Ellis Peters - George Felse 04 - A Nice Derangement of Epitaphs (20 page)

‘
Think not to find, beneath this Stone

Mute Witness, bleached, ambiguous Bone
—’

You see, he told them, don’t look for me here, you won’t find me. And then, his ‘trackless maze,’ ‘the labyrinth beyond the tomb’—what was that but the real tunnel that opened beyond
his
tomb? He told them how he made his getaway, kicked up his heels at them and invited them to go after him if they were smart enough. And then, the last four lines, those are for
her
.

‘
There follow, O my Soul, and find

Thy Lord as ever true and kind
,

And savour, where all Travellers meet
,

The last Love as the first Love sweet
’.”

Simon sat looking at her with a face very still and very pale beneath its tan, and eyes that had no lustre; his voice was gentle and impersonal enough as he took up the recital from her.

“Now listen to Morwenna, and I don’t think you’ll doubt that this really was Morwenna herself speaking:

‘
Carve this upon Morwenna’s Grave:

N
ONE
B
UT
T
HE
B
RAVE
D
ESERVES
T
HE
B
RAVE.

Shed here no Tears. No Saint could die

More blessed and comforted than I.

For I confide I shall but rest

A Moment in this stony Nest,

Then, raised by Love, go forth to find

A Country dearer to my Mind,

And touching safe the sun-bright Shore,

Embrace my risen Lord once more.
’

Well, do you hear the authentic voice?”

They heard it indeed, suddenly fierce, impious, arrogant and gay, the reverse of its own conventionally presented image. Miss Rachel stirred uneasily, unwilling to acknowledge but unable to deny what she now saw in that delicate and beautiful creature in the drawing on the wall. Not the first and not the last in history to spit unwise defiance at the lightning.

“Why, she was the wilder of the two! That’s surely more than a little blasphemous! And then such a terrible fate, poor girl. Mr. Polwhele, do you think that what happened to them was a kind of
Judgment
?”

“No!” said the Vicar, with large and unclerical disdain, and looked a little surprised at his own vehemence. “I should be ashamed to attribute to God a malice of which I don’t find even myself capable. And I don’t think the spectacle of two daring and exuberant children egging each other on to say outrageous things about me, in my hearing, would even drive me to knock their heads together, much less drop a mountain on them and crush them. I think I might even laugh, when they weren’t looking. It would depend on the degree of style they showed. And Morwenna certainly had style. No, I don’t think there was any rejoicing in heaven when there was nobody left to lift the stone away. Rather a terrible sense of loss. She was brave, loyal and loving, enough virtues to offset what the Authorised Version would call a froward tongue. No, I suppose one must say that they played with fire so persistently that it was inevitable they’d get burned in the end. But to them playing with fire made life doubly worth living. You can’t have it both ways.”

“If she was blasphemous,” said Phil, shivering, “she certainly paid for it. She had the more terrible fate.”

“Did she?” Simon looked up, looked round the table with a brief and contorted smile. “I wonder how long Treverra watched and waited for her, or for news of her? He couldn’t come home, you see, he couldn’t even send letters, there was no one left here who knew he was alive. He had to stay dead in his old identity, he was still a wanted man. Maybe he thought she’d changed her mind, and found it quite convenient to be a widow. Maybe he thought she’d married again. Maybe he even began to fear she’d been planning her own future and laughing at him even while she helped him to arrange his elaborate joke, She was only forty-one, and a great beauty. And he couldn’t come back and fight for her. His joke had turned against him. Oh, believe me, if there was anything he had to pay for, he paid. There was only one agony he was spared—at least he didn’t know how his darling died.”

The moon was up when they went out to the cars, not too late, because Paddy had to leave by the traditional mid-morning train, and there were still the last little things to pack. The tide was half-way out, the moonshine turned the wet beach to silver, and the scattered clouds were moist with reflected light.

“I trust,” said Simon, finding George Felse close beside him as they went down the steps to the drive, “you were duly impressed with my performance?”

The voice was deliberately cool and light, but tired. He had walked rather stiffly past Tamsin, when she hesitated and waited for him in the doorway. For several days now he had been walking past Tamsin, with aching care and reluctant resolution. It had taken her a day or so to realise it, and longer to believe in it. She had the idea now, she had betaken herself promptly where she was welcomed, between Paddy and Dominic. They stood chattering beside the Mini, all a little subdued. The soft voices had a sound of autumn in them, too, as gentle as the salt wind.

“Yes, you’re quite a detective,” conceded George. Simon’s eyes were on Paddy, and the slight, brooding smile was unwary; he had no reason to suppose that George possessed the knowledge necessary to make it significant. “Now what about tackling the only mystery that’s left? I’m sure you could put a finger just as accurately on Trethuan’s killer, if you really tried.”

The smile stiffened slightly for an instant, and then perceptibly deepened. “Maybe I will, yet,” said Simon. “But there’s just one more question I have to ask before I shall know what I’ve got to tell you about that case. Give me till to-morrow.”

“I’ll do that.”

“Can I run you back to the hotel? It isn’t too comfortable for four, but it’s bearable for that distance.”

“Thanks, but we’ll walk. It’s not far, and rather nice at this time of night. And I think we’ll make our farewells to Paddy now. To-morrow,” said George quite gently, “had better be left to the family. Don’t you think so?”

The question that was to determine the ending of the Trethuan case was asked later that same night. And the person who had to answer it was Paddy Rossall.

They were all together round the fire before bed, Paddy’s packing done, the last pot of tea circulating, when Simon said in a careful and unemphatic voice, so that the shock came only gradually, like the late breaking of a wave:

“I hadn’t intended to do this, and if the truth hadn’t come out without any act of mine, I never would. But now we all know where we are. Paddy, you’re fifteen, for all present purposes you’re a man. You know I’m your father, as well as I know it. Now I want to talk to you, here, now, with Tim and Phil present, the only honest way.”

The silence that fell was extreme. There might never have been sound or movement in the world.

“Simon,” began Tim quietly, when he had his voice again, “do you think this is fair?”

“Yes, I think it’s fair. I think it’s absolutely necessary. We’ve been stalling it since yesterday morning, since we all knew where we stood. It’s necessary for us all, if only to clear the air. I am who I am, and Paddy knows it now, why not say it? Paddy, you
do
know. Say it!”

“Simon, you’ve no right—”

Phil laid her hand restrainingly on her husband’s arm. He had expected her to blaze into indignation, and she was silent; it confused and calmed him at the same time, effectively silencing him.

“Yes, I know,” said Paddy in a small, tight voice. He had a cup of tea in his hand; he laid it down carefully on the tiled hearth, and wiped his palms slowly on his thighs. His face was taut and expressionless.

“Then listen to me. This once listen to me, and be sure I respect you and trust you to be honest. We all want you to be happy, to have a full life and a satisfying life. I’m going to speak up for myself now. It’s the first time I’ve been able to do that, and I don’t see why I shouldn’t take advantage of it. I know I’m very late in making my bid, Paddy, but I’ve got a lot to offer. I’ve got an assignment that’s going to take me practically round the world for a series of articles and broadcasts. If you choose, you can come with me. It’s entirely up to you. Everything I can give you, I’ll give. Everything I can do for you, I’ll do. I want you, Paddy, I want you very much. I’ll do everything possible to try and deserve you, if you’ll come with me.”

“Now, look!” growled Tim.

“No, Tim, let him talk.” Phil drew him down again to his chair and held him there, charmed into quiescence by her bewildering serenity. It was too late, in any case, to deflect the encounter. The matter had been taken out of their hands, but for all that it was not yet in Simon’s. Paddy was a person, too. They must place as much reliance in him as Simon did, they had better reason. Nobody must argue back. Their arguments were already on record, fifteen years of them, without any world-tours, without any glamour, inexpert, imperfect, intimate arguments. But Phil knew their weight, and had already bet her life and Tim’s on their validity.

So Simon was the only one who talked; and Simon was an unmatched talker when his heart was in it. He was ruthless, too, now that he was in pursuit of something he really wanted. Miss Rachel had been a shrewd prophet.

“That’s all, Paddy. You know what you’ve got here, and now you know what I’m promising you. It’s up to you. If you decide to come with me, I don’t believe Tim and Phil will stand in your way.” It was a fighting case he’d made, he felt drained with all that had gone out of him. And Paddy sat there with his hands clenched on his thighs, and his face white with tension, staring into the fire.

“Paddy, look at me!”

Paddy raised his head obediently, and met Simon’s eyes full. His mouth and chin were set like stone, as if he felt the threat of tears not far away.

“Will you come?”

Paddy’s lips parted slowly and painfully. He moistened them, and tried for a voice that creaked and failed him; tried again, and achieved a remarkably steady, loud and controlled utterance.

“I’m sorry, but this is where I belong. With my parents. I like you very much, and of course you’re my father’s best friend. But I’m not going anywhere, except back to school tomorrow. But thank you,” he ended with punctilious politeness, “for asking me.”

He uncurled his closed fingers with a wrench, and got to his feet abruptly, all his movements slightly stiff and pareful.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go to bed now. Good-night, Mummy!” The quick, current touch of his lips on her cheek forbade her to manifest either surprise or concern. “Good-night, Dad!” His hand patted Tim’s shoulder lightly in passing. He was half-way to the door, magnificent and precarious, passing close to where Simon stood stricken mute and rigid with shock. And then he spoiled the whole gallant show.

It was not a deliberate blow; he had hesitated and cast about him frantically for a second to find some formula he could use, but there was none, and the instant of silence grew enormous in his own ears, and had to be broken. You can’t just excise a human being from your life, and pretend he doesn’t exist, you can’t call him “Uncle Simon” when he’s just reminded you that he isn’t anything of the kind, you can’t say “Father” when you have a father already, and have just been at pains to point out that you have no intention whatever of swopping him for anybody else on earth. There wasn’t anything left but that inalienable possession, a name, and only the respectful form was even half-way appropriate.

He said: “Good-night, Mr. Towne!”, fighting off the silence in sheer panic, and instantly and horribly aware that even the silence had been preferable.

Simon jerked back his head and drew in breath painfully, as if he had been struck in the face. He reached out a hand in incredulous protest, and caught the boy by the arm.

“My dear
child
—!”

Paddy turned upon him a pale face suddenly and briefly convulsed by a bright blaze of anger and desperation, and struck as hard as he could, frantic to end this and escape.

“That’s just the point! I’m not a child any longer, I’m not all that dear to you, and above all, I’m
not yours
. You gave me away, remember?”

For one electrifying instant Phil saw the two fierce, strained faces braced close to each other, staring in mutual anguish, more alike than they had ever been before. Then Paddy tugged his arm free and stalked out of the room; but in a moment they heard him climbing the stairs at a wild run, head-down for the privacy of his own room.

Simon hung still for a long, incredulous moment, his hand still extended, unable to grasp what had happened to him. Its finality there was no mistaking, but it took him what seemed an age to comprehend and accept it. He turned from them in a blind man’s walk, and went and groped out a cigarette from the box on the table, to find his shaking hands something challenging and normal to do.

Phil had risen instinctively and taken a couple of hasty steps towards the door to follow Paddy, but then she checked after all, and sat down again slowly. She felt for Tim’s hand, and closed her fingers on it gratefully. Simon’s fair crest, pale against the dark curtains, Simon’s rigid shoulders and patient, obstinate hands at work with matches, seemed to her suddenly close kin to Paddy’s beloved person, and infinitely more in need of pity.

“I ought to take you apart,” said Tim roused and scowling.

“Think you could do a better job than Paddy just did?” asked the taut voice.

“You asked for it.”

“I know I did. And I got it. Between the eyes.” He was ready to turn and face them now, the faintest of smiles wry at the corners of his mouth. “Don’t worry! I know when I’m licked. Even if I never had much practice, I can still be a sporting loser when there’s no help for it. I apologise, Tim, it was a dirty trick. It won’t happen again. Ever.”

“I tried to warn you,” said Phil in a very low voice.

“I know you did. I ought to have remembered that most women never bet anything that really matters to them, except on certainties. I won’t forget again.”

“Simon,” she said impulsively, gripping Tim’s hand tightly, because of course Tim didn’t understand, and probably never would, “settle for what you can get. There
is
something that belongs to you. I know it isn’t what you wanted, but it’s too good to throw away.”

Simon came across the room to her, took her chin in his hand, and kissed her. “God bless you, Phil! I’ll take any crumb that’s offered. But I don’t deserve a damn’ thing, and I won’t ask for anything again. After to-morrow, I promise, you won’t be bothered with me any more.”