Sir William sat back in the chair which Mrs. Lincroft had padded with cushions. She said to him: “Do you think, Sir William, that we should inform the police?”
“Not yet. Not yet,” he said fiercely. “They’ll find her. They must.”
And we sat and waited; and when Napier came back without her I could not take my eyes from his face; but I could not read what was written there.
Edith had gone and no one knew where. It was the great mystery of Lovat Mill. Nothing else was talked of.
It was certain now that she was not in the neighborhood for a thorough search had been made and there was no trace of her. Yet her personal maid had gone through her wardrobe, and nothing seemed to be missing but the clothes she had worn on that day.
As the next day wore on and there was no news of her Sir William agreed that the police must be informed. Police Constable Jack Withers, who lived next door to the small constabulary, came to see us. He asked questions such as when had we last seen her and had she been in the habit of taking lonely walks. When it was revealed that she was an expectant mother Jack looked very wise and said that ladies in such conditions often got odd notions into their heads. That was the answer to the mystery. Mrs. Stacy would turn up, he was sure of it. She had merely got an odd notion into her head.
Sir William was inclined to favor this view, because—I felt sure—he wanted it to be so.
The next day he was less well and Mrs. Lincroft was occupied in looking after him. The doctor came and said that shocks like this were not good for a man in his state of health.
“If only Edith would come back,” fretted Mrs. Lincroft, “he would be better immediately.”
I walked out looking for Edith. I did not believe she had gone off on an odd fancy. I could only guess that she had gone for a walk and had had an accident.
How like this it must have been when Roma disappeared. And what an uncanny coincidence that two women should have disappeared in the same spot!
I was afraid, afraid of something shadowy and intangible, for fragments of thoughts kept coming and going in my mind.
My footsteps led me to the copse where in the ruined chapel Edith had gone to meet her lover. I stood here—those eerie walls about me; through that gap the light had shown. Had it been Edith’s lover signaling to her? No. They were such a simple, uncomplicated pair. They should never have found themselves in such a position; they should have met in happier circumstances, fallen in love and married. Edith would have made a good clergyman’s wife—gentle, kind; she would have listened sympathetically to the troubles of her husband’s parishioners, but instead of that she had been forced into a tragedy which was too much for her.
“Edith!” I whispered. “Roma. Where are you?”
Fearful thoughts came into my mind. Napier’s face close to mine touched with passion. “There must be a way,” he had said.
And Roma…what of Roma? What had Roma to do with Edith?
Something, I insisted. It must be something. Two people could not disappear…in this very place. Napier could have had no interest in Roma.
There I had admitted it. Did I really believe that Napier knew something about the disappearance of Edith? It was absurd. Edith had had an accident. She was lying somewhere.
“Edith!” My voice sounded thin and weedy. “Where are you, Edith?”
No answer…only the echo of my own voice.
I walked away from the copse. It was an evil place. Horrible thoughts had come to me in the copse. I walked across the gardens, out to the road to the Roman remains and the empty cottage where I had lived with Roma. What if Edith had gone there? Why not? Suppose Jeremy Brown had come to see her there? Suppose he had come back to see her before he left England, had said good-bye to her, and when he had gone she had fallen down the stairs and was lying there feebly calling for help? Those stairs were dangerous.
I was making up the tale to fit my wishes. Anything but that Napier…
I opened the door of the cottage. “Edith…Edith, are you here?”
There was no answer. No crumpled body at the foot of the stairs. I ran up them. Through the little bedroom to the other. Empty.
On the way back to the house I passed the little shop. Mrs. Bury was at the door.
She nodded a greeting.
“A terrible thing this,” she said. “Mrs. Stacy now…”
“Yes,” I said.
She was peering at me in a manner which made me feel uncomfortable.
“Where on earth can she have got to? They’re saying she’s had an accident and is lying somewhere.”
“It seems the most likely explanation.”
She nodded. “Funny thing. It reminds me of that Miss er…what’s ’er name.” She jerked her head in the direction of the Roman remains. “I reckon it’s a very funny thing. She walked out, didn’t she…and we never heard where she got to. Now it’s Mrs. Stacy. Do you know what? I don’t reckon it’s right…disturbing things like that.” She jerked her head once more. “I reckon it’s asking for trouble.”
“Do you think so?”
“Mind you, it was good for business. Then there’s the people who come down to look at it. We have more people here now than we did before. I reckon there’s a real old to-do up there at Lovat Stacy.”
I nodded.
“Do you know, I could swear I’ve seen you before.”
“So you said.”
“And with her…too. Came in with her. You wouldn’t forget her in a hurry. A bouncy type, you know. Full of herself. I’ll have this and I’ll have that…as though we all ought to go down on our bended knees because she’d come here to tell us we’d had Romans here.”
I smiled.
“Oh yes, I could have sworn it.”
“We all have doubles they say.”
“You have, my dear. You have.”
I started to move away and she said, “Nice little thing, that Miss Edith. Always felt sorry for her, somehow. Hope she’s all right.”
“I hope so.”
I felt her eyes on me as I went down the road.
As I passed under the gate house Sybil Stacy came toward me. She was wearing a big blue straw hat trimmed with marguerites and blue ribbons.
“Oh, Mrs. Verlaine,” she cried, “what do you think of this?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
She chuckled grimly. “I do. I know.”
“You know?”
She nodded, like a little girl who has a secret which she knows she won’t be able to keep.
“They thought they were going to replace Beau. As if anyone could ever replace him. He wouldn’t have it.” Her face flushed pink; she stamped her feet as she placed them slightly apart and stood before me, bellicose for a moment. “Of course we couldn’t have that. They would have called the child Beaumont. There’s only one Beau. He would see to that…and so would I.”
“So would you?”
She was pouting, the little girl again. “They could have named him Beaumont but he would never have been Beau to me. I would have called him Nap. Nap. Nap. Nap.” Her face crumpled. “It’s never been the same since Beau went…and it never will.”
I felt too disturbed to listen to her and made as though to move toward the house, but she caught my arm. Her tiny hands were like claws; I felt them burning through the stuff of my sleeve.
“She won’t come back,” she said. “She’s gone forever.”
I turned to her almost fiercely. “How can you know?”
She looked at me slyly and brought her face closer to mine so that the wrinkles were more obvious, the simpering more sinister. “Because I do know,” she said.