metal, as if he might draw some measure of strength from the contact. He said, “I think you’ll find that Doctor Sibley probably cares for my living welfare more than I care for my own.”
“Well,” Stephen Reed said, “the tinker’s lease on life is set to end in three weeks’ time. He doesn’t understand much, but he understands that.”
“What more can I do?” Sir Owain pleaded, in what seemed like genuine distress. “I offered my services to the law, but the law insists on taking its course.”
“Sir Owain,” Stephen Reed said, looking him in the eyes in a move that was often known to compel his man to sincerity. “These beasts. What are they really? Are they really out there? Or are they within?” He leaned closer. “Is this a tomb to keep monsters out, or a strongbox to contain one?”
Dryly, from over by the door, Dr. Sibley said, “I see we’ve moved on. After all the innuendo, that was almost an honest accusation.”
Sir Owain raised a hand to silence his doctor. “Please,” he said, and then he returned his attention to Stephen Reed. With one brief twitch of a rueful smile he went on, “At this point I have certain lines to speak if I wish to keep my freedom.”
“I know you’ve been rehearsed in them,” Stephen Reed said, “So let us take them as read.”
“Every man is a work in progress,” Dr. Sibley said quietly from by the door. “We should not look down on those who are damaged, just because they have further to go.”
“And may God help the tinker,” Sir Owain said, still looking at his hand, “since I cannot.”
Stephen Reed said, “The girls had a camera. For taking moving pictures. They caught something strange on their film.”
For a man so weary of life, Sir Owain was suddenly very interested.
“Where is it?” he said.
“I gave it to the prosecutors. But it was never used in evidence.”
“Why not?”
“Its images are unclear.”
Sir Owain looked across the chapel to Dr. Sibley. His agitation was obvious. The doctor gave no actual sign but returned a steady gaze as if to say,
Sir Owain suddenly said, “I think I should like to pray.”
Stephen Reed could see that this took even Dr. Sibley by surprise. But what could the man do? Even the most controlling superintendent could not deny a man his prayer.
“Of course,” he said, and made a gesture of invitation for Stephen Reed to join him outside.
They stood outside, in the October air. A squirrel came bounding through the overgrown graves, froze when it saw them, and went bounding right back again.
Stephen Reed said, “Does he pray often?”
Dr. Sibley seemed bemused. “Never,” he said.
“How well do you really know him?”
“He’s unknowable. I’ve had only the most distant glimpse of what he’s been through. Whatever you may think of him, respect him. A lesser man would have gone under.”
“I’m sure he’s a tower of strength. But would you have me believe that he never knows a moment of weakness?”
“At the beginning there were many. You know I was his doctor on the rescue ship? That was where we met. He raved. He grieved. He saw the dead, and many an apparition that was never there. By being with him from those very first hours, I secured his lasting trust.”
“You were a ship’s doctor?” Stephen Reed said. “I didn’t know that. It explains your four years’ absence from the medical register.”
“I know what you think of me,” Dr. Sibley went on. “You see me as some kind of leech that clings to him, exploiting his fragile state to my own advantage. Whereas the truth is that he dare not let me go.”
“So are you watching over him for every minute of every day?”
Dr. Sibley gestured toward the chapel, where his employer prayed alone.
“Clearly not,” he said.
“But you do seem to take your dedication to an extreme. Of the four science papers Sir Owain has published in the last ten years, your name is on all of them as co-author.”
“You’ve been doing your spadework.”
“I have. Etymology, metallurgy … quite a wide range for a medical man with a seafaring background.”
“I had no hand in the papers. I’ve never claimed otherwise. The attribution was entirely at Sir Owain’s insistence.”
“So what do you make of his monsters?”
“All such monsters are monsters of the mind. The only person they threaten is the one who conceives them.”
“Neatly said. So how do you keep them under control?”
“That’s between me and my patient. I don’t dominate Sir Owain. I don’t control him for my own advantage. I help to keep his state of mind as close to normality as it’s possible to get. That doesn’t make me his master. If anything, I’m more his prisoner. I mean, I had a life before. Look around you. This is his house, his estate, his affairs. Where is my life now?”
Changing tack, Stephen Reed said, “Grace Eccles thinks you’re trying to push her off her land.”
“Right in one respect, wrong in another. It’s not her land.”
“From what I hear, her lease has been tested in court and it held up. That should be the end of the matter.”
“Look,” the doctor said with some exasperation. “I know Sir Owain has always let her be. But now the Lunacy commissioners are looking for any excuse to take control of his affairs, and they’ll see this as proof of bad management. Her father’s lease was valid, but the right to settle died with him and can’t be passed on. Patents don’t bring in the income they once did, and that gypsy girl’s squalor diminishes the value of the property.”
There was a sound from the chapel; it was of the iron latch being lifted on the inside of the door.
“Well,” Stephen Reed said, “do you know something? For a moment there I almost felt some sympathy for you.” And now he leaned closer to the doctor and lowered his voice because Sir Owain was coming out.
“A lease will expire and the land will always be there,” he said. “Sir Owain isn’t the only one who’s ever suffered. Just leave Grace Eccles be.”
At which point Sir Owain rejoined them, and that conversation was over.
After returning the pony and trap to its owners and thanking them, Stephen Reed walked to his father’s cottage. It was low, small-windowed, and whitewashed, with a slate roof. With its thick walls and solid floors it had a tendency to damp, but his father kept a driftwood fire burning throughout the cold months and left every door and window wide open to air the building in the summer.
Whenever his father slipped and called him Jacky without meaning to, he wasn’t sure how to feel. Jacky was the little dog his father had bought for company. The two of them were devoted to each other, that was for sure; when his father left a room, the dog sat up and watched the door until he came back. Or simply followed him. They went out together every morning, walking miles along the beach. His father had even begun to choose which invitations he’d answer depending on whether his dog was welcome.
Jacky ran out to greet him, then spun around and ran in ahead barking a welcome. He was a devoted little dog, but not a jealous one.
Stephen Reed’s father, the town’s onetime harbormaster, was setting a kettle on the fire to make tea. He said, “Well? Are you any further on?”
“I wasted my time,” Stephen Reed admitted. “I gave him the newspaper and he showed me his tomb in his private chapel. Out of all the estate, it’s the one part he seems to be keeping in repair.”
“Really? I can’t imagine old Owain letting his property fall into ruin.”
“You might be surprised,” Stephen Reed said.
Before he’d been forced to sell it, Sir Owain’s steam yacht had been on a permanent mooring in the harbor. His father had known Sir Owain then, but would never claim to have known him well. He said he hadn’t disliked the man. But he’d thought him a little too eager to play the stepfather to all, as if buying the land had also bought him
