“Did he stay with the Graham family, after Peregrine was taken away?”
“Yes, until the boys went off to school, and then he moved to Chilham, to a family there.”
“Did your husband tell you the name of the girl who was-murdered?”
“How could I ever forget it? Lily Mercer.”
“Did anyone ask her family how they felt about Peregrine going to the asylum rather than standing trial?”
Mrs. Gadd looked surprised. “I-I don’t believe they were consulted-nothing was said-the London police were in agreement about the asylum. Even though there were no witnesses, the evidence spoke for itself. Peregrine’s bloody hands and clothes, his mental confusion, told their own story. And of course there was his youth. No one wanted the boy sent to prison, if treatment was available at Barton’s.”
“Yes, but no one has explained why he should have killed Lily.”
“I doubt that anyone knows except perhaps Peregrine himself, if he’s able to understand his own actions.”
“You said the evidence pointed strongly to Peregrine.”
“Mrs. Graham and her cousin had gone out to dine that evening. They came home to find the other boys in bed. Lily wasn’t waiting for them, as she was supposed to be. Mrs. Graham went to Lily’s room and found Peregrine on the floor by her body. They asked him, of course-the London police, Lady Parsons, the rector, my husband-everyone. He seemed dazed. And all he would say to them was he wanted his knife back again, the one his father had given him. And of course they couldn’t give it to him, the police had taken it away because it was a murder weapon.”
I swallowed hard. “And his brothers? They hadn’t seen or heard anything?”
“Apparently not. But we had the same laundress, Mrs. Graham and I. And I heard her tell my cook that when Susan’s mother unpacked the boys’ luggage, the night they returned to Owlhurst, she found blood all along the cuff of Arthur’s nightshirt. She pointed it out to Mrs. Wallace-the laundress-and asked if such a stain would come out.”
“Arthur’s? Are you sure of that?” My voice was sharp, I couldn’t make it behave.
“Yes, I’m certain. He’d had a nosebleed, he said. It seems he was prone to them as a child.”
Mr. Owens chose that moment to knock at the door, and Mrs. Gadd went to let him in.
I sat by the fire, cold to the bone. And all I could think of was the message I had carried home for Arthur.
Tell Jonathan that I lied. I did it for Mother’s sake. But it has to be set right.
I was silent on the long drive back to Tonbridge. Mr. Owens tried once or twice to draw me into conversation, but I told him I was tired.
The truth was, I was tormented by what I’d learned.
I should have risked everything and turned Peregrine over to the police the first chance I had. The police could have disarmed him before he’d killed anyone. Surely-
And then I would never have come to Rye to hear Mrs. Gadd’s account of what had transpired in London. I would have gone instead to Somerset, my father’s daughter, and been told I’d been very brave and very foolish at the same time, and I could have forgot Peregrine Graham in a few months. I’d have gone back to war, and put him out of my mind.
Instead I’d taken up the challenge of finding out more.
Arthur hadn’t wanted to put his last wishes into a letter. He’d trusted to his brother to set things right for him. He’d been certain that Jonathan would understand his message and see that justice was done.
But neither Jonathan nor his mother had seemed to understand it-Mrs. Graham had asked me questions about it.
To find out how much Arthur had told you, my mind retorted. To see if you were aware of what ought to be set right.
Had she let me nurse Peregrine because she thought I would fail to save him? A young nurse, where a doctor’s training was needed? She’d turned away the doctor when he came to the door. And the rector as well. Or had she only been afraid that in his delirium, Peregrine might remember more than he ought?
I was condemning her because of my own hurt, and that was hindsight, and not fair at all.
Arthur couldn’t have killed that girl. Not the man I’d known on Britannic, not the man everyone remembered as brave and stoic? He was his mother’s favorite, she’d said as much.
But then she’d protect her favorite, the dead son’s memory, with all her might, wouldn’t she? Peregrine had always been blamed, why do anything now?
Surely she couldn’t have known from the start-
I huddled in my seat, listening to the cold wind whistling by, my fingers already stiff with cold, my feet barely warmed by the tiny heater. Even the rug Mr. Owens had handed me for my knees wasn’t enough.
I was reminded of that dreadful ride in the dogcart from Tonbridge to Owlhurst, when the cold knifed through my coat and the rugs, no motorcar to break the wind or offer a modicum of protection.
The cart had nearly dumped me on the verge of the road, on my broken arm, when Robert fell asleep and the wheels went into a ditch. Had that been deliberate, and then he’d changed his mind at the last possible second and held me on the seat?
My mind was running away with me.
But in a short time I would have to face Peregrine Graham, and I had no idea what I was going to tell him.
There’s no proof that Arthur-You’ve jumped to conclusions, my girl, and you’re paying the price of it, I lectured myself.
I’d wondered why Peregrine had killed. I could ask the same question about Arthur-or any of the other Graham sons. Why kill Lily?
It was useless, I was going around in circles for nothing.
What was it Arthur felt must be set right? What did he lie to his mother about? Or to put it differently, since he too was only a child at the time, what lie did he let his mother tell to protect the son she loved best?
We were pulling into the outskirts of Tonbridge. I roused myself to thank Mr. Owens for taking me to Rye, and I counted out the money I owed him for the journey. As I gave it to him in front of the hotel, he said, “I have you to thank as well. I’d not have visited Mrs. Gadd, else. It was good to see her again.”
And all the while I wished I’d never heard her name spoken this day.
Peregrine was pacing the floor when I tapped at his door and stepped into his room.
When I’d left that morning, I’d feared he might do something foolish, perhaps walk away and never be seen again. Now I wished he’d done just that.
“Where the hell have you been?” he was demanding. “You couldn’t have been in Owlhurst all this time!”
“I didn’t go to Owlhurst after all. I went to Rye instead.”
“Rye? What were you doing in Rye?”
“Do you remember the policeman who talked to you that night?”
“Inspector Gadd? Yes. He was kind. I think he believed I was some sort of monster, but he treated me gently.”
“Well, I’ve just spent half an hour with his widow. She gave me the name of the girl who died. Lily Mercer.”
“Yes, that’s right. I don’t know why I couldn’t recall her last name.”
“Did she like Arthur more than anyone else? Did she seem to favor him?”
“I have no earthly idea. I was in my own room most of the time. I don’t know how they got on.”
I took a deep breath. “I was just wondering. Peregrine, I want to go back to London tonight. I want to see if I can find Lily Mercer’s family.”
“What could they know that would be helpful? They weren’t there.”
“But they knew their daughter, I expect. They knew what manner of girl she was. A person of your background doesn’t just decide from one minute to the next to strike down a servant in his household. I mean to say, there must be more to the murder than we know-than you can remember.”
“She teased Timothy about his clubfoot. I heard her, in the passageway. She asked me what was wrong with me, why I was left behind when my brothers had gone to the zoo and to see the Tower.”