“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