by S K Rizzolo
“That sounds most distressing, Miss Garrod,” said Buckler.
“It was.” There were tears in her eyes, and she raised a handkerchief to her face and staunched them angrily.
“How did this treatment affect you, ma’am?”
“I was never comfortable in society, sir. The rooms always seemed too bright and too loud for me. Too many richly dressed strangers who knew nothing about me. But this made it all so much worse. I’m afraid I disappointed my father with my awkwardness, but, indeed, I could not help it.”
“I am as certain that your father loved you dearly as I am of my own belief in your account, Miss Garrod. I hope you may take comfort in that.” This was not said just for effect, he realized. He did believe in the girl and wanted to help her for her own sake. He waited until he thought her ready to resume. The spectators weren’t sure what to make of Marina Garrod. She made a convincing witness, but there was something about the way she opposed the world that made them uneasy. From his long experience in reading the mood of a courtroom, Buckler could feel their doubts surging around him. The whispers grew in volume.
He signaled for quiet and turned back to the witness. “What do you think was the motive for these tricks?”
“To lower me in my father’s eyes. To make it plain to him that I could never belong here. And it worked.”
“You think this person would go so far as to poison your father? You can see why that would seem improbable to an unbiased observer. It must seem an exaggerated fancy.”
“I don’t know why! There must be a reason.”
“Miss Garrod,” he said gently, “it will be said that you are not to be credited because you have become disordered in your mind. It is known you take a powerful opiate to sleep. And you tell us that you have sometimes left the safety of your bedchamber to wander in the night, performing acts you only imperfectly recall.”
“Yes.”
“For instance, you destroyed some of your father’s flowers in the presence of Mrs. Wolfe?”
Her head drooped, as though her fatigue were suddenly intense. “I did that, yes. I was dreaming of uprooting weeds from the garden. It’s true I was not myself that night.”
“So you can see why this behavior might be questioned, especially in view of the recent tragedy at Laurentum? Why didn’t you tell anyone about your persecution and ask for help?”
“Why?” she cried. “Because I don’t trust any of them.”
Not a sound could be heard in the court as Marina made this pronouncement. Even the journalists had lifted their pens from their notebooks to stare at the witness in fascination. Feeling a sudden reluctance to continue, Buckler glanced at Chase, who gave a sharp nod. Carry on, it said.
“Your family?” said Buckler. “The family that has nurtured you and showered you with the gifts of fortune—and love?”
“They don’t love me. They only pretend and scheme for their own advantage.”
That was enough, Buckler judged. He moved on. “Let’s have it out, Miss Garrod. It will be better for you to answer these questions now rather than later. Did you take the loose beads from your necklace and crush them to make a powder?”
“I did not.”
“Have you any notion how the wild licorice beans came to be in the boiler room?”
“None.”
“You are on your Bible oath, ma’am,” he reminded her. “Did you tamper with the sugar or with any other foodstuff in the household?”
Marina’s lips tightened, and she gazed back at him somberly. “A wicked person did that. No, I was not the one.”
“Why did you leave your bed the other night?”
“I saw the light again. Mr. Durant and Mr. Chase saw it, too.”
Buckler could feel the attention swinging toward Chase, but his friend stayed by the coroner’s table, his expression impassive, though his jaw was rigid. Buckler also saw that Lewis had laid one hand on his sister’s arm as she leaned forward, intent on the questioning. Most of the spectators had probably never been out of England, and it struck Buckler how strange this encounter must seem to them. They would be shocked, too, by the young girl’s charges against her family. Most would deem her ungrateful and shockingly indecorous to speak these words in public.
“Miss Garrod, have any measures been taken to keep you from your friends or restrict your movements? Has your liberty been restrained in any way?”
“Never, sir.”
“Knives are not withheld from you, for example? No one has expressed a reluctance to leave you alone? You are not considered a threat to yourself or others?”
“Never.”
“In fact, you spent the last few months mixing in the best society and pursuing all the normal activities of a debutante?”
She smiled at him. “Yes, sir.”
Buckler bowed to the coroner “I believe that is all for the moment, sir, unless you have other questions to pose?”
He seemed uncertain. “Thank you, Mr. Buckler,” he said at last. “You have given us much to think on. The hour grows late. We will adjourn these proceedings pending the results of the chemical tests.”
“An appropriate decision, sir,” said Buckler.
“I own I’m ready for some refreshment,” said the coroner, stretching and glancing toward his companions. The jury brightened, the spectators stirred in their hard chairs, and conversations began to break out. One or two people got to their feet and began to edge toward the exit. Others remained to watch the final moments of the play.
Buckler put out a hand to help Marina to her feet. Chase, Penelope, and Lewis joined them, forming a tight circle around the girl.
“Let’s go,” said Chase urgently.
Tallboys was there too. “Marina, how could you say such things? My dear girl, I am beyond words. Come let us go home, where we can speak privately.” He pushed rudely by Lewis, sweeping past the journalists who, scenting blood, had started to converge. “At once, Marina,” he snapped.
Chase said, “Allow me to escort Miss Garrod. I am better able to deal with the riffraff than you, Mr. Tallboys.”
A few feet away, Honeycutt looked as if he was about to come to blows with the reporters. Chase strode over, grasped Honeycutt’s arm, and drew him away. “Do you want to figure in the press as the man who started a fight at your uncle’s inquest? Don’t be an ass.”
“Mr. Chase is right, Ned,” said Mrs. Yates. She wrapped an arm around Marina, but the girl shook her off. An arrested expression showed on the old woman’s face, and she shrank back, her eyes wide. At this, Marina began to sob with deep, hopeless gasps that seemed torn from her body.
Lewis said, “Don’t be distressed, Miss Garrod. A cup of tea in your own room at home will revive you.” Then he became tongue-tied, having realized the implications of this artless sentence.
Her shoulders heaving, Marina choked out, “I understood the kindness meant in your remark, Mr. Durant.”
Chase used his walking stick to clear a path, and they made their way out of the courtroom. With high-handed dispatch, he got Marina and Lewis into the carriage with Buckler and Penelope, jumped on the box, and instructed the coachman to drive on. A scowling Ned Honeycutt was left to accompany his aunt and Mr. Tallboys back to Laurentum.
***
As evening fell, Buckler and Penelope walked through a small wilderness of beech trees and followed the path, which led by a moderate ascent to the summerhouse. It was a stone, octagonal structure with a bell-shaped roof and cupola from which a statue of Mercury pierced the cool, blue sky. After pausing to admire the statue, they went up the stairs and stepped through a door set between Ionic columns. Inside they found walls decorated with paintings of the seasons and a row of windows that framed a serene view of the surrounding fields. In the foreground they glimpsed the corner of the farmyard and piggery; in the distance the city steeples blurred to extinc
tion in the waning day.
Having opened a window to admit the air, Buckler turned from a contemplation of the meadows to study his love. She looked tired after several sleepless nights, and this touched him and filled him with misgiving. He knew his duty: he must persuade her to leave Laurentum that very night. Even though the inquest was not complete, she had already given her testimony and was unlikely to be recalled. She would not attend the funeral, which was to take place on the following day, though Buckler himself was to remain in Clapham. Surprisingly, Ned Honeycutt had taken him aside on their return to the villa and had requested he make himself available in case the coroner should again summon Marina.
“You’ve shown you’ll stand by her,” Honeycutt had said. “Of course, we must give you a bed here in the meantime.”
“I am comfortable at the pub,” Buckler had objected.
“That won’t do. You’ll be pestered. I believe the journalists have taken over the place.” So Buckler had allowed a servant to be sent to collect his shaving gear and clean shirt.
Now Penelope said abruptly, “Did you observe John’s face when Marina Garrod was testifying? He seemed so grieved.”
“Natural, isn’t it? The girl has fought him at every turn.”
“I suppose you’re right.” She added on a tentative note, “The evidence against Miss Garrod is merely circumstantial and not very persuasive at that. Do you agree?”
“That’s common in poisoning cases,” he answered, carefully nonchalant, for he did not want to encourage Penelope’s investigative instincts on this occasion.
She sat down on one of the chairs covered in red silk cushions. Untying the strings of her bonnet, she removed it and set it aside on the table, a beautiful piece inlaid with several different kinds of tropical woods. As she ran her hand over its polished surface, Buckler watched the thoughts chasing across her mobile features. Her pallor and the dark circles under her eyes were pronounced, and he felt the urgent need to keep her safe. Recollections of that horrific tea party had been keeping him awake too.
Her hand stilled. “Don’t you think, Edward, that it’s all rather convenient?”
“You mean the campaign of suspicion against Miss Garrod?”
“All the stories intended to discredit her. The effort to make her look unbalanced. She’s little more than a child, certainly not a monster.”
He went to sit with her. “She was very adult today, self-possessed and entirely rational. But, Penelope, the deranged often seem sane. It is sometimes only on one topic that a lunatic reveals his mania. Reasoning well from false premises—that’s the essence of delusion. I have met such people. Once I was asked to defend a patient who had been confined to a private madhouse. It was one of the few times Thorogood was fooled into taking an unworthy case. The madman was that convincing. We lost on our writ of habeas corpus. The doctors produced witness after witness to prove his insanity. The man had threatened to stab his own wife multiple times.”
“You don’t believe that of Marina.”
“No,” he admitted, “but it is wise to be cautious. Don’t worry. Chase will uncover the truth.”
She seemed unimpressed with this response. “We must help him. You’re right. I would be better off at home, but how can I turn my back on John? You do remember all he did for me—for Lewis?”
Buckler concealed his frustration. Evenly, he said, “There is no we in this inquiry, Penelope. A murderer is at large. All the more reason for you and Lewis to remove from this house tonight. Chase expects it of you. I assured him you wouldn’t make difficulties.”
“And I won’t,” she replied, her face shuttering. “Tomorrow after the funeral will be soon enough. I understand you. The culprit is one of them. One of the family.”
“Whom do you suspect?”
“I don’t know. Mr. Honeycutt seems eager to leap to his cousin’s defense. Do you trust him?”
“No.”
“His sister? What a piece of work she is. Perhaps you as an unsuspecting gentleman cannot discern the spite behind her treatment of Marina, but I was conscious of it from the first. She both envies and hates the girl, Edward. That Mr. Tallboys is left Marina’s guardian, I understand, but he doesn’t approve of her either. And did you see how Mrs. Yates retreated from her in the courtroom? Not much love there, as Marina herself told everyone. Oh, I admired her in that moment. She is so young and friendless, but she spoke out on her own behalf.”
“Don’t you see that Lewis has become too involved with Miss Garrod? Aside from any danger we might have to fear, he’ll only be hurt. Take him home tonight, Penelope. If you ask him, he’ll go.”
Her gaze drifted to the open window. “He won’t. He’s every bit as determined to stay as you are that he should go.” She paused, turning inward. “Don’t you think I’ve been worrying and planning how to make a place for Lewis in the world? I curse my father sometimes for his sublime indifference, his selfishness. He leaves his infant son to fend for himself, never reveals his existence to a soul, and makes no attempt to contact him.” She jumped to her feet and took several agitated steps across the floor.
“Your father was wrong.” Buckler followed her and grasped her by the shoulders. “None of that matters right now, Penelope.”
It was as though she hadn’t heard him. “Then there is Jeremy. I don’t know where he is or if he might ever decide to return to us. Nor do I want him. I don’t think I could ever live in the same house with him again. I won’t have Sarah disappointed.” Finally, she looked fully at him, her eyes hard and bright. “I haven’t told you about my father’s letter. He is anxious that Sarah and I remove to Sicily. Well, I won’t go.”
“Penelope—”
“No, Edward. You want to help me, and I respect your opinion. But I must do what I feel is right. This is not the first time you have tried to direct my conduct, and it won’t wash. If we were wed—”
His control broke, and he pulled her closer. He was kissing her, and the blood was roaring in his ears. She melted under his hands until at length she raised her head to look at him, a glint of humor in her eyes. “That’s all very well, sir, but can alter nothing.”
He laughed and released her. “Even though I love you, Penelope?”
“You don’t fight fair, Edward,” she told him as she smoothed her hair and tried to quiet her quickened breathing. “You deprive me of my weapons.”
“I fight for you, always.” He paused, knowing what he was about to say would cut her deep, yet he must say it: “Sarah needs you. You can’t take the risk.”
Her face went white, first with distress, then with anger. Before she could answer him, the door to the summerhouse opened.
Chapter Seventeen
Lewis and Marina stepped over the threshold. Lewis observed his sister’s startled expression and stiffened in response. Damn it—it needed only that, thought Buckler, exasperated. A time or two recently he’d fancied Lewis had begun to question his relationship with Penelope, though he hadn’t, so far, asserted any brotherly rights. As the boy came forward, looking down his nose at them from his greater height, his newfound maturity was evident. Penelope was right about the determination; there was a pugnacious tilt to his chin.
Lewis said to his sister, “There you are. We’ve been looking for you. Mrs. Yates said you’d come in this direction.”
Hiding her embarrassment, Penelope answered him casually. “We were taking the evening air and happened upon this lovely summerhouse. Miss Garrod, is it wise for you to be out without your guard? Mr. Chase was most insistent that you be protected.”
Marina Garrod stood close to Lewis. She was garbed in a fresh black gown and a pair of delicate sandals, her hair confined in a dark braid that snaked down her back and twitched as she moved. She pointed at the door, where one of the constables trailed on her heels. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Wolfe. He’s there. I would escape him if I could.”
“Orders, miss,” said the man.
“Take yourself off,” cried Marina. “I have something to say to Mr. Buckler and Mrs. Wolfe in private.” She made an imperious gesture. “I can scarcely stir without that man.”
Buckler addressed the constable. “Why don’t you withdraw to those trees over there? We’ll leave the door ajar so that you can keep Miss Garrod in sight. Will that suit?”
“Yes, sir,” said the man, withdrawing.
“Won’t you sit down, ma’am?” said Buckler to Marina.
After she had consented, somewhat grudgingly, to take a seat, they waited until the constable was out of earshot. Then Buckler said, “Where is Mr. Chase? He should hear this too.”
“He’s coming,” said Lewis. “We just saw him on the terrace.”
Marina spoke. “Before he arrives, I must thank you for your assistance at the inquest today, Mr. Buckler.”
“I’m not at all certain I did you any lasting good.”
She studied him, and Buckler was sure Penelope was wrong to consider her little more than a child; Marina Garrod had a presence rare in someone her age. He couldn’t account for it, but perhaps she’d been refined, made stronger and brighter, by her unhappy life. “No, you did me good,” she said at last, “and I hope you can do something more for me. I want you and Mr. Chase to advise me.” As if on cue, they heard Chase’s voice calling a remark to the constables and his footsteps crossing the gravel.
“We are at your service, Miss Garrod,” said Buckler.
“I know you are.”
“Glad you’ve realized that,” said Chase who had entered at that moment. He frowned at Marina, nodded at Buckler, ignored Lewis, and cast a searching stare at Penelope. He stood at the other end of the table, a little apart from the group. This was Chase at his most forbidding: he was as tall as Lewis and twice as sure of himself. He was also laconic and resolute and fuming with irritation. His recent improvement in dress had vanished to be replaced by a half-buttoned waistcoat and dusty boots.
Marina didn’t flinch. “My one wish is that my father’s murderer be discovered. I can have neither peace nor safety until then.”
