Hy Brasil

by Margaret Elphinstone

  ‘Drugs? No. I know he had nothing to do with drugs.’

  ‘I’m pretty sure he never had anything more to do with it than what I told you,’ said Lucy. ‘Only he did grow up with the idea, thanks to Nicky, and since all this business started I have sometimes wondered … No, never mind. So it’s not that?’

  ‘No.’ I picked up the onion again, and looked at it without really seeing it. ‘I found out today,’ I said slowly, ‘that Jack Honeyman didn’t go into exile. I found out that he wasn’t a British agent.’

  Lucy put her knife down on the chopping board, and turned to look at me. ‘So you found out that? You mean Ishmael did find Lem’s letters after all? But surely he never showed them to you?’

  ‘What do you mean? What are you talking about?’

  ‘You’ve been at Ferdy’s Landing all day, haven’t you? That’s where the letters were, in Nicky’s tin trunk. Was the trunk still there when Ishmael bought the house? I’ve wondered sometimes if Ishmael knew, if he’d found those letters. He’s never breathed a word to me, but then why would he?’

  ‘Do you mean you know about those letters?’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said Lucy. ‘Suppose you tell me just what you’ve seen?’

  I hesitated for a minute. This was getting too close to the boundaries of my promise, but I reckoned I still didn’t need to mention the raid on the Pele Centre. I told her exactly what I’d read.

  ‘Yes,’ said Lucy. ‘They’re the same ones. So Ishmael’s had them all this time? But why should he show them now?’

  ‘You knew about them?’

  She must have caught something in my tone, because suddenly she looked sulky, like a defiant teenager being told off by her mother. ‘Of course I knew. Nicky told me everything. His father had a hiding place inside the chimney at Ferdy’s Landing. A sort of seventeenth-century safe, you might call it. Nicky found the letters there when he was clearing it out. He needed to use the hiding place himself, you see, but when he looked there were still some old papers of his father’s in there. He read the letters about Jack Honeyman, and then he showed them to me. He asked me what I thought he ought to do about it. I said do nothing. In my experience nothing is usually the wisest thing to do. Nicky took a bit of persuading, but I pointed out to him he didn’t want to draw attention to himself, for various reasons. There was no bringing Jack back, and who could Nicky have appealed to anyway? Only the government, and you can’t expect them to call themselves to account, can you? No, I reckoned it was all dead and done with, and best let lie. So Nicky put the letters at the bottom of his tin trunk, and we forgot about them, more or less. He couldn’t hide them in the chimney again, because Jed knew about that place. He found it one day when he climbed up the chimney to clear a starling’s nest. Jed knew what Nicky kept in there. I don’t think he’d have looked for anything else, but as Nicky said, you never knew with that kid what he’d think of getting into next.’

  I stared at her. ‘Lucy, are you telling me you knew all those years ago that Hook shot Jared’s father, and Baskerville dumped his body at sea, and all this time you’ve never said a word about it?’

  ‘Well, it’s hardly like that. I didn’t say a word when Nicky was alive, because that’s what we agreed. And why should I say anything when I came back from New York? Who to? What for?’

  ‘To Jared, for a start. Jack was his father.’

  ‘Come on, Sidony. Jared was just a kid.’

  ‘All the more reason why he needed to know. And his mother too. Jack Honeyman’s wife – she wasn’t just a kid, was she?’

  ‘But no one could have expected me to … Maybe she was better not knowing. At least she could still hope.’

  ‘My God, that’s about the cruellest thing I ever heard! I can’t believe it! You knew! You knew all the time. When Jared’s mother was dying, you knew! And when Jared came home last year …’

  ‘Hang on a minute! When Josie Honeyman was dying I was in New York. And when Jed came home last year it didn’t even cross my mind. Supposing it had? What then? What if I’d said to Jed then, “Oh by the way, your Pappa was shot and dumped at sea eighteen years ago, and Mr Baskerville and the President did it.” What then? What then, Sidony? You can be damn sure he’d have rushed off and done something silly. He might well have ended the same way, if I’d told him. Talk about cruel! That would have been the cruellest thing to do!’

  ‘You knew all the time! You knew about Mr Baskerville!’

  ‘Didn’t I always tell you I couldn’t stand the man? Well, now you know why.’

  ‘I still can’t believe you knew!’

  She just couldn’t see why I was so shocked. In the end she got fed up with me. We ate our supper in total silence. I had no appetite. I said I’d probably go out early tomorrow, and she heaped coals of fire on my head by saying, ‘Take the Land Rover if you want. I’ll be here all day anyway. I need to make jam before all that fruit goes off. And I want to harvest the peas.’ I’d liked to have refused, but it would have sounded childish, and also, I’d have been stuck.

  Driving home through the twilight, I thought about Lucy. She hadn’t been at the forefront of my mind all through the day, but somehow, during that long tramp, I seemed to have reached some kind of resolution. Lucy was Lucy. I couldn’t blame her for that. If I did, I’d only lose a friend. I couldn’t change the past.

  The light was on in the kitchen. When I went in she was sitting at the long table writing out labels. There was a delicate smell of herbs and cooking meat. In front of her, neatly arranged on trays, there were about forty pots of jam. She looked up and smiled when I came in. ‘I hope you’re hungry. Cally Simpson came by with a couple of pigeons so I roasted them. But you’ve caught the sun! Wherever have you been?’

  I hadn’t even meant to tell her, but I instantly did. Her mouth dropped open. ‘You didn’t? You went up there? Today? But – no, you didn’t hear the radio. What time did you leave?’

  ‘Quarter to five.’

  She was looking at me with a fascinated horror that I couldn’t interpret. ‘It was on the news at eight,’ she said. ‘Then they kept flashing warnings right through Good Morning Hy Brasil and The Old Grey Folk Café. Red alert. They’re picking up a harmonic tremor on the west side of the mountain, which sounds to me like something which would give delight and hurt not, but apparently it’s not quite like that. Anyway, they’re advising everyone to keep off the mountain. They can’t stop you because it’s a civil right here to go wherever you like except into someone else’s house. The Right of Free Access. Then they even had a piece on it at eleven o’clock on The World at One, which means everyone in Britain must have heard it too.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ I sank into a chair because my legs were trembling. ‘Oh dear. I knew I was bad. But I’ve done it now.’

  ‘Good for you.’ Lucy’s mood changed so abruptly that my carpet of guilt seemed suddenly to be swept from under my feet. ‘Good for you! I’d never have guessed you had it in you. I’ve never been to the top actually. What’s it like?’

  ‘You’ve never been?’ It was my turn to be astounded.

  ‘No, why should I? Is there boiling lava?’

  It was one of the friendliest evenings we’d had together. We were both relieved that everything was all right between us, and we tacitly avoided controversial subjects. After I’d had a long soak in the bath, she brought down a book of etchings, Reid’s Art Rambles in Hy Brasil, 1871. He’d drawn his picture of the crater almost from the very spot where I’d been standing. There was the jagged edge of lava on the far side of the crater, exactly as I’d seen it. I assured Lucy that it really did look like that. I was ravenous, and with Cally Simpson’s pigeons she’d surpassed herself. After supper I could hardly move. I was falling asleep at the table, but I felt too warm and comfortable to want to go away. Lucy poured us some Madeira.

  The knock on the door, when it came, took both of us by surprise.

  ‘Colombo?’ said Lucy. ‘But no, that’s not his knock. But who …�
�

  She went over and opened the door. ‘What? What the hell do you want?’ I heard her say. ‘What, now?’

  She let him in. Of course, she didn’t know. I almost screamed. It was Olly West.

  He looked quite manic. Lucy was alarmed, I could tell. Maybe she thought he was drunk. I must have gone white. I’m pretty sure he only had to take one look at me to realise that I knew. He looked from her to me, and back again. I felt a pang of sheer terror. I didn’t know what he was after. Why here? Why us?

  ‘Ah, Lucy,’ he said, ‘And Sidony. I think you’ll understand the reason for this little visit.’

  Lucy stared at him. ‘I haven’t a clue. What do you want?’

  ‘You’ve kept your secrets very well,’ said Olly. ‘I’ve known, of course. I’ve been aware of what you were doing all the time. Up until now I’ve minded my own business. But in the interests of public security, as a responsible citizen and a leading business man in the area, I feel I have a responsibility to the public. Matters have gone too far to be tolerated further. Private blackmail is one thing, but there comes a point when these activities become a serious threat to public peace and security. I believe, indeed I have ascertained, that Hy Brasil has retained the British constitutional right of citizen’s arrest. I must ask you to accompany me to the police station, Miss Morgan.’

  ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

  ‘I’m talking, as you must be well aware, about twelve years of systematic blackmail, Miss Morgan. Yes, you look startled, Sidony. Bear in mind you have a duty here as witness. There has, of course, been constant speculation among less privileged stratas of society within this area concerning Lucy’s apparently abundant source of income. She put herself through college in the United States, or so she says, shortly after the events in question took place. And the upkeep of the castle of Ravnscar must be a heavy burden for a young woman. I’ve not felt called upon to interfere …’

  ‘Oh yes you have. After I got back from New York, you felt called upon to interfere almost every bloody day. It wasn’t until Colombo threatened to knock you over the parapet that you finally stopped pestering me. You know damn well you did everything you could think of to get the privilege of being responsible for the upkeep of this place! I haven’t forgotten you getting down on your knees at this very table and saying you were in love with me! I haven’t forgotten how you said you wanted to marry me! How could I forget? I’ve never felt so sick in all my life!’

  ‘Lucy, I stopped coming here because I discovered exactly why you didn’t want me to participate in what you called your very private life. I regard your subsequent rejection of me in the light of a lucky escape. Once I was aware of your emotional incapacity for forming an adult relationship I could only feel grateful to all my friends who warned me against having anything to do with you in the first place.’

  ‘Bullshit! The reason I didn’t want you is that I do, in spite of everything, retain some faint instinct of self-preservation. Everyone knows you’re always sucking up to vulnerable women who’ve got money. Well, you never keep them very long, do you? I wonder why?’

  ‘Lucy, I prefer to believe you’re still capable of some rational communication. I know you have problems; you may remember I even bothered to find a therapist who’d be able to help you, and small thanks I got for that. Rest assured my eyes are opened, and my attentions to you will never, thankfully, be renewed. I thought better of anything I felt for you a long time ago. No, I come here today as a public representative, in the cause of public justice. I come to tell you, before a witness, that your secret is no longer a secret. The President himself now knows that you retained letters belonging originally to Lemuel Hawkins, and that after the death of Hawkins’son Nicholas – and I make no mention of your responsibility for that – you have systematically blackmailed Mr Baskerville, a respected public official of this government, for the last twelve years.’

  ‘I what?’

  ‘Blackmail. An unpleasant word for an unpleasant offence. I took what steps I could. You’ve been bluffing Mr Baskerville, haven’t you, Miss Morgan? Those letters, addressed, I believe, by Lemuel Hawkins to your father, unaccountably disappeared from Ravnscar over four years ago. You didn’t tell Mr Baskerville that, did you, Lucy?’

  ‘You’re out of your box!’

  ‘No, you didn’t tell him, and your silence has been lucrative. Perhaps I should have had more compunction. It was I who removed those letters, Lucy. I still loved you then. I wanted to turn you back from the ruinous course which you were determined to pursue. Of course, as you recall, I tried to talk you out of it. I tried to make you see that money gained by evil means would never bring you happiness. I offered you an alternative. In fact I offered all that I have. You spurned me, but in the interests of justice and the public good I removed the letters. You must have noticed that, Lucy, but you never spoke. I’ve kept those letters in a safe place all this time, but now I fear the time has come when in the interests of justice I am forced to reveal the unhappy truth. For your sake I’ve put myself in danger, as accessory after the fact. I think my compunction will be understood. The only course open to me now is to make your actions public.’

  ‘Olly!’ said Lucy. ‘Get out of here. Go on! Just get!’

  I’d never seen her look so formidable. To my surprise he didn’t quail. Instead, before either of us could move, he strode across the room and grabbed me by the arm, where I was still standing thunderstruck, holding on to the edge of the table. ‘Oh, no, Lucy. You can’t intimidate me now! Think of your friend here! She is the witness of what I have to say. Have you told her how you deliberately suppressed the truth? How you’ve pretended friendship to young Honeyman all these years? And yet you knew who murdered his father, and you didn’t hesitate to make what profit you could from that? Have you told Sidony what you’ve done? Does she know how you and Nicholas Hawkins involved young Jared in smuggling drugs? Was she aware of any of that when you encouraged her to get into Jared’s bed? Did you tell her how he’d been using the contacts Hawkins gave him? Does she know who arranged for him to be where he is now?’

  ‘You’re lying! It’s a lie from beginning to end, and you know it!’

  ‘Oh, no, Lucy, I think not. I think when I take you down to Ogg’s Cove police station, our government will be glad to reward me for bringing a criminal to justice at long last.’

  I think Lucy began to have an inkling of what he was up to at the same moment as I did. I didn’t believe Olly for a moment. Lucy still didn’t know, of course, that he’d been busted. I wondered when he’d found out. Nor did she know, as I did, who employed him. Olly must have discovered the raid, and since then he’d probably found out just what Ishmael and Colombo had been doing today. He couldn’t hope that Hook would protect him. Hook would save his own bacon first. Unless Olly could offer another, more profitable scapegoat, and point out to Hook that he could then still have a faithful servant at the Pele Centre ready to command? Why would Hook accept Lucy instead of Olly? Would Baskerville let that happen? Maybe Baskerville would; there was no love lost between him and the house of Morgan. They already had Jared. If Olly offered Lucy too, as an alternative sacrifice to himself, what was in it for them? The answer came to me, even while I struggled to free myself from Olly’s predatory grip. Ravnscar. They’d get Ravnscar, and all its treasure. No doubt Olly had already suggested it. The man must be desperate, but he was still trying to twist his way out.

  Lucy ran across to her desk by the window, and picked up the phone. Her hand was on the dial. The emergency number in Hy Brasil is 111. She dialled one. Olly let go of me, and was across the room like a streak of lightning.

  Lucy screamed and dropped the phone. She ran for the door. I heard her scream again, in the conservatory. The outside door banged.

  Olly put the phone back on the hook and turned to me. ‘She can’t go far,’ he said. ‘I think you’d better accompany me instead. You witnessed all of that, didn’t you? I think we should tell the polic
e all about it, don’t you?’

  He was advancing on me slowly, round the table. Both the door through to the conservatory and the door into the tower were behind him. I backed away from him, towards the stove.

  There were two doors I could possibly reach. The back stair to the Great Hall. But if I went upstairs, he’d follow. Chase me through the house. I’d have to run across the hall, down the main stair, back through the kitchen. The other door led to the cellar. He might not think of that.

  I could feel the warmth of the stove at my back. I ran forward and dodged round the table. I was at the cellar door. He threw himself on to the table and swung his legs over it. I hadn’t bargained for that. I tugged the door open and shot down the stairs.

  He was after me. I darted across the first cellar. My sandalled feet clattered on the worn out steps. Louder footsteps echoed just behind.

  Into the wine cellar. My arms stretched in front of me, feeling the dark. I made for where I thought the door was. I met stone wall and groped along it. There was wood under my hands. I scrabbled for the handle, and flung the door open. The torch was in its place on the shelf. There was a crash from the wine cellar. I glanced round, shone the torch. He’d tripped over a cask and fallen headlong. Wine spurted over the stone flags like blood.

  A plan jumped into my head. He was still getting up. I prayed to God he wouldn’t find the light switch. He obviously didn’t know the place. But he’d know about the caverns. Deliberately I darted back into the wine cellar and flashed my torch, behind the casks.

  He was after me. I dodged, found the other door. Flung it open. Flashed the torch. Into the little dead-end vault where Morgan kept his Napoleonic cognac. Torch out. I threw myself back against the wall, just out of arm’s reach of the door.

  It worked. He followed. Stumbled into the dark right by me. I cowered from the image of groping hands. He passed me.

  I nipped back through the door and slammed it to with all my strength. I felt for the great iron key, and using both hands I turned it. It locked with a clank. I tugged the handle. Locked. Well and truly locked. I pulled out the key. It was cold in my hand.