Later, as they grew up, he felt like that child of twelve whenever they were together. He remembered the peace of those first moments alone with her – here, before the noise of life continued – and wondered if he would ever know it again. It was the only thing left which could make sense of all that had happened.
Harry looked through the trees towards Loe Cottage, his shelter and his prison. As he watched, trying to reconcile pasts which refused to belong to the same person, he saw Morwenna come out from the kitchen with a basket of laundry, her face ghostly in the strengthening sunlight, her weariness mirroring his own. For a moment, Harry had to turn away. His greatest fear had always been of looking back over his shoulder to find that she was happy without him, but seeing her like this – with all the life beaten out of her because of what she believed he had done – was much worse. He wanted to go to her, but he knew he couldn’t – not in daylight, when someone might see him. Being anywhere near the cottage was dangerous now, even though he knew the Loe estate and its secrets better than anyone. Still, Harry took the risk because he no longer trusted himself to be away from Morwenna. He was losing himself, and she was his only hope. Without her, it was too easy to believe in his own death.
Penrose watched the ambulance pull away from Bar Lodge and gather as much speed as the narrow track would allow. Wearily, he leaned against the boot of his car. The stroke had been a serious one, and the ambulance men – while polite and efficient – had refused to commit themselves to Jasper Motley’s chances of surviving it. In spite of their assurances that the attack had not been brought on by his questioning, Penrose could not help but feel a certain amount of guilt – professional rather than personal – for having given it every possible assistance.
A noise from the back seat drew his attention, and he opened the rear door to give Treg the opportunity for some exercise. The dog licked his hand gratefully and found plenty to amuse himself with along the hedgerow, and the two of them waited for Trew to finish talking to Edwina Motley. She had refused the offer of a lift to the hospital, preferring instead to wait at home for news of her husband, and Penrose guessed that his fate was of little concern to her, other than materially. He had never liked what little he knew of his uncle’s wife, and had no intention of allowing the afternoon’s events to make him feel guilty for that, but he had to admit to a grudging respect for the way that she refused to manufacture a grief for appearance’s sake.
As for his own behaviour, he could only imagine what might have happened if Trew had not stepped in. It had all taken place so quickly, and yet he seemed to have experienced a lifetime of emotions in those few seconds – incredulity, disgust, loneliness and – least forgivably of all, perhaps – a selfish foolishness that he had never discovered the family secret for himself. He thought back to how he remembered his mother – or rather how he thought he remembered her – and no longer trusted what he saw; it was almost as if the unease he felt at Harry’s funeral had been some sort of premonition that the foundations of his own life were about to shift unalterably. How easily the images you relied upon most could fall apart, he thought, although he was honest enough to recognise that the sense of betrayal which should have been for his mother was in fact for himself. Try as he might, he could not connect his outrage to her suffering; instead, he was shocked to realise that he blamed her – not for the violation itself, but for dying before he understood, before he had a chance to help.
Trew came over to the car, and Penrose was grateful to him for his businesslike attitude: if he felt either pity or concern for his superior’s mental health, he was sensible enough not to show it. ‘I’ll have to go and tell William about his brother,’ Penrose said. ‘He’ll probably want to go to the hospital, or at least see Edwina. And I need to talk to him,’ he added, more to himself than to Trew. He looked at his watch. ‘It’s six o’clock now. I’ll run you into Helston, and you can get a car back to Penzance from there.’
‘There’s no need, Sir. I’ll take the path by the lake and get to Helston that way. Treg could do with a walk, and I’d like to have a look along that side of the water, remind myself what we’re dealing with before the search.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely, Sir. It won’t take me long, and it’s a pleasant enough evening now. You’ve got things to do.’ He called Treg, who – with uncharacteristic disobedience – just looked back at him from the south porch of the church and refused to move. ‘What’s got into him?’ He called again, a stricter note in his voice this time, and Treg reluctantly did as he was told. ‘I’ll make sure that everything’s in place our end for first light tomorrow,’ he said, when the dog was by his side again. ‘We’ll get the boys started here, then they can make their way through the woodland on this side while your uncle’s men work along the other bank. Will he still be able to oversee that after what’s happened?’
‘Yes, I’m sure he will but I’ll telephone you at the station later,’ Penrose said. ‘It’s going to be a long job, so the sooner we can get started, the better.’ The constable nodded and set off at a brisk pace, his dog at his heels. ‘And Trew?’ Penrose called after him.
‘Yes, Sir?’
‘Thank you for what you did this afternoon.’
‘There’s really no need, Sir.’
‘Yes there is. I’m sorry you were put in that position.’
‘It’s forgotten, Sir, honestly.’
By Trew, perhaps, thought Penrose as he got back into his car, but certainly not by him.
Josephine called in at the stables on her way back from Loe Cottage, and spent a peaceful half-hour talking to Violet and getting to know one or two of the other horses. While she was there, one of the stable lads – not the man she had met on Monday night, but someone just as affable and respectful of the animals in his care – came to fetch Shilling from his stall for some exercise. She watched as he led the grey out into the yard and saddled him carefully, talking gently to the horse all the time. There was a nervousness in Shilling’s eye as the man eased himself smoothly on to his back, a look which suggested that arrogance had been made to doubt itself for the first time, but the creature seemed soothed by his rider’s calm confidence and, by the time they reached the parkland in front of Loe House, where tree trunks had been carefully positioned to form a series of jumps, man and horse seemed to have reached an understanding, albeit a fragile one.
‘Getting better, isn’t he?’ She turned, pleased to see William, and the two of them watched in admiration as Shilling effortlessly managed each jump that was asked of him. ‘I only wish I could be sure that patience and good care would have the same effect on everyone Harry left behind,’ he said. ‘It was kind of you to spend some time with Loveday, though. It obviously made her day.’
‘You’ve seen her?’ Josephine asked, relieved. She couldn’t bring herself to believe that Morveth would harm the girl; nevertheless, it was good to hear that her visit had not simply brought Loveday more trouble.
‘Yes. I called in on the way back from seeing Nathaniel’s parents. Actually, she was a breath of fresh air – I hadn’t realised how much I needed to see someone smile. And I don’t want to put any pressure on you, but you’re going to have to write a lot faster to keep that young reader happy.’
Josephine laughed. ‘She’s started it, then?’
‘Oh, she’s nearly halfway through. It would seem that you
‘Don’t worry. She can tell me herself – I’ll call again tomorrow.’
‘She’d like that.’
‘Did you see Morwenna?’
‘Yes.’ He looked grave again, and Josephine realised that Ronnie was right to be worried about her father – the sadness on the estate was taking its toll on him as much as anyone. ‘It’s like talking to someone who’s only half there. Any mention of the future, and she just retreats further into herself.’
‘What will happen to them?’
‘I ought to be able to answer that, but it’s not a simple question. Financially, I’m happy to take responsibility for them until they get back on their feet – no matter how long it takes.’
‘It’s more than that, though, isn’t it? They need a reason to look forward.’
‘Exactly. And maybe I’m doing the wrong thing by taking care of all the practical worries for them – perhaps they’d find a focus more quickly if they were forced to fend for themselves, but I’m afraid cruel to be kind doesn’t sit easily with me. There must be something which will make them happy, and I’d rather let them find it in a gentler way if I can.’ He looked at her, a little embarrassed. ‘Does that sound absurdly naive?’
‘No, not at all. But it does sound like a long-term occupation.’
‘It’s easier with Loveday, I admit – partly because she’s still so young, and partly because she’s interested in everything. She adores the horses, you know – she’s very like her father and her brother in that way – and I want to encourage Morwenna to let her help out a bit round the estate when she’s better. She never had the patience to
