“You don’t think I remember it all exactly?”
“Hell, Billy, not like that. What I mean is to get the little details clear in your memory: how many natives were there, whattime of day, what weapons were they carrying, that kind of thing. Plus there’s the business of what came after, what you lotdid—it’s all in the police report, but since I’ll need you to confirm under oath that you agree with what it says, you mayas well have a read of it first.”
“Fine.”
“Look, there’s really nothing to worry about. These inquests are a formality more often than not. I just need to know thatyou’re not planning on saying anything that’s not in them papers. If there’s a problem, I want to hear it now.”
Billy shook his head. “No, nothing.”
“Good. Because memories can be slippery as fish, in my experience. Once you have them out the water, it pays to get them goodand clubbed.”
Billy frowned at his meaning: What was he on about, fish? He asked, “When is this hearing anyhow?”
“Next month sometime. The exact date’s not been set. I’m supposed to do some investigating beforehand”—he raised his glass,almost empty—“which in its own good way this is, and them others will all need time to travel out.”
Billy’s attention drifted to the French doors and the sunset glowing pink through the voiles. “It’s not a girl, is it? Thewitness—it’s not a young native girl?”
“I told you, there’s no name yet. And spare me the details, I don’t want to know about any girl. Just stick to what’s in thempapers and I’ll make sure everything works out fine. Which I’m sure you’ll be only too willing to thank me for, once all thisis put to bed.”
The old judge was grinning wantonly. He motioned for a refill, but Billy only glared. “You’d best not be threatening me here,Spencer.”
“No, lad, no. Not at all. But it’s like I said earlier, a man’s reputation counts for a lot in these parts. The last thing I’d want is for this inquest to cause you any harm. I remember all too well how it was for your father when his luck turned—I’d hate for you to end up the same way.”
“I ain’t nothing like him.”
“Of course not. And I’m not your enemy here, neither. All I’m asking is that if I look out for you and your family this time,which I will, then one day you’ll see your way to doing the same for me and mine. I’ve a retirement pot that needs takingcare of. All contributions gratefully received.”
Billy didn’t answer, didn’t refill his whiskey glass. He rang the bell and without waiting for the magistrate to lever himselfout of the armchair, without shaking his greasy hand, sprang to his feet and marched out of the drawing room, instructingHardy when they crossed in the hallway to show their guest the door.
* * *
From William’s bedroom window Katherine had seen the magistrate arrive at the house, then after half an hour leave again,hobbling down the steps with his walking cane, heaving himself into his carriage and trundling off along the track. He’d lookedanything but happy. Unlikely he’d brought good news. She wondered if the missing stableboy had been stupid enough to go tothe law, though surely he knew he’d get no justice there. Or here, obviously—nobody had seen him since the flogging in theyard. It pained her that Billy had run him off like that. The boy had been with them for years.
She turned from the window and checked on William, sleeping in his bed, the sheets pulled tight around his chest. He’d not been right since. Sweating a fever constantly, cuts to his hands and face. For three days now he’d refused to leave his bedroom, not since it happened, save that first evening when he’d sat slumped at the dining table with his head in his hand, pushing his food around the plate, Billy asking in all seriousness what was wrong. He still wasn’t eating properly. Showed no interest in his piano or books. He’d been getting the most terrible nightmares, waking petrified and slick with sweat; last night Katherine had slept in the room with him and had been jolted awake by his screams. She’d sat him upright and talked to him and he’d stared through her like she wasn’t there. At least now he was resting peacefully. Progress, of sorts. On her way out of the room she paused, stroked his hair, lightly smoothed down the sheets.
The maid was tidying the drawing room, collecting whiskey glasses and crumb-scattered side plates and loading them onto atray. Of course there would have been whiskey. Not a day went by that Billy didn’t drink. And always the best, the same labelsJohn had bought. That wasn’t the only similarity. The way he dressed, how he spoke sometimes, how he treated his men; herfirst husband had beaten his share of servants too. Billy was twenty-nine but acted forty, and despite their success mopedabout like a put-upon mule. He was never happy, never satisfied, and was a shadow of the man she had married: the rough-talkingstockman trampling his own path through the world, taking shit from no one, particularly her father; oh, the glory of hisexpression when Billy had pinned him against that wall. And now look at him. Whiskey glasses and cake crumbs after a visitfrom the judge; that ridiculous billiards table he had bought. She noticed the ashtrays were empty. A wonder there’d not beencigars.
The maid told Katherine that Billy was outside, a wall of warm air hitting her as she opened one of the glass French doors.Out she
