On a Desert Shore (9 page)

Chapter Nine

The next day John Chase was relieved by reinforcements. He instructed the two constables from Bow Street to search the house, cautioning them to be discreet and asking them to compile an inventory of any potentially suspicious substances. They were to avoid the sickrooms but explore the rest of the house and grounds. And at mid-morning, two of Garrod's lawyers arrived from the City, but though they spent the day outside the patient's bedchamber, he was too ill to see them. Cagey, suspicious men, they gave only vague replies to Chase's inquiries.

When the constables had finished their search, Chase took the lengthy inventory and sought the housekeeper Mrs. Yates. With him, he carried Garrod's antique key ring of Italian workmanship that was decorated with a nobleman's coat of arms. He found Mrs. Yates supervising the maids as they put the ground floor in order. She took him down to her private room in the basement and offered him a seat. Gratefully, he lowered himself into one of her overstuffed armchairs. He knew he would have to sleep soon as he didn't want exhaustion to dull his wits, but the tea the housekeeper served from a freshly purchased supply soon revived him. As he sipped, she perused the inventory. Donning a pair of spectacles, she turned the pages with an age-spotted hand.

At length, she shook her head. “I see nothing unusual here.”

“Miss Garrod has been prescribed a composing draught?”

“Yes, Mr. Chase. Her rest is often disturbed. It helps her to sleep.”

“Laudanum?”

She glanced up. “I take it myself on occasion and keep another bottle of drops among my stores in case someone gets the cough or some other ailment. But it wasn't laudanum that sickened the victims surely?” Mrs. Yates didn't wait for an answer but returned her eyes to the list. She sat in her chair, her face grave, her back very straight. On her head rested a starched bit of lace, and she wore a black silk gown covered by an apron, which was embroidered in white silk sprays of flowers, twining stems, and leaves. The hand not occupied with the inventory smoothed this apron continually, a motion that seemed only half conscious.

Chase said, “The constables found a full bottle of some sort of tonic in the rubbish. It had most of its label scraped off. Can you explain why someone might have discarded it? Medicine is expensive. It seems unlikely a prescription would go completely unused.”

“I suppose the purchaser changed his mind. He or she distrusted its purity or potency.”

“The label doesn't match the others we've found. Who is your chemist, ma'am?”

“We get our prescriptions from the apothecary in the village. A Mr. Willis.” She put aside the inventory and pushed her spectacles back up her nose. “Have you found the source of the poison, sir?”

Chase set the ring of keys on the table between them. “Not yet. But I have some other questions. You know Mr. Garrod hired me to inquire into a series of malicious acts destroying his daughter's peace of mind?”

“Yes, Hugo told me.”

“What can you tell me about these incidents?”

“Oh, sir, she's young. She likes a bit of fun, though she goes too far for my tastes. Don't think for a moment there's anything more to it than that.”

“Are you telling me Miss Garrod herself carried out the tricks?”

Mrs. Yates broke into an agitated speech, though all the time her eyes remained steady on his face like twin beacons. “You must understand how trying the season was for her. That must be some excuse. She was a good deal exhausted and overwrought. Parties and balls and trips to the opera—she didn't seem to enjoy herself in the slightest. I often wondered whether Hugo was wise to demand this heroic effort of her when she'd be happier living a quiet life. The dear girl wanted to please her father, of course. But it was all too, too much. Is it any wonder—?”

“Ma'am?”

“It was a fearful struggle for a girl like Marina. Many and many a time I came upon her crying when she'd said a wrong word, forgotten the proper form of address for a viscountess, or some such thing. She's of a retiring disposition, sir. Who can be surprised that her appearance in society should often raise these fears? All those eyes on her, waiting for her to make a mistake and deem it a flaw in her breeding that could never be erased for all her father's wealth. Who can blame the child? Not I, Mr. Chase. But Hugo—he is a man and would have it his own way. I understand him well, but love is blind, do you not agree?”

“Mr. Garrod is blind to his daughter's faults?”

She lifted her teacup and took a small, precise sip. “We all have them, don't we? I find human nature so interesting with its glorious inconsistencies, its foolish pride and petty concerns. Poor Hugo. None of it can matter to him now. I do pray for his recovery, Mr. Chase.”

“You've lived with your brother for some years?”

“Since my widowhood. I had married Major Yates out of the schoolroom, but when he died at Saratoga, I was left destitute. Hugo took me in despite the fact that we hadn't seen each other in years. After the major's death, I went out to Jamaica.”

“An adventure.”

“I had never thought to see foreign parts. But I tried to repay Hugo by being of use to him, especially with the children. First Ned and Beatrice. They are the children of our sister, whose husband had been a merchant in Kingston. Poor things—they were orphaned quite young. Then came Marina. I've been a lucky woman, Mr. Chase.”

It seemed plausible enough. But had Mrs. Yates grown tired of being a dependent, forced to work for her own bread while Garrod's niece, nephew, and daughter enjoyed a life of luxury? Why did he sense that under all her busy compassion for Marina—her excuses and justifications for the girl's conduct—lay a stagnant pool of dislike? Chase finished his tea and said, “Speak plainly, ma'am. Of what do you accuse Miss Garrod?”

But she would by no means go further. The flow of confidences dried up. Folding her lips together, she said, “You misunderstood me, sir. I accuse her of nothing.”

“Tell me this. Do you know of a reason why anyone should wish harm to your brother or the other victims?”

“Oh, none,” she replied. And when he asked her whether she was aware of her brother having made recent changes to his will, she denied any knowledge of such matters. “That's for the gentlemen, isn't it, sir?” she said comfortably. “All I can tell you is that Hugo is a man to do right by his family. He's mentioned to me that I can expect a small annuity to warm my declining years.”

Chase nodded. “I need to ask you some questions about Mr. Garrod's teapoy. When was the last time he brewed tea from these stores?”

“The night before last. He usually brewed a pot for us in the drawing room after dinner. He'd been out, but he fancied a cup when he came home.”

“He used the supply in the teapoy?”

“Why, yes, and locked the caddy when he was finished.”

“Which variety of sugar did he use?” inquired Chase, consulting his notes. Penelope had described the scene in the hothouse with admirable detail.

“The royal.”

“So there was nothing amiss with the sugar the night before,” he mused. Chase isolated the relevant key on the ring and showed it to her. “Where did your brother keep the ring that holds this key?”

“In the writing desk in his dressing room or sometimes in his pocket.”

“The writing desk he sometimes neglected to lock?”

She looked surprised. “I couldn't say.”

“When was the teapoy carried into the hothouse?”

“Yesterday morning after breakfast, around eleven o'clock. Hugo had given me my instructions, and we were making preparations for the party. I myself accompanied the footman who placed the teapoy. But it was locked. I can verify that.”

“Where was the key at that point?”

There was a pregnant pause. Then she said, “That's just it. I don't know. I wanted to check the stores before the footman delivered the teapoy, so I asked Hugo for the key ring. He was on his way upstairs to wash his hands around ten o'clock. He said he'd fetch it for me, but then we had a fuss when he couldn't find it. Later he told me he'd discovered the ring on the floor of the dais when he was taking his guests on a tour and had taken that opportunity to open the teapoy and make sure everything was right and tight. I got so busy with my other work that I never gave the matter another thought.”

“Could someone have taken the keys from Mr. Garrod's dressing room and later left the ring on the dais to make it appear it was dropped accidentally?”

She frowned. “Possible, I suppose. But I don't know when that could have happened. My brother rose early to attend to some correspondence in his room. He went down to breakfast around half past nine and then to his study to see a messenger from the City on some business.”

“The key was missing for several hours, until around three when Mr. Garrod found the ring in the hothouse? Could it have been taken from the dressing room earlier, say the prior night while he was sleeping?”

“I doubt that. I saw him put it in his pocket after we drank tea, so he carried it up with him. Hugo is a light sleeper, Mr. Chase. Yesterday, when he challenged his valet as to where the ring could have gone, Fimber reminded him it had been in the writing desk at bedtime the night before. The servants and I looked everywhere for it. I myself checked the downstairs rooms.”

“Who has access to Mr. Garrod's dressing room during the day?”

“Why, anyone. Fimber told me Marina had been in. She often enjoys a chat with her father. Occasionally Beatrice puts her head in. Ned is generally a slug-a-bed.”

For all this woman's readiness of tongue, Chase felt she fenced with him expertly, parrying his questions and telling him little, though implying much. “Was anyone else in the house that morning? Any delivery men or groundskeepers, for instance?”

The beacon eyes met his. “Just Mr. Tallboys. He called to discuss a charitable project with Beatrice.”

***

Beatrice Honeycutt confirmed this account when Chase stopped by her bedchamber. He could see the surgeon was correct in thinking she would soon recover. A decade younger than Tallboys and over thirty years younger than Garrod, she possessed the elasticity of youth they lacked. Though her face was drawn, he found her sitting up in bed and eating gruel as her maid hovered in the background.

“I am pleased to see you looking so well, ma'am,” he told her.

She pushed away the bowl with a languid hand. “I feel very fortunate. How is Mr. Tallboys?”

“Much better today. Mr. Caldwell hopes he will continue to improve.”

“That is a great relief.”

“Don't let me interrupt your meal,” said Chase.

“I was finished. How is my uncle? Dare I hope he has improved too?”

“No, ma'am. He grows weaker by the hour.”

“God help him in his struggle,” she said fervently. “That it should come to this after all his wanderings.”

“Did you return with him from the West Indies?”

“I did and cannot tell you how grateful I was. How shall I describe the moment when we stepped onto land? My first impulse was to kneel and kiss the earth of England, giving thanks for having been brought safely through all our perils. We'd been pursued by pirates and were terrified out of our wits with the fear of encountering enemy vessels. Uncle Hugo was magnificent—nothing could daunt him.” She smiled at the memory, then looked grave. “Is everything possible being done for him?”

“Yes, ma'am,” he said, feeling again the guilt that this crime had occurred on his watch. “Mr. Caldwell has called in a physician to give a second opinion, and a competent nurse has arrived.”

At his request, she dismissed her maid. When they were alone, Chase asked her about her movements on the day of the party. She had breakfasted downstairs with Marina and Mr. Tallboys, who had come to discuss his scheme to improve the religious education at a local seminary for young ladies. Beatrice had known nothing about the misplaced key ring until her aunt told her about its loss when they went to the hothouse to arrange the tables. This had been about eleven after Mr. Tallboys' departure.

“Did Miss Garrod accompany you?” Chase asked.

“No, sir. I believe she went for a ride before luncheon.”

He studied her. According to Garrod, she had enjoyed a minor social success during the season, or perhaps she had merely shone in comparison to her reclusive cousin. Now he caught a glimpse of that charm when she raised her gaze to his, the blue of her eyes deepening and taking on the richer color of her dressing gown. An interesting countenance with its strongly marked features, he thought, one that spoke of some substance. It would not do to underestimate her. Many women would have hurried into further speech, but she waited patiently for his next question. He said, “Miss Honeycutt, in the drawing room last night you expressed disapproval of your cousin's ornament. Mrs. Yates had asked her to remove it?”

Her face worked; a tear trickled down her pale cheek. “Poor Marina. I was rough with her. I am sorry for it. But she is obstinate, Mr. Chase. She doesn't understand we have her best interests at heart.”

He heard the note of falsity and was suddenly convinced that Beatrice liked Marina no better than Mrs. Yates did. He felt a pang of pity for a young girl who seemed to have no real allies, but he suppressed it. He must keep an open mind, he reminded himself. He pressed Beatrice. “But the bracelet, ma'am, why so strong a reaction?”

“It's like this, Mr. Chase. My cousin develops enthusiasms that we don't feel are good for her. We think that wearing that ornament will only feed an unhealthy preoccupation with the past. It's of West Indian make.”

“Where did she get it?”

Beatrice looked perplexed. “I've no notion. My uncle has a collection of Jamaican artifacts.”

Now this was interesting. Hugo Garrod had reported that Marina harbored irrational fears associated with her background. Her family's attempts to distract and shield her could explain the household's simmering tensions. What if she wouldn't cooperate? What if the behaviors had worsened? He was remembering the dirt and eggshells in her reticule. He addressed Beatrice again. “Would your cousin hoard such things for some purpose of her own? Beyond the bracelet, I mean.”