‘Yes. I wrote to her there. I dreamed of her. I thought of her as a man dying of thirst thinks of water. She was the only thing that drove me to survive.’
‘And then she wrote to you in Brighton, and told you that you must for ever part.’
‘They landed the boats at night, so that the people of England would not see our frightful condition. So that they would not be out in the streets to smell the stink of death and defeat on us,’ Jonathan murmured.
‘And you came at once to Bathampton. And you killed her,’ Starling intoned.
‘No!’
‘But how do you know? You came at once, and I saw how deranged you were. You say you can’t remember clearly from that time, that you have dark spaces from those days when she vanished, so how do you know? How do you know you didn’t?’ Starling’s voice had risen to a shout but Jonathan didn’t flinch. He stared up at her, wide-eyed.
‘Because I would have cut my own heart out of my body first,’ he said.
‘You are sure of that? As sure as she loved you?’ Starling trembled as she fixed her eyes on his, and did not look away. Jonathan’s face was naked, somehow; without wine or opium he was wide open to her scrutiny, and though he said nothing Starling saw doubt in his eyes – unmistakable, rising like flames to consume him.
I know when my mother lies. Josephine Alleyn was sitting in the parlour when Rachel was ushered in. Jonathan’s mother had no book in her hands, and no embroidery. Nothing to occupy her as she waited. A gilt clock on the mantelpiece ticked loudly, and Rachel noticed that the canary’s gilded cage was empty. She decided not to ask what had become of the bird. Something about the older woman’s absolute stillness made her uneasy. Her blue eyes were clear and steady, and younger than her years, but Rachel could read nothing in them beyond an unusual intensity. No candles had been lit, and the wan light of day leached the colours from the room. The robin’s-egg blue silk divan; the cerise drapes at the windows; the greens and golds of the carpet. All were rendered greyer, weaker. My mother lies. Rachel tried to smile as she came to stand in front of Mrs Alleyn, but the older woman did not ask her to sit.
‘You walked out with my son, I believe, on your last visit.’ She spoke without tone, without any particular emotion. Again, Rachel felt some warning. It’s only because of what Jonathan said, and he speaks from years of bitterness.
‘Yes, Mrs Alleyn. I thought it would be beneficial…’
‘So it was your idea, and not Jonathan’s?’
‘Yes, madam.’
‘I see. And do you think it was proper of you, to suggest such a thing? My son is an unmarried man…’
‘But I am a married woman, Mrs Alleyn, and retained as companion to your son.’
‘To read to him within this house, as I recall our arrangement.’
‘Forgive me, Mrs Alleyn. I had not meant to cause offence. I only hoped to cheer your son with some fresh air, and a change of… vista. I understood that my role was to cheer him.’
‘To cheer him, perhaps. Not to flirt with him, and expose him to public ridicule.’
‘What ridicule have I exposed him to, Mrs Alleyn?’ Rachel was at a loss. The accusation made her even more nervous.
‘Cajoling him into leaving the house – for I cannot imagine he went willingly – when his appearance is so dishevelled, and his health so reduced. And on the arm of the wine man’s wife! Not to mention in your current state of… injury.’ She nodded to indicate the cut on Rachel’s lip, still visible though the bruising had faded. ‘I’m surprised at your boldness, going about so openly with your face thus disordered. And what if he had fallen, or taken a chill? Do you have any idea how disastrous that could be for my son?’
Rachel stood in stunned silence for a moment. Without raising her voice or changing her tone, Josephine Alleyn had thoroughly upbraided her, and cut her to the quick. The wine man’s wife. Her cheeks burned in humiliation, but she felt a spark of defiance as well.
‘Forgive me, Mrs Alleyn. If I… overstepped my role, I am truly sorry. But it seemed to me, in fact I am sure, that the walk did Mr Alleyn a power of good. We walked out of the city and onto the common, so as to suffer no unwanted scrutiny.’
‘You walked the length of the crescent before you reached the common, however. Do you have any idea how the neighbours watch me? Watch us, my son and I? They are always watching, and wagging their tongues.’
‘Such… rumours and falsehoods that are spread about your son can only have been undermined by seeing him in the flesh, and well enough to walk out, surely, Mrs Alleyn?’
‘You were asked to read to him, Mrs Weekes. Nothing more.’
‘Yes, Mrs Alleyn.’ Josephine Alleyn watched her calmly for another long moment, then blinked slowly and turned her head away. At once, the tension in the room seemed to lessen, and Rachel breathed a little easier.
‘If it is true, what you say, and my son was revitalised by this walk, then he will be encouraged to walk more often. Properly attired, of course. But it is not for you to accompany him, Mrs Weekes,’ said Josephine.
‘I do not think he would like to walk by himself,’ Rachel murmured. Josephine’s gaze returned to her at once.
‘Then I shall walk with him. Or I will invite one of his gentlemen friends to do so.’
‘Yes, Mrs Alleyn.’
‘I hear from your tone that you don’t think he will go with them. Do you think you have special powers over him, Mrs Weekes?’
‘No, Mrs Alleyn. No special powers; or powers of any kind. Only the… beginnings of trust, and friendship.’
‘Trust? And he does not trust me, you mean to say? His own mother?’
‘I am sure he does, madam,’ said Rachel, hastily. My mother lies.
‘And how does this trust show itself to you? Tell me. Does he confide in you? What does he speak to you about, if you have not been reading all these weeks, but making friends instead?’
‘He speaks of his experiences in the war… Of their terrible nature. He speaks of growing up, and of his grandfather.’ Rachel met Josephine Alleyn’s cool gaze and hesitated before going on. ‘He speaks of Alice Beckwith, and the loss of her.’
Josephine Alleyn reared backwards slightly, as though Rachel had struck her, but she quickly recovered herself.
‘How could he not, when you look so much like the wretched girl?’ she said tersely.
‘Forgive me, Mrs Alleyn, but I had understood that it was my resemblance to Abi that led you to engage me here in the first place?’
‘Abi? Who is this Abi?’
‘Abi?’ Rachel blinked, startled. ‘Alice. I meant to say Alice.’
‘And so it was. But I think now… I think now that perhaps that was a mistake.’ She watched Rachel carefully for her reaction, and Rachel struggled to keep her face composed when fear sizzled through her, so quick and surprising that the hair on the back of her neck stood up.
‘I think that it is partly not knowing exactly what… became of Alice that hinders his recovery, and keeps his mind trapped in… circles of questioning, and wondering,’ she said.
‘What do you mean, not knowing what became of her? She eloped. She disgraced herself and insulted my family. What more is there to know?’ Josephine frowned in consternation.
‘Miss Beckwith wrote to him before she disappeared. A letter that reached him in Brighton, just after he landed back from Spain-’
‘A letter? Impossible!’ For the first time, Josephine Alleyn’s voice rose, and colour appeared in her cheeks. ‘I beg your pardon, Mrs Weekes. It is… painful for me to speak of that girl. After what she did. And after we learned of her intentions towards Jonathan, she was forbidden to contact him. I had assumed that she would have enough respect for my father to comply with his wishes.’