A Poisonous Journey

by Malia Zaidi

  "It is still killing. Don’t misunderstand, I am not judging him. If not for men like Daniel, things may have ended very badly for us. I only wonder how he copes with it, especially now. He has dealt with a great deal of tragedy in his life, carries around so many ghosts, sometimes he himself seems like one. Still, he appears more alive than he did three months ago. Jeffrey agrees with me, as it happens."

  While I am not deaf to the meaning of her words, I am not ready to embark upon such a discussion, so I only shrug and reply, "What will happen to Niobe?"

  "Jeffrey insists we let her go. He assumes Dymas will arrest her, but as you say, there is little if any evidence and none, if Paul wishes to keep her out of it. Besides, she is an islander. The people here tend to protect their own against outsiders. It was bad enough Darius turned out such a bad seed. Dymas is probably relieved Paul is the person responsible for Caspar’s death. He can dismiss it as a squabble between foreigners."

  "Give him some credit. He has acted very fairly and even kept us informed all the while." I feel slightly defensive on the part of the inspector.

  "Fair or not, you must admit Paul being the guilty one makes the situation significantly easier for him."

  "Politically perhaps, though in no other way I can think of. Paul will never meet his child, and Rosie has lost the one person who had hope in her recovery. It is a tragic situation."

  Briony nods in sad agreement.

  "What do you want to do, about Niobe?" I ask. Mentioning Niobe and Paul’s child has cast a shadow over her eyes. To her credit, she does not moan about the unfairness of it all. A woman—likely was complicit to murder—has exactly what she herself has been yearning for.

  Briony leans against the headboard. "She and Yannick must marry soon. They will live with her family. Yannick can retain his position here. Niobe would soon leave us anyway, wouldn’t she, when the child is born."

  "This sounds like the most practical solution," I answer slowly, assessing her expression.

  "It is for the best. There are many women who can take her place."

  By some instinct, or simply the desire to see a smile upon her face, I ask, "Have you finished Areta’s dress?"

  The smile appears, though small and sad. "Yes. I will give it to her on Saturday."

  "Have you …" I falter, biting my lip as I am in the habit of doing. "Have you spoken to Jeffrey? About adoption?"

  "No, he has been under so much pressure these past days; first, the museum and then Darius and now Paul. It seemed best to wait. I will speak to Sister Sybil first."

  "Oh Briony, you must tell him soon. You cannot make these plans with the Sister and not consult the would-be father."

  "What if he refuses?"

  "You must take him to meet the child."

  "If he says no then, it will be even worse. It will mean he does not like her."

  "Nonsense. If he says no, it shows he is afraid. He will be afraid. Taking on a child not biologically yours is an endeavour worthy of contemplation, for your own good and Areta’s."

  "Do you think he will agree to accompanying me?" Briony looks at me with pleading eyes, reminding of a much younger, no less vulnerable version of herself. I clasp her hand and give it a small squeeze.

  "I do." Adding in a lighter tone, "and if he does not, I certainly will."

  The smile touches her eyes, and I am once again reassured in my decision to come here.

  "Shall we go to breakfast?" Briony is already climbing off the bed.

  "In a minute, first I have to show you something." I reach over to the bedside table where Agnes’ letter lies waiting. Unfolding the stiff paper, I show it to my cousin. "Aunt Agnes wrote to me."

  "I know. I gave you the letter—"

  "No, look." I hold it out to her. Reluctantly she takes the sheaves from my outstretched hands.

  "I can’t read this, it’s private!"

  "Forget decorum for a moment, Briony. I could just as well tell you what it says."

  "Fine, give it here then." Reluctantly my cousin takes the letter and leans against the sturdy bedpost as her eyes dart across the pages. When she is finished, Briony places them gently on my bedside table.

  "Are you pleased?"

  "Pleased? Do you mean, am I relieved she doesn’t hate me as I suspected?"

  "Come now, don’t be so dramatic. You always knew she didn’t hate you."

  "I never felt loved, never accepted. Why would she fight for me as she says, if she couldn’t kiss me when I scraped a knee or hold my hand when I went off to school?"

  "It’s not her way."

  "What an easy explanation!"

  "I am not her greatest champion by any means. I just want to say, it was hard for her, too. In some sense, she probably assumed providing in other ways was more important, that it compensated enough. Perhaps she thought she was doing you a favor, hardening you in a way."

  "Hardening me? Why should a child need to be hardened? I had lost my parents!" I notice the volume of my voice creeping up as I vent my frustrations, feel the heat in my cheeks as I put into words the pain that has dwelt within me for so long. I never liked speaking about it, only jokingly complaining about Agnes’ shortcomings, rarely daring to acknowledge much more. There was always a barrier of guilt and necessary gratitude preventing me. I forced myself to remember the ways in which I was fortunate to have Agnes in my life. Those past years of unvoiced unhappiness building up inside of me created a bitterness I was not truly been aware of. I lean against the bedpost, self-conscious at my outburst and oddly relieved at once.

  "I know." Her voice carries a hint of melancholy, and she takes hold of my hand. "What happened to your parents was so tragic. Agnes is not the sort of person to comfort with kindness. Her comfort was by being useful. She was probably under the impression that she was helping you, as well as helping herself by being useful. Jeffrey is the same. After we lost the baby, he buried himself in his work. I think that is why I sometimes so resent it. There are different people on this planet, countless different people, who see and feel and grieve differently. We cannot possibly understand it all."

  I am stunned to hear her words, so commanding, yet spoken in a voice full of compassion and warmth. Briony has always been the cheerful one, and in spite of being older than me, always seemed the more youthful of the two of us, simply a consequence of her manner. It would appear she has matured. More than me, perhaps?

  "You are right, of course you are. I am sorry, I shouldn’t—"

  "No apologies." She smiles gently and gives my hand a final squeeze before letting go and moving to the door. "Come now, make yourself decent and have breakfast with us. It will doubtless be a long day." She disappears, and I experience a sudden pang of loneliness.

  Following her wise words, I get ready, washing and throwing on a mauve skirt and cream blouse with a print of tiny flowers. As I leave the room, passing the bed, I turn and tuck the letter into the drawer. It will keep a while.

  Daniel and Jeffrey are seated at the round table in the conservatory. I take my chair when Briony enters with the newspaper.

  "Is that the Mail?" Jeffrey sets down his teacup.

  "Yes, yesterday’s." She hands it to him, sits down beside me, and takes two pieces of golden toast from a platter.

  Jeffrey scans the front page. "Nothing about Caspar. Not that I thought there would be. Frankly, I doubt even Paul’s arrest will be much in the way of news. The paper is full of this von Hindenburg fellow having been elected the President of Germany. That leaves little space for anything coming from a small island in the Mediterranean."

  "Good." Daniel swallows a sip of coffee. "His father has telegraphed that only one reporter has approached him. He lives privately on our estate, so he should have little bother."

  "Was he very upset about missing his son’s funeral?" I want to know, spooning some of cooks’ wonderfully thick blackberry marmelade onto a piece of toast.

  "To be honest, I got the impression he was relieved not to attend. They h
ad little contact, but of course he was sad and troubled by Caspar’s passing."

  "This way, he can almost pretend it didn’t happen, if he isn’t there to witness the final rites," I say.

  "Maybe."

  "It must be hard though, knowing his boy is buried so far from home, and he will likely never visit his grave." Briony adds.

  "Undoubtedly it is, but as I say, they hardly spoke. The man I know him to be will cope, and what other choice does he have?"

  We are all silent for a moment. Contemplatively taking bites and sips and stirring and buttering until Jeffrey puts down the paper. "Has Briony told you what we will do about that girl?"

  It takes me a second to understand the meaning of this abrupt change direction in our conversation. "Oh … yes, yes she has."

  "And? Do you agree? I told Daniel, and he thinks it is a good course of action."

  I shrug. "In the circumstances, it is the best you can be expected to do by her."

  "Well, I wouldn’t mind Dymas coming by to arrest her. Briony believes Paul will not incriminate her though, and I suppose I agree."

  "As do I," I say.

  "That’s settled then. I shall tell her after breakfast. We will have to find a new girl. You will see to it will you not, dear?"

  Briony offers her husband a smile. "I will. If you don’t mind, I would like to be the one to speak to Niobe."

  "Alone?" I ask, stiffening with concern.

  "She will not harm me."

  "You can’t be certain of her! For all we know—"

  "Evie," she adopts a calm, firm tone, which will serve her well with Areta or whoever her future child will be. "I can manage quite well. I will speak to her inside the house. If I scream, you may come to my rescue."

  "I hardly think that is very funny." I pout.

  Briony grins. "No, I should think not. Still, I will have my way."

  "Do not bother arguing, Evelyn," Jeffrey adds. "You know as well as I, she can be stubborn as a mule."

  "Indeed," I say and finish the last of the toast.

  CHAPTER 44

  After breakfast, Inspector Dymas arrives. Briony immediately tries her best to ply him with food and coffee. Valiantly he resists, explaining he came to tell us the investigation has been officially concluded. Jeffrey inquires as to charges Niobe may face. In answer, Dymas shrugs. Nothing can be proven. Our soon-to-be former maid has been dealt a lucky hand, in this respect at least.

  Before he leaves, he turns and adds in a weary, not unkind tone, "Miss Carlisle, Mr. Harper, thank you for your assistance. I am not an advocate of civilian involvement in solving serious crimes, in this case though, it was for the best in the end. You have been very helpful."

  "We were happy to be of assistance," I reply, enjoying the warm sense of validation, basking in his praise. Dymas gives me a crooked smile, puts on his hat and leaves.

  "It is over now." Daniel comments as we close the door.

  "I hope so."

  "Of course it is!" Jeffrey shouts. "Now I must also take leave. There will be a lot of confusion at the museum today."

  "Good luck, my dear," Briony plants a small kiss on his cheek.

  "You will be careful when you talk to Niobe, won’t you?"

  "I promise."

  "Good. Well then, I’m off."

  Once he is gone, Briony has to perform the difficult task of dismissing Niobe. Daniel and I decide to wait in the sitting room in case our assistance is required. I rather doubt it will be. Niobe should count herself lucky indeed. All in all, coming away from it without legal repercussions is quite an achievement. I do recall that I always had a strange feeling about her. Enlightenment often arrives only belatedly.

  "What are you thinking with that grin on your face?" Daniel asks, pulling me back into the moment.

  "Oh, nothing. Nothing at all."

  "I might go to visit Laria later and tell her. She will be at the funeral tomorrow, and I think she should know beforehand."

  "I had almost forgotten. Yes, yes you must tell her."

  "I want to set off once Briony comes back. Laria is probably be home preparing lunch."

  "Will you be all right? Shall I go with you?"

  He leans back in his chair, a faint smile pulling at his mouth. "That would be good of you. It may make her feel more comfortable to have a woman present."

  "Then it is settled."

  CHAPTER 45

  It takes less than thirty minutes for Briony to return.

  "You did it?" I ask, sliding to one side of the sofa, making space for her to sit.

  She falls into the empty seat beside me. "I did. She will leave by noon."

  "You gave her money, didn’t you?" I ask, once Daniel has excused himself to fetch his hat for our walk to the village.

  Briony avoids my eyes.

  "Briony!"

  "Just a bit! Just for the child." She gestures passively with her palms out.

  "Well …"

  "Oh come, Evie, whatever she knew, it is a sad story."

  "She will marry Yannick," I say petulantly.

  "Yannick, who will always know their first child isn’t his. Yannick whom she doesn’t love."

  "But who dotes on her. She is using him!"

  "Yes, she is." Briony agrees slowly, playing with the tassles on one of the cushions. "Sometimes women have to do what must be done. We do not live in a world where a woman, unmarried and with child is accepted and respected, nor in a world where she has much opportunity to change her lot in life."

  I let her words sink in, their truth exposed, and admire her for finding and voicing them in opposition to my stubborness.

  "You did what was right, as always."

  "I hope so." She lets go of the tassle and looks at me, an earnest expression on her face. "What is it?"

  "Will you be honest with me now?"

  "What on earth do you mean?" I ask, truly puzzled.

  Briony rolls her eyes and tilts her head to the side.

  "You know exactly what I mean. As you are acting so obtuse, I will help you. I say only: Daniel …"

  "Daniel?"

  Briony sighs dramatically. "Come now! You can’t tell me you are indifferent. You two have been glued together nearly since you arrived!"

  I am about to protest when I realize the truth of her assertion. "Well, he is a very nice—"

  "Nice," Briony waves dismissively, "he is handsome, rich, and an absolute catch. What will you make of it?"

  "Briony!" Heat crawls up the back of my neck.

  "Well?"

  "Well, nothing." I stammer, looking down as though my fingernails are suddenly terribly interesting.

  "He is certainly taken with you, you have at least noticed that, haven’t you?"

  I shrug, feeling absurdly helpless.

  "Do you like him? Come speak up, cousin dear, or must I force it out of you. I am smaller than Dymas, nonetheless, you may be certain, I shall have my confession."

  This does the trick. I cast a quick glance in the direction of the door and lowering my voice admit, "I can’t say I am entirely indifferent."

  "Heavens, if that is all you can admit to, your courtship shall be a terrible long one. He is clearly unable to decipher your feelings, you seem blind to his. I will have to lock the two of you into a room and wait until something happens." She shakes her head in frustration, all the while maintaining a knowing smile. "You two would probably talk about books or the weather, or worse, these horrid murders. What can be done?"

  "Briony, nothing needs to be done. Truly, I respect him. He is an intelligent, kind man … Oh, all right, he is rather handsome, but—"

  "But nothing. You are perfect for each other."

  Now it is my turn to roll my eyes. "We hardly know one another. How could we possibly be a perfect match?"

  "You have spent a lot of time together lately. One can learn a lot about another person in the span of a few weeks. Besides, you already live together."

  "Under your roof!"

  "Jeffrey an
d I are hardly the most attentive chaperones."

  "Briony! Stop these insinuations. We," I emphasize the word, "are very well behaved. Besides, there have certainly been other things to occupy our minds. Daniel was hardly in a state of mind for any wooing and neither was I."

  "That can be amended now. Make the boy smile again."

  My heart is suddenly beating unusually fast. I wonder whether Briony can hear it. Hopefully not, or else she would surely take it as confimation of her silly thoughts. Or are they? Maybe she isn’t so far from the truth after all. There were certainly plenty of moments when I imagined …

  "What is going through that mind of yours? You need not formulate any excuses, I understand. Frankly, if I were not entirely unavailable …"

  "Really, you mustn’t joke about such things."

  "Yes," she concedes, looking chastized. "You are right. But only about this. See," she gestures at my hat on the table, "you are already planning to go off with him again."

  "To help Laria," I protest weakly.

  "For moral support."

  "Exactly."

  "To hold his trembling hand."

  "Oh stop it!" I frown disapprovingly, after a moment though, we descend into a childish fit of giggles. Daniel finds us in this state, already wearing his hat, dashing as ever.

  "Am I interrupting?" he asks, standing at the door.

  "No, no," I get to my feet and grab my hat. "I am quite ready."

  "Take your time, you two." Briony adds encouragingly.

  I cringe and make for the door where I turn to give her a stern look, which she evidently finds enormously amusing.

  CHAPTER 46

  Daniel and I decide to walk. The bicycles are more trouble than they are worth, and I still get a faint ache in the muscles of my calves at the mere memory of the steep and winding lanes.

  We set off at a pleasant pace. The day is comfortingly warm, and the sky peerless blue, not blemished by a single cloud. I think I shall never grow tired of the sight.

  "Briony is much relieved by all of this coming to a close. I haven’t seen her so cheerful in a while." Daniel breaks the silence while we meander around the first bend.