"No," I said, pausing. "I'm afraid she would think me silly to consider such a thing. I'll tell her eventually, but not yet."
"Shall I ring for tea?"
"Please do. This news makes me wonder about Colin."
"What are you thinking?"
"Would Colin, afraid that Philip was going to expose his role in the forgeries, have left his friend to die in an African village?"
"I cannot believe that!" Ivy cried.
"It would have been simple for Colin to convince the others that they should leave. He could have waited a day or two and then gone to Cairo himself, assuming that Philip would die eventually from the fever. Why should he risk his own health waiting to see it?"
"What a terrible thought," Ivy said. "But, Emily, why would he have left? He would have gained nothing by leaving his friend's side."
"Unless he had done something that he thought would ensure Philip's death," I said. "Perhaps the notes I found were meant to warn Philip that Colin planned to do him some harm."
"You don't think that Colin murdered Philip?" Ivy said, clearly stunned by the thought.
"I suppose not, but I think he may have made certain that nothing kept nature from running its course. He could have prevented Philip from taking quinine or something that might have helped him and then left, assured of what the outcome would be yet unwilling to watch the painful end. But Philip didn't die, and now he has recovered enough to reach out to his true friends."
"It seems somewhat plausible," Ivy admitted. "But not entirely. If Philip did not die, whose body was sent home to be buried? And why would the native guides have gone along with the scheme?"
"Perhaps Philip knew what Colin had done and, as he began to recover, realized that his life would be in danger as long as Colin thought he was alive. He enlisted the help of the faithful natives-he was the one in the group who could speak their language the most fluently-who pledged their assistance to him."
"But what of the body you buried?" Ivy asked, clearly captivated by my story.
"Maybe it was the body of a member of the local tribe who had recently departed life," I said. "Maybe there never was a body in the coffin at all. Colin was the one who arranged for it to be shipped from Cairo, and it was he who brought it to London. We could have buried a pile of rocks for all we know."
"Or a carcass from the hunt!" Ivy exclaimed.
"Excellent suggestion," I said. "Still, it seems unlikely, doesn't it?"
"I'm afraid so, my dear," she said, watching a maid come in with the tea tray. I filled our cups, carried mine to Philip's desk, and sat in his chair. Planting my elbows firmly on the desk, my chin in my hands, I sighed.
"If there is any chance this is true, I ought to confront Colin," I said. "If he did try to harm Philip, his reaction to anything suggesting that my husband is still alive would be most telling."
"But the letter specifically instructs Arthur not to inform Colin," Ivy said.
"Yes, but assuming our speculations are true, Philip most likely wrote that because he did not want Arthur to get mixed up in this forgery business. If Philip is alive, he knows he cannot avoid facing Colin upon returning to England. It makes sense that he would try to protect Arthur. I shall send for Colin immediately," I said, ringing the bell for Davis.
In fact, Colin's reaction to the letter was not at all what I expected. He did not grow pale or worried, nor did he skulk guiltily out of the room. Instead he sat close to me, took both of my hands in his own, and bit his lip before meeting my stare and speaking.
"I wish, more than anything, Emily, that this could be true. Ashton was the best friend I have ever had. Losing him caused me greater pain than any I had felt before. But he is dead, my dear."
"Arthur said you were the only one with him-that you sent the rest of them away. You made them afraid they would get sick if they stayed."
"Yes, that is true."
"Perhaps you were also scared of falling ill," I said, wrenching my hands from his. "And you left him with strangers."
"I would never have done such a thing."
"You must have, because otherwise he could not be alive, writing to Arthur Palmer, desperate to speak to him, and clearly wanting to avoid you. Does that not suggest he feels you betrayed him in some way?"
"No, Emily, I do not think that line of reasoning makes any sense at all."
"Perhaps you could suggest an alternative, Mr. Hargreaves," I said.
"The only alternative that I can offer is the truth." He stood up and walked over to the window. "Ashton had been more tired than usual from the time we left London, something we all attributed, if you will excuse me, to his newly married state." Ivy gasped, and we looked at each other, amazed that he would say such a thing. Colin turned toward us.
"Don't allow us to distract you, Mr. Hargreaves," I said.
"He was not himself those last few days. Irritable, short-tempered, he argued even with me. In hindsight, of course, I realize that he probably had been ill for days. A camp in the African bush, no matter how well appointed, is not a comfortable place when one is sick. At any rate, the evening after Ashton got his elephant, his health began deteriorating quickly. Andrew Palmer brought out some fine champagne to celebrate the success of the day, but Ashton declined a second glass and retired to his tent."
"Very difficult life in these camps, Mr. Hargreaves, with all this sitting around and drinking champagne," Ivy said.
"Palmer liked to have as many of the comforts of home as possible in the bush. It was wonderful for us, but not for his porters." Colin walked across the room and leaned against Philip's desk. "At this point I still did not realize Ashton was ill. A couple of hours later, I decided to go to bed myself, and as I walked toward the tents, I heard my friend calling out in his sleep. I looked in on him and saw immediately that he was consumed by fever."
"I sat with him all night. By the next morning, it was clear that his condition was serious. I spoke to the others. Having no way of knowing how contagious Ashton was, we all agreed that it would be best to minimize everyone's exposure. They were gone before noon. I stayed with Ashton."
"He suffered a great deal of pain, Emily," Colin said, walking toward me and taking my hand. I pulled it away. "He could keep no food or liquid down and was sick repeatedly. He kept asking for you, and eventually I calmed him by reading the letters he had from you."
I cringed to think of anyone, least of all Philip, reading them. Written entirely out of duty, they contained little more than impersonal reports on my daily activities and any news I had of his nieces and nephew. They certainly were not love letters that could have provided him comfort. I hated that Colin had read them, and I glared at him now.
"I do not have the vaguest idea what the letters said. I was exhausted physically and mentally. Ashton's pulse was very weak despite his fever. We both knew he did not have long to live.
"As ill as he was, he kept speaking of you and begging me to promise that you would go to Santorini. But you already know that. Gradually he grew less coherent and spoke as if you were with him, always addressing you as Kallista. By the time the sun had set, he had lost consciousness and never regained it. It was the worst twenty-four hours of my life."
"I'm so sorry," Ivy said softly.
"So you see, Emily," he began, taking my hand again, "there is simply no possibility that Philip is still alive. I never left his side. I watched as he took his final, labored breaths and did not release his hand from mine until his body had grown cold."
"He could have been in a coma, Colin. You are not a physician," I snapped, and pulled my hand away. "I do not claim to have an explanation for what has happened, but clearly if Philip is writing to Arthur Palmer, he is not dead." I did not want Colin to think I suspected him of foul play so did not question outright his account of Philip's last night.