Hell bay, p.4
Hell Bay, page 4
We deposited all the bags we were carrying and went back to the back hall for more. When we were finally done, we prepared to go and get the luggage I was responsible for, but apparently his master had other ideas.
“He can find someone else to help him with his trunks. You’ve still got to put my things away. Hurry, man, or it will be dinner before you are finished! I want to make a good impression on the family.”
Cesar looked at me and shrugged his shoulders. I could tell he felt terrible to be leaving me in the lurch like this, but he wasn’t joking when he called his master a tartar.
“It’s all right, Cesar,” I murmured. “I’m sure I’ll find someone else.”
I patted his shoulder and went on my way. As it happened, a footman came along and helped me with the heavier steamer trunks, and I carried the other luggage up to the first floor myself. After that, I too began to unpack.
“Will you need help getting ready for lunch, sir?”
Barker looked at me with a furrowed brow. “I think I can manage to dress myself, lad. What a question!”
“What about Mrs. Ashleigh, sir? Does she have a lady’s maid with her?”
“Lady Hargrave is lending her one, I understand. There will be a place for you at dinner tonight, by the way. I insisted upon it. I don’t anticipate trouble, but I want more than one pair of eyes taking in impressions. Also, I’m perfectly capable of putting away my own garments, so kindly take your hands off my shirts!”
“Yes, sir.”
“What was downstairs like?” he asked, as he took the aforementioned shirts from me and began putting them in the wardrobe.
“Rather large, sir, and packed with servants. There are two corridors, one that appears to be for the men, and the other for the women, and a good-sized kitchen between them. I passed a pantry and a dining room for the staff, and any number of doors I cannot account for.”
“You will be sleeping in the men’s corridor. Have you been assigned a room yet?”
“Yes, sir, I’m bunking with Colonel Fraser’s man, I understand. I haven’t met him yet. I hope he doesn’t snore.”
Barker’s room was not exactly opulent, but I’m sure it was worlds better than mine would be. The Guv was a stoic and probably wouldn’t notice what amenities the room might contain for his pleasure.
“What impressions have you gained so far, Thomas?” he asked, looking through the curtain onto the lawn.
“Well, sir, the island is certainly remote. I can’t believe how far it is from the dock to the top of the cliff. Do you suppose that’s the only entrance?”
“A proper question. Let us find out. I believe a tour of the island is in order. Are you ready?”
“Ready, sir.”
“Come along, then,” he replied.
He walked down the hall with me behind as his tender. We went down the large marble staircase and there encountered the butler, a sturdy man in his sixties.
“Partridge, I’m Cyrus. Barker and this is Thomas Llewelyn. I assume you have been told of our purpose on the island.”
“Yes, sir,” the man said.
“I’ll try not to get in your way. If Lord Hargrave asks, we are circling the island and assessing any dangers we find. Has anything occurred recently to which you might draw my attention? I need as many facts as I can find.”
“Nothing of any import has occurred, sir. The guests are settling comfortably into their rooms.”
“Very good. Pray keep me informed. We’ll be back shortly.”
The weather was holding up nicely. There was a breeze, but it was offset by a strong August sun. I was almost hot in my suit. Just south of the great house were several outbuildings, including a stable. Imagine, a horse who spends all its life on an island the size of a thumbnail.
“When is the French ambassador due to arrive?” I asked, as we crossed a well-manicured lawn.
“He is due imminently. That’s why we are making a tour of the island. I’m hoping to spot his arrival from the top of the cliff. My word!”
“What?” I asked. He was regarding an old cannon.
“I suspect this was brought here at great expense a century ago to secure the islands from an invasion by Bonaparte.”
“It appears to have worked, since we are signing a treaty.”
Barker made no remark, being proof against my facetiousness. From the cannon I could see a structure to the south, standing black against the pale sky. It was a lighthouse built of native stone, with a small building attached. Barker nodded to himself as we crossed the lawn to it. The island was being kept in a manner that pleased him. Above all, he appreciates order. We opened the lighthouse door and stepped inside. Barker went across to the staircase and called, using a voice that had been trained on the sea.
“Ahoy!”
“I’ll be down in a moment, sir!” a voice called back.
In a moment, a small man with a wizened face and thick side-whiskers came trotting down to us with the surefootedness of a mountain goat.
“Sirs,” he said, pulling off his cap.
Barker introduced us and told him our purpose for being on the island.
“The name’s Flannan, sirs. Noah Flannan. Been running His Lordship’s lighthouse for nigh on twenty year. What can I do for you?”
“Keep a sharp eye out for vessels. Have you got a foghorn?”
The old man nodded.
“Good,” Barker continued. “Give a short blast when the French ambassador hoves into sight, to warn us all. Two blasts if you spy something suspicious, such as a boat circling the island. Do people occasionally land on the island?”
“Almost niver, sir,” the old salt said. “Has something happened?”
“Not a thing, Mr. Flannan. We hope it stays that way.”
“So do I, Mr. Barker. So, you’re one o’ them detective fellers?”
“Aye. Before that, I ran a merchant ship in the China Seas.”
Flannan’s heavy-lidded eyes popped open at the news that he was speaking to a fellow sailor. “I was first mate aboard a steam packet in the Indian Ocean,” he said.
The two fell into a conversation about boats and passages that went on for a few minutes. I willed myself not to yawn, but it was a difficult struggle. Fortunately, there was no ale in the lighthouse, or the tales might have continued an hour or more. Finally, the conversation ran down on its own, and with a nod to the lighthouse keeper, we went on our way.
A three-foot wall of native stone encircled the island. It was of indeterminate age and was dotted with lichen and moss. It masked the sight of the waves crashing against the shore below, but not the sound. From time to time a fine spray and even a plume of water shot up into the air.
“Rugged coast,” the Guv remarked. “Only a determined man could get out here on his own.”
“I don’t suppose someone could swim,” I said.
Barker shook his head. “Too rough and too far.”
“Is there a beach?”
Barker leaned over the wall and looked below. I did the same. It was thirty feet or more to a rocky shoreline. Anyone trying to land there would likely be dashed against the rocks.
I bent and picked up a rock. Holding it out, I dropped it over the side. It bounced once, twice, three times. Barker nodded.
“Let us hurry.”
We walked along the low wall for a hundred yards or more. We passed a tall hedge for part of the way, and when we reached an opening, we realized it was a maze. I took two steps into it, but my employer waved me back.
“We cannot afford to blunder about inside for our own amusement. Perhaps in a day or two. For now, let us skirt it and head on.”
We came to a copse of stunted trees and Barker stepped inside them. They were nearly impenetrable, but he pushed his way through them. We looked for any sign of a camp, but there was none to be found. It was slow going without some sort of blade to hack our way through. I was winded when we reached the other side.
“Are you well, Mr. Llewelyn?” Barker asked. Aside from when we were with company, he employed only my last name when I was not performing to expectations, such as being winded after a brief stroll in the woods.
“Never better, sir.”
“You’ve got a bit of branch on your lapel.”
I picked it off. Mustn’t look any less than one’s best, not when Cyrus Barker was about.
“We’ve seen the harbor. If need be, we can examine it more thoroughly later. Let us return to the house.”
“I don’t know if this is pertinent or not, sir, but when I was helping Cesar carry the luggage to Mr. Kerry’s room, we disturbed him doing something. He was acting strangely, as if he had something to hide.”
“What were his actions, precisely?” Barker asked, clearly interested.
“He was pinching his nose with his hands, but quickly reverted to adjusting his cuff link. Then he yelled at his valet for intruding on him without warning.”
“A charming fellow.”
“Yes. If Lord Hargrave’s daughter chooses him as a suitor, she may live to regret it.”
We returned to the house across another length of manicured lawn. I don’t know as much about gardening as I should—Barker will attest to that—but this one seemed to be growing despite adverse conditions. I wondered if there was a well or whether they were dependent on rainwater for these lawns. As we came closer to the house I saw a kitchen garden with some cold frames by a potting shed. As we approached, the gardener stepped out of it. We introduced ourselves and fell into conversation. It is an art form to question someone without their knowing they are being pumped for information.
Andy Corvin was a solidly built fellow, clean shaven, with a tweed cap. He had a strong Cornish accent and appeared uncomfortable talking to outsiders, even if we were hired especially. He was the sort of outdoor servant that tugged on his cap after every sentence, as if hoping each one would be the last.
“This is quite a garden,” Barker said. “Do you manage it all alone?”
“Sometimes one of the footmen or the houseboy lends a hand, but for the most part, I do it all.”
“Where do you get your water?” I asked.
“We keep barrels of rainwater. When it rains here, it comes on fast. I have installed guttering on all the outbuildings, and when a barrel gets full, I switch it out for an empty one.”
“That cannot be easy for you.”
“We do what needs must,” he replied.
“This is an idyllic spot, if I may say it, and much of it is due to you. Do you ever have unwanted visitors?”
The gardener looked at us with a saturnine brow as if to say he was dealing with two at that very moment.
“Nay. We have posted signs among the rocks: ‘Private Property, No Trespassing.’ One can only land safely at the dock, and the very few that have arrived unbidden have been given short shrift, and a boot in the posterior if ’tis called for.”
“How is your relationship with the neighboring islands?” Barker asked.
“Good. We’re seen as a local industry, so to speak. They provide everything for us from beer to flowers, but only upon request.”
“How do you get word to them? I see no sign of a telegraph wire.”
Barker and I already knew the answer to this, but he tried to confirm each fact a second time, if possible.
“At night we can change the pattern of our lighthouse signal. In the day, there is a flagpole on the north side of the island. We run a red flag up it and a passing boat usually sees it within a couple of hours.”
“Not a very efficient system,” the Guv observed.
The gardener shrugged his burly shoulders. “It’s worked for the last hundred years.”
We had accidentally criticized an island tradition, but then, my employer is not famous for his tact.
“We’ll leave you to your work, then,” the Guv said.
I was ready to return to the house, but Barker poked his blunt nose into every outbuilding that wasn’t locked. There was a bunkhouse for the young male staff, a chicken coop, and a stone stable for the horse that had pulled our cart. All of it was hard-won, carried across the sea from Land’s End, bit by bit, over the centuries.
We returned to the house. Partridge stood in the hall, awaiting our arrival, as if we were young masters larking about on the lawn.
“Lunch will be served in ten minutes, gentlemen.”
I was suddenly famished.
CHAPTER FIVE
We hurried to change, both because this was the sort of place where one changed often, and because we had just been traipsing all over the island. As if by common consent, we both chose tweeds. Mine was a sober gray, but Barker looked like a squire in a brown Norfolk jacket and plus fours. When we found Mrs. Ashleigh, she was wearing a yellow dress with large leg-o’-mutton sleeves. On some women it would have looked wrong, but with her beauty and sweetness, she carried it off, I thought. We went down to lunch.
To my mind, nothing said that we were staying in an actual castle more than the fact that the dining table seated twenty. It was not a number of tables put together, or even two smaller ones abutted, but one table, whose top was planed from a single giant trunk. There were place cards set beside the beautiful and ancient service, and like the others, I searched for my name. I found it between the two young and attractive women Mrs. Ashleigh had warned me about. They were similar looking enough to make me wonder if they were twins, though one had brown hair and the other a coppery red that made Philippa’s look pale by comparison. Bella was the brunette and Gwendolyn the redhead. I introduced myself to Gwendolyn, who seemed willing to talk with a lowly assistant who had narrowly missed being assigned to the servants’ table.
“Our father is at the other end of the table, talking with that man in the tinted spectacles,” Bella, the dark-haired one, told me.
“That is my employer, Mr. Barker.”
“Who is the fashionably dressed woman beside me? I adore her dress.”
“That’s Mrs. Ashleigh. She’s a friend of Lady Celia’s.”
“My father’s a doctor. His Lordship’s doctor, actually. They are old friends, as well. I suppose you’ve heard the purpose of this little house party. I don’t mind being shown off like a prize Hereford, but I wish the playing field were more even. There’s a girl at the other end who is a duchess.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I suspect you can hold your own.”
“Gallant,” she said, smiling. “I like that.”
I looked over and caught Mrs. Ashleigh’s eye. She gave me a look that could chill water. I turned to the other sister.
“Hello. My name is Thomas Llewelyn.”
“So I assumed from your place card. Tell me, are you animal, vegetable, or mineral?”
“In what sense?”
“Were you brought here for matrimonial purposes, or the other?”
“What other?”
She adjusted her serviette on her lap. “The French ambassador doesn’t generally arrive to give his benediction on mating rituals. So, which are you?”
“The ‘other,’ I’m afraid.”
“That means you’re off the shelf. Gwendolyn will be pleased.”
The two girls could not be less alike. Gwendolyn was flirtatious and vivacious, while Bella was dry and ironic. I suspected she was also nearsighted. When not under marital scrutiny, she must wear spectacles. How did she know about the “other”? I would have to inform Barker that the word was out.
Were I to describe every dish as it arrived this book would become a doorstop like one of Mr. James’s novels. Nothing particular occurred, save that the people there became better acquainted. I worked out that Miss Anstruther was correct. We were at the unfashionable end of the table. The real contenders in the race to the altar were on the other end. Perhaps the good doctor and his daughters were brought in at the last moment to fill every chair.
A few hours later, the lighthouse keeper, Flannan, alerted us to the arrival of the French ambassador. A small bell was mounted outside the lighthouse and he rang it loud enough for the island to hear. A good portion of the island’s inhabitants went down to see him disembark.
We were in charge of security, if none but us knew it, and so were on hand and in the crowd when he arrived. He was a disappointment, unfortunately. I don’t know what I was expecting—Napoleon, perhaps—but not this ordinary-looking, middle-aged man. Henri Gascoigne sported an imperial mustache and curling hair, but he had bulbous eyes and looked a trifle seasick.
“Henri!” His Lordship cried, shaking the man’s hand like it was a pump handle. “So glad you could come!”
“It is good to see you again, old friend.”
Lord Hargrave introduced him to many of the people present as we climbed the steps up to the cliff level. One of them was Cyrus Barker.
“M’sieur Barker, I should like to speak with you after we are settled.”
“I’m at your service, sir,” Barker rumbled in that deep, chiseled way of his.
We returned in some disorder. Apparently, at least some of the guests did not know about a foreign celebrity coming to the island. Left to their own devices, the party spread out across the castle in groups of two or three, or singly, the women and the men gossiping about the new arrival.
My heart finally belonged to someone, but my eyes noted that the duchess, Lady Alicia, was young and presentable and a fine choice to be cast in front of the heir and his younger brother. I presumed Cesar’s master had been brought here to dangle in front of Miss Burrell. If so, I could not say much for the family’s taste in suitable mates, old family friend though Kerry might be.
All the party was suitably impressed by the ambassador, who was an old hand at talking to people in a social setting. He flattered the women, and treated the men as if they were valued companions. What’s more, he quickly learned the names of everyone in the room.
I was talked into a game of billiards with the youngest son, Percy, after which I watched another between the two brothers. It has always amazed me the differences in personality between brothers who grow up together. The eldest, Paul, was a good-looking fellow in his early thirties, and seemed quite capable to eventually step into his father’s shoes. He bullied his brother during the game but no more than I have received at my own brother’s hand.
