The girls were constantly discussing the affair together, although they did not talk to me very much about it. I wondered what construction they put on it.
Allegra did say on one occasion: “If Sir William died and it was through the shock of Edith’s going…that would be like history’s repeating itself. You know, Beau died and then his mother…”
I retorted sharply: “Who said Edith was dead?”
“No,” cried Alice vehemently. “She’ll come back.”
“I hope so,” I said fervently; and how I hoped it! I wanted Edith to come back more than I had wanted anything since Pietro had died. I tried to work out all sorts of reasons for her disappearance. Amnesia? Why not? She was wandering somewhere because she had lost her memory. What a joy that would be! I did not want Napier to be a murderer. And if Edith had been murdered…
I just would not accept that. But what of Roma?
The strangeness of this—the awful coincidence—struck me afresh. Two young women disappeared in exactly the same manner. They both walked out, saying nothing, taking nothing with them.
It was horribly, frighteningly sinister.
I was deeply concerned. One of those women was my sister; the other the wife of Napier.
I must know. If anything my determination was doubled; and at the same time I thought of them both—no two women could have been more unlike: poor Edith with her ineffectuality, poor frightened Edith; and Roma, the determined, the fearless, the woman who knew exactly where she was going…except perhaps on one occasion.
I don’t care where it leads me, I told myself, I am going to find out.
“Have a care, Caro.” It was Roma’s voice cautioning me. “This could be murder.”
But I would not accept that it was murder even if others did. I could sense the wall of suspicion growing as fast as a jungle bamboo.
I wished that I had not heard that quarrel between Sir William and Napier. I had gone up to play for Sir William again because Mrs. Lincroft had decided that my music soothed him. I did not go through Sir William’s room but straight to the piano in the next, for Mrs. Lincroft had said that he might be dozing and that he liked to wake and hear the music I was playing.
On this occasion as I entered the room I heard the sound of angry voices: Sir William’s and Napier’s.
“I wish to God,” Sir William was saying, “that you’d stayed out there.”
“And I can assure you,” retorted Napier, “that I have no intention of going back.”
“You’ll go if I say, and let me tell you this, there’ll be nothing for you.”
“You’re wrong. I have a right to be here.”
“Listen to me. Where is she, eh? What’s happened to her? Run off with a curate. I knew she’d never do that. Where is she? You tell me, eh?”
I should have slipped away. But I could not. I felt too involved. I had to stand there. I had to listen.
“Why should you think I know?”
“Because you didn’t want her. You married her because there was no other way of coming back. The poor child!”
“You were the one who sacrificed her, weren’t you? How like you, to insist on the marriage and blame me for it. I did my best to make the marriage succeed.”
“Marriage! I’m not talking of the marriage! I’m asking you what you have done with her.”
“You’re mad. Are you suggesting…?”
“Murderer…” cried Sir William. “Beau…Your—your mother…”
“My God,” cried Napier. “Don’t think you’re going to cheat me out of my inheritance with your lies.”
“Where is she? Where is she? They’ll find her and then—”
I could not bear any more. I went to the door and sped silently away to my room.
I felt sick with fear.
Sir William believed his own son had murdered Edith.
“It’s not true,” I whispered. “I won’t believe it.”
And in that moment I pledged myself to solve the mystery of Edith’s disappearance just as I had that of Roma. It was of the utmost importance to me.
I couldn’t bear the suspicion.
In the village they were whispering. “It stands to reason. He married her. He wanted to be rid of her once he’d got her money. There’s a curse on Lovat Stacy…and will be as long as that bad man is there.”
I saw Sybil now and then; the sly look of knowledge in her eyes and the general coyness were more grotesque than usual.
I wondered whether secret investigations were going on. It had been discovered that Edith was not with Jeremy Brown. What else would be found out?
Why should a husband rid himself of a wife? There were many reasons. Because he did not love her. Because he now had her money; because now that he was taken back into the family and had been reinstated as his father’s heir…I paused there, remembering the quarrel I had overheard. Sir William hated Napier. Why should he harbor such an unnatural feeling? And now that Edith had disappeared they had quarreled bitterly. Perhaps Sir William would disinherit his son, banish him as he had once before.
Why should this have happened?
Napier had not loved Edith. He had made no secret of that. And during the last weeks…I thought of the conversations we had had together and I was overcome with a feeling of horror. Had I mistaken his implications? Had he really been telling me that had he been free he would have proposed marriage to me?
It was an alarming situation. I thought of three pairs of youthful eyes studying me. How deeply enmeshed was I in this?
And at the same time I had a great desire to prove these people wrong about Napier. I wanted to shout: “It’s not true. He’s being maligned now, as he was once before. Because of that accident in his youth is he to be blamed forever?”
What had happened to me? The most important thing in my life now was to prove Napier innocent.
Mrs. Lincroft frowned across the table at me.
“This has upset Sir William terribly,” she said. “I am very much worried about him. I do wish there could be some news of Edith.”
“What do you think has happened to her?” I asked earnestly.
“I dare not think.” She avoided my eyes. “I’m very much afraid that he’ll have another stroke. It would be better if Napier went away.”
“If he went away,” I pointed out, “malicious people would say he was running away.”
She nodded; then she said: “He may not have much choice in the matter. Sir William was talking of sending for the family solicitor. You can guess what that means.”
“He seems always to judge and blame without evidence. He was longing for a grandchild. And now…”
“Perhaps Edith will come back.”
“But where is she?”
I expounded my favorite amnesia theory.
“It is good of you to take such a deep interest in the family’s affairs, Mrs. Verlaine, but don’t become…too involved.”
“Involved!” I repeated.
She looked at me intently for a few seconds and her entire demeanor seemed to change in that brief spell of time. The gentle woman I had always imagined her to be receded and another personality, quite alien to everything I had known of her, took her place. Even her voice was different. “It’s sometimes not wise to interest oneself in other people’s affairs. One becomes caught up.”
“But naturally I’m interested. A young wife…a pupil of mine…disappears. Surely you don’t expect me to treat that as an everyday occurrence.”