On a Desert Shore

by S K Rizzolo

  Exasperated, he punched his pillow into shape and stilled his breathing. This time, instead of the rocking sensation jarring him awake, he relaxed into it and felt a sudden joy as the deck of a ship heaved beneath his feet. He rarely thought about his navy days—such thoughts were too sore, to be put doggedly aside. Now he raised a hand to his brow to shield his eyes from the glare and strode smoothly to the helm, conscious that he felt no pain, only ease and rightness. His son Jonathan, the boy he’d never met, was at his side, and Chase was teaching him how to make his calculations and steer the little craft. In the dream, Jonathan called a remark, and Chase threw one arm about his son’s shoulder and set the other on the tiller.

  After that he must have slept for an hour or two until a scream tore through the silence.

  ***

  Doors banged open. Voices called out. John Chase lit a candle and hobbled down the corridor. He launched himself down the stairs at an unsafe pace, using the banister for balance. On the first floor landing, all was dark except for the prick of another candle, which cast a circle of illumination on the people clustered around Marina Garrod’s open door. Chase saw Lewis, Penelope, Buckler, Beatrice Honeycutt, and a few servants looking on.

  “John!” called Penelope.

  “What’s happened?”

  “I don’t know. Mr. Honeycutt just went in to see.”

  When Chase pushed into the room, he found Ned Honeycutt looming over his cousin. Marina sat bolt upright in the center of the bed. She appeared drained of identity in the dimness, her features blurred by terror and the remains of sleep. Before Chase could intervene, Honeycutt had dealt her a slap across the face. She cradled her cheek and stared at him, too shocked to cry.

  Rage exploded in Chase. He grabbed Honeycutt by the scruff of his nightshirt, spinning him on his heels. His fist smashed into the other man’s jaw, and blood from his lip spurted over Chase’s hand. Chase drew back to hit him a second time but stopped. He let go, stepping back. At that moment, Lewis rushed into the room. He gave a cry and threw himself on Honeycutt to rain down more blows.

  Edward Buckler was there too. “Enough,” he roared, dragging Lewis away. Lewis eyed him, unrepentant, then looked toward his sister. She was kneeling on the floor at the foot of the bed, where the housekeeper Anne Yates huddled in an untidy heap of sprawled limbs. Wispy gray hair escaped her cap, which was askew, and she trembled violently as she struggled to one elbow. Honeycutt brushed aside Buckler’s restraining arm. He snatched up the candle Chase had left on the nightstand. Dropping to his knees, he held it close to his aunt so that the flame was reflected in her spectacles, glancing off her yellowed teeth and the red cavern of her open mouth.

  Beatrice rushed to their assistance. “Aunt, are you injured? Help me with her, Ned.” The sound of Beatrice’s voice seemed to penetrate the housekeeper’s stupor. She folded her lips and shuddered. “Thank God, you came,” she said brokenly.

  “Can you speak to us?” said Beatrice.

  “She flew out at me. She crept down to the drawing room and took the stitchery scissors from my workbox. Wicked, wicked creature.”

  Chase approached the bed. One hand emerged from the folds of Marina’s nightgown, and a gleam caught the candlelight. “What’s that?” he said.

  “Be careful,” said Penelope. “It looks sharp. She’ll cut herself.”

  “What have you done, Marina?” Honeycutt whispered. He reached out a tentative hand toward her. But Lewis glared at him with such ferocity that he retreated.

  “Lewis,” warned Buckler.

  Chase plucked the scissors from Marina’s grip. About four inches long, they had gilded silver mounts with mother-of-pearl handles. The blades were steel with sharp points. He handed the scissors to Penelope and lifted Mrs. Yates in his arms, staggering a little at her unexpected weight.

  “Ned!” cried Beatrice. “Come help us.”

  With a muttered curse, Honeycutt strode over to take his aunt from Chase. He bore her to an armchair by the mantelpiece, where he deposited her gently. “It’s all right, auntie. There’s nothing to frighten you anymore.” He hesitated. “Where’s that fool maid of Marina’s?”

  Marina’s maid Todd detached herself from the other servants, who stood gaping from the doorway. “Sir?” she said breathlessly.

  “Fetch the smelling salts,” he snapped. Beatrice went to dab her brother’s bloody lip with her handkerchief as Honeycutt fingered his jaw. He said to Chase, “I don’t complain about your hotheaded conduct, for I know you only meant to do your job. You misinterpreted my actions; that’s all. I thought Miss Garrod hysterical.”

  “Only a blackguard strikes a woman,” flashed Lewis.

  “You will leave this house at dawn, Durant,” said Honeycutt between his teeth.

  “Don’t be rude, Ned,” murmured Beatrice. “Though under the circumstances—”

  Suddenly Samuel Tallboys appeared in the doorway, a majestic figure in a richly braided scarlet dressing gown. Without his wig, his skull with its short fuzz of hair resembled a sheep shorn of its coat, and his face radiated disapproval as he lumbered across the floor to Beatrice’s side. “My dear Miss Honeycutt and Mrs. Yates. What in heaven’s name has occurred?”

  “Oh, sir,” Beatrice said, “my aunt has been attacked. She might have been killed.” She indicated the scissors in Penelope’s hand.

  “With the sewing scissors?” said Penelope.

  Buckler came to stand at her side. “More to the point, no one appears to be injured.”

  Tallboys looked aghast. He raised a hand to scratch his head absent-mindedly. “Oh, this is terrible indeed. But who did this?”

  “I startled Marina, Mr. Tallboys,” said Mrs. Yates. “It was entirely my own doing.”

  Tallboys wheeled an ominous gaze on the girl. “Explain yourself, miss.”

  Chase had gone to light the lamp on the bureau. “Tallboys, dismiss the servants,” he said over his shoulder. “You won’t want an audience.” In the increased illumination, he saw the disappointment on the avid faces at the door, but the group withdrew at a terse command from the clergyman.

  When they were gone, Chase said to Mrs. Yates, “Are you recovered enough to explain? Why were you in Miss Garrod’s room at this hour?”

  “I…I was worried about her. I feared she might leave her bed again, so I put my head in. I was relieved to see she was asleep, but when I came closer, she leapt up and menaced me with the scissors.”

  “That’s a lie,” said Marina. “I don’t know where those scissors came from. She slipped them into my hand as I slept.” All eyes turned to the girl. She had her arms clasped around her knees and her head bowed, her long hair flowing down her back. Her voice was vigorous, and she seemed to have shaken off some of her initial confusion.

  Mrs. Yates said, “How I wish that were true. To think this could happen in our family. Hugo would be so grieved.” She sniffed dolefully.

  “No one touched you with the scissors?” demanded Chase.

  “No, but I tripped over the counterpane and fell. My nerves are shattered, and I am bruised. But I shall do very well with rest.”

  “Where can Todd be?” said Beatrice. “We must get my aunt to bed and attend to Marina.” She sat on the edge of the bed, but Marina pulled away. Shrugging, Beatrice looked around the room as if seeking support. No one moved. Penelope laid a restraining hand on her brother’s arm when he tried again to go to the girl.

  “Here, ma’am,” said the lady’s maid, reentering from the dressing room. She waved the smelling salts under Mrs. Yates’ nose, then offered them to her mistress, who flinched back.

  “Why, what’s wrong with you, miss?” said Todd, sounding indignant.

  “Stay away from me,” said Marina.

  “That’s no way to talk, Miss Garrod,” said Tallboys.

  Beatrice Honeycutt joined the maid. “Marina, let us h
elp you. Tell us what happened. Why did you have our aunt’s scissors in your possession?”

  “But I didn’t.”

  “For shame, Marina,” said Mrs. Yates.

  “Give her some room.”Chase positioned himself so that he stood between the girl and everyone else.

  Honeycutt shook his head. “Don’t expect to get any sense from her, at least not tonight. We must leave her to the care of her maid. As my aunt says, I’m sure Miss Garrod was merely frightened when her sleep was disturbed. No surprise, I suppose, after the events of the last few days. We are all on edge.”

  Marina seized on this excuse. “Yes…yes, that is what happened. I apologize for rousing the house. I beg that you leave me now.”

  “That’s right, Miss Marina,” the maid scolded. “Let’s have no more of this nonsense. You do as you’re told, and you’ll be fine. I’ll heat some milk for you, and that’ll settle you.” Todd waved her smelling salts under the girl’s nose.

  Chase’s eyes traveled to the nightstand upon which sat an almost empty glass. He picked it up and sniffed. Then he swiped a finger across the bottom to taste the residue. “Your composing draught, Miss Garrod? The same you took the last time?”

  “Yes, Mr. Chase.”

  “You were deeply asleep? No wandering from your bed this time?”

  “No, sir.”

  Honeycutt interrupted. “Can your questions wait for morning? Nothing can be accomplished tonight. We are exhausted and distressed. I am only thankful my aunt has not been seriously injured.”

  “Mr. Durant?” said Marina.

  “I will see you tomorrow, Miss Garrod,” Lewis said.

  “You won’t go before we can say goodbye?”

  “I won’t, I promise. Isn’t that right, Penelope?”

  She nodded. “Yes, we promise.” She went to the washstand and poured Marina a glass of water.

  Marina took the glass with shaking hands and drank deeply. “I’m sure…” She broke off, cleared her throat, and tried again. “I was dreaming,” she said in a small, stony voice. “I awoke to my aunt’s scream. I never took those scissors. I don’t know why I had them.”

  As she spoke, she kept her eyes on Lewis, as if she feared she would drown. Chase felt a spark of pity ignite and roar to a flame. He’d been trying so hard to do his duty by this child that he had forgotten how young she was. He must do better, he told himself. What had really happened here tonight? He knew Marina felt threatened, but would she attack a member of her family, possibly in self-defense? An old woman seemed an unlikely assailant. Had they planned some kind of attack, or was this another trick to discredit her? Penelope regarded him somberly, and Chase knew she had seen the implications too. Anyone entering the room would have found Marina Garrod in a drugged sleep. Whoever it was would have realized she could not defend herself or, perhaps more to the point, give a coherent account.

  “She’s tired, John,” said Penelope, leaning over to straighten the bedclothes.

  Chase nodded. “We’ll leave you, Miss Garrod. You may sleep without worry. I’ll be outside in the corridor for the remainder of the night.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  John Chase occupied the hours until dawn by establishing himself in a chair outside Marina’s door, ordering a pot of coffee from a sleepy footman, and reviewing his occurrence book. When he had gone through the entire book twice, he turned to a fresh page. His pencil moving rapidly, he jotted notes:

  Garrod gives daughter a season: malicious tricks begin. To disgrace and unnerve her? Drug her to make her seem crazy? Prevent her marriage to someone outside the family? Encourage Garrod to disinherit her? A conspiracy? Sewing scissors “attack”: Does Mrs. Yates help someone or act alone?

  Garrod keeps family guessing—was he about to change the will again? Thought Marina unstable? Nephew Ned Honeycutt has debts, argues with uncle. WHO IS THE HEIR? Marina? Beatrice? Ned? Ned and Beatrice? Ned and Marina? Mrs. Yates? Tallboys to hold purse-strings?

  Garrod hires a Bow Street Runner, then is poisoned (Why? To preserve current will? Killer worried about what Runner might uncover?)

  The key: Did Garrod drop it in the hothouse? Valet contradicts. An attempt to mislead the inquiry? Killer had no opportunity to return key to proper place?

  Nothing wrong with sugar on prior evening when Garrod made tea; key safe in dressing room for night

  Morning of Poisoning:

  9:00 – Servants finished cleaning ground-floor rooms in time for breakfast; breakfast table laid in morning room. Note: morning room attaches to drawing room, where teapoy was placed

  9:30 - Garrod leaves bedchamber for breakfast; valet goes downstairs; key in writing desk, which is left unlocked on this day (lucky for murderer)

  10:00 – Valet back in bedchamber; key discovered missing; Tallboys: breakfast with Marina and Beatrice; chambermaids at work in first- and second-floor bedrooms

  10:15: Garrod with messenger from the City in the study

  11:00 – Teapoy moved from drawing room. A. precatorius beads in boiler room suggest tampering occurred in hothouse—did it?

  3:00 – Key found in Penelope’s presence

  Where were family members between 9:30-10:00 in the morning (probable time of key theft)

  Marina: sees father about 8:00; in her bedchamber until 10:00 (later that night: not in hothouse to drink tea)

  Beatrice: breakfast with Marina and Tallboys around 10:00. In her bedroom at 9:30? Did she come downstairs earlier? (was in hothouse: got sick from tea, but how ill was she?)

  Tallboys: could have arrived early to slip upstairs, steal key, and poison sugar (present in hothouse: very sick)

  Honeycutt: says he was asleep until 11:00 (not in hothouse to drink tea, in orangery quarreling with Lewis)

  Mrs. Yates: household duties downstairs, asked Garrod for the key about 10:00 (was in hothouse: didn’t drink her tea)

  Is the trickster the murderer—or are there two different people?

  Tricks: The necklace/bracelet of A. precatorius beads given to Marina

  John Crow feather, dirt, eggshells in reticule

  Light in garden (seen by others besides Marina)

  Obeah charm with another feather found above Garrod’s door (Why? A curse on Marina? A curse on Garrod? Implicate Marina?)

  A curse…means what? Cursed by pride? Envy of Marina’s position? Marina…a cuckoo in the wrong nest

  A deadly trick: Poison in the sugar: Abrus precatorius?

  Under-gardener finds A. precatorius beads in boiler room. When put there and why?

  Here Chase stopped, his heart pounding as he skimmed the pages to find the record of his conversation with the under-gardener Higgins. Chase had remembered Penelope’s comment before dinner on the night of the poisoning. She’d told him that Garrod showed her his steam-heating apparatus, bragging of its marvels and perfections. No mention of any malfunction. This was on Tuesday, the day of the poisoning. Higgins had mentioned that someone told him to inspect the boiler on Thursday but he had detected nothing wrong with it.

  Suddenly Chase knew why. Someone had wanted those beads discovered and was too impatient to wait for one of the staff to go down to the cellar on a routine visit. The inquest was to be held the next day on Friday, and the gardener’s testimony would be too important. This was because he needed to tell his story about finding the exotic poison that pointed to Marina Garrod as a murderous lunatic.

  Hours passed while Chase sat there thinking. His limbs were stiff, his shoulders tight with tension and his knee throbbing. From below, he heard the first stirrings of the household, as footsteps crossed the marble entrance hall. Then he heard hushed voices and muffled thumps. In the basement kitchen the maid of all work would be lighting the kitchen fire and putting the kettle on to boil. Soon she would be dusting and sweeping the ground floor rooms and laying the table for breakfast. Creak
ily, Chase rose to his feet and tucked his occurrence book back in his pocket.

  ***

  Two hours later Anne Yates received him in the housekeeper’s room. She was dressed in a dark bombazine gown and wore a black profile cameo on her massive bosom. She stood before Chase, a rounded figure with no hint of softness. Greeting him warily, she did not offer him a seat. “I can spare you but a moment, sir. I am needed elsewhere this morning.”

  “You’re no worse after your fright last night, ma’am?”

  “Thank you, I am well. A night’s rest has restored me.”

  “I am glad to hear it.” Chase waited.

  “Did you wish to ask me something?” she said at last. She laced her plump hands in front of her with exaggerated patience but regarded the open door, as if eager to escape him. The housekeeper’s claim of being occupied on this morning seemed plausible. From the kitchen, pots and pans banged, and voices sounded up and down the corridor. Not that Chase cared one way or the other, but Mrs. Yates would be overseeing the preparations for Hugo Garrod’s funeral in addition to her usual duties. On his way down the stairs, Chase had seen several manservants in black gloves, carrying hats decorated with a band of flowing black material. The pallbearers, he’d assumed. The butler had told him that Honeycutt and most of the servants would attend the funeral in a few hours but not the ladies of the house, whom Tallboys had urged to remain in seclusion. There was to be no cold collation offered to the mourners on this occasion, a regrettable lapse in decorum, the butler had said, as was the rather hurried aspect of the obsequies.