Edith had been murdered, and if her murderer was aware of my determination to discover him, then I was in danger. But I could not help it. I must find the answer.
Having reached the copse I dismounted and tied my horse to a tree.
I looked about me. How still it was! How eerie! But was that because of its associations? Through the trees I could glimpse the gray ruin and instinctively I moved toward it.
The sun glinted through the trees throwing a shifting pattern on the ground. I thought once more: Surely if the earth had been disturbed recently it would show.
I stared down at the grass which grew patchily.
If one wanted to dig a grave this would be an ideal place to dig it. Here one would be hidden among the trees and perhaps hear the footsteps of anyone approaching. And if one were seen with the spade in one’s hand? “Oh, I have just been digging for someone who is unable to dig for himself…”
“No!” I said and was surprised that I had spoken vehemently and aloud.
As I drew level with the ruins I put out a hand and gingerly touched those stone walls. One day I promised myself when the light shows I’ll come down and see who is playing that little trick.
I went through the gap in the stones where the door had been and stood there looking up at the sky through the damaged roof. My footsteps made a light noise on the broken tiled floor and the sound startled me. Yes, even by daylight I was a little frightened.
I felt as though those gray walls blackened by the fire were shutting me in; I turned quickly and went out into the copse.
If anyone had dug a hole, might he—or she—not have done so near those walls for since the place had the reputation of being haunted, people avoided it; perhaps it was just the spot in which to dig a victim’s grave. And the light? Was that meant to keep people away from the spot? I felt I had to find a reason for all these strange happenings.
I studied the earth near the wall. There was one patch without grass. I went down on my hands and knees to examine it more closely. And then…the crackle of undergrowth; the shadow looming over me.
“Searching for something?”
I gasped and standing up looked into Napier’s face. His voice was mocking but there was a deadly earnestness in his eyes and I knew he was angry.
“I…I didn’t hear you until a second ago.”
“What on earth are you doing? Praying? Or have you dropped something?”
I said: “My brooch…”
He touched the cameo at my throat. “It’s there…securely pinned.”
“Oh, I thought…”
I was making a bad job of it but I could not tell him that I—like everyone else—suspected him of murdering his wife. I didn’t suspect him. I hastily corrected that. I wanted to prove that he was innocent in face of all the calumnies.
He stood, that sardonic smile on his face, not helping me out of my embarrassment at all.
“I saw you from the distance at the Brancots’ cottage.”
“I didn’t see you.”
“I know. Brancot told me you’d been complimenting him on the garden and that he’d told you I gave him a hand. You remember…seeing me come back with my spade?”
“I remember.”
He laughed. “Well, it’s brave of you to come to this place. It has such an evil reputation.”
“In broad daylight?” I said, recovering my calm.
“Well, if one is alone…”
“But I am not.”
“When you come to think of it, it is the fear of not being alone that makes people afraid.”
“You mean they’re afraid of ghosts?”
“You looked very startled when I came on you kneeling here. Perhaps you are a little uneasy now.” He took my wrist and with a mocking smile put his finger on my pulse. “A little too fast, I think,” he commented.
“I admit to being startled. You came on me so suddenly.”
“You weren’t looking for the brooch, were you? The first place you would look is at your throat and it is there.” He put his hands on my brooch and came and stood very close to me. I caught my breath…as he meant me to. All friendliness seemed to have gone from him now. He knew what had been in my mind and I think he hated me for it.
“I’d like us to be frank,” he said reproachfully, dropping his hands.
“Of course.”
“But you haven’t been, have you? Did you come because you think Edith is buried here…in this copse?”
“She must be somewhere.”
“And you think that someone…killed her and buried her here?”
“I don’t think that can be the solution.”
“Have you an alternative solution?”
I said: “I think it rather strange that two people disappeared in this neighborhood.”
“Two?” he said.
“Have you forgotten the archaeologist?”
“She disappeared too. Why of course.” He took a pace backward and leaned against the wall of the chapel. “Do you think she’s buried here, too? And have you decided on the murderer?”
“How can I? But I believe we should all feel better if we knew the answer to those questions.”
“Except the murderer. Don’t you think he would feel far worse?”
“I do not think he—or she—can be feeling very happy now.”
“Why not?”
“Could anyone take life and be happy?”
“If a man saw himself as all important and others of no account he would see no reason why he should not eliminate a person as he would a moth or a wasp.”
“I suppose there are such people.”
“I fear there are. I imagine our murderer is delighted with himself. He has won. He has gained what he set out to gain and the rest don’t even know who he is. He has fooled them all. Let us walk through the copse together examining the earth for the graves of the victims. Would you care to do that?”
I said: “I have work to do. I must get back to the house.”
He smiled as though he did not believe me, and we walked back to our horses. He held mine which I mounted; then leaping into the saddle he rode beside me to the house.
I went straight up to my room and looked at myself in the mirror. I hoped my emotions did not show on my face, for I was not even sure what they were.
I was terribly afraid and would not face the possibilities which were thrusting themselves into my mind. I would not believe them because I was determined not to.
9
Godfrey Wilmot was constantly seeking to be alone with me. This was not easy, for Mrs. Rendall contrived to see that we did not have many opportunities.
Perhaps I should admit to a certain mischievous pleasure in teasing her, hoping it would help to lighten the heavy mood which had settled upon me. I was trying to thrust all thoughts of Napier from my mind and the company of Godfrey helped me to do this more than anything else. There was his knowledge of my identity; there was his love of music and his deep interest in that subject which had enthralled my sister and my parents and had in a way been responsible for their deaths. There was comfort, too, in feeling my friendship growing for a charming man who was open and frank and free of those complexes which while they seemed to cast some sort of spell upon me, could make me uneasy and extremely apprehensive.
Certainly I made no attempt to avoid Godfrey and we used to laugh together about Mrs. Rendall’s attitude and plan how to frustrate her endeavors to prevent our being alone together.
Sometimes we met in the church where Godfrey went to practice the organ. I would slip in while he was playing and this was what I did on the day after my uncomfortable encounter with Napier in the copse.
The church was a beautiful example of fourteenth-century architecture with its gray stone tower and lichen-covered walls. I stood at the door listening to the full tones of the organ and was deeply moved for Godfrey had a masterly touch. I did not want to disturb him so I stood very still while I gazed about me at the stained-glass windows—the one dedicated to Beau; the Stacy pew; the list of vicars engraved on the wall from the first in 1347 to Arthur Rendall in the year 1880. The musty damp smell of age was more apparent when the church was empty, and I imagined generations of Stacys coming here to worship. I thought of Beau and Napier being baptized at the font, of Sybil, dreaming of coming to this altar to her bridegroom. As the music came to its triumphant finale I went over to the organ.