by Malia Zaidi
"Mr. and Mrs. Farnham are in the conservatory. If you care for lunch, it has only just been served." She lowers her gaze, and we follow her through the main part of the house to the back where the conservatory is located.
"Evie, Daniel you’re back! And in good time too." Briony gestures to the empty chairs. "You’ve not eaten, have you? Cook made roast lamb with mint sauce and potatoes. Almost like a proper English Sunday lunch."
"Smells wonderful." Daniel pulls out my chair before taking his usual seat beside me.
"Yes, lovely." I add, hungry now, after the strenuous ride.
"So," Jeffrey begins as he fills his plate with slices of fragrant lamb and rosemary potatoes, "did you speak to Dymas?"
"We did, thanks," Daniel takes the plate Briony has filled for him. "It was rather strained, to be honest. He hates the idea of Darius being a suspect."
"As do we all," Jeffrey comments, dowsing his lamb in green speckled sauce. "Darius is a respected member of the staff and a good friend."
Briony nods her agreement. "I can’t believe he could hurt anybody. He’s such a lamb. Oh—" she looks down at her plate, "well, a dear, I meant."
"Indeed. However, if Caspar was really blackmailing him, and if the theft Darius is accused of in the diary was real, he has motive." Daniel dips a bite of the pink meat into his sauce.
"Since, he never went to the police about being blackmailed, it would seem at least that part was true."
"Why did all this have to happen?" Briony lowers her fork to her plate, the potato speared on its prongs left uneaten.
"It is partly my fault." Daniel says, and we all turn our eyes on him. He sets down his cutlery. "Had I not brought him here, none of this would ever have happened."
"Daniel," I reply solemnly, "you cannot blame yourself. You did nothing wrong. You took your friend along to visit a beautiful place, to meet kind people. You must forget this absurd idea that you carry any blame for what has happened."
"Exactly," Briony nods.
Jeffrey swallows his last bite and pronounces, "With Caspar’s penchant for blackmail as is evident from that little book of his, he made enemies wherever he went. If he had a habit of such behavior, he would have created a hostile environment anywhere." I open my mouth to admonish him, when he holds up a hand. "No, let me finish. I am not saying he deserved any of this, heavens, who does? All the same, he made his life unsafe, doing what he did. You are not responsible for his actions, Daniel, nor for the tragedy which befell him."
Daniel takes a thoughtful sip of his wine before saying, "I want to believe you are right."
"‘Of course I am," Jeffrey insists, helping himself to another spoonful of potatoes.
"Right, now that’s settled,"Briony sits up in her seat. "I have received a leaflet about a nameday festival for Saint George on Tuesday evening. Should be good fun and some distraction for us. What do you think?"
"Wonderful," I answer, dragging a chunk of potato through the sauce on my plate. "Is it in Heraklion?"
"Well, there, too, but I thought we’d go to the one in Miklos, show the locals our faces after everything that has happened."
"Good idea," Daniel nods. "I must say, Briony, this lamb is abolutely delicious. Best Sunday roast in memory."
Briony beams as though she herself had anything to do with the preparation. "Thank you! Tuck in, but leave a bit of room, there’s apricot tart for afters."
CHAPTER 24
"Afters" as Briony called dessert, has done us in. Sated to the point of bursting, we break apart. Daniel to call Caspar’s father again, and Jeffrey to work. Judging by the sound of snoring echoing through the walls, this means, "to nap."
Briony and I settle in the sitting room. She begins to do some quick-fingered stitching on a white pillowcase, and I flick open a copy of Evelina.
After a few moments where the only sound is that of dry pages being turned, Briony says, "Evie, what will you do when this is over?"
I lower the book onto my lap. "What do you mean?"
Briony hesitates, the fabric of her pillowcase creasing in her clenched fists. "Will you go back home? To London?" Her voice is calm, trying for a neutral tone. I know her too well though, noticing the twinge of ill-concealed anxiety.
"I wasn’t planning to. Not yet, at least. I don’t want to intrude though—"
"No, no!" She shakes her head with force, blonde waves bouncing above her narrow shoulders. "That isn’t what I meant at all. I just didn’t know whether you would want to stay after what has happened." Her eyes meet mine. "You left London to escape sad memories, and now you have been dragged into this miserable affair. It’s not the holiday I had in mind for you when I sent the invitation."
"Oh, Briony, of course not. No one was to know any of this would happen. However, it’s not the same as at home. Those memories claw at my heart. Caspar … well, I didn’t know him, did I? Don’t misunderstand, I am horrified at what happened to him, certainly I am, but his ghost does not haunt me. Do you understand?"
She nods, her face briefly brightened by a smile. "I hoped you would say so."
"I told you I would stay as long as you needed me, and meant it wholeheartedly." I squeeze her hand.
"With you and Daniel here, the house doesn’t feel so empty. It sounds like a terribly selfish reason to keep you here, but you know what I mean, don’t you, Evie?" I nod. The situation hasn’t brought Briony and Jeffrey closer together yet after all.
"Evie?" Briony bites her bottom lip, signifying something serious on her mind.
"What is it?"
She swallows, dragging out the moment before answering, "Will you come to Zaros with me tomorrow?"
"Zaros? I’ve never heard of it. Where is it?"
"A town nearby. The truth is …" her words trail off, and she looks at her lap where she is still holding onto the little pillowcase with white knuckled vigor.
"Yes?"
"I want to visit an orphanage."
This was not the response I had anticipated. In thruth, I do not know what I had expected her to say. Briony is ordinarily not one for scandals or great surprises.
"Don’t be shocked." Her lips are a pale thin line.
"I am not shocked, only a little surprised. Of course, I will go with you. Happily," I add.
"Really?" Relief floods her face, and traces of pink appear in her cheeks.
"Yes! Did you think I would not? Really, you ought to know me better. Tell me, how many children will we be returning with?"
Shaking her head she emits a mirthless laugh. "Oh Evie, I wish it were so simple." She leans back into the cushions, releasing the creased pillowcase with a sigh.
"Can’t it be?"
"Nothing is ever simple, Evelyn Carlisle, you should know by now."
"You must do what you think is right, Briony. What can be wrong with being happy?"
"It may come at the cost of my marriage?" She doesn’t look at me, speaking almost in a whisper.
"Would it?"
Another sigh, her eyes still somewhere near the ceiling.
"It is much harder than when we were children. We could easily convince ourselves that we would get everything we wanted when we were all grown up. We would be married to the most handsome men, our children would be best friends. Being happy was a basic assumption."
"We read too many fairy-tales."
"Little girls always read fairy-tales. Why do you think we were so mislead, sitting at home, while the boys went out shooting with their fathers?"
"They made us happy, Briony."
"Deluded and naive."
"We saw what we wanted to see. A princess, a prince, a happy ending. We ignored the fact that the witch and the wolf kept reappearing, or that the princess was the one to make the greatest sacrifices. We were not deluded, we were children." I pause, and when she does not respond I add, "And when, not if, when you have a daughter of your own, you will tell her the same stories we were told, because you will want her to believe in happy endings."
&nb
sp; "I will." Briony says in a dreamy voice.
"It isn’t so bad here, is it?" I try to coax out a sense of contentedness. "The weather alone ought to give you reason to smile. You have had a lot to worry about lately. Life will calm down again, and I will still be here and so will Jeffrey."
"I know." She turns her head in my direction. "I should not complain, I have it so good in so many ways, it’s just …" She gives a little shrug, "everytime I have a moment of quiet, my mind turns back to the child I might have had. It is as though I have a chronic ache, a chronic emptiness, which nothing, no matter how wonderful, can fill."
"We will go to the orphanage tomorrow, only you must promise to do nothing rash. Jeffrey must be a part of the decision, whatever may come. He loves you, Briony, I know he does."
"Yes, but it isn’t enough. I am greedy, Evie, God help me, but it isn’t enough."
CHAPTER 25
The day drifts by with surprising speed. I read my book, take a long bath, join the others for dinner, and drop condentedly into my soft bed. All the while, Briony’s words echo in my mind. In truth, there is nothing to be done. Jeffrey is too traditional to accept an orphan into his family. It would embarass him, challenge his manliness, I believe, though I hope to be proven wrong. While I spoke the truth when saying he loved her, I doubt he is ready or even willing to make such a sacrifice. With these thoughts churning in my head, I somehow manage to drift off into a dreamless slumber.
A crow is sitting on the uppermost branch of a tree below my window, croaking nastily and dragging me unwillingly from my sleep. Yawning and stretching my arms toward the heavens—or rather the plaster ceiling—I climb out of bed. Making my way to the window, I rub the remnants of sleep from my eyes. There it is, blue-black and loud, its head with beady eyes turned pointedly towards me. Surely, this is symbolic of something dire. A black crow at dawn, or, as I am surprised to observe from my bedside clock, at eight in the morning, cannot be a good omen. Perhaps I should simply crawl back into bed. A tempting thought.
With a sigh I abandon it and think instead of the plan Briony has drawn me into. An orphanage. I am an orpahn, too. I have a strong desire to stay here, rooted, not moving, to pretend I am ill, to feign a cold as unlikely as that would be. I do not want to go. I do not want to meet these parentless children. I do not want to feel helpless and small as I know I will. But I told her I would go with her, and so I must. Only for Briony.
I open the wardrobe, and after some rumaging decide on a plain white dress with thin blue stripes running down its length. An attached belt in the same fabric ties low on my hips. There. I look into the mirror, seeing a familiar young woman looking back at me. Slim and on the tall side, a wavy auburn bob that could use a trim, tense shoulders, a wary look in stormcloud gray eyes. That’ll do. No jewelry. No adornments. Only me.
As I come down the stairs, Jeffrey rushes from the library, clutching a stack of creased and disorderd papers. "Oh, Evie, morning. I must dash, late already. There’s a meeting of museum directors I cannot miss."
"Have a good day."
He nods and hurries past me, out of the door. Moments later, I hear the now familiar rumble of the Delage’s engine and the sound of the tires running over the gravelly drive.
Briony is still at breakfast, a very old copy of Vogue spread over Jeffrey’s empty space on the table.
"Hello," I say, gently squeezing her shoulder as I enter and take my usual seat.
"Good morning." Briony looks up from the paper, excited anticipation putting a glow into her cheeks.
As I pour myself a cup of the strong and fragrant coffee, Niobe bustles in, carrying an empty tray. Her face is pale, her skin waxy. I have heard pregnant women can suffer from illhealth, perhaps she is one of them. Briony still doesn’t know.
"Can I get you anything else, Miss Carlisle?" Niobe inquires, attempting a smile, but only managing a pained expression.
"No, nothing at all. There is so much here, it could feed a small country."
With a distinctly relieved expression, she disappears again.
"Shall we leave in an hour?" Briony asks, handing me a plate of warm rolls and following it with a tub of butter. She is clearly in a hurry to get me fed and ready.
"Yes, that sounds fine." I butter one of the rolls and drizzle it with a generous stream of golden honey. "Where is Daniel? Has he left with Jeffrey?"
"No, he called the police again this morning, quite early, and was told he could begin arraging the funeral. I believe he is going to talk to Caspar’s father and sort things out."
"Oh." I do not know what else to say. Poor Daniel. Hopefully though, a funeral will give him some closure, so he can move on with his life. Will he leave Crete afterwards? I wonder. The idea stirs in me a distressing sensation, and I am quick to push it aside.
"It is awful, to be sure," Briony goes on, dipping the edge of her toast into her tea, a habit she has fostered since childhood. "But he is not alone, at least."
"No," I agree, taking a small bite, "he isn’t."
Breakfast passes, during which we speak of nothing of much importance, unless the topic of acquiring the "simply darling" little Chanel jacket found in Vogue can be classified as such.
Claiming it will only take me a moment to wash up and grab a purse and hat so we can be on our way, I dash upstairs, brush my teeth, grab my things and am out of the door when I nearly collide with Daniel. as he emerges from his room.
"Oh! Sorry," I cry. Sorry indeed. He looks drained; his handsome face hollow as the faint stubble of an unshaven chin casts further shadows.
"My fault." He tries a faint smile with little success.
"Briony told me you spoke to the police." My eyes search his, but they reveal nothing.
"Yes," he nods, hands in pockets. "I’m arranging the funeral."
"I hope you know you can depend on us for any help you might need. I understand he was your friend, but you mustn’t shoulder this alone."
His mouth remains impassive, but his eyes crinkle ever so slightly at the edges. "Thank you, I will."
"Good."
"Evie!" Briony’s shout is a boulder thrown into a placid lake, and both Daniel and I startle.
"Coming," I call back. "Briony is waiting for me," I quickly explain. "We’re going out for a few hours."
"I won’t keep you."
"Right, goodbye." I nod quickly and squeeze past, perceiving the aura of sadness emanating from him and feeling a pang of guilt for leaving.
Downstairs, Briony is fully dressed in a blouse and wide white trousers. Her shoes are flat, peeking out from the hem of her pants.
"Ready?" She asks, impatience in her voice.
I secure my wide-brimmed hat atop my head as we take out the bicyles. "Ready."
Zaros is only two miles away and slightly inland in a surprisingly green valley. The ride is pleasant, the day still cool, and a breeze gently embraces us while we make our way along the dry dirt road.
The orphanage is located on the outskirts, and we have to pedal down the main street through town to reach it. The buildings have suffered from greater wear than those in Miklos. Crumbling stones and chipped paint a common sight. Still, it possesses its own sort of charm, in the same way old places everywhere do. The people we encounter look friendly and pay us little heed. It is Monday, market day, and two women on bicycles, foreigners though we may be, are not a very exciting distraction.
The orphanage is marked by a single sign in Greek, which I am pleased to note I can read, "Orphanage of St. Christopher". The gates are rudimentary at best, and we glide over much-trodden ground without being questioned. Only at the front door, a massive and sturdy set of oak-wood planks, a voice asks for our names.
"I am Mrs. Farnham, and this is Miss Carlisle. You may remember me, I—"
The door swings open, and a tiny woman in a nun’s habit stands before us.
"Mrs. Farnham, how good to see you again!" She graces us with a welcoming smile. I am so surprised by her clear and fluent E
nglish, it takes a moment for this to register. Briony has been here before.
"Sister Sybil," Briony smiles broadly, "how good to see you again. How have you been?" She bends over slightly, though not particularly tall herself, and clasps the older woman’s hand in a familiar gesture.
"Oh, well enough. I cannot complain." Her eyes, a pale blue so striking in her deeply tanned brown face, drift over to me. "And this is your friend?" Her smile does not diminish, and I immediately feel included and accepted, a sensation so precious I can entirely understand why my cousin would visit here.
"Yes, Sister, my name is Evelyn Carlisle, Briony’s cousin."
"Wonderful! Family, it is so important. I have a large family here, all my children around. Please, come in, come in. You have journeyed here to meet some of them, of course. Follow me." With that, she steps aside, ushering us into the cool interior of the building. It is darker inside, and my eyes take a moment to adjust. The nun turns and leads us down the wide hallway. Our heels make faint tapping sounds on the worn tiles. The inside of the orphanage has a distinctly lived-in appearance, which is not to say it is lacking in comfort.
The walls are painted an earthy shade of orange, tiny bits of plaster crumbling here and there onto the floor. A spiral staircase of dark wood appears to our right. Sister Sybil passes it, and leads us toward the only significant source of light, a large set of doors thrown open at the end of the hall to reveal an inner courtyard.
As we approach, I can already hear the sound of high-pitched children’s voices mingling with the gurgle of water from a fountain nearby.
"Have you been here often?" I whisper to Briony, bending my head, but raising an eyebrow in a gesture of surprise.
"Only once," she whispers back, and before I can ask anything else, we step into the sun again.
For all the darkness of the building, the courtyard compensates with light and air. It is large and rectangular, with potted greenery and even a small herb garden in one corner. A group of children are engaged in various activities as we enter the little sanctum. Two of the small, black-haired heads look up upon spying us. Sister Sybil gives them a wave.