“Enough! I do not love you, Mitzy! Perhaps as a friend, almost as a daughter, at one time… but that was then, and this is now. And I should never have kissed you. I am sorry for that, but you have to forget about it now. Do you hear me?”
When Dimity spoke, her voice was little more than a whisper, because the sting of his words, the cruelty of them, took her breath away.
“What are you saying?” She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“For pity’s sake, girl, have you quite lost your mind? Don’t keep on with this nonsense! Can you think of nobody but yourself, Mitzy?”
“I only think of you,” she said numbly. There was only him in the world, she realized. He was the only solid thing, and behind and around him the world dissolved into shadow. “Just you.” She grasped the front of his shirt in her fists. She had to keep hold of him, in case she became nothing but shadow, too.
“I won’t stay here another second. I have to find Celeste. The world’s rotten, Mitzy. Rotten and foul. I can’t bear it! If you see Celeste… if she comes here after I’ve gone, be kind to her, please. Tell her I love her and… tell her to wait here until I come for her. She can always telephone me, or send a letter… please. Will you do that for me, Mitzy? Promise to look after her, if she comes here?”
“Please, don’t go. Please don’t leave me,” Dimity begged.
“Don’t leave you? What are you talking about? None of this has anything to do with you.”
“But… I love you.”
Charles looked at her strangely then, with an expression Dimity had never seen before. It looked like anger, like disgust. But it could not be, so she did not recognize it. He turned away from her and strode over to the car. She followed him, kept close behind him. Had hold of the handle of the passenger-side door when the car lurched forwards with a violent jerk that bent her fingers back, and broke all the nails. Blood seeped out from under them. When the car vanished from sight, she looked down at her body, checking it here and there, wondering if she were bleeding, because it felt as though the life was draining out of her and into the stony ground.
A week after Charles went up to London in search of Celeste, war was declared and travel curtailed. Word of it swept over the country, even to Blacknowle, like the first cold wind of winter. But that wind died down; nothing much seemed to happen. If anything was happening, people said, then it was happening a long way away. Domed concrete lookouts appeared along the coast; strange, bristling ships passed up and down the Channel. Some of the farming lads answered the call of duty; went to Dorchester and signed their lives away. Dimity was scarcely aware of any of it. She had room in her head only for thoughts of Charles, and of how, when he came back, she would heal all his sorrows with her love for him; fill him up with it, and make him see that it was better that Celeste had gone. She was a constant reminder of terrible things. He would love her back and finally, finally, the nightmare would be over and they would be united. Together, as man and wife, with no more whispers about her, or about them. No more rumors or scandal; they would be wed and there was nothing to stop it now. Élodie, Delphine, Celeste; all had gone. The autumn was cold and this thought alone kept her warm. He would come back and be with her. He would come back.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Zach was still standing in the little room upstairs at The Watch, staring all around, when Hannah came up to stand beside him. Squinting in the light, she put her hand on his arm, and he felt her fingers clench tightly. She drew breath as if to speak, but stayed silent.
“Are these… what I think they are?” he said at last. Dimity had been climbing the stairs behind them, but when she saw that the door was open, she froze, and a low wail rose from her throat; a startling lament of pure grief. Rozafa rushed to the old woman as she crumpled down onto the stairs, asking questions in her own language and glancing up at Zach in fright. Dimity stared at the open door, weeping, and Ilir joined Rozafa, weaving their lyrical, incomprehensible language around the old woman as if to comfort her. Hannah exhaled a long, steady breath.
“Aubrey pictures. Yes.”
“There must be… thousands of them.”
“Well, not thousands, perhaps, but a good few.” Zach tore his eyes from the contents of the room to give Hannah an astonished look.
“You knew about this?” he said. Hannah pursed her lips and nodded. She looked away uncomfortably, but there was no trace of guilt on her face.
“Why did you come in here?” she asked.
“It was a mistake. Dimity said to go to the left but… Rozafa didn’t understand.” Zach looked around the little room again, letting his eyes sweep slowly over everything. He couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Hannah followed his gaze, and he felt a shudder pass through her. She clasped her arms tightly across her chest, but Zach was too distracted to ask what troubled her.
There was the little window in the far wall, opposite the door, with the broken pane of glass and the pale, shifting curtains. To the right of that a narrow bed sat against the wall, covered with grayish, rumpled sheets and blankets, and with a scooped indentation in the pillow as though somebody had only just risen from it. To the left of the window was a long wooden table with a simple, hard chair pulled up to it. The table was covered with papers and books, jars of pencils and brushes. The floorboards were dusty and bare save for a small, faded rag rug by the bed. Odd sheets of paper also lay scattered about the floor, and in a draft from the window, one shifted suddenly. Lifted itself up and scudded a few inches towards Zach. He jumped at the movement, nerves jangling. And all over the walls, pinned up and leaning against it, on almost every available bit of space, were pictures. Predominantly drawings, but some paintings, too. Beautifully, unmistakably, the work of Charles Aubrey.
“This is not possible,” said Zach, to nobody in particular.
“Well, that’s all right then. We’ve got nothing to worry about,” said Hannah with deadpan humor.
“Do you have any idea…” he said, but stopped. Awe had stolen the words he needed to finish the sentence. He walked slowly to the southern wall of the room, where most of the larger pieces were leaning, lifted the top ones, and looked at those behind. There were lots of Dennis. Both the Dennis he knew, the tantalizingly ambiguous young man whose portrait had recently sold several times over, and of other Dennises. Dennises who were wholly different-different face, different clothes, different stature. A wide variety of young men, all bearing the same name. Zach frowned, and tried to think what it could mean. Behind him he heard Dimity suddenly shout.
“Is he there? Is he in there?” There was a kind of wild hope in the question, and Zach looked over his shoulder as she appeared in the doorway with Hannah trying to hold her, to contain her.
“There’s nobody here, Dimity,” he said. The old woman’s face sagged into dismay. Her eyes scanned the room, as though not wanting to believe him. And then she knelt down on the floor and hugged her arms tightly around herself.
“Gone, then,” she said softly. “Truly gone, and forever.” There was such sorrow in the words that Zach felt it cool his excitement; felt it slow and sadden him.
“Who’s gone, Dimity?” Zach asked. He crouched down beside her and put one hand on her arm. Her face was wet with tears, and her eyes roamed the room as if still searching for someone.
“Charles, of course! My Charles.”
“So… he was here in this room? Charles Aubrey was here? When was that, Dimity?”
“When? When?” She seemed bewildered by the question. “Always. He was always here with me.” Zach looked at Hannah in confusion, and saw the way she kept her mouth firmly closed when she clearly had things to say. He turned back to the old woman.