‘Where?’ The word was a barely unintelligible moan. ‘Where?’ Starling tried again.
‘Here. Just here. She lay where you lie now, more or less,’ he said woodenly. He shook his head again, and tears bloated his eyes. For some reason, the sight of them made Starling angrier than she’d ever been in her life.
‘No, where is she now?’
Slowly, unsteadily, Starling got to her knees, and then to her feet. She curled her hands into fists, though it seemed to take every last bit of her strength. Dick ignored her, still staring at the spot on the ground where Starling had sat down. He tottered; staggered to keep his feet.
‘At least, I thought, Mrs Alleyn would love me for it. What better way to get the girl out from under her feet? But none of it.’ He stooped to pick up the brandy bottle, nearly pitching forwards as he did; peered into it and then cast it into the water with a feeble overarm throw when he found it empty. ‘This is my place,’ he mumbled. ‘We were dismissed soon after. Father, and me along with him. I’d made myself a murderer at the age of eighteen, for her, but she didn’t even want to see me after. Didn’t even let me kiss her any more, or touch her breasts like before. She’d made me think… she’d made me think I could have all of her, if I did as she asked. She made me think that.’
‘All this time… all this time… Where is she now, you bastardly gullion?’ Starling shouted, finding a storm of rage to give her strength. With a snarl she flew at him, clawing at his eyes with their lying tears. Befuddled and slow, Dick fought her off, clumsily trying to grab at her hands and strike her at the same time.
‘All this time you’ve been plaguing Jonathan Alleyn, and for naught, Starling! For naught! I can’t say that hasn’t cheered me, from time to time.’ He grinned at her then, a cruel and sickly expression.
‘Bastard!’ Starling screamed, and with all her strength she shoved him in the chest, wanting nothing more than for him to vanish; to be no more. Dick reeled backwards, caught his heel on a root and launched full length into the river.
The splash was a huge white plume in the gathering dark; the sound seemed impossibly loud. Starling stood on the bank, chest heaving, and watched as Dick surfaced, coughing and spitting and shaking the water from his eyes. The water wasn’t deep enough to drown him. More’s the pity. But I should run. I should run before he climbs out. But Starling was rooted to the spot. Dick stood, and the black water was at his chest; he seemed to have trouble breathing.
‘I’ll choke the bloody life from you, you bitch!’ he said, but his voice sounded thick and peculiar, and as he began to wade towards the bank his movements were jerky and slow; like it was deep snow he strode through instead of water.
‘Where is she now? What did you do with her?’ said Starling. Dick didn’t reply. His attention seemed to have turned inwards, to his own body. Spasms juddered through him; he scowled in confusion.
‘Cold,’ he muttered, through chattering teeth. ‘It’s too cold. My legs… cramp has my legs…’ He stumbled then, and the water closed over his head again. ‘Starling, help me!’ he called when he surfaced, panic creeping into his voice. ‘I haven’t the strength!’
‘Seems to me a man in the prime of life, who knows just how much force to use when he hits a woman, should have no trouble climbing a riverbank,’ said Starling, icily. ‘Unless he’s drunk himself weaker than a kitten, of course.’ She stared down at Dick, not moving, not blinking.
‘Help me!’
‘I will not.’ Dick’s face had gone as white as the fog; his breath came in snatches, hissing out between locked jaws. He made for the bank again and this time reached it, his fingers snapping the thin ice where water met earth. He scrabbled at the bank, found a root and curled his fingers around it, but when he pulled at it his grip slithered free. He stared at his hands as if he no longer owned them.
‘Starling, help me. Please. Pull me up, for I cannot do it. I cannot.’ His legs rose in the water behind him, floating of their own volition. He craned his head back to keep his face clear of the surface. His puffing breath made little scuffs on the water.
‘Tell me where she rests.’ Starling gazed down at him, feeling calm now, feeling safe.
‘If you help me out, I will tell you. I swear it,’ he said. The current had Dick’s legs, pulling, turning his feet towards Bath. His eyes bulged in fear and he flapped at the root with hands that would no longer flex. ‘Pull me out! Pull me out and I will show you the exact spot! Else you will never know, Starling! You will never know!’
‘No, tell me now!’ There are only seconds. The current had edged Dick away from the bank. He stared at the root that might save him, splashed and paddled to no effect.
‘St-Starling, please,’ he croaked. In seconds he will be out of reach. Starling glanced around for a fallen branch with which she might hook him, but saw none. She took a step closer to the edge, closer to him, and hesitated, frowning in indecision.
Captain and Harriet Sutton were at table when Rachel was let into the hall by their elderly servant. She could no longer feel her hands or feet, or her heart. Her head was ringing and she couldn’t marshal her thoughts, or pick any one free of the tangled whole. Harriet came rushing out to her, alarmed, still swallowing a mouthful of food; her husband the captain was not far behind her, keeping a more tactful distance; and behind him Cassandra peeked out, keeping to the safety of her father’s shadow.
‘My dear, whatever has happened? You look terribly pale – come and sit by the fire, your hands are like ice,’ said Harriet, as she took Rachel through to the parlour.
‘Something terrible… I am so sorry.’ Rachel sat down, unsure what to say now that she was given the chance. The earlier events on the common had an unreal caste in her memory, as if they could not really have unfurled that way. ‘I am so sorry to intrude upon you like this, Mrs Sutton,’ she managed to whisper. ‘It’s only that I… I wasn’t sure where else to go.’
‘But, has something happened at home, my dear? Has something happened to Mr Weekes?’
‘At home? No.’ Rachel shook her head. ‘No, it is Mr Alleyn.’
‘Jonathan Alleyn?’ The captain broke in, brusquely. ‘What has happened to him?’
‘He is…’ Rachel swallowed; her throat was dry and tight. ‘He… I think he is dead.’
‘What?’ Harriet breathed. Rachel grasped at her friend’s hands when it seemed she might pull them away.
‘He killed Alice Beckwith! I never thought so… not truly…’
There was a hung moment; Captain Sutton was the first to break it.
‘Cassie, you are for Bedfordshire. Maggie,’ he called over his shoulder to their servant. ‘Take this young lady up to bed, if you would.’
‘But Papa, what about the butterscotch syllabub?’ Cassandra protested gently. Rachel looked up at the sound of her voice, and found the little girl’s dark, liquid eyes regarding her with curiosity and a touch of fear. I must sound like a mad woman.
‘You may take a dish upstairs with you. Go on now, be gone.’ Obediently, Cassandra turned and left them, her long hair swaying behind her. Captain Sutton came further into the room and closed the door behind him. ‘He killed Miss Beckwith? Are you certain of this?’ His tone was heavy with something like dread.
‘He confessed it to me! He said… he said…’ Rachel struggled to remember his exact words. ‘We were speaking of Alice – I’d given him back her last letter, you see. And he was… most upset by it… He fell…’ Rachel shut her eyes, because suddenly her head was lanced with pain. ‘We were up on the high common and he… slipped, and fell into a deep hollow. I think he must have hit his head. Harriet… there was so much blood!’