Black Is the Colour of My True Love's Heart

assume responsibility for whatever inquiries are necessary? I want, of course, to co-operate as fully as possible.”

“I should prefer to keep this inquiry quiet, as long as that’s possible. I gather you feel the same way. Let me have this office for my own use, and keep the course running. Can you do that? I’ve already talked to Professor Penrose, he’s quite willing to work them as hard as possible, and it looks as if they’re enjoying it. Concentrate on helping him, and keep the course afloat between you, and we ought to be able to get them out of here on Monday evening none the wiser about what’s been occupying us. They’ll have enough to think about.‘’

“I shall be very grateful,” said Henry Marshall, in the understatement of the year. “You understand my position… this is the first time I’ve been left to run a course single-handed. It would be disastrous if we allowed our students to panic and the course to disintegrate. Not only for me. I’m worried about myself, naturally, I don’t pretend I’m not. But I’m honestly worried about Follymead, too. We are worth an effort, I give you my word we are.”

He was an honest, decent, troubled young man, not very forceful, not very experienced, but George thought Arundale might have done very much worse.

“I’m sure of that. I want to use discretion, too. But you understand that if there has been a tragedy here, if there has been a crime, that can’t be suppressed. The moment I’m convinced that it’s a police matter, it will become official.”

“I couldn’t, in any case, agree to anything else,” said Marshall simply. “I’m a citizen, as well as an employee afraid for his job. But there’s no harm in hoping it won’t come to that.”

“None at all. I’ve got the list of people who stayed here this afternoon, instead of joining one or other of the sightseeing parties. Tell me if there’s anyone who should be added.” He read off the list. It included four elderly ladies, all local, and therefore all acquainted with the local antiquities, and disposed to vegetate in the Follymead libraries or gardens rather than to clamber over castles; but they had booked in in pairs, and almost certainly had hunted in pairs this afternoon. With luck there would be no need to involve them. A little casual conversation – Tossa might help out here – would eliminate them. “I realise that Mrs. Arundale will have to be told, eventually, about this inquiry. Is there anyone else who stayed here?”

“Yes,” said Marshall. “Mr. Meurice should have gone with my coach this afternoon. He cried off at the last moment. I may be wrong, but I got the impression that he changed his mind because he found that Miss Palmer was staying.”

“It wouldn’t be such an unheard-of thing to do,” agreed George. “No one else?”

“Not that I can think off.”

“Then as time’s getting on, I wonder if you’d get Felicity Cope in to me first. I won’t frighten her. I believe she knows already about Mr. Galt’s disappearance.”

“She knows,” said Marshall, pondering darkly how much, indeed, Felicity did know. “You won’t frighten her. She’s a very precocious young woman.” It sounded like a warning; it also sounded, paradoxically, as if he felt sorry for her. George made a mental note to beware of that attitude; it might, he reflected, be the most demoralising thing in the world to feel that everyone was sorry for you.

“I know I’m difficult,” said Felicity, in a very precise and slightly superior tone. “I have difficulties. I don’t know how much you remember about being my age?” She gave him a sidewise look, and was arrested by the nicely-shaped growth of the grey hair at his temples; it gave him a very distinguished look. He had nice eyes, too, deep-set and quiet; it would be hard to excite him. It must be so restful, she thought, clutching at distant, desirable things to suppress her memories of anguish, to be with people who’ve known nearly everything, and can’t get feverish any more.

“More than you’d think,” said George earnestly. He was on the same side of the desk with her, almost within touch; he knew quite a lot about making contact. “And I have a son – that’s going through it again, you know, only with one experience to build on. Not a daughter, I wasn’t that lucky. My wife couldn’t have any more children. We badly wanted a girl.”

“Really?” said Felicity, side-tracked. “Uncle Edward is terribly unhappy, too, about Aunt Audrey not having any children. He’s extremely fond of her, but it’s always been an awful disappointment to him.” She tightened suddenly, he saw her face blanch. Her eyes, momentarily naked and vulnerable, veiled themselves. No one can be more opaque than a girl of fifteen, when she feels the need to defend herself. Why did she? From what?

“You know Lucien Galt’s gone missing,” said George practically. “It looks as if you were the last person to see him, here at Follymead. He didn’t say anything to you, did he, about running out? After all, something could have happened to call him away.”

“No,” said Felicity, with a fixed, false smile. “He didn’t say anything about leaving. Nothing at all like that.”

“What did you talk about on your walk?”

“Oh, about the course, and the songs we had in the morning session. Just things like that.”

“Miss Barber and my son were a little disturbed about you… did you know? They had a feeling you were unhappy… upset… when they met you this afternoon. They’d have felt better if you’d agreed to go with them. Was there anything the matter? You know, it’s a kindness to confide in people. We do worry about one another, that’s what makes us human. Tossa’s had her difficulties, too, you mustn’t be surprised if she has a feeling for other people’s crises.” Careful, now! She had shied a little at the word he had chosen; her eyes, blankly grey, fended off his too great interest distrustfully. “I’m not being clairvoyant,” he said patiently. “You told me a moment ago you have difficulties. You wouldn’t have mentioned them if they hadn’t been on your mind.”

She looked down into her lap, clasping and unclasping her hands in a nervous pressure. The small, thin, beautifully-boned face was subtle and still, but it was a braced and wary stillness.

“I made my mistake,” she said, in a dry and careful voice, “being born into a clever and distinguished family. It is a mistake, when you turn out to be the plain, dull, nondescript one. Uncle Edward – everybody knows how brilliant he is. And my mother – she’s his sister, you know, – she has an arts degree, and she paints, and sings, and plays, she can do everything. It’s only because of her ill health, and because she happened to make a rather unfortunate marriage, that she didn’t become a scholar and celebrity like him. Aunt Audrey isn’t an intellectual, like them, of course, she doesn’t come from such an intellectual family. Her people were tradesmen who’d just got into the money. She went to a terribly select boarding school, and all that – Pleydells, I expect you’ve heard of it? – but she didn’t get any great distinctions, they took her away before her final exams. I’ve never understood why. Maybe they weren’t interested in academic success, all they wanted was the cachet. But she was everything else, you see. It’s enough to be so beautiful, don’t you think so? She’s beautiful, and she knows how to do everything beautifully, even if she doesn’t do it so terribly well. Me, I’m well-read, and I’m not stupid, but that’s