The Edge of the Fall (42 page)

He was charming, she had to admit, different even to the day before.
This was a whole new Arthur, one she'd never seen before, or one she'd never noticed, at least. He was nothing like her big brother, not the one she'd known. This was the man Louisa must have loved.

He talked, made things easy, so you didn't have to think or worry because he was always talking, his voice springing lightly between subjects, never resting on anything for long. He made her laugh about a duck floating on the Seine, a waiter staring at a fly in a glass of water, a dog chasing a bone. She fought down her desire to wonder – how many women has he practised this on? But despite all the charm, she was always trying to ignore the question:
what happened with Louisa?

‘Did you and she go to lots of parties before she died?' Celia said. They were walking along by the Seine. The water was dark, you couldn't see into it, not even a foot under the surface.

‘Who?'

‘You and Louisa.'

‘Oh. Yes, I suppose we did. She loved parties. She had a lot of nice dresses. You know.'

‘But then you had to run away. The papers said there were some threats, something ridiculous about a fish. And her cat died.'

‘Yes. I wanted to take her away from all that. But it was always in her mind, you know. I told her to stop thinking about it. But I could tell she always was. Even in Margate, when we were away from London, she was still thinking about it. She loved that cat so much.'

‘Poor Louisa.'

‘I think it really affected her. I don't think she forgot about the cat. That's when she started talking about death, how she might join her mother and father.'

Celia gasped. ‘About death?'

‘She talked about it all the time in Margate. How life would be easier if she died. She'd be with her mother, wouldn't be a burden. I told her that she wasn't a burden. But she wouldn't listen to me.'

‘You mean she tried to kill
herself
?'

Arthur stopped. Around them, people wandered, gentlemen and ladies arm in arm, nursemaids with prams.

‘I know she did.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘She wanted to die. That's what she talked about. I kept telling her how much there was to live for, but she wouldn't listen. She didn't
want
to listen.'

‘But—' Celia stopped. ‘Why didn't you tell us?'

‘This is a secret! You mustn't tell anyone. Imagine what it will do to our parents. Mama would be devastated. It has to be kept secret.'

‘But if you'd told the police—'

‘What good would it have done? Nothing.' He was starting to walk again.

‘So you think she . . . she threw herself off the cliff?'

‘We were already close. Then I felt her – I felt her move. I tried to catch her. I shouted
no
, but she was gone.'

‘She jumped?' Celia could hardly say the word.

Arthur nodded.

‘Oh no. I can't—' She couldn't speak. A man pushed past her. Her mind swayed, she began to fall. Arthur caught her arm. ‘I'm sorry, Celia. I shouldn't have told you.'

She shook her head. ‘No, I'm fine.' Was she? She tried to steady her mind but it was flooded with the view from the hotel room in Margate. The view of the cliffs.

‘But I thought she was happy!' Had that been what it was? All the times that Louisa and Arthur had been whispering together in Stoneythorpe. Had it been because she was telling him how sad she was? She shook her head.

‘I know it's hard to take in.'

‘I can't believe it. She was always laughing with you!'

‘I was trying to take her mind off it. But she was often sad.'

‘I could have helped her,' Celia said. But as soon as the words were out, she knew she couldn't have, not really. Louisa hadn't wanted her help. She only wanted Arthur's. But in the end, that wasn't enough. ‘This is awful.'

‘Come, Celia, I'll take you to a cafe. I really shouldn't have told you.' He gripped her arm. ‘You see now why I stayed away. I couldn't tell Mama. I couldn't tell any of you.'

‘You didn't want to tell us.'

He shook his head.

So that was why he'd refused to come back. He hadn't wanted them to know.

He pressed his arm in hers. ‘Come on, sister. Let's get you a drink.'

In the small cafe, surrounded by the noise of drinks, glasses being served up, bustling waiters, she held tight to his hand. ‘I can't believe it,' she said. ‘I'm so sorry.' How could she ever have doubted him? At first, she'd wondered why the police suspected him, hoped and prayed they'd got it wrong – then she'd come to agree with Emmeline. He'd stayed away because he liked the drama.

‘It was hard. She hid her sadness from the rest of the family so well. I felt as if I was the only one she could tell it to.'

What an awful secret he'd had to bear. He was like her, keeping the secret of Michael's death from the family. She was flooded with a desire to tell him, then thought better. He was bowed down enough by Louisa. She couldn't add to it, not now.

‘I tried everything to make her happy,' he said. ‘Took her to the parties and dances. Bought her dresses.'

‘You did your best.' She fingered the sugar by her cup of coffee, dry, scrapy stuff.

‘But it didn't make things any better. She was still sad. She got afraid that someone was following her. There were those odd incidents at the Merlings'. I tried to help her.'

‘Someone was following her?'

‘So she said.'

‘Who?'

‘A man. Someone who hated her. She said she saw him in Margate.'

‘She saw him in Margate?' She felt the dryness of the sugar in her hand. The crystals were hard. ‘Did you tell the police?'

He shook his head. ‘Why would I do that?'

‘Because it's important. It might be important. You don't know.'

He shook his head. ‘It doesn't matter now.' He stood up. ‘Come on, Celia, let's go back.'

She clutched his arm as they walked. She tried to talk about Louisa, but he brushed it off. Next morning, he didn't want to talk about it either. She'd have to wait. And she would, she thought. She'd wait until he was ready to talk to her again. Then, perhaps, her thoughts would be clear. She'd understand more about Louisa wanting to die – and this man. Surely, she thought, surely it was connected, that Louisa received odd parcels, then she was followed. It had to be.

Over the next few days, they wandered the streets, or sometimes she remained in the rooms, reading three new novels Arthur had bought her, while he went out on business. She longed to wander the flat alone, search for any things of Louisa's. But Marie-Rose was always there, washing the floor or tidying the parlour, preparing lunch or dinner, and Arthur didn't mention it again. In the evening, he took Celia out for dinner. He sat there, handsome and upright. Other people stared at him, admiring, and she swelled with pride. When they came back to the rooms, she readied herself for bed – and heard him pad gently past her room, opening the front door, going out, locking it behind him.

On the fourth evening they ate at a pretty restaurant near the river. Arthur was talking about the local politics. She listened to him, watched him pour more wine into her glass. Behind him a family were eating, the children playing with their food while the father spoke intently to the mother.

She looked at Arthur, talking. ‘You know I had a baby,' she said, when he broke for breath. ‘A little boy.'

He nodded, held his glass. ‘I heard. Mama and Emmeline wrote to me. Our sister's letter made more sense, I have to say. She said you were unhappy, wanted to forget about it.'

‘I can't, though.'

He poured more wine into his glass. Hers was still full. ‘You have to. Those of us who are left have to try and live.'

She leant forward. ‘Emmeline means well. I know she does. But she won't listen to me. Because I don't think he's dead. I think he's alive.'

Arthur looked at the glass. ‘Yes, Emmeline said that.'

‘And it's true.' The mother in the family behind Arthur had started talking now. The children were still fiddling with their food.

‘But you buried him, Celia. That's what Emmeline said. I know it's painful – I know it is – but you have to try to forget. Or at least live. You know, babies die, so many of them. He was weak when he was born, Mama said. That happens.'

‘They're lying.'

‘Emmeline said you suddenly decided that, out of the blue. She thinks you're overtired. She's right, isn't she? There's no reason behind it.'

‘I just know.'

‘So why change your mind, over a year on?' The waiter came, offering dessert. Arthur shook his head.

She bowed her head. ‘Someone told me. They said that if Mama hadn't kept anything of his, then that was strange. They said they knew he was alive.'

‘Who said that?'

She blushed. ‘Just someone.'

‘One of the women at the birth? They were fooling you, Celia, trying to get money out of the family. Don't listen.'

She shook her head again. ‘It was a woman I . . . met.'

Arthur rolled his eyes. ‘Well then, whoever that was, they were definitely trying to get money out of you. If they weren't even there! Look, Celia, it's written all over your face. Anyone can see you're desperate for something, you're seeking a miracle. Even a rather stupid person could see that and try to get money out of you. How much money did you give this woman?'

She shook her head. ‘I didn't.'

‘I don't believe that.' He poured more wine into his glass.
‘Anyway, even if you didn't, she'll come for it. Oh, Celia, how could you have been so naïve? You lose someone, they're lost for good.'

She felt a rush of shame. He could never get Louisa back. He'd seen her, probably, dead at the bottom of the cliff. ‘I'm so sorry about Louisa, Arthur.'

He looked at her, seemed about to speak, then turned to his wine. He drank the rest of it, quickly. ‘Let's go. You must be tired.' He called over the waiter, asked for the bill. ‘Let's take the short way home.'

Had she been naïve? She wondered, that night, lying in bed attempting sleep. Arthur was still in his room, preparing to go out, she supposed. Had Mrs Stabatsky (or whatever her name really was) been lying to her? But if she had, Celia didn't know why. Nothing was in it for her. Indeed, Mrs Stabatsky had sent her away. Perhaps she would come back and ask for more. Or maybe, Celia thought, hearing Arthur pad past her room and close the front door, sending him out into the city, maybe Mrs Stabatsky had just been playing with her. Experimenting for the fun of it. She stared at the ceiling, afraid, eyes wide.

Next day, Arthur was gone. She wandered around her room and the parlour, toying with opening her books. He didn't come back at lunchtime. She lay on the bed, thought of Michael, Mrs Stabatsky.

At five o'clock, Arthur arrived back. ‘Hello!' he shouted. She called back, opened her door. He was smart in a grey coat she hadn't seen before. He leant against the wall. ‘Long day,' he said. ‘Very long day. I'm not sure I can face going out tonight. Why don't we just eat here?'

‘Of course!' After last night, she was tired of restaurants too, wanted not to sit opposite her brother at a table while other women sneaked glances at him, having to try not to cry while she talked about Michael.

‘Well, good. Marie-Rose shall make us something. I'll ask her. Sevenish?'

She nodded as he sauntered past her towards the kitchen.

Two hours later, she was waiting in the kitchen doorway. Marie-Rose had gone and Arthur was standing by the oven, peering into a saucepan.

‘Let me serve it to you,' she said. ‘You sit down.'

Marie-Rose had set out plates. Celia spooned casserole on to each one, then potatoes and beans from the other pans.

‘I'll take them through,' he said. ‘Marie-Rose has laid the table next door.'

She followed him into the parlour. There was a white tablecloth over the table and heavy cutlery. ‘Mama would be pleased with you!' she said. ‘This is all very fine.'

‘I try,' he said, shrugging. She sat down at the table, wondering: had Louisa sat opposite Arthur in the same way? Did she pick up a glass of wine, smile over the rim at Arthur? Did he pass her casserole, put out the fine tablecloth for her? She longed to ask.

Arthur started asking more questions about Mr Janus and Emmeline, the twins.

She began to speak. She ate the casserole, drank the wine, talked about Albert and Lily, how he still liked trains and running about, how Mr Janus had been worried about Lily not talking but Celia had always known she was just a listener and now she was fine, completely fine. She talked about how Mr Janus had been in prison, his plans for revolution, and how the government were taking money from the workers so that the only answer was to strike.

Arthur brought through a cake, a great pile of cream and strawberries with sugar dusted over the top. He had two bowls balanced on his arm. She felt so full of food she could barely eat more, but more wine in her glass helped, and before she knew it, she'd eaten the whole slice. She could even eat another, she thought. Pure greed, of course.

Arthur pushed his bowl away, sat back, wine glass in hand. ‘What a pleasant evening, dear Celia. It is such a pleasure talking to you.'

‘I'm sorry I never came to visit you in London,' she said. ‘I wanted to.' And then wine and boldness flooded her and she
spoke the words that had been buzzing in her head. ‘I could have seen you and Louisa.'

He swilled the wine in his glass, gazing at it. She waited, feeling as if time was standing still. Then he leapt to his feet. ‘Come on!' he said. ‘There's still time. Let's go out!'

‘Out? But it's late!'

‘Not so late! Come on, sister! You're in Paris, after all! Come along. Let's get our coats.' He rushed out of the room. ‘Come on!' he called.