Doctor Who_ The Banquo Legacy - Andy Lane [24]
‘Not quite so exciting. And it still doesn’t explain the name,’ I reminded him.
‘Oh that’s no problem – though a little dull after the villagers’ story.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. Dodds fancied himself as an actor, do you see? His best role – or so he always maintained, although I gather he was not actually much good at any of them – was in Macbeth.’
I began to understand. ‘Banquo?’
George nodded and pointed to the plaque. ‘That was his favourite speech. According to some critics, it’s also the only one he could ever remember.’
I laughed with him, and the portrait glared back across the room, unamused.
‘So what became of Dodds?’ I wondered.
‘Ah, well that is a little more interesting.’ George was back with a story he enjoyed. ‘His aunt’s granddaughter was in an asylum. I’m not sure how she came to be there, but she was evidently in the right place. Somehow she heard about the rumours in the village about her grandmother’s death. She escaped one night, came here, and stabbed her cousin to death in revenge.’
A shiver played down my spine and the firelight flickered as the door was closed, but I did not turn to see who had come into the room. For a moment I was convinced that if I did I would be confronted with Dodds’s cousin, spattered with blood, the knife still wet in her hand. The impression continued only a second, and George continued, oblivious.
‘It’s said that his last words were, “Our time doth call upon us."’ He drained his glass and reached past me. I turned and realised that Beryl was standing behind us with a tray of empty glasses. I placed mine alongside Wallace’s and Beryl smiled up at me.
‘Dry now?’ I asked, baffling George. Neither Beryl nor I cared to explain.
‘Yes, thank you, sir,’ she replied, a little shyly I thought, and turned to leave brushing so closely against me as she did so that I wondered if she had done it deliberately. George watched her cross to the door, and neither amusement nor fear showed in his eyes.
‘Which room did she do it in?’ I asked, feeling that I should say something. Wallace looked confused and startled for a moment. ‘The killing,’ I prompted and the redness passed from his face.
‘Oh, er – the master bedroom, as it was then. Harries has it now.’
I smiled, thinking how appropriate that was. ‘There was another plaque in the study, you say?’
‘Yes, although I’m not sure what it said,’ George answered quickly. ‘Father had it removed. Said it distracted him. Something about armed girls and a baby rhinoceros, I think.’
I was sure that could not be correct, but before I could say so Simpson was at our side.
‘Dinner will be served in about fifteen minutes, sir,’ he told George. ‘If that is convenient,’ he added as if as an afterthought.
‘Ah, thank you, Simpson. Yes, that will be fine.’
‘Very good, sir.’ Simpson began to move off. ‘I’ll just inform the others, sir,’ he explained, managing not to catch my eye. A few moments later we were joined by Harries, who wanted George to help him check over the equipment before dinner. George seemed less keen, and pointed out that it had been checked by them both only an hour earlier. Harries, chastened, capitulated and he and Wallace followed the others out to the hall, leaving me to contemplate the plaque with Robert Dodds.
‘It’s a pity Gordon isn’t here to witness your great triumph. Professor Harries,’ I called after him, and Harries paused at the door, my sarcasm wasted on him.
‘A great pity,’ he replied. ‘Perhaps he will join us later, Mr Hopkinson.’
‘I was rather hoping that you would join him,’ I murmured as Harries left the room. I paused a moment to look again at the portrait, and this time it seemed to me that it was amusement that Robert Dodds harboured. Was he looking into the seeds of time? I wondered. But he did not speak to me, so I followed the others through to prepare for dinner.
* * *
The doorbell rang as I was on my way to the dining room. Simpson was standing by the open dining-room door as the bell