“And the other one?”
I remembered the night of the storm, Juniper’s terrible flight down the corridors and into the garden; Percy knowing just where to find her. “Thomas Cavill is in the pets’ graveyard,” I said. “Right in the center, near the headstone marked Emerson.”
A slow appraisal as he sipped from his tea then added another half spoonful of sugar. Regarded me with slightly narrowed eyes as he stirred again.
“If you check the records,” I continued, “you’ll see that Thomas Cavill was reported as missing and that neither man’s death was ever recorded.” And a person needed their set of dates, just as Percy Blythe had told me. It wasn’t enough to retain only the first. A person without a closed bracket could never rest.
IDECIDEDnot to write the introduction for the Pippin Books edition of theMud Man. I explained to Judith Waterman that I had a scheduling clash, that I’d barely had a chance to meet with the Sisters Blythe anyway before the fire. She told me that she understood; that she was sure Adam Gilbert would be happy enough to pick up where he’d left off. I had to agree that it made sense: he was the one who’d compiled all the research.
And I couldn’t have written it. I knew the answer to a riddle that had plagued literary critics for seventy-five years, but I couldn’t share it with the world. To do so would have felt like a tremendous betrayal of Percy Blythe. “This is a family story,” she’d said, before asking whether she could trust me. It would also have made me responsible for unveiling a sad and sordid story that would overshadow the novel forever. The book that had made me a reader.
To write anything else, though, to rehash the same old accounts of the book’s mysterious origins, would have been utterly disingenuous. Besides, Percy Blythe had hired me under false pretenses. She hadn’t wanted me to write the introduction, she’d wanted me to set the official records straight. And I’d done that. Rawlins and his men broadened the investigation into the fire and two bodies were found in the castle grounds, right where I’d said they’d be. Theo Cavill finally learned what had become of his brother Tom: that he’d died on a stormy night at Milderhurst Castle in the middle of the war. Chief Inspector Rawlins pressed me for any further details I might have, but I told him nothing more. And it was true, I didn’tknowmore. Percy had told me one thing, Juniper another. I believed that Percy was covering for her sister, but I couldn’t prove it. And I wasn’t going to tell, either way. The truth had died with the three sisters, and if the foundation stones of the castle whispered still about what had happened that night in October 1941, I couldn’t hear them. I didn’t want to hear them. Not anymore. It was time for me to go back to my own life.
PART FIVE
ONE
MILDERHURSTCASTLE,OCTOBER29, 1941
THE STORMthat had pushed its way in from the North Sea on the afternoon of October 29, 1941, had rolled and groaned, thickened and furrowed, before settling finally over the tower of Milderhurst Castle. The first reluctant raindrops broke through the clouds at dusk and many more would follow before the night was done. It was a stealthy storm, the sort of rain that eschews clatter in favor of constancy; hour by steady hour fat drops pounded, poured down the roof tiles and sheeted over the castle eaves. Roving Brook began to rise, the dark pool in Cardarker Wood grew darker, and the skirt of soft ground around the castle, a little lower than that beyond, became sodden, collecting water so that a shadow of the long-ago moat appeared in the darkness. But the twins inside knew none of that; they knew only that after hours of anxious waiting a knock had finally come at the castle door.
SAFFY GOTthere first, laid a hand on the jamb, and drove the brass key into the lock. The fit was tight, it had always been tight, and she struggled for a moment, noticed that her hands were shaking, that her nail polish was chipped, that her skin was looking old; then the mechanism gave way, the door opened, and such thoughts flew away into the dark, wet night, for there was Juniper.
“Darling girl.” Saffy could have wept to see her little sister, safe and well and home at last. “Thank God! We’ve missed you so!”
“I lost my key,” said Juniper. “I’m sorry.”
Despite the grown-up raincoat, the grown-up haircut revealed beneath her hat, Juniper looked such a child in the half-light of the doorway that Saffy couldn’t help but take her sister’s face between her hands and plant a kiss upon her forehead as she’d used to do when June was small. “Nonsense,” she said, gesturing at Percy, whose dark mood had retreated into the stones. “We’re just so glad to have you home, to see you in one piece. Let me look at you …” She held her sister at arm’s length, and her chest swelled with a wave of gladness and relief she knew would be impossible to express with words; she drew Juniper into an embrace instead. “When you were so late we began to worry—”
“The bus. We were stopped, there was some kind of … incident.”
“An incident?” Saffy stepped back.
“Something with the bus. A roadblock, I suppose; I’m not exactly sure …” She smiled and shrugged, let her sentence trail off, but a thread of perplexity tugged briefly at her features. Only a moment’s shift, but it was enough; the unspoken words echoed in the room as clearly as if she’d said them.I can’t remember.Three simple words, innocent when uttered by anyone but Juniper. Unease dropped clean as a sinker through Saffy’s stomach. She glanced at Percy, noticed that same familiar anxiety settling on her too.
“Well, come on inside,” said Percy, reviving her smile. “There’s no need for us to stand out in the weather.”
“Yes!” Saffy matched her twin’s cheer. “You poor dear; you’ll catch a chill if we’re not careful—Percy, go downstairs, will you, and fetch a hot-water bottle?”
As Percy disappeared along the darkened hall towards the kitchen, Juniper turned to Saffy, took her wrist, and said, “Tom?”
“Not yet.”
Her face fell. “But it’s late.I’mlate.”
“I know, darling.”
“What could be keeping him?”
“The war, darling; the war’s to blame. Come and sit by the fire. I’ll fix you a lovely drink and he’ll be right along, you’ll see.”
They reached the good parlor and Saffy allowed herself a moment’s pleasure at the pretty scene before leading Juniper to the rug by the hearth. She gave the largest log a prod as her sister produced a case of cigarettes from her coat pocket.
The fire sparked and Saffy flinched. She straightened, leaned the poker back where it belonged, and dusted her hands, even though there was nothing on them to clean. Juniper struck a match, drew hard. “Your hair,” said Saffy softly.
“I had it cut.” Anyone else’s hand might have gone to their neck, but not Juniper’s.
“Well, I like it.”
