by Malia Zaidi
"Does he know of your condition?" I ask, adding at her confused expression, "your pregnancy?"
"No."
"No? Why in heaven’s name not?"
Niobe twists a curl around her finger as she answers. "I only discovered it a few days after he ended the affair. I was angry and sad, and I couldn’t bear him knowing of the child and still choosing her; or him only choosing me out of his sense of responsibility. I do not want to be another burden to him. You understand, don’t you? Then Yannick was there. He has always liked me. I know this."
"So you encouraged his affections."
"I do not want to be alone and unmarried with a child. Don’t you understand?"
"Certainly. Does Yannick know who the real father is?"
"No. I said it was a sailor. I said he is long gone."
"And your parents? Your family?"
"They do not know. My mother suspects the pregnancy, I believe, though she does not doubt Yannick is the father. My family would be scandalized, if I had the child out of wedlock. You are modern, from a big city. I live in a small village on a small island. I have no means to leave, and I do not want to, though for Paul … No, there is no choice. I will make Yannick happy, we will all be happy." This speech, while empassioned, is not convincing. I observe the quivering of her bottom lip.
"Yes, I am sure you will. Yannick is a kind man and reliable. You will be all right."
Her dark eyes light up, and I am happy to give her some small comfort, though not wholly believing it myself. Yannick is second best. Her child will not be his. One day, bitterness will rise to the surface. I sympathize with Niobe, but cannot fault Paul for his decision. As I contemplate this, my mind turns back to the scene I witnessed between Niobe and Yannick in the garden. Suspicion, was a word they used. Were they speaking of the child? I decide to play my final card, bring it what it may.
"Niobe," I opt for a low, intimate tone, "I am glad you trusted me. I hope to repay your confidence in some manner. However, there is something you are keeping from me, isn’t there. Something Yannick has done?" I lean forward conspiratorially.
"Oh, well, it was only a foolish mistake." Niobe says in an off-hand manner, too blase to be disguising something truly awful.
"He should have told Mr. Farnham," I counter, with confidence I do not possess. Jeffrey is the authority Yannick should report to on most any matter.
"He probably should have told the police. Really, it was nothing though, and he was afraid he would be sent away, and I was afraid, too." She rests a hand on her abdomen.
Controlling my eagerness to discover the truth I go on. "Surely he would not be sent away, it was harmless, after all, wasn’t it?" I hold my breath, waiting for her to volunteer more.
"Yes," Niobe waves dismissively, "he only hit him once. He was well when Yannick left him. We worried the police would not believe it."
I digest this information quickly. If I understand correctly, Yannick hit Caspar? I must clairfy. "Caspar bore a small bruise, the police said …"
"Yes, we hoped they would believe it happened when he fell off the bench." Niobe shrugs. "Yannick is a man. He was upset because he thought Caspar was making advances at me again. He was jealous, not murderous."
"No, I understand. Still, if he was here at the time of Caspar’s death, there would be little to prove he did not poison him."
"But he was not here then."
"Not?"
"No, Yannick hit him the night of the party. After you had gone to bed, Caspar came downstairs for some matches. Yannick and he got into an argument. I saw it. Caspar was angry and very drunk. He simply went back to his room. He said something about Yannick paying for what he did, nothing more. Yannick was worried. But he was not at the house when Caspar was killed."
Not willing to explore the idea of Yannick leaving Caspar a bottle of poisoned wine, I decide to save this information for Daniel. I must not alarm Niobe in any way, lest she warn Yannick.
"Thank you, Niobe. You have been most helpful." We get to our feet. I am at least three inches taller than her, which makes me feel oddly safe. Despite Niobe’s candidness, I cannot trust her. She possesses a shrewd nature, and I should not like to be her enemy.
"I am glad to have been able to tell someone, Miss Carlisle."
"I am glad you trusted me. Now, if you are in need of anything, please do not hesitate to come to me. You should not be alone with all your worries."
"Thank you." A small smile tugs at her lips.
We part company. Going up to my room, I am hopeful that Daniel is near at hand. Niobe returns to her tasks in the kitchen.
I am in luck. Passing Daniel’s room, I catch sight of him through a slit in the door, seated on a wicker chair in front of the window, scribbling something into a notebook.
Gently, I knock against the frame of the door.
"Yes? Come in!"
I push open the door and step inside. "Am I disturbing you?"
"Not at all." He puts his writing tools aside and pulls another chair to the window. "Please, take a seat. Have you been able to obtain any new information?"
I sit and take a deep breath, feeling wrong to come to Daniel right after speaking with Niobe. Still, I remind myself I am not betraying her in in recounting her admission to Daniel, which I promptly proceed in doing.
"Paul?" he interrupts half-way through my narrative, an expression of astonishment on his face.
"I was as surprised as you, though when I think about it, it makes sense."
"It would have been too clichéd for the cad to woo the maid, wouldn’t it."
I go on, ending my tale with Yannick’s supposedly mild assault on Caspar the night of the dinner party. "What do you think? Could he have given Caspar a poisoned bottle?"
Daniel’s brow creases in thought. "Poisoning is a planned, careful act. Yannick’s anger was fueled by a bout of passion and jealousy. It is unlikely he would go on to prepare a wine bottle and sneak to Caspar’s room. Further, on purely practical grounds, he would have had to steal a bottle, as well as the rat poison from the kitchen, which is where it is kept. Both the cook and Niobe were there throughout the evening, especially after the meal to clean up. Yannick could not easily go in and fetch these items without stirring up suspicion. Even if Niobe did not oppose Yannick’s murderous interference, the cook surely would not have kept such an unusual occurance from the police."
"Yes, I see the logic in that, though I will admit disliking the idea of Yannick as the guilty party."
Daniel’s eyes wander to the window for a moment where the sky is the purest blue, and a pair of excited brown wrens are flying in circles, a little lover’s dance.
"What of Paul." It is not a question. When his eyes meet mine, I understand his insinuation.
"I thought of him as well, but it makes little sense. What motive would he have? If he wanted to remove a romantic rival, it would have been Yannick, would it not?"
Daniel nods. "Yes, I think so too. But we cannot be certain. There may be more to the story. You said yourself Niobe gives the impression of being not entirely trustworthy."
At that I cannot help but wince for fear of doing her an injustice. "I only meant she may be slightly more manipulative than she makes herself out to be … She has to protect herself in this situation. I understand. I sympathize with her. Sometimes there is no other choice, but to be a little manipulative. She has been dealt a difficult card."
"It’s all right, you need not defend her. I am not accusing her. Her alibi is strong. There were neighbors at her parents’ house when she visited them on the day of Caspar’s death. Everyone saw her. Part of me wonders," he taps his finger against the arm of the chair, "whether her alibi is too sound."
"Perhaps. Nonetheless, I cannot truly imagine what motive she could have to take such drastic measures. Caspar was a nuisance to her, nothing more, so far as I can tell. Yannick already knew of the child, so with what could Caspar have threatened her. No, I do not believe she is behind the murder." I
lean back in my chair.
"I will trust your intuition." Daniel remarks without a hint of sarcasm or condescension, which pleases me greatly. He must have at least a modicum of respect for me, for my mind, which is gratifying at a time when women are still, despite having finally won the vote, seen as the intellectual and physical inferiors to men; at times overtly and at others by innuendo—equally insulting.
"Thank you," I reply, a small smile curving at my lips.
"I would like to speak to Paul. I sympathize with the man. I cannot help it. Especially, if he is unaware of the trouble Niobe is in."
"What would you say to him? Would you confront him with the truth?"
Daniel contemplates this suggestion for a moment, then replies. "I will not betray Niobe’s confidence. It is for her to tell him of the child, if she will at all. It may be best, if no one knows of Paul’s paternity."
"It is good to hear you say so. I would not support such a confrontation either. I gave Niobe my word to tell only you. Let us not make matters harder for her. She is still infatuated with Paul, but she is acting very strong about accepting his decision to separate, and I think she can move on with Yannick to lead a happy life. I hope so at least."
"It will be hard for Yannick once he realizes she still loves another man."
"What makes you think he will? For that matter, what makes you think she will not love Yannick?"
He gives me a wary look. "I don’t, you are right. For all their sakes I hope they will have a loving marriage and family, yet I am not convinced. The child will be a constant reminder of the man Niobe loved, and Yannick will have a constant reminder that he is not this child’s father. What if they have more children? Will Yannick resist the temptation of loving his own more than their first? Will Niobe love her second as much as the one she had with her true love?"
"Really Daniel, you are quite the romantic."
"Not romantic, realistic."
"No. You credit our sex with too much sweetness. Niobe is a shrewd girl. She will be able to move on. In time, she will learn there is much to life beyond a man who will not stand by her."
"Hopefully you are right. However, I still want to speak to Paul and confront him with our knowledge regarding the affair."
"He will probably be at the museum now."
Daniel leans back in his chair, then continues, "Yes, you are right, and I wouldn’t want to disturb him at work today. On the other hand, it will be difficult to speak at home when Rosie is about."
"We can hardly ask her to leave the room," I agree.
"We?" He raises an eyebrow.
"I certainly won’t be sitting here twiddling my thumbs while you’re off interrogating—"
"Not interrogating!"
"Questioning then, questioning Paul at his home. Do you even know where he lives?"
"I do, as it happens. I have been there before. It is very close by, past Miklos, in the next village, Prinias"
"Let us call on him after work. You can telephone and ask whether Paul will see us."
"I don’t know … " he looks unconvinced.
"You don’t want to waste more time, do you? I’ll even volunteer to drive, if Jeffrey will loan us the motor."
Daniel gives a defeated groan, yet refrains from further argument. I am pleased. Our relationship is progressing as I hoped it would, with me getting what I want, naturally.
CHAPTER 39
The next few hours pass quickly. Daniel goes to Miklos on one of the bicycles to finalize the funaral arrangements at the church. Briony and I spend much of the afternoon hours reading. Briony has chosen Leaves of Grass by an American named Walt Whitman. Having myself read this volume of poetry, I am surprised she chose it and am quite keen to hear her thoughts on the, shall we say, rather incendiary verse. I am working my way through A Passage to India, which sounded so exotic, I could not resist. It started out slow, but after some hours I am entirely absorbed by Dr. Aziz and his fate. I barely register Jeffrey’s arrival, or for that matter, Daniel’s.
Briony, dutiful wife and hostess, leaps from her chair and hurries toward her wan and weary husband. "Jeffrey, dear, how did it go? You look exhausted! Shall I fetch you a drink, and you, Daniel? Sit, sit." She bustles about, practically pushing the men into empty armchairs and pressing generously filled glasses into their hands.
Daniel gives me a curious look. I only shrug. I expect Briony is preparing to tell her husband the heap of fabric on the table in the corner is part of a dress she is making for the child she is planning to adopt. A drink or two may come in useful.
"So," she finally sits down, cheeks flushed, "how did it go?"
"It was tiring." Jeffrey takes a long sip of the two fingers of Brandy sloshing about his glass. "I had to explain in as vague terms as possible what had happened and why we ought to start looking for a new museum curator."
Briony shakes her head in sympathy.
"As you can imagine, there were a lot of questions. I claimed to know very little, only that Darius had been arrested, which opened up a floodgate. Why? When? What for? On and on they went. I tell you," he gestures at us, "I have never been so glad to get away."
"And Paul?" I ask innocently … or not so innocently, truth told. "Was he any help?"
"You know Paul." Jeffrey ignores the fact that I hardly do. "He tried, but he knew even less than me, so what could he say."
"Did he go home as well?"
"What? Yes, yes he did." Jeffrey shoots me an odd look, and I smile innocently.
"Jeffrey, would you mind if Evelyn and I borrowed the motor for an hour or so?"
"You and Evelyn?" Jeffrey furrows his brow and Briony glances curiously from me to Daniel, doubtlessly thinking up all sorts of unspeakable scenarios, especially after spending the whole afternoon with her literary marvel of intriguing influence, Mr. Whitman. Heaven knows what is going through her mind!
"Yes," Daniel continues, "I need to drive to the cemetary and find whether—"
"Oh, poor you!" Briony cries out, "Of course, you shall use the car and take Evelyn along … for support," she adds with a completely mortifying wink in my direction. I must speak to her at the nearest convenient occasion, to inform her that her skills in subtlety are in dire need of adjustment.
"Support, yes, right." Daniel responds enthusiastically, and I supplement this by nodding vigorously, all the while guilty of this act of subterfuge. I soothe my troubled conscience by reminding myself of some not insignificant facts. After all, if we were completely honest about our reasons for borrowing the car, we would have to reveal Niobe’s condition, or, at the very least, the affair, which, at this point, may cause further trouble and confusion. Best to speak with Paul and discover what can then be left to his and Niobe’s discretion.
CHAPTER 40
Thankfully, we are spared further awkwardness as Jeffrey decides he is in need of a hot bath to rid himself of the day’s dust, figuratively speaking I assume as he looks clean as a cat. Briony is left to finish her poems or possibly the hem of Areta’s dress as Daniel and I fetch our hats and depart.
With myself seated, quite naturally, in the driver’s seat of the Delage, we laugh as we realize our mutual relief at having been spared further quizzing by our friends.
"You must direct me," I request, raising my voice to best the roar of the engine.
"It is very easy to find. Follow the main street through Miklos, and then we will turn right and drive up the mountain road."
"Off we go then."
The sun is still lighting our world, beautiful streaks of orange, pink and purple are paint the sky, hinting it will soon turn inky blue. There is little traffic, only a few carts and one other motorcar driving so slowly, I am eager to overtake. This, however, is not a wise idea, since it would mean skirting a good two feet off the road and the edge of the mountain. To my great relief, the rickety contraption remains on the main road right after Miklos where we turn, making our steep ascent.
"What will you say to Paul?" I ask, keeping
my eyes firmly fixed on the narrow winding lane.
"First we will have to suggest a private conversation, if Rosie should to be present. I know she has a nurse, for when Paul is out or at work, so there is a chance she is with her."
"And then?"
"Then, I think it will be best to simply come out and tell him we know of the affair."
"He may think we are ganging up on him? Ambushing him in his own home. Maybe this is a mistake."
"No." Daniel’s tone is calm and resolute. "I do not plan to attack him, yet my friend has been murdered, and all these secrets may very well be reated to his death. I must know the truth, and if that upsets a few people I can live with it."
I wait a moment to reply, not certain I should have come. Still, it would have been misery waiting at home, reading and rereading the same sentence again and again with anxiety about the events happening only a few miles away. "What do you expect Paul to say?"
"He will hopefully acknowledge the truth. It could be embarassing for him if he did not. Besides, people like to free their minds of guilt. Telling us may be helpful to him."
"Daniel," I venture, my stomach tightening, "what if Rosie is not really … well, not—"
"Not as ill as she seems, you mean?"
I nod. "Most likely I am wrong, but if she knew of Paul’s affair, she may have been very angry."
"Certainly." Daniel agrees. "There are two questions immediately arising out of such a possibility. Why would she go on pretending? Her husband is obviously still devoted to her, he would surely be overjoyed if she regained some of her old self."
"That is true. I suppose the situation has been very difficult for Paul."
"Indeed. Even if she was better and knew of Paul’s indiscretion, what motive might she possibly have for killing Caspar?"
"What motive would Paul have?" I turn the question around as I drive through the gates of the village of Prinias.
"I cannot say. Nor do I claim he is guilty. Still, we cannot deny there is something altogether wrong in this community, and Caspar’s death was the result. If we tell him we suspect Niobe is guilty—"
"But—"