The two ladies were met by a young man with one arm, his sleeve pinned to his coat. Without a word, the man from whom I’d borrowed the book helped bring down our bags, and then a porter was there to pile them on his cart.
“There’s no one to meet you?” the book lender asked as I gave in my ticket and stood there, wondering how I was to arrange to have my heavier valise delivered.
“I daresay they’re late,” I answered, smiling, not wanting a portly knight in shining armor to see me home. The relief at not finding my father on the platform made me feel giddy.
“Then let me summon a cab and see you into it.”
I thanked him, and in ten minutes I was in the cab and on my way to the flat. I was tired despite my brief nap, it was late, and I would be glad for a night’s sleep.
Mrs. Hennessey wasn’t there, and I asked the cabbie to leave my luggage outside her door. She’d see that it was taken upstairs. The dustman always stopped for an early cup of tea, and the promise of a slice of cake or tart would be enough to send him up with it.
I went up the steps, feeling each one, thinking that all I required would be a warming cup of tea, and then my bed. That is, if Elayne had thought to replenish our dwindling supply of tea. After all, it was her turn. I’d learned long since to do without milk, but we kept a tin of sugar.
I took my hat off as I passed the landing and had it in my hand as I reached into my pocket for the key. It slid into the lock, the door opened, and I stepped into the silent flat with a sigh of relief. I was home.
I set my hat on the table near the door, and felt for the light switch.
It didn’t turn on, which meant that Elayne hadn’t replaced the bulb when it burned out. I fumbled for the candle and matches we kept on a shelf. As it spurted into gold and blue flame, and the candlewick flared and then steadied, I began to remove my coat.
The flat was chilly, as it always was at night, and for an instant I regretted not going home to fires on the hearth. But never mind. I made myself a cup of tea, drank it to warm me, and then went down the passage to the room at the back that was mine.
The quiet was comforting, and the sense of being in familiar surroundings was what I needed.
There was a small package on my pillow-Elayne’s gift.
I opened it, feeling a surge of happiness. One never knew what Elayne might consider a gift.
This time it was a pair of black French gloves-heaven only knew where she’d found them-with tiny pearl buttons at the wrist and leather soft as silk. And they actually fit. I smiled. Elayne had borrowed my opera-length gloves often enough to know my size perfectly. I’d have to return the favor next time I saw something that suited her as well as these suited me.
Feeling more cheerful, I bathed my face and hands, undressed, crawled between damp sheets, and huddled under the layers of comforters until I had warmed a space for myself.
My last thought as I drifted into sleep was, We must find ourselves a cat-my feet are cold. I didn’t have the energy to heat water for the bottle I kept in the little table by my bed.
It was close on to three o’clock when I came awake with a shock, hearing something in the front of the flat.
Elayne. Or one of the others. They’d seen my things downstairs and were trying not to wake me. Which of course is noisier than going about their business quietly.
I threw on my dressing gown and cringed as I put my warm feet into cold slippers. Opening my door, I walked down the passage.
A candle burst into life just as I reached the end of the passage, and I caught my breath in alarm.
There was a man standing in what we euphemistically called the kitchen, his back to me. He was rummaging through the box of sandwiches I’d brought with me. I’d eaten only about half of them on the train. My other luggage was at his feet.
“Anthony?” I asked, thinking this must surely be Elayne’s staff officer. How had he slipped past Mrs. Hennessey? He turned sharply. “Thank you for-”
I broke off, knowing in that instant that my heart would surely stop.
The single candle illuminated his face now, and I couldn’t believe-I was dreaming, there wasn’t-it couldn’t be-
Feeling faint for the first time in my life, I put out a hand to touch the passage wall beside me.
“You’re dead,” I whispered finally.
“I nearly am,” he said, holding one of the sandwiches in his hand. “I haven’t eaten for three days. Do you mind?” He sat down suddenly in the nearest chair. “I’ve lived on tea and that small box of biscuits I found in your cupboard.”
It was Peregrine, looking as pale as his own ghost, the hand holding the sandwich shaking as if with a palsy.
He was wearing an ill-fitting suit of clothes, his hair tousled from sleep, and his face drained of all feeling as he watched my changing expressions. The heavy shadow of his beard gave him a sinister cast.
As my brain began to work again, I could feel a ripple of fear run up my spine.
“What are you-how did you know-Mrs. Hennessey!” She hadn’t been there when I came in earlier. And this man was a murderer.
“Is that who she is? I saw her stepping out the door, and waited until she was down the street. I’ve heard her since, coming and going.”
“She owns this house. She’s my-” I paused, not wanting to tell him too much.
He was frowning. “Why did you say just now that I was dead?”
“I saw Robert-it was just after the inquest for Ted Booker-Robert came to find Mrs. Graham and Jonathan. I could tell he brought bad news-Mrs. Graham and Jonathan were very upset, as was Timothy. I saw them from the church as they were walking home-”
“Ted Booker is dead?”
“Yes. I thought-they were so upset-”
“I expect they’d learned I’d escaped from the asylum,” he told me grimly.
“Did you-you’re wearing someone else’s clothing-what happened to the man they belong to?”
“I didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re thinking. I gave him a handful of the powders I took at night. They must have been sedatives-he probably slept the night through in my bed.”
“Who was he?”
“One of the doctors-look, do you mind if I eat this? If not, I’ll pass out at your feet.”
I nodded, and he bit hungrily into the sandwich. I waited, and as he swallowed the first mouthful, he said, “I told them I thought my fever was back. I’d rubbed my face until it felt warm, flushed. The staff doctor was just leaving, and he came to my room to see what the matter was. I’d been given my powders, or so he thought, and I was hardly likely to attack him. He asked me to open my mouth, and as he bent forward to see my throat, I had him in a headlock. No one heard him cry out-there’s too much of that at night, anyway. I knocked him down, turned off the light so that my room was dark, and forced him to eat the powders. Then I changed my clothes for his, and left. That’s the only time the main doors aren’t watched-after everyone has been locked in. The staff can come and go without disturbing the house. I walked through the fields until it was safe enough to return to the road. About three miles on, a farm cart offered me a lift to Cranbrook.”
He went on eating, his hands hardly able to bring the sandwich to his mouth. I stood there, not knowing what to do-whether he would kill me or let me live. Whether I should find a weapon and try to overpower him while he was still light-headed from hunger or try to talk him into going back to Owlhurst.
Picking up the Thermos, he could hear tea sloshing about inside, and he drank nearly half a cup in one gulp. It must have been lukewarm, but he didn’t seem to care. “God, I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t brought food with you,” he said. “What did my relatives do, send you packing?”