but he don’t need his parents, nor you. An’ strictly speaking, sir, this in’t your concern. We’re grateful for your help an’ all you’ve done, but Mr. Allard ain’t going to give no trouble, so you could stay here at St. John’s. Mebbe you’d be more use if you told the master what’s happened, an’ sent for Mr. an’ Mrs. Allard.”
“Mrs. Thyer will already have done that,” Joseph pointed out, and saw the flash of annoyance on Perth’s face as he realized. “I’ll come with Elwyn, unless he would rather I didn’t.”
Elwyn hesitated, and it was that instant of indecision which made Joseph certain that he was guilty. He was frightened and confused, but he was not outraged.
Perth gave in, and they walked together into the shadow of the front gate, and out into the street on the far side.
At the police station it was a formal matter of charging Elwyn with the murder of Harry Beecher, to which he pleaded not guilty. On Joseph’s advice, he refused to say anything further until he had a lawyer with him.
Gerald and Mary Allard arrived at St. John’s an hour after Joseph returned. Mary was beside herself, her face contorted with fury. The moment Joseph walked into the sitting room at the master’s lodgings, she swung around from Aidan Thyer, to whom she had been speaking, and glared at Joseph. Her thin body looked positively gaunt in its tight black silk, like a winter crow.
“This is monstrous!” she said, her voice strident. “Elwyn couldn’t possibly have killed that wretched man! For heaven’s sake, Beecher murdered Sebastian! When he knew you were closing in on him, he took his own life. Everybody knows that. Let Elwyn go immediately—with an apology for this idiotic mistake. Now!”
Joseph stood still. What could he tell her? One of her sons was dead and the other guilty of murder, even if he had done it in mistaken revenge.
“I’m sorry,” he said to her—and he meant it profoundly, with a pain that throbbed inside him. “But they have proof.”
“Nonsense!” she spat. “It is totally absurd. Gerald!”
Gerald came to stand almost level with her. He looked wretched; his skin was pale and blotchy and his eyes blurred. “Really, for God’s sake, what is going on?” he demanded. “Beecher killed my son and now you have arrested my other son when quite obviously Beecher took his own life.” He put out a hand tentatively as if to touch Mary, but she pulled away from him.
“No,” Joseph said as gently as he could. He could not like Gerald, but he was fiercely sorry for him. “Beecher did not kill Sebastian. He was seen elsewhere at the time.”
“You are lying!” Mary accused him furiously. Her face was ashen, with scarlet splashes on her cheeks. “Beecher was your friend, and you are lying to protect him. Who on earth would see Beecher anywhere at five o’clock in the morning? Unless he was in bed with somebody? And if he was, then she is a whore, and her word is worth nothing!”
“Mary . . . ,” Gerald began, then faltered under her withering glance.
“He was out walking,” Joseph replied. “And the gun that killed Sebastian was hidden where only a limited number of people could have placed it or retrieved it.”
“Beecher!” Mary said with scalding triumph. “Naturally! It is the only answer that makes sense.”
“No,” Joseph told her. “He might have been able to hide it there, but he could not have retrieved it. Elwyn could have.”
“It’s still ridiculous,” she asserted, her whole body so tense she was shuddering. “If he had known where it was, he would have told the police! It might have led to the arrest of whoever killed Sebastian. Or are you insane enough to believe he did that, too?”
“No. I know he didn’t. I don’t know who did,” he admitted. “And I believe that Elwyn sincerely thought it was Beecher and that the law could not touch him.”
“Then he was justified!” she said savagely. “He killed a murderer!”
“He killed someone he thought was a murderer,” Joseph corrected. “And he was mistaken.”
“You’re wrong,” she insisted, but she turned away from him. Her voice rose, shrill with desperation, as if the world no longer made sense. “Beecher must have done it! Elwyn is morally innocent of any crime, and I shall see to it that he doesn’t suffer.”
Joseph looked past her at Aidan Thyer, and again the darkness filled his mind that it could have been he who was behind the document, and perhaps Sebastian’s death. He looked pale and tired today, the lines in his face deeper. Did he know about Connie and Beecher? Had he always known? Joseph stared at him, searching, but there was nothing in Thyer’s eyes to betray him.
“Dr. Reavley?” Gerald said tentatively. “Would you . . . would you do what you can for Elwyn? I mean, I wish he would . . . you are a person of standing here . . . the police will . . .” He floundered helplessly.
“Yes, of course I will,” Joseph agreed. “Do you have legal representation in Cambridge?”
“Oh, yes . . . I meant as a . . . I don’t know . . . as a friend . . .”
“Yes. If you wish, I’ll go right away.”
“Yes . . . please do. I’ll stay here with my wife.”
“I’m going to Elwyn!” Mary shouted at him.
“No, you are not,” Gerald answered, unusually firmly for him. “You are staying here.”
“I . . .” she began.
“You are staying here,” he repeated, catching hold of her arm as she lunged forward, and bringing her to a stop. “You have done enough harm already.”
She swiveled around and gaped at him in stupefaction, fury and pain struggling in her face. But she did not argue.
Joseph bade goodbye to them and went out again.
Perth placed no barrier to Joseph seeing Elwyn alone in the police cell. It was late afternoon, and the shadows were lengthening. The room smelled stale, of old fears and miseries.
Elwyn sat on one of the two wooden chairs and Joseph on the other, a bare, scarred table between them.
“Is Mother all right?” Elwyn asked as soon as the door was closed and they were alone. He was very pale, and the shadows around his eyes looked like bruises.
“She is very angry,” Joseph replied truthfully. “She found it hard to accept that you could be guilty of Beecher’s death, but when she could no longer avoid it, she believed that you had just cause and were morally innocent.”
The rigidity eased out of Elwyn’s shoulders. His skin looked oddly dead, as if it would be cold to touch.
“Your father will engage a lawyer for you,” Joseph went on. “But is there anything I can do, as a friend?”
Elwyn looked down at his hands on the table. “Look after Mother as much as you can,” he answered. “She cares so much. You wouldn’t understand if you hadn’t seen Aunt Aline. She is Mother’s older sister. She always does everything right, and first. And she boasts about it all the time. Her sons win everything, and she makes us feel as if we’ll never be as clever or as important. I think she’s always been like that. She made it . . .” He stopped suddenly, realizing it was all pointless now. He drew in his breath. And went on more quietly. “You cared about Sebastian; you saw the best in him. Go on caring, and don’t let them say he was a coward.” He looked up quickly, searching Joseph’s face.
“I’ve never heard anyone say he was a coward,” Joseph replied. “No one has even suggested it. He was arrogant and at times manipulative. He enjoyed the power his charm gave him. But I think, in time, even that will be forgotten, and people will choose to remember only what was good.”
Elwyn nodded briefly and brushed his hand across his face. He looked desperately weary.
Joseph ached with pity for him. Too much had been asked of him, far too much. His brother had been idolized, and Mary, in her grief, had expected Elwyn to ignore his own pain and carry hers for her, defend her from the truth and bear the weight of her emotions. And as far as Joseph knew, she had given him nothing back, not even her gratitude or her approval. Only now, when it was far too late, did she consider him and prepare to defend him. In a way it was her passion that had driven Elwyn to seek such a terrible revenge—as it turned out, a mistaken one.
The truth was still to be found. Someone else had put the gun in the drainpipe after killing Sebastian,
