Hell bay, p.13
Hell Bay, page 13
Invigorated, I swam back to the beach and donned my clothes again. When I was fully dressed I shook out my curly hair like a dog after a bath. Then I threw my jacket over my shoulder and began to head back. The beach was little more than rock and in places was no more than half a dozen feet from the side of the cliff. As I walked, something small, like a pebble, struck me on the top of the head. I yelped and looked up.
Not more than twenty feet above me, the killer was seated on a rock ledge. He was the man I had spoken to in the hall on the first day, when the guests and serving staff were getting acquainted with the inhabitants of the island. He was tanned and wore a singlet with braces, the shirt damp from his wet hair. No doubt he had had the same idea as I did a little earlier. He had a rifle cradled in his arm negligently, and was smoking a cigarette that looked hand-rolled. It occurred to me I was facing the ocean and there was nothing I could hide behind. I was a perfect target. But then, I live by my wits.
“Morning!” I called, waving to him.
“Good morning,” he replied.
“Enjoying your stay?”
“Immensely,” he replied. “The best holiday in years.”
“Is there anything you need?”
“Nothing you can provide me with, Mr. Llewelyn.”
“You have the advantage of me, sir,” I said.
“And I intend to keep it that way. Good day.”
I walked away quickly, my mind taking impressions. A British accent, well educated. He was tanned, but not around the edges of his shirt. He wore long pants, dark brown, stuffed into black boots, heavily scuffed. He carried the gun as if he were well acquainted with it. His beard and hair were slightly longer than the last time I saw him, and both looked a shade or two lighter from being out of doors in the sun all day.
When I reached the stone staircase leading up to the cannon and the outbuildings, I stopped because my heart was hammering in my chest. I’d cheated the Reaper again through my sheer foolishness. This work would be the death of me yet.
I hurried inside and up the mahogany staircase to Barker’s room, interrupting his thoughts. I told him the man himself was outside, and that I had seen him a second time. He jumped from the bed and retraced my footsteps outside, even faster than I had made them. Fast as he was, he was not fast enough. The stranger was gone.
The Guv crossed to stand right beneath where the assassin had sat, and then without a word began to climb. My route to the top of the cliff was more circuitous but far less strenuous.
“Here, I think,” I said, pointing to a spot where the grass and dirt had been disturbed. From just overhead I found a novel view of the spot where I had bowed to the fellow. It would have been a clean shot to kill me. The only thing I might have had to recommend myself was that I was unimportant and not a major target, though he had poisoned half a dozen servants, as well.
My employer bent and picked something from the grass—the fag end of the cigarette, which was still hot. He sniffed the burned end, then broke up the cylinder to get at the unburned tobacco inside.
“Shag,” he said, “with a bit of latakia for flavor.”
“I hardly call roasting tobacco over a fire made from camel dung ‘flavor.’ The stuff smells dreadful.”
“I did not invent it, lad. I am merely reporting it.”
“Shag with latakia. That’s a popular blend in London, isn’t it?”
“It is, but how did you know that? You only rarely smoke.”
“Sir, I’ve been fetching your tobacco for five years now. It would be foolish if I didn’t learn something about it.”
“True,” he said. “In other parts of the world, it is known as ‘British blend’ because we tend to favor it. Did the assassin look English to you?”
“I’d say so, yes.”
“Describe him for me.”
“Thirty to thirty-five. Light brown hair, short beard. He wore a brown jacket and trousers, with no tie or waistcoat.”
“Plus fours or long trousers?”
“Trousers, as I recall. Tucked into boots.”
“He still carried a rifle? A Sharps?”
“I’m afraid I couldn’t tell one rifle from another, sir.”
“You must remind me when we get back to give you a cramming course in rifles.”
“You seem rather certain we shall both return safely, sir. I suspect the fellow intends otherwise.”
“You can count upon both, Thomas. Be sure to put it in your daybook when we get back to the room.”
“Yes, sir.”
We looked across the expanse of the island from the harbor to the lighthouse on the other side. Barker climbed still higher to the top of the ledge and looked across open sea toward Land’s End and the coast.
“Nowhere to be found,” I said, merely to have something to say.
“I don’t suppose he attracted your attention to parlay.”
“No, but you know, if he hadn’t dropped the pebble on my head, I might not have seen him.”
“It’s as if he were trying to hide within his environment,” Barker said. “As if he were trained to do so.”
“Yes, I suppose so. Do you mean military training? Where are we fighting now? We’re out of Afghanistan, mostly out of India. There is the Sudan, but that’s mostly desert warfare. This is a far cry from the desert. Unless they are training at Sandringham or someplace, I don’t see where he could have picked up the experience.”
“There are a number of officers and ex-officers that hire out.”
“Perhaps,” I said, “but not generally against their own country.”
“I think the longer one is away from England, the more complicated one’s allegiances become.”
“Maybe he’s against the French.”
“Maybe he is in favor of money and not scrupulous about where it comes from.”
“I like money,” I said. “But I wouldn’t kill for it. It is repugnant.”
“Aye, to you. You have a certain moral rectitude which others lack. Having this lack could be most beneficial, financially speaking.”
“You mean killing for money? I couldn’t do it.”
“The more training one undergoes, the more one kills, the less difficult the next killing will become.”
“Precisely.”
“So is this fellow, Mr. X, if you prefer, is he here to settle his own score or someone else’s?”
“That’s not the most important question.”
I thought a moment, and it came to me.
“Is the person who hired him also on this island?”
“Ah,” Barker said. “Enlightenment.”
We climbed down again and began to walk toward the house. Naturally, my eye was scanning everywhere for the slightest movement. This fella had me as nervous as a fox. It occurred to me that in my excitement I had flushed Barker from safety into the open. If he were shot now, any hope of getting off the island alive would plummet.
“So how are we to find his client, if I may use the word for so horrible a concept?”
“By questioning everyone,” he said, pulling out his pouch.
Barker stopped to light his pipe. It occurred to me that he didn’t often do things subtly.
There was a pop and a whine and suddenly Barker’s head jerked and he pulled the pipe from his teeth. The bowl had shattered into pieces. It was his old traveling pipe, a meerschaum carved in his image. He smoked it on the first day of my employ.
Barker held the stem in his hand.
“That was my favorite pipe!” he thundered.
“Those he doesn’t kill outright, sir, he likes to use for target practice. I’m sure you can have another one made.”
“But I’d broken it in!”
“Let us step inside before he decides to do you real harm.”
As we trotted out of danger, the Guv turned and threw the pipe stem toward the woods in anger. I’m sure the assassin quaked in fear.
We stepped inside and climbed the staircase. There was a seating area near the head of the stairs with a couple of sofas and some chairs. Mrs. Ashleigh was seated in one of the latter.
“I thought we might risk dining together in my room. We are already disgraced, and I do not wish to eat alone.”
“As you wish. Thomas shall eat in the dining room.”
“I shall?” I asked. “Why?”
“To gather whatever facts and opinions you might find relevant and to use your presence to cast question upon their decision.”
“I see. It shall be a working dinner, then.”
“If you would be so good.”
“Very well, sir.”
I changed into my evening kit and went downstairs, passing the cart with Barker and Philippa Ashleigh’s dinner upon it. It was a tête-à-tête, so my presence was not necessary. I took my seat and greeted the sisters Anstruther, who seemed glad enough to see me. A few minutes later Kerry took his seat. He was shaking out his serviette when our eyes met.
“What is he doing here?” he asked.
I answered for myself. “I am a guest here, same as yourself.”
“Since your boss at least had the manners not to appear where he is not wanted, I assumed you would take your proper place at the servants’ table. You are hardly a guest and most certainly not the same as me.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said, adopting my best Old Etonian accent. “I am most relieved to hear it.”
“You are rather a fish out of water, Mr. Llewelyn. You should be eating with your master at least. Where is your sense?”
I smiled at him, as if we were passing pleasantries.
“Unused and packed away, I’m afraid. Like your manners.”
“See here, you little…”
“Mr. Kerry, you mustn’t confuse convincing others of your opinion with convincing me. If you said it was sunny I would reach for an umbrella.”
Kerry’s face turned red and he glared at me like the devil himself. I picked up a roll and began to butter it. Gwendolyn looked shocked, but Bella snickered into her serviette. Her eyes went large when he muttered an oath.
“Please, sir, not in front of the ladies.” I added, “I’m sure we can discuss our differences another time.”
“Hear, hear,” the French ambassador concurred. “By all means, let us discuss this matter later, non?”
“Of course,” Fraser murmured.
“Colonel,” I said, “have you located some new evidence regarding the case? Do you have any suspects in the murder?”
“I will be questioning someone after dinner, actually. Someone from inside the house.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him, but after coming so close to insulting one guest, I would not press another.
“Oh, good. I’m so glad to hear it.”
I turned and started a conversation with Bella as our soup was taken away and the turbot brought in. It appeared I would learn nothing new to take back to Barker.
“But Colonel.” Olivia Burrell, of all people, spoke up. “Who is it, what have you found out? I want to know who it is who has murdered my brother!”
“I really could not say at this point. We haven’t asked the man any questions.”
“Is it Mr. Barker? All the other men seem to be accounted for.”
“No, Miss Olivia, it is not Mr. Barker. It is not a guest at all. It is, in fact, a servant.”
At that point, he murmured something under his breath in that way that elderly gentlemen have. I wanted to ask him to repeat himself, but dared not. At that point, another young woman came to my rescue. It was Miss Bella Anstruther.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear that. What did you say, Colonel?”
“I said, young lady, that the person we will be questioning is my own valet.”
“I don’t understand,” Bella said. “How could it be your valet? What reason would a valet have to kill anyone?”
“Mr. Schroeder—Heinrich Schroeder—who has been with me for several years, is Alsatian.”
“Is that important?”
The ambassador spoke up. “I am responsible for trying to force Germany to return Alsace-Lorraine to France. Naturally, many people in that region despise me for trying to take their citizenship from them, but they are the aggressors in the conflict. And there have to be concessions.”
“Do you have any proof that he killed my brother?” Olivia pursued.
“None,” the colonel admitted, “but we were concerned for the safety of the ambassador, whom you will recall Mr. Barker was hired to protect. Mr. Schroeder had a gun. To be more precise, an assassin’s pistol, which can be hidden in the palm and shoots just one bullet.”
The women all spoke at once. “Oh, how terrible.” “Oh,” said both Anstruther girls, Miss Olivia, and Lady Alicia. Had she been there, Mrs. Ashleigh might have said the same thing. It was as if every woman when she was sixteen were taught if something frightening were mentioned at the table, one was to utter that word.
“Here now.” Kerry finally spoke up. “Little pitchers.”
It was another attack upon me but belated and ineffectual. I had won the table through being the first to show good manners. Sometimes one uses what one can. I pretended not to hear the remark.
The turbot gave way to pheasant, complete with tail feathers. I don’t generally care for animals that still look alive on my plate. I wondered if anything here were not imported from elsewhere. The wine was from France, the butter and cheese from Jersey, the beef and lobster from Scotland. I began to suspect that Godolphin Island was some sort of consolation prize. Someone had been banished as far away from court as possible, only they never realized the slight.
I wanted to press the colonel a little as to how his own valet was now a suspect, and carrying a gun right under his nose, so to speak, but I could not do so without making him look bad and me uncouth for asking.
What was it about the colonel that engendered everyone’s good opinion, so that even when he took over Barker’s position, so to speak, we still wanted his approval? Perhaps it was we felt sorry for him. His wife glowered beside him, stuffing herself full of pheasant, as if it were her last meal.
We finished with coffee and Bakewell tart. Mrs. Albans was not a very good cook, but her desserts were excellent, and I think well of any woman who makes good pies and tarts. Even the coffee was tolerable, as if, having literally left England, Land of Bad Coffee, the beverage had improved automatically. No more of import was said. Kerry tried to ignore me as we rose after dinner to separate from the ladies. Then something happened. It was small, and not very important yet, but it would be. As I moved to pass down the row of chairs, one of the women turned and regarded me. She had ignored me all three days, but I had somehow come to her attention as if I had dropped out of the sky. She smiled at me. Not to be ungallant, I smiled back. It was Olivia Burrell. If Mrs. Ashleigh had seen us, she would have thrown a fit.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It had been a long and eventful evening after an equally long afternoon. In fact, the entire day was full of tragedy, danger, and death, with little respite. My nerves were shot, and I’m sure I wasn’t the only one on the island that felt that way. All I wanted was a good night’s sleep. It wouldn’t come. I tossed and turned for half an hour. The thought occurred to me that perhaps there was information about the killings in Heinriche’s luggage. Nothing obvious of course, which could be found by flipping through his philosophy books. The Germans were clever. Perhaps a code. Pin-pricks in a book. A note inserted in the spine. Something. Since the whole house was abed, and I was awake, I decided to return to my old room for a look-around.
I made my way down the back stair to my room and began to let myself in. The door was unlocked. I was certain I had locked it myself. I debated going back and telling Barker that someone might be in my room, but it seemed like a lot of effort. After debating for a moment, I walked into the room.
We all know the nursery tale of the three bears: a family of bears arrives home and finds the rooms disturbed and a girl named Goldilocks in their beds. As it happens, someone had been sleeping in my bed, and she was still there. She even had a head full of golden curls, from what I could see.
“Excuse me?” I asked.
My visitor sat up immediately. Her blond hair without pins or bands cascaded over her shoulders. Her large eyes were blue, her skin pale, and her lips red as ripe strawberries. She was wearing a frothy nightgown held up by the thinnest of straps. They seemed too fragile to hold the gown, which might fall to the floor at the slightest movement.
“Miss Burrell,” I murmured.
She clutched the blanket, my blanket, to her bosom.
“Mr. Llewelyn, I’m sure you must think me the most forward of women.”
“I would think no such thing,” I assured her. “But what brings you here?”
She drew up her limbs, encircling them with her arms. I would pinch myself if I were not otherwise occupied, to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. Young men have notions of finding a beautiful woman in their beds, but that is what they are, mere dreams.
“To see you. I’ll be frank with you. It seems the only way. I need safety, Thomas. I may call you Thomas, may I not?”
“Of course. You say you need safety?”
“I believe I am to be the next victim. First my father was killed. And my older brother. I’m next in line.”
“That isn’t necessarily true, Miss—”
“Olivia. My name is Olivia.”
“Olivia, then. Your father was involved in international politics. There is little to suggest someone is coming after the family.”
She suddenly burst into tears. She was clearly overwrought. “I don’t want to die. I’m still young. I haven’t done anything yet! I haven’t been to Paris, for example. Last year I had the chance but I postponed it. What an idiot I was!”
“You’ll get to go, yet,” I said. “I’m sure of it. We’ll get this fellow, and everything will return to the way it was.”
