Mrs Nellys finally said something useful. ‘We had the goats brought here not long after we moved – they were shipped here in cages. We think the bats might have come along in that shipment, clinging to the goats, or perhaps hidden in the straw.’
‘Where were the goats shipped from?’
She shook her head. ‘Cuba? Argentina? One of those places. They were supposed to be a very good breed: tame, hardy, excellent for milking. My father had taken ill and I had to look after my husband. We needed a source of income, and we were told goats would be a good business. Not too demanding.’ She smiled bitterly. ‘What a bunch of lies. To think of the money we paid for them!’
‘Where did youse live before?’
‘Everywhere. My father and I moved all around, looking for a cure for my husband. We lived in Germany, Boston, Norway.. .’
McGray whistled. ‘Sounds like youse were quite wealthy.’
‘Were! If my poor mother could see us now . . . I ended up selling her most precious jewellery for pennies. Most of it went to charlatan medics, all of them claiming to have a cure for my husband.’
McGray looked sombre. How much of himself was he seeing in that woman? Very much like him, she had squandered all her time, effort and resources looking for that one elusive cure, never giving up, never coming to terms with her reality.
‘And youse finally moved here because of the healing waters,’ McGray pointed out.
‘Yes.’
‘Ma’am,’ I intervened, ‘I have trouble believing those –’
She could not have sounded more resolute. ‘The waters cured him. Of that I’m sure.’
‘Are you?’
‘Your colleague has seen my house. You can imagine how hard it is to get by in these lands, how lonely it can be. Do you think I’d subject my children to all this for nothing?’
‘They were born here, right?’ McGray asked.
‘Yes. This is the only life they’ve ever known.’
McGray could not look her in the eye as he spoke. ‘Ye’ve sacrificed so much . . . Ye . . . must love Mr Nellys a good deal.’
Her only reply was a long, tired sigh.
‘Yer husband says he’s cursed,’ McGray said.
Mrs Nellys covered her brow. ‘My husband sometimes has . . . well, episodes.’
McGray dragged a chair closer to the bed, sat down and spoke slowly, as if fearing he was about to rouse a dormant beast. ‘Has he ever told ye . . . he thinks the bats bite him?’
Mrs Nellys did not blink for an abnormally long time. It was chilling to behold. ‘He said what?’
McGray did his best to sound conciliatory. ‘That they bite him. That they come in at night and bite him. He told me so himself.’
The poor woman was flabbergasted. ‘I told you he still has episodes. Very rare, but he still does. He must be hallucinating again. That was one of his worst symptoms before we found the cure.’
McGray opened his mouth, probably about to tell her he’d seen scars on the man’s body, but he held back; the woman seemed quite mortified already. Before he could change his mind I moved the conversation to a different topic.
‘Ma’am, you and Lazarus seem to have a severe skin condition.’
She instantly began scratching the back of her hand, as if my mere words had brought a nasty itch to life. ‘It’s the goats, I think. We must have developed an allergy to them.’
‘The goats?’ I echoed. ‘May I see?’
Hesitantly, she extended her hand, now red after the intense scratching. Very much like her son’s, Mrs Nellys’s skin was blotched with overlapping marks of disease, the newer patches tender pink, the older ones brown and calloused.
‘Helena has not developed this condition,’ I pointed out.
‘No. The Lord has spared her.’
I looked closer. ‘I am not an expert in skin diseases, but I’d be more inclined to believe this has been caused by the bats.’
‘I told you, we don’t breed the beasts!’ she snapped, withdrawing her hand at once.
‘I was not suggesting that,’ I said, albeit untruthfully. ‘The bats might have passed something on to your goats, and those you do handle constantly. That might be the actual source of the allergy. As soon as the constables arrive I will make sure that a specialist comes to see you. I still have a few contacts in Oxford.’ I did not mention that some of them would dance in glee at the chance of looking at a possibly undocumented malady.
Mrs Nellys was already casting me the most distrustful look. ‘When can I go home?’
‘You are very weak, ma’am,’ I said, standing up. ‘I recommend you spend the night here.’
‘I will never sleep under the roof of –’
‘Ma’am? I raised my voice. ‘I said I recommend out of politeness. I do not want you to faint – or worse – and leave your daughter stranded on that island all alone. If I find you are better in the morning, we will see that you and Helena are taken back to your home. Otherwise you will have to remain here for as long as I see fit.’ I nodded at the tray. ‘So you had better eat.’
And as we left the room I saw her stretch a hesitant hand towards a large piece of her own cheese.
‘I hope those bloody constables arrive soon,’ I grumbled as we walked along the corridor.
Nine-Nails sounded exhausted. ‘Aye. I’ll be glad to go home.’
I arched an eyebrow. ‘Will you? I thought you’d want to investigate those “miraculous waters” some more.’
‘I have what I need, Percy,’ he muttered, and he hurried into his bedroom before I could ask what he meant.
34
An eerie silence took hold of the manor.
We had nothing left to do but wait, and how galling it was. I must have spent the best part of an hour standing by one of the windows of the astronomy room, expecting at any moment to see a carriage or a handful of riders coming to our aid. My heart skipped a beat every time the wind moved the firs or some bird glided from branch to branch. I was unaware of the time until the sky turned dull and lifeless, my patience wearing out as the dusk crept upon us.
McGray joined me just as the last rays of sunlight were dying on the horizon. He was pressing his arm.
‘How is that wound?’ I asked him.
‘It’s healing pretty quickly now. Looks like that clean-up with the spirit really helped.’
He rolled up his sleeve to show me the scar. He had removed the bandages already, and his blood appeared to have clotted as normal. Nevertheless . . .
‘D’ye think the worst’s passed?’
There was no way I could assure him of that. After seeing Mrs Nellys I was almost convinced those bats were transmitting some odd disease; not rabies, like the cases mentioned in Natalja’s books, but something I had never encountered before. However, I saw no point in alarming him just then.
‘Yes, I think so.’
He smiled. ‘Yer a fucking terrible liar, Percy.’
After reluctantly allowing Boyde to prepare a hot bath for Benjamin – Mr Koloman had kindly pointed out there was no need for us to watch over his nephew ‘as the boy refreshed his unmentionables’ – McGray and I again found ourselves taking meals to the three suspects, like unwitting gaolers on an evening round.
Tamlyn emerged from the kitchen with the trays. As soon as she saw me her lips and hands began to tremble, nearly spilling Dominik’s carafe of wine.
‘I checked what you said,’ I told her in a whisper as we walked along the corridors.
‘What’s that, sir?’
‘Miss Veronika’s wounds. Please, do not pretend you cannot–’
Nine-Nails pushed in between us. ‘There, there, Percy. What’s the need for torturing the lassie? Tamlyn, the dandy here says . . .’ – he looked around to make sure there were no eavesdroppers – ‘he says he found nothing. Nothing D’ye understand?’
She nodded vehemently. ‘Then I must’ve been mistaken.’
I raised my eyebrows. ‘You seemed quite convinced when you first s
aid it. And scars do not vanish in . . .’
I looked down, realizing something I ought to have deduced long ago. McGray’s eyes widened. He knew too.
‘What d’ye think the –’
It was my turn to raise a hand. ‘I will deal with this, McGray. Tamlyn, you have done well.’ And I smiled at her.
The trembling of her hands diminished ever so slightly, and we resumed our way to the locked rooms.
We found the men increasingly impatient. Calcraft grunted like a hungry dog, and Dominik, as I had expected, was on edge. He pleaded for more tobacco – we saw no reason to deny him – and we left him pacing to and fro, looking grim and, surprisingly, quite pale.
In contrast, Lazarus had given in to an unnerving lethargy, as if his own fate did not bother him at all. He’d not touched the food we had left in the morning, and he lifted his face only when we told him about the arrival of his mother and sister.
‘What are they doing here?’ he snapped.
‘They came to plead for you,’ I said. ‘Your mother in particular is very poorly. She has not eaten since yesterday, according to your sister.’
Lazarus had no colour left, but the premature lines around his eyes deepened. ‘She hasn’t eaten?’
‘She’s worried sick,’ said McGray. ‘Don’t ye think ye should tell us what’s really going on? Where did ye go that night? Did ye have anything to do with the constable’s death?’
Lazarus simply tensed his lips and stared at the floor.
I took a deep breath. I thought I’d better take a different approach, rather than repeat the same question like a parrot. ‘She told us about that skin condition you caught from the goats. It is curious that your sister seems quite healthy.’
Lazarus put a hand to his brow. ‘I only got it when I was seventeen or eighteen. Helena might be yet to show symptoms. I fear the day she does. Our family seems to be withering and dying . . . very slowly . . .’
I leaned closer. ‘I know people who might help, medics and scientists I met in Oxford. If you help us, if you tell us what really happened, perhaps I could bring them here to –’
He looked up so quickly he nearly cracked his neck. ‘Don’t! Leave us alone! We’ve managed so far. We will continue to manage.’
‘With all due respect,’ I said, doing my best to provoke him to talk, ‘you do not seem to be managing particularly well at the moment. Do you want your mother and sister to go back to their island? Do you want them to be cut off from the world, left to fend for themselves when the police come and take you to jail? To leave your father secluded for ever in that little shack?’
Lazarus began to breathe more and more anxiously, until his chest heaved and he burst into a furious growl, jumping to his feet and throwing the tray of food against the wall.
‘Go to hell! Leave me alone!’
His voice was booming, and he glared at us with bloodshot eyes, the red in deep contrast with his almost white pupils. The only sounds were his snorting breath and the trickle of soup dripping from the shelves.
I merely nodded. ‘As you wish,’ I said, and walked to the door. Tamlyn came in and began picking up the shattered china and crockery. ‘Leave that. You can clean up in the morning.’
We left the pantry and McGray locked the door. He dispatched the girl and on our way to the main parlour we passed through the raucous kitchen. Mrs Glenister, Boyde, young Ellie and the alarmingly wide Mrs Plunket were in a frantic race to prepare dinner. I saw piles of summer berries and blue cheese, five ten-year-old bottles of wine being decanted, and I perceived the tasty aroma of boeuf en croûte. My mouth watered and my empty stomach growled.
We heard chatter and laughter in the drawing room. As we walked in, the first thing to catch my eye was a tall, spindly man dressed in an immaculate black suit. I had to blink twice before I realized it was Benjamin.
Mr Koloman was adjusting his nephew’s bowtie with one hand, holding a large glass of wine in the other. He noticed us and his smile grew to an impossible width.
‘Inspectors, I bet you wouldn’t recognize him if you saw him in Mayfair!’
I spotted the old-fashioned cut of the jacket, and that the sleeves and trousers were a little too short for the boy, but other than that Benjamin looked quite the gentleman, with a snow-white shirt, shining shoes and a neat haircut. The faltering hint of a smile suggested he liked the change but was too shy to admit it.
McGray whispered in my ear. ‘Ye were right; we should-nae have left him alone with them. Half an hour and they’ve turned him into a bloody Frey!’
All the family were gathered there. Mrs Koloman looked quite at ease on one of the velvet sofas, admiring her nephew with proud eyes. And the twins, both seated on the piano stool, were clad in light dresses cut from the exact same pattern, only one was of a slightly lighter olive green than the other. From that distance I could not tell who was who – but apparently I’d made that same mistake before.
I cleared my throat. ‘Is this a special occasion?’
Mr Koloman passed me a full glass. ‘It doesn’t need to be! Benjamin yielded to my insistence and agreed to be dressed and groomed like an aristocrat. I simply thought we should all match his effort.’
‘It elevates one’s mood,’ said Veronika from the piano, with a radiant smile that concealed any trace of illness. ‘Don’t you think so?’
‘I only wish we could have Dominik join us,’ said Mrs Koloman, looking wistfully at her husband.
He in turn looked at me. ‘Inspectors, I don’t suppose you could, just for this evening –’
‘Aye,’ McGray replied, ‘ye suppose well.’ And he helped himself to the excellent red wine. He seemed to be developing a taste for it.
I thought there’d been a soft knock at the door but was not entirely sure until I heard it again, half lost under the Kolomans’ sanguine conversation. The family only became aware of it because I went to open the door.
To my utter surprise, it was the plump, nervous Helena, fidgeting with a handkerchief and looking decidedly pale. She had also changed into a more elegant, albeit old- fashioned, turquoise gown. It was a model from the fifties or forties – something my grandmothers would have worn – but it somehow resembled the twins’ almost Grecian gowns.
‘You look so beautiful!’ Mrs Koloman cried, rising to meet the girl and take her by the hand. The woman was nearly moved to tears. ‘That was my mother’s first party dress. It’s perfect on you.’
Helena blushed, but very much like Benjamin she seemed to appreciate the attention. I doubted anyone had ever praised her looks. Maybe not even her mother.
‘It’s . . . it’s very pretty, ma’am,’ she mumbled.
‘Oh, you can take it with you if you like it.’
Veronika approached her. ‘Or you can come here and wear it whenever you wish. You wouldn’t want it to get soiled or torn by goats.’
Helena’s head was bowed, hardly daring to look at the beautiful twins. ‘I don’t think my mother would like that,’ she said in a barely audible voice.
‘Don’t worry about that right now,’ Natalja intervened, taking Helena’s hand. ‘Enjoy the moment. Come, I bet you’ll love our music.’
Natalja cast me a furtive, testing look. I felt butterflies in my stomach as our eyes met, a hundred questions swarming in my mind. I was eager to bring up last night’s scheme there and then, but I did not know how her parents might react. I had, after all, been nude in the presence of one of their daughters and stepped into the bedroom of the other without their consent. They seemed very progressive people, but last night’s happenings might prove too much even for them.
All these thoughts came to me in an instant, and Natalja surely noticed my inner conflict. Whatever she read in my face she did not like, for she moved away swiftly. So did her sister, pulling Helena by the other hand, and the three girls gathered around the piano.
As Veronika played a lively mazurka, Helena looked in awe at the thick rugs, the bookshelves, the domed ceiling and the l
avish furnishings.
‘A “brave new world",’ McGray whispered with a hint of sadness. He was surely thinking of Helena’s disappointment when she had to return to the hardships of Juniper Island, with a sick mother, a barely sane father and – it seemed ever more likely – a convict brother.
‘Do not quote Shakespeare,’ I grumbled. ‘I’ve had enough of him for a lifetime.’
Veronika’s music was as accomplished as Natalja’s, but it also had a certain brightness, an eagerness I had not heard in her sister’s. I allowed myself a sideways smile; the girl now seemed fit enough for direct interrogation, and I’d see that it happened as soon as possible.
Natalja went to Benjamin and pulled him into their circle. The twins’ high spirits were so infectious that even the wary Helena was smiling, gently rocking her head to the rhythm of the tune.
‘Ah, the pleasures of youth,’ said Mr Koloman with a sigh, inviting us to sit with him and his wife.
‘We should have Helena here more often,’ she said. ‘She is the most darling thing. Imagine what some manners and education could do for her. Perhaps now that Lazarus . . .’ She looked down, hesitating.
‘The mother would not allow it,’ Mr Koloman explained to us. ‘She thinks we are vain and our ideas far too liberal for her kin.’
I could see her point; the twins’ scandalous clothes were the most immediate example (let alone the immodest attitudes I’d witnessed the night before).
‘Would you look after Helena?’ I asked. ‘If need be, I mean.’
Mrs Koloman brought a hand to her chest. ‘Of course we would! And not just out of charity. Look at her. She’d be so happy with my girls.’
As I looked, Veronika was inviting Helena to play the keyboard, the plump girl shaking her head coyly. Until then I had not really seen the beauty in her features, the pointy nose or the full lips. Cheerfulness is indeed the best of tonics. As I sipped my wine I wondered whether her brother’s downfall and her mother’s illness might in fact be blessings in disguise.
The boeuf en croûte was rather disappointing. The pastry was buttery and perfectly golden but the meat itself was far too rare for my taste, spurting scarlet juices whenever I pressed it with my knife.
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