by Ann Bridge
“I think she only snapped at you because she’s so worried about the child” Julia said.
“But don’t you think it’s funny?” Aglaia said.
“Do you mean peculiar? Yes, I think perhaps it is” Julia said slowly. “Of course if he’s been up on the Serra.... Is he big enough to go so far?”
“Well, he’s ten or eleven, and he rages about alone all day long.”
Julia said nothing more—she sat frowning a little, as she did generally when she was thinking at all hard. She very much wanted to talk to Terence about the party of foreign tourists who had spent the whole night up on the plateau, and had smoked what she could only suppose to have been Russian cigarettes— and to see if he shared the wild suspicion that was beginning to form in her mind. Only why should the Russians want to poison half-wild sheep?—if they had been poisoned?
At this point Terence came back into the room, looking gloomy.
“Pereira’s away—gone to Lisbon for a veterinary conference. But he’ll be back on Monday’s plane, so we ought to be able to get him down here on Tuesday.”
“Doesn’t he have an assistant?”
“Not really, no—just a sort of clinician who works in the lab; really only a boy. He did have quite a good one, but he went off to the mainland.” He turned to his little cousin. “Now, Ag dear, don’t you want to go and get a bath, before the others come in?”
Aglaia took herself off, greatly to Julia’s relief. She began at once.
“Terence, I found out something rather odd about those tourists who spent the night up there.”
“What was that? I saw you having a private natter with that old fellow” he said, filling his glass.
“I asked him if they had smoked, and he said yes, and that they’d smoked brown cigarros.” She watched his face.
“You’re sure he said cigarros and not charutos?” he asked.
“Positive. Charutos would be brown in any case.”
“H’m” Terence said slowly. “That’s rather interesting.”
“Yes, isn’t it?” she said, with intention. He looked at her through his glasses for a moment or two.
“Have you mentioned this to anyone else?” he asked then.
“No.”
“Well, I think it might be as well not to. I’ll get over to Seixial first thing tomorrow, and find out if they were seen. They must have come up either from there or from Sao Vicente, and someone might have noticed what boat they came off. I see we’re thinking of the same thing” he added, with his engaging grin.
“Yes, but why on earth?” Julia asked.
“We shan’t know why till we know what, and we shan’t know that till Pereira gives an opinion on what’s wrong with the sheep —if he’s able to; and till the water’s been checked.”
“About the sheep—you know I’m not absolutely sure that Aglaia isn’t onto something” Julia said, rather tentatively.
“What do you mean?” he asked, but quite pleasantly.
“Could you find out if the boy had been up onto the plateau? She says he runs about alone all the time, so I suppose he might have done. But it certainly does seem a curious coincidence that he should not only wheeze, and move his head about, but not recognise Penelope till she was quite close to him.”
“I shouldn’t think there was much in that” he said. “I wish we hadn’t missed Fonseca; I should have liked to hear what he said.”
“When will he come again?”
“No idea—I haven’t seen any of them. I don’t suppose he’ll come unless we send for him,” Terence said.
“Have you talked to Aglaia yet about Colin?” Julia asked, dropping the unfruitful subject of the boy.
“No—I haven’t really had much chance today. I will sometime.”
“Well, that’s a marvellous tip of Pauline’s” Penelope Armitage said, coming in. “The grapes slipped down at once, aspirin and all!”
“How does he seem?”
“Oh, just the same. I don’t like it—he seems so dazed and silly. I think I’ll ring up Fonseca after dinner, and make him come over tomorrow. I’m going to have a bath now. What about you, Julia?”
“Yes, I’d love one.”
“Come on up, then.” She swept her guest off.
Next day the party rather dispersed itself. Terence set off after an early breakfast to pursue his enquiries on the far side of the island; he took Aglaia with him, “for the drive”, he said; Julia hoped also to talk some sense into her about Colin and his affairs. The Shergolds seized the opportunity of driving down to the extreme western tip of the island to look for wild-flowers; it was really out of reach from their home if one wanted to have a long day there—they too breakfasted early, and took sandwiches with them. Penelope Armitage stayed at home to see Dr. Fonseca, and Julia remained with her, saying, untruthfully, that she was a little tired; in fact she was hoping somehow to manage to see Marcusinho herself. Aglaia’s idea that he and the sheep were suffering from the same thing, fantastic as it seemed, nevertheless stuck in her head. But it was hard to judge from someone else’s account, especially that of anyone as hasty and impatient as Penelope Armitage; any form of questioning always irritated her.
In fact Julia was lucky. After a belated breakfast she helped her hostess to peel two or three more white grapes and pound up an aspirin in a table-spoon; when the dose was prepared Penelope was just setting off for the farm when the telephone rang— she answered it with an irritated exclamation.
“Sta? Yes-—oh yes, Aunt Sally. Hold on a minute, will you?” She set down the saucer with the grapes, and put her hand over the mouthpiece.
“Julia, would you take this across to Carmen? He ought to have had it already; this is an old aunt of Terence’s, who’ll talk for ages! Do you mind?” As Julia picked up the saucer, nodding, she spoke again. “Terry’s out, Aunt Sally; but tell me how you are?”
Blessing the ancient aunt, Julia went across, under the vine trellis and into the farm-yard. There was no one about, but an outside staircase led up to what appeared to be the only dwelling, among the sheds and stalls; Julia climbed it, and tapped on the door. It was opened by a pretty dark-haired woman, with two or three children clinging to her skirts; Julia explained that she had brought the medicamento, as the Senhora was detained. The woman led her through into an inner room, where, on a large tumbled bed, Julia could just make out a small figure lying— the curtains were drawn and the light was very bad, but a deep gutteral cough from the bed told her that she was in the presence of the patient. Saying “Con permiso?” she went across and drew back one of the curtains; now she could see that the boy on the bed blinked at the light, and shifted his head on the pillow. She asked his mother how the pain was?—not much better, the woman said. Together they raised him up and popped the medicated grapes, one after the other, into his mouth; he made no trouble about taking them, but complained again of the pain in his head. Julia sat on the bed and tried to talk to him, but he only looked at her with a puzzled frown, turned away, and again gave that deep wheezing cough. She decided that with her bad Portuguese it would be useless to try to get anything out of him herself, and probably not much good questioning Carmen either; she just asked what he was eating?—milk and soaked bread, she was told. Then expressing sympathy and concern to the mother, she came away.
Back at the house, she could hear Penelope still on the telephone. “Yes, Aunt Sally, I will tell him, when he comes in. . . . No, I’ve no idea when. . . . He’s taken Aglaia for a drive. . . . Yes, you do know Aglaia; I brought her to lunch only the week before last . . . look, I must go now—someone wants me. Goodbye!” She put down the receiver.
“God, what a scourge the old thing is!” she exclaimed. “Well, did he take them all right?” taking the saucer from Julia as she spoke.
“Yes, but the aspirin doesn’t seem to be having much effect; he still complains of the pain.”
“Well, if Fonseca can’t do any better for him we shall have to get Dr. de Carvalho down from Fun
chal—he’s young and much more up-to-date; he’s worked abroad, I believe. Doctor F. is really not much more than a vet!” Penelope said, with her usual incisiveness.
In fact Dr. Fonseca, when he arrived shortly before lunch, and saw the boy again, was not able to suggest any fresh treatment, beyond trying Codeine instead of aspirin—“but with this, he must also take a purgative,” and he produced some senna-pods in a screw of paper; Julia almost laughed. When he had gone Mrs. Armitage rang up Dr. de Carvalho in Funchal; he promised to come down sometime the following day.
Terence and Aglaia got back at tea-time, and Penelope at once poured out her anxiety about Marcusinho, her vexation with Dr. Fonseca’s ineffectualness, and the fact that she had sent for Dr. de Carvalho. “Quite right” Terence commented quietly—“Everyone says he’s excellent.” Then he had to hear all about the telephone call from Aunt Sally—“Just at the wrong moment! Julia had to go and give Marcusinho his aspirin.” Aglaia pricked up her ears at this.
“Well, how was the poor old Aunt?” Terence asked, with his usual patience.
“Oh, as silly as she always is. She’d quite forgotten who Aglaia was, and we lunched there only a fortnight ago!”
“Poor old dear” was all Terence said. However, after tea he found some pretext for taking Julia into the garden.
“Well, I think our friends the tourists must have come off that trawler” he began at once. “They came off ’a fishing boat’ at Seixial a week ago last Wednesday, and got some men and a couple of mules to hump their stuff up from there to that junction of tracks near the far end of the tunnel. I spoke to one of the men who’d been along, and he confirmed about the brown cigarettes.”
“Hold on. A week ago last Wednesday—and I arrived on the Tuesday, and saw her just off Funchal. Could she have got round to this place in the time?”
“Oh yes, easily. But what I don’t quite understand is how they landed the two types who went up the day before to book the hammock-men, unless they had someone here on the island to help them.”
“That’s rather a horrid thought. But mightn’t the two men have been put ashore—oh, anywhere—at night, and stayed somewhere? They must have Portuguese-speakers to do that sort of job, and people who know their way about here. Is there a pub at this Sisal place where they could have stayed?”
“Well, not much of one. There is at Calheta—they could have booked the men, and gone through the tunnel and down to Calheta to sleep, and then back again next day and down to Seixial to meet the others. Yes, that’s quite possible” Terence said thoughtfully.
“Well, now we wait for the analyst’s report on the water” Julia said. “And we still keep quiet about the trawler, I should say.”
Terence hesitated a little.
“Yes—yes, I think so” he said after a moment. “You see, if you’re right, and this, besides being most odd, turns out to be something rather nasty—well, if a lot of people know, it’s almost impossible here to prevent some one of them talking. And if they have got local accomplices—well, obviously the less they know that we know, the better, till we get it cleared up.”
“Of course. Talking of talking, did you have a go at Aglaia?” Julia asked.
“Yes, I did. I told her positively, as coming from you, that you had heard no hint of Colin being blamed in London in any way, or from any quarter.”
“And what did she say?”
Terence gave his slow smile.
“I don’t think she paid the smallest attention” he said. “She’s positive that he is, and is indignant about it!”
“Well, did you rub it into her that she must keep her indignation to herself?” Julia pursued.
“I tried to. I don’t think she paid much attention to that either.”
“Oh really, she is the silliest little creature!” Julia exclaimed impatiently.
“I think you’ll have to do anything more that is done on that front” Terence said, still smiling tolerantly. “She knows I know nothing about Intelligence, and she can’t help realising that you know a great deal. I’m sorry not to have been of more use,” he added, now unsmiling.
“Never mind. All right, I’ll have a go at her” Julia said.
There was no difficulty about getting hold of Aglaia, who was longing to hear what Julia had thought of Marcusinho’s symptoms; she pounced on her as soon as she got the chance, following her into her room for the purpose.
“Yes, I saw him; we went into the bedroom and I helped his mother to hold him up to swallow his grapes” Julia said, in reply to the girl’s eager questions.
“And what did you think? Did you think it was like the sheep?”
“It’s so hard to judge; people and animals are so different. He certainly had a wheezing sort of cough, and he did move his head about. I simply can’t tell, Aglaia.”
“Did you find out if he’d been up?”
“No, my Portuguese is so poor. Terence or someone will have to do that—if he will. He didn’t seem to think there was much in the idea.”
“Oh, did you talk to him about it?”
“Yes—but he wasn’t much interested. If I were you I should wait till this new doctor has been, and the vet, before you talk to him. Now look, Aglaia, there’s something else I want to talk to you about.”
“D’you mean Colin?” Aglaia asked, a slightly mutinous look coming over her small face.
“Yes. I asked Terence to spell out to you, in so many words, that I hadn’t heard the slightest whisper in London of Colin being blamed in any way for—for the failure of the last expedition” Julia said slowly; to her regret her voice, in her effort to steady it, came out very cold. “Did he tell you that?”
“Yes.”
“And did he also tell you that it could really cause Colin to be blamed if you went on telling people that you thought he was being, and unjustly?”
“Well, yes.” The mutinous expression was more marked than ever.
“And what did you say?”
“Nothing very much, I don’t think.”
“Well, I shall expect you to say something to me, when I’ve told you what I’m going to tell you now” Julia said firmly. “Listen, Aglaia—I’ve known Colin all my life, I love him dearly, and I don’t propose to let you ruin his career out of ignorance, and lack of self-control. No!” she said, as the doll-like mouth opened in protest—“be quiet, and listen to me. You have married a man in Intelligence, and you have got to keep to the rules of that Service. You must never discuss him, or his work, or his prospects, with anyone who isn’t either in that Service, or one of his close relations, so that they know all about him anyhow. Do you understand?”
“Well, you are his cousin” Aglaia said defensively—“and Terence is mine.”
“Cousin-in-law isn’t exactly what I mean by a close relation!” Julia said, repressing a strong inclination to shake her. “And how do you reckon that Mrs. Hathaway is related to him? You moaned to her about this, too.”
Aglaia began to cry. Julia went on remorselessly.
“A man ought to be able to speak freely to his wife, and to trust her—”
“He can trust me!—he does trust me!” Aglaia interrupted angrily.
“He oughtn’t to—you’re not trustworthy” Julia said. “It’s no good your fooling yourself, Aglaia—all this complaining to people is just the one thing that might get him thrown out of the Service, if the Office got to hear of it.”
“But it wouldn’t be his fault” the little creature said, staring at Julia, wide-eyed through her tears.
“They would think it was—his fault for marrying someone so unreliable in the first place, and for not keeping his mouth shut when he found that she couldn’t be trusted.”
“Then they’re cruel brutes!”
“No, they’re not—they just have to do their job, and maintain security; if a member of the Service has the misfortune to marry a foolish babbling wife, out he has to go” Julia said, implacably.
Aglaia’s sobs became a storm
. “Oh—oh—oh. What can I do?” she brought out at length.
“You can give me your solemn promise never to speak about Colin and his affairs to anyone but me” Julia said. “No, not now —you’re too upset to think what you’re doing. Go and wash your face, and get ready for dinner, and come to me last thing, and make a solemn promise.”
“Oh, I will. Do you think they can have heard about Mrs. H.?”
“Not from her, certainly” Julia said, smiling—“and they won’t from me, if you give me that promise, and keep it.”
Julia’s heart smote her rather when she saw Aglaia’s small face at dinner, white under the make-up hurriedly and unskilfully applied, and with a sad and subdued expression. Had she been too harsh? No, she decided. Only a real drubbing would have made the feather-pated little creature realise the seriousness of the situation—a situation which would last as long as her marriage, with Colin’s career continually at risk unless she learned a measure of discretion. It had had to be done. And when Aglaia crept softly into her room that night, and solemnly and penitently promised never to speak of Colin’s work and prospects to anyone but her, Julia—“unless you say I may”—and went on to throw her arms round Julia’s neck and thank her “for making me understand”, she was more than ever satisfied with that evening’s work.
6
The Shergolds and Julia left next morning. Terence went off earlier; he was going to drop the two thermoses with water from the pool, one on the analyst, one with the vet’s assistant; “one or the other ought to be able to give a rational verdict” Penelope said, in her usual cassant fashion. She had been to see the boy, and reported him much the same—perhaps the Codeine had helped the headache a little, but very little. Pauline dropped Gerald off in Funchal, and did some shopping; then she and Julia drove on home. Mrs. Hathaway showed her usual lively interest in everything they had seen and done; naturally she was told all about the peculiar affliction that had smitten the sheep up on the Paúl da Serra—Pauline gave a particularly vivid description of their wheezing cough, the way in which they moved their heads from side to side, and their unnatural tameness—“as if they were doped” she said. “Gerald may be able to tell us tonight if the water up there really has been interfered with—Terence promised to let him know if he got the report in time.”