Murder at the Castle Read Online Free PDF

for Llangollen.
    I had heard for years about the Welsh mountains. I’m afraid I’d been somewhat condescending about them. When you’re from a country that boasts the Rockies, you tend to designate as hills anything short of the Alps. I had assumed that the Welsh mountains were like our Smokies: pretty, but low, rounded, old.
    I was drastically wrong. Nigel drove us over something called Horseshoe Pass (which sounds like it should belong in the American West), and I was blown away. ‘But these are
real
mountains! Rugged, sharp, high . . . and absolutely beautiful!’
    â€˜Yes, we thought you might enjoy the view,’ said Inga sedately from the back seat. ‘This is a bit out of our way, but we had some idea you didn’t quite understand about these mountains.’
    I turned around and stuck my tongue out at her.
    It didn’t take us long after that to reach Llangollen, a town that would have been lovely if it hadn’t been quite so crowded.
    â€˜Goodness! Wall to wall people! What’s the big attraction?’
    â€˜A big international Eisteddfod is held here every year?’ Inga’s inflection made a question of it, and I nodded to indicate that I knew that.
    â€˜Well, it’s to be only a few weeks from now, about a month, I think, so lots of people are here for the preparations.’
    â€˜It’s a huge festival, you know, quite unlike our little one,’ said Nigel. ‘A lot of folk music of various kinds, country dance, poetry, that sort of thing. But all sorts, really, from pop to classical. One year they did bits of
Noye’s Fludde
. It was brilliant!’
    I know the Britten opera only by reputation, but I tried to look intelligent.
    â€˜And highly competitive,’ Nigel went on. ‘Groups and soloists come from all over the world. I think last year something like forty countries were represented. Ours is small beer by comparison.’
    â€˜Not from what you tell me about the musicians,’ I said firmly.
    Nigel found, at last, a place to park the car, and we strolled the crowded streets, glancing in the shops and admiring the gardens and listening to the many languages and accents among the passers-by.
    â€˜There’s a café in Paris, on the Rue de la Paix, I believe, of which it used to be said that if one sat there long enough, the whole world would pass by.’ I gestured around us. ‘Not quite Paris, but a pretty fair sampling of the whole world, wouldn’t you say?’
    The booking office for the canal boat rides was at the top of a steep hill. Nigel planted the three of us at a hotel restaurant near the bottom of the climb. ‘Look, we’ve lashings of time, and I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Why don’t I nip up and get the tickets while you lot order lunch? Anything will do for me, Inga.’
    â€˜Right. Off you go.’
    We had a pleasant, if unremarkable lunch. The dessert trolley was, however, laden with temptations, and after I had made my way through some sort of delectable steamed pudding (called on the menu ‘Pwdin Eryri’, whatever that may be), I staggered to my feet and said, ‘Nigel, it was sweet of you to get our tickets, but I do think it would have been easier to climb that hill
before
lunch.’
    â€˜But you see, we don’t have to climb the hill. We wait down here, just the other side of the street, for the bus that takes us to the embarkation point. A bit convoluted, I know, but I gather there’s not a large car park at that end.’
    Alan nodded in acquiescence, so I hid my shrug. I ought to have learned by now that they do things somewhat differently on this side of the pond. A bus ride to take a boat ride to get back where you started. Okay.
    We hadn’t long to wait for the bus, and the ride was quite pleasant, through beautiful country. Several of the passengers seemed to know each other; there was a good deal of conversation and