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“Right,” Gray said. “I may know where it went.” Gray could see Viola, her arms across her chest, fingers hugging the lapels. “But that’s not what’s troubling you.”

“I think it’s time to regard these ‘accidents’ as attacks, on you directly, not on the project.”

Gray laughed. “That’s a serious view. I know I’m not well-liked by—”

“By your sister or by Knowles,” Finch finished for him.

“My sister? You think Bernie would go to these lengths to … harm me? English law still frowns on murder. Knowles, yes.”

“I don’t know where it started, but I think someone in London put one of Higson’s fellows up to these accidents. There have been no close calls for anyone else on the crew. Only you. I don’t like it.”

“So, one of the new men, and not the fellow left dangling?”

“Who in London knew your plans?”

Gray had to admit, “Bernice knew, so Lionel knew. I’d hate to think that family resentment runs so deep. I’d rather consider Knowles. He has that old grudge against my father, and he resents my interference in that card game. My money’s on Knowles.”

“Well,” said Finch with a laugh. “You could leave it alone and avoid uncovering your relations’ ill will. It would be consoling to think your family did not bitterly resent you, but when the next heavy object lands on your head, you’d be just as dead.”

“Keen to investigate, are you?” Gray asked.

Finch was unsmiling. “I’ve a limited supply of friends and would hate to lose one.”

*

Cordelia found Graymont waiting for her at the top of the path to the beach. He wore not the loose shirt and trousers she’d seen him wear before, but tan breeches and a dark blue fisherman’s jumper, the kind knitted of thick wool with a pattern that identified a man’s village. She looked at her boots to hide a smile. She’d spent half the night awake, fearing to meet him in a state of undress, and here he was looking as if he were going to set lobster traps off Mudeford Sandspit.

“My attire amuses you,” he said. “I promised you I’d contrive something. This jumper itches like the devil, but I’m told there’s nothing like it for keeping out the cold.”

“Where did you get it?”

“I had it off a young fellow delivering herring at the inn, who only parted from it, made by his dear mother, so he said, for quite a price. I see you are unwilling to give up those buttons.”

“The buttons are fine,” she said, glancing down at her old skeleton suit.

“They’ll slow you down,” he said.

“I’ll be as fast as I need to be,” she said.

He laughed. “Are we going to race?”

“Of course not.”

Cordelia turned and led the way. Everything about the path was familiar—with the ground sloping sharply down, the zigs and zags of the trail, the glimpses through the trees of the morning’s calm, gray sea beyond, the tang of salt air, and the birdsong overhead. But her heart raced a little, and her senses narrowed to what was new—the sound of his footsteps. Thoughts about the day ahead, about her plans, about the problem of their canceled ball would not order themselves. She should resent his intrusion into her private time, but the truth was, and Cordelia was a believer in facing the truth, his presence stirred a sort of excitement in her. If he thought the buttons slowed her down, she would prove him wrong.

She stopped at her usual place above the high-water mark. Long ago, she’d learned the precaution of leaving her things where no wave could reach them. Under his gaze, she stepped out of her boots, slipped out of the coverlet, and folded it on top of her boots.

He was barefoot, but he followed her lead, pulling the jumper over his head and setting it aside. The change in his appearance took her breath. The usual elements of a body were there—neck and shoulders, arms, chest and ribs, waist. They were the same elements her own body possessed, but not the same at all. His body was taut skin over swells and hollows of muscle. A line of dark, curling hair gave a symmetry to it all. Her cheeks warmed at the sight.

She gave herself a little shake. It made no sense. One looked at an unclothed horse or a dog or a cow without blushing. A glimpse of one’s fellow creature should not throw one into confusion.

He rolled the jumper into a ball and laid it in a hollow under a spiny gorse bush. The breeze, hardly stirring, lifted the little hairs on her arms. It wove Cordelia and Graymont together in a wordless moment. Didn’t the scientists like Faraday say there was electricity in everything? Wasn’t that what she felt? Some natural electricity that anyone would feel in the presence of another. It was merely that she was unused to having someone near when she swam.

“What is your plan?” he asked. “Swim straight out? Swim into or away from the tide?”

“I swim into the tide, parallel to the shore.” She pointed. “When the current is from the west, I keep the headland in view. When it’s from the east, there’s an oak above a little inlet that marks the place I turn around.” She studied his profile as he looked out over the calm sea, where long pink streaks of light shifted with the rise and fall of swells catching the sun’s early rays.

He turned to her. “Swimming alone, do you never worry about taking a cramp or getting into some sort of difficulty?”