Murder by Sarah Pinborough

believe he loved her more. It was I who had been with her through all her dark times; he had not arrived until the butterfly was emerging from the chrysalis.
    I must admit that it hurt to think that she might prefer him to me. I was an old fool, perhaps, but an old fool in love for the first time in so many years.
    ‘Thomas?’ She was looking in my direction. ‘Are you all right? Mr Barker was asking if you were going to the parade.’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ I smiled. ‘This infernal heat is making me drowsy – and the river is more pungent than usual today.’
    ‘All I can smell is honeysuckle,’ Andrews said, ‘but it is indeed warm.’
    The mention of the river caused a small crease to momentarily furrow her brow, but then she shrugged it away. I wished I found it so easy. My dreams had left me with a trace of my old madness, and in this tense atmosphere and stifling heat I found it hard not to think of the Thames without remembering the priest and his struggle with the
Upir
, and particularly the splash of the water on that grim night of Harrington’s death.
    ‘But perhaps we should go inside,’ Charles said. ‘It is rather sticky, and no doubt Edward and James will be back soon from their mystery adventure.’
    ‘Oh, no mystery there,’ Barker said gaily. ‘They looked as if they were having a very jolly time when we arrived.’
    ‘You saw them?’ Juliana said. ‘Where?’
    ‘They were fishing – in a little rowboat in the river. I’m sure it was them at any rate. It certainly looked like Mr Kane.’
    The poor man could have had no idea what he’d said, but before he had even finished his sentence, Juliana had leapt to her feet and was running inside. Hebbert and I immediately followed, all politeness forgotten, and by the time we had caught up with her she was through the house, the front door was wide open and she was halfway across the road.
    ‘James!’ she shouted, her hands gripping the thick stone wall. ‘James!’ She turned to run down the damp steps to the bank, but Charles grabbed her.
    ‘Juliana, stop it!’
    She called her son’s name again and struggled against her father. ‘Let go of me! I want him away from the water!
James!
’
    ‘You’ll scare him!’
    Charles was right: the little rowing boat was not far from the bank and tethered to a sturdy post with a thick rope to stop it drifting as the man and boy sat and dangled rods over the side. I imagined that before we had arrived it had been a picture of serenity, but James, hearing his mother shouting his name in such alarm, had stood up in the boat and spun round. Edward Kane, surprised, had twisted too, and the boat rocked with the precipitous movement. As the boat tilted, James, unused to being on the water, started to lose his balance. With his focus on his mother’s anxiety rather than where he was, he took a step forward, and his shoe caught on his fishing pole and he tripped. Kane grabbed for him, but James had leant too far forward and Kane’s shifting weight sent him tumbling over the side and into the water.
    Hebbert thrust his daughter into my arms and ran down the slick stone steps. I held her tight, expecting her to start screaming hysterically, but all I felt was a dead weight. She had not fainted, but all the life had drained out of her in the single instant.
    Edward Kane had wasted no time; he had stripped off his jacket and shoes and now plunged from the rowing boat into the murky water to where James had briefly splashed before sinking below the dark surface. The boy had never learned to swim, and even though it was a warm day I had no doubt that the water was cold enough to shock him.
    Andrews and the Barkers had joined us, but I barely noticed them. My heart raced and I knew I was muttering some words of calm to Juliana, though I have no memory of what I said. Below us Charles Hebbert was standing at the water’s edge, one hand gripping the post to which the small boat was moored, calling both for Kane and