Charles Todd - A Duty to the Dead

I was silent on the long drive back to Tonbridge. Mr. Owens tried once or twice to draw me into conversation, but I told him I was tired.

The truth was, I was tormented by what I’d learned.

I should have risked everything and turned Peregrine over to the police the first chance I had. The police could have disarmed him before he’d killed anyone. Surely-

And then I would never have come to Rye to hear Mrs. Gadd’s account of what had transpired in London. I would have gone instead to Somerset, my father’s daughter, and been told I’d been very brave and very foolish at the same time, and I could have forgot Peregrine Graham in a few months. I’d have gone back to war, and put him out of my mind.

Instead I’d taken up the challenge of finding out more.

Arthur hadn’t wanted to put his last wishes into a letter. He’d trusted to his brother to set things right for him. He’d been certain that Jonathan would understand his message and see that justice was done.

But neither Jonathan nor his mother had seemed to understand it-Mrs. Graham had asked me questions about it.

To find out how much Arthur had told you, my mind retorted. To see if you were aware of what ought to be set right.

Had she let me nurse Peregrine because she thought I would fail to save him? A young nurse, where a doctor’s training was needed? She’d turned away the doctor when he came to the door. And the rector as well. Or had she only been afraid that in his delirium, Peregrine might remember more than he ought?

I was condemning her because of my own hurt, and that was hindsight, and not fair at all.

Arthur couldn’t have killed that girl. Not the man I’d known on Britannic, not the man everyone remembered as brave and stoic? He was his mother’s favorite, she’d said as much.

But then she’d protect her favorite, the dead son’s memory, with all her might, wouldn’t she? Peregrine had always been blamed, why do anything now?

Surely she couldn’t have known from the start-

I huddled in my seat, listening to the cold wind whistling by, my fingers already stiff with cold, my feet barely warmed by the tiny heater. Even the rug Mr. Owens had handed me for my knees wasn’t enough.

I was reminded of that dreadful ride in the dogcart from Tonbridge to Owlhurst, when the cold knifed through my coat and the rugs, no motorcar to break the wind or offer a modicum of protection.

The cart had nearly dumped me on the verge of the road, on my broken arm, when Robert fell asleep and the wheels went into a ditch. Had that been deliberate, and then he’d changed his mind at the last possible second and held me on the seat?

My mind was running away with me.

But in a short time I would have to face Peregrine Graham, and I had no idea what I was going to tell him.

There’s no proof that Arthur-You’ve jumped to conclusions, my girl, and you’re paying the price of it, I lectured myself.

I’d wondered why Peregrine had killed. I could ask the same question about Arthur-or any of the other Graham sons. Why kill Lily?

It was useless, I was going around in circles for nothing.

What was it Arthur felt must be set right? What did he lie to his mother about? Or to put it differently, since he too was only a child at the time, what lie did he let his mother tell to protect the son she loved best?

We were pulling into the outskirts of Tonbridge. I roused myself to thank Mr. Owens for taking me to Rye, and I counted out the money I owed him for the journey. As I gave it to him in front of the hotel, he said, “I have you to thank as well. I’d not have visited Mrs. Gadd, else. It was good to see her again.”

And all the while I wished I’d never heard her name spoken this day.

Peregrine was pacing the floor when I tapped at his door and stepped into his room.

When I’d left that morning, I’d feared he might do something foolish, perhaps walk away and never be seen again. Now I wished he’d done just that.

“Where the hell have you been?” he was demanding. “You couldn’t have been in Owlhurst all this time!”

“I didn’t go to Owlhurst after all. I went to Rye instead.”

“Rye? What were you doing in Rye?”

“Do you remember the policeman who talked to you that night?”

“Inspector Gadd? Yes. He was kind. I think he believed I was some sort of monster, but he treated me gently.”

“Well, I’ve just spent half an hour with his widow. She gave me the name of the girl who died. Lily Mercer.”

“Yes, that’s right. I don’t know why I couldn’t recall her last name.”

“Did she like Arthur more than anyone else? Did she seem to favor him?”

“I have no earthly idea. I was in my own room most of the time. I don’t know how they got on.”

I took a deep breath. “I was just wondering. Peregrine, I want to go back to London tonight. I want to see if I can find Lily Mercer’s family.”

“What could they know that would be helpful? They weren’t there.”

“But they knew their daughter, I expect. They knew what manner of girl she was. A person of your background doesn’t just decide from one minute to the next to strike down a servant in his household. I mean to say, there must be more to the murder than we know-than you can remember.”

“She teased Timothy about his clubfoot. I heard her, in the passageway. She asked me what was wrong with me, why I was left behind when my brothers had gone to the zoo and to see the Tower.”

Timothy was the youngest. Vulnerable. Would Arthur defend him? But you don’t go round murdering someone just because she’s cruel. Unless this was the first time Timothy had been tormented in such a way and Arthur-

No, he’d have spoken to Robert-to his mother. Wouldn’t he have?

“What else do you recollect?”

He frowned. “I was given my meals in my room. As I always was. I saw the staff only in passing.”

“Peregrine. Was your tutor attracted to Lily Mercer?”

“Mr. Appleby?” He smiled. “I can’t imagine him condescending to a flirtation with a servant girl.”

Mrs. Gadd had said that the tutor was pompous. Still, anything was possible. London was a long way from Owlhurst.

“I’ve changed my mind, Peregrine. I want to go to Chilham tomorrow, instead of London. To see if I can find your former tutor. To see what he could add to the story.”

“I thought someone in Owlhurst had the rector’s journals?”

“Yes, but think-if there had been anything in those journals that the police ought to know, Mr. Montgomery would have told me. He’d read them over. He said as much to me.”

“Who is Montgomery?”

“The present rector. No, I think it might be more helpful to speak to Mr. Appleby. Let me see if I can persuade Mr. Owens to drive me there tomorrow.”

“This time I’ll go with you.”

“You’ll be seen-recognized-”

“Hardly. I doubt Appleby will know me. Not in this uniform. It’s been fourteen years, after all.”

He had a point.

We had a late tea in the hotel dining room, with me on tenterhooks that someone might see in the rather attractive young officer across from me a dangerous escapee from an asylum. But of course no one did. Peregrine complained of being shut up in his room all day and needing exercise, so we went for a short walk down the quiet street. Afterward Peregrine saw me to my door, and said, “Something you learned today disturbed you. Will you tell me what it is? I ought to know, if it has any bearing on my situation.”

I tried to smile, but it faltered. “It was just something-odd, that’s all.”

I opened my door, and he followed me into my room, shutting the door behind him. I tensed.

He said, “Don’t look like that. I’m not going to hurt you. Have I? In any way?”