He was silent and I said: “And you let them believe it.”
“I’d killed him,” he said. “I thought it was a way of making amends. He would have hated them knowing about the gypsy. He had always cared so much for their good opinion.”
He was still grasping my hands and I looked up into his face, smiling.
“I was going away,” he went on. “It didn’t seem to matter. One more misdemeanor…when there had been so many.”
“And your mother…she killed herself because she discovered that your father and Mrs. Lincroft were lovers. It was not only because she had lost Beau.”
“It’s all in the past,” he said.
“It is not,” I cried passionately, “when it continues to affect the present and the future.”
“As you know very well.”
I lowered my eyes. Pietro had never seemed so far away as he was at this moment.
“You are a fool, Napier,” I said.
“Has it taken you so long to discover that?”
“We are all foolish. But you have allowed them to blame you.”
“I killed him,” he said. “If you could have seen him…like everyone else you would have loved him.”
“He was clearly not perfect.”
“He was young, virile…full of life.”
“So he seduced the gypsy girl.”
“He was so full of vitality, and if he had lived he would never have disclaimed responsibility. He would have set her up somewhere, looked after her—and kept it from them. On the day I shot him I wished fervently…and most sincerely…that he had been the one to fire first. Then it would have been less of a tragedy. They would have forgiven him.”
“Were you jealous of him?”
“Of course not. I admired him. I wished I were like him. I tried to imitate him because I thought he was wonderful. I followed him and tried to be as much like him as possible. But I didn’t envy him. I was as fond of him as the others were…perhaps more. I thought him perfect.”
“So you took his blame on your shoulders.”
“It was the least I could do after taking his life.”
“If you had killed him deliberately you could not have paid much more fully.”
“So?”
“The affair is finished. You must banish it from your mind.”
“Do you think I can ever do that?”
“Yes, I do. And you shall.”
“Perhaps there is one person who could force me to do that…one person in the world. And you…have you forgotten your past?”
“Perhaps there is one person who could make me do so.”
“And you are not sure…”
“I am becoming more certain of it every day.”
We stood hands clasped but apart, for Edith still stood between us.
But I vowed I would not rest until I had discovered what had happened to Edith. It was imperative that I did. He was cleared of seduction of the gypsy, of causing his mother to kill herself, but he must be cleared of Edith’s disappearance…or death…before either of us could move into that future which was beginning to be so desirable to us both.
12
It was afternoon…the time of quiet. Sir William had been ordered to rest by the doctor and Mrs. Lincroft was lying down. She felt very distressed, she told me; and I saw the guilt in her eyes for she could scarcely bear to look at me.
I wanted to think about everything. I wanted to go over minute by minute that interview with Napier. I had to think about him and Godfrey.
But in my heart I did not need to make a decision. I knew…just as I had known when I had pretended to consider whether to give up my career for marriage with Pietro, that I would always follow my heart’s direction. If Roma were here now she would say I was mad to throw aside marriage with Godfrey for the sake of Napier. Godfrey offered security…the comfortable, easy life. And Napier? I was not sure what life would be like with him. I did not believe the shadow of Beaumont’s death had receded suddenly. I could not hope to eliminate it so easily. It would appear at unexpected moments; it would be a shadow across Napier’s life for many years to come. And what of Pietro? Should I ever forget?
On this sunny afternoon with an hour or so to spare I would go to the walled garden to think.
I made my way there and was surprised when I arrived to find Alice sitting there demurely, her hands folded in her lap.
“I thought you’d come here, Mrs. Verlaine,” she said.
“Did you want to see me?”
“Yes, I did. I want to tell you something…show you something I’ve found and I don’t really want to talk about it here.”
“Why ever not?”
“Because I think it may be very important.” She stood up. “Could we go for a little walk?”
“But certainly.”
As we walked away from the house, she kept looking over her shoulder.
“What’s the matter, Alice?” I asked.
“I was making sure that no one was following us.”
“Did you think they were?”
“I always think they are—after the fire.” I shivered, and she went on: “And so do you, Mrs. Verlaine, don’t you?”
I confessed that I often felt uneasy. “Of course,” said Alice, “anyone might get trapped in a burning cottage. But I felt ever since, that I had to look after you rather specially.”
“That is sweet of you, Alice. And I certainly feel very cherished.”
“It’s how I want you to feel.”
“It’s comforting to have a guardian angel.”
“Yes, it must be. Well, you have one now, dear Mrs. Verlaine.”
“Where are we going and what are you going to show me?”
“We’re turning off here and going down to the shore.”
“Is it down there then?”
“Yes, and I do really think it may be very important.”
“You’re keeping me in suspense.”
“Not really, Mrs. Verlaine. But I don’t know how to describe it. But I think it may be of archaeological significance.”
“Good heavens, Alice, don’t you think we ought to…”
“To tell someone else? Oh no, not yet. Let us be the ones to discover it.”
“You are being mysterious.”
“You’ll soon know.” She looked over her shoulder.
“What’s the matter?”
“I just had a feeling that we were being followed.”
“I can see no one.”
“They could be hidden by those bushes.”
“I don’t think so. In any case there are two of us. We mustn’t be so nervous.”
Alice led the way down the winding cliff path to the sands.
Halfway down she paused and said: “Listen.”
We stood still listening. “You can hear footsteps clearly here…even if people are a long way away.”
“All’s well,” I said. “I came this way before.”
“Yes and I warned you to be sure you didn’t get cut off by the tide. Remember? Perhaps I saved your life then.” The thought pleased her. “It seems to be my mission in life.”
We had reached the sands and a little way ahead of us was that little cove with the overhanging rock where she had told me previously it was so easy to get cut off by the tide.
Purposefully, now and then looking uneasily about her, she led the way.
“Here, Mrs. Verlaine.” She had disappeared in an opening in the rocks.
“What is this, Alice?”
“It’s a sort of cave. Come in.”
I entered and she said: “This part is just a cave. But I think I’ve found some drawings in an inner cave. They’re very crude…the sort that people did hundreds of years ago. The Stone Age probably. Mr. Wilmot was telling us about that. Or perhaps the Bronze Age.”