Read Online Murder at the Castle by Jeanne M. Dams - Free Book Online Page B

in sudden conversions. I may be wrong. I hope I am. But when people I love could find themselves in trouble, I’d rather be there, to prevent if possible, to help if not.’
    I gave his arm a squeeze, and we walked over to a convenient bit of wall where we could sit and watch.
    This afternoon they were rehearsing some of the sacred music, a full rehearsal with all forces, soloists, chorus and orchestra. They began with the most complex work, the ‘Lord Nelson Mass’. In a departure from the usual format, for that work the conductor had chosen to put the soloists in the part of the castle I’d called the balcony. As they assembled there, Inga, rejoining us, explained, ‘Because of the acoustics of the place, Sir John thinks their voices will carry over the chorus and orchestra better from up there. We’ll see, of course. It depends on how well the sound engineers have done their work.’
    The usual preliminaries took less time than usual. The orchestra got itself tuned without an undue amount of the fifty-stomach-ache noise, the chorus settled into its sections, Sir John tapped his baton and captured everyone’s eye, and they were off.
    Those opening measures of the ‘Lord Nelson’, with their almost harsh military overtones, always send chills up my spine, and here, in what once had been a fortress and a garrison, I could almost hear the thunder of hoof beats as the enemy approached. Then the chorus came in with their demand – yes, demand! – for mercy, and I was caught up in the splendour of the music. The soprano soloist was excellent, soaring into difficult, high passages with apparent ease and total control, and the acoustics from the balcony seemed to me to be working exactly as intended.
    I glanced at Alan. He appeared to be lost in the music. Or was his rapt concentration fixed rather on the musicians?
    Sir John let the ‘Kyrie’ run through to its conclusion before stopping. He ran the first few bars of the chorus entrance again, insisting on perfectly clean articulation of the eighth-notes, and perfect, clipped diction. By the second repetition, he had what he wanted, and they went on to the ‘Gloria’.
    This was the first chance I’d had to hear Nigel, since the full quartet sings in this movement. I leaned forward to catch his full, rich tenor as he and the baritone sang together in a lovely and moving duet.
    Then Madame de la Rosa joined them, and I could hear only her superb voice. Not that she overpowered the others. She was behaving impeccably, keeping her voice and her temperament under control. But my word, the strength of that voice! She made the others sound like amateurs, even Nigel, dearly as I loved him.
    Now all four were singing together, and Graciosa raised her head as her voice soared to what must be the very top of her range . . . and then higher, and higher, into a terrified, terrifying scream. She dropped her music, clawed at her face and neck and hair, turned around, screamed again, backed up against the stone railing of the balcony . . .
    And as the music faded disjointedly away, and in what seemed almost like slow motion, she was over the railing and pitching to the stone pavement twenty feet below.

SIX
    A lan was on his feet running toward Graciosa before anyone else had much chance to react. I stayed where I was, but Inga, after a moment, followed Alan. Sir John got a slower start, but with less distance to cover he beat Alan by a nose. He started to kneel.
    â€˜Don’t touch her, if you please, sir. I am a policeman, and must make sure that she is not disturbed until the local police arrive.’
    â€˜But she needs medical help! We have to get her to a doctor!’
    Alan had laid his fingers lightly on her neck, the neck that was twisted in a very odd way. ‘I’m afraid she is beyond any human help, sir.’
    â€˜No . . . You don’t mean . . .’
    â€˜I’m afraid so. Now, Sir John, you