Hell bay, p.22
Hell Bay, page 22
“What? What was?”
“She wanted to convince Cyrus to propose, you see.”
“Ah?” I said. “Really?”
“As I said, it was a stupid mistake. Now she is paying for it worst of all. I’ve got to go in. I’m completely exhausted.”
She went into her room and I returned to Barker’s. He was propped in bed with his dark-lensed spectacles on, and the covers pulled up to his chin. The scarlet sunlight was playing upon his sheets and counterpane, and he watched it morosely.
“‘Red sky at morning,’” he said. “‘Sailor, take warning.’ We’re in for a blow tonight.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
I thought there was something ominous about the red light streaming in, tingeing everything bloodred. Fortunately, it burned off with the full arrival of the sun, and all was bathed in butter yellow again. It had none of us fooled, however. We all knew bloodred was the appropriate color and this benign sunniness an illusion. The breakfast table was all silence and gloom. Lady Hargrave did not come down that morning. Probably she was still sedated.
Seated were Colonel Fraser, his wife, Dr. Anstruther, his daughters, Olivia, Lady Alicia, the French ambassador, Barker, Philippa Ashleigh, and myself. Fully half of the table was now empty. As if that weren’t enough, I was seated next to Millicent Fraser, not the most personable of women. A table of beautiful women, and I was seated next to … Well, I won’t disparage the woman further. I’m certain Rebecca Mocatta would be very glad I was seated where I was.
Cesar was moving about with the tray of kippers, trying to interest the lackadaisical crowd in his wares. I think he felt it was his duty to try to jolly us up a little, so he was going about the table greeting us, though the meal was a buffet from a sideboard. Needless to say, it was an uphill battle, and he finally left in defeat.
“Funny little Spaniard,” Mrs. Fraser sniffed.
“He is Brazilian, ma’am.”
“Surely not,” she said. “Venezuelan or Peruvian, perhaps.”
“He is from Rio de Janeiro. He speaks Portuguese.”
“Mr. Llewelyn, I was born and raised in Oporto. My family imports port wine to England. Portuguese is my native tongue. Your fellow speaks it, but with an atrocious accent. If he is a Brazilian, I’ll eat my bonnet. It will be more palatable than this smoked fish he has foisted upon us.”
I began to get a headache between my eyes. All this intrigue was making me ill. I begged my neighbors pardon and left the table. I decided to settle this matter right away.
Downstairs, they were setting the table for the servants’ breakfast. The rest of the kippers were sitting in the middle of the table. Cesar was in the kitchen, preparing to take up some oatmeal that would probably be as unwanted as the kippers.
“Cesar!” I said.
“Thomas. Is something wrong with the food?”
“Cesar, come into the hall for a minute.”
He followed me, with a curious expression on his face. “What is it?” he asked.
“Cesar, you told me you were from Rio. Mrs. Fraser is from Portugal and she just told me you barely speak a word of Portuguese.”
“I speak South American Portuguese just fine! She is being a…, what is the word? A high-and-mighty?”
“A snob?”
“Si! A snob. Very well, I wasn’t born in Rio. Mr. Kerry said to tell people that I was. It is more fashionable than the truth, which is that I was born in a hut in the jungle along the Venezuelan border. The war killed my family and I was displaced. I saved his life and he felt obligated to give me a situation, but he would not have a jungle boy working for him. He taught me himself how to be a proper servant. That is why I tolerated how he treated me.”
“So, you weren’t a bookkeeper either. I wish you had been honest with me,” I said. “Lying when people are being murdered right and left looks highly suspicious.”
“I am sorry. When he was alive, I knew Mr. Kerry would not let me tell you, and there seemed no need to tell you about it later.”
“Well, try to be honest from now on, would you? It’s hard enough trying to work out what’s really going on here without having people lying to me.”
I went back to my seat.
“You were right,” I told Mrs. Fraser. “Venezuelan.”
“I told you so.”
I sipped my coffee. It had gone cold. I drank it anyway. Barker left the table with his chair under his arm. I met him in the hall.
“What should we do this morning?” I asked.
“I have a duty for you. Pray imagine a pair of invisible handcuffs. One link is around your wrist. The other is around Olivia Burrell’s. Do not let her out of your sight. Whatever she wants to do, do it with her. If she wants to knit, hold her yarn. If she wants to play cards, you are her partner. Above all keep her away from any windows. There is one heir left in this family. Let us see if we can at least keep her alive.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And, Thomas, make sure you are armed. If it looks as if her life is in danger, don’t hesitate to shoot someone. I’ll accept the responsibility.”
“Where are you going with the chair?” I asked.
“I’m overseeing the repair of that front window. All signs point to there being a gale coming in tonight. We’ll try to use the glass from the burned-out bunkhouse.”
I went. If I knew Olivia Burrell, she didn’t want to knit or play cards. She was more interested in getting better acquainted.
I went upstairs and took my Webley from my suitcase, again. Mac had oiled it before we left. That seemed like months ago now, and a continent away.
Olivia proved elusive, but I finally found her in the library, trying to interest herself in a book. She was too near the shuttered window for my taste.
“Come away from there,” I insisted, and drew the curtain.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“You got your wish. I am to be your personal bodyguard, and I am armed.”
“Mr. Llewelyn, that wasn’t my wish,” she said. “My brothers are dead. Both of them. Father is dead. Algie is dead.”
“You called him Algie?” I asked.
“Stop it. You’re terrible.”
“Forgive me. Barker says I’m not supposed to leave your side all day,” I told her.
“The last of the heirs of Godolphin?”
“Something like that.”
“Would you leap in the way of someone trying to kill me?”
“I would.”
“That’s romantic, in a way. Not that it matters much now, as I’m as good as dead. My only hope is that after I’m gone, the madman outside will be satisfied and go away without hurting anyone else.”
“Mr. Barker believes the killer is after the French ambassador. He is shooting random people hoping to draw him out.”
Very well, so Barker hadn’t said that. The truth was, I had no idea what he believed, but I wanted this girl not to worry.
“So what shall we do?” I added.
“Read to me. Something romantic. Anything to get my mind off what’s happening.”
“Jane Austen, perhaps, or the Brontë sisters?”
“I’ve read them several times.”
“Then choose a book. There’s an entire library here.”
“So I’m to be bored to death, then?”
“Choose one!”
She got up from the chair and looked among the shelves. After five minutes she returned with a yellow-backed novel.
“‘The Rake’s Deliverance,’” I read.
“My choice.”
“Very well,” I said. “Have a seat.”
I began to read. The novel was about a young English lord, brought to his estate in Lancashire by his mother after debauching himself in London and running up a large debt. His mother, as it so happens, was trying to find him a wife. He was looking forward to inspecting the candidates. He also was interested in inspecting the new housemaid.
“Wait! This is improper!” I said. “Where did you get this?”
“It was Paul’s. He kept it in the corner, up on the top shelf. You said it was my choice.”
“I’m not going to read this.”
“You have to. Your boss said so, did he not?”
“You’re just tormenting me.”
“I need to be distracted. I’ve read every book of interest in this library, save this one. Read it to me. Or will I have to speak to Barker?”
“That’s blackmail.”
“Call it what you will. Now, read!”
I continued. It wasn’t as bad as I feared. When the actions became explicit, the terminology became so vague and quaint that one found oneself wanting to chuckle.
A short while later, Philippa came into the room. I immediately began a long discourse on eighteenth-century literature. Fortunately, Olivia did not start or look guilty in any way.
“I know what’s going on, Thomas,” she said, taking me aside. “You need not invent a lecture on my account.”
I swallowed. “You do?”
“I suppose you must be about your duties and sometimes that involves being a bodyguard to young women.”
“Oh, er, yes, ma’am.”
“I propose a trade. I have a pistol in my reticule. I will watch Miss Burrell while you look after your employer. I cannot do a thing with him.”
Barker had seemed perfectly normal when I left him, I thought.
“What seems to be the trouble?”
“First he took a chair out onto the lawn and tipped it against the building, daring the killer to shoot at him. Now he’s sulking because his new friend has chosen not to come out and play.”
“He gets that way, sometimes, when things do not go his way. It’s as if he thinks any action is better than no action.”
She pointed a finger at me. “That’s it, precisely. Anyway, my nerves cannot take it another minute.”
“Very well. I accept your trade. I’ll see if I can get Mr. Barker out of the doldrums.”
As I left, I saw Olivia Burrell cross her arms and push out her lower lip. Let Mrs. Ashleigh finish the story, I thought.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
I found Barker sitting fully dressed on his pillows with his arms crossed and his feet straight out in front of him. I recognized the pose. Yes, he was brooding. Nobody ever talks about a brooding Pole or a brooding Chinaman, but Scotsmen are known for it. It was good that the weather was too warm for a fire to stare into or there would be no word from him all day.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“I thought you were guarding Miss Burrell.”
“Mrs. Ashleigh took over for me. She was armed and I didn’t want to argue with her.”
“She sent you here, didn’t she?”
“Sir, I am not going to be your Friar Lawrence. That’s from Romeo and Juliet.”
“I know where it’s from.”
“What seems to be the problem, sir?”
“I am thwarted. Lady Hargrave has not given me permission to view the contents of the safe, nor will she answer my questions.”
“Can you move around her?” I asked.
“No, not from where I stand.”
I considered the matter. I walked over to the window and dared move the curtain aside with one finger.
“In such circumstances, you generally tell me to go back to the beginning and start over.”
Cyrus Barker sat for several seconds without moving.
“You’re right,” he said. “In fact, I need to interview someone right now.”
“Who?” I asked, sitting down on my bed.
“You, Mr. Llewelyn.”
“You want to interview me?”
“If you don’t mind.”
I lay down on my bed, as he had.
“Sure, ask any question you want,” I said.
“That’s no proper way to conduct an interview. Get out of bed and sit there in that chair.”
I grumbled a bit. Perhaps more than a bit. I had just pummeled my pillow until it was comfortable. Not too cold or too hot, not lumpy or flat. Just right. Now with the greatest reluctance, I abandoned it.
I sat in the hard wooden chair he indicated. It seemed unnecessarily hard after the softness of the bed. He came forward and put the lit lamp on a table at my side. Right near my face. I could smell the hot metal and the oil.
“I’m ready, I suppose.”
“This fellow that you alone have seen twice, when did you first see him?”
“In the hall by the kitchen.”
“How was he dressed?”
“In a suit. Like a footman.”
“Did it fit him?”
I screwed up my face in thought.
“Can’t remember.”
“Describe him. In detail.”
“A little under six feet, well built, about thirty years of age, I’d say. His hair was light brown or perhaps dark blond. Light-colored eyes, blue or green. He had a mustache and a short beard. Very tanned.”
“Did he act out of the ordinary?”
“Far from it. I took him for a member of the staff. He was carrying a piece of luggage on his shoulder.”
“Was it a large piece?”
“I believe so. Is that important?”
“He may have been using it to conceal the rifle.”
“Ah.”
“What did he say to you?”
“I asked him where the housekeeper was and he pointed her out.”
“So, he must have known her on sight.”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“Interesting. Then what happened?”
“Nothing, really. Cesar and I went up to the housekeeper, and I didn’t notice where he went.”
I tried to get comfortable in the bottom-numbing chair. It was impossible.
“The second time you were outside, as I recall.”
“Yes, I was coming from a dip and I spotted him among the rocks on the west side of the house.”
“What was he doing there?”
“Just watching, I think. His hair was wet, too. He was sitting on a large rock with his feet dangling over the side.”
“How was he dressed then?”
“Workman’s clothes. He wore a singlet with braces. He had boots. Everything looked well-worn, from what I could see, and he held a rifle.”
“What was his manner?”
“Very relaxed.”
“He said hello to you?”
“Yes, after dropping a pebble on my head. That was disconcerting. With that rifle of his he could have shot me on the spot. He did not conceal who he was.”
“Why do you suppose he spoke to you, lad?”
I considered the question for a few moments.
“Because he was bored and wanted to talk to someone. And I suppose it was to say he had complete power and could do whatever he liked. He told me he was having the time of his life.”
I could barely make out Barker’s face in the shadow but he nodded. He agreed with me.
“And you just walked into the house unmolested?”
“Yes, sir. Rather hurriedly,” I said, thinking back to that moment. “I thought he could shoot me at any time.”
“Is there anything you can recall that you have omitted to tell me about this investigation?”
“There is something about Cesar.”
“What about him?”
“He told me they had been in London before they arrived here. I also found out he’s not Brazilian. He’s from Venezuela.”
“How did you learn this?”
“Mrs. Fraser called him a Spaniard and he confirmed it. Apparently she’s from Oporto.”
“Do you think it relevant?”
“To a Brazilian, perhaps. Not to me.”
“Did he actually say he was Brazilian or did you infer it?”
“He may have said he came from Brazil. That doesn’t mean the same thing.”
“True.”
“He might have been more obvious if he had been speaking in Spanish instead of English.”
“Or Gaelic,” Barker said.
“Or Welsh,” I added.
“Hmmm.”
“Any more questions?”
“I’m thinking.”
“Can I lie in bed while you think?”
“No.”
“Blast!”
“You haven’t earned your rest yet. Talk to me. Tell me about something.”
“Something. Um … The library is nice here.”
“I’ve seen it but I doubt I have the time to peruse it. Tell me about it.”
“It goes back a century or two, but the books appear to have been read, not like some that you see that are just for show. There are a lot of governmental journals and histories. Obviously, they are His Lordship’s. Lady Hargrave tends to read more romantic fiction of the Mary Barton variety.”
“Continue.”
“What can I say? There are books of all sorts. No foreign editions. Modern, as well as antique. There are a lot of journals, which must be difficult to deliver, a big family Bible on a stand, collected editions of Dickens and Thackeray. The usual. All in all, a rather enviable library.”
Barker raised a hand slowly and smoothed his mustache.
“All right, what have I done now?”
The Guv leaned forward so I saw his features lit one by one, like crags on a Scottish mountain awaiting the sun.
“Not you, lad. Me. It may have been staring me in the face this entire time.”
“What?” I asked.
“The family Bible, with all the records of happenings within the Godolphin family. What a dunderhead I have been not to have seen it.”
“Shall I bring it here?”
“No. A Bible that has survived for generations deserves its repose. Let’s go visit it now, shall we?”
We slipped out into the hall and began to walk. Barker has two ways of walking. One involves a heavy tread in order to appear imposing. The other is near silent. Both look the same but he is careful in the second to let his foot down easily and more economically. He has trained me to do it but back then my stomping was not as loud, nor my gliding as silent. I followed him down to the library, where he put a boot up on the bottom edge of the lectern and perused the old family Bible. Philippa and Olivia had gone.
“An early edition of the King James Bible,” the Guv said. “I must say I am impressed. This family is not nouveau riche. The Godolphins are one of the premier families of England.”
