They were strolling side by side in the formal gardens, not touching. They had seen the Reverend Booth and Miriam on their way back to the village.
“You are not happy,” he said. “What is it?”
“Of course I am happy,” she said. “How could I not be? For several months I have lived with the conviction that I would hang sooner or later. It is not a pleasant prospect. One finds oneself wondering about all the morbid details. And I returned here yesterday to find everyone looking at me as if I were a murderer and a thief. It will be something to have my name cleared.”
“Yes,” he said, and walked beside her in silence for a while. “What is it?”
She did not answer for a long while. “I came here to try to come to terms with what happened,” she said finally, “or perhaps to look for some evidence to prove my innocence. It seems that I do not need that evidence any longer. But there are so many unanswered questions. And I have come up against a brick wall here.”
“Explain,” he said.
“My maid has gone to other employment,” she said. “She is the one who discovered the jewels. I wanted to know where the jewels were. Were they carefully hidden, or were they ontop? If I were the thief, I would have to be dreadfully stupid to lay them on top, wouldn’t I?”
“Was your trunk locked?” he asked.
“No, of course not,” she said. “I was going only as far as the rectory.”
“And it was left in an untended gig outside the house?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, of course. I would have had to be very foolish to leave costly jewels in just such a way. I would surely have smuggled them out some other way or hidden them on my person. But I don’t know what the pieces were or how large they were. Anyway, Annie is gone and I cannot ask her any questions.”
“An annoyance,” he said. “I will have her found if it is important to you.”
“Mr. Houghton?” she said, smiling fleetingly. “No, that is not the main frustration. The worst thing is that I cannot find Hobson.”
“The valet?” he said. “He is not six feet beneath the churchyard?”
“He was taken to his own home for burial,” she said. “But no one seems to know where that is. The groom who took the coffin there has since gone to Yorkshire, and the coachman who drove Matthew there is still with him. It was Yardley, the man now in Yorkshire, who helped Matthew lay out the body and seal it in the coffin.”
“Was it, indeed?” he said.
“Somehow it is important to me to see his grave,” she said. “You see, I did not murder him, but I did kill him. Had I not been hysterical and pushed him, he would not have fallen and he would not have died. I killed him. I was the instrument of his death. Somehow I have to learn to live with that on my conscience. I have to come to terms with it. I have to see his grave.”
“You cannot shift the burden from your shoulders bytelling yourself that the man brought his fate on himself and that your cousin was also responsible?” he said. “You cannot tell yourself that you were in no way to blame at all?”
“Yes,” she said. “With my head I can. But the knowledge that I pushed him and that he died will always be with me. I know it is foolish. I will not detain you, your grace. You must be eager to be on your way and have as much daylight as possible for your journey.”
“There must be someone who knows where the valet came from,” his grace said. “Did he have friends among the servants? In the village?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
“Then we must find out,” he said. “I must try to emulate my secretary and discover all there is to be discovered. I shall ask around in the village. Will you question the servants again?”
“I have spoken with most of them already,” she said. “They know nothing, and it has to be remembered that they are Matthew’s servants, not mine. Besides, this is none of your concern, your grace. You wish to be on your way.”
“Do I?” he said, stopping on the graveled path and taking both her hands in his. “I want to see you happy, Fleur, and completely free. I can’t leave you until I know that you are both.”
“But why?” she asked, looking wide-eyed into his eyes.
“You know very well why,” he said fiercely, squeezing her hands until they hurt before turning to stride in the direction of the stables.
She ran to catch up to him. “Because of what you did to me?” she said. “But I was standing outside the theater for that very purpose. If it had not been you, it would have been someone else. Perhaps not that night. But the night after.”
He stopped suddenly and took her hands once again. “Thank God it was me,” he said, his eyes burning into hers. “If it had to be anyone, then thank God it was me.” He releasedher hands. “I shall return early in the morning,” he said. “I hope I will be able to bring you some information.”
He strode away again, and this time she did not follow. She stood looking after him.
And there was one thought uppermost in her mind. There was to be a reprieve of one day. Tomorrow he would say good-bye and would be gone forever. But not today. Not quite yet.
