A Finer End

Just as Gemma started to turn away, unwilling to wake her, Faith opened her eyes. Going to the bedside, Gemma murmured, “She’s lovely. Have you decided what to call her?”

“Bridget.”

“Bridget … wasn’t she a local saint?”

“Andrew … he always liked the story about St. Bridget’s Chapel at Beckery; that all who passed through the hole in the chapel’s side would be forgiven their sins.…”

“It suits her,” Gemma said softly. “And you were very brave, you know.”

“Was I? I was so scared. I didn’t know—”

“You can’t know, until you’ve been through it. The nice thing is, you forget quickly.” Gemma smiled. “Now, you get some rest—”

“I wanted to thank you. If you hadn’t … Garnet knew what was going to happen, didn’t she? On the Tor. Do you think somehow she knew about Andrew too?”

“I think Garnet loved you,” Gemma told the girl gently, “and that’s all that matters.”

•  •  •

Andrew had been rushed into surgery; there the hemorrhaging caused by the blows to his temple had been surgically evacuated to relieve the pressure on his brain. Now, his doctor had informed Winnie, they could only wait.

She had insisted that Jack stay behind in Glastonbury. Her undivided attention seemed a small penance for what she owed her brother. How could she have been so blind, so self-absorbed, that she had not seen his peril? As she sat beside Andrew’s bed, her heart was gripped with fear for her brother—and for herself.

Could she bring herself to forgive him for what he had done? Even more difficult, could she find the strength to love him, knowing the secrets he had kept from her?

And if Andrew survived this, would he be able to live with his own terrible knowledge?

He stirred, his eyelids fluttering open. To her profound relief, he knew her instantly, and smiled. Then she saw the shadow of returning memory in his eyes and, with it, a recoil of horror and shame.

“Andrew, it’s going to be all right, I promise. We’re going to work through this together.”

He turned his face away.

Gemma and Kincaid found their way back to the ICU visitor’s area and sat down to wait for Winnie. Kincaid fidgeted, frowning abstractedly as he studied a bright print on the wall.

“What is it?” Gemma pressed. “Surely you don’t think Faith is to blame for hurting Andrew—”

“Of course not. It’s just that Greely’s inclined to consider the case tidily wrapped up. Convenient for him, but I don’t like it.”

“He assumes Garnet saw Andrew in the lane the night of Winnie’s accident, and later confronted him.”

“Right. And that would fit nicely—except for the fact that Andrew’s alibi for the time of Winnie’s accident checked out. And if he were willing to kill Faith to keep his sister from finding out about their relationship, why would he have tried to hurt Winnie?”

Gemma thought for a bit. “Andrew’s affair with Faith must have started after Winnie met Jack, an act of emotional desperation, perhaps. When he discovered Faith was pregnant he cut her off, making her promise to tell no one. What a terrible irony that his rejection of Faith drove her to leave home, and led her to become friends with his sister.”

“If his motive in murdering Garnet was to keep her from telling Winnie, why would he kill Garnet the night after Winnie’s accident, when he didn’t know if Winnie would ever regain consciousness? Nor would it explain where Garnet drowned.”

“Bathtub? Kitchen sink?” Gemma offered.

“Then he cleaned up afterwards without leaving a trace? I suppose it’s possible. But something’s not right about this. Gemma, what happened up there on the Tor tonight? Was there something—” Kincaid broke off as the ICU door swung open.

Winnie came out and sat beside Gemma. Her face was bleak with exhaustion, and she closed her eyes briefly, seeming to gather strength.

“How is he?” Gemma asked.

“Resting comfortably, the doctor says. It’s too early to know if the swelling will return, but they think the prognosis is good.”

“He’s conscious? Did he—”

“No.” Winnie’s eyes filled with tears. “No, he didn’t tell me anything.”

They drove back to Glastonbury in silence. Glancing at Nick, Winnie wondered if it had been loyalty to Andrew that had made Faith impervious to Nick’s determined assault on her affections. Perhaps now she would be able to truly see this young man.

“Faith!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t even ask. Is she all right? And the baby?”

“She’s doing fine,” Gemma answered. “And the baby’s lovely. Faith’s called her Bridget.”

“St. Bride,” Winnie said softly. It was a good name, and fitting. My niece, she realized for the first time, and that brought the tears she had held in abeyance. She let them slip unchecked down her cheeks, the salt on her lips tasting like blood. Something good had come of all this, and that thought comforted her.

But as they crossed over the River Brue, she said suddenly, “I want to go to the Abbey.”