years Aurae Phiala surely did mount a watch every night. Just such a sentry must have been the first to die, the night the Welsh came.’
Paviour’s uneasiness and distaste had grown so palpable by this time that his rigid bones looked tensed to breaking point. He said with nervous acidity: ‘We’re not dealing with atmospheric hallucinations here, but with an attempt at murder. When violence breaks in, something a good deal more material than imagination is indicated.’
She agreed, with an unabashed smile. ‘
‘And he wasn’t wearing a helmet,’ said Gus.
‘Tonight’s haunting was for a pretty compelling reason,’ said George. ‘But what you’ve told us is very interesting, Mrs Paviour. We’ll see what the village has to add.’ He put down his coffee-cup in the tray with a sigh. ‘You’ve been very kind to put up with us all for so long, I’m most grateful. But now I think there’s nothing more we can do here, and it’s time we left you to get some rest. If you feel fit to go back to the inn, Mr Hambro, I’ll be glad to drive you and Miss Rossignol round there.’
Lesley had begun to gather up the remaining cups, but at the mention of Charlotte’s name she put down the tray abruptly, and turned with a startled smile. ‘Rossignol? You’re not
Charlotte admitted to her identity with some surprise. ‘I didn’t think he took so much interest in me. We’ve always been a rather loosely-knit family, and I’ve never seen him.’
‘It’s true he didn’t often talk about his family, but I couldn’t forget your lovely name, I liked it so much. You know Steve is an old fellow-student of his, and a close friend? Isn’t it wonderful, darling, Miss Rossignol turning up like this?’
His face was grey and drawn, Charlotte thought, perhaps with pure fatigue, for after all, he was an old man. He favoured her with a slightly haggard smile, but his voice was dry and laboured as he said: ‘I’m delighted to meet my old friend’s niece. I’m only sorry it had to be in such circumstances of stress. I hope you’ll give us the opportunity of getting to know you better, on some happier occasion.’ His lips were stiff, the words of goodwill could hardly get past them.
‘I’m not quite such a coincidence as I seem,’ she said, ‘I’ve just been reading my uncle’s book on Aurae Phiala, that’s why I came to have a look at the place for myself. He didn’t really do it justice, did he? I find it beautiful.’
‘Stephen doesn’t agree with him, either,’ said Lesley, smiling, ‘but of course Aurae Phiala is our life. Are you going to stay a little while, now you’re here? You should!’
‘I have a few concerts in the Midlands, and I thought I’d make my base somewhere close by until they’re over. Yes, I think I shall stay on for a few days here.’
‘But not at the “Salmon”! Oh, no, you can’t! Anyone belonging to Alan Morris has a home here, of course. You must come to us. Look at all the rooms we have, the house is much too big for two. Do come! Stay tonight, too, I can find you everything you need overnight, and we’ll fetch your things from the pub tomorrow.’
Confronted by sudden and eager invitations from strangers, Charlotte’s normal reaction was one of recoil, not out of insecurity, but to maintain her independence and integrity. She was never afterwards quite sure why she sidestepped only partially and temporarily on this occasion. There existed a whole tangle of possible reasons. She was in search of a closer knowledge of her great-uncle, and here were informed friends of his, one of them of long standing, who could surely tell her a great part of what she wanted to know. She was attracted by this place, and here was her opportunity of remaining. She was held by the disturbing events of the night, and here was her chance to wait out a better understanding of them on the spot. And also there was something in Lesley’s appeal that engaged her sympathy in a way she hesitated to analyse. Here was this young creature, beautiful and restless, married to a man almost old enough to be her grandfather, and apparently setting out to make the very best of it, too, with no signs of regret or self-pity; but the prospect of having a girl of her own age in the house, even for a few days, might well matter to her a great deal more than the extension and acceptance of a mere conventional politeness. And Charlotte heard herself saying quickly:
‘That’s awfully kind of you, and I should love to come for a couple of days, if I may. But I’d like to go back with Mr Hambro to the “Salmon” now, if you don’t mind. If I may come tomorrow?’
She had not looked at Paviour until then. Lesley had issued her fiat with such confidence that she had taken his compliance for granted. His long, lean, lugubrious face was dry and rigid as carved teak, and his eyes, sunken between veined lids and deep in cavernous hollows of bone, looked like roundels of cloudy glass with no light behind them. With all the grace and spontaneity of a wooden puppet, but in the most civil and soft of voices, he said: ‘We shall both be delighted if you will. We have the highest regard for Doctor Morris, and of course his niece is most welcome. And Lesley will enjoy your company so much,’ he added, and the sudden faint note of hope and warmth sounded almost as though he was issuing comfort to himself, looking on the single bright side. No doubt, she thought, a visitor might be a very unwelcome distraction in his entrenched life.
But it was done now, there was no way of backing out. And she need not, after all, stay long. After two days it would be easy enough to extricate herself.
During the short drive back to the inn they were all three monosyllabic, suddenly isolated in private cells of weariness and preoccupation. The occasional remark passing seemed to come from an infinite distance, and be answered after a prolonged interval.
‘I hope Mrs Lane won’t have locked you out. We should have given her a call.’
‘I’ve got a key,’ said Gus, and lapsed into silence again. He made no comment on Lesley’s invitation and Charlotte’s acceptance of it, none on the curious complexities which had confounded their own relationship since they left ‘The Salmon’s Return’ two hours and more ago. No one said a word about Doctor Alan Morris, and the charged significance of Charlotte’s name. There were things all three of them knew, and things all three of them were wondering, but no one cared to question or acknowledge at this hour. Silence, if not golden, was at least more comfortable than speech.
Only as the car was crunching softly to a halt in the gravel of the yard did Charlotte ask suddenly, but in a tone so subdued as to suggest that she had been contemplating the question for some time, and refrained from asking it only for fear of the answer:
‘You haven’t found him yet?’
