I put my hand over hers.
“We’re like sisters in a way,” she said.
“That’s something I find cheering.”
“I’m glad.”
“Rachel, you and I. The three of us. We were always together, weren’t we? It seems that you have done better than any of us. You and Crispin. Who would have believed Crispin would be in love, and with you?”
“Rachel has a very happy marriage.”
“Poor Rachel.”
“She’s all right. She’s happy now. But, Tamarisk, what about you?”
“I shall be all right too when this is all over. If only it had been someone we didn’t know who had killed him so that we could forget.
They will be hovering till they find out. The police, I mean. They don’t just forget it after an inquest. “
“We have to go on as if it hadn’t happened.”
“Some people think I did it. They always will. You see what I meant about its being there always.”
“It won’t be. There’ll be an answer.”
“But what if the answer is something we don’t want it to be?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. We’re going to try to be happy. Or pretend we are. Perhaps we might even succeed for a time. And then it will be there. It will pop up, Fred. They’ve got to find out who did it. It will never be finished until they do.”
Aunt Sophie was coming over to us. She was smiling brightly. She was very pleased, but behind her smiles I could detect a certain anxiety.
Oh yes indeed, the ghost of Gaston Marchmont was with us on that night.
It amazed me to realize the interest there was in our proposed marriage; and I did not only mean among the inhabitants of Harper’s Green. That, of course, I fully expected.
It was a few days after the dinner-party. When I went down to breakfast Aunt Sophie was already seated at the table. She was reading the morning newspaper and when she greeted me I detected the dismay in her face immediately.
“Good morning. Aunt Sophie.” I went to her and kissed her.
“Anything wrong?”
She shrugged her shoulders.
“I suppose it’s nothing, really.”
“You look upset.”
“It’s just this.”
She pushed the newspaper over to me as I sat down beside her. There was a picture of Crispin on the front page.
“What is this?” I cried.
“They must have taken it some time during the investigations. The Press is usually lurking somewhere. That’s! Inspector Burrows with him. The one who was here, remember?”
I read: To marry. The engagement is announced of Mr. Crispin St. Aubyn to Miss Frederica Hammond who has been a neighbour of his for some years. Mr. St. Aubyn is the Wiltshire landowner on whose estate the body of Gaston Marchmont was recently found. The gun from which the fatal shot was fired was taken from the St. Aubyn’s gunroom. This will be Mr. St. Aubyn’s second marriage. His first wife was Kate Carvel, the actress, who was killed in a railway accident soon after the wedding.
Aunt Sophie was watching me. Why do they want to bring all this up? ”
“I suppose they think people want to read it,” said Aunt Sophie.
“But that first marriage …”
“Oh, I suppose it adds a further touch of drama.”
“Why should people want to hear all that?”
“The case was publicized nationally, of course.” Yes, I thought, this paper was not the local one. It would be circulated all over the country. I thought of the thousands who would be reading that item.
It will be forgotten in time, I told myself. But there would always be some to remember. There really was no escape.
Crispin himself was not very disturbed by the newspaper notice.
He said: “Until this thing is settled they will keep their eyes on us.
We have to forget it. Let’s think about pleasant things. I don’t see any reason for delay. Let’s make it soon. My mother is already making plans. She says it must be a wedding in the St. Aubyn’s tradition. I mustn’t forget that I’m the head of the family and all that.
Personally, I’d go for the quickest way. I just want to be with you to make sure we are together . always. “
“I want that too,” I said.
“But I suppose the wedding is going to attract more attention from the Press.”
“I’m afraid we shall have to accept that.”
“Perhaps we should wait a little … not too long. But in case there is some development.”
He looked aghast.
“Some discovery,” I went on.
“Some revelation.”
“Oh no!” he cried vehemently. He was frowning deeply, and I put my arms round him and held him close to me. He clung, almost as though he were asking for protection.
“Never leave me. Do not talk of delays.”
I was deeply touched. I felt as though I were trying to reach out to him and could not quite do so. I was deeply aware of some barrier between us, and I said: “Crispin, there is something ..”
“What do you mean?” Did I fancy I detected a note of fear in his voice?
“There should not be any secrets between us,” I said on impulse.
He drew back. He was himself again the man in command of any situation.
“What do you mean, Frederica?” he repeated.
“I just thought that there might be something important that I did not know.”
He laughed and kissed me.
“This is the important matter … the most important matter in the world to me. When are we going to get married?”
“We should talk to your mother and Aunt Sophie.”
“I think Aunt Sophie will be amenable.”
“She will go along with anything we decide, of course, but she did say that in view of… everything… we should not have the grand ceremony your mother wants. It is too soon after that trouble.”
He was silent.
“She is right,” I persisted.
“Your brother-in-law is dead. It’s a death in the family. It is usual to wait a year after that.”
“Impossible! It was no great bereavement.”
“It was murder. I think we should offend a lot of sensibilities if we celebrated what should be a joyous occasion too soon after that. What construction would people put upon it?”
“Do we care?”
“I think we have to remember it is a delicate situation. Crispin, we have to remember that until the case is solved some may be thinking all sorts of things about people.”
He was thoughtful.
“You don’t mean you think we should wait a year?”
“Not as long as that, no. But shouldn’t we see how things go?”
“I long to get away,” he said.
“Darling, where shall we go?”
“Anywhere will do.”
“Away from this place … all the speculations … all the memories of it. I want to think of us and nothing else.”
“It sounds blissful.”
Again I had that idea that he was trying to reach out to me, to tell me what was on his mind. A terrible fear came to me and it would not go away. What part had he played in this murder? I kept asking myself.
Why did he not tell me what was on his mind? Could it be that he dared not?
I thought how happy I could be if we could be together and there was nothing between us and our happiness, if I could think of the future with hope and confidence. But I could not rid myself of images of that body in the shrubbery and the gun which had been taken from the gunroom at St. Aubyn’s.
Crispin continued to talk of our honeymoon. Italy was always a favourite place. Was it not one of the most beautiful countries in the world? So much of the past still survived there. Florence, Venice, Rome. Austria was inviting. We could go to Salzburg, Mozart’s birthplace. France? The chateaux of the Loire. He had always wanted to see Chateau Gaillard with its memories of Richard Coeur-de-Lion.