I didn't argue. What good would it have done?
After a moment she said, 'What brings you back to Little Sefton?'
'I came to offer my support to Mr. and Mrs. Hart. They are guilty of nothing, except perhaps for loving Michael and still believing in him.'
'He wasn't their child. As Victoria has been busy pointing out.'
'I don't think they consider whose child he was, only that they are losing him before very long.' I hesitated, and then said, 'Speaking of Victoria, I hear she was often in London. Did you ever go with her to a play?'
Grudgingly she answered me. 'I did once, yes. I didn't enjoy it very much. I didn't know anyone there, and I felt guilty enjoying myself while Gareth was in France.'
'I understand that.'
'No, you can't. You aren't married. The man you love isn't likely to be killed in the next push, or at risk of dying in an aid station before you even hear that he's been wounded.'
I realized then that she hadn't heard from him for a while. And looking more closely, I could see that she had passed sleepless nights as well.
'I'm sometimes the last caring face they see,' I told her gently. 'I often write letters for the dying. I know that their last thoughts are for those they love.'
She burst into tears then, unable to hold them back, burying her face in her hands. 'You don't know. No one can know.'
I took her arm and led her into the house, then sat with her as she cried. After a while I went to the kitchen and found the kettle, put it on, and made a pot of tea. She was quieter when I came back to the sitting room, and drank her tea obediently, sniffling at first, and finally dully sitting there, worn and worried.
'I'm so sorry,' she said in a muffled voice. 'I've been out of sorts, worrying. There's been no news for weeks and weeks.'
'If there is bad news, you will know. It won't take weeks and weeks.'
Taking a deep breath, she set her teacup aside. 'Thank you, Bess,' she said simply. 'And I'm so sorry about Michael. I feel responsible, I introduced you to him. I didn't dream-'
'No, that's all right.' I rose to take my leave. 'Will you be all right now?'
'Yes, sometimes it just overwhelms me, the worry about Gareth.'
Following me to the door, she added, 'I am sorry about Michael. I know you were beginning to care for him. But you'll forget in time. There will be someone else.'
I didn't contradict her. I thanked her for the tea and asked her to write to me if she felt like it.
I had reached the walk, heading for my motorcar, when she stopped me.
'Bess?'
I turned.
'I think Victoria was seeing someone in London in the winter. But it must not have come to anything. It was over by the spring.'
'Did you know who it was?'
She shook her head. 'I only heard the gossip. Someone told me he was an officer. And Mrs. Leighton swore that he was married. She saw them coming out of a mean little restaurant near Hampstead Heath. Those were her words, 'a mean little restaurant,' and she interpreted this as proof he was married, because he hadn't taken Victoria somewhere nice in London.'
I thanked her, glad we were parting as friends, and walked back to the church, where I'd left my motorcar. I'd just turned the crank and stepped back when someone came up behind me.
I turned, expecting it to be Alicia again, but it was Victoria Garrison.
'I thought that was your vehicle, hidden in the shrubbery where no one would notice it.'
'Hardly the shrubbery. If I'm not mistaken, those are a stand of lilac. What is it you want, Miss Garrison? To gloat?'
'Well, you won't be marrying Michael Hart. I've seen to that.'
I stood there stock-still, feeling my jaw drop. I snapped it shut and tried to think of something to say that wouldn't tell her how angry I was.
'Do you mean you were so willing to drive Michael to London because you thought he might be falling in love with me?'
'He wanted to go. I accommodated him. I didn't stab poor Helen, and he did.'
'You don't believe that.'
Something flickered in her eyes. 'How do you know what I feel?' she demanded in a different tone of voice. 'How dare you even suggest you know me?'
'You just suggested that you knew me well enough to believe I was in love with Michael Hart and he with me. Well, let me disabuse you of that notion. What drew the two of us together was your sister's murder. Nothing more, nothing less. I liked Michael, I still like him. But if he were freed tomorrow, I wouldn't marry him. I'm not in love with him and never will be.'
'Alicia said-' She stopped.
Ah, the power of gossip! And the damage it can do.
'Alicia has been matchmaking. She's a happily married woman, and she wants everyone to be just as happy, because it's all she can cling to with Gareth at the Front. I'm sorry if I've disappointed you.'
I got behind the wheel, and she came to stand by my door, pinning me there. 'I don't believe you.'
'Perhaps that's because you were in love yourself not long ago. And like Alicia, expect that everyone else is looking for someone to care about.'
For an instant I thought she was going to step closer and slap me. I could see her hands clenching at her side. A mixture of emotions passed across her face, anger and something else that was barely controlled. I'd wondered if she could kill. And now I knew she could. I drew back a little, but she leaned toward me. After looking around to be sure no one was near, she said through clenched teeth, 'Have you ever seen someone die on a gallows? That handsome face will be black and swollen, hardly recognizable, and I hope that's what you see in your dreams for the rest of your life!'
I caught my breath.
Meriwether Evanson had called Victoria evil. And now I knew he was right.
What she had done to her mother and father, to her sister, what she had hoped to do to Michael, and what she had just said to me, spoke of a deep-seated streak of cruelty.
Driving away before she could change her mind and do something rash, I was glad to see the last of Little Sefton.
I was halfway to London before I was calm enough to go over again what I'd said to Victoria Garrison. I'd been angry, and yes, a little frightened by her, so the words were lost at first. In the end, they came back to me. What I'd said hadn't angered her-it was the fact that I knew something she wanted to hide.
If Victoria had had a romantic fling in the winter, it hadn't survived. I couldn't help but wonder if he, whoever he was, had thrown her over for someone else. Married or not.
I turned the bonnet of my motorcar toward London, and when I got there, I went directly to the flat. It seemed a haven, just now. It was late afternoon, and Mrs. Hennessey was out.
I climbed the stairs with a heavy heart, and reached for the latch of our door, but it opened under my hand. Someone was here.
I walked into the flat, and Mary glanced up from the letter she was writing. After one look at me she frowned.
'Have you lost your last friend, or your last penny?' she demanded, and capped her pen before setting it aside and moving into what we euphemistically called our kitchen, to make a pot of tea.
'I'm in low spirits,' I admitted. 'I've just been very rude to someone who was rude to me first. And I'm trying to save a good friend from hanging, and I am in the early stages of panic, because he goes to the gallows next week.'
She looked up from measuring the tea and said, 'Who's going to the gallows next week? Anyone I know?'
'Michael Hart. He was convicted of the murder of Serena Melton's brother's wife. Marjorie Evanson. And of attacking a distant cousin of Marjorie's, with the intent to kill.'
