"Caspar and I were never a couple."
I nod again, and my mind flashes to the image of her and Caspar on the night of the dinner party, whispering away from the group. I decide it is now or never, and say, "Niobe, since you and Caspar were not a couple, why did he take you aside on the night of the dinner party? You remember, I am sure."
To her credit, she does not deny it, instead exhales sharply and wipes a tear from her cheek. "It is true. It was nothing important. He was drunk and upset. He wanted me to give Laria a message, wanted to meet her alone later that night."
"And did you?"
"No."
"No?"
"I did not want him to make a scene. Not for Laria and not for Mrs. Farnham. He was in a bad state, and it would have been an embarassment."
"I understand." While I am not entirely certain I believe this explanation, instinct tells me it is not important at the moment, and I encourage her to go on.
"The father of my child was at the dinner party that evening," she continues, and for a moment my stomach clenches at the thought it might be Jeffrey or Daniel.
"He was?" I mutter for lack of anything useful to say.
"Miss Carlisle, I must have your promise of discretion. You cannot tell anyone."
"Niobe, I have to be truthful, I can’t make such a promise." I do not want to betray her, not outright. But I must know the truth. "I will only tell Mr. Harper. He can be trusted. He is very discreet."
Niobe wavers, though now she is too far into her confession to stop. She has been keeping a great secret, and I am near enough her age to qualify as a potential friend, who under other circumstances may be in the same boat.
"You will not tell anyone else? Mrs. Farnham? I would not—"
"Soon you will have to tell her about the child yourself. We can do it together, if you like." I put a hand on her arm.
Her resolve breaks and with a tiny sob she utters, "It is Paul. My Paul. He is the father of my child."
I can feel my eyes widen in surprise.
Paul!
Of course. I am so stupid. He was the only real choice, beside Caspar. I thank heavens it is not Darius. That would create even more trauma. But Paul? Paul who is married. Married to Rosie. Oh, Rosie with that permanent, innocent smile, those empty eyes. Oh no. Poor, poor Rosie, and poor Paul and poor Niobe.
What a mess I have stumbled into!
As these thoughts course through my mind, I make an effort to remain outwardly calm. Niobe is searching for a reaction, her eyes are fixed on me in anticipation, her mouth open slightly, hardly believing her own disclosure.
"Er …" I stammer, searching for something, anything useful to say. "Paul. I see." Well, I have never claimed to be a poet.
"Yes, Paul. Oh, Miss Carlisle," she touches a hand to her chest, "it is such a relief to tell someone. I have been so worried and—" a plump tear rolls down her cheek, and I rummage for a hankerchief to press into her hand.
"I am glad you told me, Niobe. I confess, I had not expected it."
"No. Still, you must not think badly of him. He felt so guilty, so miserable. We were—we are in love. He was lonely and always here with Mr. Farnham, talking about their work. I saw him all the time, and then, one day when Mr. Farnham was late and Mrs. Farnham was out, we began to talk and—" she swallows, and wipes away another tear, "and we fell in love. He is such a good man, kind and clever and handsome. Don’t you think, Miss Carlisle?" She casts me a beseeching look, and I manage a nod.
"How long did your affair last? You do intend to marry Yannick, do you not?"
At this her face falls. "I must. Yannick is a good man, too, and I like him. He is not Paul, though."
"Paul is married already," I state dumbly, altogether out of my depth.
"I know." Niobe makes a vague gesture with her hand. "But she is only a shell. He told me so. He said she does not speak to him. Her mind is broken. They can never have children, because he cannot …" she trails off blushing slightly.
"Indeed."
"He loves me, but he will not leave her. He feels a responsiblity toward her. Such a good man. They can never be happy together. He could take care of her and live with me. I would not be jealous, I would understand. We could have a family …"
"Does he know of your condition?" I ask, adding at her confused expression, "your pregnancy?"
"No."
"No? Why in heaven’s name not?"
Niobe twists a curl around her finger as she answers. "I only discovered it a few days after he ended the affair. I was angry and sad, and I couldn’t bear him knowing of the child and still choosing her; or him only choosing me out of his sense of responsibility. I do not want to be another burden to him. You understand, don’t you? Then Yannick was there. He has always liked me. I know this."
"So you encouraged his affections."
"I do not want to be alone and unmarried with a child. Don’t you understand?"
"Certainly. Does Yannick know who the real father is?"
"No. I said it was a sailor. I said he is long gone."
"And your parents? Your family?"
"They do not know. My mother suspects the pregnancy, I believe, though she does not doubt Yannick is the father. My family would be scandalized, if I had the child out of wedlock. You are modern, from a big city. I live in a small village on a small island. I have no means to leave, and I do not want to, though for Paul … No, there is no choice. I will make Yannick happy, we will all be happy." This speech, while empassioned, is not convincing. I observe the quivering of her bottom lip.
"Yes, I am sure you will. Yannick is a kind man and reliable. You will be all right."
Her dark eyes light up, and I am happy to give her some small comfort, though not wholly believing it myself. Yannick is second best. Her child will not be his. One day, bitterness will rise to the surface. I sympathize with Niobe, but cannot fault Paul for his decision. As I contemplate this, my mind turns back to the scene I witnessed between Niobe and Yannick in the garden.
Suspicion,
was a word they used. Were they speaking of the child? I decide to play my final card, bring it what it may.
"Niobe," I opt for a low, intimate tone, "I am glad you trusted me. I hope to repay your confidence in some manner. However, there is something you are keeping from me, isn’t there. Something Yannick has done?" I lean forward conspiratorially.
"Oh, well, it was only a foolish mistake." Niobe says in an off-hand manner, too blase to be disguising something truly awful.
"He should have told Mr. Farnham," I counter, with confidence I do not possess. Jeffrey is the authority Yannick should report to on most any matter.
"He probably should have told the police. Really, it was nothing though, and he was afraid he would be sent away, and I was afraid, too." She rests a hand on her abdomen.
Controlling my eagerness to discover the truth I go on. "Surely he would not be sent away, it was harmless, after all, wasn’t it?" I hold my breath, waiting for her to volunteer more.
"Yes," Niobe waves dismissively, "he only hit him once. He was well when Yannick left him. We worried the police would not believe it."
I digest this information quickly. If I understand correctly, Yannick hit Caspar? I must clairfy. "Caspar bore a small bruise, the police said …"
"Yes, we hoped they would believe it happened when he fell off the bench." Niobe shrugs. "Yannick is a man. He was upset because he thought Caspar was making advances at me again. He was
jealous,
not murderous."
"No, I understand. Still, if he was here at the time of Caspar’s death, there would be little to prove he did not poison him."
"But he was not here
then."
"Not?"
"No, Yannick hit him the night of the party. After you had gone to bed, Caspar came downstairs for some matches. Yannick and he got into an argument. I saw it. Caspar was angry and very drunk. He simply went back to his room. He said something about Yannick paying for what he did, nothing more. Yannick was worried. But he was not at the house when Caspar was killed."
Not willing to explore the idea of Yannick leaving Caspar a bottle of poisoned wine, I decide to save this information for Daniel. I must not alarm Niobe in any way, lest she warn Yannick.
"Thank you, Niobe. You have been most helpful." We get to our feet. I am at least three inches taller than her, which makes me feel oddly safe. Despite Niobe’s candidness, I cannot trust her. She possesses a shrewd nature, and I should not like to be her enemy.
"I am glad to have been able to tell someone, Miss Carlisle."
"I am glad you trusted me. Now, if you are in need of anything, please do not hesitate to come to me. You should not be alone with all your worries."
"Thank you." A small smile tugs at her lips.
We part company. Going up to my room, I am hopeful that Daniel is near at hand. Niobe returns to her tasks in the kitchen.
I am in luck. Passing Daniel’s room, I catch sight of him through a slit in the door, seated on a wicker chair in front of the window, scribbling something into a notebook.
Gently, I knock against the frame of the door.
"Yes? Come in!"
I push open the door and step inside. "Am I disturbing you?"
"Not at all." He puts his writing tools aside and pulls another chair to the window. "Please, take a seat. Have you been able to obtain any new information?"
I sit and take a deep breath, feeling wrong to come to Daniel right after speaking with Niobe. Still, I remind myself I am not betraying her in in recounting her admission to Daniel, which I promptly proceed in doing.
"Paul?" he interrupts half-way through my narrative, an expression of astonishment on his face.
"I was as surprised as you, though when I think about it, it makes sense."
"It would have been too clichéd for the cad to woo the maid, wouldn’t it."
I go on, ending my tale with Yannick’s supposedly mild assault on Caspar the night of the dinner party. "What do you think? Could he have given Caspar a poisoned bottle?"
Daniel’s brow creases in thought. "Poisoning is a planned, careful act. Yannick’s anger was fueled by a bout of passion and jealousy. It is unlikely he would go on to prepare a wine bottle and sneak to Caspar’s room. Further, on purely practical grounds, he would have had to steal a bottle, as well as the rat poison from the kitchen, which is where it is kept. Both the cook and Niobe were there throughout the evening, especially after the meal to clean up. Yannick could not easily go in and fetch these items without stirring up suspicion. Even if Niobe did not oppose Yannick’s murderous interference, the cook surely would not have kept such an unusual occurance from the police."
"Yes, I see the logic in that, though I will admit disliking the idea of Yannick as the guilty party."
Daniel’s eyes wander to the window for a moment where the sky is the purest blue, and a pair of excited brown wrens are flying in circles, a little lover’s dance.
"What of Paul." It is not a question. When his eyes meet mine, I understand his insinuation.
"I thought of him as well, but it makes little sense. What motive would he have? If he wanted to remove a romantic rival, it would have been Yannick, would it not?"
Daniel nods. "Yes, I think so too. But we cannot be certain. There may be more to the story. You said yourself Niobe gives the impression of being not entirely trustworthy."
At that I cannot help but wince for fear of doing her an injustice. "I only meant she
may
be slightly more manipulative than she makes herself out to be … She has to protect herself in this situation. I understand. I sympathize with her. Sometimes there is no other choice, but to be a little manipulative. She has been dealt a difficult card."
"It’s all right, you need not defend her. I am not accusing her. Her alibi is strong. There were neighbors at her parents’ house when she visited them on the day of Caspar’s death. Everyone saw her. Part of me wonders," he taps his finger against the arm of the chair, "whether her alibi is
too
sound."
"Perhaps. Nonetheless, I cannot truly imagine what motive she could have to take such drastic measures. Caspar was a nuisance to her, nothing more, so far as I can tell. Yannick already knew of the child, so with what could Caspar have threatened her. No, I do not believe she is behind the murder." I lean back in my chair.
"I will trust your intuition." Daniel remarks without a hint of sarcasm or condescension, which pleases me greatly. He must have at least a modicum of respect for me, for my mind, which is gratifying at a time when women are still, despite having finally won the vote, seen as the intellectual and physical inferiors to men; at times overtly and at others by innuendo—equally insulting.
"Thank you," I reply, a small smile curving at my lips.
"I would like to speak to Paul. I sympathize with the man. I cannot help it. Especially, if he is unaware of the trouble Niobe is in."