The Gulf Of Gypsum Haze

Chapter 5: Spectres On The Shore

As Carnoux observed the inhabitants throughout the evening, he could not but marvel at the estate in equal measure, for both its vastness and the ingenuity of its construction. Despite the old manse's sleek granduer, there was an ever present manifestation of decay in the cracked plaster and peeling paper of its numerous streamlined nooks, and the mottled greasy appearance of the brass lamps that lined its corridors like huge expiring fireflies. The gloom of slow deterioration mingled with the dread of the Armitage curse and coiled like a thickening miasma upon all within. So it was that the frivolity of the morning was replaced by a somber atmosphere that hurried all into the crackling warmth of the grand hall. The room was enormous, luxuriously furnished and populated with worn faces flailing to attain some semblance of gaity. Farley, worst worn of all, sat his father's bronze studded armchair near the roaring hearth and picked the stiching as he downed endless glasses of rum. Four other armchairs were arranged in a tight semicircle about the fire, and from left to right sat Wakefield, Edric, Hetty and Mather, all sharing drink and uneasy conversation while Strand and Connors strode about the bookshelves and cast in an occassional word or two as Constance flit about refilling drinks. “Where'd your old man get this beauty?” The congregants whirled to Carnoux's unmistakable voice as the neat vulpine man emerged from an inspection of the late Armitage's oddments, baring under one arm, a taxidermied reptile.

“What have you got there?” Edric asked, alarmed by the dislodgement of his father's effects.

“That's just what I wanted to know.” Carnoux shoved the scaly specimen in Wakefield's face, prompting the man to wince away with an expression of horror. “What is this creature?”

The ex-officer recovered himself and peered at the immaculate carcass with the gaze of a scientist. “Its a caiman. I saw many asian crocodiles in my time with the Bajau. Note the smooth flattish lay of the scales, where in crocodiles they protrude and the caiman’s overall size, which, with the exception of the black caimans of the Amazon basin, is diminutive when compared with their saltwater cousins.” Hearthflame threw sinewy shadows upon the conversants faces, and starkened their scars.

“Is that where you received your scar?”

The navyman traced the thin line of the sundered flesh below his left eye with sad amusement. “No. I should like to say I received it in battle, but the truth is that it was from a tussel with a swordfish.” Laughs went up around the room. “Its true! It happened not long after I enlisted. Some fool Australians my captain decided to trade with druged it up. Well, it tore free of those that held it and I bounded to seize the devil, fearing it might lance them, but it done me as you see and flopped into the spray. You chuckle Ms. Strand, but you wouldn't find it so funny should you have need to master such a beast.”

“I must defend my amusement,” Strand replied. “There is something rather hilarious about being beaten up by a fish. Have you ever sailed to the orient, Mr. Mather?”

The fisherman chuckled over his whale bone pipe and shook his head. “Never had cause. Bit once by an octopus hereabouts though. Frightful strong for their size. Sly, too.”

“Like our dear Eva,” Farley added. “Once she gets her tentacles round you there's no escape.”

Hetty smirked. “Don't be beastly,” Edric advised. Farley stuck out his tongue and returned to his drink.

“What about you, Mr. Carnoux?”

Carnoux turned to Strand who leaned forward from the shelf like a cat ready to pounce. “What about me?”

“Well you certainly didn't get yours from a fish.”

“Why do you suppose that?”

“Because I’ve seen sword scars before.”

“It was a very dexterous fish.”

She did not smile but her eyes crinkled with delectation. “Were you a soldier?”

“Eva,” Edric hissed. The feline intensity went out of the woman and her lips pursed with dejection. Carnoux held up a hand and sat upon a plush divan to the left of the hearth with the caiman on his lap. He lit a cigarette and took a long drag before he spoke again. “It was from a skirmish with an indian up north.” Carnoux shifted uncomfortably and pet the reptile.

“Well if what he said before wasn't a yarn, that one sure is,” Mather put in with a laugh. “I wouldn't be surprised if it was really from a racoon,” a well soused Hetty added. Playful theories as to where the authenticator received his marks went round and mirth encompassed even the morose Constance. Wakefield alone remained aloof from the revel and studied Carnoux with the countenance of one who has beheld an apparition and sunk to austere contemplation. When glasses were emptied and energies exhasted, Constance showed Mather and Carnoux up to a cramped second story bedroom in the left wing of Armitage Court which overlooked the lagoon. “My rooms just down the hall,” Constance said. “If you need anything, just give me a knock.” With that the woman closed the door and pattered down the corridor. Conlan Mather flopped upon his bed yet in his boots, puffing at his pipe and winced as opera music filled the room. “Sounds like a cat being strangled,” the sailor cried.

Carnoux reached out and silenced the recording. “What do you make of them, Mr. Mather?”

“You seen um. What you want my opinion for?”

“Because you know them better than I.”

Wary ridges formed over the fisherman's brow. “What are you up to?”

Carnoux turned from the window and spoke in a flat register. “I think there is something to this curse business and I mean to get at it.”

“What, you think some sea spirit really set a spell on us?”

“I hold someone would like us to believe so.”

“But why?”

“That is what I aim to find out. But it is not hard to see a number of draws for so fantastical a charade. Farley is wealthy man with a large and comfortable house and the son of a man with many enemies. You see now why I ask you so impertinent a quesiton. Your impressions could prove helpful in penetrating this matter.”

“You think someone here is behind it? This woman and the whole story about a curse?”

“I do not know, but I think it likely. I am here for Mr. Farley's benefit. For your friend, will you help me?”

Mather jerked his thumb to the gramaphone. “On condition you lay off that awful racket.”

Carnoux clicked his tongue. “You really must try to broaden your artistic horizons.”

“You broaden um anymore my brains’ll leak out my ears.”

“Fine.” Carnoux stared at his roommate with impatience.

“Alright then. Impressions of the lot. Well. Wayer has always been sensative, whimful, but he ain't crazy. I saw that woman well as he. He's a fine lad, finest I ever met, and I don't say that cause he's my mate. That's the truth.”

“I do not doubt it. And Ms. Brandt?”

“Oh she’s a fine girl. Everyone adores her. Little I can tell you about her that isn’t clear enough. Cept this. They're too be married soon. Hetty and Wayer. Oh yes. Overheard um whispering at the Cavalcade. Didn't mean to snoop, mind, just happened by and there they were huddled in the hall whispering like two outlaws.”

“That does not surprise me. Does Mr. Armitage oppose the match?”

“Edric disapproves of near all the young master does. His habits, his interests, his company. He's never liked the cut of my gib I can tell you. Far as the pairing, I'm sure he would if he'd the wind of it, but they've kept their cards close. Like as not on his account. Edric wouldn't say as much, but I can tell he thinks the girl is beneath the family. Too rough and common. Like me. I don't say that to slight him. He might seem a callous slave driver, but he means well. Most times. Its just that he's not very good at making his meaning clear. Suppose that's Wakefield's job. As for Wakefield, I never met him before, few times I came up here he was always off on business, seems a decent chap, bit standoffish, self important. Swaggers around like he owns the place, but I suppose that's to be expected given how long he worked with Selwyn. But he's a fine brain. Not very talkative though.”

“He seems the type of man to say far less than he knows. A useful attribute for a secretary. What of the maid?”

“Constance? A sweet little creature, always worrying and over what I couldn't say. The kind that's liable to leap at her own shadow. Connors told me she has the lovelist singing voice and a rare hand for the piano, but she's too scared to play for anyone, even for Connors, and he's probably, the mildest man I ever met. Bit too mild, you ask me. You know he paints? Oh yes. And with a rare touch too.”

“And the hawker? I don't suppose you'd describe her as mild.”

“Mild? Strand?” He pronounced the woman's name as a medical student might a particularly virulent disease. “Noxious is more like. Ghastly woman. You heard what she said to Hetty? The anvil thing?”

“I did. I confess it took considerable restraint not to laugh.”

“Lord, don't do that or we'll a riot on our hands. They've never got on, Hetty and Eva. Doesn't seem to be any particular reason for it. She's been cruel long as I known her but its the kind of cruelty that seems to have no object. Half the men in the village have courted her and she always sends them off in a state of humiliation and she looking self satisfied over it. Must give her some kind of thrill. But I will say she's devoted. To Edric as she was to his father. And to her sport. She likes to hunt. Seems more pleased in the company of hawks and hounds than humans. Near queerest of the lot by some ways.”

“Near?”

“You're here ain't ya.”

Carnoux flashed the man a look of amusement and returned his attentions to the window. The moon was obscured by coiling clouds and cast a ghostly glow unto the glassy darkness of the sea. “What ya looking at anyhow?” Mather moved to his companion's side. Carnoux stiffened and held up a hand for quiet, for a form had become visible upon the yard due the moonlight and flit behind the boulders that lined the path to the grotto. It appeared to be a woman moving with furtive step, but all else was lost to shadow. The night stalker eased down the decline and vanished from view. “Who on earth could that be at this hour?” Mather wondered aloud. Several seconds passed before Mather realized his companion had shifted and spied coattails whisking round the jam. He shuffled stiffly after Carnoux and found him peering intently into the dark upon the loggia over the archway connecting the two wings. Gone was the amiable expression upon that volpine face, and in its stead, a rapacious predatory glower. “What are you doing?”

“If whoever we saw by the lagoon is a member of the house, they'll return. Should they come by the right wing we’ll hear them enter, if by the left, they must set themselves against the moon.”

Scarely had he finished speaking when there resounded a ferocious shriek from the left wing. It seemed to have come from the ground floor. “The devil is that?” Mather gasped with astonishment. Carnoux rapt the man upon the back encouragingly, hurried across the archway and into leading section of the house. They tore down the second story hallway, descended the stair to the first floor and rushed into the pool room that faced the cliff. In that beige wood paneled den, left of the door, lay Wayer Farley yet in evening dress, tie askew, gasping and shuddering as one caressed by the reaper's scythe. He appeared to have stumbled in flight from some pursuer. The petrified man's frenzied gaze was glued to the french window across the room. The panes were wide, the dark curtains flapping like monsterous wings and between them a chill breeze slithered through air rank with the sea's ascerbic excresence. “You alright, what's happened?” In response to his friend's query Wayer spoke in brittle tremors. “She came for me. She raised her hands and when I didn't come, she howled at me.” He raised a quivering finger to the aperture unto night. “She's out there.” As Conlan checked the heir for injuries and pressed for information, Carnoux bolted through the french window and stood well trod grass beneath callous stars. He swung his head left and right yet not a soul was to be seen. Next he recalled the ivy corroding the front of the manor, scanned the facade and found it shorn of foliage and too sheer for even the most active man to scale. The only other entry point into the house along the seaward side, a door beneath a veranda letting into the library, was locked. He moved beyond the eastern face, rounded the northern corner of the house and studied the broad stony plateau that widened the further his eyes drifted from the domicile, all scoured by blue blades of luna's light. Nothing moved but a trio of bats wheeling through the murk. Opposite the open field there was nothing but the gypsum cliffs and a perilous plummet to the narrow shore below. Carnoux's face twitched with vexation as he returned to the pool room through the window, then shut and latched it. He found Farley with brandy to hand slumped on a sofa against the far wall and Hetty in a nightgown at his side. Mather stood nearby with a grave befuddled expression. Edric in robe and slippers leaned over the pool table in the center of the room with exasperation. “See anything?” Edric asked rhetorically as Carnoux moved to his side.

“Bats.”

“Perhaps she turned into one and flew away.”

“Eddy, I saw her. Didn't you hear it, that awful scream?”

“Did you hear anything?” Edric demanded of Hetty. The woman shook her head sadly.

“I was woken by the footsteps. So I came out to see what was the matter.”

“Well I heard it, sir,” Mather intruded. “Its just like the young master said. Like the wail of a banshee.”

“A banshee,” Edric scoffed. “Listen to yourself.”

“Its true,” Carnoux insisted. “Mr. Mather was talking with me on the loggia. We both heard it. As the window was open it carried better to us than those in their rooms. There was a scream and it sounded as if it came from a woman.”

Edric drew back from the table and stood glaring at the gathered. “You too? I've had quite enough of this nonsense. From all of you. There's no such thing as mermaids or banshees.” Spying a near empty glass of port on the table, Edric raised it, as a prosecutor presenting his evidence. “How much did you drink tonight, Wayer?”

“I wasn't drunk.”

“How much?”

“She came in through the window, there's bound to be marks on the lawn,” Farley protested, rising from his chair.

“And did you step out before this person came?” Edric snapped.

“Well, yes, but-”

“If you wish to nurse these crackpot notions, you can do so without me. I'm not putting up with them anymore.”

“Mr. Armitage, there was an intruder,” Carnoux pressed. Edric whirled with a glare that embered as it met his guest's icy countenance.

“Then you look after it. If you're worried about crazy birds buzzing in, stand guard. I'm paying you aren't I? I'm going back to bed.” With that he stormed from the room and slammed the door behind him.

“Damn him,” Farley groaned. “He never listens. You believe me, right Hetty?” The woman smiled and rubbed his arm with tender reassurance, but all could tell from her reticence she held as much confidence in the heir's account as did his brother.

Farley pulled away from her, stood with his hands on his hips and paced wildly about the room. “I thought you at least would believe me.”

“Belief bows to facticity,” Carnoux said as he set three billiard balls upon the gametable in a row and stared at them with rigid intensity as his companion's looked on in confusion. “Field, house, cliff,” he poked the balls in order from furthest to nearest. “It is not possible to traverse the grounds undetected or scale the house. Neither could this trespasser have descended the cliff, for the portion near this part of the house is completely sheer.”

“What is the meaning of it?” Mather wondered in vexation.

“It means,” Carnoux struck the foremost of the spheres and sent them clattering about the table. “Our mysterious visitor took a fourth route.”