One Way to Venice

by Jane Aiken Hodge

  “I don’t believe it,” said Breckon.

  “Want me to start handing in his fingers through the grating? He can’t spare them all that well, can you, tiny Cousin?”

  “I still don’t believe it.”

  He was answered by a sudden, horrible scream.

  “Shh.” Breckon’s hand on hers was all that stood between Julia and madness. “That’s not Dom,” he whispered to her. “I promise you. Trust me, Julia?”

  “Yes.” She must.

  “OK.” He raised his voice. “You’ve got us. You’ve got him. What next?”

  “You come out of there—the three of you. Hands in air, dead still when you’re out.” He laughed, the laugh that Julia had once found so attractive. “Dead’s the word. Tiresome about our little fireworks display. Something seems to have gone wrong with the fuse.”

  “Something did.”

  “Goddamn you.” Tarn’s voice rose and cracked. “Think you’re clever, don’t you? You, who’ve danced on my string all these years. Christ, I’m going to show you. Doesn’t matter if you’re marked up. Or the kid. And darling Julia can watch. More fun this way, really. Right, out you come. You first, Cousin. Darling Julia next. And lovely Lucia last.”

  “There’s one difficulty about that,” said Breckon. “Lucia’s unconscious.”

  “Unconscious? How?” His voice rose another note.

  “Because I knocked her out.” Breckon kept his tone casual. “She seemed a bit confused about whose side she was on. Well, I can’t altogether blame her. If I were the Miss Browns, I know I’d be thinking pretty hard by now. Such a clever plan, wasn’t it, Cousin, and not one bit of it going right.” He was deliberately goading Tarn, Julia realised, as well as playing for time. If only she was sure that Tarn had not got Dominic. But at least they were no longer—if they had been—torturing him. Stupid. Breckon did not believe they had him. Breckon knew his voice infinitely better than she did. She must assume that Breckon knew best.

  Chapter Twelve

  BRECKON was kissing her, hard, as if it must last forever. “I don’t know if we’re going to get out of this,” he whispered. “But whatever happens, Julia, I love you. Always have, always will.”

  “And I you.”

  “It’s more than I deserve. God, what a fool I was, back at La Rivière .”

  “You couldn’t know.”

  “No. Who would believe in a monster like Cousin Tarn? And—I loved Uncle Paul. No excuse, though.”

  “Stop whispering and come out of there.” Tarn’s voice, on a still higher note, from outside. “Unless you want to hear the kid squeal again. It’ll be a bit of him, this time.”

  Julia felt Breckon go rigid and knew, horribly, that he was not, in fact, sure whether they had Dominic or not. “We’re coming. Only, we’ve lost the tunnel entrance. Can you feel it, Julia?”

  “No.” They were standing beside it.

  “Well, find it, and quick. You’ve got matches, haven’t you?”

  “I finished them.” Breckon’s voice was deceptively meek. “You feel that way and I’ll feel this, Julia. It has to be somewhere near.” They stood stock-still, handfast, in the darkness. “For God’s sake watch out for Cousin Tarn’s little bomb.” He moved noisily away from the tunnel entrance, pulling Julia with him.

  Outside, a Miss Brown said something. “Sure,” came Tarn’s voice. “Good idea. Open it up and flash a light down. There’s your exit, you two. Out you come. Julia first. Hands up and no nonsense or the kid’s had it.

  “Coming.” Breckon pressed Julia’s hand. “I can see it now. We’d got half across the cave. Careful, Julia, watch out!” He scuffled his feet loudly and whispered: “I think he’s losing control. He might do anything. We’ve got to go out fighting. One of them will be out of sight, pretending to hold Dom. Which makes it even. And, remember, they don’t want to shoot us. It’s our best chance.”

  “Yes.” They both knew it for a slim one.

  A furious shout from Tarn blended with a screech. Dominic? A Miss Brown? Julia could not tell. Nor, she now feared, could Breckon. “Coming!” The flashlight, shining straight in at the mouth of the tunnel, half-blinded her after the darkness. She took the tunnel as fast as she dared, remembering something. Both Miss Browns were left-handed. She had noticed it the very first time they had met, on the train at Victoria, but never consciously remembered it until now. So—the left hand holding the flashlight. A Miss Brown facing the tunnel, standing, inevitably, to the left as she emerged. She was out, dodging, swinging leftwards, missing, by inches, the blow that should have stunned her, and then grappling, silently, horribly, in the darkness with an opponent stronger than herself. Noise close by suggested that Breckon was also out of the tunnel, and fighting. No shot, thank God. No light. The flashlight must have dropped and broken, the fire must be nearly out. Whichever Miss Brown she was fighting had muscles of iron and knew her judo, too. And, inevitably, her left-handedness gave her an advantage.

  Now, nearby, Tarn’s voice rose in a breathless torrent of obscenities, describing, in detail, what he was going to do to Breckon, Dominic, and her. Her attention distracted for a moment, Julia gave her opponent an opening and found herself lying helpless on the ground, Miss Brown, triumphant, on top of her. “Hang on, my darling.” Miss Brown’s voice throbbed with pleasure. “I’ll just knock this one out and be with you.” She half-throttled Julia with one hand and felt about her with the other, presumably for the flashlight.

  “Don’t.” The voice of the younger Miss Brown. “Don’t, Meg. Listen!”

  Tarn choked to silence on a four-letter word, and they all heard the roar of a fast-approaching boat. Julia, wriggling a little in Miss Brown’s grasp, turned her head far enough to see light approaching from the direction of the water gate. Help. But for whom?

  The engine cut out. Close by, she thought that Breckon and Tarn had stopped fighting to listen. Then into the sudden silence, came Dominic’s voice. “Mother? Father? Are you all right? It’s real help this time.”

  “Sure is.” A man’s voice. Familiar. Of course—Peter and Susan. “Armed to the teeth, in case anyone cares. Been looking all over for you, ma’am. Are you OK?”

  The grip on Julia’s throat slackened. A voice, almost unrecognisable, but Tarn’s, whispered, “Quick, this way.”

  “Coming, my darling.” Miss Brown was gone.

  Stiffly, shakily, Julia sat up. “Here, Dom,” she called. “We’re all right. I think.” And then, her voice rising. “Breckon?” No answer. “Breckon!”

  A flashlight shone on her. The girl, Susan, bent over her. “Are you hurt, Mrs. Rivers?”

  “I don’t think so. But, Breckon…” Peter, also with flashlight in hand, was bending over something that lay very still on the ground. Dominic was there too, an odd figure apparently wrapped in somebody’s jacket.

  “It’s all right, ma’am.” Peter’s voice was extraordinarily reassuring. “He’s just knocked out. Flashlight and gun, Sue, while I take a good look.”

  “Do be careful.” Julia got dizzily to her feet. “He’d been knocked out once already.”

  “I did it as gently as I dared,” came the younger Miss Brown’s voice from the darkness. “Please. I want to give myself up. I had no idea...he’s off his head, I think.”

  “So do I,” said Julia.

  “Very well.” Peter rose and faced in the direction her voice had come from, torch in left hand, gun in right. “Come out slowly, hands up.” And, as she emerged, cautiously, into the circle of light: “Where are the others?”

  “In the cave. My sister went with him. I pretended I was coming. We ought to get away.” She looked nervously over her shoulder in the direction of the tunnel. “He’s capable of anything when he’s like this. And—there’s enough explosive in there to pretty well blow up the island.”

  “Right,” said Peter. “Flashlight for you, Dominic. Flash and gun for you, ma’am. Shoot her if she does anything out of line. Sue and I will carry Mr. Rivers.”

>   “No need.” Breckon sat up shakily. “She’s right. His mind’s been cracking since his plans started fouling up. We’d better get the hell out of here. Give me a hand up, Dom. What on earth have you got on?”

  “Talk later.” Peter turned to lead the way. “Come on.” His boat lay alongside Tarn’s, and it was awkward, desperate work getting across and into it by torchlight. “Watch Miss Brown, Sue.” Peter was busy with the rope that moored the boat to Tarn’s.

  “I’ve got a gun in her ribs,” came Sue’s reassuring voice, from the cabin.

  “There’s no need,” wailed Miss Brown. “Honestly, I’ve been doing my best for you ever since he sent the rest of the gang away. Only my sister, Meg, kept such a close eye on me, I couldn’t do much. But I only gave you half the injection, Mrs. Rivers, and I didn’t hit Breckon nearly so hard as I could have. I hope you don’t mind my calling you Breckon,” she added, absurdly. “I feel I know you so well.”

  “I should just about think you did.” Breckon caught the rope Peter threw on board and moved over to make room for him in the driver’s seat. “I hope she’s fast, this boat of yours.”

  “Fastest in Venice. That’s why we hired her. And just as well.” The engine roared into life: Peter switched on the headlights and took the water gate full tilt.

  “She’s faster than yours, Father,” said Dominic, as the engine settled down to a steady, expensive purr.

  “Lucky for us. But I don’t understand—”

  And, simultaneously, “Dom, you’re wet!” exclaimed Julia.

  “Well, of course he’s wet.” Peter turned around to tell her. “Where d’you think we found him? We’d lost track of you, see, after you vanished from the Da Rimini. So’d the police.” He laughed. “They were running around in circles, but we knew something they didn’t. We knew about Tarn Menzies. So—when we found both his boats gone, we put up a prayer and came out here to look around the lagoon. Needle in a haystack, if you like. Only time he’d ever been out here that we knew of was when he took you to Torcello, ma’am. Not much clue there. And all these damned islands. So there we were, cruising down the Torcello channel, keeping our eyes open, and what do we see but friend Dominic sitting on one of those channel lights, waving and shouting. So, natch, we picked him off, and here we are. Or, rather, there we were.” He slowed the engine to run quietly. “Far enough now. I reckon we ought to wait and see.”

  “It’s horrible.” Julia kept thinking of Lucia back there in the cave, helpless. “But, Dom, you mean you swam to the channel? In your clothes?” She could feel his soaking jeans against her leg.

  “Well, I had to,” Dominic explained. “The other Miss Brown caught me at the boat before I’d even got out my hairpin, so I went over the side, and out the water gate, quick. I got out of my jacket, all right, but jeans…Actually, I was glad of them when it came to climbing up that post. It was covered with mussels. Very scratchy.”

  “Damned lucky, that was all,” said Peter soberly. “Some of them are live, I think.” He stopped. “He’s quite something, this son of yours, Mrs. Rivers.”

  “Ours.” Breckon reached back to feel for Julia’s hand. “I guess that’s twice you’ve saved our lives, Dom.”

  “But poor Lucia!” Julia could not forget her. “She’s in the cave.”

  “She sold out, didn’t she?” said their Miss Brown. “Trouble with that Tarn was, he was too attractive. He never bothered with me. He knew I’d always do what Meg said. Well, almost always. Oh, my God!” The shattering roar of the explosion drowned her voice. The centre of the island had blown out and a tongue of livid flame illuminated their drawn faces as they sat there, silenced by the force of the blast, gazing first at the island, where now trees and buildings were burning fiercely, then at each other with a kind of questioning horror.

  The noise that had hurt their ears was succeeded by a series of lesser rumblings, and the crackling of fire.

  “Dominic, don’t look!” Julia’s arm was close around him, and she felt him tremble.

  “I…I must.” For the first time, she heard the catch of tears in his voice. “There’s Lucia. Poor Lucia. She…she was good to me. I’m sure she didn’t mean…” He voiced the question that was in all their minds. “Is there any chance?”

  “I’m afraid not.” Peter’s voice was grim, but he made it calm. “Not a hope in hell; and not a thing we can do that the police can’t do better. And a lot simpler if they don’t find us here.” The boat was tossing now as the shock waves from the explosion reached it, and a smoking bit of rock splashed into the water nearby. “I think we’d best make tracks. Get out of here and find young Dominic some dry clothes.” He revved the engine. “Don’t cry, Miss Brown. Just thank God you weren’t there.”

  “Tarn meant me to be.” She was crying, but quietly. “I couldn’t make Meg see that he didn’t mean to leave any loose ends.”

  “No,” said Peter thoughtfully, “you’re right. No loose ends. It will suit Sir Charles down to the ground, come to think. I wonder…”

  “Sir Charles?” asked Julia, but Miss Brown’s voice drowned hers. “He sent the others away.” She swallowed a sob. “Tarn. Yesterday—after it was all set up for tonight. He was mad as hell because they roughed him up so, night before last, when he staged the ‘attack’ on the two of you, Mrs. Rivers.” She laughed, surprisingly, hiccupping through her tears. “I rather think they enjoyed it—hurting him, making him swear. He paid them off in the morning. They’re safe back where they belong now. It made me wonder what kind of plans he had for Meg and me.” She was crying quietly again. “Poor Meg, she loved him so.”

  “He could be very attractive,” said Julia. “When he wanted to. But, Peter,” she tried again. “What did you mean about Sir Charles?”

  “He wouldn’t much want loose ends either,” said Peter.

  “But I don’t understand,” began Julia, and once more had to give way to Miss Brown’s passionate monologue.

  “Meg just wouldn’t see. I tried to make her after what happened to that girl Pamela at Victoria. She wouldn’t face it. She thought the sun rose and set in Tarn. It was just an accident, she insisted. But I’m sure Tarn held on to her—Pamela, I mean. I saw her face, back there on the platform. And then we read about it in the papers. She was badly hurt. I kept on telling Meg it was too dangerous. But, you see, we needed the money so badly.” She turned to stare back at the flaming island, now safely behind them. “No pensions. Nothing. Meg invested our savings on Aunt Andrews’ advice. They were going to double themselves. They didn’t, of course. We were at our wits’ end when Cousin Tarn turned up with his story and his offer. Meg thought it was terribly romantic. You know: the missing heir, and all that? Well, so did I. At first. It all seemed so simple. A little help, of a perfectly legal kind, he said, to sort things out and prove his claim, and he’d be rich, and make us independent for life. All he asked, to begin with, was that we talk to you on the train and make sure you shared his carriage. If it didn’t happen naturally.”

  “Which it did. God help me!” Julia spoke almost automatically, her mind still working on those strange references to Sir Charles.

  “Yes. You can see, it all seemed harmless enough. By the time we began to understand what kind of ‘help’ Tarn really meant, we were too deep in, or so Meg thought. He could make her believe anything. That’s why he kept us on when he sent the others away. His father, Paul Rivers, had hired them, see. He thought he could do better, plan better than Paul.”

  “He was off his head,” said Breckon.

  “At the end, I’m sure. He hated you so. I think, really, he hated everyone. I just wonder how long it would have been before he turned on his father. He refused to be called Rivers, you know, or Antony. I thought, all the time, his making us call him Tarn was queer. As if he wanted no part of the family. I don’t like to think what would have happened to them…” And then, “What are you going to do with me?”

  “It’s a good question.” Peter slowed the boat. “What do
you think, Mr. Rivers?”

  “We need evidence.” Breckon was considering it. “Against Paul Rivers and Miss Andrews—his wife. Miss Brown’s right, I’m sure. Paul planned this. All of it. As he did, before, back at La Rivière . It only went wrong this time when Tarn took over, thought he knew best.”

  “Right,” said Peter. Ahead of them somewhere a siren screamed and he turned quickly to make sure that they were far enough away from the glow that was the island.

  “I’ll give you the evidence,” Miss Brown said eagerly. “It’s all at Tarn’s hotel. Paul told him to burn his instructions, but he kept them just the same. ‘Just in case,’ he said. It did make me wonder about him. About it all.”

  “As well you might.” Peter was looking ahead now, to where the lights silhouetted Venice against the sky. “Let’s go, then, and get them—the instructions. Dominic’s tough, bless him. He’ll stand another half hour, won’t you, Dom?”

  “Course I will.”

  But, “There’s no need,” Breckon argued. “In fact, better not. Let the police find the papers.”

  “If we trust Miss Brown?” Peter made it a question. “I don’t see why not.”

  Breckon’s voice was kind. “She’s got a lot to gain.”

  “You can,” wailed Miss Brown.

  “You’re not police?” Julia was shaken by a fear she did not want to recognise.

  “Well.” Peter did not like what he had to tell her. “Not exactly. Not here. You should know, Mrs. Rivers. Just say we’re friends of Sir Charles’. Not very competent ones, I’m afraid. He’ll tear a proper strip off us when he sees us.” His voice changed. “If he sees us. What do you think, Sue?”

  “Peter, I don’t know.” Sue’s voice was unhappy. “I only know we have to tell Mrs. Rivers. All of it.”

  “That’s right.” The others were aware that the two of them were communicating on a very deep level. Clearly, thought Julia, through that vague, growing horror, there was nothing of pretense about their relationship. “We only got on to it when we started discussing the case,” Peter went on. “We’d worked separately before. This time we were together.”