it too.”
“That’s not the point,” I said. “You compromised yourself as well as Davis Merrit.”
She shook her head. “It’s George’s fault, when you come right down to it. I do wish I could ask Davis his opinion about this claim of murder. He knew George. Not well, but apparently they’ve met before.” Shivering, she added, “I’ve never met a murderer. I don’t even know what to look for. It can’t be anyone we know. George must have other enemies. Surely.”
I thought it was all too likely to be someone she knew.
Night had fallen, sunset coming in late afternoon at this time of year. Outside the windows it was dark, and I could almost imagine the heath inching toward the house, eating away slowly at this pitiful attempt to keep it at bay.
I went to the windows and stood there, the lamplight at my back. Clouds were racing across the sky, hiding the stars, and there was no light to be seen anywhere. Even in the countryside in Somerset we could see a distant lamp lit in the house down the road from ours, or in another direction, from Simon’s cottage. Here there was no sign of life, no hint of civilization. Only the stark blackness of a wild place.
And then I nearly cried out in alarm, for there was a face in the spill of light from these windows, illuminating the drive just below me. My heart was racing with shock even as I told myself it was another of Inspector Rother’s constables, set to watch the door and prevent our leaving. And then I realized that it was Simon, looking up at me.
He must have seen me at the window before he reached the door.
Turning, I told Lydia that I ought to go, then hurried down the stairs. There was no one in the great hall as I walked through it. Opening the door as quietly as possible, I slipped through.
“I left my horse down the lane,” Simon told me in a low voice that didn’t carry. “I need to speak to you.”
I stepped into a cold wind and shut the door softly behind me. We walked out of the circle of light from the tall windows above the hall and into the darkness. I reached out to take Simon’s arm. The black shapes of the stunted bushes on the heath looked like beasts crouched there, waiting. I was learning to appreciate why Lydia found winter here so very distressful. In the daylight I’d thought I understood. But out here in the night, I knew what fear was and was grateful for the touch of another human being.
Simon didn’t speak until we were well out of hearing. He seemed to be able to see in the dark, something I’d noticed before. We walked toward the lane that led from the track, and something loomed above me, catching me off guard.
It was his horse, snorting as we came within reach, and I put out a hand to touch the soft, warm muzzle. It nuzzled my hand in return, and then blew.
Simon told me, “There have been developments. Rother has brought in constables from all over Sussex to help search. One of his own men, a Constable Bates from Wych Gate, saw a beggar in Hartfield with a gold watch. He was showing it to the ironmonger at the time, like a child with a new toy. The constable stepped in and asked to look at the watch. Opening the case, he saw the name inscribed inside. It was Malcolm Hughes-apparently he was the victim’s late brother.”
“Yes, he was killed in the war.”
“The constable asked who had given this watch to the beggar, and he answered that it was a friend.”
“A friend?” I knew what was coming.
“One Davis Merrit. The police are looking for him. He wasn’t at his house, and no one is certain just where he might have gone-”
“He’s blind,” I said. “He couldn’t have gone far. Not on his own.”
“The train stops nearby,” he reminded me.
“Yes. I know. Do you think they’ll arrest him? Merrit? When they find him?”
“It’s likely. The police hadn’t thought the body had been robbed. The man’s purse hadn’t been taken, for one thing, and there was a signet ring on one finger. It appears now that the watch was removed.”
“Why? I mean, if it’s so easily identified, why take it, then give it to someone who can’t be relied upon to conceal where it came from?”
“A good question. Did Lydia Ellis tell Davis what had transpired last evening? There’s talk that she came into Hartfield very early this morning.”
“About the child? Yes. She told him about that and asked what he thought about it. He rather believed that there must be something to the story. But of course that was before anyone knew of the murder.”
“And Hughes told you where to find this child.”
“Yes, I told you. Apparently he’d seen her at an orphanage run by nuns.”
“Which puts you in danger. Who else knew that he could have confided in you?”
“I’ve tried to keep that to myself, Simon, but bits are leaking out. For instance that I was still in my evening gown this morning. I think Daisy let that slip. And the fact that Lydia was asleep in my room. That could be Gran, but it could also be that Inspector Rother is very good at putting two and two together. Eleanor, Alan Ellis’s widow, seems to be distancing herself from what’s happening. I hardly ever see her or her brother, but they had no reason to kill Lieutenant Hughes, did they? I don’t know what Dr. Tilton or his wife have told the police, nor Janet Smyth and her brother, the rector. And now this business about the watch. I really don’t know what to think any longer.”
“It could have nothing to do with the child. You realize that.”
I was standing next to the mare, warmed by her body, and Simon was between me and the wind sweeping across the flat, featureless heath.
“Then what is it about?” I asked. “I can’t imagine that Roger Ellis, for one, would kill George Hughes just to see Davis Merrit taken up for murder!”
I could glimpse his smile. “Stranger things have happened.”
Shivering, I said, “I’ll be glad when I can leave here. And Lydia wants to return to London-”
Simon’s gloved hand covered my mouth. I heard it then, someone coming up the lane toward the house. I nodded, letting him know I had heard it as well.
He pulled the mare into the deeper darkness of stunted trees, and covered her nose. I followed him, standing close, grateful for my dark coat.
It was a constable, I could see his helmet as he bicycled furiously up toward the house, breathing hard in the cold air, little puffs visible in tempo with the energy he was expending.
He dismounted as he reached the door and lifting the knocker, gave it an almighty
The door opened shortly thereafter, and I heard Daisy’s voice, followed by the constable’s.
She left him there, and very shortly Inspector Rother came to the door.
“What is it?” he asked sharply, his words carrying on the night air.
The constable leaned forward, lowering his voice.
Rother said, “Damn.” Quite clearly. Then he turned on his heel and was gone for a good five minutes. When he returned, it was with his coat, and he was giving orders to the constable to lash his bicycle to the boot of the Inspector’s motorcar.
It was done, and then the two men were driving toward us, the headlamps of their motorcar sweeping the lawns as they turned into the lane.
Simon swore, moving the mare deeper into the trees, turning his face away from the light, and I did the same.
The motorcar came surging down the lane, much too fast, and I heard the constable’s voice earnestly answering questions that Inspector Rother flung at him almost faster than the man could make a sensible reply. And then they were out of hearing, and soon enough out of sight, even the red rear lamp no longer visible.
“I think,” Simon said quietly, “the Inspector has just learned about the pocket watch.”
I thought about that. “But who could have given it to the beggar? We’ve all been here since the police arrived. Except for Roger Ellis. And-me. When I called my father.”
Had the watch been in George’s pocket when he was killed? If so, the only reason for taking it was to incriminate someone.
“The question is, is the beggar telling the truth? Does he even understand what the truth is? Or remember
