“Fair enough. Then I’ll be honest with you as well. If I didn’t kill Lily Mercer, why do I dream so vividly about her death?”
He turned and walked away, going into his room without looking back.
I had dinner sent up to both of us, for fear that someone might recognize Peregrine in the dining room or ask questions about the man who accompanied me. And so I ate alone, and Peregrine did the same.
We left Owlhurst behind and went back to Tonbridge, to take the train to London.
We hadn’t been in the flat for five minutes before Mrs. Hennessey came puffing up the stairs. I made certain Peregrine was safely out of sight before opening my door.
“There’s someone to see you, Miss Crawford. I declare, Mr. Hennessey might have something to worry about, if I were thirty years younger. But after those stairs I daresay I’m thirty years older.” She had brought up the post as well and was fanning herself with it as she caught her breath.
“Is it my father?” What if Peregrine and I’d encountered him as we arrived? It was such a close call I felt weak.
“No, my dear, I know your father very well. It’s the other one. He’s very anxious to speak to you, though he was inordinately polite when he asked if I’d mind going up to fetch you for him.”
Simon Brandon. And that would have been just as bad.
“Yes, I’ll be there in a moment. Let me collect my coat.”
She turned to descend the stairs again, smiling at me over her shoulder. I stepped back into the flat, promised Peregrine that I’d return in a few minutes, and went down to meet the sergeant major.
He greeted me and held the door for me. “Let’s sit in the motorcar-it’s warmer.”
The hall was cold. I went out and got into the motorcar, wondering what was afoot.
As he got behind the wheel, he said, “How are you faring with your search for Lily Mercer?”
“Um-well, I know her parents went to New Zealand shortly after she died.”
“Then you may not know that one Peregrine Graham was charged with her murder. He stabbed her in the throat with his father’s pocketknife. And it was agreed by all parties that he should be remanded to an asylum for the rest of his natural life.”
“Indeed.” It was all I could think of to say.
“Indeed. And said Peregrine Graham is now missing from said asylum, and the authorities have every reason to believe he shot himself on the coast of Kent, somewhere south of Dover. Winchelsea? Dymchurch? And his body is still missing, though they did find someone near his size and age.”
Something he’d just said struck me.
“She was what? Stabbed in the throat, you say?”
“My friend at Scotland Yard tells me that’s what the report says.”
“But-I thought-I mean, someone told me she’d been disemboweled-”
“Now that’s a nasty thing to be telling a lady,” he said, turning to look at me, his dark eyes unreadable in the dimness of the motorcar’s interior.
Oh dear. Simon was frighteningly astute. Had I given myself away? Still, I had to ask.
“Are you very certain, Simon? It’s important to know this.”
“As certain as the report filed at the time of death. I don’t know how your Mrs. Graham managed to protect her stepson the way she did, but the police were in agreement that in his present state, taking him into custody would only aggravate his condition. A number of other cases of a similar nature had been sent to Barton’s, they knew the doctors there and respected their expertise. The upshot of it was, the boy was given into the care of his stepmother to be transported to the asylum, where doctors evaluated the facts, examined him, and reported to the police. The inquest was held, the documents were placed in evidence, and that was the end of the matter.”
“Does the Colonel Sahib know any of this?” I asked after a moment.
“Not yet. That’s why I came to see you first. Want to tell me what’s going on?”
My heart sank. Simon would never accept my assurance that I was as safe with Peregrine Graham as I was with him.
“I learned something when I was in Owlhurst. I don’t know that Peregrine did what he’s accused of. If my information is reliable, it’s possible that his half brother let Peregrine take the blame for what happened to Lily Mercer. If that’s true, Peregrine may have spent nearly fifteen years in an asylum for something he didn’t do.”
Simon whistled. “My God, Bess, you do manage to get yourself into a tangle. Don’t tell me you found a way to spirit Graham out of that asylum yourself. It would be just like you.”
I sighed. “He escaped the day I left Owlhurst. I didn’t know-I thought the family had been told he was dead of pneumonia. There was the death of Lieutenant Booker, you see, and I was so distressed by that-”
“Who is Booker?” Simon asked suspiciously.
“While I was in Owlhurst, I was asked by the local doctor to help him watch a patient suffering from severe shell shock. He was threatening to kill himself, you see, and in fact he did.”
“I thought nursing would keep you safe. How wrong I was. Britannic sank under you, and now Owlhurst involved you in murder and suicide. I’m taking you back to Somerset with me.”
“No, you can’t-” I began to say, then stopped short.
“Pray, why can’t I?”
“I-I want to do something first. Are you sure Lily Mercer was stabbed-that there was nothing else?”
“You’ve already asked me that,” he pointed out. “Who are you really trying to protect, Bess? Arthur? Peregrine? This man Booker? Are you in love with any of them?” His voice was exasperated.
“Ted Booker is-was-married, and he has a son. Arthur is dead. And you just told me that Peregrine was dead.”
“I told you the authorities believe he could be. For all I know, you have him hidden in your flat, while you sort all of this out. If it weren’t for Mrs. Hennessey and her rules, I’d march up there and see for myself.”
I was glad I was looking away from him, watching a large man walking a little dog with pretty brown ears. Simon would surely have read the alarm in my eyes as I scrambled to think of a response.
“I’ll ask her to do my marketing and then smuggle you into the flat. What a story that would make for the Colonel. Just promise not to tell her what you find, or she’ll never allow me to live here again.” God knew how much trouble I’d had smuggling Peregrine in and out. It was a miracle we hadn’t been caught long before this.
Simon laughed, and I could breathe again.
“All right, Bess. Stay in London if you must. But your father’s no fool, and he’ll soon be on your doorstep again with no allowance for your wishes. I’ll give you twenty-four hours before I tell him what the Yard told me.”
“But-that’s not enough time!”
“You don’t have time, Bess. Your father was notified that your orders will be cut within the week. You’ll be sailing for France in a fortnight.”
Oh damn.
I thanked Simon and went back to the flat, my mind racing.
Peregrine was behind the door when I walked in, and I could see that he was on edge.
“That wasn’t your father,” he told me flatly.
“No-that was Simon Brandon. He might as well be my father. Sometimes he’s worse!”
“He’s not old enough to be your father.”
He wasn’t. I hadn’t given it a thought before.
“Peregrine. That doesn’t matter. Listen to me.” I was taking off my coat, reaching for the kettle, making tea. The English panacea for stressful moments. “Somehow Simon got a look at the official report on Lily’s murder. It says-it says that there was a pocketknife in her throat-but no other wounds are listed. If you’d-well, if you’d butchered her, there would have been something in the file.”
“My stepmother-”
“I know. Whatever she told you, she didn’t have the power to change the official record. Are you sure you remember-that you see in your dreams-something so horrible?”