On a Desert Shore (14 page)

“It's not from here. Our man doesn't use labels of this design.”

Chase nodded. “You'll let me know what your chemical friend says about the other samples as soon as possible?”

“Of course. He can run the tests that will be needed in court.”

“You said before that you suspect arsenic as the poisoning agent?”

“I do,” replied Caldwell, intrigued. “Why, have you another theory?”

“Not one I'm prepared to credit,” said Chase.

***

Samuel Tallboys waved Chase to a seat in Garrod's study. The clergyman, wearing clerical dress, took his seat in a wing chair and rested against the cushions with a sigh. He looked around in reminiscent sorrow. “I've spent many a happy hour at Laurentum, Mr. Chase. Before Mr. Garrod helped me obtain my living, I resided with him as chaplain, curator to his treasures, and private secretary. Hugo was always good to me. I can repay him now by ensuring that everything will be done just as he would have wished.”

“How long have you also held a commission of the peace in Clapham?”

“I've been a J.P. for several years and vicar for several more before that. I can tell you we've had nothing like this in the district before. You will have encountered a fair amount of violent death in your work, sir. It is quite out of my experience.”

Chase was curious. “Weren't you in Jamaica with Mr. Garrod? I always thought it was a place of utter barbarity. The heads of erring slaves stuck on fence posts, vicious floggings—”

Tallboys was surprised. “Eh? Perhaps you refer to the incidents of slaves turning on their masters. Now that you mention it, I recall a story about a servant girl who poisoned her master's brandy. 'Twas said she stood at his bedside and watched his death agonies without a shred of remorse.”

That wasn't what Chase had meant, but he let the remark pass. “Before we proceed to business, have you fully recovered your health? You should call in one of your brother magistrates to take your place.” Chase didn't add that as Garrod's executor and trustee, Tallboys would have many additional cares pressing upon him, not to mention that he was also a suspect in the murder inquiry.

Tallboys narrowed his eyes. “You must leave that to my judgment. The inquest will take place two o'clock tomorrow at the Windmill Inn. You'll be ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Postmortem?”

“Tomorrow morning. After that, the coroner's jury will view the body, and it can be released for burial.”

“Good. You've been in contact with the coroner? He's a young man, bit green. You'll want to keep an eye on him.”

“Yes, sir,” said Chase. “I'll ask my friend Edward Buckler to help conduct the questioning if you don't think that'll ruffle too many feathers. He's a barrister of the Inner Temple.”

Tallboys considered. “That would depend.”

“Sir?”

“On whether your friend expects to command his usual fee.” Tallboys brandished a letter and fanned his red face with it. “This is from Hugo's lawyers. They remind me that the estate is not authorized to pay the expenses of a criminal investigation. As the parish is likely to be stuck with the bill, we shall have to economize.” He gave a derisive humph. “One of the richest men in the country, worth a king's ransom, and here I am worrying about how to meet costs! Your chemical tests won't come cheap. There's the autopsy and the coroner and the rest. You tell Mr. Buckler that he can pose his questions with my blessing if he means to offer his services
gratis
.”

Chase answered him with what patience he could muster. “The chemical tests are necessary to determine the poison. The doctor mentions arsenic as the likely possibility.” He paused, wishing again that he could omit this part of his report, though that would be futile. The under-gardener Higgins would never keep quiet. It would be better for Chase to offer the official information. “Mr. Tallboys, let me tell you of a discovery made just this morning.”

As Chase related the testimony of the under-gardener and the kitchen maid, Tallboys' expression grew severe, and his thin lips stretched into a grimace of frigid distaste. “It wanted only this. I've been uneasy in my mind, Chase, but couldn't bear to give weight to my fears. Now—”

“I'm not sure what you mean, sir,” Chase replied carefully. “I can tell you that I do not regard this evidence as conclusive. It brings guilt home to no one.”

“How can you doubt it was
Abrus precatorius
that killed Hugo and sickened the rest of us? Why else should these beads have been found hidden near where the crime occurred? No, as much as I would like to think otherwise for my late lamented friend's sake, I cannot ignore the implications. When I think of the scandal, and the difficulties in regard to the settling of the will, I own I can't see my way forward.”

“Have you any idea how things are left? It's likely the will can provide an essential clue to the culprit. We must know who chiefly benefits.”

“Hugo didn't tell me. Why should he? I'm not sure he knew what was best himself. What am I to do if the heiress to this fortune is proved to have murdered her own father? She could not then inherit.”

“You are hasty, sir. We must await the results of the chemical tests.”

“But the maid's story about the threat? That too is significant.”

Chase kept his tone matter-of-fact. “The worst thing we can do is jump to conclusions. Give me time, Mr. Tallboys. The so-called threat uttered by Miss Garrod was vague. It means nothing.”

The clergyman snorted. “I'll have to take your word for that, Chase. I wish I could be as sanguine. Still, it would be best for the family if the matter can be hushed up. I need hardly say you must be discreet.”

“Of course.”

Tallboys reached over and picked up one of the beads that Chase had placed on the table between them. Heaving himself to his feet, he went to the shelves, frowned at the spines for a few minutes, and finally pulled down a volume. He flipped to the index and then to the relevant page. “
Abrus precatorius
. Red bead vine,” he murmured. “What can we learn of this plant? Used as prayer beads or rosaries or as jewelry for slaves. Its name derives from the Latin
precatorius
meaning prayer. Leaves and tops given with advantage in coughs and pleurisies. Cattle poisoning in India. Administered in powder, it will operate with great violence both as an emetic and cathartic. Anyone ingesting this substance would suffer purging, lassitude, and so on.” He put aside the book and confronted Chase. “We have found our poison.”

“It doesn't make sense. For some inexplicable reason the murderer leaves the beads to be found? Beads pointing to one person?”

“That person is not in her full senses.”

There was nothing for it. Chase's hope of avoiding open conflict was dashed. “I don't believe it,” he told Tallboys. “The key to Mr. Garrod's teapoy was missing on the day of the party. Someone in the household stole it to tamper with the sugar, and we don't know who that person was. You yourself were in the house at the relevant time.” He leafed through his occurrence book, making the pages rustle as loudly as possible. “Can you tell me more about your visit?”

“This is offensive, sir, and stupid. Do you think I'd poison myself?”

“Such details are important in these inquiries. What time did you arrive?”

“About ten o'clock. I was shown into the morning room to meet Miss Honeycutt.”

“She was there waiting for you?”

“She and Miss Garrod both. We took breakfast together while Miss Honeycutt and I discussed our plans for a new religious curriculum at a local school. I had business of my own to attend to in the parish, so I left by eleven o'clock. Anything else?”

“No.”

“Look, Chase. A poisoner is the most vicious of murderers. One might expect a villain like this to thrive in Italy—but here? Do your duty. I can sympathize with your reluctance to cast blame in a certain quarter. I, more than anyone, am bound to feel a solicitude for my old friend's daughter. I am left her guardian. Her welfare must be my chief concern. But it can be no use to balk at plain facts.”

“The key isn't the only issue. You witnessed Mr. Garrod's agitation on his deathbed. He was worried about his will.”

Tallboys returned to his chair. Lacing his fingers under his chin, he regarded Chase coldly. “Hugo was a careful man. Mark my words. He'll tell us how he intended his estate to be allocated, down to the last farthing. I beg that you not repeat this story to anyone. My friend was possessed of an income of thirty thousand pounds per annum—did you know that?”

“A large estate. More than enough brass to inspire someone to put poison in the man's tea. To my mind, we have motives to go around. Let's say Mr. Garrod was angry with someone and decided to make a change to his will. Maybe this person killed him to put a stop to this plan.”

Tallboys' expression darkened further. “Nonsense. I warn you, Chase. You have no proof of any such thing, and you will only add to my headaches by continuing in this vein. Do you want to tear this family apart?”

“Better that than let a killer go free.”

Tallboys brushed aside this remark with an impatient gesture. “I don't doubt the newspapers will be baying at our heels. They expect Bow Street to deliver, and you must hope they don't make too much of the fact that you were actually on the property when the crime occurred. Not your fault, I suppose.”

“You are kind to say so.”

Ignoring this sarcasm, the clergyman rose and made his way across the room to a curio cabinet in the corner. “I'll show you something.” He opened the glass door, pulled out a bottle, and carried it back.

“What's this?” said Chase when Tallboys had put an old wine bottle into his hand. Shifting it back and forth so that the liquid sloshed to one side, he saw that it held black feathers as well as some waving strands of what looked like hair, bones, and animal teeth on a string. As he shook the jar, three or four red and black beads came loose from the bed of hair. They were of the same type as Marina Garrod's.

“A keepsake. Hugo's had it for years,” said Tallboys.

“What's the animal necklace made of?”

“Cat's teeth, nine of them for luck. The liquid is rainwater.”

“It's an Obeah charm, isn't it?” said Chase.

“Hugo took this off a particularly nasty character on his estate. He found it concealed in the thatch of the man's cottage and preserved it out of scholarly interest.”

“Miss Garrod told me you have indulged her recent interest in Obeah and Jamaican culture. Do you think that wise, Mr. Tallboys?”

“Not particularly. I couldn't think how to stem her questions. She is a most determined young woman.” He shook his head, bemused. “You seem inclined to take Marina's part, sir. But do you truly believe any child could bury a past like hers? It was sure to mark her. In the end it was sure to mark her.”

Chapter Fourteen

The cavalcade of coroner, jury, and constables, with a clutch of reporters trailing at the rear, approached Garrod's villa. The day was fine, a little sultry, with a sprinkling of rain that had speckled the pretty coat and Hessian boots of the coroner, a bright-eyed young man stepping bravely down the road. He strode up the carriage drive, swept by the line of waiting servants, and met Samuel Tallboys in front of Laurentum's pillared entrance porch. Tallboys dispersed the journalists with threats of a citation for trespassing and took his place next to the coroner at the head of the procession.

The jury's first stop was the hothouse, where the twelve local men stared at the exotic blooms with an awe they concealed behind stolid faces. Tallboys conducted them to the place where the poisoning had occurred. Afterwards they went upstairs to view the body. Earlier that morning, the knowledge that a trio of physicians, one a lecturer from St. Thomas' Hospital, had taken their saws and scalpels to the corpse had vibrated through the household, sounding a note of dark excitement. Forced to shoo away several curiosity seekers from the upstairs corridor, John Chase had finally remained on guard at the door. Now when the coroner entered the chamber of death, he took one look at the corpse's distended belly, his thin nostrils quivering, and buried his face in his nosegay. A peacock, thought Chase, but he kept his expression bland.

Next the men filed into Beatrice Honeycutt's bedchamber to find her propped against her pillows with her aunt Mrs. Yates and the surgeon Caldwell in attendance. Dressed in a pink silk dressing gown and a delicate lace cap with flaps that draped down her shoulders, Miss Honeycutt expressed herself exhausted from the combined effects of her recent sickness and her uncle's death. Gallantly, the coroner said she was not to rise from her bed, for he would not keep her long. Beatrice gave her hand first to him and then to Tallboys, who lingered over it a fraction too long. She held herself rigid, embarrassed by all these strange men looking at her. The jury waited in respectful silence, seeming sheepish and uneasy in this feminine domain.

“My dear, madam,” said the coroner, “I was relieved beyond measure to hear of your deliverance. Words fail me on this occasion, but may I offer my condolences on the death of your uncle?”

Lips trembling, Beatrice turned her head away.

“My dear,” said Samuel Tallboys, “we shouldn't ask this of you. It's far too much. Do forgive me for permitting it. I felt I had no choice but to give our cooperation. Perhaps…perhaps we can come back later?” Observing the man's anxiety, Chase wondered if there could be a romance afoot, though the pompous and unimaginative Tallboys struck him as an unlikely candidate for a lover. Hugo Garrod had said that Beatrice had made a better success of her London season than had her cousin, but apparently she had not achieved a match for herself. In which case Tallboys might appear a reasonable prospect, especially if he was to receive a bequest in the will.

“That's an excellent plan. Poor Beatrice is exhausted. Can your questions wait, sir?” Mrs. Yates said to the coroner. She too seemed overcome by the magnitude of the change in her life. She kept her shoulders bowed, her gaze lowered, her hands folded sedately over her apron. She might have been thinking about what would become of her if the household at Laurentum were to break up. Too old to seek another position, she would be counting on her brother for security in her final years. Or she might have been immersed in her grief for Hugo Garrod and her busy concern for her nieces and nephew.

The coroner bowed to the older lady. “I must express my sympathy to you as well, Mrs. Yates. Your brother was a true gentleman and a philanthropist who has a done a world of good for his country. He will be sorely missed.”

“Thank you, sir.” Mrs. Yates raised a mild gaze to his face, then returned it to the carpet.

“That won't be necessary,” put in Beatrice in a stronger voice. Shifting to face them, she adjusted the sleeves of her gown and smiled on the clergyman. “If Mr. Tallboys can do his duty under such trying circumstances, I would be ashamed to do less. With the example of my dear aunt before me—she who is ever active in promoting the good of others—how can I not follow her line of conduct?”

This was received with a cry of pleasure and a clasp of the hand from Mrs. Yates and a reverential bow from the clergyman. Watching this little show, Chase found himself, not for the first time in his life, thinking about the hard work of being a lady, and it seemed to him that Penelope was in some ways better off in her current unorthodox situation. He understood that Marina Garrod's failure to adhere to the code required of her was at the root of her alienation from her family, though illegitimacy and race must also play roles.

Once it was established that Miss Honeycutt had drunk only a few sips of her tea, could not inform them about the key to the teapoy, and had noticed nothing out of the way until she herself took ill, the coroner began a more delicate probe. “Had there been anything to trouble the family prior to these tragic events, ma'am? I beg your pardon for intruding into your private affairs, but we must find the villain who did this.”

“Of course, you must ask, sir, but my answer is no. My uncle was looking forward to his party. He was in good spirits. We all were. In truth, we'd been finding the days a little quiet and welcomed the diversion.”

“You know of no threat? Nothing had disturbed him?”

She thought a moment. “We had a brief conversation that indicated a certain uneasiness. I can't say much more than that. I'm sorry to be of so little use.”

“No, no, ma'am,” the coroner said graciously. “When was this conversation?”

“The day before the party. I shouldn't think it could have anything to do with…what happened. A remark or two in passing.” Her voice trailed off, and the surgeon Caldwell hastened to pour a small amount of a cordial in a glass for her.

The coroner waited while she took a sip; then he said, “Mr. Garrod had been worried? About what, may I ask? Business affairs or family?”

A hint of alarm showed on her features. The pause stretched to the breaking point. She finally said quietly, “He was worried about his daughter.”

“Ah,” said the coroner, and he flashed a gleam of triumph at Tallboys as if to suggest his own efforts would be crowned with more success than had yet been achieved. “The charming Miss Garrod. What reason did he give, ma'am?”

“He'd hoped her sojourn in Clapham would restore her to health. She found the bustle of town rather a trial, I'm afraid. Uncle Hugo had been concerned with keeping her safe—and well. That's why Mr. Chase was hired.”

“Safe? From what? You alarm me exceedingly, ma'am.”

She slumped against the pillows and closed her eyes. “I really don't know, sir.”

Mrs. Yates said, “All that can have nothing to do with Hugo's death. Sir, I beg that you proceed cautiously with Miss Garrod. Her grief is profound. As Beatrice has mentioned, we do not wish to see her more disturbed.”

“But what's this about malice?” The coroner's brows drew together in an assumption of authority Chase thought ludicrous in a man of less than thirty years.

He stepped forward. “Mr. Garrod employed me to inquire into some nasty tricks played on his daughter. I have yet to determine who is responsible, nor can I tell you what bearing, if any, this malice has on the murder.”

“Why, none,” cried Mrs. Yates. “Foolish games, that's all.”

Obviously startled, the coroner said, “You must leave these matters to me, ma'am. We shall hear from Miss Garrod at the inquest.”

Chase's foreboding intensified. How much had Tallboys, eager to avoid scandal, told the coroner about Marina Garrod? And was Beatrice Honeycutt artfully planting insinuations to force the fruit of suspicion against her cousin—with the aid of her aunt Anne Yates and perhaps her brother Ned Honeycutt? Though Chase himself had reluctantly handed over the seeds of wild licorice as evidence, he intended to say as little as possible on the subject. He hadn't thought much about why this should be so. He just knew the decision felt right.

***

“Chase,” a voice hissed as he stood in the taproom at the Wind-
mill, where the jurymen had stopped for refreshment. He lowered his tankard to the bar and turned to see Noah Packet at his elbow. Packet had oiled his dirty brown hair and trimmed his side-whiskers so that for once his angular face was perfectly clean.

“Come to pay your respects?” said Chase.

“How'd this happen? I nearly bust my breeches when I heard the news. You might've sent word.”

“I've been busy.”

“Not busy enough,” said Packet bitterly. “Too late to cry over spilled milk, ain't it? What do you mean to do now?”

“I'm sorry to have disappointed you.”

At this Packet sighed, letting his glance stray to the sawdust strewn floor. “Ain't often I find myself a prime rig. Mr. Garrod might've let me put my hand in his pocket for years. I'll be shivering in my boots come winter, thanks to you.”

Chase shook his head. “There for a minute I thought you actually had a heart, Packet, but you're just sad your milk cow is dead.”

“Well, I am. Ain't I been telling you as much? Not but what I thought right highly of Mr. Garrod.”

“Did you catch your thieves at the docks?”

“One or two. Enough to earn my keep, at any rate.” Packet indicated the jurymen, who had retired to several tables to drink and converse boisterously, the coroner big among them. “Fools. I'd better stay to make sure they do this right.”

“You are going back to town.” Chase took out the unidentified medicine bottle and handed it to him.

After he'd described the task, Packet snorted. “You don't ask much, do you? A bottle with no label, and you want me to find where it come from. Why? This the poison?”

“No, but it doesn't fit, and I want to know. Just do it. See if you can get the address of the chemist where this bottle was purchased. Try the printers of medical labels on Fetter Lane.”

“Why there?”

“It's a guess. Look closer. A few letters of the address at the bottom are intact. Might be Fetter Lane, might not. I seem to recall some printers there.”

Packet folded his arms over his stomach. “Who's to pay my fee, is what I want to know.”

“Don't I always take care of you?” Chase extracted a few coins from his pocketbook, which he tossed over.

As Packet was following him out, they met one of the Bow Street officers, who took one look at Chase's companion and bristled with suspicion. “Friend of yours, sir? I saw this man skulking in the inn yard and was about to send him to the rightabout. A patron complained she was the mark for a pickpocket.”

Observing that Packet had swept off his hat and was about to address the officer, Chase took his elbow with one hand and opened the door with the other. “He was just leaving,” he said.

***

Upstairs, John Chase contemplated the room where the inquest would be held: a long, narrow rectangle with broad overhead beams and paneled walls emitting the reek of many years' accumulation of stale tobacco smoke and beer. Notebooks poised, the journalists had gathered under the single, high window. At the front next to the coroner's table, the jurymen fanned themselves and squirmed in their seats. Opposite the jury sat the members of Hugo Garrod's family, with the exception of Beatrice, who had given her testimony at Laurentum. Chase's eyes sought and found Marina Garrod among them.

As he watched, she edged her chair a little farther away from the clergyman Samuel Tallboys, though she seemed to listen politely to his speeches. It was difficult to tell for sure because Marina was swathed in black from head to foot and wearing a veil to cover her face. She presented a small, touching figure that drew the regard of the crowd. There was a heavyset man a few feet away keeping his head cocked in her direction. A sharp-faced woman in an ugly gown loitering nearby. A boy with a shock of red hair making faces at his sister and pointing. And there were Mr. Garrod's servants ranged in prim rows—all focused on Marina Garrod. It seemed impossible that she would not feel the power of those eyes. Her handsome cousin Ned Honeycutt drew some of the attention too, especially when he made his way to Marina's side and stood guard over her chair.

Edward Buckler rose from his seat behind the servants to approach Chase. “Quite a crowd, isn't it? Are you ready?”

“Ready to get this done so that I can get back to work,” said Chase.

“You don't expect our coroner to solve the murder single-handedly?” Buckler nodded toward the young man basking in his pomp. When Chase merely raised an eyebrow, Buckler went on. “Penelope and Lewis can go home today or tomorrow, don't you agree?”

Chase followed Buckler's glance to Penelope. She smiled, a militant sparkle in her eyes. Clearly she was ready to tell her story, but he also thought she looked brittle and that the smile seemed forced.

“The sooner the better.”

“Good God, yes,” Buckler said. He added, “The poisoner must have been someone close to Garrod. Which means you and Penelope are likely sharing houseroom with a killer.”

“She'd better not fight me when it's time to go.”

“I don't think she will. But Lewis—the boy has appointed himself Miss Garrod's champion. He sees her as some kind of romantic heroine, a young girl alone in the world. You won't easily convince him to abandon her.”

“Reminds me of someone else I know. Chivalry must be a disease that's catching.”

Buckler's smile was wistful. “Point taken.”

Chase immediately dismissed the matter from his mind. He had no time to worry about whatever had gone wrong between Penelope and Buckler, and it wasn't his place anyway. The tangled strings of the heart's desire were beyond his unraveling, even when it came to his own heart. No, his business was to protect Joanna's daughter and solve this murder, thereby paying his debt to the woman who had saved his life. But he sensed malevolent forces around Marina, forces that masked harm with dagger smiles and hatred with venomous love. He wished he could be entirely confident of her innocence, but that wasn't his way. His way was to follow the trail of evidence to the end, let his personal feelings be what they would.