A Poisonous Journey

by Malia Zaidi

  The next hour passes in a blur. At some point Briony is woken and told what has happened. I am pulled off the ground, oblivious to the deep grass stains in my white linen shift. The local police, Inspector Adriano Dymas, arrive with the coroner to pronouce Caspar dead, and take him away. No one is quite certain of what to do. I sit at the small round table on the veranda, unable to peel my eyes from the spot behind the tree where Caspar took his final breath. I barely knew him, of course, but his death has shaken me severely. I thought of this new place as an oasis, a wonderful escape, a chance to start afresh without past wounds being ripped open time and time again. What is it now? The place where I found a dead man in the garden. Everything around that seemed so bright and vibrant, brimming with life, is suddenly dimmed, viewed through a dulling lens.

  Briony sits with me as we wait for the police inspector to talk to us. Daniel and Jeffrey are speaking to him in the conservatory. Briony had wanted to take me inside, but I needed air, so she brought a cardigan to drape around my shoulders and two cups of sweet tea. I keep thinking, what happened? What in heavens name caused a young, by all impressions healthy man, to die so suddenly? I am certainly no physician, but as my mind turns to the ghastly image of his face over and over again, I cannot come up with any logical explanation. Did a bee sting him, and he had a shock? Did he drink too much and hit his head? No, there would have been blood, and there was none. Feelings of frustration and utter helplessness mingle inside me.

  "Drink up, Evie, it’ll do you good." Briony has placed a comforting hand on my forearm, pushing my teacup closer with the other.

  Too tired to argue, I take an obliging sip of the syrupy liquid.

  "It’s vile I know, but it’s supposed to help with shock. This is just so awful, Evie! I can’t believe it." She shakes her head. Her skin is pale, and she looks as I feel.

  "I know." I force down another timid sip. "It is as though we are in some sort of hellish nightmare, but I’ve pinched myself and it’s all still here." Closing my eyes for a moment, I want at once to rest and to run away. "Daniel must feel utterly wretched. They were quite close, I think. Almost like us." I shudder involuntarily. "Sorry."

  "No, you’re right. They grew up together. Caspar is …was his best friend. He was a decent fellow as far as I knew him, which wasn’t very far at all. Although he had been at the booze a bit much lately."

  "Poor man. That poor, poor man. He was so young." I am cold now. The sun has begun its descent, moving on to warm others far away. Still, I cannot bring myself to move. I want the wind, which has grown colder and sharper, to sweep over me, to make me shiver, to fill my lungs with life giving force, to make me feel I am still here. The thought brings on a strange wave of guilt. I am alive and Caspar is dead.

  Before I can sink deeper into despair, I hear the door behind us opening. The Inspector, a man perhaps seven years my senior steps onto the tiled veranda, Jeffrey in his wake.

  "Hello, I am Detective Inspector Adriano Dymas." He gives us a curt nod, then turns to look directly at me. His gaze is focused and not unkind. "I must ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind. I believe it was you who found the body of Mr. Ballantine."

  "Yes." I swallow, experiencing a tinge of anxiety, though of course I have done nothing wrong. For a moment no one moves, then Briony, as if awakening, gets up with a start.

  "Oh, yes. I am sorry. You want to speak to her alone." She is clearly reluctant to leave and lingers by my side, a hand on my shoulder, a protective hovering presence. "Perhaps, I could stay. I won’t interrupt, I—"

  "It’s all right," I pat her hand. "Truly. Make youself a proper cup of tea." Hesitating a few seconds, she finally pulls away, disappearing into the villa with Jeffrey’s hand on her back.

  The inspector takes a seat in the small chair Briony has vacated. His frame is too large for the delicate, wrought-iron furniture, all broad shoulders and long, solid limbs.

  "Lady Carlisle," he pauses, a crease forming between his generous eyebrows, "I am sorry you had to be the one to find the body. A very bad business." Resting his hands on the table, he appears completely at ease, despite the circumstances of our meeting.

  "Yes, terrible." I stammer, unsure of what else to say, though my feeble "terrible" doesn’t desciribe the tragedy by half.

  "You must understand, Lady Carlisle—"

  "Evelyn, please, or Miss Calisle, if you prefer." I interject, wanting him to appreciate I am no uppity miss he has to humor with false deference.

  "Miss Carlisle, then. I would like you to tell me exactly what you saw. I know this is unpleasant, but it will be of great use in our investigation."

  "Investigation? Wasn’t it, I mean, it was an accident …" I let the last word trail into the air between us, waiting for him to agree. Please, please don’t make it even worse than it already is, I beg inside my head.

  "No, Miss Carlisle. I am sorry to say, your friend, Mr. Ballantine, was the victim of a crime."

  I gasp, too startled to speak and he waits a moment before continuing, "The coronor could not give me a definite answer, but was almost certain that strychnine was used on the victim."

  "Strychnine? You mean rat poison? Who would do such a thing?" The questions bubble out of me in a confused stream. The news has taken me aback. I pull the cardigan tighter about me, knowing it will do nothing to drive away the fierce chill creeping into my bones.

  "Yes. Strychnine is used commonly as a rat poison, thus it is readily available. Please, Miss Carlisle, if you will tell me what you saw, you can go and rest. You have had a bad shock."

  Trying to breathe evenly and keep the quivering out of my voice, I retrace my steps for him. He listens calmly, nodding occasionally for me to go on when I begin to falter.

  "And that is all really. Then Jeffrey must have called you. I truly do not know any more." Replaying the scene in my mind has exhausted me. I only want to fall into bed and disappear beneath the covers.

  "You do not remember seeing anyone near the house as you arrived? Someone might have climbed the fence, it is quite low after all, and gained access to the garden. We found a wine glass that had rolled to the side. He would likely have known the killer if he was drinking with him, though a second glass has not yet been discovered."

  I tense as he mentions this. Someone he knew, someone he might have shared a glass of wine with killed him, coldly took his life. I clasp my hands together so tightly I can feel my nails digging into the tender flesh of my palm.

  "I do not know. I didn’t notice anyone." Shaking my head, I emphasize the fact that I am as lost as he.

  Probably realizing that I truly have nothing else to add, Inspector Dymas rises, which I take as a sign that I, too, may go. Pushing back my chair, I pull myself up, steadying my jellied legs by holding on to the edge of the table. I follow his gaze to my white-knuckled grip, and the expression on his sun-tanned face softens.

  "Thank you for your time, Miss Carlisle. You are not well as would be expected after such an event. Shall I call your cousin to help you inside, or will you take my arm?" Letting out a slow breath, I try for an appreciative smile.

  "No, you are very kind, but I can manage. Thank you." I turn to the doorway and hear him follow. We walk to the entrance hall.

  "I will take my leave now. I have spoken to the other members of the household already. Please do not leave the island. We will have to be in further contact with you. Also, do not touch anything in his room, we will need to search it and confiscate anything that may be of value in this investigation."

  "Can you search for fingerprints?"

  "We have only rudimenatry equipment, this is not London, Miss Carlisle. You may trust we will do our best." His tone is kind, not mocking, and I simply nod.

  "I understand." As he turns to leave, a question drops into my mind, and I take a small step toward his retreating figure. "Oh, inspector!" He turns back to face me, an expression of puzzled curiosity drawn across his features. "What will happen to his body?" As I ask the question,
I cannot understand why I feel the need to know. What business is it of mine? I suppose Daniel will deal with all of that.

  "Well, once the coroner has made his examination, it will be released for burial."

  "I see. Thank you." He gives a quick nod of his head and exits. As the door falls on its hinges, I drag myself up the stairs and to my room.

  Once in the room, I am suddenly unable to lie down and close my eyes. The house is silent. Everyone is probably wondering what to do with themselves. Briony will be thinking whether is it appropriate to serve dinner? Jeffrey will be trying to distract himself with work and Daniel … I do not know. I wonder whether I should look for him. He must be feeling acutely alone. Maybe Jeffrey is with him. They both knew Caspar far better than Briony or me, and will have more to talk about, more to mourn.

  Feeling suddenly stifled, I step onto the balcony, overlooking the hills and the strip of deep blue in the distance. The air is cool, and the branches of small olive trees in the garden below are still swaying as peacefully in the gentle breeze as they did this morning when everything was different.

  I inhale slowly. How strange it is that air and breathing are so vital to life. It is the simplest of actions, but then … Caspar will never breathe again, never laugh again, never cry; there is nothing left for him in this world now. Nothing to enjoy or to despise. What a frighteningly fragile thing life is. In the blink of an eye it can be over. A chill runs down my spine like winter’s icy breath, and I close my eyes. I haven’t cried. A man is dead, a man I barely knew, a man who, hours earlier I spoke to. I try to remember his voice, slightly tinged with arrogance, clean Etonian English. A cool man, yes that is the best way to describe him. Distantly suave. How strange and unfathomable it is that he should be gone from one moment to the next without a goodbye. Has he left an imprint on the world, an impression that he was here, that he lived and died? I catch myself asking the same questions regarding my own existence. If I disappeared at this very moment, what would remain? Exhaling a gust of air I’ve been holding, I open my eyes stunned by the brightness. No, this is no way to be thinking now. I suck in another breath like an addict before retiring into my room.

  As I am resting in the solitary coolness of my bed, I cannot bring myself to close my eyes. They are heavy and tired and beginning to ache, yet each time I allow them a moment’s respite, the ghost appears. Caspar’s face, pink and purple. It was a mercy his eyes were closed. I catch myself drifting off again, sleep trying hard to overwhelm me. Maybe I can bear it for a moment, a few minutes. I allow my eyes to close, determined to wrench them open before the nightmares begin. As I try to clear my mind and to imagine the blue sky, the azure sea, white fluffy clouds, the faces of my parents, smiling and cheerful, drift into my head. Oh, how I yearn for them in a moment such as this. Moments where I feel so small and alone, and the world seems so unyieldingly harsh. I am grateful to be near Briony and Jeffrey, but they are struggling with their own problems. Lying very still, I force their faces to stay with me, to keep smiling at me. I want to climb into the memories, to be there and not here. To be a child, coddled and protected, naive, and loved. Despite my attempts to resist its relentless pull, the need for sleep overwhelms me. In my last moments of semi-lucid consciousness, I hear my voice, sounding like a far away whisper, "don’t go." As if they hear me, they do not disappear. The nightmares never come, and for a few hours I turn back the years to a time where life was still simple and pure.

  CHAPTER 6

  The sun is shining brightly the next morning. I let the rays, streaming through the window, wash over me, relishing the warmth. About to climb out of bed the memory of yesterday’s horror comes back to me like an ache one has reawakend with a wrong movement. I sit frozen for a few seconds, unsure of myself, unsure of whether to get up and go downstairs, or hide here under the covers for the rest of the day. How will we all face one another? What will we say, sitting together at the breakfast table? I cringe at the thought of Daniel’s face, a face I last saw ashen and defeated. Though he was vague when telling me his life’s story, I got the sense he has seen more than his share of tragedy, but has not come away from it a hardened man.

  Perhaps he would be glad of company. I would welcome some distraction, or at least some comiseration. I know, of course, that Caspar Ballantine was a relative stranger to me and one I hadn’t even particularly taken to. Yet he was so young and so alive in those few hours I had known him, and seeing his body …

  The words of the police inspector, Adriano Dymas come back to me. Mr. Ballantine wass the victim of a crime. So he had at least one enemy.

  Climbing out of bed, I walk to the window. Yesterday this scene made me feel like the heroine in a film. Outside nothing has changed. The sky is still a dazzling blue, even clearer than yesterday morning, and the line marking the dark sea appears nearer.

  When the war began, when I became more and more aware of all the grief we humans cause and bear, I developed an interest in the pagan gods and gods of the Olymp. They do not pretend to love man, they meddle, confuse, upset. They protect nature, make trees grow, rivers run, flowers bloom. They wreak havok, often with terrible consequences. This I can believe. I can no longer place faith or trust in a benevolent god.

  Looking out at the beauty before me, feeling the heaviness in my heart, I wonder whether there is a god protecting the natural world, keeping the sea blue, the valleys lush and green, following the cirlce of life that keeps the animal kingdom sustained. But is there a god protecting us? Or has He given up on the human race when we began destroying one another?

  Washing and getting dressed, I take my time, in no rush to go downstairs. As I run a comb through my hair, I catch my reflection in the oval mirror set into the vanity. I don’t look any different than I always have. I almost expected my outward appearance to show similar signs of transformation as my inner being. My elation and sense of freedom is now at odds with the shattering reality of Caspar’s death. I came here with the thought of starting afresh. I am young, but I have lived twenty-four years on this earth. There is no such thing as a mid-life rebirth for me, only an attempt to become more like the person I want be, past included. My reflection gives a tiny nod, and I am reassured.

  I wear an unadorned navy dress, slightly longer than the current fashion, with a simple dropped waist and kick pleats. My sandals are flat and plain, making barely a sound as I descend the stairs. It is quiet, and as I reach the bottom I have the urge to climb back up again. Forcing my reluctant feet, I walk toward the conservatory where we had breakfast yesterday and which is Briony’s favorite room in the house.

  Relief mingles with nerves as I hear low voices. As I step into the doorway, I observe only Briony and Jeffrey, their heads together, sitting at the table. I feel like an intruder, but cannot back out now. Briony notices me and straightens in her seat, not looking at all upset at my interruption, thereby loosening the knot of tension at the nape of my neck.

  "Evie, sit down," She points to the empty chair beside her. An unused plate, cup, and set of fork and knive are laid out in front of it. I nod and sit down. "You must be hungry," Briony continues. "I am a terrible host, I didn’t even ask whether you wanted to eat last night. It was just—" she breaks off, gives a sad little shake of her head and frowns.

  "Don’t be silly. I do not think any one of us could have mustered much of an appetite." I pour myself some coffee and half-heartedly look at the breakfast spread. "I am still not particularly hungry, but I wanted to see how you were." Looking at Jeffrey I ask, "How is Daniel coping?"

  Jeffrey sighs and wipes his mouth with one of the ivory linen napkins before finding his voice. "He is completely shocked. As we all are, of course. They grew up together, you know, so it’s like losing another brother for him."

  "Another brother? His others were lost in the war, weren’t they?" Jeffrey nods solemnly. "I had thought so."

  "I don’t know what to say to him. They came here for a holiday, and now this!" In a rare show of passion Jeffrey t
hrows up his arms, looking helpless and frustrated.

  "It is good he has a friend like you, Jeffrey." I try to make my voice stronger than I feel. "And you are a good friend. Just listen to him, try to make it somehow easier to bear. That is all any of us can do."

  "You’re right, of course. Still it is a terrible blow." We sit for a moment in silence, lowering our gazes, staring at nothing.

  "Evie, were you told how it happened?" Briony swallows nervously, crumbling a piece of toast onto her plate. "I mean, how he died?" There, now we can say what is on our minds. It is almost a relief.

  "Inspector Dymas said it was poison."

  "Strychnine," Jeffrey chimes in.

  "Ordinary rat poison." Briony drops the toast and folds her trembling hands together in an attempt to steady them.

  "Yes, I still can’t believe it." I say, knowing how banal it sounds. None of us truly understands or believes it yet. However, despite any wishing or hoping, it is true and it happened and it cannot be reversed. I am glad I am with friends, with people who love me, and whom I love. Sitting here with them makes me feel I am not alone. We share the confusion, anger, and sadness and don’t have to pretend and put on masks at a time when caring and truth are most vital.

  "I keep thinking," Jeffrey leans his elbows on the table, manners fogotten, "who would possibly do such a thing?" A flicker of miserable confusion appears on his open face. "I know Caspar wasn’t without faults, but he wasn’t a bad person. Careless at times, but—oh."