Hell bay, p.20
Hell Bay, page 20
“Do I look like the kind that would come away empty-handed? Richard was a good husband, loyal and kind, but he rather spoiled her. He anticipated her needs and now she has trouble making decisions of her own. The situation has paralyzed her, in a manner of speaking.”
“I see.”
“Paul was like his father, another rock to moor to. Now she is drifting. She’s lost her taste for food and guests. She wants to sleep and think.”
“What about Percy?”
“Percy was different. Nothing was ever expected of him. He showed no interest in law, the army, or the church. He’s been acting in an amateur theater company at Land’s End. He is generally far from home most of the time.”
“Some men take a longer time to become what they were meant to be,” Barker said. I wondered if he were speaking of himself. “Sometimes they are the better for it.”
“I hope you are correct for Celia’s sake. And for Percy’s, for that matter.”
There was a moment of silence. I assumed the discussion was over. Then I saw Barker’s mustache bow into a smile.
“Yer having me on, woman,” he said. Sometimes I forget he is a Scotsman. “Ye have something.”
“Something,” she agreed. “I don’t know how helpful it is. You were looking for skeletons from the closet, were you not?”
“I was,” he said. “A whole graveyard if you can manage it.”
“It’s ancient history, I’m afraid. Not long after coming out, she met a young man from one of the other islands. He was from a good family, and local. She didn’t say it but I’m sure they were in love. They were engaged.”
“When was this?”
“It must have been ’55 or ’56.”
“And what became of him?”
“He was captain of the local lifeboat society. He was known for being fearless. He disappeared during a rescue attempt. Caught in some rigging, apparently. He washed up on the beach a few days later. The beach below us, to be precise.”
“How did she react?”
“She claims she went mad for a time. She was in seclusion for over a year. A doctor came over from the mainland regularly to check on her. It was two years until she was able to enter society again. Not long after, she met Richard at a garden party. She said she was attracted to his striped jacket.”
“How did you get this information from her?” the Guv asked.
“She volunteered it. She said she’d had two great loves, but that both had been taken from her. She had been with Richard thirty years, and it was not nearly enough. They were meant to be together into their old age.”
“And die together in each other’s arms?” he asked, a trifle harshly.
“That’s the dream, isn’t it? A long life and a swift death with no parting.”
“Aye,” he answered.
They stared at each other, sharing unspoken thoughts. I was distinctly uncomfortable.
“Did she say what his name was?”
“No. She avoided it when I asked.”
“Did she say anything else?”
“Nothing. I couldn’t ask any more questions without appearing to be obviously inquisitive.”
“Do you think I should question her now?”
“Not yet. Let me work on her. You know, she’s rather afraid of you.”
“This woman, who manipulated her husband into hiring me in order to finally meet me? What is she afraid of?”
“I wish I knew. Give me two days. I shall have her ready for questioning. You will be gentle, won’t you?”
“I can make no promises. Tell her that I only have a few questions for her. One in particular, in fact.”
Mrs. Ashleigh frowned. “If there’s just one, I can ask it for you.”
“Nae,” he said. “I want to be looking in her eyes when she answers me.”
Mrs. Ashleigh looked troubled for a moment. She set down the cards at the end of the table. “Celia is one of my closest friends. She has been there when I needed her. I hope you do not suspect her of some crime.”
“I suspect everyone and no one. I suspect myself of being especially dense at the moment.”
“You shall solve this matter, Cyrus. You always do.”
“I regret,” Barker said, “that I have embarrassed you in any way, my dear. It was not my intent.”
“You haven’t. Besides, I’m not a house of cards, to be blown over by the slightest breeze.”
“What shall we do now?” I asked.
“You see?” the Guv said, addressing Philippa. “The hound bays at the door, demanding sport.”
“I’d like to get back to London, too,” I said in my own defense.
“I have no doubt,” Barker said. “Lady Hargrave is being maneuvered by Philippa, so let us move on. Why don’t you speak with the kitchen staff and see if there is any missing food or suspicious activity?”
“Right,” I said. “I’ll push off, then.”
In my defense, let me reiterate that I was young. Young people, young men especially, take chances. They delight in their own physicality. They are overflowing with vim and vigor, and so they take chances. They do stupid things. In my case, I reasoned that since I was up on the first floor and Cesar’s room was in the basement, I would take the secret passage there. It would save me at least a few steps, and would provide a diversion. I had been itching to go down there again, but my time is rarely my own. Barker need not know, I told myself, which is generally how these things start, I’ve found.
I found the panel in the hallway, and spent several minutes looking for the latch that would unlock it before finally finding it on the frame. There was no sound, but the panel would suddenly open if pushed. I did and stepped inside. I was in a narrow passage. I stopped and lit one of the lanterns.
My way illuminated, I descended the steps. Going to the barricaded door, I tugged on the handle to see if it was still locked. It was, as was the crypt where Barker said the assassin had slept. Was he sleeping now? I wondered. Perhaps in the cave, or even at the lighthouse, on the other side of the island.
Everything seemed in order. Actually, that wasn’t strictly true. It looked in order, but something told me to be on my guard. A sixth sense, perhaps. I couldn’t say precisely. I thought I felt someone’s presence. Had I heard a sound? I swung the lantern about, but there was nothing to be seen.
“Hello?” I said, in the palpable darkness. Yes, I know. Ridiculous. If there were someone there they were up to no earthly good, and therefore wouldn’t answer.
I stood for a moment by the back panel of the bookshelves and listened. Perhaps it was someone in the library moving about a few feet away. I considered opening the secret entrance, but didn’t want to give some innocent person on the other side just coming in to get a book a fit of apoplexy. I turned about to head down the stair to the basement.
Suddenly, something seized the handle of my lantern. I was in the act of turning around on the narrow staircase. I saw a blur of movement peripherally. Then something struck the back of my neck hard. My heel lost its purchase on the stair and I fell.
As I said, I was young. But I was not indestructible. This body was not built for tumbling down stairs. I hit the stone floor below. Everything hurt. Had I been knocked out by the blow, I would have fallen easily and naturally. Instead I had been tense and taut, and so had managed to hurt myself even worse. I lay spread-eagled in the darkness, waiting to see if I had broken anything. The worst thing was, the blighter had taken my lamp.
My head was banging like Big Ben itself, and there were fairy pinwheels swirling in front of my eyes. The thought occurred to me that, blast the lot, I was going to live. I’m sure the assassin was going to be disappointed.
I didn’t know what he’d hit me with. It was surprisingly soft, soft compared to a cricket bat, for example. A cosh, perhaps: a leather bag filled with sand. I raised my arm, ignoring the pain in my elbow, and felt the back of my neck. There was a lump. Everything else in my body hurt, why should that part feel privileged?
One can only lie about on a cold hard floor so long. We are a race of doers. While the sun is up, we work. Slowly, I tried to stand. I hazarded this is what it was like to be ninety. Some muscles were willing to work, others weren’t. Finally, I stood. Now what to do? I asked myself.
I’d been attacked. I should tell Barker. He had given me an order, however, and he expected me to complete it. Anyway, I wasn’t about to climb two flights of stairs in my current condition. I fumbled with the latch and stepped into the lower hall. While I was shambling along the passage, I began to hear music. It was guitar music, coming from somewhere. Spanish music, unless I was imagining things. It grew louder as I reached Cesar’s door. I knocked.
“Entra!”
Turning the knob, I stepped inside. Cesar Rojas was perched on the bed in his shirtsleeves, legs crossed in front of him, with the round guitar in his lap. It had twelve strings. I was no judge but his playing sounded quite accomplished, reminding me of classical Spanish music, both courtly and fiery at once. He was smoking a cigarette as he played.
“Eh, Thomas! What has happened to you? You look unwell.”
“I fell down the stairs. H-hit from behind.”
Cesar’s eyebrows went up, causing his pince-nez to fall and dangle from their chain. He set aside the guitar immediately and led me to the edge of the bed to sit. Then he ran into the hall. A few minutes later, he returned with most of the staff, each of them armed with something. The housekeeper had a roll of gauze, the cook a bowl of warm water. The maid had a stack of washcloths and bottles of various patent medicines.
The next I knew, my shirt was removed, down to my singlet. My braces hung from my trousers. I was inspected all over. My knuckles were barked and bleeding; both my elbows were bruised; one shoulder was turning a yellowish purple. There was a cut across my nose. Then, of course, there was the knot on the back of my neck.
Every woman in the room managed to tsk at least once, as if I were a child who had fallen. Cotton was produced, and a half-dozen hands applied medicines, wrapped gauze, or tended bruises, while I sat, stinging from either the wound or the treatment. I would have enjoyed the cosseting of six women at once if I didn’t feel so bad.
In the middle of this, Barker strolled in. Of course. He raised an eyebrow at the scene before him. He had given me a simple task, and now here I was with an imbroglio. Partridge was looking over Barker’s shoulder disapprovingly. I was beguiling his staff and keeping them from their duties. Half naked, no less.
“What happened?” Barker asked flatly.
“I was struck from behind,” I said.
“Where?”
“In the passage.”
Hastily, I pulled up my shirt. One by one, my Florence Nightingales returned to their duties. Eventually, it was just Barker, myself, and Cesar.
The latter donned his jacket and put away his strange guitar in a case. He adjusted his pince-nez on his nose.
“I forgot to ask the staff your question, sir,” I said.
My employer gave me a withering look.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
That evening, he and Philippa dined upstairs while I sat below, among the regular guests collecting any tidbits of information I could find. The latter were few and far between because the atmosphere at these events was solemn both because of the danger and the fact that Mrs. Ashleigh had chosen to leave, while Lady Hargrave was sedated. The guests were left to fend for themselves.
When dinner was over, I went upstairs. In our room, Barker rose from his chair.
“It’s time for another attempt to make an ally of Henri Gascoigne.”
We found the French ambassador sitting with Colonel Fraser in his room with a brandy at their elbows. When we knocked and entered, Gascoigne frowned. Barker chose to ignore it, sitting down beside him. I sat at the far end.
“Good evening, Colonel. Your Excellency.”
“Evening, Barker.”
“I hope you gentlemen are coming to terms.”
“That isn’t your business, sir,” Gascoigne said.
He glared at us with those bulbous, unfriendly eyes of his. His forehead was large but his chin was delicate. He was very sallow. I wondered how much his countenance was altered by the fact that almost an entire country despised him and conspired to kill him.
“My business is to keep you alive, sir.”
“You’ve been sacked.”
“I’m afraid you haven’t the right to sack me, monsieur. You didn’t initiate the contract between Lord Hargrave and myself. As far as I’m concerned, I shall protect you until I decide not to.”
“You’re mad!” Gascoigne said.
“I have been called worse. Now as I recall, an alliance is in the offing between Germany and England down in Zanzibar. Bismarck has gunboats down there, but if we bring in our navy, it will prove embarrassing, since our royal family is also German. I suspect the RUSI will suggest a trade, such as the island of Helgoland for Zanzibar, which I believe leaves France out in the cold.”
“Hang it!” Fraser cried. “I was going to get to that eventually!”
“Meanwhile, the French explorer Colonel Montiel has been signing treaties with native kings all along the west coast and just about has the area sewn up.”
“How do you know all this?” Gascoigne demanded.
“I am in the intelligence business. Though my firm is small, I have excellent information sources within the British government. As soon as Lord Hargrave told me a treaty was afoot, I began gathering information from several quarters. I now owe a number of favors, but I believe I have sufficiently educated myself on the subject of Anglo-French relations. You, monsieur, have made yourself powerful enemies in Germany by championing Alsace-Lorraine’s cause for freedom.”
“I am from Lorraine. It was not fair that Germany should capture my homeland by force simply because a portion of the population speaks a dialect of German.”
Barker sat in that near immobile way he had, as if he were carved of wax.
“Le Figaro claims you have been attacked twice recently,” he said.
“Three times, Mr. Barker. This week someone tried to throw a bomb under my carriage. It is why Delacroix came along. All these attempts on my life have been by German students, all of them members of so-called university Mensur clubs. Are you familiar with them?”
As it happened, we were. They were fencing schools in Germany where students showed their bravery with dueling scars on the left cheek or jaw. These groups were conservative and heavily nationalistic. One needn’t hire an assassin when a teen would willingly do the work for free in order to be considered a hero.
“I have fought German imperialism since 1871 and they hate me for it. I wanted to work with England to curtail the imperial strategies of Germany, but until recently my entreaties fell on deaf ears. Richard, Lord Hargrave, was the first to suggest we come to terms.”
“I must admit I had my doubts,” Fraser admitted. “The French and English have been natural enemies for centuries. But now Bismarck has unified Germany and the kaiser wants more gunboats and as many territories around the globe as he can scoop up. A treaty between England and French makes sense in order to balance power.”
“The colonel and I were just discussing this fellow outside,” Gascoigne said.
“What is his game?” Colonel Fraser asked. “He shoots Lord Hargrave and kills Delacroix. Then for little or no reason, he stabs Richard’s son, as if in retribution. Then he kills the lighthouse keeper and tries to poison everyone. There is no rhyme or reason to what he does.”
“Oh, I disagree,” Barker said, showing his square, white teeth. “He is choosing his targets very carefully. His Lordship was shot, Kerry was blown to bits. Mr. Flannan was speared in order to incapacitate the lighthouse. I suspect your friend Mr. Delacroix was a kind of test. Our intruder wanted to try his skills against a famous fighter.”
“I cannot believe Antoine lost to anyone!” the ambassador said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Barker and Fraser could only nod in sympathy. Anyone can hold a gun and pull a trigger, but to take on a fighter of Delacroix’s caliber and win was another matter entirely.
“This fellow is strong,” I said. “He is resourceful, intelligent, educated, clever, and tough. He’s a very dangerous adversary.”
“Now I wish you and Delacroix together could have gone after him,” Gascoigne said wistfully.
“Perhaps that is why the man in the woods killed him when he did. Together you would have been formidable,” Fraser said.
“Wishing won’t save any of us, gentlemen. Tell me, Your Excellency, to your knowledge is there a bounty on your head? Has the German government offered any money that might attract a professional killer instead of the inept students that have come after you so far?”
“I don’t know about inept. I have been nearly killed twice!”
“A bad choice of words. I apologize. The question stands.”
“If there is, I have not heard of one. I think I know enough informants that if such an offer was made I should have heard about it. An anti-French assassination plot would attract attention.”
“However,” Colonel Fraser said. “If someone were to visit the German embassy with a plan that is in their best interest, they might encourage it and fund it afterward.”
“That is so,” the ambassador agreed. “If the plan failed there is nothing to connect it to the embassy. If it succeeded, they might or might not pay them.”
“There is a hole in your logic, however,” Barker said. “By shooting Lord Hargrave they drove you inside under stronger protection. It would have been far better to create conditions under which you felt safe enough to come out on the lawn, where you could be felled. If the assassin’s sole purpose here were to shoot you, he is going about it the wrong way.”
“So I am safe to go about my business?” Gascoigne asked.
“I wish I could tell you otherwise, but I still suspect you are a target, if not the target. It may even be possible that the targets are logjammed and by presenting yourself in public you will precipitate a slaughter. Needless to say, I would prefer to avoid that.”
