Charles Todd - A Duty to the Dead

“No.”

“Then tell me.”

“The housekeeper-Susan’s mother-showed the woman who was the family’s laundress a stain she’d found on the sleeve of Arthur’s nightshirt, and asked if it could be gotten out. She’d found the nightshirt in the valises as she unpacked after everyone returned from London. There must have been no time to do anything about it-or else no one noticed it. It was just-she said he was prone to nosebleeds. Arthur.”

“Was he? I don’t know. Surely my stepmother was told about the blood. Or the London police would have seen it and questioned Arthur.”

They might have, if he’d been wearing the nightshirt when Mrs. Graham called the police. Had he changed it before his mother got home?

Stop it! I ordered myself.

Answering Peregrine aloud, I agreed. “Yes. Of course. I’m tired. It was a long, cold journey. And stressful.”

“I’m sure.” He nodded, and was gone. I stood where I was, listening to the sound of his own door opening and then closing.

I wondered if he believed me.

T HE NEXT MORNING,Mr. Owens was there with his motorcar when we came out of the hotel after breakfast. He touched his hat to me, then shook hands with Peregrine-Lieutenant Philips.

Eager to hear about the war firsthand, Mr. Owens was disappointed to find that Peregrine’s wound had affected his memory. We were silent, watching the rain clouds build over Dover. In the distance we could see Canterbury Cathedral as we climbed the hill to Chilham and came out into the wonderful square with its Elizabethan buildings. The gates of the Jacobean manor house marked one end of the square and the churchyard of St. Mary’s the other. Where to find Mr. Appleby?

I decided to try the flint church first, walking through the gates to the arched west door. It creaked as I opened it, and the interior was icy, as it must have been for centuries. But I had been right to come here. There was a woman on her knees by the altar, arranging green boughs in bronze vases. At this time of year the arrangement was mostly sprays of holly, its red berries bright among the greenery.

She turned at my footsteps, and smiled. “Hello. Are you looking for Rector?”

“Actually, I’m looking for someone who may have lived here some years ago. He was a tutor, his name was Appleby.”

“Mr. Appleby? Yes, of course, he tutored the Laurence boys. But he’s no longer teaching.”

My spirits sank. “Do you know where he might have gone from here?”

“Oh, he liked Chilham so much he stayed on. He married one of the Johnstone girls. Mary, the eldest. Go back to the square and the little lane that runs down to your right, just after you leave the church gates. The third house is his.”

My spirits rose again. “Thank you. I’m very happy to hear that.”

“Do I know you?” she asked. “Your face is familiar.”

“I was here some years ago. My father was returning from India, and we were traveling with him, my mother and I. Colonel Crawford.”

She stood, her smile widening. “Colonel Crawford. The handsomest man at the dinner party. Of course, I remember now.”

That was the Colonel Sahib. In his dress uniform he was quite remarkably handsome. And had the charm to match.

“Let me finish here, and I’ll show you the Appleby house myself,” she offered. “I’d like to hear how your parents are faring.”

“They are both quite well,” I answered. “But I have friends waiting. If you don’t mind-”

“Of course. Give my regards to your parents. Tell them Sarah Cunningham was asking for them.”

I promised, and made my escape.

Peregrine was pacing beside the motorcar, a frown on his face. Mr. Owens had walked up to The White Horse on the corner, to wait for us. I told Peregrine what I had learned, and together we walked down the curving lane past a lovely stone house where I’d had cookies and milk when we called there, my mother and I. The tutor’s house was easily picked out, and I went up the short walk to lift the knocker.

“Peregrine. Whatever he tells us, promise me you won’t-”

At that moment the door opened. Peregrine sucked in his breath but said nothing.

Appleby was of medium height and thin build, his long face marked by a scar on his chin. His hair was graying, but his short mustache was darker, like his eyebrows. A scholarly man, at first glance, but his eyes were weak and his mouth was small. My father had always held a theory about small mouths-that they indicated spitefulness.

“Mr. Appleby?”

“Yes, indeed. How may I help you?” He looked from my face to Peregrine’s, without any sign of recognition.

I introduced us and then said, “I was one of Arthur Graham’s nurses when he was wounded, and he entrusted me with messages to his family just before he died.”

“I read that he’d died of wounds. What a tragedy that was. He was a fine young man.”

“May I spend a few minutes talking to you about him?”

He was surprised. “To me? Er-what information can I give you about Arthur?” He seemed confused.

I said quickly, “I spent a few days with the Grahams, as Arthur had asked me to do. But there were questions I felt uncomfortable bringing up-”

“You’re here about Peregrine Graham, aren’t you?”

“I-yes.”

“Why are you prying into the past?”

“I’m not prying, Mr. Appleby. I was very close to Arthur Graham at the time of his death. I can’t help but believe he died with something on his conscience-”

“You had better come in.” He stepped aside, and we followed him into the parlor of the house. It was prettily decorated, a woman’s touch with floral covers on the chairs and small china figurines on tables and the mantelpiece. I could hear someone humming in another part of the house.

A small dog was curled on the hearth rug. She lifted her head, considered us, and went back to sleep.

Appleby offered us chairs and then said, “Look, I’ve put the past behind me. It was a fearsome situation, and I felt somehow responsible because the boys were in my charge while we were in London.”

“Yet you continued to work with them for several years afterward.”

“Of course. Continuity is what children need when their world has been turned upside down. Mrs. Graham begged me to remain there until her sons were sent to public school.”

“Did you know Lily Mercer well?”

That took him aback. “Well? Of course not. I’d never seen her before we arrived in London,” he answered indignantly. “She was a member of the temporary staff.”

“I understand that. But you must have spoken to her in the servants’ hall-”

“I never took my meals with the servants. I ate in my room or with my charges or in the small room off the study.”

I recalled that someone had told me the tutor kept to himself.

“I’m not trying to stir up the past, Mr. Appleby. But if Arthur had doubts about what happened in London, I’m honor bound to put the matter to rest.”

“You are honor bound to do no such thing. Peregrine Graham did a wicked thing, and he was put in a place where he couldn’t hurt anyone again. We feared for the family, if you must know-there was no other choice but to send him away. No one wanted a trial, it would have been devastating for the other boys. That they had a brother in prison for murder would have damaged their lives beyond measure.”

I glanced at Peregrine, whose face remained impassive. It was as if he accepted everything that Mr. Appleby was saying.

“What did Lily Mercer’s family want?”

Mr. Appleby opened his mouth to answer me, then shut it smartly. After a moment, he said, “I have no idea.”

“Were you satisfied that Peregrine Graham had done what he was accused of?”