Voices in a Haunted Room

I could picture the latter going into the little town to shop in her splendid carriage with the d’Aubigne crest emblazoned on it, and coming out to the mob. Alberic’s death was a judicial killing. One should not look on it in a different light. It was logical.

It was the law of survival.

During the day I could believe that. It was at night when the hideous dreams came.

Jonathan had come back to Eversleigh for the inquest.

I did not attend, but immediately it was over he sought an opportunity to be alone with me.

I said: “They will search for the one who killed him. Jonathan, what if-?”

He shook his head and smiled at me rather sardonically.

“They will talk of an enquiry. They will make a show of having one. But I can assure you that nothing will be revealed. That has been taken care of. It is for the country’s security, and that is understood in certain quarters.”

“It is all so ... subversive.”

He laughed. “What did you expect? It is the very nature of the matter. How are you feeling now? You’ve not told anybody?”

I shook my head firmly.

“Not even David? He’d understand, of course. He’s always logical. But there is no point in people’s knowing when it is not necessary. I’m only sorry you had to see it.”

“What of Billy Grafter?” I asked.

“He got away. Never mind. We know what he looks like. He might provide a useful lead.

And we know Leon Blanchard is-or has been in London. I shall shortly be going to London again and when I come back I daresay Dickon and your mother will come with me.”

I put my hand to my head and said wearily: “I wish it would all end.”

“Poor Claudine! Life is very complicated, is it not?”

“I want mine to be simple ... peaceful.”

“Oh come, you are too young for peace.” Then he kissed me briefly. “Au revoir, my love,” he said.

I was glad when he went. He added to my disturbed state of mind.

I went to see Aunt Sophie.

Jeanne greeted me. “She is in bed. She’s been poorly. This has upset her more than I would have believed possible.”

She certainly looked wan lying in her bed with the blue curtains drawn back.

“Oh, Claudine ...” she said.

“Dear Aunt Sophie, you have been unwell, Jeanne tells me.”

“This is a house of mourning, Claudine,” she answered. Her fingers picked restlessly at the sheets. “Why is life always like this to me? Why is it that when I have a fondness for someone something like this happens?”

“There is always tragedy around us, Aunt Sophie.”

“For me, certainly,” she said.

“I’m sorry ...”

“That poor boy, that poor innocent boy ...”

Ah, Aunt Sophie, I thought, not so innocent. It is amazing how little we know of those with whom we live closely.

“What did he do? He only took out a boat ... for a pleasure trip . . and some wicked villain shot him. Can you understand it?” she (demanded. “It doesn’t make sense,” she went on piteously.

“It is difficult to understand, Aunt Sophie. Why was he in the boat, I do you think?

Hadn’t he just returned from London? You thought he ] had gone back because he had forgotten something. But why should he I have taken that moment to go out hi the boat?”

“A whim,” she said. “People do have whims. His horse, Prince-how | he loved to ride Princel-found his way back to the stables. He must J have ridden down on Prince to get to the sea.”

“Did you know he had a boat?”

“No. He never said. He and Billy Grafter must have acquired it | between them. Poor boys ... poor innocent boys.”

I said: “It seems rather odd that they should both have decided to go out then.”

But Aunt Sophie was not interested hi why they had gone. All she cared about was her grief. I should not talk either. I should not set people speculating. Let it be thought that the young man, having been in London, was so eager for a breath of fresh air that he could not wait to take his boat out.

Aunt Sophie said: “Murdered! Cut off in the prime of his youth. He was a beautiful boy, bright and merry. It made me happy just to have him here.”

”I’m so sorry, Aunt Sophie.”

“You, my child, what do you know of loneliness? You have your husband, your dear child ... You are fortunate, whereas I ...”

“But, Aunt Sophie, we’re here. We’re your family. My mother ...”

“Your mother was always lucky. Fortune smiled on her. She had Charles de Tourville ... and now this husband of hers who thinks such a lot of her. Oh, I know she’s beautiful and she has the sort of nature that people seem to like, but it’s so unfair, Claudine, so unfair. And just because this young man is pleasant and makes me laugh and I have enjoyed having him in my house, someone has to murder him.”

I looked helplessly at Jeanne, who lifted her shoulders. I supposed she had to endure a great deal of Aunt Sophie’s self-pity.

Sophie was looking straight at me. “I shan’t rest until I know who killed him. And when I do, I’d kill him ... I would.”

“Oh, Aunt Sophie ...”

“Please don’t try to soothe me. I will not be soothed. I lie here, Claudine, and the only thing I have left to me is my hatred ... my desire for revenge. When I know who killed Alberic, I will find a way of getting even with him.”