Hell bay, p.5
Hell Bay, page 5
“Is that the best you can do, Percy?” he demanded. “You know, you’ll never get good at this game until you practice.”
Percy was affable, and unformed, as is often the case with youngest sons. Eventually, he would choose the army or the church, or would choose a private life of his own away from the estate and its concerns. He was a baby-faced fellow with flaxen hair, and still had some seasoning to go through before he became who or what he was going to be.
This was part of my work, to get to know people by observation and brief conversations, and to develop fast judgments to present to my employer, who was working on larger, more important matters. Of course, my impressions were not always accurate, but I assumed they would be taken with a proverbial grain of salt. If I learned any facts that altered my opinion, I was quick to pass these along, as well. Meanwhile, the Guv carried all these facts and opinions around in his head and posited theories and gathered facts until eventually he answered whatever question he came for.
“What do you think, Thomas?” Mrs. Ashleigh said at my elbow.
“Regarding what, ma’am?”
“Will it be a successful house party?”
“Not if these fellows continue to play billiards instead of meeting these lovely girls. They are too diffident by half.”
“Not every fellow has your pointerlike interest in the fairer sex.”
“That is an unfair assessment of my healthy interest in women my age, and actually, that part of my life is now coming to an end. I have reached an understanding with a certain person.”
“Are you referring to Mrs. Cowan?”
“You know her?”
“We don’t generally travel in the same circles. I know of her. I’d like to meet her.”
“I hardly think a man of twenty-five years and a widow need someone to stand in loco parentis.”
“Don’t be precious. What kind of woman is she?”
“A perfect one, in my opinion.”
“She’d better be, Thomas. I have high expectations for your happiness in life.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“So I need not worry you’ll be on the prowl this week?”
“‘On the prowl’? I’m not some old tomcat.”
“Oh, no? Your mother named you, not I. As far as the feminine population is concerned, the sooner we marry you off, the better.”
“I’m doing my best, but she has a rigid mourning period to endure. Also, I haven’t broached the subject with Mr. Barker. He might not care for the thought of having a married man working for him.”
“If he says the slightest word, I shall give him a talking-to he shan’t forget for many a year. I plan to escort him down the aisle myself one day. Yours is not the only happiness with which I am concerned.”
I wasn’t certain whether she was indicating her own or that of Cyrus Barker, but I wasn’t about to enquire. I felt like one of the servants, who set out the hors d’oeuvres but are not allowed to sample one. Luckily, I had no interest, and that was not sour grapes. The trick was to convince Mrs. Ashleigh.
The Guv stepped into the room and nodded at me, before leaving again. I followed after him quickly.
“What’s going on?” I asked at his heels.
“The ambassador wants to see us.”
We hurried up the staircase and through a doorway with the kind of tall door one can only find in large estates. The room was actually a ballroom, a clear space encircled with chairs, but the French ambassador and His Lordship were seated at the far corner. Apparently, I was the topic of discussion.
“He is a rather small person, and young. Is he up to the task?”
“He is,” Barker said, which was about as close to a compliment as one could ever expect from him. “He has a knack for survival and he heals quickly.”
If I knew my interviewers better, I’d have remarked that my manners were impeccable.
“My man is still on the boat, Richard,” Gascoigne assured His Lordship. “I could bring him on land and even press my sailors into service. This is too large an island to be watched over by just two men.”
“Give them a chance, Henri. They have just arrived.”
The Frenchman chuckled. “Very well. I shall give them that: one single, solitary chance. Do not disappointment me, gentlemen.”
Barker cleared his throat. “Who is your man, Your Excellency, if I may ask?”
“You may,” came the reply. “He is Monsieur Delacroix. I can introduce the two of you if you wish.”
“He is formerly of the Sûreté, is he not? I recall the name. A good fellow.”
“He said the same of you, save that there were some questions about your past.”
Barker made no response. He didn’t seem willing to answer it at the moment. Finally, he spoke.
“He cannot have come all this way merely to sit in the harbor. By all means, he should come and see that you are safely settled.”
The atmosphere, so recently charged, seemed to suddenly relax. Both His Lordship and the ambassador had obviously wanted Delacroix to come up but were not sure whether my employer would approve of another bodyguard intruding on his domain.
“Lad, you are fleet of foot. Run down to the harbor and invite Mr. Delacroix up to the house.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, and undertook the duty.
Of course, I was curious to see Delacroix of the Sûreté, not that I had heard the name before. It hadn’t occurred to me that the Guv’s name might be known on the Continent in certain circles. I picked my way down the rock-hewn stairs again, then ran along the docks to the sleek-looking steam vessel waiting there.
“Pardon! Capitaine! J’ai un message pour Monsieur Delacroix!”
I waited while the message was passed on and admired the trim vessel before me. She was a steam launch out of Marseilles, and a corker she was, too, in powder blue above the waterline, and gleaming with gold trim.
Finally, Delacroix stepped onto the deck and came forward. He was a brawny-looking fellow with a shaved head and a yellow mustache. His neck looked as thick as my waist, though he was not as tall as the Guv. He looked at me with suspicion.
“What is it?”
“I’ve come to get you. I am Mr. Barker’s assistant. He wishes to invite you to visit the castle and see that the ambassador is safe and comfortable.”
The fellow readily agreed, and jumped onto the deck from the rail. He took in the view of the modern English enquiry agent with a slight air of skepticism, but kept his opinion to himself. He followed me up the sheer cliff, step by step, at my heels, as if wishing to overtake my position. Meanwhile, he peppered me with questions.
“How many are on the island?”
“Between thirty and forty, I should say, m’sieur.”
“How are the ambassador’s spirits?”
“He seemed well enough and bemused by the matchmaking which is going on around him.”
“How is Mr. Barker? Is he disturbed by my presence?”
“Not at all, sir. It would take more than that to upset his equilibrium.”
“Equilibrium. I like that word.”
He continued with the questions. How many guests were there? How many servants? They were the same subjects that Barker had answered for himself. Part of our occupation involves answering questions which anyone could ask. The other part involves outthinking even the cleverest of criminals trying to hide evidence of their guilt.
Inside the house, the two detectives met with a shaking of hands that would have crushed mine to sawdust. The meeting was in the library, a large, masculine affair, full of faded leather chairs, wood shelving, and books going back over a century or more. I could have whiled away a month there just reading, but though I’ve been in several large libraries like the one at Godolphin House, I’m generally in the middle of a case, and therefore unable to read anything. The other three men in the room seemed to not even notice the books. We might as well have been in the ballroom again.
Barker and Delacroix talked for half an hour, and then the Guv led him out onto the lawn, and pointed at the various structures and features of the island.
“Are you staying for dinner?” Barker asked. “I’d like to hear about your work at the Sûreté. I understand you worked with Alfred Bertillon himself.”
“I did, but I cannot accept the offer,” Delacroix said. “English food does not agree with me, and the cook aboard the Eugénie is preparing a sea bass, using a sauce we have created together. Food is a hobby of mine and I promised I would help him. Perhaps we can discuss it tomorrow.”
“Of course,” Barker said. Though he had a French chef of his own, he had no more interest in food than a dog has in catnip. It made no sense to him that one sort of food would be preferred over another.
“À tout à l’heure, m’sieur,” Delacroix cried, and we watched him cross the lawn in the direction of the harbor.
“He’s got a good reputation, then?”
“Very good. He solved several important cases, including a theft at the Louvre.”
“We’d better change for dinner, sir,” I said. “I’m afraid it shall be bib shirts and tails for the rest of the evening.”
His mustache bowed in distaste. I take back the remark I made about him regarding books. He would much prefer a corner of the library and a good book to chatting with a group of strangers.
At dinner, I discovered that Lord Hargrave’s cook, Mrs. Albans, was not especially imaginative. I suppose she had learned her craft from Mrs. Beaton’s Everyday Cookery, and she didn’t attempt the ones there that looked too complicated. Dinner was one of those meals where aspic was present in almost every dish. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t particularly wonderful, either. I wished I were with M. Delacroix aboard the Eugénie.
The seating was rearranged since lunch. I was placed with the disagreeable Mr. Kerry to my left, and Lady Alicia Travers, the aforementioned duchess. Kerry looked as if the island air did not agree with him, or he was getting a cold. He spent the meal sniffing and keeping his own counsel. Lady Alicia spoke the very minimum to me allowed by good society, while chatting volubly with the eligible eldest son.
At the conclusion, the women did not withdraw, according to Godolphin House custom, but since the day was fine and the sun was just beginning to set, we men stepped out to a circle of iron chairs in the garden for cigars. Each of us guillotined the tip of our cigar with a device brought out for the purpose. There weren’t enough chairs for all of us, but it was companionable enough lounging about in pea gravel, especially when Cesar approached with a tray full of small snifters of A. de Fussigny, and began distributing them about.
A fine cigar, a balloon glass full of cognac, a sun setting red as a ball on the western horizon. What more could one want?
There was a short, popping sound from somewhere and a cry of surprise from poor Cesar. He turned and I saw his face and shirtfront sprayed with blood. It wasn’t his blood, however. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw His Lordship’s cigar roll to a stop upon the gravel.
CHAPTER SIX
“Down!” Barker bellowed. “Everyone, stay low! Make your way to the house!”
It was the kind of voice that one obeyed without question, authoritative and harsh. It saved someone’s life, for the next we knew, one of the windows shattered behind us. I seized Cesar’s arm, since he was too dazed to duck his head, and pulled him inside, through the French doors. There was a crush as everyone tried to enter at once. The women inside were shrieking and the men pushing their way in and cursing, and there was complete chaos for a few moments until the Guv took charge again.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please step away from the windows. His Lordship’s killer may yet kill again.”
Now that I looked closer at Cesar, it wasn’t merely blood on his suit. Pink matter and bone lay in the folds of his clothing.
“It is some kind of expanding bullet,” Barker vouchsafed. “Guard the door, lad. No one is to go outside.”
“What about His Lordship’s body, sir?”
“It must stay where it lies for now, Thomas. Our duty is to the living.”
Lady Hargrave was wailing in Mrs. Ashleigh’s arms, having suddenly and inexplicably become a widow. Others were crying as well, out of fear, fear that in this case was perfectly justified. Did any of us believe Lord Hargrave was the only intended victim and his killer would now disappear from this remote island as fast as he had come? That did not seem very likely.
Barker murmured in my ear, but his voice carries rather far. “Go downstairs and inform the staff that their master is dead.”
“That should be my duty, sir,” the butler said, materializing before us. “I shall relay His Lordship’s tragic death below stairs.”
Partridge made his way down the hall with as much dignity as his frame could bear. This was a dark day for the family. I passed the eldest boy, who had collapsed in a chair looking stunned. The youngest was being comforted ineffectually by one of the doctor’s daughters. Some of the women were hysterical over seeing Lord Hargrave killed, and being afraid they might be next.
A footman arrived with a wheeled cart containing bottles of Scotch, Irish whiskey, and medicinal brandy. A good number of the party indulged. I’d have thought the need to keep a clear head would have overruled the brain’s need for oblivion, but I was wrong.
“Would you clean this fellow up!” I said to the footman, still holding Cesar by the sleeve.
Blood was beading on his pince-nez spectacles. The footman who had brought the drinks cart led him away. I made my way over to Cyrus Barker, who was speaking with the French ambassador in a low voice. Apparently the latter was still trying to convince him to turn the case over to Delacroix.
“I had no qualms with His Lordship bringing you in, but now that my old friend is gone, I would prefer to have my own bodyguard with me, particularly if there is a madman on the loose. Have you any idea who it is?”
“No, sir,” Barker said. “We circled the island looking for signs of habitation other than Godolphin House or the lighthouse, but we found none.”
“Delacroix will smoke him out. It is meat and drink to him. He has been with the Sûreté most of his life. Were you a police officer before you became a detective, sir?”
“I was a ship’s captain.”
“Well, there you are, then.”
One thing Barker never does is to blow his own trumpet. I wanted to tell the Frenchman that the Guv was the premier enquiry agent in London, that the royal family had used his services, that he was an expert in Chinese boxing and pistolry, that he could track as well as an American Apache, outthink the smartest of criminals, and that he was absolutely without fear when it came to stepping into a situation such as this. The ambassador would not know this, of course, but Barker was not about to tell him, either, which left them at an impasse.
“I have no objection to Delacroix protecting you, Your Excellency, but how are we to summon him? We are under fire, but the noise of the gun would not have carried as far as the harbor. I doubt he is aware anything is amiss.”
“Send this young fellow out to get him again. He is small and he can scamper behind the rocks until he reaches the Eugénie.”
If I had any sympathy for the ambassador before, it evaporated quickly. Scamper? That was his second remark about my size.
“I need him here. We are two protecting about thirty people. He needs to be at the back of the house when I am at the front.”
“I’m sure there are enough men to guard the doors while he is gone.”
“If you can gather the men to guard the doors, Llewelyn and I shall both go. We need to secure that boat. It is our only lifeline to the mainland.”
“Get Delacroix in here,” Gascoigne insisted. “He’ll know what to do.”
“Thomas, go get your pistol.”
I hurried downstairs to my room, unlocked my case and filled my Webley Mark III with .44 rounds. Then I went upstairs again, feeling at least a little better for being armed.
The curtains had all been drawn across the front of the building, and Barker and Partridge stood by the front door. The butler had a stout timber to secure the front door with. I noted it looked dusty. Until this very minute, I’m sure the island’s remoteness had been its chief form of security.
“Ready, sir,” I said. “How do you propose we make our way to the cliff again? There’s a tree about twenty yards away, and a large rock ten yards beyond that. If we move one at a time—”
“We’ll take the cart out again,” Barker stated.
This was why he was in charge and not I. Of course, if we lay low the cart would get us there safely, at least as long as the man out there with a rifle did not shoot the horse. We made our way out the back door and through the cluster of outbuildings to the stable. The horse had been put in its stall and was munching on hay, but at the Guv’s insistence, was put into harness again. It was a good-sized gray Percheron and I for one would not like to see it shot, but we had to warn Delacroix and secure the boat.
“Come help me, lad,” Barker said.
With my aid he lifted an empty barrel and placed it beside the driver’s board. He could sit beside it, while I lay in the back of the cart. The wood might protect us from a normal shot, but I was not fooling myself. The kind of round that had killed His Lordship would pass through wood, and us, too. I jumped in and with a flick of the reins we rolled out into the drive.
It was a pleasant evening and the visibility was excellent. Too excellent by half, actually. I’d have preferred a nice fog rolling in from the ocean. I lay in the dogcart, looking up into a cloudless sky, occasionally raising my head to look into the copse to the east. The harness jingled, the horse’s hooves clopped, the wagon wheels rolled over the gravel, and the wood frame groaned. I pictured in my mind a hundred times the screech of the horse after it was shot, leaving us stranded in the middle of the drive. I didn’t want to die in this godforsaken island before having the chance to find true happiness. I rather liked life, and though I had considered ending it myself at one point in the distant past, I felt very differently about it now. Having finally found the woman I wanted to spend my life with, that life had suddenly become far more precious. Perhaps because it had become precious to someone else.
