‘I feel rather hypocritical about asking you to act as my spy when I’ve set up camp on the moral high ground, but now I’ve done it, I may as well reap the benefits.’
‘Well, I didn’t get anywhere with what you asked me to find out. Loveday didn’t say anything about Nathaniel that you don’t already know, and there was nothing to indicate that his love for Harry was ever reciprocated.’
‘But?’ he asked, sensing that there was more.
‘I might be able to throw some light on Christopher’s disappearance. Loveday was pregnant, and there’s no doubt the baby was his. She thinks he’s abandoned her, and I wouldn’t be surprised. He’s not the first boy to make a run for it rather than face his father’s wrath – and if I were him, I wouldn’t want to face Morwenna, either.’
‘You said Loveday
‘She had a miscarriage – not that she understands any of this, of course, but it was obvious from what she said. That’s why they left the Minack in such a hurry.’
‘That makes sense. Jago was concerned about Christopher’s relationship with Loveday, although he insisted it had never got that far. Poor Loveday – she’s another one who’s had more than her fair share of grief lately. Still, perhaps this latest blow is for the best. A child would only complicate things – for her and for Morwenna.’
‘Mmm.’
‘You don’t agree?’
‘About the child, perhaps. But I don’t see why everyone should be so sceptical about Loveday and Christopher making a go of things – it seems to me that they stand as good a chance as any of us. But that wasn’t really what I meant. We’re back to playing God again.’
‘Go on.’
‘From what Loveday said to me, I’d put money on the fact that Morveth found a way to bring on the miscarriage.’
‘Really? God, I hope you’re wrong, for Loveday’s sake
‘How would you ever prove it? And what good would it do Loveday if you did? It’s just someone else she can no longer trust.’
‘You don’t like Morveth, do you?’
‘No, and not just because she chose on a whim to tell me something which could have destroyed my relationship with you, or because she frightened me to death by catching me pumping Loveday for information. Morveth is the worst kind of criminal, if you really want to know what I think. She manipulates people’s lives because she thinks she knows what’s best for them, without ever putting her own emotions on the line, and walks through the wreckage unscathed. It’s exactly what you said about certainty leading to arrogance: she’s so used to taking things into her own hands that she never questions herself any more – if she ever did. Hubris is as dangerous as cruelty or ignorance. In fact, when you find out who killed Nathaniel, I’ve no doubt you’ll come across Morveth’s handiwork in there somewhere. She won’t have pushed him over – that sort of direct approach isn’t her style – but she might as well have done.’
‘There was a time when I would have argued,’ Archie said. ‘Her kindness kept me sane when my parents died.’
‘I’m sure, but you were never as vulnerable as most of the people whose lives she shapes, for want of a better word – not even then, when you were grieving. And I’m not saying she does it maliciously. I’m sure she genuinely believes she’s doing good, but that only makes her more dangerous. I can’t tell you how relieved I was when William said he wanted to take charge of Loveday’s future. Morveth isn’t a good influence for someone like her.’
‘No, I agree,’ he said, and told her everything he’d learned from Jago Snipe about Christopher’s unofficial adoption and the tragic circumstances that made it possible. ‘There’s no doubt that it was Morveth’s idea to give the child to Jago,’ he finished gravely. ‘I need to go and see her first thing in the morning. Will you come with me?’
‘Me? Why? Won’t Ronnie’s constable go with you?’
Archie smiled. ‘No. I spoke to him earlier and he’ll be busy getting the search underway. I think you may be right about Christopher, but I’m not leaving anything to chance. I owe that much to Jago – or to Joseph Caplin, whichever way you want to look at it. And part of the conversation I need to have with Morveth is personal. We have to talk about my mother, and she made that your business by telling you what happened. I’d like you to be there. After today, I don’t entirely trust myself to behave well. Will you come?’
‘Of course,’ she said, getting up and putting the guard in front of the fire, much to Motley Penrose’s disgust, ‘and I’ll try to keep my dislike to myself.’
He kissed her goodnight and walked through to the hall, but stopped on the bottom step. ‘About Morwenna and that bloody poem,’ he said, looking back. ‘I only meant…’
She put her finger to her lips. ‘I know what you meant, Archie, and I overreacted. It’s actually a very good metaphor for what I do.’
‘Anyway, it was a long time ago. I’ve learned to live with it.’
He matched the lightness in her tone, but she sensed that they were both trying a little too hard. ‘What happened to her, by the way?’ she asked. ‘The Lady of Shalott, I mean – I don’t know the poem.’
‘She died,’ he admitted reluctantly. ‘She walked away from her work to face the real world, and it killed her.’
‘I rest my case,’ Josephine said wryly, but could not fool herself that it was anything other than a hollow victory.
Chapter Nineteen
Loveday lay in bed and watched as the oblong of thatch which hung over her bedroom window began to define itself in the early morning light. She loved the stillness of this part of the day, before anyone else was awake, when she could pretend that she was alone in the world, free to make of it what she could, but this morning she was restless and the darkness seemed obstinately sluggish and slow to retreat. Softly, she slipped from the bed, reaching back under the covers to find the clothes that she had pulled in beside her to warm. She dressed carefully, taking time to make sure that the buttons on her cardigan were fastened correctly, then climbed on to a chair in front of her tiny mirror to make sure that the end result met with her approval. With a critical eye, she examined every inch of herself, square by reflected square, then sat back down on the bed to tie her laces. Impatiently, she spat on her hand and wiped a fleck of mud from her left shoe. If they found Christopher today, she wanted to look her best, to let him know what he was missing by running off and leaving her.
Avoiding the steps which creaked was second nature to her after years of furtive comings and goings, and she reached the bottom of the stairs as silently as if she had been carried by the draughts which persistently defied any attempts to block their entrance through the cottage windows. She shivered – whether from cold or excitement she could not say – and went over to the pantry, where she chose a bread roll, two apples and a large piece of cheese to see her through the day. She was on her way back over the flagstones to the door, when she realised that her luck had run out.
‘Where are you going?’ Reluctantly, Loveday turned round to face Morwenna. Her sister was at the bottom of the stairs and, as she stood there in the shadows, dressed in a long white nightshirt with her hair untidy and dark circles around her eyes, she reminded Loveday of a ghost, one of those lost, reckless women who haunted all her brother’s best stories. The similarity was so uncanny that she wanted to laugh, but something in Morwenna’s expression told her not to. If she wanted to get her way now that she had been discovered, she would have to be cleverer than that.
‘I’m going to look for Christopher with the others,’ she said, deciding that Morwenna could surely not object to something that involved everyone.
‘How do you know about that?’
‘I heard Mr Motley telling you when he came round yesterday. I think it’s a bit silly of them not to have asked me to help,’ she added, unable to prevent a note of petulance entering her voice. ‘I know all the secret places, after all, and I’m more likely to find him than anyone.’
‘But Loveday, you haven’t been well,’ Morwenna said in the exasperated tone that her little sister had grown
