A Poisonous Journey (37 page)
I ignore her lassitude and ask instead, "When will Jeffrey get back from the museum? Do you know? We don’t want to be late tonight."
Briony sighs, crumbling a biscuit from the basket between her fingers. "He said he would be back by four. Who knows? It is bound to be a trying day. He may not even want to come along."
"Oh, he must!" I protest. "He needs some fun and distraction, besides his friends will all be there."
"We will convince him," Daniel replies with certainty. "Anyone for more ambrosia?"
CHAPTER 30
An hour later, we are back at the villa. We were held up for a while by a few of Briony’s acquaintances who wanted to be introduced, and who then went on to tell us stories and anecdotes about past years’ feast days before letting us go on our way.
The cool interior of the large house is pleasant after spending hours in the dry, dusty heat. I unpin my hat and follow Briony who was distracted and silent all the way home when Daniel catches my arm.
"Evelyn, may we speak for a moment?"
"Of course. Have you discovered anything new?" My mind immediately runs in the direction of Caspar’s demise.
"No, nothing." He seems awkward. Gone is the joking, easy banter we shared all day.
"Is everything all right?" I ask, wanting to shout
stop being so mysterious!
stop being so mysterious!
"Yes, it is only, the funeral." He swallows, looking very young, and very much a man who has been to too many funerals. Though of course, each one is one too many in any lifetime.
"Have you made arrangements? Can I help?" Without a thought, I take a step toward him.
"I’ve arranged it for Friday. A short service in Miklos and then to the cemetary."
I offer him a sympathetic smile. "It has to be done. Laying him to rest may grant you some peace."
He nods and runs a hand over his jaw. "You are right. It was only, it was strange and sad arranging this."
"I wish I could have been of some help."
"It was best that I should do it. The reason I am mentioning it is just, well, could you tell the others? I …" he trails off, shuddering ever so slightly. His reaction does not escape my notice.
"I’ll tell them as soon as Jeffrey gets in. Don’t worry. Would you like to have anyone else there? Nikolas or Laria, Paul and Rosie? Anyone?"
"I think Laria will decline an invitation. The mood Nikolas was in last time we saw him makes me believe he knows the truth, and her going to Caspar’s funeral would only cause more trouble for them."
"Maybe you should ask her anyway, or I can. It is only right that he should have someone there who loved him."
"Yes, maybe. We will see."
"I won’t suggest inviting Darius. I doubt he would come."
"Who knows?" Daniel raises his eyebrows. "If he is innocent in all of this, his relationship with Caspar remained relatively unsullied to the end."
I detect a hint of sarcasm, even anger in his voice, leading me to assume he is far from convinced of the museum curator’s clean conscience.
"If Darius killed Caspar, it is only a matter of time before he is discovered. There are so few suspects, surely any one of them will be thoroughly investigated and any hole in their story pounced upon by the police."
"I hope so. Though in the end, what good will it do? If Darius is guilty, he will face the noose. It won’t bring back Caspar."
"Nothing can do that. Occasionally, I catch myself wondering … Do you think sometimes an eye for an eye is justified?"
He looks at me in surprise, his head slightly tilted, "I hadn’t taken you as someone in favor of such extreme measures."
I frown, "I hadn’t either."
"I know what you are saying, at least I think so. In some cases, ultimate retribution seems the only punishment befitting the crime."
"That may be so, but retribution has many faces. Justice can become vengance, which can become murder. It can take on a vicious, cyclical quality."
"Let us stop speaking of such miserable things now." Daniel straightens. "Let us talk of the festival, the delightful weather and of how we may tease Jeffrey tonight." He smiles and offers me his elbow.
I take it and say, "Lead the way."
To my surprise and Briony’s relief, Jeffrey arrives on time and in better spirits than the prior evening. It has been decided the museum will continue with the excavation, and it has hired additional security in the form of three guards in rotating shifts. Should anything worth stealing be dug up, anything that cannot easily be moved, more guards will be hired. Jeffrey emphasizes that he and Paul offered their services, but were told to wait until the time comes.
I have my doubts regarding Jeffrey’s ability as a particularly competent guard … Paul on the other hand, with his Viking-build, may be of greater use, if only for the purpose of intimidation.
The house is abuzz with activity as the staff joins us in getting ready to enjoy an evening off at the festivities. Niobe looks better than she has in some days, her nose not so pale and her eyes not so tired. Perhaps she is finally deciding how to proceed with Yannick. Their secret trysts in the garden are probably for the purpose of making plans. I must confess, they do not act exceedingly romantic toward one another. Whenever I watch them crossing paths, they appear casually friendly, nothing more. Every so often, I catch Yannick gazing at her retreating figure, a look of longing adoration written across his features, and I feel a pang of pity. Their feelings are in all likelihood unequal. I am oddly defensive of the pale Pole, far from home and willing to take on another man’s child because he is infatuated with the pretty Greek lass. It bodes for disappointment. But I will stay optimistic. Love can grow, especially from trust and friendship, so I may well be proven wrong. Hopefully.
In my room, dabbing on lipstain I hear a knock at the door.
"Come in!" I call out before asking who it it is.
I am surely too trusting.
I am surely too trusting.
It is Niobe—
speak of the devil
—carrying my cream cashmere jacket, from which two of the dainty mother-of-pearl buttons had come perilously loose.
speak of the devil
—carrying my cream cashmere jacket, from which two of the dainty mother-of-pearl buttons had come perilously loose.
"I mended your jacket, miss. Shall I put it away?"
"Thank you. Yes, please, although," I put down the lipstain and glance at the window, framing the glowing blue sky. "Do you think it will grow cold? The evenings can be surprisingly chilly. Perhaps I ought to wear it? What do you think," I stand up and strike a pose. "Will it go with this dress?"
Niobe smiles one of her rare smiles and holds the jacket into the air as if I were a paper doll. "Yes, it will look nice. The gray buttons match your eyes."
"So they do," I note quite pleased.
"Athena is said to have had gray eyes." Niobe adds, gently arranging the garment on the bed, then strides over to the open wardrobe to hang up a pile of dresses I tried on and discarded on the back of a chair.
"And boundless wisdom. I should be glad of that, too. Alas," I tilt my head, "I must contend with what I have. Gray eyes it is."
"You have so many beautiful clothes." Niobe slides a blue charmeuse Lanvin dress onto a padded hanger.
"You don’t have to clean up this mess. I can do it later."
"Later you will be exhausted. I don’t mind. It’s my job." She is speaking more than ever before. Could it be that she is warming to me? Or does she merely need someone to talk to? Someone who knows her sercret.
"Thank you. You are coming later, aren’t you?" I crouch down on the edge of the bed, folding up a cardigan, to have something to do while she does her work.
"Yes, Mrs. Farnham gave all of us the evening off. She is a good employer."
I smile. "Do you like working here? You can tell me the truth, I can keep a secret." Instantly her face falls, and I realize I chose the wrong words. "I only meant—"
"No, it is all right, I …" she breaks off, continuing her task, not meeting my eye.
"Niobe, are you well? How are you coping?" I feel selfish and foolish for having neglected to inquire before.
"I am fine. I was ill for a few days in the mornings, but I am told it is normal."
"Are you excited?"
She pauses, her face as ever, betraying little of what goes on behind it. "Of course."
"Have you made plans for the wedding? Is there anything I can do to help?" I let the offer hang between us, hoping she will grasp it.
She presses her full lips together and swallows. "We are going to have a small ceremony this month. Only my family. It is best that way."
"Hm …" the muscles in my forehead tighten. Niobe looks stolid as ever, but her voice betrays her. She does not sound happy, and whether it is because of the child or the possibly unwelcome wedding, I cannot say. "Is it what you want?"
Her hesitation lasts a moment too long to lend her answer credence. "Yes, of course. I want to be married. I want my baby to have a father, a family."
Just not Yannick.
"Niobe, forgive me if I am being inquisitive, but the father, the real father—"
"Yannick will be the father." Her tone hints at deep stubbornness, and I fear she is trying harder to convince herself than me.
"Then I am happy for you both."
She smiles, though faintly. "I am certain. Yannick is a good man. He will be a good husband, a good father."
I nod, not wanting to cause her further distress."Then it is all very good. Now," I stand up and step towards the wardrobe, "this dress," I tug at a draped Paquin in a startling pink, "would suit you beautifully. The color is made for someone with your complexion. Or would you prefer a different one?"
She looks startled. "I-I can’t—"
"You must! I insist. You will look lovely in whatever you wear, of course." I add hastily, not wanting to offend the proud woman.
"I don’t know …"
"Here," I pull the dress out of the wardrobe, holding it up to her. It is made of a loosely draped silk that ought to fit, though her figure is more voluptuous than mine. "You don’t have to decide now. Take it with you and see if you like it when you try it on."
"This is very kind—"
I hold up a hand. "Nonsense, it is selfish of me, really. I would love to see worn by someone it suits. I look absurd in the color, and it would be a sad waste it was never worn."
"If you insist." She is not convinced, though I observe the pleasure in her face as I thrust the dress into her hands, the fabric smooth and soft to the touch.
"You had better get ready. And I must try not to spill anything on myself before we leave. Go on, enjoy your evening."
"Thank you, I hope you like the feast. It is always good fun."
"I am sure I will. It will doubtless be an evening to remember."
CHAPTER 31
Later we assemble in the entrance hall. Niobe, I am happy to see, is looking resplendant in the pink dress, which drapes elegantly around her body, the modern version of a toga, although I suppose that description hardly does it justice. Lacking Niobe’s curves, I have done what I could for my appearance this evening. The occasion is not formal enough to warrant the silver crepede-chine Worth I brought for a special occasion, so I decided on a subtle, far more comfortable, pale rose silk dress with a dropped waist and silver beading at the hem. Briony glows in a vibrant green skirt and a blouse of a darker emerald green. The men are equally dapper, wearing freshly pressed trousers and shirts, without ascots or ties. It is to be a party, after all.
"Are we ready?" Jeffrey asks, though he makes it clear by his taut expression, he is the least eager to be going.
"Yes," Briony settles her hat in place, casting a glance at the ornate hall mirror leaning against one wall. "How do I look?" She does a little twirl.
"Lovely, as always." I loop my arm through hers as we stride to the door.
Yannick, who is waiting outside, stands proprietarily beside the gleaming Delage. He will drive us first and then come and fetch Cook and Niobe in a second run. We could have walked, but later on, when it is dark and we are weary, a car will be a nice luxury to have at our disposal. I have the sneaking suspicion Jeffrey intends to creep away earlier. He is in no mood for a feast, obviously joining us as a favor to his wife. It might be for the best, if he absented himself, should his face continue to reflect the woes of the world rather than the merryment of his fellow revelers.
In no time we are bundled in and whisked down the drive towards the village. From a distance, the bright garlands streaming from the ancient gate are already visible. Yannick is forced to leave us here as the road is blocked by a rush of revelers. From somewhere to our right, cheery music is wafts through the air, accompanied by the mouth-watering aroma of cooking.
"Let’s follow these people," Daniel suggests, and we join a throng of men and women, chattering happily. What they are saying is a mystery to me.
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