Murder at the Castle Read Online Free PDF Page A

same. Mairi served us and explained that Charles was the grill cook and also made the marmalade, which was far and away the best I’d ever tasted.
    â€˜So what is this expedition you have planned for us?’ I asked Nigel when I’d eaten enough to choke a horse, or at least a Great Dane. I poured myself another cup of excellent coffee and furtively spread another piece of toast with butter and marmalade.
    â€˜Have you ever travelled on the inland waterways?’
    â€˜The canals? No. Alan and I have thought about it, but navigating the locks and all sounds a little complicated.’
    â€˜Well, you’re going to today. On a tour boat out of Llangollen.’
    I couldn’t begin to reproduce the way Nigel pronounced that name, and I didn’t intend to try. It seemed to involve a lot of sounds that don’t exist in English.
    â€˜A tour?’ Alan raised one eyebrow. ‘We’re not overly fond of tours, being averse to being herded around with a lot of other people.’
    â€˜It’s not like that,’ said Nigel, and Inga nodded. ‘This one is special. Actually, the boat goes
to
Llangollen, not from. It starts at . . .’ He patted his pockets. ‘Oh, I have it here someplace. At any rate, you board the boat, and it takes you to Llangollen through some very pretty country, but the exciting part is, you go over the oldest and highest aqueduct in Britain. You see, the canal crosses the River Dee, but at a height of almost a hundred and thirty feet, and you won’t believe how odd it feels to be in a boat that far up in the air.’
    â€˜But . . . is it safe? I mean, if it’s a couple of thousand years old . . .’
    Alan roared at that, and Nigel and Inga laughed somewhat more politely.
    â€˜What’s so funny?’ I said indignantly. ‘I know the Romans were wonderful builders and all that, but surely—’
    â€˜The Romans weren’t the only ones who built aqueducts, dear heart,’ said Alan, still chuckling. ‘They were very popular with Victorian engineers as well, and many have been converted into railway bridges. I seem to remember, Nigel, that this one is a Telford creation?’
    So I got a history lesson, all about the famous Victorian engineer Thomas Telford and his iron bridges that everyone said would never stand, hailed now as the work of genius – and still standing. This one, which rejoiced in the totally unpronounceable name of the Pontcysyllte Aqueduct, was well over 200 years old and still structurally sound and in daily use.
    â€˜All right, I’m game, as long as you don’t make me try to say it,’ I said when they had finished lecturing me. ‘But when this trip is over and we’re back home, I swear I’m going to make the Welsh a gift of a large package of vowels.’
    Before we took off for the day, while Inga and Nigel made their daily call home to check on their son, Charles showed us over the house. It wasn’t large, as country houses go. None of your Blenheim Palace, with its acres of elaborate rooms, or even Chartwell. No, this was a home, comfortable, easy to navigate – and something over 500 years old.
    â€˜I understand from Nigel that you don’t know exactly when the house was built,’ I said when he had showed us the great hall of mayor-hanging fame.
    â€˜No, unfortunately my ancestors didn’t keep proper records, or else they’ve been lost over the years. We’re not even sure when the various bits were added on, though we’re trying to find out. It’s a fascinating quest, if rather frustrating.’
    We talked a little about the difficulties of living in an old house and trying to keep it in good repair. Ours, at least a hundred years younger than this one, presents new problems almost weekly, but we wouldn’t live anywhere else.
    Nigel was trying to curb his impatience, without much success. So we piled into his car and took off