Ellis Peters - George Felse 07 - The Grass Widow's Tale by Ellis Peters
Authors: Ellis Peters
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think, and I had to have a drink to help me. I
had
to. And that was when I met you.”
He looked up, and for a moment studied her with wonder and care, forgetting himself. “It’s funny, how you’ve changed. You had the black dog on you then, too. It was because you were sad that I wanted to talk to you. I wish I’d left you alone. I’m sorry!”
“What were you going to do?” asked Bunty.
“I thought of this place. I’ve been here several times with Reggie and Louise, and they gave me an open invitation to use it even after they’d packed it in for the year and gone home. They’re like that, they probably invited other people, too. That’s why they leave a key. And I thought of Reggie’s boat.”
“You were going to drop her overboard,” said Bunty, “and head for Denmark, or somewhere…”
“Norway, actually. It must be possible to land unobserved somewhere on all that tremendous coastline, and I know my way around there a little. I’ve even got friends there… though I don’t suppose,‘’ he owned drearily, ” that I could have dragged them into this mess.”
“And I,” she said practically, almost cheerfully, “was to go overboard, too, in mid-passage.”
He stared back at her mutely, out of the extremes of exhaustion, unable any longer to be ashamed or afraid. Even the tension which had held him upright was broken now, after the slow blood-letting of this confession. He was close to total collapse.
“Why didn’t you take your chance when it came?” he asked in a thread of a voice. “Why did you send the police away?”
She got up slowly, and moved away from him to pick up the shards of the tea-pot. “I’d better get this mess cleaned up,” she said, momentarily side-tracked, and lost that thread again on the instant. The housewife was there, somewhere inside, but fighting against the odds. She straightened up with the fragments in her hands, and stood frowning down at them thoughtfully.
“I didn’t need them,” she said, and turned to face the boy on the settee, whose eyes had never ceased their faithful study of her through the cloud of their guilt and sorrow and resignation.
“I’d only just realised it,” she said deliberately, “but I knew I didn’t need them. In the night I wasn’t thinking or noticing very clearly, or I might have known before. Things are distorted as soon as you’re afraid. Maybe I did know, subconsciously. I think I may have done. I had all the evidence, if I’d been able to recognise it. When you drove at that constable in Hawkworth… did he jump back first, or did you swerve first? I didn’t work it out then, I know now. And what a lot of trouble you went to, to avoid running down a hare, even when
you
were on the run. No wonder you couldn’t go through with it when it came to my turn.”
Half of that, she realised, was lost upon him. He was in no condition to follow her through such a maze; but he clung to his own question, and it bore a slightly different inflection now, tinted with the living wonder of genuine curiosity, and—was it possible?—hope!
“Why did you send them away? Why didn’t you hand me over to them, and be safe?”
“Because,” said Bunty, now with something very like certainty, “I
was
safe. Because I don’t believe you are a murderer. I don’t believe you ever killed anyone,
not even Pippa
!”
----
CHAPTER VI
« ^ »
For a long moment he stared up at her in absolute stupefaction, hardly able to grasp what she had said, and even when his battered mind had got hold of the words, the sense was too slippery and elusive to be mastered without a struggle. She saw his lips moving automatically over the incredible syllables, and understanding came in a late, disruptive agony, and set him shaking again.
“My God, I wish that was even possible,” he said, panting, “but it’s crazy. Look, there were only two characters in all this lousy scene, Pippa and me. Nobody else! Don’t
you
start kidding me along
had
to. And that was when I met you.”
He looked up, and for a moment studied her with wonder and care, forgetting himself. “It’s funny, how you’ve changed. You had the black dog on you then, too. It was because you were sad that I wanted to talk to you. I wish I’d left you alone. I’m sorry!”
“What were you going to do?” asked Bunty.
“I thought of this place. I’ve been here several times with Reggie and Louise, and they gave me an open invitation to use it even after they’d packed it in for the year and gone home. They’re like that, they probably invited other people, too. That’s why they leave a key. And I thought of Reggie’s boat.”
“You were going to drop her overboard,” said Bunty, “and head for Denmark, or somewhere…”
“Norway, actually. It must be possible to land unobserved somewhere on all that tremendous coastline, and I know my way around there a little. I’ve even got friends there… though I don’t suppose,‘’ he owned drearily, ” that I could have dragged them into this mess.”
“And I,” she said practically, almost cheerfully, “was to go overboard, too, in mid-passage.”
He stared back at her mutely, out of the extremes of exhaustion, unable any longer to be ashamed or afraid. Even the tension which had held him upright was broken now, after the slow blood-letting of this confession. He was close to total collapse.
“Why didn’t you take your chance when it came?” he asked in a thread of a voice. “Why did you send the police away?”
She got up slowly, and moved away from him to pick up the shards of the tea-pot. “I’d better get this mess cleaned up,” she said, momentarily side-tracked, and lost that thread again on the instant. The housewife was there, somewhere inside, but fighting against the odds. She straightened up with the fragments in her hands, and stood frowning down at them thoughtfully.
“I didn’t need them,” she said, and turned to face the boy on the settee, whose eyes had never ceased their faithful study of her through the cloud of their guilt and sorrow and resignation.
“I’d only just realised it,” she said deliberately, “but I knew I didn’t need them. In the night I wasn’t thinking or noticing very clearly, or I might have known before. Things are distorted as soon as you’re afraid. Maybe I did know, subconsciously. I think I may have done. I had all the evidence, if I’d been able to recognise it. When you drove at that constable in Hawkworth… did he jump back first, or did you swerve first? I didn’t work it out then, I know now. And what a lot of trouble you went to, to avoid running down a hare, even when
you
were on the run. No wonder you couldn’t go through with it when it came to my turn.”
Half of that, she realised, was lost upon him. He was in no condition to follow her through such a maze; but he clung to his own question, and it bore a slightly different inflection now, tinted with the living wonder of genuine curiosity, and—was it possible?—hope!
“Why did you send them away? Why didn’t you hand me over to them, and be safe?”
“Because,” said Bunty, now with something very like certainty, “I
was
safe. Because I don’t believe you are a murderer. I don’t believe you ever killed anyone,
not even Pippa
!”
----
CHAPTER VI
« ^ »
For a long moment he stared up at her in absolute stupefaction, hardly able to grasp what she had said, and even when his battered mind had got hold of the words, the sense was too slippery and elusive to be mastered without a struggle. She saw his lips moving automatically over the incredible syllables, and understanding came in a late, disruptive agony, and set him shaking again.
“My God, I wish that was even possible,” he said, panting, “but it’s crazy. Look, there were only two characters in all this lousy scene, Pippa and me. Nobody else! Don’t
you
start kidding me along
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