Black Is the Colour of My True Love's Heart

“It’s something I might have done, too, if he’d done a thing like that to me.”

“Oh, might you? Do you really mean that? But you didn’t,” said Felicity, clouding over again. “I was the one who did it, and I was the one who caused Uncle Edward to get killed.”

“You and all the rest of us who’ve had any part in this affair. And Mr. Arundale himself, that’s certain. Don’t claim more than belongs to you,” said Liri hardly.

“That’s what Inspector Felse said,” admitted Felicity, encouraged.

“Inspector Felse is a pretty deep sort of man.”

“He is, isn’t he? There; that’s the station wagon for me.” The horn had blared cheerfully in the courtyard. Felicity picked up her coat and her case. “Good-bye! I wish things could turn out better than they look now. I’m sorry!”

She turned her slender, erect back, and marched away along the rear corridor towards the back stairs. At the warden’s office she hesitated for a moment, and then tapped on the door. It would be only polite, wouldn’t it, to say good-bye to Inspector Felse?

“Oh, hullo!” said George. “I heard you were off home.”

“It’s all right, isn’t it, for me to go? Aunt Audrey said she’d tell you.”

“Yes, it’s all right. If we need you, we shall know where to find you. Take care of yourself, and good luck. Better luck,” he said gently, “than you’ve had so far.”

“Thank you. You’ve been very kind.” He saw her glance stray involuntarily towards the glass over the hearth. “You did mean what you said, didn’t you? You do really think I’m going to be… pretty?”

“No,” said George firmly, “you’ve never going to be pretty, and that isn’t what I said.”

“I was afraid to say the other word,” Felicity admitted simply. “But you did mean it, didn’t you?”

“I meant it. You’ll see for yourself, before very long.”

“It’s not that it makes any difference to what’s happened,” she explained punctiliously. “But it’s something to start from – like having capital. You know!” She picked up her case sturdily. “Good-bye, then, and thanks!”

“Good-bye, Felicity! You’ll be all right?”

She understood that in its fullest meaning, and she said: “I’ll be all right.”

The station wagon taking Felicity away to catch her train left the courtyard and circled the house to the front drive just two minutes before Price drove in by the farm road. The tower clock, which was several minutes fast, was just chiming five. In one and a half hours the students would be dispersing, by car, by bus, by the house transport and the local trains, to homes scattered over the whole of the Midlands, and some even farther afield. Let them, at all costs, get off in peace. An extra car suddenly appearing at Follymead was nothing to wonder about at normal times, but better to take no chances now. Price parked carefully in the obscurity under the archway, where they could not be seen from the windows.

Lucien awoke from a wretched and uneasy doze with the exaggerated alarm of nightmare, and stared round wildly to find the familiar and unwelcome apparition of Follymead enclosing him. He could face what he had to face, but he shied at the idea of added ordeals.

“Why have you brought me here?” he demanded, roused and resentful. “I thought we were going to the police station at Comerbourne.”

“I don’t remember that we mentioned exactly where we were going. Inspector Felse has been working from here, and this is where we shall find him.” Rapier got out of the back seat, and locked the car upon the two who remained; not that he thought the boy would try to make a break for it now, but, there was no point in leaving him even the meagre opportunity. The sergeant climbed the back stairs, and let himself into the warden’s office.

George looked up from the report he was compiling, short as yet of a few details, a date or two, a name, but by this time essentially complete. “Well, how did it go?”

“No trouble,” said Rapier complacently. “He’s below in the car.” He laid his notebook on the desk, and flicked through the close pages of shorthand. “There you are! He insisted on making a statement, didn’t seem able to rest until he had in all in order. I’ll send it up to you as soon as I can get it typed. He’s made a full confession.”

“Ah,” said George, with a faint smile that Rapier found, in retrospect, more than a little puzzling. “Yes, I thought he might.”

“He says Arundale attacked him, and he killed him in self-defence. You won’t have any trouble, he’s filled in all the details, and they all fit.”

“Oh, yes, I quite thought he’d make a good job of it.” The smile was still present, wry, private and sad, and yet understandably touched with the pride and satisfaction of a man whose judgement has been vindicated by events. “And what about Mrs. Arundale?”

“She has nothing to do with it. I will say that for him, he went out of his way to make that clear. He hardly knew her. He says he used her name to shock the kid, because he knew she was jealous of her, anyhow, and the kid must have gone and told her uncle. Oh, he’s made your case for you.”

“All right,” said George, “bring him up.”

Rapier went back down the staircase and unlocked the car, dropping the keys into Price’s hand. “Ready for you now, Mr. Galt. Up the stairs, that’s right.”

Lucien heard the distant, starling clamour from the great drawing-room, and reared his head in a wild gesture of mingled ardour and revulsion. “But they… do they know about this?” He climbed the tight spiral flight, tensed and suspicious, his ears stretched. They surely couldn’t know. The high-pitched din was eager and innocent, untouched by death.

“You’d better ask the inspector that. In here.”

Lucien entered the warden’s office, and the door was closed quietly behind him.