Hell bay, p.7
Hell Bay, page 7
“Should we confine ourselves to one floor or area within the house?”
“Only as a last resort, Your Excellency. I don’t want to give up territory if there is no need to do so at this point.”
Gascoigne stared at him as if still not certain whether or not to put his confidence in this strange Scotsman. With reluctance, he nodded. All of us stood and began to divide up the tasks the Guv had mentioned. Cautiously, I went out to secure the front shutters.
I wondered if the assassin were back in his roost somewhere in the woods, ready to shoot anyone who stepped out the front door. I even wondered if he were just obeying the orders of someone else and had little or no personal stake in what occurred here. I didn’t trust him, of course, but I trusted Barker, to some degree, at least. Surely he wouldn’t send me out to have my head explode like a Christmas cracker, I told myself. My head believed it, but my feet, the ones that had to cross the sill of the front door, they were another matter entirely.
One step. Two steps. At three, one might as well get on with it, or spend the rest of the day counting. There were large black shutters on the side of each window, probably to protect the house against squalls. The shutters were clipped to brackets mounted into the stone walls. I worked out that the clips attached in the middle to secure the window. As I fumbled with the latch, the window above me opened.
“Eh, Thomas,” my friend called down from the first floor.
“What is it, Cesar?” I asked.
“How does one reach the clip up here without falling out the window?”
“Very carefully.”
“Wonderful advice,” he said.
“You are tall enough. If you hold on to the sill, you should be able to just reach the edge of the shutter with your other hand.”
Cesar reached out unsteadily. Aside from everything else, he had to unlatch the window without being able to see the latch itself.
“What does it look like?” he asked.
“A hook with three prongs.”
He braced his left hand on the wood of the sill and leaned out as far as he could. The hook holding the shutter was troublesome. At one point, he shook his right hand as if it were growing cramped.
“Got it!” he finally cried.
Just then the window over his head shattered and he cried out as shards of glass rained down upon him. That is, he and I, since I was just below him. I ducked back against the wall.
“Are you injured?” I called up to him.
“I wasn’t shot, if that’s what you mean. First brains and now glass. What does this fellow have against me?”
“He’s just trying to frighten you. If he had wanted to shoot you, I expect you would already be dead.”
“I’m covered in glass,” he said. “Could you come up here and get it off me? I have no wish to be cut to ribbons.”
“I’ll be right there,” I said, turning. As I reached the entrance, a bullet ricocheted off the stone wall by my head. The assassin had grown bored and was amusing himself at our expense.
I brought an ash can to Cesar and began picking pieces of glass off him. He was bleeding from a few cuts and splinters, but he would be well enough with some sticking plaster and a change of clothes. When we were done, I went in search of Cyrus Barker and found him in the kitchen consulting with the cook over the inventory.
“That madman has shot out one of the windows up on the first floor.”
“Was anyone hurt?” he asked.
“Cesar was covered in glass, but relatively unharmed.”
“Your friend seems hapless, in my opinion. Do you believe the assassin is specifically targeting him?”
“Not especially,” I answered. “He’s missed him twice.”
“Did you get the shutters on the left side closed? The right ones have been secured.”
“Everything on the front has been secured except Cesar’s.”
Barker looked at me steadily, or least I assumed he did. “They all have to be secured. You had better do it.”
“Yes, sir.”
I climbed the stair recalling that Cyrus Barker’s previous assistant had died in the course of his duties. I had no desire to be a statistic for the next man. There were things I intended to get done now, things that didn’t involve getting shot on an island of which no one had ever heard.
I walked down the hall to the now almost glassless window. Barker was right. It had to be closed if people were to sleep in that wing tonight. We did not want the assassin to whittle down the area we lived in until we were confined to a single room. There was shattered glass all over the carpet and poor Cesar’s blood had stained some of the pieces red.
“All right, Mr. Whoever-you-are,” I muttered. “Take your best shot, damn your eyes. I’m going to close this window!”
I reached around the side of the curtain and through the glass to the near edge of the shutter, then tried to reach as far as I could. I almost reached the far edge. The problem was, the shutter was latched behind. Putting my head out quickly, I could see behind the shutter to the latch, but my arm was far too thick to fit. Probably the shutters were latched and closed with some kind of long stick from outside, like a lamplighter’s pole. What could I improvise here?
I left the hall and went downstairs where there were umbrellas and walking sticks in a stand. Most were far too thick for my purposes, particularly the umbrellas, but among them was a rattan cane as thin as a wand. They were fashionable a few years ago for about a week and a half, the kind that if one leaned on it, it would bend under your weight until it snapped in two. It was perfect for my purposes. Armed with my figurative slingshot, I went back to face Goliath.
Sliding the stick between the shutter and the wall was not difficult, but getting it to unlatch was. It wouldn’t budge. There was a slot affixed to the wall into which the hook was held. If I could jiggle it out of the slot, I’d be done. I tried as hard as I could. And again. And again.
A bullet came just then. It hit the brick outside the window, shattering it into chips and powder that got all over my suit. I was a tempting target, lit up in the dark. He was playing with me, the way a cat plays with a mouse. I leaned over, jabbed the stick in behind the shutter and jiggled for all I was worth. The latch came loose and I swung the shutter closed. One down, one to go.
I squeezed the stick into the other side and it came free almost immediately. I was pressed against the closest shutter reaching across when another bullet came, striking the outside of the shutter. When it struck, it knocked the breath out of me. My body went cold and hot and clammy all at once. I felt sick to my stomach. Stepping back, I examined my shirt. There was no blood. The bullet had not passed through the shutter. I supposed I had not been worth the waste of an expanding bullet.
Crossing the hall, I threw myself into a chair, and debated whether or not to have apoplexy. I heard the cart horse neighing for his dinner in the stable. The ocean was lapping on the beach and the breeze billowed the curtains in the hall. I would save the apoplexy for another day.
The shutter was still hanging open. I came back, pulled it shut, and latched the two together. Then I got away from there as quickly as possible. I went downstairs again and found Barker in the hall.
“The shutters are closed, sir,” I said.
“Good. You’re bleeding, by the way.”
“Am I?”
“Your cheek.”
I reached up and touched my face. A sliver of glass was in it. There was no telling whether it had been at the initial breaking of the window or later.
“You should go down to the kitchen and see about your Brazilian friend. They have taken him there, I believe.”
I went down to the basement. Cesar was seated and chatting with a housemaid. He smiled when he saw me.
“Thomas! I am good as new thanks to this angel of mercy. But look, you are bleeding, too! Sit down. She will tend to you.”
“There is a man out there shooting at us for sport,” I said. “He shot at me twice when I was closing your window.”
“I’m sorry. Sit. This is Brigid. Brigid, Thomas works for Mr. Barker, the fellow with the dark glasses. Have you seen him?”
“No, I haven’t,” she answered.
“He’s a big fellow.” Cesar turned to me. “Is he as dangerous as he looks?”
“Probably more so. There’s nothing he likes so much as a fight. It quenches his bloodlust.”
“How can such a man attract a woman like Mrs. Ashleigh?”
“I have no idea,” I admitted. “But they are devoted to each other.”
“That’s romantic,” Brigid said, as she pulled the sliver from my cheek.
“Ow.”
She smiled. “Be glad it wasn’t a bullet.”
“So, where does your Mr. Barker come from?” Cesar asked. “Is he from London?”
“Yes, by way of China. He has offices in Whitehall and a school for antagonistics in Soho.”
“He sounds a very dangerous fellow. I’m glad he is helping us.”
“No question,” I replied, standing. “Thank you, miss. I should go and look for him.”
I found him down in the front hall, talking with the butler.
“The hatches have all been battened down, sir,” I said.
“So, we’re safe within these walls, but we cannot stay here forever. This house party has been brought to an end, and everyone wants to go back home.”
“How? We cannot signal for a boat, sir,” I said. “The first man who tries it will be shot on sight. He took potshots at me while I was closing the shutter, but he wouldn’t hesitate if I tried to run a flag up the flagpole.”
“Agreed,” Barker rumbled. “By the way, the men have returned.”
“So, what do we do next? Shall we organize another expedition tomorrow with Colonel Fraser?”
“I think the notion of tracking him down with a large search party, culminating in the inevitable death of the assassin, is mere wishful thinking. Our adversary is too clever for that. However, if it keeps the men occupied, and gives everyone the illusion that something is being done, I have no objection.”
“But, sir, what are we to do? You and I, I mean? How are we to get at this fellow?”
“What would you suggest, Thomas? If I were not on this island, and their fate were in your hands, what would you do?”
I thought for a moment. “I would break the search party into two parties and perform a pincerlike move. He is but one man, after all. He could not fight two groups at once.”
“That is a capital suggestion, lad, provided he can be maneuvered into a spot from which he cannot escape. Don’t forget, however, that we endanger the life of every member of the group once they step out of Godolphin House. The men here are not hired soldiers or pawns to do with as we choose. Have you any other suggestions?”
“If we could barricade ourselves in the lighthouse, we could sound the signal to passing ships.”
“Another excellent idea,” Barker said. “Mind you, we endanger the life of anyone who arrives to save us, but that cannot be helped. There are thirty people here whom we must try to save.”
“You’re saying it is up to us, then, to find this fellow, track him down, and subdue or kill him,” I said.
“Aye.”
“When?”
“Later tonight. There is a full moon.”
“We’re going out in the dark to track this fellow down ourselves,” I repeated.
“He will not anticipate it and may be unprepared. It is the only logical choice.”
“What will Mrs. Ashleigh say?”
“Good hunting, I hope.”
CHAPTER NINE
“How did the hunting party fare?” I asked.
“There was no sign of our killer. As I said, the killer has found himself someplace to hide. The men are obviously disappointed. I believe they hoped to bag him as a trophy. Has anyone tried to get in?”
“No, sir. It was relatively quiet here.”
We went downstairs and found ourselves in an impromptu war council. The woman had drawn the returned party into the empty dining room, and was questioning them.
“Perhaps our hunt has sent him scurrying back to where he came from,” Percy suggested.
“I hope not. I want to kill that blackguard for shooting Papa.”
“You shouldn’t say such things,” his sister, Olivia, said.
“I don’t care. He’s got to pay for what he has done. That’s only fair, isn’t it?”
I looked across the table at Barker and saw a slight smile on his lips beneath that great mustache of his. No doubt he could offer a sermon on forgiveness but just then it wouldn’t be taken. For that matter, I have seen the Guv seek his own vengeance on at least a few occasions.
“Where could he be hiding?” Colonel Fraser asked no one in particular.
“He’d need some kind of shelter, I suppose,” Kerry said.
“Perhaps among the rocks on the beach,” the French ambassador replied, filling his glass with burgundy.
“You are being quiet, Barker,” Fraser noted.
My employer roused himself from his reverie.
“It was a reconnaissance expedition,” he said. “You men did excellent work, I’m certain. We shall try again tomorrow. If we are trapped here, so is he.”
“Perhaps we can outflank him,” Kerry suggested.
“Reminds me of the days I spent tiger hunting in Simla,” the Colonel added. It was his way, I suppose, to suggest that he was well traveled and competent. Barker had some scars that I was certain had been made by a giant cat, but he made no reference to them.
“It’s got to be some sort of foreign spy or assassin,” Paul Burrell stated, changing the subject. “My father was rather high up in the diplomatic service, as the ambassador will attest.”
Mrs. Ashleigh spoke up. “I can’t imagine why anyone would shoot Richard. He was such a good and gentle man. It cannot be for anything he had done. He must have represented something to someone. A foreign government, perhaps.”
“The Germans,” Gascoigne grumbled. “Or the Russians.”
Barker sat motionless and silent in the middle of the table, secure behind those smoky quartz lenses.
You sly beggar, I thought, looking across at him. You suspect one of the people at this table. You are evaluating everything they say.
“It is not fair for him to be struck down now, of all times,” Philippa went on. “He was going to retire next year.”
I did something stupid then. I looked over at Philippa Ashleigh. She was staring at me directly. Somehow she had gotten into her head that I was responsible for both keeping Cyrus Barker safe, which I was not, and for convincing him at some point to retire, as well. He certainly didn’t need the money. Rather it was the stimulation he craved. He was a natural manhunter. Being stranded here was torture to the rest of us, but to him it must have been a treat. If it weren’t for us, I had little doubt he’d been sleeping rough out on the beach somewhere, drinking rainwater from puddles and setting well-devised traps to capture his adversary, whoever he was. The truth was, I could no more control him than she could. I glanced away.
“Can we talk about anything but him?” Bella Anstruther said beside me. “You make him sound like a demon. He’s only a man after all.”
Colonel Fraser clapped his hands.
“Bravo, Miss Anstruther! Your father taught you well. A man this fellow is, and sooner or later men make mistakes. And when he does, we’ll pounce.”
There we were in one of the most unique and interesting locations in all the world. The grounds approached perfection, the house was sumptuous, the guest list of some interest, the food at least adequate, and everyone was having a terrible time. The thought of imminent and violent death will do that to one.
“Where is your mother?” I asked Olivia Burrell. She was an attractive and unwed young woman and I was courting disaster just speaking to her, but I hoped to have some news to give to Cyrus Barker.
“She has been given a heavy dose of laudanum. She should sleep until morning.”
“How is the family coping?”
“Our father was everything to us.”
“I’m sorry we are stranded here during your time of grief.”
“Obviously, that cannot be helped.”
I noticed her fingers were moving nervously on the table. She saw me look and spoke.
“Mrs. Ashleigh has organized an impromptu music night to help us. I’m trying to recall the chords to Edvard Grieg’s Suite no. 1.”
“We’re to have an entertainment?” I asked.
“She thought it the best way to distract everyone.”
Philippa caught up with me a few minutes afterward. “What can you do? Can you sing or play?”
“I can sing better than Mr. Barker, but that isn’t saying very much. I can’t play a note.”
“Ah,” she said, disappointed.
“I have won several eisteddfods, however, and have about thirty stories and poems memorized. Would Mr. Poe’s ‘Annabel Lee’ do? It is full of melodrama.”
“It would be perfect. Bless you, Thomas.”
Chairs were set up in the ballroom for the performance and a playbill created on a chalkboard from the nursery. Philippa would begin with some Chopin. Lady Alicia would sing accompanied by Mrs. Fraser on pianoforte. Colonel Fraser would sing the sentimental favorite “Loch Lomond,” then Mr. Kerry would attempt a romantic Spanish ballad accompanied by his valet, Cesar Rojas, on the guitar. Then I would recite from Mr. Poe.
That was the program. It went rather well, considering the circumstances. Philippa was quite accomplished. Lady Alicia’s voice was rather weak, but Mrs. Fraser’s playing was overloud, so few noticed. The colonel was a little off-key but he was such a charming old fellow that no one seemed to mind. By the end of his song it had become a sing-along. Mr. Kerry was also rather good, or so I supposed. It’s difficult to judge a song in another language. If he was good, his accompaniment was even better. Cesar was a bit of a virtuoso on his instrument, a pear-shaped Brazilian guitar. Not being musically inclined myself, I am amazed when people I know can produce such wonderful sounds from what began as a block of wood.
