“No, she is in excellent health, Mrs. Brandon. Thank you for your kind inquiry.”
“Clearly you are not well, Mr. Palmer. Davis, fetch a glass of brandy,” I said, wondering what could have upset the man so. Davis immediately filled a glass but, rather than give it to Arthur, stood behind me holding it.
“Perhaps you could enlighten us as to the nature of your call, Mr. Palmer?” Ivy asked.
Arthur took a deep breath and began to speak. “I hardly know what to say, Lady Ashton. This news is so…so…unexpected that I am at a loss where to begin. Perhaps it would be best if you read the letter yourself.” He thrust at me a tattered, filthy envelope addressed to himself. I recognized the handwriting.
“This is from Philip?” I asked, wondering why Arthur felt the need to share his private correspondence. He nodded. I pulled the letter out and read it.
Palmer—
I do not have time for a formal letter but am in desperate need of speaking to you privately as soon as is possible. Tell no one of this note, especially Hargreaves. You do not need to respond; I shall take the necessary steps to arrange a meeting once you are in Africa.
P. Ashton
I read the letter through twice before looking up at Arthur, pacing in front of me.
“It is very kind of you to bring this to me. Seeing anything from Philip is a great comfort to me.” I touched the words on the wrinkled paper gently as I spoke. “Forgive me, Mr. Palmer. The content of this letter does not seem particularly remarkable. Perhaps I am missing something?” I asked.
“Yes, you are, Lady Ashton.” Arthur nodded at Davis, who moved to my side. “I received this letter in the morning mail today. It has only just arrived from Africa.”
“It must have been misdirected, I suppose.” I watched the faces of those around me. “Yet I don’t understand,” I said slowly, trying to comprehend what this meant.
“I think your husband may still be alive, Lady Ashton,” he said softly. “The letter isn’t dated, but it was postmarked in Cairo a little more than a week ago.”
Davis held out the glass of brandy. “I knew you wouldn’t faint, madam, but I thought that a stiff drink might be in order,” my butler said. I took the glass from him and drained it in a single gulp. Davis refilled the glass but I refused it, wanting my senses perfectly clear.
“How can this be?” I asked. “Weren’t you there when he died, Mr. Palmer?”
“Actually, I was not.” He paused and cleared his throat. “I’m rather ashamed to admit it, Lady Ashton, but we left him after he got sick. We all believed the fever to be highly contagious and did not want to be exposed. Hargreaves was the only one who stayed.”
“Colin?” I looked at Ivy, my eyes wide. “He alone was with Philip?”
“Yes, Lady Ashton. I can give you no explanation of what happened. You would have to ask Hargreaves.”
“You told me, Mr. Palmer, that Philip and Colin argued the night before my husband fell ill. Yet you left them alone?”
“We all thought them to be the best of friends, Lady Ashton. Friends argue on occasion. Given what we know now, I admit that perhaps we were foolish to act as we did.”
“What are you suggesting, Mr. Palmer?” Ivy asked rather severely.
“I hardly know,” he said. “All I can say is that the rest of us traveled to Cairo, where we waited for Hargreaves and Ashton. As we are all painfully aware, only Hargreaves joined us. He told us Ashton was dead and that the body was being shipped to England. Forgive me for speaking so bluntly.”
“There is nothing to forgive, Mr. Palmer,” I said, my mind reeling. “But if Philip is alive, why hasn’t he returned to London?”
“He was very ill the last time I saw him. Even a man in his excellent physical condition would be greatly weakened by the fever he contracted. It’s possible that he was not able to travel.”
“I find it difficult to believe that Mr. Hargreaves would abandon his friend,” Ivy said.
“As do I,” Mr. Palmer agreed. “Clearly we are not in possession of all the facts.”
“Is it possible that he left because he, too, was afraid of catching the disease?” Ivy asked. “He may have left Philip in the hands of the natives, who told Mr. Hargreaves that Lord Ashton had died.”
“It is possible, Mrs. Brandon,” Arthur said, his voice revealing that he did not think it likely.
“This is very troubling,” I said.
“I do not know what to make of it either,” he replied. “But I felt that it was important you see the letter immediately. I will, of course, share with you any further correspondence I receive.”
“Thank you, Mr. Palmer,” I murmured.
“You may keep the letter,” he said. “I hope it shall bring you some measure of comfort.”
We sat dumbfounded as Davis led him from the room. At last Ivy spoke.
“What do you make of this? Do you think it is true?”
“I certainly want it to be, but I do not know,” I said slowly. “I am overjoyed at the thought that Philip may be alive.”
“Of course you are,” Ivy replied. “Do you want to send for Margaret?”
“No,” I said, pausing. “I’m afraid she would think me silly to consider such a thing. I’ll tell her eventually, but not yet.”
“Shall I ring for tea?”
“Please do. This news makes me wonder about Colin.”
“What are you thinking?”
“Would Colin, afraid that Philip was going to expose his role in the forgeries, have left his friend to die in an African village?”
“I cannot believe that!” Ivy cried.
“It would have been simple for Colin to convince the others that they should leave. He could have waited a day or two and then gone to Cairo himself, assuming that Philip would die eventually from the fever. Why should he risk his own health waiting to see it?”
“What a terrible thought,” Ivy said. “But, Emily, why would he have left? He would have gained nothing by leaving his friend’s side.”
“Unless he had done something that he thought would ensure Philip’s death,” I said. “Perhaps the notes I found were meant to warn Philip that Colin planned to do him some harm.”
“You don’t think that Colin murdered Philip?” Ivy said, clearly stunned by the thought.
“I suppose not, but I think he may have made certain that nothing kept nature from running its course. He could have prevented Philip from taking quinine or something that might have helped him and then left, assured of what the outcome would be yet unwilling to watch the painful end. But Philip didn’t die, and now he has recovered enough to reach out to his true friends.”
“It seems somewhat plausible,” Ivy admitted. “But not entirely. If Philip did not die, whose body was sent home to be buried? And why would the native guides have gone along with the scheme?”
“Perhaps Philip knew what Colin had done and, as he began to recover, realized that his life would be in danger as long as Colin thought he was alive. He enlisted the help of the faithful natives—he was the one in the group who could speak their language the most fluently—who pledged their assistance to him.”
“But what of the body you buried?” Ivy asked, clearly captivated by my story.
“Maybe it was the body of a member of the local tribe who had recently departed life,” I said. “Maybe there never was a body in the coffin at all. Colin was the one who arranged for it to be shipped from Cairo, and it was he who brought it to London. We could have buried a pile of rocks for all we know.”
“Or a carcass from the hunt!” Ivy exclaimed.
“Excellent suggestion,” I said. “Still, it seems unlikely, doesn’t it?”
“I’m afraid so, my dear,” she said, watching a maid come in with the tea tray. I filled our cups, carried mine to Philip’s desk, and sat in his chair. Planting my elbows firmly on the desk, my chin in my hands, I sighed.
“If there is any chance this is true, I ought to confront Colin,” I said. “I
f he did try to harm Philip, his reaction to anything suggesting that my husband is still alive would be most telling.”
“But the letter specifically instructs Arthur not to inform Colin,” Ivy said.
“Yes, but assuming our speculations are true, Philip most likely wrote that because he did not want Arthur to get mixed up in this forgery business. If Philip is alive, he knows he cannot avoid facing Colin upon returning to England. It makes sense that he would try to protect Arthur. I shall send for Colin immediately,” I said, ringing the bell for Davis.
In fact, Colin’s reaction to the letter was not at all what I expected. He did not grow pale or worried, nor did he skulk guiltily out of the room. Instead he sat close to me, took both of my hands in his own, and bit his lip before meeting my stare and speaking.
“I wish, more than anything, Emily, that this could be true. Ashton was the best friend I have ever had. Losing him caused me greater pain than any I had felt before. But he is dead, my dear.”
“Arthur said you were the only one with him—that you sent the rest of them away. You made them afraid they would get sick if they stayed.”
“Yes, that is true.”
“Perhaps you were also scared of falling ill,” I said, wrenching my hands from his. “And you left him with strangers.”
“I would never have done such a thing.”
“You must have, because otherwise he could not be alive, writing to Arthur Palmer, desperate to speak to him, and clearly wanting to avoid you. Does that not suggest he feels you betrayed him in some way?”
“No, Emily, I do not think that line of reasoning makes any sense at all.”
“Perhaps you could suggest an alternative, Mr. Hargreaves,” I said.
“The only alternative that I can offer is the truth.” He stood up and walked over to the window. “Ashton had been more tired than usual from the time we left London, something we all attributed, if you will excuse me, to his newly married state.” Ivy gasped, and we looked at each other, amazed that he would say such a thing. Colin turned toward us.
“Don’t allow us to distract you, Mr. Hargreaves,” I said.
“He was not himself those last few days. Irritable, short-tempered, he argued even with me. In hindsight, of course, I realize that he probably had been ill for days. A camp in the African bush, no matter how well appointed, is not a comfortable place when one is sick. At any rate, the evening after Ashton got his elephant, his health began deteriorating quickly. Andrew Palmer brought out some fine champagne to celebrate the success of the day, but Ashton declined a second glass and retired to his tent.”
“Very difficult life in these camps, Mr. Hargreaves, with all this sitting around and drinking champagne,” Ivy said.
“Palmer liked to have as many of the comforts of home as possible in the bush. It was wonderful for us, but not for his porters.” Colin walked across the room and leaned against Philip’s desk. “At this point I still did not realize Ashton was ill. A couple of hours later, I decided to go to bed myself, and as I walked toward the tents, I heard my friend calling out in his sleep. I looked in on him and saw immediately that he was consumed by fever.”
“I sat with him all night. By the next morning, it was clear that his condition was serious. I spoke to the others. Having no way of knowing how contagious Ashton was, we all agreed that it would be best to minimize everyone’s exposure. They were gone before noon. I stayed with Ashton.”
“He suffered a great deal of pain, Emily,” Colin said, walking toward me and taking my hand. I pulled it away. “He could keep no food or liquid down and was sick repeatedly. He kept asking for you, and eventually I calmed him by reading the letters he had from you.”
I cringed to think of anyone, least of all Philip, reading them. Written entirely out of duty, they contained little more than impersonal reports on my daily activities and any news I had of his nieces and nephew. They certainly were not love letters that could have provided him comfort. I hated that Colin had read them, and I glared at him now.
“I do not have the vaguest idea what the letters said. I was exhausted physically and mentally. Ashton’s pulse was very weak despite his fever. We both knew he did not have long to live.
“As ill as he was, he kept speaking of you and begging me to promise that you would go to Santorini. But you already know that. Gradually he grew less coherent and spoke as if you were with him, always addressing you as Kallista. By the time the sun had set, he had lost consciousness and never regained it. It was the worst twenty-four hours of my life.”
“I’m so sorry,” Ivy said softly.
“So you see, Emily,” he began, taking my hand again, “there is simply no possibility that Philip is still alive. I never left his side. I watched as he took his final, labored breaths and did not release his hand from mine until his body had grown cold.”
“He could have been in a coma, Colin. You are not a physician,” I snapped, and pulled my hand away. “I do not claim to have an explanation for what has happened, but clearly if Philip is writing to Arthur Palmer, he is not dead.” I did not want Colin to think I suspected him of foul play so did not question outright his account of Philip’s last night.
“If, through some extraordinary series of events, he is alive, and I must say again that I cannot even imagine such a circumstance, don’t you think he would have contacted you before now? Surely he would write to you before Arthur Palmer? Think hard on this, Emily. None of it makes sense.”
It wouldn’t have made sense had I chosen to believe Colin’s version of the story; he was truly a clever man. Logically I still was not thoroughly convinced that Philip was alive, but emotionally I desperately wanted him to be. As I was in possession of no definitive evidence to support either view, I decided to hope for the best.
“None of us knows what Philip has been through,” I retorted. “To recover from an illness as severe as the one you claim to have witnessed would have left him incapacitated for some time. He may even have lost his memory. We have no idea who took him in, who cared for him. Whoever it was would have no idea of his patient’s identity.”
“Emily, it has been more than a year and a half. Be reasonable. I know how much you want to believe that he is alive; I share your feelings.” He stood again and turned to face me. “But it is not possible. He died in Africa from a terrible, savage fever. I cannot imagine where this letter of Arthur’s came from; most likely it was misdirected, mishandled, and delivered extremely late. I wish it had never happened. You should not be forced to face the loss of a loved one more than once.”
Now, as I looked into Colin’s eyes, I was certain that he was at the heart of this intrigue. He knew all too well that the first time I had faced Philip’s death, I had not mourned my husband. Colin’s cool demeanor and soothing voice seemed condescending and patronizing; he was trying to manipulate me.
“I would think that, as Philip’s best friend, you would insist upon thoroughly investigating this situation,” I said.
“Believe me, Emily, if I thought there was even the smallest chance that Ashton is alive, I would already be on my way to Africa.”
“I have no interest in arguing with you, Colin,” I said, dismissing him. “Please leave me.” I shook my head as the door closed behind him. “I thought perhaps he would show some guilt. Obviously I was wrong.”
“Do you think there is any truth in what he said?” Ivy asked.
“Yes, up until the part where he claims Philip died. His calm in facing the subject unnerved me.”
“I must admit I find it difficult to believe that he could have harmed Philip,” Ivy said quietly.
“Think of what a man of Colin’s status would suffer if exposed as having orchestrated a series of major thefts from the British Museum. Desperation has driven many a man to do the unthinkable.”
“I know you are right, Emily. Our reasons for suspecting Colin’s involvement in the matter of the forgeries are sound, yet the question of what really happened in Africa
still troubles me.”
“Perhaps all of our questions on that subject will shortly be answered by Philip himself,” I said, the smile returning to my face. “Colin’s story should not fluster us. We were naïve to have thought he might say anything else. Did we really expect that he would admit to abandoning his dying friend as he praised his own good fortune? Of course he would not. He has merely recounted to us the story he has told everyone since his return to Cairo after the hunt. He has had a considerable length of time to rehearse his performance. I do not think we should put too much weight on it. We would have been better to say nothing to him.”
“Well, we do know that the letter does not seem to have ruffled Colin’s feathers in the least. Clearly he believes that he still controls the game,” Ivy said.
“His confidence will prove his undoing.”
5 OCTOBER 1887
GRAND HÔTEL D’ANGLETERRE, ATHENS
Vardakas has introduced me to Pavlos Forakis, the dealer from whom he has made his recent spectacular purchases. Forakis assures me he can easily find objects of similar quality for my own collection. Have not yet decided what I shall do.
The ethics of collecting are sometimes ambiguous, particularly in this sort of a case. I have tentatively agreed to a rather large purchase—hope I do not regret it.
22
“I DON’T THINK I’VE EVER SEEN YOU SO DISTRACTED!” Margaret exclaimed as we sat together in the library discussing Homer. “You just agreed with me that Achilles is a superior male.”
“Did I?” My eyebrows shot up. “I’m sorry, Margaret. My mind is not entirely here today.”
“Is something wrong?”
“Not at all. I just miss Philip and find myself spending more time than I ought wondering what our life together might have become.” I felt more than a bit guilty at not telling my friend what had motivated these thoughts, but I could not bring myself to tell her that I hoped my husband was, in fact, alive. I still did not want anyone to point out the logical implausibility of such a thing’s proving to be true.
And Only to Deceive Page 18
