The Mysterious Affair at Castaway House (8 page)

‘My daughters.’ Feathers pulled them both towards him and shoved them at me. ‘This is Madeleine, and this here – come here, Lizzie! This is Elizabeth, my eldest. Go on, shake hands with Mr Carver.’

‘How d’you do?’ I said, amused at her shyness.

‘Are you an artist?’ said Madeleine, the young one, peering with unabashed curiosity at the sketchbook nestled in my bag. ‘We’ve always wanted to know an artist, haven’t we, Lizzie?’

‘Maddie!’ hissed Lizzie, elbowing her sharply in the side.

‘Mr Carver is a gifted amateur,’ said the doctor. ‘No modern rubbish here, you see?’

Maddie pulled a face at me. ‘Father thinks I’ve terrible taste.’

‘I don’t
think
,’ said the doctor. ‘I know. Go on, Mr Carver, show my daughters what you’ve achieved this morning.’

‘Hardly anything,’ I said, embarrassed now myself. I never enjoyed displaying a work in progress, but three pairs of eyes had turned eagerly my way and so I reluctantly retrieved my sketchbook and showed them what I had made of the gulls.

For a few seconds they peered at the page, and then Lizzie said in a tight little voice, ‘Rather decent, aren’t they?’

‘There you go!’ The doctor beamed. ‘And Lizzie’s the cleverest one in the family, so you ought to take her word for it.’

Maddie rolled her eyes, as her sister said in that same voice, ‘I’d love to draw. Only I’m afraid I’m utterly talentless.’

I smiled at her, glad now that she was the doctor’s daughter and I’d been afforded an introduction. ‘I’d be happy to talk you through some techniques.’

‘Yes, why don’t you let Mr Carver do just that?’ The doctor put an arm round his younger daughter. ‘While I take a turn with Maddie.’

‘Can’t I stay?’ said Maddie, but Feathers wheeled her about and marched her down to the other side of the pier. I groaned inwardly at the contrivance, but all the same I was rather pleased.

I showed her a pencil drawing I’d done a fair while ago, of trees along the canal. ‘You see, the important thing is
to look at the shapes between the solid objects,’ I began, afraid I sounded terribly pompous.

‘Oh, gosh, yes,’ she said vaguely. She was knotting and unknotting her hands. ‘Father said you were spending the summer in Helmstone.’

I stopped, my finger still on the page. I realized that, of course, she had no interest in drawing whatsoever. I also realized that I must have been discussed, perhaps at the Featherses’ dining table after our encounter yesterday. ‘Yes. That is, I hope to.’ I decided not to mention the proviso of Mrs Bray keeping a civil tongue in her head for the duration. ‘I’m a cousin of Alexander’s.’

Of course, she knew that too. She peered up at me through the frame of her sandy lashes. ‘Maddie and I say that they ought to be in the pictures, Mr and Mrs Bray. They’re glamour personified, don’t you think? And they love each other so much.’

‘Well … um … that is, I’m sure they do,’ I said, as Lizzie blushed again. She really was a very nervous young lady, and made me feel rather protective of her. ‘So tell me about Helmstone. I’ve only just arrived, you see.’

‘Well, it’s terribly dull, of course.’ The sun, moving from behind a cloud, caught her eyes and she shaded her forehead, looking over to where her father and sister were standing, peering through a penny telescope. ‘But I suppose the old quarter, the Snooks, is rather sweet. All cobbled streets and antique shops, that sort of thing.’

‘Ah yes,’ I said, remembering the dark alleyway Alec had dragged me along yesterday towards his favourite haunt, the Walmstead Arms. ‘Anything else?’

‘Um …’ Her eyes really were the most astonishing
shade of blue, I mused. ‘Of course, we’ve a ton of picture houses, and the Majestic Hotel’s quite grand. Oh, and there’s Bradley’s, the department store.’

In the distance I saw the doctor and his daughter heading back this way and, seized with a sudden rush of confidence said, ‘D’you know, I really need somebody to show me round. My cousin hasn’t the least interest in that sort of thing, I’m afraid.’ Or rather, I thought, Alec’s interests limited themselves to evening entertainments.

‘Oh,’ she gasped. ‘Oh. Oh yes. That is, I mean … I could. If you’d like.’

I smiled down at her and was rewarded by an answering smile that lit up her face. ‘Are you free tomorrow?’

She nodded. ‘After lunch. Um … three o’clock?’

‘Then I’ll be at your door at three.’

She breathed a long sigh, as if she’d been holding air somewhere deep inside her. ‘That would be wonderful,’ she said in a whisper.

And then they were upon us, and I chattered, delighted with myself at my foray into this land of the female. After I waved them off I returned to my sketchbook, although I had to stop intermittently as I mused on Lizzie and what we might get up to tomorrow. My experience with girls was fairly limited, more through lack of opportunity than lack of desire, and my knowledge of them was spliced together from what more worldly friends had imparted. All I really knew was that there were ‘good-time’ girls, of whom Mrs Bray had no doubt been one, rather masculine in their outlook on life, sex-mad and cold-hearted, certainly not romance material, and there were regular girls like Lizzie, feminine and delicate, whom one had to handle
carefully as they were likely to spring forth tears at any moment.

I was interrupted in these musings by the growling of my stomach, and I realized with a start that it was well after two o’clock. Scone had informed me that luncheon was usually a cold buffet anyhow as neither Mr nor Mrs Bray had much appetite at the moment. I thought this was rather so they could avoid sitting together for yet another meal, and I hoped that if I set off now Mrs Pennyworth might be persuaded to knock me up some meat sandwiches.

Along the length of the pier were benches set into the ridged column of its spine, facing both ways out to sea. I walked along the far side, where the empty cliff line continued for several miles until, in the distance, I could make out the afternoon sun twinkling on windows of the next town. I was ensconced in my own world and feeling fairly peaceful, so the sharp sobbing beside me intruded like a funeral bell.

I turned. A girl was crouched on one of the centre benches, face in hands, elbows in lap, crying. I glanced down at her, embarrassed, and was already moving on when I realized that it was Agnes, the young parlourmaid I had encountered yesterday on my arrival – the girl on a warning from Mrs Bray.

I presumed this was why she was sobbing and, not wanting to intrude, was about to walk on when she looked up, puffy-eyed, and saw me.

‘Oh no.’ She sagged downwards on the bench. ‘Don’t tell no one, please, sir.’

I hovered awkwardly in front of her. ‘Is … is everything all right?’

‘I’m f-f-fine.’ She sniffed. ‘It’s my afternoon off. I can do what I like, can’t I?’

Somehow that note of defiance set her on her crying spree again. I dug about in my pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. ‘Here,’ I said, dangling it in front of her. ‘It’s clean.’

She looked at it suspiciously, then took it and blew her nose. An elderly lady tottered past, eyeing us beadily, no doubt thinking I was the one who had made her cry. I sat down on the bench next to hers, with an arm of sculpted metal between us.

Finally, the sobs subsided into sniffs. ‘Thank you, sir,’ she muttered eventually, folding the handkerchief into a sleeve of her dress. ‘I’ll wash this and give it back.’

‘It’s a shame to be crying on your free afternoon,’ I observed. ‘Especially as the weather’s so nice.’

She was staring out to sea, at the grey waves licking the sides of the cliff. ‘I’m off to my sister’s now,’ she said in a monotone. ‘I’ll be fine.’

‘Good.’ I wondered how I could politely leave without making her feel abandoned. ‘Are … are you sure you’re all right?’

She swallowed lumpily. ‘You said … you said you were staying here for a while, sir.’

I nodded. ‘That’s right. Did you want me to … I mean … ?’ I stopped, because I had no idea what to say next.

‘I think …’ She paused. ‘I think you should be careful.’

‘What?’ I smiled. ‘Is that a threat?’

She shook her head once, sharply, as if trying to dispel an insect. ‘You seem nice,’ she said. ‘I just wanted to let you know you ought to be careful.’

I laughed out loud now. ‘But why, for heaven’s sake?’

She turned to me, her eyes flat. ‘There’s evil in the house,’ she said. ‘And if you ain’t careful, sir, it’ll get you too like it got Sally.’

‘You’ll have to explain further, I’m afraid,’ I said humorously, but Agnes’s gaze was anything but. ‘What happened to Sally?’

She pinched her lips together. ‘I’d best be getting on to my sister’s.’ She got to her feet and began fussing with her coat.

‘Agnes …’

‘Thanks for the handkerchief, sir.’ She tottered off on her boots along the planks of the pier. I watched her retreating figure as I stood up and dusted flecks of dirt from my trousers. She was very young after all, no more than sixteen or seventeen. I recalled myself at that age, blindly believing all that was presented to me about the world. Thank goodness I had reached nineteen and was now in full possession of all the facts I needed to know.

For some reason, the image of Mrs Bray came to mind as I walked along the pier; not as she was now, but as a street urchin, dirty-faced, hanging around outside Castaway, hiding from the servants. Strange that no one in the family knew of this extra twist in the tale of Alec’s impetuous union, but I supposed this would only have added fuel to the gossipy fire, and my aunt and uncle were very keen on appearances.

I returned to the house and spent a pleasant afternoon alone in the garden, reading on one of the stone benches that dotted the various shaded arbours leading off the central winding path. As the sun dipped down I went up to my room to dress for dinner, and on entering the dining room was pleased to see Alec there, at the sideboard, mixing some drinks. ‘Robert!’ he said, his face lighting up. ‘I was worried after I missed you at lunch. Thought you might have run out on me.’

‘Not a chance.’ He handed me a gin Martini. ‘I bumped into Dr Feathers on the pier.’

‘Surprised you managed to get away. People have never been seen again after falling into conversation with Dr Feathers.’

I smiled. ‘Well, he does have a rather attractive daughter. The eldest Miss Feathers – do you know her?’

Alec pulled a sour face. ‘Lord, don’t do it, Robert. Feathers’ll have you married off to her within the week. He’s petrified some rogue is going to take advantage of his dear precious, and he wants to secure her future before that happens.’

‘He doesn’t know I’m not a rogue,’ I observed, settling myself at the table. Scone, whom I had not noticed in the room until that point, darted forwards to pull out my chair, and seemed most disappointed when he was foiled.

Alec pondered on my observation. ‘Not with your face,’ he said. ‘You’ve the physog of a vicar.’

‘Thanks very much.’

Alec burped. ‘You’re welcome.’

‘God, you’re an oaf.’

This last sentence came from a cool voice in the
doorway. We both turned and saw Clara Bray entering the room. She allowed Scone to seat her and said to him, ‘We’d better start eating straight away. Something needs to soak up all the alcohol my husband’s consumed.’

Scone nodded and withdrew. Alec leaned across the table and tickled her under her chin. ‘Any chance for a little dig, eh, my dear?’

She withdrew her face sharply. ‘Please stop that, darling, or I shall be forced to dig properly. By which I mean at your testicles, with a blunt spoon.’

Alec snorted. ‘Oh, they went a long time ago, as well you know.’ He slugged at his wine. ‘I don’t suppose you feel like telling me where you’ve been this afternoon?’

She picked up the glass Scone had just poured for her, looked at him over the rim of it and said, ‘No, I don’t.’

Alec misjudged the distance of the table and thumped the wine down; it tipped on to the cloth. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said, his eyes sliding towards me. ‘I can guess.’

‘I doubt it, my dear.’ She gave him a shark’s smile. ‘But cast all the aspersions you like; I really couldn’t give a shit.’

Alec winked at her. ‘And with a mouth straight from the sewer. How perfect.’

Throughout this entire spat I had been affecting an interest in the dragon’s head decorating the mantelpiece, and wishing I were anywhere else, even in my sickroom back home, rather than having to listen to this.

However, through the doorway of the dining room came Scone carrying the entrées, little squares of pâté on toast, and as I chewed on them and gulped down wine, Mrs Bray got out a book and read it at the table, much as she’d done this morning, seemingly completely unconcerned
by the insults she and her husband had batted back and forth. I sensed a certain settling in the room, a cessation of hostilities while the servants were around, and I breathed a little more easily, wishing nevertheless that I could be afforded the same courtesy as they.

The courses came and went. Alec ate little and drank a lot. The silence in the room was as thick and loaded with menace as a gathering storm. I noticed him watching his wife through narrowed eyes, his face growing redder and redder. I attempted to engage him in conversation, but to my questions he gave only monotone answers. I tried to think of pleasant thoughts, such as the bloom in Lizzie Feathers’ cheeks and the smell of the brine from the sea.

‘So this is to be it, then, is it?’ he said after a half-hour in which I had given up attempting to leaven the atmosphere with small talk. ‘Honestly, Clara, I thought you might at least make an effort, seeing as we’ve a guest here.’

Without looking up from her book, Mrs Bray said, ‘He’s no guest of mine, darling, as you well know.’

Alec threw down his napkin, startling one of the maids clearing plates. ‘He’s my cousin, damn it!’

‘Mmm,’ she said, ‘guilty by association.’

Alec was practically purple with rage.

‘Please,’ I said to him. ‘Don’t be concerned on my account.’

He wasn’t listening. ‘Now then,’ he said, ‘say what you like about me, but Robert’s a decent chap and he doesn’t deserve any of this.’