The Isle of Devils (17 page)

My brother and Thurston laughed uncontrollably at my moving tale. “That will teach the little beast not to look for snacks in the midst of a British Army camp!” Henry declared. “Though I suspect that he was more interested in your rations than your side.”

Thurston nodded agreeably. “No harm done then, Doctor.”

“No harm, sir?” said I, with mock crossness. “Tell that to my poor shredded tent flap! Fortunately, my skill in sewing up the wounds of men translates well into the repair of canvas or I would have had a drafty tent for many months.”

By the time my reminiscence was finished, Mr. Boyle had returned in order to clear our plates and to fill our glasses from a fine bottle of Imperial Tokay. We then pulled out our pipes. 

“Are you still smoking your Arcadia mixture?” Henry asked me.

“No,” I replied. “I’ve gotten in the habit of smoking ‘ships.’”

“That naval tobacco?” Henry scoffed. “It’s hardly pure. It has traces of cocoa in it!”

“I know, but I ran out of the Arcadia on my way to Bombay, and it was all the sailors had to loan me.”

“You’ll kick that foul habit soon, I expect,” Henry proclaimed. “Father always said that nothing beat Arcadia.”

I nodded sadly at the thought of our departed father. “True enough. Have you any word from the authorities in Melbourne?” I inquired, changing the topic to our father’s recent passing.

“Yes, they assured me that he was laid to rest with honor and forwarded on to me the most personal of his possessions and his accumulated wealth, which was unfortunately scant. I do, however, have his watch here.” He reached into his coat pockets and pulled out a gold pocket watch, handing it to me.

I stared at the object in my hand. On the surface, it appeared like nothing so much as a fine fifty-guinea piece of jewelry, dated 1844, its pristine case recently cleaned. But as I turned it over, I
ran my fingers over the ‘H.W.’ carved into the back, and felt an immediate connection with my father. For a moment, I could picture the watch as it once lay comfortably in his strong hand, and it was as if that watch was a direct link to the tangible past.

My brother must have seen the expression on my face. “Keep it, Ham,” said he, kindly.

I shook my head and handed it back to him. “No, we keep with tradition. It must go to the eldest son.”

He took it back with some reservation and slipped it back into his coat pocket, where I heard it clink against some coins or keys. “I will see that you get it someday.”

I shook my head again. “It should go to your son.”

Henry laughed. “Ah, I doubt that I will be so fortunate! Even if I survive all that the British Army throws at me, I’ve never been much inclined to take a wife. No, you may still inherit father’s watch yet, Ham.”

Thurston suddenly slammed down his glass upon the table. “What do you say to a round of billiards, Doctor?”

I shook my head. “I’ve not much skill at that. Especially now, with my left arm so stiff.”

“Practice makes perfect, Doctor, practice makes perfect. Come now, just a game between gentlemen for pure sport. No money involved.”

Henry seemed affronted by this suggestion. “Where is the fun in that, Thurston? My brother is not so poor that he cannot afford a small wager. Come, Ham, you must still hold a few of the Queen’s shillings?”

I reluctantly agreed. “But unless Henry plans to sit out, we will need a fourth.”

We glanced around the dining room. By this time, most of my fellow lodgers had already finished their suppers and had retired. To be honest, I had taken little note of them, so engaged was I in the conversation with my brother and Thurston. I was pleased to note that I was completely unaware whether Madame Dubois had even entered the dining room that night.

“Well, those two appear too thick in discussion to be bothered,” Henry noted, indicating the pair of swarthy fellows that I recalled from my breakfast the previous morn.

“And I cannot say that I like the look of that one,” Thurston pointed to the bilious man, who sat alone in the darkest corner of the room. In fact, I had yet to see that remarkable individual conversing with anyone. A solitary creature indeed!

“Then, here’s our man,” I said as the man with the languorous eyes entered the room. I stood up as he passed by our table to draw his attention. “Sir, it is a pleasure to meet you,” said I, introducing myself.

A smile cracked his Latinate face, and his manner was effusive. “Good evening, Doctor. I am Dario Aicardi.” I noted again that his English was touched with a slight lisp, confirming his foreign origin.

“Where are you from, Signore Aicardi?”

“Milano. I am a painter, and have come to Bermuda in order to capture the exquisite light as it reflects off the brightly colored buildings. Where else can you find such unique structures, all capped in white, like the dwellings of Paradise?”

“Indeed,” I agreed with him. “And do you play billiards, Signore? We find ourselves in need of a fourth.” I introduced my brother and Thurston.

“I would be honored to join you gentlemen,” said he, agreeably.  

The four of us repaired from the dining room to the adjoining billiard room, where Mr. Boyle was manning the bar. I paired with my brother against Aicardi and Thurston, hoping that my brother’s skills would hide my forthcomings, both in terms of experience as well as agility.

“Let me remind everyone of the rules,” Thurston announced as he took up one of the cues. “There are three balls, two cues in white, and one object in red. A winning hazard is potting the object ball, worth three points, or the opposing team’s cue for two points. A losing hazard is potting one’s own cue. Two-ball cannons are scored if you strike both the object ball and the opponent’s cue ball on the same shot. Each person shall take two shots per game. High score wins the game. First team to three games takes all. Shall we call it three shillings each for the pot?”

We all agreed on the wager and began. Henry took the first shot and softly reminded me of the tricks of the game. “Don’t forget to put chalk between your left forefinger and thumb to steady the cue.”

Thurston overhead this and commented upon Henry’s tip. “I myself have gotten into the habit of wearing gloves while playing billiards to prevent getting chalk upon my hands.”

With this congenial banter, the games passed rapidly. Although I like to think that I held my own, especially considering the state of my left arm, Henry and I eventually fell two games to three to Thurston and Aicardi, as the latter proved to possess a deadly accuracy.

After the Italian had scored a two-ball cannon that won the final game, he graciously took his leave of our trio. Henry then indicated that it was time for him and Thurston to return to the fort. Henry picked up the faithful pup Gladstone, who had sat quietly through our games, but now whined in mild distress.

“It has been a great pleasure to meet you, Doctor,” Thurston said.

“And you as well, Lieutenant. What are your plans?”

“I expect that I will be in the 99th for some time. My father believes that I need to prove my mettle, and if so, then I will be fit to inherit from my mother’s brother, when he finally shuffles off that mortal coil. Once that happens, I will be free to get my discharge papers and return to London. I plan to invest my inheritance in some property, perhaps in South Africa now that the war is over there, and live the life of a gentleman. You will then find me at the United Service Club on Pall Mall. It’s a wonderful place. In the upper billiard-room there is a magnificent painting of the Battle of Trafalgar, the frame of which was made of wood from the timbers of the
Victory
. Please drop by and see me, Doctor.”

“It does sound quite pleasant,” I granted. “I will plan to take you up on your handsome offer.”

“Excellent!” he replied, shaking my hand enthusiastically.

I turned to Henry. “I hope to see you again soon, brother.”

“Count upon it, Ham,” said he, warmly.

With that exchange the two men and Gladstone exited the hotel. I watched them through the window for a moment and then turned into the dining room, intending to retire to my room after a long and pleasant, but less-than-restful, day. As I strode through the room towards the stairs, I noted that the Mediterranean-appearing gentlemen had vanished, and for a moment I thought
the room deserted. Then I heard the strike of a wax
vesta
. Looking over into the dark corner, I spied the bilious man lighting a small cheroot. Soon a plume of blue smoke curled up from him.

He noted me looking at him, and suddenly addressed me. “Would you care for a glass of port, Doctor?” There was a trace of an accent upon his words, but I could not immediately place it.

Not wanting to appear rude, I agreed, though my instincts suggested that I should steer clear of this sinister-appearing man. Time had not improved his appearance, and he wore the same grey flannel suit that I recalled from the previous morn, only more rumpled. He took off his tinted glasses to peer at me and I swore that his eyes shone with a sinister light.

“I am afraid that you have me at a disadvantage, sir. How did you know that I was a physician?”

“I have ears, Doctor. And I use them.”

I licked my lips, strangely nervous. “I see.”

“Boyle!” the man suddenly called out, the cheroot still clamped between his curiously animal teeth. “A glass and some port!”

The innkeeper’s assistant
promptly appeared with a sparkling glass and a bottle of
Warre’s
port from 1870, which he set down gingerly in front of me. “As you wish, Mister Dumas,” said he, quickly backing away.

Dumas, as he was apparently named, unstopped the port and poured me a bumper. I sipped some and found it quite good, but noticed that he was not drinking.  

“Dumas, no relation to the author?” I finally inquired.

“No,” he replied, monosyllabically, shooting a suspicious look at me. He stared me in the eyes for a moment, and then finally asked. “Where did you say that you served, Doctor?”

“Afghanistan,” replied I, with equal brevity.

“What unit?”

“The Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers.”

“Did you see action?”

“Maiwand.”

“A great conflict…”

But I interrupted him. “And you, sir? What do you do?”

“I am an investor.”

“What do you invest in?”

“Investments,” said he, tersely.

A feeling of revulsion, and something akin to fear, had begun to rise within me at the strange responses of this jaundiced man. I had heard enough of his speech to definitively determin
e that he was French, but I beca
me impatient with his game, and rose to leave. “Thank you for the drink, Monsieur.”

“Sit down, Doctor,” said he, sharply. “I need a professional consultation about two matters.”

My natural curiosity was now raised, and I reluctantly lowered myself back into the seat. “Certainly, sir. However I may be of service. What is the first matter?”

“What is your opinion about spiritualism?”

“Spiritualism?” I replied slowly, thinking about the subject. “Piercing the veil between life and death.”