On a Desert Shore

by S K Rizzolo

  “I don’t see that. You look terrible. What’s happened?” He wrapped his large hands around hers, feeling the slickness of blood. He pulled away to brush the grit of glass from her fingers. Then he bent to kiss her cheek.

  She smiled at him. “Was anyone inside the hothouse?”

  “One man at the opposite end is all. He wasn’t hurt. We were lucky. What were you doing in there, Penelope?”

  Buckler grunted a little and shifted her weight. “Can we have this conversation later?”

  Chase knew better than to offer to share his burden. His friend cradled Penelope, looking as if he’d bite anyone who offered help. What did Buckler have to look so pleased about? As Chase accompanied them up the path to the house, he said gruffly, “Where is your valise, Penelope? You’ll want to wash and change your clothing.” He could have said more. He could have told her how he felt shaky with relief that she wasn’t seriously hurt or how he’d been frightened and was downright happy to be walking freely in the open air with both his friends. He didn’t say these things. At any rate, she knew them, and there was still work to do.

  “Can you manage from here, Buckler?” he said. “I must find Mrs. Yates.”

  Penelope stiffened. “She locked me in the boiler room and flooded the cistern. She played the tricks on Marina and poisoned her own brother. You’ll stop her, John, before she can do more harm?”

  “I’m going now.”

  ***

  Leaving them, Chase circled around the side of the house and walked through the kitchen garden. All was peaceful here, the neat rows of plants still glistening from the earlier rain. None of the servants seemed to be around, probably because they had gathered outside to examine the damage to the hothouse. He went down the steps and in the kitchen door. The cook, busy with her dinner preparations, had little time to spare, especially since her helpers had deserted her. She was hunched over a sauce and muttering to herself, but she nodded in the direction of the housekeeper’s room when Chase asked for Mrs. Yates.

  He opened the door to this room without knocking and went in. Anne Yates sat in her horsehair armchair, her feet on a small stool, her head reclining against the cushions. It seemed she had just settled down to rest, for a cup of tea steamed gently at her side. She looked up as Chase entered and met his gaze without shrinking.

  “I expected you,” she said.

  “Are you ready to accompany me to the library?”

  “In a few minutes. Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll tell you all about it?” She smiled at him invitingly, indicated the matching armchair, and raised the cup to her lips.

  “No, ma’am.” Chase reached out to take the saucer from her hand. “You won’t be needing that.”

  He went to the window, opened it, and poured out the contents of her cup. When he faced her again, he saw that she watched him, her eyes faintly quizzical, her hands folded in her ample lap.

  ***

  John Chase and Aurelius Caldwell went to examine the gaping hole, which was all that remained of the boiler room. The gardeners’ chief concern was to protect the specimens in the hothouse from further damage. A cohort of estate workers used wheelbarrows and carts to relocate the plants that could easily be moved, while other helpers, some from the village, swept up the branches, green stalks as fat as a man’s arm, piles of earth, and scattered blossoms of every hue, along with the fragments of crockery, steel, and wood. The glass lay thick on the ground, in pieces ranging from the tiniest specks glinting like fairy dust to jagged shards that could have taken off someone’s head.

  A cold fury swept over Chase, as he realized how terrified Penelope must have been, followed by a surge of pride in her resourcefulness. Of course, it had been foolish to hide in the first place, as he had every intention of telling her. Ned Honeycutt, entirely sober now, directed the cleanup for a while before he went to see about summoning a glazier and a builder for the repairs.

  Observing Honeycutt’s relish for these responsibilities, Chase reflected that Hugo Garrod was at least partially at fault for his nephew’s conduct, for Honeycutt had been indulged in his youth and allowed to develop bad habits. It would have been kinder to disinherit him years ago and make him work for his bread. In this new, energetic mood, Honeycutt had dismissed the madhouse keepers and Marina’s hired guards. He had also challenged Tallboys for not having informed him about the plan to commit his cousin. Eyeing Beatrice and Mrs. Yates uncertainly, Tallboys nervously allowed that he had failed in his duty in not making his own assessment of Miss Garrod’s state. He would do better by his old friend.

  Beatrice had said nothing. Nor had Mrs. Yates who had been put under guard in the library.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  When Chase was finished in the hothouse, he crossed the drive, still accompanied by Caldwell. The surgeon had examined Marina Garrod, administering a mild stimulant to counteract the opium. He had promised to look in on her later and to watch for any after-effects from the discontinuation of the drug.

  Since no one had been seriously injured, Caldwell felt free to indulge his scientific curiosity. “I had a word with the head-gardener Mr. Amos. Amos says he thinks the apparatus had been strained by overuse. Mr. Garrod had asked the staff to run it more frequently while he was entertaining guests—and then in all the chaos following the poisoning, some normal oversight had gone neglected. The water level in the boiler may have got dangerously low.”

  “Would that be enough to cause the blast?” asked Chase.

  “Perhaps not. But there may have been other factors. Mrs. Yates asked one of the under-gardeners to check the apparatus, and this man apparently took it on himself to adjust the valves. Of course, the fellow denies he did anything wrong, so I suppose we’ll never know.”

  That meant Mrs. Yates could likely not be blamed for causing the explosion. Had the murderer hoped Penelope would be drowned, or had she only meant to frighten her? Chase halted for a moment, leaning on his walking stick. “But what about the water flooding the cellar? What role did that play?”

  “Impossible to say for certain.” Caldwell glanced up at the villa rising above the terrace. In this area there was little evidence of the disaster, only sparkles of glass that dusted the shrubs at the side of the path. Caldwell’s voice was reflective when he continued. “Amos had expressed concerns about the construction of the boiler, but Mr. Garrod would hear none of that. It’s possible there was a flaw in the workmanship from the start. More likely, when the cistern collapsed, the influx of cold water striking the overheated sides of the boiler ruptured it and caused a sudden and dangerous change in the internal pressure. That’s the theory that makes the most sense to me.”

  They made their farewells, with promises exchanged to dine together at some future date, and Chase entered the hall. The efficient butler had dispersed the awed servants, but Niven himself waited to speak to him.

  “Mr. Buckler is upstairs with Mrs. Wolfe?” Chase asked.

  “Yes, sir. She, Mr. Durant, and Mr. Buckler are taking coffee in Miss Honeycutt’s boudoir.” He paused. “You’ll tell Mrs. Wolfe how glad the staff are that she was unharmed?”

  Chase nodded and started to move away.

  “Mr. Chase?” said the butler. “How is Miss Garrod? I have been concerned for her. We all have.”

  He believed Niven. There was kindness in the man’s face as well as a hint of diffidence that had not been there before. “She is well,” Chase said. “I’ll tell her you asked after her.”

  ***

  In the library, Chase dismissed the footman guarding Mrs. Yates and went to stand behind Marina’s chair. Mr. Endershaw and his colleagues had established themselves at the mahogany table. On this table were placed a silver tray that held a coffee urn, a cream jug, a sugar bowl with nippers, a set of china cups, and a plate of cakes. Mr. Rourke, the youngest lawyer, had been upset by the explosion; he had to be called to order several tim
es, but he became more cheerful when he saw the iced cakes, greedily consuming three or four. At a look from the solicitor named Dudley, he hastily wiped his hand on a napkin and went back to staring at his feet.

  The other eyes in the room were on the portfolio from which Dudley now extracted a parchment tied up in red ribbon. With reverent fingers, he handed the parchment to his superior, and Endershaw unrolled it.

  Abruptly and shockingly, Ned Honeycutt said, “Aunt Anne, why don’t you speak? What’s happening here?”

  Mrs. Yates did not respond. Under her crisp cap, her gray hair appeared dulled like a worn coin; her cheeks were ashen; her expression opaque. Still, she looked neither defeated nor ashamed but composed and resigned.

  Tallboys jerked to his feet and went to her. “My dear madam. There must be some mistake. I simply cannot believe…” He stuttered to a halt and looked imploringly into her face. “My dear Mrs. Yates,” he protested. For an answer she returned her attention to the life-sized portrait of Hugo Garrod that hung over the mantelpiece. It showed the plantation owner and merchant, clothed in a burgundy velvet suit and white silk stockings, one hand resting upon the chart that mapped his commercial empire. In the background of the painting, a ship had anchored next to the West India docks.

  Chase said, “Be patient, Tallboys. All will be explained. Let’s get on with it. Is this will of recent date, Mr. Endershaw?”

  “Mr. Garrod added a codicil one week ago.” The aged lawyer gave him a level glance. “Certain provisions gave us cause for concern. I believe my thought was that the codicil was a whim he would repent, as he had done several times before. He generally did come around to agreeing with our advice.”

  “He did repent,” said Chase.

  “I suspected as much, given that he summoned us to his deathbed, though he was too weak to alter his arrangements. But I suspect that at least one of these provisions need not concern us any longer, for reasons you will no doubt explain to us, sir. By the by, it is unorthodox to have an individual present who is not a named beneficiary. Can I assume, Miss Garrod, that you wish Mr. Chase to remain during the reading of your father’s will?” Endershaw gave a courteous bow in Marina’s direction, which earned him a small smile.

  She said, “Mr. Chase has been my staunch friend. Let him stay.”

  Unlike the other occupants of the room, Marina eagerly drank her coffee. When she stretched out her hand to pick up the cup, it was seen that she wore the bracelet of John Crow beads. She seemed much more alert, her eyes alive with challenge. She had changed into an elegant black gown, and Penelope had helped her style her hair in a knot at the back of her slender neck. Now she stared at her aunt over her cup, as if determined not to cower.

  The reading of the will commenced with a long list of charitable bequests and legacies left to Garrod’s “faithful servants.” Finally, Endershaw reached the part that concerned Tallboys. “To the Reverend Samuel Tallboys,” he read, “in grateful recognition of our long friendship and his obliging me by serving as trustee, guardian to my daughter, and one of my executors, I leave my prayer book and two thousand pounds.” At this news, Tallboys could not hide his emotion. He fumbled for his handkerchief and blew his nose.

  Endershaw surveyed the room. “It may be worthwhile to note that my colleague Mr. Dudley will serve as a second executor and was originally one of Mr. Garrod’s trustees.” The solicitor Dudley inclined his well-barbered head.

  Endershaw raised the document and continued. Ned Honeycutt was left the funds to purchase a mourning ring, an annuity of six hundred pounds, and a lump sum of five thousand pounds. He was also instructed to submit, within sixty days of the proving of the will, an account of his creditors. Hearing that his debts would be settled, Ned relaxed slightly, but his expression hardened again when it was Beatrice’s turn. Garrod bequeathed her the diamond ring he wore on his little finger and his set of corals, plus an annuity of three hundred pounds and a small sum in ready money.

  Chase’s impatience grew as the lawyer, refusing to be hurried, worked his way through the document. Nor was he alone. Honeycutt could barely restrain himself, and his sister looked wan and afraid. Of all the family, Mrs. Yates and Marina seemed the least concerned. Chase thought at first that Marina might be impatient to escape the tedious proceedings but soon realized she had built a wall to shield herself from more hurt. These people were the only relatives she had in England, and there wasn’t a single one among them who truly loved her or could be trusted not to cheat her. Mrs. Yates, who had murdered this girl’s father and plotted to hide her away in a madhouse, exerted an iron control and a chill that lacked human feeling.

  Finally, Endershaw came to the codicil. In a dry, precise voice, he read:

  “Inasmuch as I have manumitted the mulatta Joanna and her child Marina, known as Marina Elizabeth Garrod, and having obtained for said Marina Garrod a privilege grant entitling her to the same rights and privileges as English subjects born of White Persons, as if she were descended of and from white ancestors—

  “And inasmuch as Marina Elizabeth Garrod has been reared in the Christian religion and educated in this country, I give the remainder of my personal estate, property, goods, chattel, and effects, here and in the colony of Jamaica, to be held in trust for her sole and separate use, independent of any husband she may take, and after that in trust for her children, under CONDITIONS here to be specified.”

  Endershaw paused, saying, “Miss Garrod, have you understood me thus far?”

  “Perfectly,” she said.

  The lawyer nodded.

  Honeycutt asked, trying for nonchalance and failing: “Dare I hope the condition is that you must wed me, Marina?”

  Her dark eyes flashed. “I’d sooner be your scullery maid.”

  “If I have to, I’ll fight this will in Chancery Court,” said Honeycutt to the solicitor.

  Endershaw shrugged. “You are certainly free to make the attempt, sir, but I would counsel against it. You will only tie up the estate for years.”

  “Name the conditions.” Honeycutt leaned over, gripping the table and jostling one of the coffee cups so that liquid slopped against the rim.

  The solicitor adjusted his spectacles. Then he continued reading:

  “CONDITION THE FIRST: that Marina Garrod is never to return to Jamaica or any part of the West Indies.

  “CONDITION THE SECOND: that she is not to manumit any enslaved persons on my plantations.”

  Endershaw’s eyes went to the young girl, who watched him with a touching gravity. He said, “We did inform Mr. Garrod that it is uncertain whether this condition could ever be enforceable. For one thing, laws do change with the times. However, Mr. Garrod insisted upon its inclusion as a father’s last wish.” When no one commented, he resumed:

  “CONDITION THE THIRD: that Marina Garrod marry in England, within one year of probate, with the full approval of the trustees herein appointed, she to retain a life interest in this estate, which is held in trust for her lawfully begotten issue.”

  “Marry whom?” Honeycutt exclaimed, his face darkened with rage. “It says nothing more particular than that? It was always understood—”

  “It doesn’t say she can’t marry you, Ned,” said Beatrice.

  “Be silent, sir,” said Tallboys. “Let Mr. Endershaw speak.”

  Honeycutt slapped his hand on the table. “I won’t be silenced. I said, is that all?”

  Rourke and Dudley flinched, but Endershaw merely lifted one finger and laid it over the parchment to mark his place. “My dear sir,” he replied with weary disdain, “no, that is not all. Allow me to proceed, if you please.”

  Now Endershaw’s attention focused on Anne Yates. “We come to the further provisions of this codicil.” He read in a colorless voice: “I hereby appoint my esteemed sister Anne Yates to be joined with Samuel Tallboys as guardian for my daughter Marina in the joint care of her person, unt
il she reaches her majority, weds with the approval of her trustees, or for so long as is needed in the case of her incapacity. Further, Anne Yates is joined with Samuel Tallboys as trustee of the residue of my estate, both real and personal, to have and to hold the same, with power to receive the income, dividends, and profits therefrom, and to apply the income as far as shall be necessary to my daughter for her comfort and support until she should marry. In consideration of my sister taking on the responsibilities herein detailed, I bequeath to her an annuity of one thousand pounds for life.”

  “My aunt to control the life interest?” said Honeycutt.

  Endershaw set aside the parchment. “With Mr. Tallboys.”

  “We know what that would mean,” said Honeycutt bitterly. “Aunt Anne and my sister know how to turn Tallboys up sweet.”

  Ignoring the clergyman’s exclamation, Beatrice rose from her chair and went to Mrs. Yates. “When did my uncle tell you he had added this codicil?”

  When she failed to get Mrs. Yates’ attention, Beatrice addressed Endershaw. “Let me understand you. Marina must marry within one year to inherit?”

  “Yes, Miss Honeycutt. To secure her life interest she must wed. The trust provides that this interest is to be considered a ‘separate estate,’ though I warned Mr. Garrod that many a husband may be tempted to mount legal challenges to this provision unless the arrangement be made explicit in the marriage settlements.”

  Beatrice spoke calmly. “What if she remains a spinster? Or fails to bear living children? Or if she should die or become…ill?”

  Endershaw answered her. “If she does not wed, she will be left to the charity of Mr. Garrod’s trustees. Furthermore, in deficit of lawful issue born to Miss Garrod, the estate would be held in trust for the firstborn male of either you or your brother Mr. Honeycutt, until that child should reach the age of twenty five. Failing male issue in your line, the money would descend to any female children. Mr. Garrod was quite explicit on this point. He intended to guard the interests of the next generation.”