“What can that mean?” murmured Aunt Sophie.
“What do they expect to find?”
“Reckon we’ll know soon enough.”
When he had left we went on talking about it and the first thing James Perrin said when I saw him was: “Have you heard? There’s an investigation going on.”
“They are digging in St. Aubyn’s. The postman brought the news while we were at breakfast.”
“This is a distressing business.”
“It must be something to do with the murder. I don’t know where this is going to end. There are so many rumours going round and strangers all over the place hoping for a peep at the spot where a murder was committed.”
“I wish that man had never come here.”
“I don’t suppose you are the only one. It’s strange. Nothing happens for years and then it changes. There was poor old Dorian’s death, the elopement, the coming of this man, and now murder.”
I wondered what James would have thought if I had told him about what had happened in Barrow Wood.
“I hope Crispin’s all right,” said James.
“What do you mean?” I asked fearfully.
He was frowning and did not answer. I thought: He suspects Crispin. A memory or Crispin in Barrow Wood came to me the look in his eyes when he had picked up Mr. Dorian. I had said later:
“You might have killed him,” and he had replied that that would be no loss. Was that how he had felt about Gaston?
I was glad to get home that day. Aunt Sophie was waiting for me. She had something of importance to say to me. Before she could speak the thought flashed into my mind:
What have they found in the shrubbery?
But what she said was: “Crispin called. He wants to see you. It’s important.”
“When?” I asked eagerly.
She looked at the clock on the mantelpiece.
“In about half an hour.”
“Where?”
“He’s coming here. He knew what time you’d be home. He said he’d call back. You can talk to him in the sitting-room.”
I said: “What has happened about the shrubbery?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are they still digging?”
“No. They’ve stopped, I believe. Well, he’ll be here soon. He said he wanted to talk to you alone.”
I washed, combed my hair and waited. Then I heard the sound of his horse’s hoofs and Aunt Sophie brought him into the sitting-room.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” asked Aunt Sophie.
“No, thanks,” said Crispin.
“Well, I’ll be around if you want anything.”
When she left us together he came to me and took both my hands in his.
I said: “Please tell me … what has happened?”
He released my hands and we sat down.
He said quietly: “They’ve found the gun. It was buried in the shrubbery not far from where the body was found. It’s obviously the one. No doubt of it.”
“What made them look?”
“They noticed the ground had been recently disturbed.
“Does it help them?” j “It’s one of the guns from the gunroom at St. Aubyn’s.” :
I stared at him in dismay.
“And what does that mean?”
“That someone took the gun from the gunroom, used it, and instead of putting it back, buried it in the shrubbery.”
“Whatever for?”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“Do they think it was someone from the house?” I asked.
“That does seem one conclusion.”
“But why should someone in the house take a gun and not put it back there?”
“That’s a mystery.”
“What do they think it means?”
“I don’t know. Until they have found the guilty one, they suspect everyone. It is obvious now that it was someone who had access to the house.”
“So the idea that it could have been an enemy from the past is no longer plausible.”
“An enemy from the past?”
“Oh, it was just something Aunt Sophie suggested. She’ thought that a man like Gaston Marchmont must have made enemies wherever he went and she thought it possible that one might have caught up with him.”
“It’s an interesting theory. I wish it were true.”
“What’s going to happen now?”
He shook his head.
“You’re worried?” I said.
“I am. It brings it closer to the house. But why on earth did someone take the gun and then bury it … not very neatly either? It was a strange thing to do.”
“Perhaps they’ll find out.”
He turned to me.
“I have been wanting to talk to you for a long time. Perhaps this is not the time to do it, but I feel I can’t wait any longer.”
“What did you want to say to me?”
“You must have known for some time that I am very interested in you.”
“You mean after that terrible thing happened …”
“That, too. But before that. Right from the beginning.”
“When you noticed the plain child?”
“That has been forgiven and forgotten. Frederica, I love you. I want you to marry me.”
I drew back in amazement.
“I know this is hardly the time,” he went on.
“But I could not keep it to myself any longer. I have been on the verge of saying it many times. I feel that so much time is being wasted.” He looked at me searchingly.
“Do you want me to go on?”
“Yes,” I said eagerly, “I do.”
“Does that mean … ?”
“It means that I like to hear it.”
He had risen and drew me to my feet. He held me tightly in his arms and, in spite of all the fear and suspicions I was experiencing, I was happy.
He kissed me eagerly, fiercely even.
I was breathless with emotion. I felt I must be dreaming. So much that was strange had happened recently, and this was as unexpected as any.
“I was afraid to face up to my feelings,” he said.
“What happens in the past has an effect, doesn’t it? You think everything is tainted.
But now . “
“Let’s sit down and talk,” I said.
“Tell me first, you do care for me?”
“Of course I do.”
“I’m happy, then. In spite of this … I’m happy. We’ll be together.
Whatever it is, we’ll face it. “
“I am rather bewildered,” I told him.
“But you knew how I felt!”
“I wasn’t sure. When I talked about going away you kept me here..”
“Of course I couldn’t let you go.” , “I hated the thought of leaving.” “Yet you planned to do it.”
“I thought it would be best.”
“I have been rather arrogant, haven’t I?” j “Stand-offish. Aloof.” I “It was a sort of defence.” He laughed suddenly.
“And now … in the midst of all this …”
“Perhaps,” I said, ‘because of all this. “
“It had to come out. I couldn’t keep it to myself any longer, Frederica. What a dignified name you have!”
“Yes, I have often found it so. My mother gave it to m< because she was so proud of the family. There had been several Fredericks who had won honours generals, politicians and such. She would have preferred me to be a boy; Then I should have been plain Frederick. “
Why were we talking in this way of things that did no) matter? It was as though we were trying to put off something frightening. I kept remembering his anger, his fur against Mr. Dorian, the manner in which he had spoken of Gaston and his desire to be rid of him. He had chosen this moment, in the midst of all this turmoil, when it had been discovered that the murder weapon had been found in his shrubbery, to propose marriage to me.
I wanted to ask him why.
He said: “I’ve been in love with you for a long time, More than anything, I want you to love me, too. I could not believe you could, though. I am not a channel like-‘ His face darkened and the fear was back with me.