On a Desert Shore

by S K Rizzolo

  “Where was the key at that point?”

  There was a pregnant pause. Then she said, “That’s just it. I don’t know. I wanted to check the stores before the footman delivered the teapoy, so I asked Hugo for the key ring. He was on his way upstairs to wash his hands around ten o’clock. He said he’d fetch it for me, but then we had a fuss when he couldn’t find it. Later he told me he’d discovered the ring on the floor of the dais when he was taking his guests on a tour and had taken that opportunity to open the teapoy and make sure everything was right and tight. I got so busy with my other work that I never gave the matter another thought.”

  “Could someone have taken the keys from Mr. Garrod’s dressing room and later left the ring on the dais to make it appear it was dropped accidentally?”

  She frowned. “Possible, I suppose. But I don’t know when that could have happened. My brother rose early to attend to some correspondence in his room. He went down to breakfast around half past nine and then to his study to see a messenger from the City on some business.”

  “The key was missing for several hours, until around three when Mr. Garrod found the ring in the hothouse? Could it have been taken from the dressing room earlier, say the prior night while he was sleeping?”

  “I doubt that. I saw him put it in his pocket after we drank tea, so he carried it up with him. Hugo is a light sleeper, Mr. Chase. Yesterday, when he challenged his valet as to where the ring could have gone, Fimber reminded him it had been in the writing desk at bedtime the night before. The servants and I looked everywhere for it. I myself checked the downstairs rooms.”

  “Who has access to Mr. Garrod’s dressing room during the day?”

  “Why, anyone. Fimber told me Marina had been in. She often enjoys a chat with her father. Occasionally Beatrice puts her head in. Ned is generally a slug-a-bed.”

  For all this woman’s readiness of tongue, Chase felt she fenced with him expertly, parrying his questions and telling him little, though implying much. “Was anyone else in the house that morning? Any delivery men or groundskeepers, for instance?”

  The beacon eyes met his. “Just Mr. Tallboys. He called to discuss a charitable project with Beatrice.”

  ***

  Beatrice Honeycutt confirmed this account when Chase stopped by her bedchamber. He could see the surgeon was correct in thinking she would soon recover. A decade younger than Tallboys and over thirty years younger than Garrod, she possessed the elasticity of youth they lacked. Though her face was drawn, he found her sitting up in bed and eating gruel as her maid hovered in the background.

  “I am pleased to see you looking so well, ma’am,” he told her.

  She pushed away the bowl with a languid hand. “I feel very fortunate. How is Mr. Tallboys?”

  “Much better today. Mr. Caldwell hopes he will continue to improve.”

  “That is a great relief.”

  “Don’t let me interrupt your meal,” said Chase.

  “I was finished. How is my uncle? Dare I hope he has improved too?”

  “No, ma’am. He grows weaker by the hour.”

  “God help him in his struggle,” she said fervently. “That it should come to this after all his wanderings.”

  “Did you return with him from the West Indies?”

  “I did and cannot tell you how grateful I was. How shall I describe the moment when we stepped onto land? My first impulse was to kneel and kiss the earth of England, giving thanks for having been brought safely through all our perils. We’d been pursued by pirates and were terrified out of our wits with the fear of encountering enemy vessels. Uncle Hugo was magnificent—nothing could daunt him.” She smiled at the memory, then looked grave. “Is everything possible being done for him?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, feeling again the guilt that this crime had occurred on his watch. “Mr. Caldwell has called in a physician to give a second opinion, and a competent nurse has arrived.”

  At his request, she dismissed her maid. When they were alone, Chase asked her about her movements on the day of the party. She had breakfasted downstairs with Marina and Mr. Tallboys, who had come to discuss his scheme to improve the religious education at a local seminary for young ladies. Beatrice had known nothing about the misplaced key ring until her aunt told her about its loss when they went to the hothouse to arrange the tables. This had been about eleven after Mr. Tallboys’ departure.

  “Did Miss Garrod accompany you?” Chase asked.

  “No, sir. I believe she went for a ride before luncheon.”

  He studied her. According to Garrod, she had enjoyed a minor social success during the season, or perhaps she had merely shone in comparison to her reclusive cousin. Now he caught a glimpse of that charm when she raised her gaze to his, the blue of her eyes deepening and taking on the richer color of her dressing gown. An interesting countenance with its strongly marked features, he thought, one that spoke of some substance. It would not do to underestimate her. Many women would have hurried into further speech, but she waited patiently for his next question. He said, “Miss Honeycutt, in the drawing room last night you expressed disapproval of your cousin’s ornament. Mrs. Yates had asked her to remove it?”

  Her face worked; a tear trickled down her pale cheek. “Poor Marina. I was rough with her. I am sorry for it. But she is obstinate, Mr. Chase. She doesn’t understand we have her best interests at heart.”

  He heard the note of falsity and was suddenly convinced that Beatrice liked Marina no better than Mrs. Yates did. He felt a pang of pity for a young girl who seemed to have no real allies, but he suppressed it. He must keep an open mind, he reminded himself. He pressed Beatrice. “But the bracelet, ma’am, why so strong a reaction?”

  “It’s like this, Mr. Chase. My cousin develops enthusiasms that we don’t feel are good for her. We think that wearing that ornament will only feed an unhealthy preoccupation with the past. It’s of West Indian make.”

  “Where did she get it?”

  Beatrice looked perplexed. “I’ve no notion. My uncle has a collection of Jamaican artifacts.”

  Now this was interesting. Hugo Garrod had reported that Marina harbored irrational fears associated with her background. Her family’s attempts to distract and shield her could explain the household’s simmering tensions. What if she wouldn’t cooperate? What if the behaviors had worsened? He was remembering the dirt and eggshells in her reticule. He addressed Beatrice again. “Would your cousin hoard such things for some purpose of her own? Beyond the bracelet, I mean.”

  “I very much hope not,” she said, her mouth prim.

  “Did anything in particular happen during the season to distress Miss Garrod?”

  “No, sir, not to my knowledge. You will have heard that her debut was not a success, but, as to why, we none of us have a clue.”

  “Not even your brother, Miss Honeycutt? I’m told he aspires to the lady’s hand.”

  “If you mean to suggest that he may be responsible for her conduct, you are out there, sir. He has been a model gentleman. None of this is Ned’s fault, I assure you.”

  Chase said, “But your brother has been at odds with his uncle? Mr. Honeycutt told me about his debts.”

  “I’m afraid that’s all too true, Mr. Chase,” she said, sighing. “And yet I do not entirely blame Ned. His wildness started with our mother who doted on him excessively and gratified his every whim. By the time she died, the seeds of his character had been planted.” Her eyes fell to her hands, which lay across the bedcovers. “Perhaps I am lucky to have been less favored.”

  Next Chase went in quest of the model gentleman himself. At first unable to locate Honeycutt, he was eventually directed by a servant to walk through a second conservatory, which led off the drawing room. On the other side was a billiards room, where he was surprised to find his quarry at play with Lewis. Wearing a pair of Turkish embroidered slippers with
curled toes and smoking a Havana cigar, Honeycutt looked annoyed at this interruption.

  Chase said, “A word with you, sir?”

  Lewis leaned his stick against the table. “Shall I go, Mr. Chase?”

  “For a few minutes. I won’t keep him long.”

  Lewis drew him aside to tell him that Penelope was resting in her bedchamber since a professional nurse had arrived to care for the patients. “She asked me to take note of anything that might prove of interest,” confided Lewis in a lowered tone. “That’s why I sought Honeycutt’s company. I thought you’d want me to make all smooth so that I could keep an eye on him. I still don’t like him much.” He wrinkled his nose to indicate his disapproval of the expensive Spanish cigar and cast a scornful look at the Turkish slippers.

  Just what Chase needed: a would-be conspirator who could be trusted to complicate rather than simplify matters. “Avoiding fisticuffs with the man is one thing, Lewis, but don’t strain your good nature. I’ll be glad when you and your sister are out of this mess. It won’t be long if I can help it.”

  Lewis caught this note of irony. He chose to ignore it. “How is Miss Garrod today? I’ve not seen her. She must be deeply upset about her father.”

  Chase considered his reply. From the moment he’d first met Penelope’s brother, he’d liked the young man, found in him a combination of integrity and quixotic ambition that reminded him of Penelope. But he couldn’t have Lewis interfering with Marina or coming between him and the girl. “Did Miss Garrod say anything to you last night about what troubles her?” he asked sternly. “I need to know.”

  Lewis hesitated, obviously unhappy, then said: “Ask her, Mr. Chase. You won’t expect me to betray a lady’s confidence.”

  “By God, Lewis, this is a serious inquiry. Your sister would be the first to tell you to cooperate. What if Miss Garrod should be in danger?”

  “Truly, she didn’t say much, but…you see, she made me promise.”

  Chase moved away. “You’d better hope she’ll talk to me.”

  When Lewis had closed the door behind him, Chase rejoined Honeycutt, who said with some constraint, “I couldn’t think of anything useful to do, other than entertain our guest. Mrs. Wolfe has been an angel in the sickroom, so I thought smoothing things over with Durant was the least I could do.”

  “Good of you. Answer a few questions, sir. Where were you between nine o’clock and about three yesterday?”

  Honeycutt lifted his brows at Chase’s tone and blew out a cloud of smoke before replying. “Asleep. I’d had rather a night of it with some friends the prior evening. I don’t think I climbed out of bed until after eleven. Had my chocolate, ate my rolls, growled at my valet, as I’m sure he’ll tell you.”

  “The rest of the day?”

  “I saw my uncle in his study and, at about two o’clock, went up to town to see about a horse. Stopped at my club, where I was detained rather longer than expected. That’s why I was late to dinner.”

  His account could be verified. None of it mattered much, Chase judged, except for the period when the key ring had gone missing. Honeycutt could easily have slipped down the corridor and taken it from his uncle’s dressing room, though he’d have risked an encounter with other members of the family or Garrod’s valet. “Who do you think did this, sir?”

  “I wish I knew. Look, I’m eager to assist with your inquiry, Chase. We must do everything we can to catch the villain responsible for this heinous crime. You should look into my uncle’s business affairs. One doesn’t achieve what he has without making lots of enemies. It could have been one of the guests at the party, for instance.”

  “It was someone who had access to Mr. Garrod’s teapoy. Most likely a member of the family.”

  Anger flashed across his face, but he said evenly, “No. It can’t be. Whom would you suspect? Me perhaps?”

  “No one in particular yet. Tell me one thing. At the party why did you go in search of Miss Garrod instead of into the hothouse for tea?”

  “I was with my aunt and Beatrice during the concert. Afterwards, we saw my cousin slip into the orangery with Durant. Hardly proper, was it? She was unchaperoned.”

  Chase opened his occurrence book and flipped to the appropriate page, thankful again for Buckler’s detailed notes. “Describe the meeting with your uncle in the study earlier in the afternoon. What was the argument about?” He quoted, “‘Raised voices were heard. Mr. Honeycutt left in a temper.’”

  “I’m sure you can guess. Word about a few post-obit bonds had come to my uncle’s ears.”

  A post-obit bond was money borrowed on the expectation that it would be repaid with substantial interest when the borrower came into an inheritance. It seemed that Ned Honeycutt had got himself into the clutch of moneylenders. Chase had always found post-obit bonds to be peculiarly distasteful, depending as they did on the ghoulish expectation of stepping into a dead man’s shoes. And what if the borrower angered the person who had the power to bestow the money in the first place? Casually, he said, “Not content to wait until the body is cold, eh?”

  Ned Honeycutt winced at this deliberate insolence, his amiability falling away like a cloak. “My uncle was angry, yes, and I can’t say I blame him. Nothing new, Chase. Uncle Hugo and I have had this conversation many times over the years. You can’t think I would—”

  “Poison your uncle if you thought he meant to alter his will? I admit it’s a possibility that has occurred to me. At the moment I can see a motive for you, or for your cousin Miss Garrod. The ostensible heirs.”

  Honeycutt regarded Chase with a glint in his eyes. “So that’s the way the wind blows. Marina’s a child, incapable of harming anyone. While I know you won’t believe the same of me, I can assure you of my complete innocence in the matter.”

  “Did Garrod say anything about his financial arrangements?”

  He tapped the ash from his cigar in a dish that sat on the edge of the billiards table. Leaving the cigar burning there, he said, as if suddenly weary, “Nothing outright. My uncle likes to play games. He’s had us dancing to his tune for years. If someone did kill him, it will be because of that. But it wasn’t me, and it wasn’t Marina. I told you before that she and I are as good as affianced.”

  “Mrs. Yates seems to suspect Miss Garrod of trickery and malice.”

  “Nonsense. The trickster will prove to be one of the servants with a grudge. Do your job and find out who it is, Chase. This person may be your poisoner.”

  Chase had already considered the possibility. Either the poisoning had nothing to do with the malicious tricks, or there was some relationship between the two that eluded him, unless their motive was to discredit Marina. But the attack on Garrod had to be about money at the bottom. So what was he left with? A mentally unstable girl who could have poisoned her own father? Or another person acting for reasons of his or her own?

  Garrod’s nephew had nothing more to offer, so Chase went upstairs to check on the sickrooms. As he passed his employer’s bedroom door, his eyes slid by the lintel—and stopped. With a muttered exclamation, he thrust up his arm, swearing as his finger snagged on something sharp. Chase worked his hand back and forth as he tried to yank out an object stuck above the door, and in an instant he had it free. It was a black feather that had been held in place by a rusted nail.

  Chapter Ten

  John Chase wrapped the feather and rusted nail in his handkerchief and put them in his pocket. He went downstairs to eat some cold meat and cheese in the servants’ dining hall while pondering his next step. He’d been able to tease a memory of his time in Jamaica to the surface. It had bothered him ever since Marina Garrod had emptied that pile of rubbish from her reticule at Vauxhall Gardens. Then the significance had eluded him; now a glimmer of understanding dawned.

  Finished with his meal, he glanced at his watch and saw that it was past two o’clock. He ascended to the ground floor an
d made his way to the morning room, which was tucked behind the drawing room. He thought about knocking but changed his mind, instead putting his head around the door. He saw an ordinary room, less grand than the more public areas he’d seen. A print of Nelson presided over the mantel. A low table held several books, a quick scan revealing that these included the Bible as well as works of history and botany.

  Dressed in a simple blue cambric gown that pooled around her on the hearthrug, Marina Garrod sat on a low stool by the empty grate. Today she wore her hair loose, letting it tumble about her shoulders in a mass of dark curls. Mrs. Yates would not approve of Chase seeing her alone, but he could not summon the will to care.

  “May I speak to you, Miss Garrod?”

  “Come in, Mr. Chase. Have you come to give me a report of the patients?”

  “Miss Honeycutt is on the mend, and the doctor believes Mr. Tallboys’ strong constitution will prevail. But I won’t lie to you. Your father is seriously ill.”

  “Will he die?” She cast him a melting look that made his throat tighten with emotion. Light filled the room so that the shadows had been banished; her face seemed open and vulnerable.

  Chase took her hand, bowing over it. “I don’t know, but you should prepare yourself for the worst. I must talk to you. If something—or someone—has been troubling you, Miss Garrod, tell me now. It’s my responsibility to ensure your safety and discover the poisoner.”

  Marina appeared to listen to the silence. “I’m not sure what I can tell you, but I’m willing to try, especially if I can help you find the person who has done this terrible thing. My aunt always wants me to take the air. Shall we go for a short drive in my gig, that is unless you object to being driven by a lady?”

  “I’ve no objection.” He stepped back.

  She rose to her feet in a graceful motion. “I’ll get my bonnet and join you in the stable yard.”