The Edge of the Fall (32 page)

‘Thank you. But I can't wait! I'm going to go now.'

‘Miss Deerhurst, you can't! You're not dressed properly.'

Louisa ignored her, hurried out into the corridor. She seized some shoes – the quickest to put on – from her room and ran down towards the door. The maids had barred it after themselves. She tugged the bolts, hauled off the chain and pulled at the door. It wouldn't come. She tugged again, hard. She could hear Lucy knocking on Mrs Merling's door, telling her mother to come out. Finally the front door wrenched open and Louisa jumped out on to the top step. People were hurrying past, smartly dressed, on their way to work, she supposed. She ignored them, ran down the steps, her feet sliding in the damp. She ran around the edge of the houses to the black iron railings of the garden. Two nurses with perambulators were unlocking the gate, so she cut in behind them, hurried on into the garden.

The square gardens were smaller than they looked from her window, but the flowers were brighter, vivid against the dewy grass. She peered under a thin-looking rose bush.

‘Here, Petra!' she cooed. ‘Here, girl!'

She searched under more plants, a heavy purple shrub, a red flowering one that looked a bit like a tree. No sign of Petra. The nurses were walking up together along the opposite side of the garden. ‘Petra!' she shouted. ‘I'm here.'

She turned around, dizzily. If Petra wasn't here, where was she? She could be anywhere! She walked over to the same side as the nurses, peered under the bushes. Nothing. ‘I'm looking for my cat,' she said to the nurses, trying to smile.

‘Oh dear,' said one. ‘What type of cat?'

‘A tortoiseshell.' Louisa felt even more hopeless saying the words. ‘Black paws.'

‘I haven't seen it.'
Well, of course!
Louisa wanted to cry.
No one has
. She crushed her words. The woman was only trying to be helpful. She sighed, turned around. She'd go back to the house and find Mr Morris, ask him to help her. Perhaps Arthur might even be up. She began to walk back to the gate. Then she realised. Something was there. There was something on the railings, stuck on them, like she'd read heads once were, on the outskirts of London, back when people were so barbaric. It was small and dark, a strange mass of something. She drew closer, her heart hard in her chest, sickness rising. She walked forward and the garden was spinning, circling around her head, the red and purple of the petals cutting each other, exploding into fire and a thousand colours, burning through her eyes. She walked again, one foot in front of the other, forwards. The thing grew bigger as she walked towards it.
Don't!
she wanted to say.
Don't be true. Stop
.

She could hear one of the babies crying behind her. The nurse was lifting it from the perambulator, shushing it.

Don't be happening! Please!
She wanted to cry out, but the words wouldn't come.
Stop!

She was almost there. She could see it in front of her, the dark, wet fur, legs splayed. She moved forward again, reached out her hand. There was blood on the railing, dripping down into the grass.

There was a scream. It was so loud, ringing through her ears, filling the air. She dropped to the ground, clutching the railing, hearing the scream again and again.

‘Miss! Stop it! Calm down.' She looked up and there was Mr Jamieson.

‘Louisa!'Arthur was standing above her. ‘Louisa, stop this now!' He reached down, held her shoulders. ‘What are you doing?'

‘It's Petra!' she gasped. ‘Help her.' Mr Jamieson was looking at the black thing, holding out his hands.

‘Look away, cousin,' said Arthur. ‘Look at me. You need to stop crying. Stop. Tell me what happened.'

She knew, behind her, that Mr Jamieson was taking Petra down from the railings. She could hear him sighing, swearing as, she supposed, blood dripped on to his hand.

She couldn't speak, tears juddering her body, her face flooded with them, eyes so painful with salt she couldn't see. ‘Help me!'

‘But what happened, cousin?' Arthur had his arms around her. ‘Try to breathe. Tell me.' He looked up. ‘No, no, ladies, quite alright. A tragic accident.' She supposed he was talking to the nursemaids. She heard them move forwards, the gate clank as they closed it.

‘Someone's killed Petra!' she said. ‘They've killed her.'

‘We don't know that,' he said. ‘She might have fallen.'

She shook her head. ‘No! She's dead! Someone did it to her.'

She buried her face in Arthur's coat, wool scratching at her skin. She was hiccuping, weeping. ‘Breathe,' Arthur was saying. ‘Try and breathe.'

‘I can't bear it,' she said. ‘I can't bear it.'

Arthur stroked her hair. ‘Poor cousin. Poor Louisa. I'm so sorry.'

‘I looked everywhere for her! I knew she was gone. I told them. I searched!'

He was holding her close, crouching on the ground next to her. ‘Don't cry,' he said. ‘Please don't cry.'

‘I thought she was with me! She never leaves my room! How did she get away? I don't understand it. How could someone do this to Petra? She never hurt anyone!' She couldn't stop the words – scattering, falling, useless, hopeless words, but she said them again and again. ‘Please, Arthur,' she cried. ‘Please.' The tears were gluey in her eyes. She pressed her face harder into his coat. ‘Petra!' Arthur stroked her hair, rocked her on the damp earth as if she were a child.

‘We should move.'

She leapt up, clung to him. ‘Don't! I can't go back there!'

He stood against the railing. Behind him, people were walking
past, black coats, grey hats, turning to stare at them; her weeping, Arthur in his suit. ‘What do you mean, you can't go back there?'

She flung herself against his chest. ‘I can't! Don't you see? Someone came here after me and killed her!' She put her hand to the railing and then drew back.
Petra's blood might still be there
.

'You need to take me away. I can't stay here.' She dropped her head on his chest. ‘I don't want to go to another party. Not yet. Not for ages. We need to go somewhere, far away from here.' The answer danced up in her head. ‘Take me to Paris!'

He stroked her hair. ‘Paris?'

‘They won't find us there.'

‘We could. Yes. Let me think.' He stroked her hair again. ‘Let's lie low for a while, you and I. Then maybe we could set off for the coast, and then to Paris.'

‘We'll be safe there.' In cafes under the Eiffel Tower, walking beside the Seine.

‘I suppose we'll have to ask Mrs Merling to come with us.'

‘Mrs Merling?'

‘Well, of course. We can't go alone.'

Louisa stood away from him, the tears stinging her cheeks. ‘I don't trust her any more. Someone let him in, the man who did this, or they let Petra out.'

‘Not Mrs Merling, of course!' Arthur rubbed his head. ‘Well, if she did let Petra out, I am sure it was an accident.'

‘But you never know! The people who are doing this had to have help. I don't trust her.'

‘So we'll have to find another companion.'

‘I don't want one! How do we know we can trust whoever we find?'

Arthur shrugged. ‘I suppose we don't know. We can't trust anyone, it's true. One never knows.' He ran his hand over her hair, combing a few strands with his fingers. ‘At least we have each other.'

‘We do.' They'd eat together in Paris, walk through cobbled streets, go to the art museums. She didn't want to think of anything else: not Petra, not the party at the Savoy when she walked
through to Edward, plain as a worm, not her mermaid dress at the sea party, not dancing while others watched.
You'll put yourself in danger
, Arthur had said. If only she had listened! She would now. She'd hear what he said, understand how he had only meant to be kind.

‘I don't know what to do about this, though,' he said. ‘It doesn't seem fit to go alone. We need a solution.'

She leant against him, willed it. The damp grass was chill on her legs.
Paris. Take me to Paris
.

‘I know!' he said. ‘I have the answer! That's it.'

‘What?' she said, smiling at the great grin on his face.

And then he dropped to his knees. ‘Marry me!' he said. ‘Then you'll be safe. Marry me!'

She gazed at him, heart racing. Her head flamed. The flowers around her burnt, the gerberas flashing into colour, shrubs turning purple, orange, yellow. Petra ran through her head, mewing, coiling her tail, chasing after the stranger, eager to please.

He was kneeling, holding out his hand. ‘It's the only way to be safe! And then we can travel together, just the two of us, no one else.'

She shook her head.

‘I'll look after you. Haven't I always? Don't you see?'

And then, in a moment, she did see it. Arthur was brave, kind. He'd look after her. Edward had tried to escape her, danced with someone else. Arthur would protect her. With him, no one would creep into her room late at night,
put their hand on the bed
, take Petra from her. She would be safe with him, just as he had protected her at Stoneythorpe.

‘Yes,' she said, holding out her hand, letting him pull her down next to him. ‘Yes, Arthur. Yes.'

PART THREE

TWENTY-THREE

London, November 1921

Celia

‘Imagine if Arthur was here somewhere,' Emmeline was saying. Albert was hanging on to her dress, experimenting with his grip, even though he was too big for that now, at two and a quarter. Lily was gazing out at the ground, sucking her thumb.

Celia picked up Lily, tried not to step on the foot of the woman in front of her. ‘Mama said he was in Paris. Anyway, we'd never find him in a crowd like this.' It was November 13, Third Memorial Day. They were waiting in the crowds near Trafalgar Square for the parades of men. Thousands of people were crammed into the square. Along the front, given the best places for a view, were the wounded soldiers, those who were missing legs, arms, some of them with their heads still covered with a porcelain mask. Celia was embarrassed that she had grown so used to them, their scarred faces, burnt eyes.

Emmeline clutched Albert, held him tight. ‘No trying to escape, yes, little man? Arthur's going to come back, eventually.'

Arthur had hardly written, only once or twice, never giving an address. He said he was sad, missed Louisa, was waiting until things calmed down. ‘I don't know what things,' Emmeline said crossly. ‘Everyone knows it was just an accident. He just likes playing up the drama, as he always did.' Arthur gave an address to send to in London, an office, said that there was no point trying to find him through it. Rudolf sent him money, Emmeline sent pictures of the twins. ‘I wish he'd come now.'

‘You know, Celia, he was never that fond of family things, even
before. I don't know why you think he should be now. He'll stay as he is, wandering somewhere. Probably even has a new girl.'

‘Don't say that.' Albert sneezed, then started waving at a man walking past. Lily was still silent – as she always was.
She can talk
, Emmeline said.
She just doesn't want to
.

Things were easy for Emmeline, Celia thought. She didn't feel guilt over Louisa like Celia did. Emmeline had been busy at the time, pregnant, absorbed, then in London with the twins. If Celia had tried harder, then Louisa wouldn't have become so dependent on Arthur, thought he was her only friend, run away.

‘I wish we'd paid Louisa more attention,' said Celia, looking out over the soldiers. ‘I should have made more effort.'

The police had stopped paying calls. They'd said they had all the details on file, they wouldn't forget, but there was nothing more to add. Mr Pemberton had been trying to sort out Louisa's accounts – but he said that they were too complex for him to grasp, he had his best men on it. The newspapers left them alone now. They'd moved on to new stories – murders, politicians arguing, robberies. Celia turned her face away from the papers when she passed a shop. She'd believed the news in them once – now she knew it was lies.