Hell bay, p.17
Hell Bay, page 17
“Really, senhor,” Cesar said. “I’m not very good with descriptions.”
“Did he have, for example, one eye and a hump?”
Cesar laughed. “No, sir, he did not. A very pleasant fellow. Of medium height, clean shaven.”
“Very interesting. And Mr. Pelham?”
“I have heard him called the very devil himself, if you will pardon the expression. He is very driven and some would say quite ruthless. I shudder to think how many natives have died under his exploitation.”
“What is his appearance?”
“He is tall. His hair is light brown. He has a short beard.”
Barker turned to me. That was exactly like the man I had seen in the kitchen the first morning.
“Did you happen to see the gentleman I was speaking with in the kitchen on the first day, Cesar?” I asked.
“When?”
“Right after we arrived.”
“I suppose not. There was so much going on. I was anxious to get settled as quickly as possible. Mr. Kerry was waiting, you understand.”
“Certainly,” Barker said. “Did you ever hear Mr. Kerry say anything about the Burrell family? Was he anxious to come here?”
“Yes, he told me he was coming to right a wrong. Apparently, His Lordship had said something unkind to him at some time in the past. He said he would make him eat his words.”
“Did he mention Miss Olivia?”
“No, sir.”
“He doesn’t strike you, then, as a man in love?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I cannot picture Mr. Kerry as a lovesick swain.”
“He was more interested in humiliating His Lordship and his family, perhaps.”
“He was going to ‘get his due.’ Whatever was said between them angered Mr. Kerry very much.”
“How long have Mr. Kerry and the other owners been acquainted? Since England?”
“No, sir. As I understand it, they met in the war in Bolivia.”
Cesar gave Barker a brief history of the Pacific war, encompassing what he had told me, and a little more.
“Border disputes are always lively entertainment,” Barker said. “Were you yourself involved in the war?”
“I? No, sir. I’m no soldier. If they needed anyone with an accountant’s skills, they did not advertise it in Rio.”
“I have heard some parts of the city are quite sophisticated.”
“Indeed, sir! We have many fine buildings and an opera house. Entertainment arrives from Europe almost weekly. We are not some backwater.”
“But Manaus is primitive in comparison.”
“It is,” Cesar said. “It has been freshly cut out of the jungle, which still encroaches upon it. However, new buildings are springing up every week, and new people arrive every day. Mr. Hillary says we will be the São Paulo of the north.”
“You have spoken with him, then.”
“Only once or twice, sir. He has no time to speak to the lowly valet of a partner. He is a busy man. I’m sure he has a company to run.”
“What are Mr. Kerry’s plans, Mr. Rojas, after his holiday?”
“To return to Brazil with money from the sale, and to help dissolve the Patiti Limited.”
“What will become of you and your employment?”
“I have a mother that needs looking after. I shall return to the sunny beach of Copacabana. Someone is bound to need a bookkeeper.”
“Not a valet?”
“Numbers are a good deal more reliable than a capricious master, or so I have found.”
“How did you find London? Besides cold, I mean.”
“It was very grand. Such magnificent buildings!”
“I assumed Mr. Kerry stayed at the Savoy. I’ve heard it is even better than Claridge’s.”
“Yes, indeed, sir. Nothing in South America compares to it.”
“You saw the statue of Lord Nelson at Trafalgar Square? Our offices are hard by there. Right next to Scotland Yard.”
“You must be a famous detective, senhor, to be in its shadow.”
“It is in Whitehall, the seat of England’s government.”
“I am glad to hear it. I hope you catch this fellow, whoever he is.”
“Oh, I know who he is, and what he’s doing here. It’s merely a matter of trapping him. I don’t believe that will be so difficult. Were I you, Mr. Rojas, I would consider packing. Before you know it, you shall be home with your mother.” Barker stood and gave one of his formal bows. “Thank you, sir. It has been a pleasure speaking with you.”
Cesar gave me a questioning look, but I didn’t have time to answer it. I showed him to the door.
“You’ve worked out who he is?” I asked. “When were you going to tell me?”
“I haven’t decided yet, but it won’t be today. There is still a good deal yet to do.”
How much, I wondered, did my not knowing help him discover what was going on, and how much was his simply enjoying watching me flounder about? I didn’t much care for either, myself. I’d find out sooner or later. Maybe I would figure out the solution myself.
“To whom shall we speak next?” I asked.
“The youngest son, or rather, I should say, the only son, has not had much to say. I’m sure he has opinions concerning what has happened these last few days.”
“Has he spoken to you?” I asked.
“No, he hasn’t. And you?”
“Not a word. It is odd. I mean, I have heard these theater types are generally loud and gregarious.”
“They would also be able to change their appearance.”
“You’re implying, then, that he killed his own brother?”
“I’m merely throwing out possibilities, lad. I’m not saying I like him for the murder.”
“We don’t know anything about him.”
“Precisely. Can you say the same of everyone else? I know more of Colonel Fraser’s wife than I do of the new heir to the Godolphin estate. It is a situation I feel we should rectify.”
“I wonder where he is at the moment,” I said.
“I’m sure Partridge knows. I suspect he knows enough to solve this case, were he so inclined. But Partridge is an old retainer and he will say nothing. One would sooner get blood from a stone.”
We went downstairs and within a few moments the butler appeared out of nowhere. Barker buttonholed him.
“Partridge,” the Guv asked. “Do you know where I can find Percy Burrell?”
“Master Percy has gone to his room. He has asked not to be disturbed. I believe he said something about having a sick headache.”
Barker nodded. “Thank you, Partridge.”
“Very good, sir.”
The butler faded again into the woodwork. When he was gone, I blew out a lungful of air in frustration.
“That’s it, then.”
“What is, lad?”
“He’s asked not to be disturbed.”
“That message was meant for the servants. I am not one of the servants.”
“Of course,” I said. “But we don’t know where his room is, and we can’t ask Partridge.”
“By process of elimination, it is on the first floor. I have kept an eye on the rooms here to see who has gone in and out of each one. I assume you have done the same.”
“Of course,” I said.
“Then let us step into the corridor. Someone is bound to direct us to the room we seek.”
It was such a logical suggestion, I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it. We went upstairs and Barker leaned upon his stick until someone came out of a room. It was a maid of some sort. She was going to pass by, but Barker stopped her, most politely. Had he been wearing his bowler he would have raised it. As it was, he bowed.
“Pardon me, miss, could you direct me to Master Percy’s room?”
“’Tis there, sir,” she said, indicating a door very close at hand. She had an Irish lilt to her voice. “But he isn’t to be disturbed.”
“Ah!” Barker said, looking crestfallen. “Some other time, then.”
He turned and began to go down the stair again. What was he playing at?
The maid went down the hall and into a room. Meanwhile, the Guv had stopped halfway down the steps. He immediately reversed course and went back up and across, stopping at the door. He raised his cane and knocked loudly. I would merely have tapped. But then no one could accuse Barker of having a faint heart.
“Go away!” called a voice from within.
Barker opened the door and strode in. As was my duty, I followed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Percy Burrell’s room, like its occupant, was still making the transition to adulthood. A small army of lead Highlanders marched on the windowsill and a toy sailboat was propped in a corner. There was a stack of books on theater design on a table near the bed alongside a decanter of Scotch. Percy himself sat in a chair beside the decanter, doing his best to empty it expediently.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“To get better acquainted,” Barker stated.
“I’ll assume that’s a joke,” Burrell said, and downed half a tumbler.
Burrell was thinner than his late brother, and his hair was lighter, a color that in the sun looked auburn and in the shade looked brown. He had freckled cheeks, pale blue eyes, and a weak chin. I could not picture him as a leading man in a production of any import, especially not with his tie undone and his collar sprung.
“We have been going about asking questions of the guests and family,” Barker explained. “I thought someone might have noticed something important without realizing it.”
“Still haven’t a clue as to who is killing my family, then?” he asked.
“Oh, I have a good idea who he is, I just don’t know who is helping him or where he is hiding.”
Percy frowned, as if trying to make sense of the words. The bottle was not yet half empty, but I suspected it had recently been full.
“You must forgive my manners. Have a seat, gentlemen.”
Barker sat in an old leather chair, rubbed raw in the middle. I rested an elbow on the wing behind his head.
“I wish he’d get a move on.”
“Whom?” I asked.
Burrell snorted, and revealed a set of horselike teeth. “Whom? Whom do you think? The killer. He’s certainly taking his time about killing us. Olivia is petrified, but I wish he’d just burst in and get it all over with.”
“I would think you’d be grateful that you had suddenly become the heir.”
“You’d think that, wouldn’t you, if you didn’t know. I’d rather dig ditches than be the heir of Godolphin House. It was Paul that wanted it so much. He’d have been good at it.”
“Nevertheless,” my employer said coolly, “the duty has fallen in your lap. What do you intend to do about it?”
He poured himself another drink. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m doing it.”
“Mr. Burrell, do you know a man by the name of Jack Hillary?”
“Not that I’m aware of, but I’ve got a number of cousins on both sides of the family.”
“Have you ever heard the name Henry Pelham?”
“Not that I can recall. Can I offer you a drink?”
He held out the bottle, though we had not a glass to pour the Scotch into if we wanted any.
“No, thank you,” Barker said.
“Where was I?”
“Mr. Pelham and Mr. Hillary.”
“Don’t know either one,” he said.
It was obvious that Burrell was getting drunk. Something about the way he drank told me he hadn’t been drunk before.
“Breakfast will be served soon,” my employer pointed out.
“That’s why I’m drinking,” Percy said. “I’ll have to go downstairs and pretend to be something I’m not. You’d think that wouldn’t be so hard for an actor, wouldn’t you? Well, it is. That was Paul’s role. I’m just the bloody understudy.”
Barker frowned. He’s not one who enjoys self-pity.
“It’s like I’m in one of those damned dreams actors have. Nightmares, I suppose. You walk through a door in your house, a door you use every day, and suddenly you walk out on stage. The audience is there waiting for you to begin your opening line but you don’t know what play you’re in or what to say. So you just stand there with panic in your eyes, looking like a fool. Like the fool you actually are.”
That was all it took. Barker burst from his seat, seized Percy Burrell by his spindly shoulders, and shook him like a rag doll.
“Your mother’s life is in danger!” he thundered. “She and your sister need your protection. The staff, your guests, are waiting for you to step up and do your duty!”
He finally ignited a fire in Burrell’s watery eyes.
“I’m no good at running an estate!” he cried.
“It doesn’t matter! The responsibility is yours. Your family needs your guidance.”
“I don’t know how to keep them safe from a crazed lunatic!”
“Then you’ll die trying, won’t you?”
Burrell leaned forward and pinched the bridge of his nose. “No one has ever shown me how, you know. Paul kept it as if it were some great secret.”
“Then how do you know you’ll fail?”
“I’m not much good at anything except acting.”
“Can you read a book?”
“Of course I can read a book. I went to Harrow and Oxford!”
“Then buy a book on running an estate. It cannot be difficult for someone with your education.”
“I believe there is a book on it in the library. Paul used to dip into it for tax tables and such.”
“There you are, then.”
“But I’m bound to be a disappointment.”
“Partridge seems like a pretty smart old fellow,” I said. “I’ll bet he could give you advice from time to time.”
He sat for a moment, deep in thought. “Do you think so?”
“Think of it as a role. You would study how to play a role, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course. When I played Bassanio in The Merchant of Venice, I learned the part in Italian, just to get it right.”
“There you are, then. Apply the principles of being an actor to being the heir, until it starts to feel natural to you.”
Percy said nothing, but sat there either deep in thought, or feeling the effects of alcohol wash over him. I could not tell which. The thing is, he didn’t realize that to my employer, not actually answering back was a sign of assent.
“What are you here for again?” Percy Burrell asked.
“I was wondering if you saw anyone acting strangely under the circumstances, or someone made a comment you considered suspicious.”
“Alive or dead?”
Barker gave one of his ruthless smiles. “I would prefer alive, but if it opens another line of enquiry, I won’t be finicky. You’ve heard something, then.”
“Well, a chance remark, while we were out hunting for the killer that first night.”
“Who made it?”
“Algernon Kerry.”
“I see. And what did he say?”
“Something about people getting what they deserve, only he wasn’t talking about the killer, you see.”
“Could you be a little bit more precise, Mr. Burrell? I know you’ve had a lot to drink, but on the other hand, you are an actor, accustomed to memorizing long passages. Where were you, to begin with?”
“By the copse of trees, on the way back home. We were facing the house, all lit up in the night. Kerry had stopped and offered me a smoke. It was some sort of South American cheroot, scented with licorice. I smoked part of it just to be polite.”
“Good. Excellent, sir,” the Guv said. “So, the two of you were smoking and staring at the house. Were you alone?”
“Yes. We’d been separated from the party.”
“And you had your guns with you.”
“Yes, Mr. Barker.”
“And what did he say precisely?”
Burrell closed his eyes. “I’d mentioned that I couldn’t understand why someone would go around shooting innocent people like my father, unless they were barking mad. And he said, ‘Perhaps the killer feels perfectly justified in what he is doing, and believes he is righting a wrong. He may think your father was not as innocent as you believe and he got what he deserved.’”
“You must have found that unsettling.”
“I did. I mean, yes, it’s often a good thing to put oneself in the other man’s shoes or to question someone’s motives, but to accuse my father and suggest he deserved to have his brains blown out, and him lying fresh in his coffin like that…”
“What did you say to him?” I asked.
“Nothing. I couldn’t bring myself to speak, save in anger. In fact, it was the last conversation we had. I was too young when he was first ordered to leave the island, years ago, but it appeared to me that he was a caustic sort of fellow, sharp-tongued and mean-spirited. My father had been too generous in accepting Kerry’s apology and request to attend the party. But then, he was Paul’s friend, not mine.”
Barker crossed his arms and frowned. I suspected he was willing himself to be calm. “Your mother did not originally plan to invite Mr. Kerry to the festivities?”
“No. Apparently he sent an overture to my father, apologizing for his behavior years before, and describing his success in South America. My parents nearly had a row over it. I recall my mother saying how polished the letter was, and Father saying he didn’t think him capable of such tact.”
“Do you recall the dinner party?”
“It was many years ago and I wasn’t invited. Too young at the time to attend. My sister wasn’t. She is two years older than I, and I thought it unfair that she and Paul got to attend and I had to stay in the nursery.”
“How old was she then?”
“Fourteen, I think. Rather in the awkward stage. Pigtails and gangly legs.”
The young woman I found in my bed the night before had definitely grown out of the awkward stage. In fact, I came very close to being seduced.
“When you last spoke to him,” Barker asked, “did you feel Mr. Kerry knew more than he was saying, or that he was merely being—”
“An ass? Yes, I told him he was being one after the hunting party. He didn’t care for my assessment. We parted company and each came back to the house on our own.”
