‘Starling,’ he said quietly.
‘Yes, sir?’ She suddenly felt almost shy of him, ashamed of everything that had gone on between them since Alice disappeared. Jonathan looked at her with red-rimmed eyes.
‘I feel as though my head might explode,’ he muttered.
‘You are injured, sir,’ she said.
‘Yes. But it’s not that. Will you…’ He paused, and for a moment seemed almost as shy as she. ‘If you sent word that I wished it, do you think Rachel Weekes would come to see me?’
‘I am certain of it, sir,’ Starling replied.
There was no answer to her ring at the front door of the Alleyns’ house, so Rachel let herself in through the servant’s entrance, bold as brass, and went all the way up the back stairs to the second floor. She felt like a thief, a trespasser intruding where she didn’t belong, but she had Starling’s note clenched tight in her palm. She carried it like a talisman from which hope and courage flowed. As she came through the door in the panelling and onto the landing, she froze. Mrs Alleyn was standing in front of the naked window at the end of the corridor, as still as a carving, with her back to Rachel and her face to the black glass. She must have heard Rachel’s approach, but gave no sign of it, and Rachel’s exclamation of surprise died on her lips. It was still dark enough outside that Josephine could have seen little but her own reflection, staring back at her. Rachel saw the ghostly echo of herself in the glass. My own image, she thought, sadly, nothing more. Suddenly, her heart tumbled into the pit of her stomach. Jonathan’s mother stood too still, was too removed. Has he died after all?
‘Mrs Alleyn!’ she cried out, before she could stop herself. Josephine turned slowly. Her face was empty of expression; she didn’t seem surprised to see Rachel, and she said nothing to her. After this moment of dispassionate study, she turned away again. Rachel went a few steps closer and stopped right outside Jonathan’s rooms. ‘Your son has asked for me, Mrs Alleyn,’ she said. ‘Is he within? Mrs Alleyn?’
‘If he sent for you then go to him, and leave me be.’ Josephine’s voice was as cold and raw as a winter wind. With a shiver, Rachel knocked on Jonathan’s door and slipped through it at once.
The shutters in Jonathan’s rooms were closed, the fire was burning merrily and candles lit all the walls. Rachel was temporarily bewildered by the abundance of light and warmth where there had only ever been darkness and a stony cool before. There was a smell of beeswax, smoke and spiced wine.
‘Starling? Is that you? Is there still no word?’ Jonathan’s voice came from the bedroom. Rachel tried to answer him but joy stole the words. She walked in silence to the doorway where she saw him, sitting up in bed in a crumpled white shirt, one arm bound up with a splint. There was a long, stitched cut on his forehead, couched in bruises. He looked up and saw her, and for a long time he did not speak. He took a slow breath, and his eyes shone.
‘Mrs Weekes,’ he said, at last. ‘You have come.’
‘Could you doubt that I would?’ she said.
‘When last I saw you, you were running from me.’
‘I… I was upset. Everything you’d said… my sister, and Alice. I thought… I thought…’
‘I know what you thought.’
‘And do you know what I now know?’
‘Yes. Starling has told me all.’
‘Then you two are reconciled. I am glad.’ Rachel swallowed painfully.
‘Reconciled? I suppose we are. She and I should have been united in all of this, through all these years. It was only mistakes and suspicions; only lies and silence that drove a wedge between us. But to Alice she was a sister. So to me, perhaps, she should have been the same. In my own grief and disorder I never considered Starling’s plight, but she needed my protection. It was wrong of me. Selfish.’
‘In times of ordeal, such omissions can be forgiven. She will forgive you, I know. That you loved and never harmed Alice will be enough for her.’
‘And what of you, Mrs Weekes? Can you forgive?’
‘I have nothing to forgive you for. I accused you, wrongly. I led you into danger, and injury. I should ask rather that you forgive me.’
‘But I am a killer. You were right about that.’ Jonathan sounded grim, sickened. Rachel walked closer to his bedside, and he didn’t take his eyes from her.
‘How are you? The wound on your head looks quite… bad,’ she said. Jonathan grimaced.
‘It is not grave. It should be bandaged still, but the heat and pressure of it were too much, and I tore it off. In truth, my head thuds like cannon fire.’
‘I should go, and let you rest. Sleep and make yourself well.’
‘Seeing you makes me well,’ said Jonathan. ‘Don’t go yet.’ Rachel smiled, but then it faltered.
‘My husband is the one. All this time, he is the one who killed your Alice,’ said Rachel. Jonathan looked down at his hands.
‘I know. But he was not the only one. I… her heart. Did you know that Alice could not see colour? At least, not all colours. She tried to hide it from me, but I knew. As if a flaw like that could have made me think less of her. She was colour blind, and her heart was weak. She often used to grow faint if she got overexcited, or was shocked by something. Starling said… Starling said that was what killed her, in the end. Dick Weekes only hit her, and her heart could not cope with the fear.’ Anger made his voice shake.
‘Yes. She says Mr Weekes claimed not to have intended to take her life.’
‘Yet take it he did, but he was not solely to blame. You have seen the books on my shelves, Mrs Weekes. I told you that at one time I studied medicine, and anatomy, in order to… understand how human beings work. What drives us – where the soul resides, and if it can be lost.’
‘Yes, I remember.’
‘I have read that in unions where people are… too closely related, their offspring will often miscarry before birth, or be born weak, and flawed. And die young. It is the same in animal husbandry. Stock books are kept carefully, to ensure such consanguinity does not occur.’ He stopped with a gentle shake of his head.
‘You mean to say that… that Alice’s constitution was a result of her… unusual birth?’
‘It is just as I once said to you, Mrs Weekes. We are merely animals, after all, subject to the same rules that govern all of God’s creatures.’
‘Then you know of your grandfather’s… relationship to Alice?’ She gazed at him searchingly. He looked up, his face stricken.
‘His, and my mother’s. And so mine too. Starling has told me everything.’ Jonathan’s brows pulled together, which made him wince.
‘Everything? That was no kindness on her part!’ Rachel cried. ‘She need not have-’
‘Yes, there was need. It is better that I know,’ Jonathan interrupted.
‘What will you do?’ Rachel whispered.
‘Do? About this crime against Alice? I see precious little that I can do. The only one who could have declared my mother’s part in it is dead, Starling says. Drowned in the river.’
He hesitated then, and seemed to remember that it was Rachel’s husband he spoke so heedlessly about. ‘Forgive my callousness,’ he said.
‘There is nothing to forgive. He is dead. I… I have seen him with my own eyes.’
‘My condolences, Mrs Weekes,’ Jonathan said cautiously. Rachel thought for a moment.
‘I… I do not grieve,’ she confessed, in a small voice. I am set free.
‘His father, Duncan Weekes, might speak against my mother, if I asked him to. If a case against her was to be made. He knows things about… my family… that nobody else knew, until these last few days. You are grown quite close to him, are you not? Do you think he would…’ Jonathan frowned. ‘But then, who would take his word, poor and drunk as he is, over my mother’s?’