I’ve always loathed and been jealous of you. We watched each other.
“ ‘Everything is so mixed up. Do you remember the night Giles came and I said, God help me, that we were a happy family? I feel this is a judgment on me for my smugness and wickedness. I don’t know how it will all end.’ ”
This is a judgment on me for my wickedness. It will all end.
“That’s all,” said Miss Eustace.
That is all. It will all end and that is all.
Miss Eustace returned the letter to its envelope, her movements brisk because she was annoyed. People shouldn’t write problem letters. Letters should be nice and homey and rather dull.
“Let’s bundle all up and get some nice fresh air, shall we?”
Lucille didn’t move. She sat, heavy and inert, while Miss Eustace lifted her arms into her coat and tied a scarf around her head and put on her gloves.
The roof garden glittered in the sun. Snow clung to the high fence, and where the strands of barbed wire ran around the top, there were globules of snow caught on the barbs.
Slowly Lucille walked over to the fence and put her hand on it. Snow sifted down on her upturned face, touching her eyelids lightly and coldly. She looked down through the fence and saw little people walking, their tracks behind them in the snow the only sign that they were real. So tiny and futile they seemed from a distance, like the skiers in the park.
Futile, futile, she thought and pressed her forehead hard against the fence, branding her flesh with a diamond.
“Goodness, I just can’t look down from high places,” Miss Eustace said. “It makes me quite dizzy.”
She looked down anyway, shivering with cold and dread delight. Then she stepped back, and squinted her eyes against the sun. She breathed deeply because she didn’t get much fresh air in her job and she had to get as much of it as she could when the chance came.
In — hold — out — hold — in — hold...
Miss Eustace felt glad to be alive.
Lucille remained pressed against the fence. She did not feel the cold, the pain, the heat of the sun. She was not aware of Miss Eustace behind her. She looked down, her eyes strained. The snow burst into orange flame, the sharp black shadows pointed at her, the smoke curled up at her, the windows stared at her, the wind went past whispering, it will all end.
In and out Miss Eustace breathed. She was beginning to wheeze a little but when she spoke she sounded triumphant.
“One hundred. Phew! I didn’t realize just breathing was such hard work. Still, I always say there’s practically nothing the matter with anybody that one hundred deep breaths won’t cure. Shall we walk a bit now?”
Lucille didn’t answer, but Miss Eustace was feeling too invigorated to care. She strode away, planting her feet firmly, making nice clear tracks in the snow.
Twenty strides north, twenty strides south, in the rising wind.
It will all end.
“If you don’t move around a bit, Mrs. Morrow, you’ll be cold.”
I will be burned in the snow they are waiting for me it will all end.
“No, really, you mustn’t take your gloves off, dear, your hands will freeze.”
She could feel Miss Eustace coming up behind her, but she didn’t hurry with the second glove, she didn’t even look to see what she was doing. She was filled with a great power because for the first time in weeks she knew now what she must do. Miss Eustace, no one, could stop her.
Her hands clung to the fence like eagle’s claws, and she began to climb. Slowly. There was no hurry. She braced herself by catching the heels of her shoes in the fence holes, and up she climbed, bent double, her coat flapping around her.
Miss Eustace screamed “Stop!” and caught hold of one of her ankles and pulled. The heel of the other shoe came down viciously on the bridge of her nose and there was a crunch of bone and a spurt of blood. Miss Eustace lurched back screaming and wiping the blood out of her eyes.
“Come back! Come back!”
No — no — this is a judgment on me for my wickedness...
The barbed wire tore her hands and her face, but she felt nothing, made no sound. At the top she hoisted herself over, clumsily, but with great strength. Her coat caught on a barb and for a second she hung suspended in the air, a grotesque thing, bleeding and flapping.
Then the threads of the coat broke and she fell. Her big black shadow slid quietly down the wall of the building.
Part Three
The Hounds
Chapter 11
“Mr. Sands?”
“Yes. Sit down, Miss Morrow.”
“Mr. Sands, is this the end of it? It must be the end of it. She’s dead now — the inquest is over — she’s going to be buried this afternoon...”
“Why not sit down?” Sands said and waited while Polly let herself drop into a chair.
She wore a black dress and a dark fur coat and the brim of her black hat shaded her eyes. She looked thinner than he remembered her, and more vulnerable. She kept her head down when she talked as if she was trying to hide behind her hat.
“I don’t know why I came here. To get away from the family, I guess, and the smell of those damned flowers. Calla lilies. I feel as if they’re sprouting out of my ears.”
“They aren’t.”
She gave a tight little smile. “Nice to know. Anyway, I haven’t any reason for being here, I haven’t anything to tell you. I guess — well, I wanted someone to talk to.”
“Normal.”
“It is? Most people would say it’s very abnormal to be dashing around town on the morning of your stepmother’s funeral. Especially after the way she died. Dr. Goodrich said it’s humanly impossible for anyone to scale that fence. Yet she did it.” She bit her underlip. “Isn’t that just like Lucille? A surprise to the very end. Not one of us really knew a damn thing about her because she didn’t talk about herself. How can you know anything about a person without the evidence of her own words? And even then...”
“Yes, even then,” Sands said.
“What a mess.” She stared moodily at a corner of the desk. “What a filthy mess.”
“You sound as if you’re about to say, what have I done to deserve all this?”
“Well, I do say it. What have I?”
“I wouldn’t know. But if you’re looking for any system of logic in this world, in terms of human justice, you’re younger than I thought.”
“Twenty-five. But I’ve never been young.”
“Women are notoriously fond of that cliché,” Sands said. “Possibly there’s some truth in it. Girls are usually held more responsible for their behavior than boys, and any sort of responsibility is aging.”
Perhaps mine most of all, he thought. The collection of an eye for an eye. A mind for a mind.
She raised her head and looked at him. “You’ve changed quite a bit since I saw you years ago.”
“So have you. And what have we done to deserve all this?”
He smiled but she continued to regard him soberly. “I really meant that.”
“I know you did. Charming.”
She began to put on her gloves. “I guess I’m just wasting your time, I’d better be going. You don’t take me seriously.”
“I don’t take you seriously?” He raised his eyebrows. “Four people dead and I don’t take you seriously? It’s four now. The grand total. As you say, this must be the end of it. The finale — the climbing of a fence that can’t be climbed, smash, bang, zowie.”