A Poisonous Journey

by Malia Zaidi

"Maybe you are right. I hope so. I wouldn’t want—"

  "No, wait." He stops me. "Obviously, there was much I did not know about him. Maybe he was worried I would push him into assuming responsibility, if he was the child’s father."

  "Would you have?" I ask inspite of myself.

  He hesitates a moment, meeting my eye when he answers, "I would have tried. Not for him to marry Niobe, heaven knows what misery may have resulted, but at least to provide for the child. He was certainly profiting enough from his blackmailing business to afford it." His voice carries a bitter note. He was badly hurt when faced with proof concerning the depth of his best friend’s unsavory guile. Yet, Caspar is no longer on hand to be confronted with it. Discovering who is responsible for his death is the only way Daniel will find closure.

  "What do you think?"

  "I do not like to encourage your detective work. Our hypothesis hinges on whether Caspar is the father of Niobe’s child. If not, gone is her motive, and Yannick would have none we are aware of either."

  I lean against the wall. "Do you think I might simply ask her about it?"

  "I—"

  "Oh, here you are!" Briony chooses this moment to rush out of the kitchen. Did she hear our conversation? I do not think so. She would be shocked to discover her maid’s pregnancy and surely unable to hide her emotions from us.

  "Yes, we are coming in for breakfast. Have you eaten?" I speak too quickly to disguise my discomfort at having been caught.

  "I have. Jeffrey was up early, and we ate together," she says, and I detect a hint of a smile. Could such a new crisis bring them closer together? "Is he gone?"

  "Not yet. He is still in the conservatory, reading something or other. Yannick is getting the car ready. He is terribly nervous. He will have to explain Darius’ absence to his collegues. Dymas suggested last night to be very vague if asked, so he has been formulating his explanation half the night."

  "Oh dear, poor Jeffrey. Are there been any news?"

  "Nothing yet," Briony leads the way to the conservatory.

  "If Dymas doesn’t—" Daniel is interrupted mid-sentence by a loud knock on the door.

  From the corner of my eye, I catch Niobe hastening from the kitchen to answer it.

  "Inspector Dymas," she says upon opening, "come in."

  "Good morning," he greets us.

  I want to be kind, but the man looks wretched as though he has not slept a wink all night, which may well be true. His eyes are red-rimmed and framed by dark circles, emphasized even more by the shadowy dark stubble on his face.

  "Inspector," Briony smiles. "Please, will you join us for breakfast? Allowing him little choice in the matter, she gently leads him forward and Daniel and I follow, giving each other a quick glance.

  CHAPTER 37

  Once settled in the sunlit conservatory where Jeffrey is waiting, pale-faced. Briony plies us with food and drink, and not before our plates are full and our cups steaming, is Dymas able to speak.

  "As I said on the telephone last night, we were able to arrest Darius—Mr. Calandra."

  "Has he confessed?" My hand is clenching my butter-knife in a white-knuckled grip.

  "Well, yes," Dymas drags out the word, perhaps unsure of what it means.

  "Yes? That is good, isn’t it?" Daniel holds his teacup in the air, forgetting to drink.

  "It is," Dymas nods, wearing a slightly befuddled expression.

  "So?"

  "He is raving. He has been talking and talking, and while somewhere amid his stream of words he admitted to Andros’ murder, it is difficult to piece everything together. I do not know exactly how he will be prosecuted. He belongs in an asylum, not a prison, really."

  "What?" I am unable to hide my indignation. "He as much as told me he would kill me!" "Yes, of course." He sounds placatory. I will not be so easily silenced. "What he did to his brother happened nearly two decades ago, surely he was not as unhinged as he is now. He has been able to hide his deed for so long, convincing everyone of his even temper and harmlessness."

  "That is true," Daniel agrees, finally taking a sip and wincing as the tea scalds his tongue.

  Dymas concedes. "Yes, it is. However, another problem lies in the fact that we couldn’t go into the cave to find the body last night. It will have to be done today, and we were hoping Darius could be swayed to lead the way. As it is," he frowns and shakes his head, "he is in no state. He has completely dropped the mask we all knew, and I cannot get through to him."

  "I wish I could show you the way, but I cannot remember. It was a great stroke of luck I got out last night."

  "I understand. We will manage."

  "And his family? His parents? Have they been informed?" Daniel asks.

  "His parents, yes." Dymas falters and rubs his temples. "It was very difficult. They could not believe it. I think, they still cannot."

  "Oh, those poor people. What a shock it must be for them." Briony clasps her hands together.

  "Does anybody else know?"

  "A few people. We have tried to contain it for the time, although it is difficult. Everyone knows everyone, and news travels quickly."

  "Inspector," Daniel has lowered his cup and stares intently at the weary man, "Evelyn said Darius denied any involvement in Caspar’s death. Did he mention anything about it? Anything at all?"

  "Nothing. That is why we are inclined to believe it is true. His mind is too muddled to filter out what he ought not say and what might get him into even greater trouble. He has not mentioned your friend’s name, not once. Admittedly, I am strangely relieved that he was not involved in that crime as well. Then again, I fear a murderer is still somewhere among us. Be assured, we are working intently on discovering his or her identity." Dymas’ speech has left him exhausted, and I am tempted to tell him to go home, take a nap and then have a shave.

  Propriety demands I do not. Instead I ask, "Do you have any new ideas?"

  Before the harried man can answer, Jeffery chimes in. "Really, Dymas, we know what Darius is capable of, why not suspect him of pretending, of putting on an act? He fooled us all. Conceivably, in a moment of lucidity, he decided to deny any involvement in Caspar’s death."

  "I have to agree with Jeffrey," Briony adds. "If Darius was blackmailed, he is a logical suspect. If he could," she falters, swallowing nervously, "if he could kill his own brother, he could certainly do the same to a strange man he felt was a threat to him and his treasures. He was clearly cunning and would have no difficulty in planning this whole wretched affair"

  "That is true," Dymas admits at once. "We are holding him on charges of theft and one case of murder. He will be no further danger to anyone. Once he has calmed down, we may have a chance of finding out more definitively whether he is telling the truth or simply acting to avoid even greater punishment."

  "I believe him." My voice is calm, in spite the nervous eddy stirring inside me. "He told me he would have done it, but someone else came before him. Why, when he so readily admitted to fratricide, would he have denied responsibility for Caspar’s murder. He was calm when he told me, not raving. I believe it, and I believe a second killer is still free." My voice grows louder, the more empassioned my speech. It really has been a bit much these past few days.

  Everyone is silent for a moment, staring at me. Daniel is the first to speak.

  "The funeral is in two days. I cannot have his murderer attending, whoever it may be."

  The thought sends a chill down my spine. Everyone else has a similar reaction, judging from their pained expressions.

  "I will do my best," Dymas says finally. Getting to his feet he adds, "I will keep you abreast of developments." And when Briony rises to see him out, "Thank you, I will find my way. Good day."

  As he leaves, I try to catch his gaze, but his eyes are lost in shadow and exhaustion. Then he is gone.

  CHAPTER 38

  "Well …" Jeffrey begins, deep lines around his mouth.

  "Well, indeed." Daniel says.

  Briony and I throw
each other helpless looks. Thankfully, Yannick chooses this moment to enter through the glass-paned door.

  "Mr. Farnham, Sir," he hesitates as eight eyes are turned on him, then finds his voice or his courage or both and continues, looking resolutely at Jeffrey. "The car, it is ready."

  Jeffrey gets to his feet. "Thank you Yannick." He turns to us. "I had best get this over with."

  "Good luck, my dear," Briony plants a chaste kiss on his cheek, and Daniel and I offer words conveying the same sentiment.

  His wife on his arm, accompanying him to the door, and Yannick at their heels, Daniel and I are left alone for a moment.

  He wastes no time, "Evelyn, I hate to ask this of you but—"

  "I will speak to Niobe presently. You are right. This situation must be resolved before the funeral. It will be ghastly enough without being forever marred in your memory by later discovering the murderer was present." I scrape back my chair. "Tell Briony I had to speak to Niobe about a gown which needs mending. I am loath to keep this from her, yet for the moment—"

  "For the moment, it will not harm her."

  "Yes," I add, though with weak conviction and with knot of guilt inside me. I smoothe the front of my dress and go my way. Briony is still not back. Passing the sitting room, I see Niobe with a dusting rag near one of the bookshelves.

  I enter. The room is bathed in the yellow light of the morning sun, and Niobe’s long, dark braid gleams. Careful not to cause alarm, I slide the door almost closed and call out in a cheery tone.

  "Oh, hello!" As though our meeting is entirely coincidental.

  She spins around, an expression first of alarm then of surprise crossing her features.

  "Miss Carlisle. Good morning."

  I stroll over to the bookshelf, not failing to notice the tiny step backward the maid takes.

  "Can I help you?"

  "I am only looking for something to read." I pause, tapping my chin contemplatively. "I did want to have a quick word with you, if you can spare a moment."

  "With me?" Her eyes narrow ever so slightly. Her expression tightens.

  "Yes." I tilt my head and smile. "How are you?" Her face relaxes. She was clearly expecting something else. Interesting.

  "I am well."

  "Are you? Good. So much worry lately, I was concerned."

  "That is kind. You need not worry about me."

  "Oh, but I do," I assure her, stepping closer. "Niobe, I understand now why you have been so unhappy."

  "Unhappy, I—"

  I hold up a hand. "It is all right. It must have been so difficult to find out the father of your child had been killed." There, blunt and blatant. Niobe’s face turns ashen, and her dark eyes widen.

  "But, oh … no!" She shakes her head, strands of hair tumble from her loose braid. She is a vision of loveliness. Even in distress.

  "I understand, Niobe dear," I say with honey in my voice. She does not, to her credit, look like someone concealing a murderous secret, perhaps just an ordinary one.

  "No, you do not." Her voice has regained firmness. "He is—was not the father. Never could I—" she shakes her head as if disgusted.

  While this is not entirely unexpected, my theory is weakening and so is my conviction in its validity.

  "He isn’t?" I venture to ask, leaning slightly against the shelf.

  "No," she shakes her head again. Her braid is now nearly undone, so vehemnt is her denial. "He was a cad! I would not have fallen for him. He may have charmed poor Laria, but not me."

  "You know about Laria?"

  Niobe makes a dismissive gesture. "Her mother told my mother who told me. It is a surprise Nikolas hasn’t thrown her out. He is quite confident in himself. He would not think his wife could ever betray him." She rolls her eyes. Her arguments are too plausible to be denied, but having come this far, I must plough on.

  "If Caspar is not the father, who is? I will be honest with you," I decide on a rather loose definition of honesty. "Caspar left behind a journal."

  "So? What concern is it to me?" She crosses her arms over her ample bosom.

  "Well," I begin, not quite certain what will come out of my mouth, "in the journal he claims you were the mistress of other men of his acquaintance. You must not blame me when I come to the conclusion—"

  Her mouth gapes for a moment, before she gathers herself, quickly bursting out, "That is a lie! He was a bad man, a liar!" She is fuming now, which is exactly what I intended. I keep my face relaxed, not to show her the relief I feel in having evoked this outburst. Someone so deeply insulted will be eager to defend their honor, hopefully by a plain confession of the truth.

  "I did not mean to insult you," I lie. "I felt it was necessary to tell you the truth."

  Her brows are creased, her jaw set tightly. "I am not a whore. This child was conceived out of love."

  "Of course."

  "You do not understand," she bites her bottom lip, all angry tension ebbing away.

  "You can tell me, Niobe," I take her by the elbow and lead her to a low settee. She sits down with me beside her. Her eyes are suddenly swimming, and I experience a stab of guilt in view of my manipulation. I push it aside. Finding out who is behind Caspar’s death is vital, and Niobe clearly needs to unburden herself. So there is really no harm …

  "Caspar made his advances, of course, he did with everyone. He even flirted with Eleni, the cook, and she is married with six children!" She sniffles, and I dare not interrupt. "He backed off quickly. Caspar and Laria were quite fond of one another. We grew up together, though she is older than me, and we were never close friends. Her marriage has not been very happy, I think. Nikolas is a good man, but he can be selfish at times, and Laria married him so young. Then they had Kaia, and she might have felt trapped or lonely. I do not blame her for the affair. I would not be surprised if Nikolas had a few of his own. Still, you will understand, it is never the same for a man." She looks at me for sympathy and I nod, no longer play-acting.

  "Caspar and I were never a couple."

  I nod again, and my mind flashes to the image of her and Caspar on the night of the dinner party, whispering away from the group. I decide it is now or never, and say, "Niobe, since you and Caspar were not a couple, why did he take you aside on the night of the dinner party? You remember, I am sure."

  To her credit, she does not deny it, instead exhales sharply and wipes a tear from her cheek. "It is true. It was nothing important. He was drunk and upset. He wanted me to give Laria a message, wanted to meet her alone later that night."

  "And did you?"

  "No."

  "No?"

  "I did not want him to make a scene. Not for Laria and not for Mrs. Farnham. He was in a bad state, and it would have been an embarassment."

  "I understand." While I am not entirely certain I believe this explanation, instinct tells me it is not important at the moment, and I encourage her to go on.

  "The father of my child was at the dinner party that evening," she continues, and for a moment my stomach clenches at the thought it might be Jeffrey or Daniel.

  "He was?" I mutter for lack of anything useful to say.

  "Miss Carlisle, I must have your promise of discretion. You cannot tell anyone."

  "Niobe, I have to be truthful, I can’t make such a promise." I do not want to betray her, not outright. But I must know the truth. "I will only tell Mr. Harper. He can be trusted. He is very discreet."

  Niobe wavers, though now she is too far into her confession to stop. She has been keeping a great secret, and I am near enough her age to qualify as a potential friend, who under other circumstances may be in the same boat.

  "You will not tell anyone else? Mrs. Farnham? I would not—"

  "Soon you will have to tell her about the child yourself. We can do it together, if you like." I put a hand on her arm.

  Her resolve breaks and with a tiny sob she utters, "It is Paul. My Paul. He is the father of my child."

  I can feel my eyes widen in surprise. Paul! Of course. I am
so stupid. He was the only real choice, beside Caspar. I thank heavens it is not Darius. That would create even more trauma. But Paul? Paul who is married. Married to Rosie. Oh, Rosie with that permanent, innocent smile, those empty eyes. Oh no. Poor, poor Rosie, and poor Paul and poor Niobe. What a mess I have stumbled into!

  As these thoughts course through my mind, I make an effort to remain outwardly calm. Niobe is searching for a reaction, her eyes are fixed on me in anticipation, her mouth open slightly, hardly believing her own disclosure.

  "Er …" I stammer, searching for something, anything useful to say. "Paul. I see." Well, I have never claimed to be a poet.

  "Yes, Paul. Oh, Miss Carlisle," she touches a hand to her chest, "it is such a relief to tell someone. I have been so worried and—" a plump tear rolls down her cheek, and I rummage for a hankerchief to press into her hand.

  "I am glad you told me, Niobe. I confess, I had not expected it."

  "No. Still, you must not think badly of him. He felt so guilty, so miserable. We were—we are in love. He was lonely and always here with Mr. Farnham, talking about their work. I saw him all the time, and then, one day when Mr. Farnham was late and Mrs. Farnham was out, we began to talk and—" she swallows, and wipes away another tear, "and we fell in love. He is such a good man, kind and clever and handsome. Don’t you think, Miss Carlisle?" She casts me a beseeching look, and I manage a nod.

  "How long did your affair last? You do intend to marry Yannick, do you not?"

  At this her face falls. "I must. Yannick is a good man, too, and I like him. He is not Paul, though."

  "Paul is married already," I state dumbly, altogether out of my depth.

  "I know." Niobe makes a vague gesture with her hand. "But she is only a shell. He told me so. He said she does not speak to him. Her mind is broken. They can never have children, because he cannot …" she trails off blushing slightly.

  "Indeed."

  "He loves me, but he will not leave her. He feels a responsiblity toward her. Such a good man. They can never be happy together. He could take care of her and live with me. I would not be jealous, I would understand. We could have a family …"