On a Desert Shore (12 page)

***

When Chase stepped onto the terrace, his candle blew out in a gust of wind. Navigating by moonlight, he walked past a summerhouse and turned down an offshoot of the main route. For a long way he managed to keep the bobbing light in view. Then, as the path ascended a small rise, he saw a dark form revealed against the gray-black sky. It could have been male or female, young or old, innocent or not, and before he could make up his mind on any of these points, it was gone. He supposed it might be one of the groundskeepers, though he couldn't imagine what his business might be at this hour. Cursing, Chase willed his knee to cooperate and increased his pace, his greatcoat flapping about his legs. His leg ached like the devil because of the dampness, but he ignored it. Finally, the path entered an arbor clothed in heavy vines. Lewis Durant was sitting on the low fence that separated the pleasure garden from the surrounding meadows.

“What are you doing here, Lewis?”

“Just at this moment I was waiting for you.”

“Helping Miss Garrod play tricks with ghostly lights?”

“The opposite. I want to help her catch the person who does this.”

Chase felt a foreboding. “Where is she? She's not the one with the lantern?”

“No, I tell you. I told her I'd stay awake and follow the light if it appeared. I heard you coming behind me. I knew it was you from the sound of your walk—and the cursing, of course.” He grinned.

Annoyed that he hadn't been aware of Lewis' presence, Chase said, “I'm glad Miss Garrod is asleep in her bed, which is where you should be.”

“Did you see the light?” said Lewis eagerly. “It's proof Marina isn't imagining things.”

“I saw it. In the time we've wasted talking here, it's gone.”

“Maybe not. Let's go find out.” Lewis jumped down from the fence, ducked to avoid a low-hanging tree branch, and bounded up to Chase with all the energy of youth. They emerged from the arbor on the other side, but now the path in front of them was empty, silvered by moonlight.

Chase cursed again. “As I told you. Do you suppose this walk returns to the house? I've had enough of this May game for one night. I need to make sure Miss Garrod is safe.”

“You are walking rather stiffly, sir. You're injured?”

“It's nothing,” said Chase, his tone ungracious.

This was accepted without comment. They continued in silence, as the path, bordered by concealing hedges that formed the boundary to the grounds, looped past the hothouse and a series of sheds until the walkway did indeed return to its starting point.

They rounded a bend, and Lewis pointed at the terrace of the villa, where two figures grappled in the shadow of the enormous Chinese vases that lined the edge. “Someone's there. What are they doing? Dash it, is that Penelope and Marina?”

It was. Locked in an embrace with Marina Garrod, Penelope gave a cry of pain as two hands came up to shove her. The two women were of much the same height, though Marina's build was slighter. Still, the force of the shove made Penelope stumble back a few paces. She righted her balance, glanced up, and saw them approaching.

“Help me get Miss Garrod into the house,” she called.

The girl took a few steps toward the lawn as though she meant to flee. Chase and Lewis broke into a run, Lewis gaining the terrace first. His arms went out to enfold Marina, and he lifted her off her feet, just in time to stop her from falling to the flags. Pressing the girl against his shoulder, he traced his finger over a smear of blood on her cheek. Marina stirred, but Lewis' grip was too strong. She subsided into his embrace.

“She's hurt,” he said, sounding angry.

“What's happened, Penelope?” said Chase.

Penelope looked from him to Lewis, hesitating. “Never mind now. She is chilled to the bone.”

Chase thought that Penelope, pale and exhausted, wasn't in much better condition than Marina. Her feet were bare, and she shivered. “You're right. Questions can wait,” he said.

Lewis spoke over the girl's bent head. “Marina was asleep. That's why she struck out at you, Penelope. She'll be confused and frightened.”

A moan escaped the girl's lips. She opened her eyes. Looking into them, Chase caught the moment when awareness flickered to life.

Lewis pulled her closer. “You're safe,” he whispered. He touched her hair.

“I beg your forgiveness for disturbing you,” Marina said in a soft monotone. They all stared at her. It was unclear to whom this remark had been addressed.

“It's quite all right,” said Penelope, trying to smile.

“How did I get here?” she whispered.

“You've had a bad dream, Miss Garrod,” said Lewis. Reluctantly, he allowed Chase to take the girl from his embrace and went to retrieve his sister's abandoned slippers, presenting them to her. He extended a hand to Penelope. “Let's go, old girl. It's going to rain again.”

Chapter Twelve

Beatrice Honeycutt met them in the upstairs corridor. As if already in mourning, she was garbed in lusterless black and carried a prayer book in her hand. Directing one horrified glance at Marina's bare feet and diaphanous nightgown, she said, “I awakened your maid to see if she knew where'd you gone, but she was no use. We must see your father in a few minutes. Ned is there with Mr. Tallboys.”

Marina said, “Should you and Mr. Tallboys be out of your beds? Are you well, Beatrice? I've not seen you since—”

Beatrice swept aside this concern, though in truth she looked harassed, a few strands of lank brown hair plastered against her round cheeks, her small, white teeth worrying her lip. “Where on earth have you been, Marina? Our aunt sent me to find you.”

“I was sleepwalking. Don't fuss.”

Beatrice sighed. “Get dressed. You'll want to do your part.” She nodded in Chase's direction but pointedly ignored Penelope and Lewis. Penelope seemed embarrassed. Lewis stared at Marina's cousin with open hostility, and Chase was surprised by the intensity of his own dislike. Beatrice Honeycutt had rebuffed the girl's attempt at conciliation in no uncertain terms.

“My father?” asked Marina after an awkward pause. She was blinking in the stronger light and still looked bewildered. But the reality of Garrod's plight had steadied her.

“My dear, I'm sorry. The doctor says it won't be long.”

Marina's eyes widened. Her mouth trembled, and her grief overflowed in tears.

Chase said, “Will you come into Miss Garrod's bedchamber with us, Miss Honeycutt? There is more you should know about tonight's incident.”

Beatrice frowned. “You choose your time well, Mr. Chase.”

“My apologies, ma'am. I understood you to say Mr. Garrod is not ready for you yet.”

She inclined her head with ironic courtesy and accompanied them. When they entered the bedchamber, Marina's maid, who had been resting in a chair, her head slumping wearily, leaped to her feet. After helping Marina into the chair she had vacated and tucking a shawl around her mistress' shoulders, the maid said to Beatrice Honeycutt, “Oh, ma'am. I had gone to bed. I never heard a thing this time.”

“This has happened before?” inquired Penelope.

The maid, uneasy, did not respond.

Chase pressed her. “Did your mistress take her medicine tonight? It was too strong. How much did you give her?”

“Just the usual, sir.”

Beatrice Honeycutt intervened. “Go down to the kitchen, Todd, and fetch Miss Marina a hot drink. I don't want her to catch a chill. We don't need any more illness in this house.” After the maid had sidled from the room, Beatrice said, “In justice, Mr. Chase, you can't blame Todd. The draught is intended to keep my cousin quiet. You might say with more truth that it's not strong enough.”

This was said as though Marina were not present. A flush of anger mounted in the girl's face, but she controlled herself, merely eyeing her cousin rebelliously. Chase crossed the room to the nightstand and picked up the bottle to sniff its contents. He himself had taken opium over the years to alleviate his pain but had never liked the disorientation it caused. It may be that the family meant well by the girl, though Chase was by no means convinced of that, but in Marina's anxious state, the laudanum could have excited rather than pacified her. It certainly hadn't kept her in bed.

Lewis snatched up the towel draped over the washbasin. He wetted it and knelt by Marina to wipe away the streak of blood on her cheek. She allowed him to help her, her gaze warming under his. Beatrice watched this byplay without reaction.

Penelope whispered to Chase, “We must send Lewis to bed. He shouldn't be here. I'll tell him.”

“Leave them, Penelope,” he said.

Marina glanced down at her blood-caked fingernails and discreetly slid her hands under her shawl. “You are all very kind to be concerned about me, but I am better.” She turned to Penelope. “Did I hurt you in my frenzy, ma'am? I am truly sorry.”

“Not at all, Miss Garrod.”

The housekeeper Mrs. Yates came into the room. She, too, was fully dressed, and she scurried across the carpet, her keys jingling at her waist. “Did you find her, Beatrice?” she said. Her eye fell on Marina, and she began to deliver a scold, seeming oblivious of her audience.

“Enough, ma'am,” broke in Chase when the spate of words showed no signs of drying up. He explained what had happened, then said to both ladies, “To your knowledge, was anyone from the household out of doors tonight? I saw a light from my window—someone carrying a lantern across the grounds.”

“A light?” echoed Mrs. Yates. “What can it matter? Everyone on the estate knows my brother is on his deathbed. No one sleeps peacefully.”

“It matters because this person may have tried to draw your niece out into the dark. He or she may have known she was in the grip of an opiate, the effects of which can vary. I've heard it can cause intoxication and a susceptibility to visions. It would be child's play to frighten her once she had been roused in this way.”

“For what reason?” demanded the housekeeper.

“I intend to find out.” Chase restored the medicine bottle and approached Marina. Having decided he would not betray her scheme with Lewis, he tried to exude reassurance. And yet he believed that the inveterate secrecy in this household could do the girl no good and was determined to root it out. When he realized he loomed over her, he drew a chair close to hers and sat down. “Did you take your composing draught tonight, Miss Garrod?”

She'd had more time to gather her wits. “I tried to refuse,” she said. “I thought I would be called to my father's bedside. But Todd said she had orders that I was to take it. I didn't want to get her in trouble.”

This made sense. She'd been forced to leave the pursuit of any false will-o'-the-wisp to her new ally Lewis Durant. Chase scrutinized the circle of intent faces before he again addressed Marina, who still shivered even under her shawl. “And this potion caused your confusion?”

She lifted her chin. “It's true I felt unaccountably strange when I left my bed. But I believe that prolonged exposure to the night air has revived me.”

“What awakened you, Miss Garrod?”

He had thought she wouldn't answer, but she said, “Gravel against my window like the last time.”

“The last time? We'll pass over that for now. How could this gravel awaken you if you were so soundly asleep?”

She sent Lewis an appeal. “I…I often wander in the night when I am disturbed in my thoughts. Tonight I had vowed to stay awake. I felt there was something I needed to do, but I couldn't stay awake. I can't tell you what happened after that.”

Penelope reached into her dressing-gown pocket and extended her hand. “These are yours, Miss Garrod. You dropped them as you ran.”

Before Marina could move, Chase took the red and black beads and held them up in his own palm close to his face so that he could examine them. “Beads from your broken necklace,” he commented.

One of Marina's hands emerged from under the shawl to take her property. “Yes, I had some left over when I made the bracelet.”

When Penelope looked as though she meant to ask a question, Chase gave a small shake of his head. He could read her thought easily. Penelope was wondering why Marina Garrod carried the beads with her. There was no pocket in her night rail, so that meant she must have clutched them in her hand when she left her bedchamber. But somehow Chase didn't want that question asked of the girl.

Marina laughed mirthlessly. “How you all stare at me. Oh, don't worry. I am not the mad creature you must think me.”

“Of course, you aren't,” burst in Lewis, unable to hold back any longer. “Anyone might have a nightmare. You've had a great deal on your mind, Miss Garrod.”

She acknowledged this with a ghost smile but didn't break the contact with Chase. He said, “Were you dreaming, Miss Garrod?”

She ran her slender fingers over her wrist. “I dreamed about a story I heard in my infancy. A Jamaican bogey, a demon that sucks the blood of children. You see, I'd been thinking about this story before I went to sleep, even though I don't suppose such spirits can cross the ocean. I heard pursuit behind me on the stairs and thought to distract the demon…compel it to pause long enough to retrieve my beads so that I could get away. All nonsense, but one doesn't think of that while in the throes of a nightmare.”

“Pursuit?” said Penelope.

Again came the mirthless laugh, and Marina said lightly, “I suppose the demon was you, Mrs. Wolfe.”

***

“There's nothing more we can do, Mr. Chase. He's stopped vomiting, but his pulse is elevated, and he has burning pains in his stomach. Convulsions and delirium weaken him rapidly,” whispered the surgeon Aurelius Caldwell.

Gray morning light crept through the windowpanes, slanting over the mourners clustered around Hugo Garrod's bed. Ned Honeycutt stooped over his uncle, gripping an unresponsive hand and sobbing openly. Mrs. Yates patted Honeycutt's arm in a tender gesture. Beatrice Honeycutt edged closer to the bed, kissed her uncle's forehead in farewell, and stepped back. She glanced toward the foot of the bed, where Samuel Tallboys stood, prayer book in hand, as if she expected him to take some more decisive action. But he appeared lost in his ceremonies, prayers issuing from his mouth unceasingly. The door opened, and Marina Garrod entered the room. Caldwell looked at her with pity, but he and Chase allowed her to go forward alone.

None of the family acknowledged her until she ranged herself by Honeycutt. He shifted to make space for her. Marina took Hugo Garrod's hand and held it between her two small ones. “Father,” she said, trying to recall him to the present.

At the sound of her voice, recognition briefly illuminated Garrod's waxen features. His lids inched up; the dulled blue gaze sharpened as he turned his head in her direction. “Marina,” he answered fretfully, “good girl, you're a good girl.” He drew a labored breath and added, “Ned? Ned, Ned, Ned.”

“I'm here,” choked out Honeycutt, blanching at these sepulchral tones.

“Settle it. Promise me. Settle the business.”

He said, “I'll do it, Uncle.” He began to pace the room with hurried, uneven steps.

“Stop it, Ned,” said Mrs. Yates sharply. “Have some decorum. You've a duty to your uncle to stay calm.”

“I'll catch the villain who did this,” said Honeycutt, his eyes traveling over the people assembled in the room even over the surgeon, who had removed himself to the window. Honeycutt's scrutiny stopped at Chase. “A lot of good it did my uncle to hire one of the famous Bow Street Runners. I'll handle this business myself, you mark my words.” He strode back to the bed, jostling Marina out of the way so that he could take his uncle's limp hand again.

“Ned!” cried Beatrice.

Honeycutt was a tall man, at least a foot taller than his young cousin. He looked down his nose at the girl and seemed all at once to realize his discourtesy. “Come here, Marina, he said in a gruff tone. He pulled her in front of him and laid a hand on her shoulder.

Everyone watched Hugo Garrod. His shaking and moaning eased; then, clearly having overheard his nephew's mention of Bow Street, the sick man murmured, “Chase! Where is that man? I pay him, don't I? Curse him!”

Aurelius Caldwell shrugged in response to Chase's lifted brows. “Speak to him if the family doesn't mind,” said the surgeon. “It can't make a difference.”

Approaching the head of the four-poster bed, Chase saw that death was near. The man's breath came in shallow gasps, and his eyes were so sunken in their sockets as to make it seem they had been gouged out. When his spasm had spent itself, Chase said to him in an undertone, “Do you have any idea who could have done this to you, sir? Tell me what I must do to find your murderer.”

He repeated this question several times, getting no response, until finally Garrod said, “One of them, must be.”

Honeycutt, Tallboys, and Beatrice erupted in protest, Tallboys saying, “This is a disgrace. Hugo should be thinking of his soul and readying himself for eternity. You have no place here, Chase.”

“Let him stay,” said Beatrice Honeycutt. “Let's hear what Uncle Hugo would say while there's still time.”

Chase had no intention of wasting this opportunity. He wasn't sure whether Garrod knew who he was, but he tried again. “You hired me to protect your daughter. I'll find the person who did this to you, and I'll keep Miss Garrod safe.”

“Set her free, didn't I? Damme, what a pretty woman. Don't catch but one in ten of the Obeah Men, blasted slippery rogues, let alone the…women. Beauty, too dear, for Earth too dear. Jealous, the vipers. They were all jealous of her.”

Urgently, Chase said in Garrod's ear: “Do you speak of Joanna? Your daughter's mother?”

“The blacks were always afraid of her. Afraid she'd curse them or some such tomfoolery.” The dying man's lips twitched in a parody of a smile. Feebly, he wagged a finger to forestall an interruption. “Swore she'd curse me if I didn't look after her daughter. It won't do. It won't do. It won't do. Must make sure…my advice to you, sir, is to tie up the money tight, only way…to be sure.” He fell silent.

Marina dabbed the spittle from his lips and fell to her knees, kissing her father's hand repeatedly, tears streaming down her face. The man on the bed was beyond all human contact now. A fugitive feeling passed over his brow, but whether it was called forth by his daughter's grief or had emerged from his own soul could not be determined. He went rigid all over, relaxed again. His shallow gasps went on for another minute or two and stopped.

Ned Honeycutt reached down to raise his cousin to her feet. “Come away, Marina,” he said. “It's finished.”