Charles Todd - An Impartial Witness

She was peering past me, into the milky darkness. "Who's out there?" she demanded. "Who did you bring with you?"

"It's only Mr. Hart. Michael's uncle. He very kindly walked me this far because of the mist. He has his torch with him, to guide me back."

"I don't want him here."

"I promised-"

"I don't care what you promised. Send him away!"

I turned and called to Mr. Hart. "It's all right. Will you wait for me near the church? I won't be long."

"I'm not sure-" he began, unwilling to leave me here in the dark.

But I stopped him before he could say more. "Truly. It's all right. Please?"

The torch flicked on, and after a moment it moved away, toward the church on the opposite side of the street. I doubted he could see me very well from there, but at least he could hear if I shouted for him.

"You've got your way," I told Victoria. I should have turned and left then too, but there was more she could tell me, and for Michael's sake I stayed.

"You tried to trick me," she accused, angry now.

"No such thing. If I'd wanted a witness, I'd have brought him to the door with me. I doubt if he could have heard more than our voices."

"I tried to warn Meriwether that Marjorie was just like our mother-not to be trusted. And I was right, she had an affair, didn't she? I was proved right."

"And Jack Melton turned his back on her when she got pregnant," I retorted, defending Marjorie. "That was hardly something to be proud of."

She studied my face. "You don't understand, do you? I really didn't like my sister. I felt nothing when she died but relief. She was going to win-why should I weep over her? Or that child?"

"But murder-"

"I tell you, it was as if it had happened to a stranger. Someone you read about in a newspaper, cluck your tongue over her death, and then turn the page."

"Michael told me you believed he knew more about Marjorie's death than he was telling you."

"Jack said Marjorie had gone to see Michael that night before she was killed. I wanted to know if it was true." She looked away, and I knew then that she hadn't been sure whether to believe Jack Melton or not.

But in the end, she'd decided to sacrifice Michael Hart because it was her last chance to destroy everything that Marjorie had cared for. Jack Melton meant nothing to her, just a conquest. If Michael had shown any fondness for her, would she have protected him instead and thrown Jack to the wolves?

"Did you really sleep with Jack Melton? Just because Marjorie had?"

"I just let him think I would. He's a very attractive man, and he likes women. I thought, Imagine that! Serena's husband, a philanderer. And I knew it would make Marjorie wretched when he turned to someone else. Why not me? Besides, there's the house in London. Serena is being an idiot about it. She wants it to punish Marjorie. I want it because it was Marjorie's. I thought if it appeared I was going to lose it, I could convince Jack to put in a good word for me. With Michael up for murder, Jack owes me a favor."

It was amazing to see her vacillate. But at the moment, she needed Jack Melton for reasons of her own. For how long, if he didn't persuade his wife to let the house go to Serena?

"Were you ever in love with Michael Hart?" I asked her.

"I don't know," she said truthfully, "whether I wanted him to spite Marjorie or because I loved him. Over the years the two feelings got so entangled I couldn't sort them out any longer. I was always afraid that when he looked at me, he remembered Marjorie. And in the end, I didn't want that." She moved slightly. "I'm tired of standing in the doorway, and I'm not about to invite you in. Why don't you leave?"

I thought perhaps I'd touched a nerve. That in spite of her denials, she had cared too much.

And then, as if she'd read my thoughts, Victoria said in a tight voice, "I couldn't marry him, even if Michael loved me a dozen times over. I can't marry anyone. My father saw to that in his will. So Michael might as well hang and be done with it. Marjorie would hate that just as much. The sad thing is, she isn't here to see it. But if there's an afterlife, she'll find out." She looked toward the church. "I don't see the torch. Mr. Hart hasn't come sneaking back up here, has he? I will deny everything, you know. If you try to use me to free Michael, I'll tell the world that you were so besotted with him, that you were willing to perjure yourself to save him. So don't bother to try."

"I could make a very good case for you as the murderer," I countered. "In fact, I already have, to Michael's barrister."

She stared at me, then said contemptuously, "I'm sure you could try. But who would believe you? Helen Calder can't remember who stabbed her. I called on her in hospital, to see." She held out her hands. "Do these look like they could drive a knife into someone's chest? Look at them." She drew her hands back, clenching them into fists.

We were standing full in the light pouring out of the open door. I thought I was safe as long as that was so. Mr. Hart could pick out two figures-even Mrs. Hart at her window must be able to tell there were two of us, although we were blurred a little by the mist. I turned, looking for Mr. Hart by the church. But then I saw a light bobbing toward the Harts' house, up the walk, to the door, then shutting off.

Victoria had seen it as well. I felt suddenly vulnerable.

She laughed. "He got tired of waiting for you, Mr. Hart. I don't blame him. I'm here alone in the house. I could kill you quite easily now, and there would be no one to see."

She was trying to frighten me. I laughed with her.

"You could try," I said. "You'd find I was your match."

I turned to go, but she pulled a revolver from her pocket. "Don't be so certain of that."

I stared at it.

"It's from Jack's collection. He gave it to me because I was traveling back from London on the train at all hours, and a girl had been raped and murdered two villages north of here by a soldier who got off at her station and followed her home." She held it in her hand like a gift, admiring it. "If you want the truth, I think Jack used it on someone and then wanted to be rid of it. He never said, but I expect I know who it was. An officer whose sister Jack had seduced. He'd told Jack that as soon as he recovered from his wounds, he was going to hunt him down and kill him." She looked up at me. "But that's Jack, you never know when he's telling the truth and when he's having you on."

"You've already shot at Michael, haven't you?" I asked, trying to distract her.

"I think Jack was hoping I'd kill Michael. But I'm no fool. I let the police deal with him instead." Still, I thought perhaps she had shot at him, and was reluctant to say so. Even here, with no one listening.

I turned and walked away. My skin crawled as I did, knowing that she had the revolver and not knowing what kind of shot she might be. I was halfway down the walk when she went inside and slammed the door.

I reached the street and turned toward the church, and beyond it, the Hart house, hoping that I didn't break an ankle on my way back. The mist was still heavy, and I felt enclosed in it, smothered. I couldn't understand why Mr. Hart had deserted me. It was so unlike him, and I felt very much alone.

And then someone put a hand on my shoulder, and I thought my heart would stop.

I didn't scream, bottling it up in my throat. Instead I drew back my foot and came down hard on the instep of whoever was behind me.

Simon Brandon swore. "Damn it, Bess-"

I whirled, but he shushed me at once. "Just keep walking." He moved closer and took my arm. "Watch where you go." He went on when we were out of earshot of the house, "I was there, at the corner of the garden where she couldn't see me. Hart had warned me to stay out of sight. I heard most of it."