Marianna (22 page)

‘Is he badly hurt?’ she whispered, her hands to her throat.

‘I fear that he is dead.’

‘Oh no! Are ... are you sure?’

‘Yes, I am sure.’

Marianna nerved herself to join him beside her husband’s body. There was only a little blood which was seeping into William’s hair. His eyes were wide and staring and she could not but flinch at the terrible glare of accusation they held, even in death.

‘What are we to do?’ The trembling had increased so that her whole body was now shaking uncontrollably. Jacinto came and put his arms around her. His skin against hers seemed burning hot.

‘We had better get help,’ he said. ‘A doctor must be summoned, I suppose, even though he is dead.’

‘No ... no, we dare not call for help,’ she faltered. ‘Don’t you see — if it became known that you and I were here together, they would think that you killed him.’

‘I did kill him.’

‘But it was an accident! You didn’t mean to. But who would ever believe that?’ she cried despairingly. They would say it was murder. Oh Jacinto, you have to get away quickly. It mustn’t be discovered that you were ever here today.’

* * * *

The extreme peril of their situation seemed somehow to clear the fog in her brain, giving her an insight into what should be done,

‘You must leave this very minute, Jacinto, and by a different route from the one you came-by. If you walk along the river bank in the opposite direction, then turn left when it brings you to the road, you will eventually reach the next station up the line. It’s five or six miles, but it will be the safest thing for you to catch the train back to London from there. Try to be unobserved and speak to no one.’

‘But I cannot leave you to face alone whatever has to be faced. You must come away also.’

‘That would only blazon our guilt to the world,’ she insisted. ‘We must part now, at once. And we must not meet again — not for a very long time.’ Jacinto started to shake his head, and she urged him wildly ‘It is the only hope for us ... for us both. Can you not see that?’

‘But now that your husband is dead, you are free, Marianna. We did not intend him dead, but it has happened. He is no longer a barrier between us.’

‘Oh Jacinto, don’t you understand? William is a far greater barrier to us dead than when he was alive. By being together now we would be in much worse danger than we should have risked before. Wherever we tried to hide ourselves, the law would seek us out as murderers. So you must leave now, at once. At once! There is no other way, I am certain of it.’

He gripped her by the shoulders, roughly. ‘If I
do
go, what of you?’

As yet Marianna had spared no thought to that question, being too intent on Jacinto’s safety.

‘I shall return to the house ... and then I must continue as if nothing untoward has happened. I can only presume that when William arrived back a day sooner than expected, he was informed that I was walking in the grounds and came to look for me. So I must show surprise to learn that he is home already and appear to be anxious because by then it will be dark. Perhaps I should despatch a servant to find my husband, to tell him that I myself have returned to the house. Eventually, William’s body will be found here, and it will be thought that he surprised some vagrant ... using this boathouse to sleep in, perhaps … and there was a fight between them.’

Jacinto gave her a look of intense concern. ‘Is it possible that you can carry through such a pretence? Is it possible that you will be able to act convincingly in the way you suggest?’

‘I will, Jacinto, because I must. If I fail and the fact that you were here comes out, then God help us both.’

She managed to persuade him, through lack of any alternative that he could suggest. As they hastily glanced around to check that they were leaving no trace of their presence, Marianna averted her eyes from her husband’s lifeless body. She felt no grief, no sorrow, no compassion. Only a terrible fear. She hastened Jacinto, gathering up his greatcoat and thrusting it at him. With his collar turned up and his hat on, the gash on his cheek was not too conspicuous.

In the doorway he paused an instant and drew her to him. They did not kiss, but held one another tightly. He whispered, ‘One day, my darling ... one day we shall be together.’

‘Perhaps,’ she murmured, choking back a rush of tears. ‘I will let you know if it is safe. But on no account must you try to communicate with me. And now be gone, my dearest love, for God’s sake be gone before it is too late.’

She watched as Jacinto crossed the rustic bridge and vanished from her view into the swiftly-gathering dusk. Moments later even the sound of his footsteps had faded to nothing and Marianna was alone with the river’s endless murmur and the rustle of roosting birds.

* * * *

‘Whatever’s wrong, stepmama dear?’ drawled an unpleasantly familiar voice as Marianna entered the house. ‘You look as pale as a ghost.’

She spun round, startled, that hard-won mask of calm shattered in an instant. That Ralph might be here at Highmount was something she had not bargained for. What did his presence mean? Gathering her wits, she tried to sketch a relaxed smile; then remembered that she would be unlikely to smile at Ralph, particularly after the shooting of old Cato. In a tightly-controlled voice, she asked, ‘What brings you here, Ralph?’

‘Always so jolly welcoming!’ he mocked. ‘Actually I was summoned here by the guv’nor. He wants me to dash up to Liverpool post-haste with the new grain contracts he’s brought back with him.’

‘I see! He sent you a cable from Canada, I presume. Your father is not due home until tomorrow morning, Ralph. I suppose you’re aware of that?’

He hesitated, looking at her through narrowed eyes. ‘The guv’nor saved a day by leaving the ship when it called at Dartmouth and came on from there by train. He arrived home about an hour ago, shortly after I did.’

Somehow Marianna managed the exclamations of surprise that Ralph would undoubtedly expect. Then she inquired, ‘Where is your father now?’

‘When he heard that you were out walking, he went to find you. Which direction did you take?’

Thanking heaven she had had the forethought to return to the house a long way round, she replied, ‘Most of the time I was strolling in the beechwood.’

‘Were you?’ Ralph sounded surprised, sceptical almost, and Marianna’s heart stumbled a beat. ‘The guv’nor went looking for you in the direction of the river, I think.’

She held her hands pressed together to still their shaking. ‘Perhaps we should send someone to find him. It’s getting dark out, and quite cold. We don’t want him taking a chill.’

‘I’ll go myself,’ said Ralph unexpectedly.

‘Oh, would you? Thank you. I’ll slip upstairs, then, and make myself more presentable for your father. And I’ll order some tea, ready for when you return.’

Ralph looked at her again in a puzzled way, then nodded and strode off to fetch a hat and coat. For a moment or two Marianna remained where she was, gathering herself together. She mounted the staircase slowly and steadily, marvelling at the self-control she had contrived to find.

She must behave normally, she
must!
In her bedroom, although she longed to throw herself prostrate and let the tears flow, she rang for Hilda and gave instructions about tea. Then she set about changing her dress, taking as much care over her toilette as though she were truly expecting to greet her returned husband in just a few minutes. She ignored Hilda’s incessant chatter and strained her ears for the sound of a commotion downstairs.

* * * *

Marianna had spent most of the past twenty-four hours closeted in her room, seeing almost no one apart from her maid. She had cause to be thankful that what befitted a grieving widow, after the shock of hearing her husband had met with a violent and horrible death, so exactly matched her present desperate need for solitude. It was a relief to find that she need not pretend too hard with Hilda. There was something deeper and closer than mere sympathy in the girl’s manner.

Now, as Hilda entered the room with her afternoon tea tray, it was clear from the worried expression on her freckled face that she was bringing bad news.

‘What is it, Hilda? What has happened?’

‘It’s that there police inspector, ma’am. He’s started asking questions about a young chap who was seen down near the bridge yesterday afternoon, before ... before what happened to the master.’

Marianna fought to retain a semblance of composure. ‘Nothing has been said to me of this, Hilda.’

‘Well, I s’pose he don’t want to upset you, ma’am. It were Mr Ralph who told the inspector, they say. It seems he looked through that telescope thing yesterday afternoon, and he spotted this chap loitering on the bridge. He reckoned he were up to no good, but then the master come home and it slipped his mind, like.’

Marianne’s brain was spinning. The bridge had been their meeting place, and she had arrived there first. If Ralph had seen Jacinto, he must have seen her, too. Why, therefore, had he not said so?

Hilda went on diffidently, ‘They say that Mr Ralph give the police a description of this chap, ma’am — a bit foreign-looking, and what his clothes was like and that. Well, begging your pardon, but from what I heard tell it sounds as if he could easy be that gentleman who was standing outside the London house the other week. The one you went out to speak to, ma’am.’

Marianna nodded slowly, despairingly, knowing that denial would be useless. Tell me, Hilda — did any of the other servants see me with him that morning in Cadogan Place?’

‘
l don’t reckon so, ma’am, leastways, nothing’s never been said below stairs.’

‘And you didn’t mention it to your Albert?’

‘No’m, not a word.’

Her only hope now lay in the girl’s loyalty.

‘What happened to my husband ... it was an accident, a dreadful accident. You must believe that. There was a struggle and Mr Penfold fell and struck his head. I know that we were very wrong to meet clandestinely, but oh Hilda, I do love him so much.’ She covered her face with her hands. ‘Merciful heaven, what am I to do?’

Hilda too was weeping now. ‘Ma’am, isn’t there no way you can warn him that he were seen by Mr Ralph? What about sending one of them telegrams? If you was to write down the words on a piece of paper and then make out you wanted me to go to the village on some errand or other, I could hand it in at the post office. I did that once before, for Miss Eunice.’

Marianna shook-her head. ‘But it wouldn’t be safe — the postmaster would be sure to inform the police. Besides, I don’t know his full address, only the name of the street.’ In any case, it would need more than a telegram to make Jacinto take action to save himself while she was still exposed to danger. It would need all her powers of persuasion.

‘I’d have to see him myself, Hilda,
talk
to him,’ she went on. ‘But how can I possibly get to London without anyone knowing that I am gone?’

In the silence, the rapid ticking of the French clock seemed to be snatching the vital seconds away at a terrifying speed. Then Hilda said, tentatively, ‘Suppose — forgive the liberty, ma’am — suppose you was to put on some of my things, my Sunday things, of course. That way, once you was out of the house — and we could manage that part easy enough between us — you wouldn’t be noticed on the train or nothing. Mind, you’d have to walk to the station, though.’

‘But ... but my absence would very soon be noticed, Hilda.’

‘Not if I was to tell them downstairs that you’re feeling very poorly, like, and don’t want nobody to disturb you. And I could say as how you’d asked me to sit with you. Excepting just for my supper — I’ll have to go down for that or it would look wrong — I’ll stay here in your room till you gets back.’

‘That would not be for hours, Hilda — even past midnight, perhaps.’ But hope was kindling, flaring within her and leaving her breathless.

‘All the better, ma’am. Everyone will be in their beds and you’d be able to slip back in the house on the quiet.’

‘Yes! That’s a wonderfully clever idea. Oh Hilda, I can’t tell you how grateful I am for all your help.’

‘No need’m. You’ve always treated me decent, when you needn’t have done, and I reckon as how I owe you a lot for that.’

While Hilda went up to her attic bedroom to fetch her Sunday clothes, Marianna checked her purse. Thank goodness there was enough for her fare to London. But there would be precious little left over. Nothing to give Jacinto to help him in making an escape.

Jewellery? But she dared not dispose of any of the gifts William had given her. He had kept a detailed inventory locked in his desk of all his gifts to her — in case of loss or theft, he’d said — and dangerous questions might be asked if any of these things were found to be missing. There were her mother’s jewels, though — greatly treasured, but never worn, because William had made his disapproval plain. Swiftly she took the ivory and tortoise-shell casket from its drawer and tipped the contents into a handkerchief, which she tied up at the four corners.

The plump Hilda’s dark brown coat hung in loose folds on Marianna, and her black button boots needed to be stuffed with crumpled paper in the toes. But no matter! Hilda went to reconnoitre, and when she announced that the back stairs were safely deserted, Marianna hurriedly slipped down and left the house by a side door into the thickening winter dusk.

Mercifully she met not a soul on the fifteen minute walk to the village. At Edgeley station, the booking clerk paid her scant attention. He was too absorbed in his nice warm stove and the pot of tea drawing on its hob to take special note of a servant girl asking timidly for a third-class return ticket to Waterloo.

* * * *

By great good fortune, Jacinto had chanced to mention one day, making a joke of it, that his lodgings in Clerkenwell were next door to a pawn shop, so she would be able to find the right house. Furthermore, the thought of a pawnbroker’s had given Marianna the idea of how to raise some money for Jacinto, though she had better avoid that particular establishment lest her visit be remembered. At Waterloo she instructed the cabby to take her to some such place in the vicinity.