The Mysterious Affair at Castaway House

by Lam, Stephanie

  Across the room, the balcony doors had been flung open, letting bright squares of sunlight on to the polished wooden floor. I stepped out, enjoying the breeze fluttering at my scalp.

  Lizzie was leaning on the iron railing. She said in a low voice, ‘Sometimes I hate my sister.’

  ‘She’s a decent sort, though.’ I looked down at the giddying drop of the sea. ‘She was defending you last night.’

  ‘I don’t believe it. How on earth did that happen?’

  I glanced over to Castaway next door. I saw with surprise that the doors were open there, too, and I squinted, trying to see if I could spot Mrs Bray – Clara – sitting at the window. ‘Oh, your father mentioned some chap, and Maddie got quite heated on your behalf.’

  ‘Not …’ Lizzie briefly closed her eyes. ‘Oh, goodness, not Freddie Sponder.’

  ‘I believe that was it.’ I stopped trying to see Clara, and turned my attention full on to Lizzie. ‘You don’t have to tell me anything, by the way. We’re not beholden to one another.’

  ‘Well, no,’ she said, and I wondered with a jolt whether it might not be quite nice to be beholden to Lizzie. ‘It’s nothing, anyway. Freddie and I had been friends for years, since childhood. Always assumed, you know, that we’d end up marrying. And then one day last year he announces he’s going to Egypt to work for the British Consulate in Alexandria. Said it would only be a few weeks, so I wrote, and he wrote, and then he stopped writing. Six months later we find out he’s married one of the natives and is living in some one-bedroom shack above the Attarine Souk. I cried for seven days solid. But I’m quite all right now.’

  ‘What a cad.’ I pictured a pasty Englishman on a divan, being fed dates by a black-haired girl as bleating goats were led past on a chain through the marketplace below. Lizzie appeared to be awaiting a further reaction, so I added, ‘I’d deck the coward if I could.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. I wouldn’t have met you if I’d still been with Freddie, would I?’ She peered at me curiously. ‘Are you jealous?’

  I looked at Lizzie to gauge what her reaction would be to any of my possible answers. I wondered if she had slipped her tongue into Freddie Sponder’s mouth as well. I thought, on reflection, that she probably had not, and I therefore dismissed him from my mind. ‘Oh, wildly jealous,’ I said airily, and she simpered.

  ‘You mustn’t be,’ she said, leaning towards me. ‘I realize now I never cared for him at all.’

  ‘Good.’ I looked over Lizzie’s shoulder and saw Clara Bray step out on to the neighbouring balcony holding a long, thin drink. I wondered what was in it, but knew that whatever it was, it had to be a damn sight more exciting than Darjeeling in a china cup.

  Lizzie looked round too. Clara saw us, smiled and raised her glass in greeting. I waved back. I would have brought her into our chatter, but she moved towards the other end of the balcony, where a lounge chair was set up, and curled on to it with her back to us.

  ‘Oh, I wish I were Mrs Bray,’ sighed Lizzie in a low voice. ‘And then I wouldn’t have a single worry in the world.’

  My mind boggled at the irony in that statement, but, casting around for the only piece of information I could impart, murmured, ‘Well, there’s been trouble with the servants, so she’s not entirely worry-free.’

  ‘I’d adore to have servants,’ said Lizzie dreamily. ‘Of my own, I mean. Anyway, it’s only that the parlourmaid’s too scared to sleep in her room.’

  ‘You know?’ I said, somewhat surprised.

  ‘Doris told us.’ She laughed. ‘Doris knows everything.’

  A thought occurred to me. ‘Then you must have heard about the earlier parlourmaid, nine years ago – the overdose she took?’

  ‘Oh yes. Well, I knew about that at the time. Although I always thought she’d drowned herself in the tub.’ She glanced back into the drawing room and, satisfied that we were out of earshot, continued with relish, ‘And apparently she’d got herself into trouble.’

  I was rather disquieted by her gusto. ‘You knew her?’

  ‘No, not at all. I was only nine.’ She squinted against the afternoon sun. ‘I remember peeking out of the nursery window and seeing them carry her out, on a covered stretcher. They’d called Father for help when they found her in the morning. But Father’s a professional, you know. He wouldn’t tell us anything about it. Still, servants talk, don’t they?’

  ‘I’m sure they do. Terribly sad, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Lizzie excitedly. She satisfied herself that Clara was at the other end of the balcony, and whispered, ‘Nobody ever found out who her follower was. You know, some nasty people said it might be … well …’

  ‘Alec?’ I supplied, and she nodded.

  ‘Only they proved it wasn’t him. He’d been away at school the whole time. All the same, people do gossip, don’t they? And Mrs Bray was very upset by it all. I mean, Mrs Viviane Bray. Well, of course you would be, wouldn’t you, having such a thing happen in your household.’

  I couldn’t help but glance at Clara. Her back was to us now, and all I could see of her was the crown of her head, the dark hair smoothed like a cap across it. As I spoke to Lizzie I kept an eye on Clara Bray throughout. She looked as if she were asleep, the drink discarded on the glass-topped table beside her, her shoes neatly placed together beside the lounger, one cord of her emerald-coloured gown flopping towards the ground. I pictured her sleeping, wondering if she’d wear her usual sardonic look while unconscious as well, and continued smiling and nodding at Lizzie and giving the complete impression that I was absolutely involved with whatever it was she was talking about.

  On my way out, after arranging to meet for yet another afternoon at the pictures, Doris said to me, ‘If you don’t mind, sir, the doctor asked if you’d pop into his surgery for a quick word.’

  We were walking down the stairs to the ground floor. My lungs spasmed; I knew this would be about Lizzie, and I wished for the smallest of seconds that I could fillet her from her family, have her liveliness and innocence all to myself without the hedging about and good manners I was forced to bestow on her elders.

  Then I stopped and told myself that Lizzie would not be the way she was without the support of her family. A girl without a strong background would be wild, feral – would be something, I thought, rather like the slum kid Clara Bray had so clearly been. And, I silently added with a nod that surprised the parlourmaid, that was not a desirable quality in a woman. Definitely not.

  Dr Feathers’ surgery was transformed from the room where we had dined last night into a large, light-filled office. Folding doors divided it from his consulting room at the back, and along the wall were several chairs that had bordered the dining table previously, interspersed with low tables which held a variety of dusty journals. Facing the chairs was a desk upon which sat a typewriter, telephone and several open files. Cabinets which had been shrouded yesterday were revealed, and it was at one of these that a sour-faced woman was rifling through. She looked up when we came in.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, in a voice that sounded anything but. ‘Doctor’s had his last appointment for the day.’

  ‘No, Miss Splendour …’ began Doris, but the secretary cut her off.

  ‘And to be quite honest, it’s much better if you telephone. I’m sure you’re on the telephone,’ she said with a swift grimace, turning from the cabinet towards the desk and flashing a card at me. ‘Do take one.’

  I turned to Doris, who was looking fairly distressed. ‘Don’t worry,’ I said, waving her back into the hallway, ‘I’ll explain.’

  Miss Splendour was still brandishing the card as if it were a small firearm. I took it and said, ‘Thank you. Dr Feathers asked if I could come by and see him. I’m Carver.’

  ‘Hmm,’ she grunted, looking not at all impressed. ‘Well, the doctor’s with a patient at the moment, so you’ll have to wait. He’s a very busy man, you know.’

  ‘Of course he is,’ I said, smiling broadly, and strolled about the room, looking
at the paintings I had been unable to admire last night. They were mostly hunting scenes, and not at all to my taste, but I supposed they were meant to stimulate the appetite and perhaps provide Dr Feathers’ patients with the impression that he was foxing out the cause of their aches and pains. I sensed the woman watching me suspiciously, as if I might unhook one of the paintings and scamper away to hawk it on the beach in the early evening sunshine.

  There was a commotion behind the closed partition doors and, as it opened, I heard Dr Feathers’ usual boom. ‘… Time works wonders, you know!’

  A mouse-like woman emerged, clutching a handbag to her chest. She blinked at the lemon-faced secretary, who forced a smile.

  ‘Everything all right, Mrs Corby?’

  The woman blinked again. ‘Oh yes, thank you, Miss Splendour.’ She eyed me nervously and pulled on her gloves with a twitch. ‘How are you?’

  ‘In marvellous health, thank goodness.’ Miss Splendour nodded once, extravagantly, perhaps to underline the extent of her good health. ‘How’s Mr Corby?’

  There was a pause, and Mrs Corby said quietly, ‘I’m s-sorry?’

  The secretary bit her lip. ‘Oh, Lord, how awful of me. I was mixing you up with someone else. Well, have a lovely evening.’ She trotted behind Mrs Corby, ushering her towards the door. ‘Let’s hope the nice weather holds. Goodbye.’

  Mrs Corby was ejected from the room as Dr Feathers came in, hands behind his back. ‘All well, Miss Splendour?’

  ‘I completely put my foot in it with Mrs Corby, I’m afraid,’ Miss Splendour simpered. ‘Quite forgot her husband ran off with the barmaid from the Kerrison Arms.’

  ‘Ah. That’s where the health issue lies, you see.’ He tapped his head. ‘Psychological. Can’t tell ’em that, of course. They want a linctus that solves every problem. However, Mr Carver has no time for psychology, does he?’

  ‘I never said such a thing!’ I protested, sensing Miss Splendour’s steely dismissal as her body turned towards the filing cabinet. ‘And, by the way, I can hardly believe this is the same room we ate in last night. It’s quite a transformation.’

  I heard a sniff from the secretary, perhaps in recognition that I might not be the fraud she thought I was.

  The doctor strolled into the room. ‘Needs must when one lives above the shop,’ he said. ‘As I’m sure you know, we usually dine in the drawing room. How was your tea?’

  ‘Excellent, thank you,’ I said, although I was sure the doctor had very little idea of what tea consisted. I heard another small sniff from Miss Splendour. ‘I believe you wanted to see me about something?’

  Feathers nodded. ‘Step this way,’ he said, backing into his consulting room. I followed, roundly ignored by Miss Splendour as I passed her by.

  ‘I don’t think your secretary was much taken with me,’ I said, as he closed the door behind me. The room here, in contrast with the front office, was small and dark, with a window that looked on to a small yard. There was a reclining bed in the corner, which I eyed with trepidation, having been recumbent on many during my year of illness.

  ‘What? Not at all. A great humanitarian, our Miss Splendour.’

  I was not sure whether Dr Feathers were joking or not.

  ‘Scotch?’

  ‘Um …’ I thought it prudent to accept. ‘Yes. All right. Thank you.’

  ‘Good man.’ The doctor settled himself behind a huge mahogany desk, pulling out a drawer and removing a bottle of whisky and two tumblers. ‘Do take a seat.’

  He pointed to the chair opposite the desk. It was made of soft leather and gave somewhat worryingly as I sat on it, and I thought of all the nervous people who’d settled on its edge, hoping that the doctor would make everything all right.

  Feathers handed me the drink, raised his own briefly to his lips and then steepled his hands together as if he really were about to give me a diagnosis. Instead, he said, ‘Glad to hear you’re having a pleasant summer here, Robert. May I call you Robert?’

  ‘Ye-es,’ I said, momentarily wrong-footed. ‘Is everything all right?’

  He beamed beneath his beard. ‘Why do you think something must be wrong, eh? Freud would say that was your guilty conscience.’

  I coloured, although I knew I had nothing to feel guilty about. Well, almost nothing. I took the memory of the girl last night and shoved it in a dingy basement cupboard in the furthest corner of my mind, intending to leave it there for a very long time. ‘I was just wondering what you wanted to speak to me about.’

  ‘Get to the point, that’s good. I like a man who doesn’t flim-flam.’ He peered at me from over the top of his fingers. ‘You and Elizabeth are getting on well, hmm?’

  Of course this was going to be about Lizzie. I swallowed. ‘I think so,’ I said. ‘Although you’d have to ask her.’

  ‘Oh, she thinks you’re the bees’ knees, as Maddie would say.’ Again the smile. ‘You were educated at Crosspoint, am I right?’

  I nodded. ‘I was fortunate,’ I said, following the family line that seven years at that godforsaken hellhole had indeed been a stroke of luck. ‘My grandfather insisted on my being publicly schooled. Otherwise I would have attended the local grammar, and … um … well, yes, there you have it.’

  ‘Mmm,’ said Feathers.

  ‘I mean,’ I said, swallowing, ‘I’m sure Lizzie’s told you all about my parental background.’

  ‘Not at all.’ I got the sense of Feathers as an animal, observing me with huge lemur eyes. ‘My daughter barely tells me a thing these days. I’m told this is what happens when they grow up.’

  Or perhaps, I thought, Lizzie was as aware of her father’s snobbery as Alec was, and had thought it best to stay quiet on the matter. She had thought it all very romantic and daring, and had weaved herself quite a Hollywood picture on the topic. No doubt Feathers would see it all differently, but I scorned the idea of dressing my history up in any other way than plain truth.

  ‘My mother is Alexander’s aunt,’ I began. ‘My great-grandfather made a lot of money from transport. You probably know about that.’

  ‘Railways, wasn’t it?’ Feathers nodded. ‘I remember Viviane telling me, although her family’s money is much older, of course.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, bristling slightly. ‘My grandfather inherited the business, and the estate my great-grandfather had bought. He occasionally used to take his family along to the station yard. Especially my mother.’ I stopped, feeling the next part of the story might be too intimate for Feathers’ ears.

  But he had guessed. ‘And she caught the eye of somebody working there?’ he said.

  I nodded. ‘He was the yard manager. A good job, but not good enough for my grandfather’s daughter.’ I had often wondered why my mother had fallen so heavily for my father; they were a shy pair, and never talked about their feelings, but once, on visiting my grandparents’ house – the poor grandparents, who lived in a leaking cottage with a goat tethered in the back garden and from whose humble beginnings my father had risen – I had seen a studio photograph of him from those days. I had never realized how handsome he had been, with a sort of hunger in his eyes for more from life than it was presently giving him, a questing for a greater world than the station yard and the grease and crackle of loading coals.

  ‘They eloped, got married and moved to my father’s home town,’ I said. ‘That’s where I grew up, until the age of nine.’ The town of industry and drizzle-spattered days, where I’d spent happy childhood hours roaming the streets and searching for treasure, until I’d been picked up by some latent obligation of my maternal grandfather’s and sent away to Crosspoint, an event that occurred shortly after my trip to London with Alec. I remembered the drawn face of my father at that time too, at the deaths of various family members during the attack on the Somme. It always seemed to me that all the happiness of the world had crashed in the same month, and that I as a new boy, dressed in someone else’s money with glottal stops in my mouth, suffered doubly, both from the news that I would be
forced to make toast for older idiots under the guise of building my character, and from the slow creep of war into our own nondescript lives.

  Feathers’ spectacles glinted. ‘And you’re going up to Oxford this autumn, is that right?’

  ‘Yes. I won a scholarship to Magdalen.’ I added, with a rush of inspiration, ‘By the way, I’m due an inheritance on my twenty-fifth birthday. I believe Grandfather thought in that way my father would be unable to get his hands on it.’

  Feathers said nothing, and I sat back in the soft leather chair with the sense that I had blown any chance I’d ever had with Lizzie. Finally he said, ‘You are in a unique position, Robert. You have experienced life from two angles, so to speak.’

  I shrugged. ‘I suppose so,’ I said, ‘but it hasn’t really affected me.’

  That was a lie, but I was not going to tell Feathers about those first years of bullying at school, sobbing silently into my pillow at night, and then, through some fantastical combination of personality, cricket and a certain obtuse pride in my origins, rising through the ranks to become a sort of celebrated mascot, a representative of the world my peers misguidedly thought of as the proletariat.

  ‘Of course, in that you have something in common with Mrs Bray. Unlike your cousin, who has had a much more privileged upbringing,’ mused Feathers.

  I suspected some mischief on his part in saying this, almost worthy of Clara Bray herself, but I simply said, ‘Perhaps.’

  Feathers nodded and tried to look solemn. ‘Well, thank you for confiding in me,’ he said, his eyes glittering behind his glasses. ‘As Lizzie’s father, I naturally have an interest in learning what your position is in life.’

  My lungs tightened again. Feathers got to his feet and walked about the room, hands behind his back. ‘When you go up in the autumn,’ he said, and then whirled on a sixpence and glared at me, ‘do you intend to remain friends with her?’

  ‘I … I … I … of course,’ I spluttered. ‘I like her very much.’

  Feathers nodded. ‘Good. She’s young, I know, but we are anxious for her, me and Mrs Feathers. Elizabeth is a little … over-trusting. We would hate for her to make a bad connection.’