Murder at the Castle by Jeanne M. Dams

her own beer.
    â€˜I see,’ I said, somewhat amused. ‘So she’s flirting with all the men in the festival and alienating all the women?’
    â€˜Yes, but it isn’t just that. I mean, one almost expects that sort of thing from her type. It doesn’t mean anything. But Gracie—’
    â€˜
Gracie
? You’re not telling me someone who can sing Carmen and incidentally set the whole festival on its ear is named Gracie!’
    â€˜Her name,’ said Inga, deadpan, ‘is Graciosa de la Rosa. I’m told the word means “enchanting” in Portuguese.’
    â€˜Not her real name, then?’ I asked the question in all seriousness, but Nigel howled.
    â€˜Everything about her is unreal, right down to her fingernails! I don’t know where the woman’s from, originally. She’s certainly of some Latin background; you’ve only to look at her. And she speaks English with a sort of all-purpose Latin accent, but even that might be put on. I’d bet my last vocal cord that her name is a Latina equivalent of Jane Smith. At any rate, “Graciosa” is absurd. So we call her Gracie. She hates it.’
    â€˜Which must improve her temper mightily,’ said Alan. ‘You’re implying that no one in the company can bear her. What has she actually done to set you all against her in one morning?’
    â€˜Let me count the ways! She’s still using music for some of her arias, and what she has memorized, she gets wrong. She takes her own tempo, whether or not it’s what Sir John wants, and very sweetly says she “feeeels it” her way. She upstages everyone, and manages to ruin our sightlines to Sir John, so we miss some of the subtleties. We’re not working with the orchestra yet, and she’s managed to infuriate the pianist already.’
    â€˜I take it the pianist is a woman,’ I suggested.
    â€˜Of course,’ Inga murmured.
    â€˜Why doesn’t Sir John simply sack her?’ asked Alan. ‘Oh, thank you.’
    Our food had arrived, a ploughman’s lunch for everyone, with local cheese that looked extremely inviting. We dug in, and no one spoke for a bit.
    â€˜More beer, anyone?’ Nigel asked when he’d taken the edge off his hunger.
    We all turned him down, I because beer makes me sleepy after lunch, the others because they were driving.
    â€˜I won’t, then. Well, you ask, Alan, what we’ve been asking ourselves since ten minutes into the rehearsal. Which was when Gracie condescended to show up, by the way. Sir John is wonderful to work for, as I’ve said, but he is demanding. None of us can understand why he puts up with this . . . er . . . witch.’
    Nigel has always had a tendency to watch his language around me. I find it charming, even though my own language can get a trifle salty now and again. ‘So what
has
he done about all her mistakes?’ I asked.
    â€˜Damn all, really,’ said Inga crisply. ‘He stops rehearsal and takes it again. And again, and again. Sometimes he’ll make a mild comment like, “
Pianissimo
, please, Madame de la Rosa.” Which she pays no attention to, of course. Mostly he just does it over and over until either she gets it right or he gives up and goes on.’
    â€˜Which,’ said Nigel gloomily, ‘has got our rehearsal schedule even more wildly out of whack than it already was. So I’d best get back. Inga, are you coming with me, or do you want to go with Dorothy and Alan?’
    â€˜We’re going back to the castle,’ I said firmly. ‘I haven’t seen nearly enough of it yet. But we could run you back to the Tower, if . . .’
    â€˜Of course I’d love to see the castle with you. I’ve not really toured it myself, and today’s our last chance before the festival takes over.’ She gave Nigel a peck on the cheek. ‘Good luck, darling. Stiff upper lip and all that!’
    We had a