Lucien started to ask Lyon what conclusions he had drawn, but held his tongue. Obviously Lyon hadn't confided in Bemis. He would wait until they were alone. He prayed the boy hadn't come up with some sort of fantastic scheme to free the slaves that wouldn't have a prayer of working. It had been tried before. Failure, always failure.
Lucien Savarol sat at his desk in his study. Lyon and Diana stood together by the French doors. Dido was wringing her arthritic hands, facing him across his desk.
"The sweet-potato pone, Dido. Who prepared it? Who could have drugged the dish? A dish, I will add, that was prepared especially for me, and not my daughter."
"Lila," Dido said. "But da missis and da young missis came in the kitchens. I didn't see them do nothing."
"Bring me Lila, Dido."
Lila, a massive black woman with a round face and a rather vacant expression, could tell them nothing. Both Deborah and Patricia had visited the kitchens. Was this uncommon? Lucien asked her. No, evidently it wasn't. Save perhaps for Patricia. The young missis rarely came into the kitchen.
"Damn," Lucien said when the three of them were alone again. He chanced to
see his daughter give her husband a questioning look.
"What is it, Diana?"
"Something we should have told you sooner, Papa. Lyon ---"
Lyon shrugged. "Yes, it is time all the cards are on the table. Sir, several nights ago, I awoke early. I was smoking a cheroot on the balcony. It was just before dawn. I saw a woman --- I am nearly certain it was Patricia --- coming from the direction of Grainger's house. He was with her, at least I am nearly certain it was Grainger. I didn't know at the time that Charles Swanson, another white man, was here on the island."
Lucien Savarol toyed with a carved wooden letter opener until with a vicious gesture he broke it in two, flipping over the inkpot. Black ink spread on the papers on his desk. "That is interesting, to be sure. However, the question is why would Patricia want to drug me?" He cursed and rose abruptly. Diana knew the instant he realized the other possibility. Lucien turned slowly and in a very pensive voice said, "Could it have been Deborah?"
"I don't think so, sir. I see your point, of course. Then she would have had a reason to drug your food."
"But she is Papa's wife!"
"I will add that Patricia is Daniel's wife," said Lucien. "We appear to be at something of an impasse."
Now was not the time, Lyon decided, to tell his father-in-law of his plan. Besides, he wished to think it through more thoroughly.
"Let's go visit the slave village," Lyon said to Diana.
"That is a good idea," Lucien said. "Perhaps, just perhaps, someone will tell Diana something."
That wasn't Lyon's reason for visiting the village, but he only nodded.
Daniel was in the village, attending to a woman who had cut her arm. "Nothing much," Daniel said by way of greeting. "But a slash like this needs immediate attention." He patted the black woman's hand and continued with his bandaging.
"Introduce me to the slaves, Diana."
She cocked her head at him, then nodded. They spent the next couple of hours touring the village, Lyon asking questions. Granny Gates had died the previous night, and they paid their respects. They were both sweating freely under the fierce sun.
"Let's go swimming," Lyon said, wiping the perspiration from his brow.
Diana led him to the far end of the island. The beach sand was an odd pink color, the water the palest turquoise. Palm trees crowded onto the beach.
"Did I ever tell you about palm trees, Lyon?"
"No, and I am prepared to be fascinated."
"Are you now, my lord? Well, they are so close to the water, you see, because that is the only way they can get to other places. A coconut falls and perhaps is swept out with the tide. I am not certain of the number of days the coconut can last in the sea, but it must be ample. When the coconut comes to shore on another island, it plants itself, I guess you could say. I am not really a naturalist, so I can't tell you the process. And that is why there are palm trees everywhere."
"Just as I thought. Fascinating." He cupped her chin in his palm and kissed her. "Will you roast me a breadfruit for lunch? Just like on Calypso Island?"
She smiled up at him. She was wearing only her chemise and it was clinging to her body, damp and revealing. She'd tied her hair up with a ribbon, and strands had escaped, framing her face. As for Lyon, he was naked.
His Stomach growled at that moment.