Dawsey was standing by the window, looking out. Without turning, he said, “She told me once that those guards used big dogs. Riled them up and loosed them deliberately on the lines of women standing for roll call—just to watch the fun.
“Good will isn’t enough, is it, Juliet? Not nearly enough.”
“No,” I said, “it isn’t.” He didn’t say anything more; he just nodded to me and left. I telephoned Amelia to tell her where Remy was and why and started the laundry. Isola returned Kit; we had supper and played Snap till bedtime.
But I can’t sleep.
I am so ashamed of myself. Had I actually thought Remy well enough to return home—or did I just want her to go? Did I think it was past time for her to go back to France—to just get on with
Love,
Juliet
P.S. As long as I’m confessing, I might as well tell you something else. Bad as it was to stand there holding Remy’s awful clothes and smelling Dawsey’s ruined ones, all I could think of was,
Night letter from Sidney to Juliet
4th September, 1946
Dear Juliet, All that errant thought means is that you’re in love with Dawsey yourself. Surprised? I’m not. Don’t know what took you so long to fall to it—sea air is supposed to clear your head. I want to come and see you and Oscar’s letters for myself, but I can’t get away till the 13th. All right? Love, Sidney
Telegram from Juliet to Sidney
5th September, 1946
DEAR SIDNEY—YOU’RE INSUFFERABLE, ESPECIALLY WHEN YOU’RE RIGHT. LOVELY TO SEE YOU ANYHOW ON THE 13TH. LOVE, JULIET
From Isola to Sidney
6th September, 1946
Dear Sidney,
Juliet says you’re going to come look at Granny Pheen’s letters with your own eyes, and I say it’s about time. Not that I minded Ivor; he was a nice fellow, though he should leave off wearing those little hairbow ties. I told him they didn’t do much for him, but he was more interested to hear about my suspicions of Billee Bee Jones, how I shadowed her and locked her up in the smokehouse.
He said it was a fine piece of detective work and Miss Marple couldn’t have done better herself !
Miss Marple is not a friend of his, she is a lady detective in fiction books, who uses all she knows about HUMAN NATURE to figure out mysteries and solve crimes that the police can’t.
He set me to thinking about how fine it would be to solve mysteries myself. If only I knew of any.
Ivor said skullduggery is everywhere, and with my fine instincts, I could train myself to become another Miss Marple.
“You clearly have excellent observation skills. All you need now is practice. Note everything and write it down.”
I went to Amelia’s and borrowed a few books with Miss Marple in them. She’s a caution, isn’t she? Just sitting there quietly, knitting away; seeing things everybody else misses. I could keep my ears open for what doesn’t listen right, see things from the sides of my eyes. Mind you, we don’t have any unsolved mysteries on Guernsey, but that’s not to say we won’t one day—and when we do, I’ll be ready.
I still savor the head bump book you sent me and I hope your feelings are not hurt that I want to turn to another calling. I still trust the truth of lumps; it’s just that I’ve read the head bumps of everyone I care for, except yours, and it can get tedious.
Juliet says you’ll come next Friday. I can meet your plane and ride you to Juliet’s. Eben is having a beach party the next night, and he says you are most welcome. Eben hardly ever gives parties, but he said this one is to make a happy announcement to us all. A celebration! But of What? Does he mean to announce nuptials? But whose? I hope he is not getting married hisself; wives don’t generally let husbands out by themselves of an evening and I would miss Eben’s company.
Your friend,
Isola
From Juliet to Sophie
7th September, 1946
Dear Sophie,
