Chapter Four

It’ll be all right on the night, Gwennie had assured Penny, Victoria, and Heather when she showed them the dining room on their site visit a few weeks earlier. The old British theatre expression, often said during a period of difficult rehearsals when everything seemed to be going wrong to remind the company that no matter how hopeless it all seemed now, it would come together on opening night, had proved apt. It’s much better than just all right, thought Penny as she, Victoria, and Gwennie surveyed the dining room to make sure everything was ready for the evening ahead.

The room had been transformed, magnificently. Gone was its earlier closed-up air of dusty disuse, and it now looked fresh, alive, and eager to receive and welcome guests. The table was set with twenty-five covers: gleaming white bone china plates with a gold band around the rim, sparkling crystal water glasses and stemware, and sterling silver cutlery featuring a classic floral pattern. Three silver candelabra, polished until they gleamed, each held six white tapers, waiting to be lit. The room smelled faintly of beeswax furniture polish and strongly of flowers, from the elaborate centrepieces of red roses along the table that were just the right height and the taller, more extravagant arrangements gracing the sideboards.

“I’m sure Emyr will be really pleased. Everything looks lovely, Gwennie,” said Victoria, resting her hand lightly on the back of a chair. Although it looked as if everything had happened by magic, Penny and Victoria knew how hard Gwennie had worked to prepare the dining room.

Uncomfortable with praise and compliments for doing what she considered simply her job, Gwennie replied, “It’ll look even nicer when the overhead lights are dimmed and the candles are lit.” Reaching into her apron pocket, she pulled out two small boxes of wooden matches and offered them to Penny. “As you’ll be front of house and I’ll be busy in the kitchen, if you wouldn’t mind lighting the candles just before the guests move into the dining room? Because there are so many, you might want to ask someone to give you a hand. You can throw the spent matches in the fireplace in the library or just put them back in the box.” Penny took the matchboxes and slipped them into the pocket of her black trousers. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d best see if I can make myself useful in the kitchen. Florence has got her hands full.” Gwennie checked her watch. “The guests will start to arrive in about half an hour and this is always the busiest time. You can’t assemble the canapés too far ahead else you end up with soggy bottoms. So if you’ve a mind to, this would be a good opportunity for the both of you to slip into the library for a look at that Black Chair before the guests start to arrive and things get really busy.”

They left the dining room by the door that led into the main corridor, and as they reached the library, Penny asked Gwennie if everything was in order for the evening.

“Yes, everything’s under control. Why do you ask?”

“It’s just that I saw the wine merchant’s van in the car park when we arrived, and I hoped there wasn’t some kind of last-minute mix-up with the order. All the deliveries were to have been completed by yesterday.”

“They were,” said Gwennie. “The wine people were just dropping off six complimentary bottles of champagne.”

“That was nice of them,” said Victoria.

“It was a thank-you gesture for all our custom over the years, and goodness knows we’ve certainly put enough business their way. Although maybe not so much lately.”

“When I first saw the white van, I thought it might be Heather here to put the finishing touches on the flower arrangements,” said Penny. “She’s far too organized to leave everything to the last minute, but sometimes things happen. Her supplier might have let her down, say.”

“Heather?” Gwennie frowned. “No, she’s long gone. She had everything arranged just as you saw by late morning. And in the sitting room, and library, too.”

“Oh, right, well, as long as everything’s okay, I’ll see you in a few minutes. You’ve done so much to get ready for this dinner. Sure you don’t mind helping out in the kitchen?”

“Not at all. And as a matter of fact, I’m happy to. I’ve enjoyed watching Florence work. She’s brilliant at organization. There won’t be any letdown there, I can assure you.”

“Good to hear,” said Penny. “Although I’m not surprised. And let’s hope there won’t be any more surprises.”

Victoria raised an eyebrow. “Surprises?”

“Gwennie told me this morning that Jennifer Sayles hired a butler for the evening. Mr. Carter, he’s called.”

“A butler!” exclaimed Victoria. “Oh, well, hopefully Mr. Carter knows what he’s doing and that’ll take a bit of the load off the rest of you. Or at the very least, he won’t get in the way.”

“That’s the last thing we need,” said Penny. “Him getting in the way. We’ve already assigned tasks, so I hope his being here doesn’t mean everybody gets confused about who’s doing what and we end up in a terrible disorganized mess.”

“Oh, I don’t think that will happen,” said Gwennie. “He’s really just here to answer the door, announce the guests, usher them into the dining room, that sort of thing. More for show, really. I’ve already briefed the servers on their duties and shown them around, so they know where everything is and where they’re supposed to be and what they’re meant to do. And they’ve all got experience from working in the hotel, where service can get very hectic, so this should be a doddle for them. Although”—she paused for effect—“I had to remind them to put their phones away. There’s one young lad who barely looks up at you, his attention is so focused on his phone. He was texting, or whatever it is they do. Texting while I was giving them their marching orders, if you can believe it. I soon put him right, I can tell you. And if I see anyone on their phones again while they’re on duty, I’ll confiscate them and they can collect them when they’re ready to leave.”

“And quite right, too,” said Victoria. “Well, I suppose a butler will add a proper touch of class to the event. And Mrs. Lloyd will love him. She’d love to have a butler of her own, I’m sure, polishing up the silver and decanting the claret on Rosemary Lane.”

Gwennie allowed herself a tight smile, then continued on her way to the kitchen as Penny and Victoria opened the door to the library. A screened-in fire, crackling merrily in the fireplace’s inner hearth, cast flickering tongues of light across the carpet and combined with soft lamplight to create the perfect warm, welcoming ambiance on a cold, rainy autumn evening.

Several chairs and a sofa had been repositioned against the walls to make space for the exhibit featuring items and artefacts related to World War I. Arranged on a wooden dressmaking form was the ankle-length nursing uniform made of sturdy blue cloth, with a white apron and red mess cape, that had been worn by Emyr’s great-grandmother. A black-and-white photograph in a silver frame on a nearby table showed a photo of the lady herself in the uniform, surrounded by soldiers and other nurses. Also displayed were a brass Princess Mary gift box that had been distributed to Allied troops at Christmas, 1914; a packet of letters tied up with a faded blue ribbon; and a man’s battered gold pocket watch.

They turned their attention to the centrepiece of the exhibit. Shrouded in a crushed black velvet cloth, just as it had been on that long-ago September day at the 1917 Birkenhead Eisteddfod when it had been placed in front of the assembly to be awarded to Hedd Wyn, the winning poet, was the bardic chair. Wordlessly, reverently almost, Penny and Victoria approached it and carefully lifted the corners of the black cloth, and bringing the corners together in a graceful, fluid motion, they folded it. Penny tucked it under her arm as she took her first look at one of the most iconic pieces of furniture in Wales.

Considered a superb example of early-twentieth-century furniture making, the wooden chair was of classic design with a high, straight back that rose to a peak, armrests, and a plain seat without upholstery or cushioning. Positioned on a plinth to signify the stature and importance of the person who sat in it, the Black Chair vaguely reminded Penny of the Coronation Chair in Westminster Abbey, without the canopy. But if the style of the bardic chair seemed plain, the richly elaborate carving that decorated it was not.

“Wow,” said Victoria. “Look at the detail. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s magnificent.”

A Celtic cross divided the chair back into four quadrants. At the top, just under the peak, the words GWIR YN ERBYN Y BYD—Truth Against the World—had been carved in a circle supported by two mythical beasts. Below that, and above an intricate pattern of Celtic knots and patterns that filled the rest of the chair back, were carved the words AWDL, the style of long-form poem in strict meter in which Hedd Wyn had written his winning entry, and in quotation marks, “YR ARWR”—“The Hero”—the name of his winning poem.

Greek key and chevron patterns provided borders and embellished the sides and rails of the chair. Other carved elements included Christian symbols, such as fish, dragons, two-headed serpents, flowers, and even a small horse.

“It’s stunning,” agreed Penny leaning in for a better look, “and the closer you look, the more you find. It’s amazing, almost like carved lace, it’s so intricate.” She hesitated, wanting to run a hand over the varnished brown wood that had darkened to a burnished patina over time, but did not touch it. “But for some reason, because of its name, I thought the chair itself would be black.”

“I guess the black comes from the cloth it was draped in,” said Victoria. “Or maybe black as a mourning colour.”

Penny picked up a piece of paper on the seat. “Emyr’s speaking notes,” she said. “For when he reveals the chair after dinner.” She examined the document. “Let’s see. It says here that the chair was carved in the Birkenhead workshop of Eugene Van Fleteren, a Belgian refugee, and is considered his masterpiece. It’s believed to be made of oak taken from ancient roofing timbers salvaged from a monastery that was closed and burned down in the time of Henry the Eighth.”

“Wow,” said Victoria again.

Penny continued reading. “Awarding the national poet a chair dates back to the middle ages. Wales has a long tradition of honouring poets. Oh, and this is interesting. Remember Florence asked why poets were given chairs?” She glanced at Victoria and smiled. “Because the chair symbolizes that the poet has a place at the table of princes.” She scanned the rest of the text. “And finally, it says that for the Welsh people, this chair represents all the empty chairs in front of the hearth that the lads and men of World War I never came home to.”

She replaced the sheet of paper on the seat of the chair. “A place at the table of princes,” she repeated. “I really like that.”

“That is good,” agreed Victoria. “Well, it’s a beautiful chair, there’s no doubt about that. Even without its historical meaning, it would be something special. I especially like the way the dragons hold up the arms, and the Celtic cross on the back is stunning.”

“It’s such a great shame that the poet himself never knew he’d won it, and never got to see it,” said Penny. But before Victoria could reply, the sound of the front door knocker signalled that the evening was about to begin.

“Oh, I guess I’d better get that,” said Penny, handing the black cloth to Victoria. “Here, cover up the chair.”

Just then a man wearing a black tailcoat and grey striped trousers, his white-gloved hands by his side, glided past the open library door.

“No, you don’t have to answer the door now, remember? That’s the butler’s job, and that must be Mr. Carter himself,” said Victoria.

“Oh, right. I forgot about him.”

“He certainly looks rather smart, but do you find strange no one introduced him to us?”

“I do, actually. He made himself scarce all afternoon. Anyway, everything’s about to kick off, so we’d better hurry. Let’s get this chair covered up.”

Victoria shook out the black velvet cloth, and each woman taking two corners, they quickly redraped the chair. When they’d finished, Penny stepped back, examining the chair to make sure the cloth was centred. “It needs to move over to the left about two inches,” she said with a little hand gesture, and when Victoria had made the adjustment, Penny nodded. “That’s better. Both sides are even now.”

“Oh, not too early, I hope,” said a familiar voice in the hallway. “Am I the first to arrive?”

“Mrs. Lloyd,” Victoria mouthed as a grin spread across Penny’s face.

“You are indeed the first to arrive, madam,” intoned the butler. “The cloakroom is just through there if you’d like me to hang up your coat, and then I’d be delighted to show you to the sitting room. Your hosts will be with you shortly.”

Taking that as their cue to leave the library, Penny and Victoria headed to the kitchen to see what remained to be done and to offer their help if needed.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re here,” said Florence, wiping her hands on the striped blue-and-white kitchen towel hanging from the waist tie on her white apron. “You can stand by to start pouring the champagne when Gwennie gives the word. It’s almost time. What’s happening out there?”

“Mrs. Lloyd’s just arrived, and Emyr and Jennifer Sayles should be downstairs in a minute or two,” said Penny. “Does Mrs. Lloyd know about her, by the way? Jennifer Sayles?”

“Do you know, I don’t think she does,” said Florence with a twinkle in her eye. “That’ll give her something to talk about.”

Penny turned her attention to the young man hovering beside Florence, looking so earnest, so eager to please in a black suit that hung loosely on his thin frame. Lane Hardwick, hired to work in the gardens, had leapt at the chance to help with this evening’s dinner, and being something of a coffee aficionado, or at least appreciative of a smooth latte, he was taking his role as beverage service manager seriously.

“Now then, Lane, I’ve got a really important task for you, besides serving the coffee. We’re going to start the predinner champagne service in a minute, so when the glasses are full, you’ll take a tray into the sitting room and walk round offering everyone a glass. You up for that?” He nodded eagerly, and she continued, speaking slowly and clearly. “Good. And then, after the guests have had their champagne and canapés, they’ll go to the dining room for dinner, and you’ll collect all the empty champagne glasses and plates and napkins from the sitting room and tidy everything up so the room looks nice for the concert. And then we’ll set up the after-dinner service. That’ll be your coffee station and dessert.” She gave him a smile and reassuring pat on the shoulder. “That’s a lot for you to do. Very important tasks. Think you can manage all that?”

Lane Hardwick returned her smile.

“But if you need any help, or you aren’t sure what to do next, I’m here and you just come and ask me, okay?” Lane nodded. “Now I see that you’re not wearing a poppy,” Penny continued. “I’ve left a tray of them over there on that shelf”—she gestured behind her—“just as you come in the kitchen, so be sure to pin one on before you enter the sitting room to serve the drinks. And if you see any of the waitstaff without one, you can remind them that everyone is expected to wear a poppy, and you can show them where they are.”

“I see you’re not wearing a poppy. Let me get one for you.”

“That’s exactly right. That’s exactly what you should say.”

“No,” said Lane, pointing at Penny’s shoulder. “I see you’re not wearing a poppy. I’ll get you one.” With that, he dashed over to the tray of poppies and returned a moment later holding one out for Penny. She accepted it with a broad grin and pinned it on her white shirt.

“Well done, Lane!”

“About the drinks, Penny. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. I’ve been practising carrying drinks at home with a tray Mum gave me.”

“Excellent!” Gwennie and Mr. Carter appeared in the doorway and Gwennie gave Florence a wave, signalling it was time for the champagne and canapés service to start. Mr. Carter hesitated, seemingly taking a moment to work out what was happening in the kitchen, then joined Penny and Lane.

“I’ll help with that champagne, if you like,” said Mr. Carter. “If you remove the foil and hand the bottle to me,” he said to Lane, “I’ll remove the cork and the young lady here can pour.”

Although she found being called a “young lady” when she was in her fifties patronizing and ridiculous, Penny said nothing.

Lane did as he was told, and Mr. Carter, still wearing his spotless white gloves, deftly unwound the wire cage that kept the cork in place, then covered the cork with a white napkin and expertly turned the bottle while he pushed up with his thumbs and eased the cork out. Lane grinned at the sound of its soft, smooth pop. Mr. Carter handed the bottle to Penny, who poured it into the six glasses lined up on a tray. By the time she’d finished pouring, another bottle was open and ready for the next tray.

Lane and Gwennie disappeared down the hall, Lane balancing a tray of champagne flutes as if he were carrying a bomb and the experienced Gwennie following with a tray of canapés in one hand and a stack of snowy-white cloth napkins in the other. Mr. Carter beckoned the waiters hired for the evening to step forward, and as soon as the glasses on each tray were filled, they set off with them. Gwennie returned with an empty plate, picked up a full one, and disappeared again.

When the last of the champagne and canapés had left the kitchen, Penny finally had a chance to introduce herself to the butler. She estimated him to be in his early to mid-sixties. His thinning hair, which he wore swept over the top of his head from a deep side part, had been dyed a deep chestnut brown with a slightly reddish tinge. Rather than giving him a more youthful appearance, the unnatural hair colour served to deepen and emphasize the natural lines on his face. He peered at Penny over the top of dark-brown glasses in a round shape that had recently come back into fashion but gave him a curiously owlish look.

“Well, now, I guess we have a bit of breathing space until dinner is served,” he said.

“I have to light the candles just before the guests enter the dining room,” said Penny as the waiters appeared back in the kitchen after delivering the last of the champagne and canapés. “Do you have any idea how much longer that will be?”

Mr. Carter checked his watch. “Another five or six minutes. I’ll give you a minute or two head start, and then I’ll announce that dinner is ready.”

A few minutes later he motioned to Penny that it was time for her to leave for the dining room. She approached the kitchen table where the waiters were seated and asked the one closest to her if he’d help her light the candles in the dining room. They didn’t speak on the short walk, and when they arrived, she handed him a box of matches and they began to light the candles in the silver candelabra at each end of the table. The waiter finished first and moved to the third candelabra in the centre of the table. Penny joined him there a moment later. His hand was shaking so badly he had trouble holding the match to the wick.

“It’s all right,” said Penny. “I’ll finish it. Give me your used matches and go back to the kitchen now. You’ll be needed in a minute for the starter course.”

*   *   *

Just after eight, Mr. Carter sidled into the sitting room. As the guests noted his presence, the din of conversation stopped, and in his clipped, precise accent he announced that dinner was served. Emyr and the mayor’s wife, followed by Jennifer Sayles and the mayor, led the relaxed, chattering guests into the dining room just as Penny stepped back from the table after lighting the last of the candles. Holding the spent matches in her hand, she retreated to the far wall, dimmed the overhead lighting, and watched the arrival of the dinner guests.

Name cards created by the local craft group had been set at each place, and the diners found their places quickly. Emyr was seated at the far end of the table and Jennifer Sayles, as the official hostess, was seated at the other, nearest the door. She looked stunning. A simple knee-length, cobalt-blue woollen dress with three-quarter-length sleeves provided the perfect backdrop for the diamonds at her ears and wrist. Like everyone else at the table, she wore a red poppy pinned to her dress. Her blonde hair was tied back in the messy-bun style made popular by the newest bride to join the royal family, and she casually tucked a trailing wisp of blonde hair behind her ear as she engaged in a lively conversation with the mayor.

When all the guests were seated, Rev. Thomas Evans rose and said a brief grace. As soon as he had taken his seat, Mr. Carter closed the door to the hall and opened the door to the servery, and waiters entered the dining room carrying wine bottles wrapped in white napkins and the starter course, smoked salmon with prawns, horseradish cream, and a lime vinaigrette. After exchanging a quick glance with Emyr, who seemed happy that everything was under control, Penny ducked into the hall, closing the dining room door behind her, just as Lane entered the empty sitting room carrying a large tray. She poked her head round the door and watched as he collected the used plates and glasses as he’d been instructed, stacking everything neatly on the tray. Penny responded with an encouraging nod when he asked if he could take a moment to look at Victoria’s harp, which had been set up in the corner of the room, and then she left him to it, taking the servants’ corridor route to the servery.

*   *   *

Penny peered through the spy hole in the servery door that opened to the dining room.

“The first course is going well,” she said over her shoulder to Gwennie. “The guests seem to be really enjoying the starter.”

“That’s good,” said Gwennie. “How much longer does it look like they’ll be?”

Penny put her eye once again to the peephole. “Another ten, maybe fifteen minutes. They’re about halfway through. Everyone looks relaxed and happy. Lots of chatter going on.” Penny stepped back from the door. “Do you want me to let the kitchen know?”

Gwennie lowered herself onto a stool in the corner. “Yes, that would be helpful to Florence. Timing is everything, so the guests don’t wait too long and nothing gets cold.”

As Penny opened the servery door that led to the hall, she was met by the clatter of a metal tray hitting the wooden floor, immediately followed by the unmistakable sound of shattering glass and breaking dishes. Oh no, she thought. I hope the diners didn’t hear that.

She stepped into the hall and, because she couldn’t tell which direction the sound had come from, glanced both ways. To her left, just past the library entrance, Lane lay sprawled on the floor, one arm outstretched above his head, the other at his side. Stepping over and around the shards of glass and jagged bits of crockery, she hurried to him. “Lane,” she said as she knelt beside him and rested a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right? Do you want to try to get up? Can I help you up?” He didn’t respond, but murmured something she couldn’t make out because his face was turned away from her.

“What on earth’s happened here?” asked Gwennie in a low voice as she joined them. “Good heavens! Is he hurt?”

“I don’t know,” said Penny, keeping her eyes on Lane. “I hope not. But I’m not sure what just happened. He fell with the tray.”

“Perhaps he tripped on something,” said Gwennie, “but I can’t think what. It’s just a bare floor. There’s no loose bit of carpet he could have got caught up in.” She tipped her head in the direction of the dining room. “The waiters will be here in a minute to clear away for the main course, and I’ve got to supervise them.”

“What about Mr. Carter? Why can’t he help you with that?”

“Because that’s not what a butler does. His job is to stand with his back to the wall looking important and maybe top up a wine glass. Or at least, that’s what he thinks his job is.”

“Well, look Gwennie,” said Penny. “If you can take care of the table service, I’ll see to Lane. We don’t want any fuss, and we certainly don’t want to interrupt the dinner if we can help it. Do you think they heard anything in the dining room?”

“No, I don’t think so. The dining room doors were closed. I heard because the servery door was open.” As Gwennie returned to supervising the dinner service, Penny scrambled to work out what to do about Lane.

“Lane,” she said. “I need you to talk to me. Do you think you can get up now? If not, do we need to call an ambulance?”

“No,” said Lane, struggling to sit up. “I’m okay. Everything just went blank there for a minute.”

“Did you say black?”

“That too, but I think I said blank. Everything just went blank.”

“Maybe you hit your head when you went down. Can you remember what happened?’

Lane raised a hand to his head. “No. I cleared up in the sitting room, and then I looked at Victoria’s harp for a few minutes to see how the strings were fastened on, but I didn’t touch it, and then I was coming down the hall with my tray, and the next thing I know I was on the floor and you were there.” He looked at the contents of the tray, in pieces strewn across the floor. “Oh, please don’t be cross with me. I didn’t mean to drop the tray. I don’t know how that happened.”

“Of course you didn’t mean to, and no one will think for one moment that you did, and I’m not cross with you and nobody else will be, either. Now, the best thing would be if you were to rest for a few minutes in a quiet spot until we know you’re all right.”

“No, I’m fine, and I want to help with clearing up this mess. What should I do?”

“Well, if you’re sure you’re all right, you could make a start picking up the pieces of glass and plates while I go to the kitchen and find something to put the broken pieces in. We might need to wash down the floor if any champagne spilled on it, but we’ll sort out that bit in a minute. I’ll be right back.” As Lane got to his knees, she added, “And be careful not to cut yourself.”