He was silent for a moment, and then he answered me, his voice muffled. “I’m not sure truth exists. Perhaps we only think it does. But in reality it’s only what you believe and I believe and Mr. Owens believes-the rest is merely compromise.”
I couldn’t sleep that night. At every sound my eyes flew open and I waited-for what?
My door was locked. Peregrine couldn’t get into my room without waking half the guests on this floor. And yet I was on edge, unable to feel safe.
At one point, on the brink of slipping finally into a drowsy peace, I thought I heard Arthur calling me. It was so real my heart leapt, and I was wide awake again. That was the last straw.
It was nearly dawn by then, and I got up, dressed, and for a time walked the dark, silent streets of Tonbridge.
At one point a constable stopped me, asking if anything was the matter, if I needed help. I told him the truth-I was too troubled to sleep.
He said, “Aye, my daughter’s husband’s at the Front. I find her out and about at all hours. But mind where you go, Miss. There’s not much to worry you here, but one never can tell what’s lurking in the shadows.”
I watched the night turn into a gray dawn, I watched candles flicker into life in attics where servants dressed in the cold. I watched the milk cart making its rounds, watched as sluggard schoolboys made their way to their lessons, and then watched merchants unlock their doors and set out their goods for the day. I saw the gate of the castle rise above the mists of the river, and quiver there, like a disembodied vision.
It was nearly time for breakfast when, cold and courting sleep, I turned back to the hotel at last. I was just walking up the steps of The Checquers, when someone came bounding through the doors, nearly bowling me over.
“I beg your pardon, madam-” he started to say, and then broke off in astonishment.
Beneath the officer’s cap, above the scarf, I recognized the bandaged face of Jonathan Graham. Or to be more precise, I recognized the bandaging.
“Miss Crawford-”
“Good morning, Lieutenant Graham,” I managed to say. “How is your family?”
“My family? Yes, well enough. What-brings you back to Tonbridge?”
“A personal matter,” I replied. I wanted very much to ask him the same. We stood there, confronting each other, neither willing to give the other satisfaction.
Finally Jonathan said, “Will you be returning to Owlhurst?”
“I’ve considered it,” I said slowly. “Perhaps to call on Dr. Philips.”
The words lingered in the air like the morning mists, going nowhere.
Jonathan Graham frowned. I realized, too late, that it sounded as if I were pursuing the good doctor, a very bold thing for a single woman to do. My mother would have been appalled. I could feel my face flush as it was.
Trying to recover, I said, “We had a professional connection, in regard to Ted Booker and cases like his.”
The frown deepened.
I took the plunge. “You weren’t called at the inquest, and I can’t help but wonder why. You visited Mr. Booker, didn’t you, the night before he was found.”
I managed to make it sound like a documented fact.
“All right. Yes, I did. I felt-a fellow invalid’s compassion.”
He’d hardly shown compassion when he’d called Ted Booker a coward.
“I’ve wondered why you didn’t speak up at the inquest. It could have given all of us a clearer picture of his state of mind later in the evening.”
“I spoke to the police. I told them he was asleep when I got there. That I’d turned around and left straightaway.”
I couldn’t have said why, but I didn’t believe him.
And why had Ted Booker killed himself, if he could sleep?
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I truly believed he’d turned the corner. It’s heart wrenching, to lose a patient.”
“As you lost Arthur.”
Touché.
“Do you know when you’ll return to France?” I asked him.
“They remove the bandages tomorrow,” he said. “It should have been sooner, but there was concern about infection. Thank God, their worry was misplaced. Another week, and I’ll be declared fit.”
“I wish you well. Good-bye, Lieutenant Graham.”
I held out my hand and he shook it.
“Good-bye, Miss Crawford.”
I went upstairs and knocked on Peregrine’s door. He was dressed and shaved, preparing to meet me in the dining room for breakfast.
“Jonathan is here in this same hotel,” I told him in a low voice. “It would be best if we left for London as soon as we can find a train.”
“Jonathan?”
“Yes, he’s here to see his doctors. They expect to remove his bandages tomorrow. That means he’ll be in and out, and we’re likely to run into him.”
“I didn’t know he’d been wounded.”
“Across the face. It’s going to leave a terrible scar.”
“I’d have liked to join the army.”
“Be glad you were spared,” I said shortly. “I’ll go and see about tickets. But it might be best if you stayed here, in your room, until we’re ready to leave.”
“Jonathan won’t recognize me. Not after all these years.”
“I wouldn’t wager your freedom on it.”
“No.”
He closed his door and I went to the station, found that there were tickets for the morning train, and before Tonbridge was stirring, we were on our way back to London.
Once on the train, I drew a sigh of relief. It wouldn’t have done for Jonathan Graham to find me with Peregrine. It was dawning on me that the cost of helping this man could well be my reputation. Was there a law forbidding aiding a desperate fugitive from an asylum? I shuddered to think.
As we were nearing London, Peregrine opened his eyes and turned to me.
“Will your friend be at the flat?”
“Diana?” I felt a chill. “I-don’t know. Why?”
“She’s very pretty.”
Oh, dear.
He was saying, “The only women I’ve seen for nearly fifteen years are other inmates and matrons. I’ve noticed too how the world has left me behind. The women are dressed very differently, there are more men in uniform than in civilian clothes-only the very old and the very young aren’t, in fact. There are more automobiles, and very different ones at that. And this morning, while I was waiting for you, there was a flight of aeroplanes I could see from my window. I feel like a stranger in my own country. It’s daunting, frightening, and fascinating, all in one.”
I could imagine. Peregrine had managed remarkably well. I was beginning to realize the tragedy of his childhood. Mrs. Graham had done a cruel thing, whether out of maliciousness or out of an honest belief that he was different, I couldn’t tell. Mr. Appleby had aided and abetted her treatment of Peregrine, the fault was surely not entirely hers.
We were arriving in London. Back in the crowded, anonymous world of people who had things on their minds other than spotting my companion and taking him back to his jailers.
How do you make up for a lost life? I couldn’t think of a way.
Diana was delighted to see us, demanding to borrow Peregrine for an hour that evening, to escort her to a dinner party. He flatly refused, and she was hurt, saying to me later, “He’s the most attractive male I’ve seen in weeks, and the only whole one as well.”
“I’ve promised to see that he doesn’t overdo. Next visit, he’ll be well on his way to recovery.”
“I think you merely want to keep him for yourself.”
I laughed. Little did she know. But I didn’t want a blossoming romance on Diana’s side or any temptation on Peregrine’s. After all, by his own admission he’d killed one young woman. Whether it was true or not.
There was a knock at the door, and I went to open it, thinking that Elayne must be back and had forgot her key again. She’d find a man in her bed. But knowing Elayne, she’d be amused and not angry.
It was my father standing there on the threshold, concern on his face.