The Gulf Of Gypsum Haze
Chapter 10: Phantom From The Fog
“Aurel Carnoux is dead.”
The old clock chimed as the household started upon Dr. Trellis' pronouncement. Wakefield's face bent with wrath. Farley stared fixedly, shocked to silence. Mather cussed under his breath. Hetty gasped and brough her hands to her mouth. Constance contorted with sorrow and wept. Connors wrung his hands and shook his head. Strand took a wistful drag from her cigarette and stared at the caiman, yet on the divan where Carnoux had left it. Flames crackled in the hearth. Scent of ash and tobacco heavy on the air. Shadows lengthened.
“How did it happen?” Edric demanded, his voice even despite the wild emotions crawling under his skin.
Trellis cleared his throat and spoke with difficulty. “He had come with Dr. Sabes and myself to my boathouse. He was very adamant about seeing it. Mr. Carnoux noticed a vessel tied to the dock neither I nor Dr. Sabes had noticed and pointed it out. As it wasn't mine we were all charged with curiosity and fear and barreled inside. We found a stranger, done up in cloak and hood. I couldn't say whether it was man or woman. Carnoux tried to stop the sneak. I heard a shot and saw Carnoux lying on the ground, gravely injured. I operated but,” he lowered his head and spread his hands vainly then perked as a thought occurred. “Did he have any relations?”
“He has,” Edric cleared his throat. “Had a maid at Arynside, a one Ms. Mornstead. I can send word for I know her slight. Where is the body?”
“At my house. You may recall I occassionally work with the coroner, so the storage of the body,” at the word Constance broke into a fresh bout of sobs whereupon Trellis broke off, derailed from his train of thought.
“I understand. I am certain Ms. Mornstead will appreciate your pains.”
“You have my condolences.” Trellis raised hat to heart and, with a mornful backward glance to Constance who sat slumped in a pitiable state, left the room. Edric beckoned Wakefield and the pair conferred in whispers and cut to more discrete quarters. When they had gone, Constance, bleary eyed, swatted the air with her handkerchief. “Oh its so awful!” She shook like a dog in the rain.
Strand rolled her eyes. “People die all the time. No point getting worked up over it. You barely knew him.”
“That's a horrid thing to say! He was kind to me.”
Strand's eyes drifted to Constance's lowcut dress. “I'll bet he was.”
Constance stood from her chair, fist balled at her side. “I wouldn't expect a harpie like you to understand.”
“Big words for a little mouse.”
“Don't go shouting. I've a terrible headache,” Mather pleaded, rubbing his temple.
“You've a headache because you're a piggish drunk. That's not our fault,” Constance retorted, eyes ablaze.
Mather recoiled as if struck, while Connors' brows ascended. “Connie!”
“What? Its true. You’re such a lightweight. Such a mincing sop!”
“I know you don’t mean that.”
“I agree with the mouse for once.”
“Have none of you any dignity?” At Farley's caustic words the room hushed. The heir sat in great tension, hands cinched, brows drawn, shaded by messy golden locks, and his eyes bearing a tempest of rage and sorrow. “A man is dead. I'm to be next. And all you can do is bicker like bitter children.”
The clock ticked as if in some ancient cavern. To the surprise of all, Strand spoke first, her voice uncharacteristically soft. “You're quite right, Mr. Farley. Will you forgive me Connie?”
“Oh of course I will.” Constance wiped her face and flopped back into her armchair, sniffling. “Its all this oddness. Its making us mad.” She looked with shame to Mather and Connors.
Mather waved her concern away. “Enough a that. The young master is right. We need to be thinking about this killer on the loose. I don’t know about you lot but I’d taken a liking to Mr. Carnoux and I’ve a mind to see his killer run aground.”
“About that,” Connors began with animation. “When I went to town with Mr. Carnoux, a carriage followed us and tried to run us down in an alley. Mr. Carnoux was convinced it was after him. This confirms it, doesn't it?”
“I'd say it does,” Mather replied. “If someone was after him it must have been because he was poking into these strange happenings.”
“That's just what he said!”
“Who could it be?” Farley asked.
“Well we know it wasn't a spirit, at least,” Strand offered. “A ghost would have no need of a gun.”
“What if it was a possession?” All present turned upon Constance. “My mother knew a priest many years ago and she said he knew a man who'd been possessed. He was a completely ordinary upstanding citizen and one day he chopped up his dog with an ax and ate it. His family were terrified he'd do as much to them. So they called a priest and he conducted an exorcism and the man was horrified to find what he’d done, he said he didn’t remember killing the dog. Well that's what mother said anyway.”
Strand's mouth quivered with remarks struggling to escape. Mather sensing disaster interceded. “That’s barmy, girl.”
“Just because it sounds ridiculous doesn't mean it isn't true. What if its all true? What if there really is a curse?”
“I thought it all quite silly before, but now I don't know what to think,” Hetty admitted.
Farley looked between the women, his face the very aspect of terror.
“If there really was a family curse why would it affect Harper or Carnoux? They're not members of the family,” Mather prompted.
“I... I don't know,” Constance admitted sadly. “Oh its dreadful. Dreadful. Poor Mr. Carnoux!” She wept once more and so pitiably Strand reached out and rubbed her back.
“Easy, little mouse. It’ll be alright.”
Mather rose. “I think we could all use a drink and something to eat.” All assented save Farley who stared blankly into the fire. “Mr. Connors, you mind helping?”
“Not at all.”
Once the two men stood the privacy of the corridor, Mather spoke in guarded tones. “What do you think is really going on?”
“I think Carnoux was right. I think he was on to something and that's why he was snuffed out.”
“That's my feeling as well. The night Farley was accosted by this spectre, Carnoux and I saw something.” Mather drew closer and his tone grew conspiratorial. “A woman moving down the hill toward the lagoon. Real cautious like. There was cover on the moon, so that we couldn't make out who it was. It was suspicious. Well, I sat up last night and waited. At last, I saw her, this time with a clear sky.”
“Who was it?”
“Eva. Making out furtive like between the boulders.”
The blood drained from Conners' face. “Eva? Well, perhaps she went out to sit by the water. A woman’s whim. Nothing strange about that.”
“You're only saying that because you fancy her. And if what befell that lad Harper hadn't a happened, I'd be right with you. But it did. There's something about that lagoon. Something rummy. I don’t like it.”
“Neither do I. What are you going to do?”
“I’m gonna wait up tonight and if she shows, follow her and see what she gets up to down there. Will you come?”
He fiddled with the necklace Hetty had given him and nodded.
With the household on edge, they had no difficulty convincing Edric to allow them to stand guard. The day passed in a mordant blur and night's rise found the pair huddled below the window of Carnoux's former chamber. All was blueblack and gray. Muggy wind whistled and crows caught moonbeams on carcass varnished wings. The sea silent as a soul set to scream. No movement but birds and breezed foliage. Then a sapient shape draped in longcoat and hat, hurrying down the pale tufted lagoon path. “There! Let's go,” Mather whispered, steely eyes wide with fervor. For their excursion the men had commendeered soft soled tennis shoes from the sports room and dark jackets from Mather's wardrobe. Thus equipped they stole into the night and watched from the top of the hill as Strand vanished into the grotto.
Mather frowned. “If we go down that way she'll hear us by the gravel in the cave.”
“We'll take the cliffside path. From the shadows there she shouldn't see us.”
Mather agreed and together they hurried like two brigands down the cliffside path and stood behind the corroded corner of the winding littoral rise. The edge of the cliff about which their path wrapped was marked by great horizontal shears, through which the men peered down into the sheltered waters. Strand sat the beach, smoking upon a rock. After finishing her cigarette, she stubbed it and stripped bare. For a moment she stretched under lunar light, pale as the moon, blue as the water beside, and waded into the pool. Connors drew from the corner, his back flat against the cliff. “I think we've made a mistake.”
“Hush.”
“We can't stay. Its indecent.”
“She's in the water. What’s there to see?”
“Exactly. She's just swimming. Nothing sinister about that. Let's go.”
The men retreated back up the narrow trail and at its apex drew shuddering breaths. A distant figure was outlined by nightshine, cloaked and gazing in the direction of the pool room. By dark distance and fog it was impossible to make out further details. “Come man, now’s our chance. We have him! We have him!” Mather murmured with wild eyes, clutching his companion’s shoulder. They bent low and scurried through the greenery, using the bushes to hide their advance. The figure turned toward the rustling and rushed into the library. “Don’t let him get away!” Mather bellowed, breaking from concealment. The men dashed into the house and found the library empty. As Connors checked behind the shelves Mather flew through the door into the hallway and nearly collided with Constance in slippers and nightgown with lantern to trembling hand. “Beg pardon sir!”
“Did you see him?”
“Who sir?”
“You saw no one come through this door?”
“No sir.”
Before Mather could respond there resounded a hideous scream of terror, as from the bowels of the house. Connors burst through the library door, his face pallid as a sheet.
“What was that?” Constance asked, quivering.
“Devilry!” Connors replied.
“Shut your fool mouth.” Mather turned upon Constance, hands on her shoulders. “Where is the young master?”
“In the bath. Upstairs.”
Mather hastened up the stairs, ignoring Connors’ frenzied queries and burst into the second story bathroom. Farley lay in the tub, eyes closed, one arm hanging over the side, quiet as a corpse. “Wayer?” He did not stir. Mather pulled at his hair. “Too late. God! Too late.” Mather braced himself against the sink. Images flashed through his mind—his first meeting with Farley at the docks, the misshap with the snapper and the girl with the red ribbon, their adventures at sea and late night carousals—this all that remained of his dearest friend.
“Too late for what, man? You could have knocked.” Mather spun and beheld Farley rubbing his eyes. “Must have dozed off. I was dreadfully tired. What’s the matter?” Mather, much embarrased, excused himself and it was only minutes later, when Farley had dressed and both sat before the hearth, that the sailor replied. He relayed the story of the mysterious stranger, the chase and the unaccountable scream, and when he had finished Farley threw up his hands in despair. “It is as inexplicable as everything else of late. Perhaps Connie is right. Perhaps my family really are cursed.”
“Bilge all. Why would a spirit run from me? Its not as if I could bring it to harm. Doesn’t hold water.”
“I don’t understand any of it.” Farley swirled the remnants of his whiskey. “I’ve wracked my brains over who I might have wronged to bring about this strangeness, but I can’t think of anyone. Can you?”
“No. Why ya been thinking of that? Cause of what Briggs said to ya?”
“Carnoux told you about that?”
“And Connors.”
“I suppose they told you what he said.”
“Just said it was about your father. That you got mad over it.”
“When Strand stole my pairing knife to use on her horses’ shoes I was mad. For what Briggs said, mad hardly covers what I felt. He said my father had taken up with another woman not long after my birth, carried on with her, and had her committed to an asylum to keep the secret from the family.”
“He gains what by telling you this?”
“I think he aims to make me find the place so intolerable I’ll move, then he can swoop in and buy it. He’s expanding his business and he had a grievance against my father. Strong motives, don’t you think?”
“Its all sensible enough. But—and don’t get excited—might there be something to his words?”
“Truth to calmuny about my father,” the heir half-rose from his seat. “How can you suggest something so ridiculous?”
“Can you say with certainty its false?”
Farley teetered on the edge of an outburst then slumped back against the cushion of the old frayed armchair. “No, I can not. But where is the evidence? I have been through my father’s private papers and found nothing of the kind. Nor have I heard from this supposed mistress.”
“Briggs put a name to her?”
“Saoirse Friel.”
“Asked after her?”
“No.”
The heir grew melancholic and the two said nothing further for night’s remainder. Three days passed and with each sunset the mood of the house grew bleaker. A closed casket service was held for Aurel Carnoux early in the morning upon the fourth day by a one Father Tuper in town. The affair was scantly attended and perfunctory but the black atmosphere was leavened by Hetty’s charm and vivacity, who Tuper and the coroner lavished with attentions Mather regarded as less than honorable. During dinner of the same day Connors suggested a group trip to the lagoon on the morrow.
“I’m not really feeling up for it,” Farley replied over his scantly touched meal.
“I didn’t know him well, but I can tell you this, Mr. Carnoux was a hard headed man, no time for small sentiments. He wouldn’t want us moping about.”
“I’m not moping,” Farley replied too tersely.
“Well,” he fumbled about for words. “I’ve had a new spring in my step since I took Eva’s advice and started doing turns on the beach.”
“And no wonder with all the weight you’ve lost,” Eva joined.
“Ah why thank you, miss.”
“I think its a splendid idea,” Hetty remarked with a mirth Farley found shocking. The heir looked to Constance, in hopes she might shoot the idea down but she said only “The weather is finer than its been in a while. Might do us some good, sir.”
Farley nodded. “Perhaps you’re right.”
“You all forgot what happened to Harper?” Mather challenged over his coffee cup.
“You think the lunatic is still out there?” Constance asked.
“Could be. Took a sly fellow to make off so clean.”
“I don’t think there is much danger of us being attacked if we’re all together,” Strand opined. “Besides I for one refuse to cower.”
Edric, who had been observing the discussion from the gin cabinet, spoke up with a note of admiration. “Quite. Before the Armitages turned to fishing we we’re of warrior caste. Defenders of keeps from brigands and ships from pirates. It would shame our bloodline to squat and quail. You up for it?” He turned to Wakefield who had just entered the dining room with a container of spices and a cigar dangling from his mouth.
“What?”
“Dip in the lagoon tomorrow? The others are quite set on an outing.”
“Oh grand. We can have our volleyball rematch, Eva.”
“You don’t stand any more of a chance than last time, old man.”
Agitated, Mather retreated into the cool night air. He lit his whale bone pipe and stared at the gleaming dark over the sea. He wondered what Carnoux would say of late matters, of the memorial, the ill fated surveillance of Strand, the mysterious interloper, and the coming venture to the lagoon. Mather felt deep sorrow, not just because of the man’s shocking demise, but because of the complete absence of familiars. Both Trellis and Edric had sent word of the matter to Beaconmast and recieved only one reply from the housekeeper Ms. Mornstead, who’s plain missive read, “Thank you for telling me promptly. It is a ghastly thing.” What manner of life did Carnoux lead that left him bereft of bonds? Might it not have been chiefly his life itself, but his manner that left him so isolated? A forthright man is ever a source of ire. Mather shuddered. He wondered if a similar fate awaited him after his ship was swallowed by a storm—an end which had once come to him in a dream. No, he thought with a meditative drag on his pipe, surely Farley would come. And Hetty. “And old Dobson. That sonofabitch.”
“Who?”
The sailor turned and found Connors staring at him curiously. “Nothing. Just talking to myself. So you’re set on this fool’s errand?”
“You shouldn’t worry so much.”
“Maybe if Harper had worried more he wouldn’t be covered in scars. Maybe if Mrs. Trellis worried more she’d still be alive.”
“Maybe. But unless that crazy shows back up we haven’t anything to fear.”
With that the men retired for the night. Mather put on the record player and winced when one of Carnoux’s operas resounded. He smiled sadly and listened to the impenetrable drama as he passed into the deep well of slumber.
In the morning the house assembled upon the cliffside gazebo decked in parasols and swimwear. “Ah you wore it!” Hetty exclaimed upon seeing her necklace hanging from Farley’s bare throat.
“Of course,” he replied adjusting the blue jewelry. “It reminds me of how we first met. Collecting seashells on the beach.” She looked deeply introspective a moment then planted a hearty kiss upon his cheek. Farley’s embarrassment quickly gave to surprise as he spied Strand in revealing beach attire overlain with the left arm cladding of falconry upon which rested her feathered companion.
“You look like a carney,” Hetty sneered.
“Better a carney than an anvil.”
“At least an anvil is useful for something.”
“They certainly can take a pounding.”
Hetty scowled.
“Ladies come on now,” Farley pleaded.
“A pity the weather has turned.” Constance inturrupted, oblivious to the squabble. “It was so clear yesterday and now this horrid dreariness.” The others followed the maid’s gaze to fog rolling in across the lower portions of the estate and dark clouds massing in the blood orange sky. The group moved out from the gazebo and trekked to the lagoon path. By the time they reached the top of the declining lagoon path, the welkin was gray and the entrance to the grotto was wholly palled. From the swirling vapor, the form of a man appeared, tall and sharpely dressed. The gathered started in surprise. “Briggs,” Farley snarled. “I told you what I do if you showed your face again!”
Briggs’ eyes narrowed and his moustaches quivered like the antennae of a predatory insect. He removed his hat and placed it over his heart. “I grant it is a liberty to come upon you in such a sudden fashion, one I hope you will permit me. I came to pay my condolences.”
“We appreciate that,” Edric stated with forced cordiality.
“The hell I do.”
Briggs ignored Farley’s temper and continued speaking in blithe affected fashion. “I did not know the departed, but I had heard he was a skillful man of intellect.”
“I should describe him in just those terms,” Edric replied.
“Ah then it is an even sorrier thing,” he threw a very pointed look toward Farley. “For good breeding is vanishingly rare hereabouts.”
Before any could intervene Farley set violently upon the man, striking him across the face with such fury the gambler lost his footing. As Briggs reeled he seized the heir’s collar and together the men tumbled down the hill and were swallowed in the fog. “Wayer!” Constance exclaimed. “Fools!” Edric bellowed, jogging down after them. The rest of the party quickly followed Armitage’s lead yet the pall was so thick they could scarce see more than a few feet before them. A grunt of effort and a wail of agony erupted from nearby and drew the searchers aright. They emerged from the haze at the mouth of the grotto to behold Farley pinned beneath Briggs and he with cane poised to strike a deadly blow. “Stop!” Mather shouted. But Briggs heeded him not and brought the stick down, yet found the instrument would not move. The cane was jerked from Briggs’ hand and a crack retorted. Keening and clutching his skull, Briggs flopped to the ground as the congregants looked on with wide eyes at the figure that had prised the truncheon.
“Its not possible,” Wakefield exclaimed.
Amid the parting shroud stood Aurel Carnoux.