy struck befo
re the wedding of Elizabeth Roth and John McCawley.”
“What do you think about that?” Jane asked him. “Did the family love and welcome McCawley, or did someone hate him?”
“Enough to kill him?” Roth asked.
“He died in a hunting accident. Other men in the family were out there, too, right?” Jane asked.
“Yes, they were. And it’s an interesting question. There are no letters or family records that reflect anyone’s feelings on the matter and the two men involved would have been my great, great, great, grandfather, Emil Roth, and my great, great, grandfather, another Emil Roth. I don’t like to think that my ancestors would have killed a man they didn’t want marrying into the family.”
“What happened?” Sloan asked. “McCawley was shot?”
“With an arrow, they were deer hunting,” Roth said. “But, you see, they weren’t the only ones out there. A number of wedding guests were there. You two wanted a small wedding. The wedding of Elizabeth Roth was the social event of the season.”
“Of course,” Jane said.
“No one saw anything? No one knew who missed a deer and killed a man?” Sloan asked.
“If so, no one admitted anything. He was found by Elizabeth’s father who, of course, immediately rushed him back to the castle and called for a surgeon. But it was too late. Elizabeth came running down the stairs and—”
Roth paused in his speaking, looking troubled.
“And?”
“The story goes that John McCawley died at the foot of the stairs. The men carrying him paused there because Elizabeth was rushing down. When she reached him, he looked into her eyes, closed his own, and died.”
“How sad,” Jane murmured.
“And then, of course, that night, Elizabeth took an overdose of laudanum and died in the early hours of the following morning, when the wedding should have taken place.”
He led them out of the hall.
“If you look at the arches, you can see that the foyer was originally a last defense before the actual castle. There would have been a keep, of course, in Wales, and a wall surrounding it. We have the lawn in front and the wild growth to the rear, except for where the grass is mown just out the back. Following along to the right of the castle, after the entry, you reach the offices and such and going all the way back, you get to the kitchen. Heading upstairs, are the rooms. Mine, of course, was always the master’s suite. Where you’re sleeping—and though they weren’t actually married here, many a bride and groom have slept there—was Elizabeth’s room. There are four more bedrooms. Your friends are in one. Reverend MacDonald was in another, and there are two more guest rooms. The attic holds five rooms. Phoebe lives in one and the other two maids come in just for the day or special occasions. Chef has an apartment over the old stables, and Mr. Green has an apartment on the property, too.”
“Mrs. Avery doesn’t live here?” Jane asked.
“Yes, she’s on the property. You passed her place coming in. The old guard house at the foot of the cliff. But her assistant, Scully, lives in the village as do the other cooks.”
He looked at Jane curiously.
She asked him, “Is there a big black spot on my face that no one is mentioning to me?”
Emil Roth laughed. “I beg your pardon. Forgive me. It’s just that when I look at you and your face, tilted at a certain angle, you look so much like her.”
“Her?” Jane asked.
“Elizabeth,” Emil said. “Come look at the painting again.”
Sloan wasn’t sure why the idea disturbed him but he followed as they headed to look at the painting on the wall. Elizabeth Roth was depicted with her hair piled high atop her head, burnished auburn tendrils trailing around her face. Her eyes appeared hazel at first but when Sloan came closer, he realized they’d been painted a true amber.
Just like Jane’s.
There was something in the angle of the features. It was true. Jane bore a resemblance to the woman who’d lived more than a century before her birth.
“Do you have roots up here? Maybe you’re a long lost cousin,” Emil teased.
Jane shook her head. “My family members were in Texas back when people were exclaiming ‘Remember the Alamo!’ I’ve no relatives in this region. It’s just a fluke.”
“But an interesting one,” Roth said. “So, what would you like to see next?”
“Where is Elizabeth buried?” Sloan asked. “And, for that matter, her fiancé, John McCawley.”
“I understand he never actually became family so he has no painting in the castle,” Jane said. “But surely they buried the poor fellow.”
“Absolutely. Out to the rear, at the rise to the highest cliff. They’re both in the chapel.”
“I think I’d like to pay them tribute,” Jane said.
“If you wish,” Roth said. Smiling, he turned to lead the way out of the castle. “Although, I will warn you.”
“What’s that?” Sloan asked.
“On a day like today, with a fog settling over the graves, people have been known to see ghosts wandering about.”
Sloan looked at Jane. “That’s okay. We’ll take our chances.”
Chapter 4
The old chapel had been brought over to the States from Wales, Roth explained as they left via the rear, out through the kitchen’s delivery doors.
Jane was curious that he had chosen to leave by this route. If she remembered right, there were other exits, more elegantly designed, leading to the wilds of the rear and the cliffs that overlooked the sea.
Chef and his two cooks were no longer sitting at the table imbibing in coffee and Jameson’s, she noted as they went through. They were all busy at some kind of prep work. She assumed that the employees ate dinner at the castle as well since they didn’t need that much prep for four guests and the master of the house, who they hadn’t expected to be there anyway.
Chef Bo looked up from his work at a saucepan and acknowledged Roth and stared broodingly at the others as they went through.
His two assistants just watched.
“There’s another way out as well. The two arches at the end of the Great Hall lead to smaller halls that bypass this area,” Roth explained. “And there’s a servants stairway back there, too. I just thought it would be fun to see what was going on in the kitchen.”
He was almost like a child who knew that he was in charge, and was yet surprised by it and curious as to his effect on others.
“Smells divine!” he called as they passed.
Three “thank yous” followed his words.
There was a large doorway under a sheltered porte-cochère when they stepped outside. Most likely, parking for large delivery trucks. They walked around one of the walls and were in the back. An open-air patio, set on stone, offered amazing views of the Atlantic Ocean. A light fog swirled in a breeze and seemed in magical motion, barely there. A fireplace, stocked with dry logs, remained ready for those who came out to enjoy the view when it was cool, and Jane imagined they might hold barbecues out there too. Bracken grew around the patio with wild flowers in beautiful colors. Other than the patio and the chairs, if one stood on the cliff and looked out or up at the rise of the castle walls, they might have been in a distant land and in a different time.
But Jane looked to her right.
At the base of a little cliff that rose to another wild and jagged height, was the chapel. It was surrounded by a low stone wall. Within the wall were numerous graves and plots. The chapel had been built in the Norman style with great rising A-line arches and a medieval design. Two giant gargoyles sat over the double wooden doors that led inside.
“Sometimes,” Roth said, “I do feel just a bit like a medieval lord. Pity it’s far too small and dangerous here for a joust.”
“It’s really lovely,” Jane said.
“Yes, and I’m a lucky man,” Roth said. “Primogeniture and all. The oldest son gets everything. Of course, in my case, I was the only child. If I do have children, I’ll change things,
that’s for sure.”
Somewhat surprised, Jane looked at Sloan.
Was that for real? If so, he seemed like a pretty decent guy.
She smiled.
There was that wonderful part of their relationship that seemed like an added boon. The ability to look at one another and know that they shared a thought.
“Shall we head toward the chapel?” Roth asked.
He stood a bit down on a slant from them. He wasn’t really that small a man, probably about six feet even. But Sloan seemed to tower over him. Jane was five-nine and in flats, but with his Renaissance-poet look, Roth somehow seemed delicate and fragile.
“Thanks. We’d love to see it,” Sloan said.
They followed him to the stone wall. There was a gate in the center and a path that led to the chapel. The gate wasn’t locked. It swung in easily at Roth’s touch and they followed him. He kept on the stone path and headed directly to the chapel where the door was also unlocked.
“You’re not worried about break-ins of any kind?” Sloan asked him.
“Maybe I should be. I guess people do destroy things sometimes just for fun. But Mr. Green is always at his place. He hears anything that goes on. He only looks old. Trust me, he’s deceptively spry. Caught me by the ears a few times when I was a kid. Guests here are welcome to use the chapel and the only way up here is by the road, so I guess it was just never kept locked. Progress, though. Maybe I’ll have to in the future. It’s really kind of a cool place. You’ll see. Simple and nice.”
It was indeed. Tiffany windows displayed the fourteen Stations of the Cross along the side walls, each with its own recessed altar. The high arches were clean and simple and there were five small pews set before the main altar. A large marble cross rose behind the altar.
“Actually, there’s a time capsule in here,” Roth told him. “Emil, who brought the castle over, is under the main altar with his wife. Their children are scattered along the sides. Sometimes, of course, the daughters moved away, but there are a good fifty people buried or entombed just in the chapel. But you want our own Roth family Romeo and Juliet. Over there—first altar. Come on.”