Free The Isle of Devils by Craig Janacek Page B

if you please. I am certain it has been a long voyage.”
     
    I smiled back at his thoughtfulness. “Twenty minutes would suit me well, I think.”
     
    “Then after me, sir.” He took up my valise and we returned to the entryway. To our right, a fine set of cedar steps curled upwards. Four steps led to a small landing, then a ninety degree turn, with seven more steps before a second landing, and then another turn with four more to the top. I noted that the steps creaked alarmingly as we rose. The area at the top of the stairs was relatively bare other than a small table, and a propped open door which led into what appeared to be a twisting corridor. As we walked, I observed that the floors were lined with coconut matting, which served to brush the accumulated dirt off of my shoes. The halls themselves were very dimly lit and they twisted like a labyrinth.
     
    As if reading my thoughts, Boyle spoke from ahead of me. “I am afraid that there is no electricity upon the island, sir. Even piping for gas lamps is rare over here in old St. George’s. You will need to confine yourself to a whale oil lamp, I am afraid.” As the corridor twisted and turned to the point where I was becoming a bit uncertain what direction I was facing, Boyle spoke again. “Mr. Foster, bless his soul, wanted to maximize the space for guest rooms when he converted Major Walker’s offices to guest rooms. Originally, there were but four large rooms upstairs, and the walls were too critical to the support of the frame to knock down. So Mr. Foster added some new dividing walls and cleverly built this twisting passage to link all of the rooms. There are now eight guest rooms on this floor, plus one below, and room for two more to sleep in the gables.”
     
    Finally we arrived at what appeared to be the last door, save one, of the corridor. “Here we go, sir.” He fetched a key from his pocket and turned it in the lock. Swinging the door open, he revealed a cozy, well-furnished room. It was shaped like an ‘L’ and had a low ceiling, but sunlight filtered in from windows on both the north and west walls. Another door must have once connected this room with an adjoining room, but access was completely blocked by a tall dark cedar chest of drawers. There was also a cedar dressing table with a Japanese vase holding a dainty arrangement of hibiscus flowers. A small wickerwork chair tucked under the open west window, from which came the salty scent of the balmy fall air. A great white counter-paned four-poster bed dominated the entry part of the room, and an iron soaking tub completed the furnishings. A square of Wilton carpet covered the wooden floors, while two oil lamps stood on the bedside table.
     
    Boyle surveyed the room for a moment, and then edged past the bed to put my valise down by the chest of drawers. “Aye, it’s a bit of a daft design, if you ask me, as there is not such space to get around the bed, but Mr. Foster was working within the constraints of the walls, you see.” He rapped his knuckles on one of the walls, as if to prove his point.
     
    “Do not concern yourself, Mr. Boyle. It is a fine room indeed.”
     
    The man grimaced. “Unlike the new fancy hotel in Hamilton, there is also no private water-closet, I’m afraid. But we passed one down the hall, which is plainly marked.”
     
    I shook my head. “Mr. Boyle, I have just returned from campaign in Afghanistan. I assure you that this room seems like Buckingham Palace itself compared to what I have become accustomed.”
     
    He smiled broadly and nodded. “Very good, sir, I understand. Will you be coming down for supper, sir?”
     
    I considered this question for a moment. “I am certain that Mrs. Foster is an excellent cook, but after having spent the last month with over a thousand of her Majesty’s finest men aboard a ship that was not overly large, I believe that I am in need of some solitude and rest. Would it be a terrible bother to include some cold cuts of