26

ONE’S BRAIN CAN RUN at surprising speed. An entire idea can spring into life in a single second. Rosie had been known to foment a new worry about one of her children in the time it takes to blink. In the smallest possible division of time, with the gun in my hand, my finger pulling the trigger, a number of thoughts hurtled through my mind and arrayed themselves. Perhaps Rosie was right after all, and my brain was like a honeycomb, each individual thought occupying its own tiny hexagon.

I wondered if Chastain’s gun was actually loaded. What a fine joke God would be making if it wasn’t. One of His best. If the gun wasn’t loaded, and Chastain had been bluffing all along, much as we had, then the entire night’s bloodshed was a tragic farce.

Rosie would be dead. Rosie, gone from the world. There were no words for such a loss. My brain absorbed it and put in away in that locked box with the wolves and the jangle and thump and that awful, tender humming.

And shortly after that, I supposed I would be dead too. It seemed the lesser price. I couldn’t place much value on something I had once sought to throw away.

Dorling would survive and suffer no punishment for his crimes. And, sooner or later, he would wonder whether I’d been truthful about never having possessed the Blood Flower, and he would go to Viola’s house in search of it a second time – because it was certainly he who’d ransacked it before. That was obvious now. Who but the police would make such an awful mess? This time he might find the damned thing, if Viola hadn’t already tossed it into the sea. He would believe himself wealthy beyond imagining, until he discovered the truth. A small part of me laughed at that.

All these thoughts as my finger closed on the trigger.

The gun was loaded.

The report was enormous, like a thunderclap. The bullet hit Dorling squarely in the back, and he jerked forward, staggering as his body lost contact with his brain. His legs gave way and he crumpled on to the beach.

Rosie fell too, and I had a clutch of panic that the bullet had been diverted on its way through him to hit her as well. But she immediately scrambled back to her feet.

She stared at me for a full ten seconds before putting out her hand. ‘Give me the gun, Leo,’ she said. ‘Now.’

‘Why? He’s dead. I killed him. A police officer.’

‘I know. Give me the gun.’

I did as she instructed. ‘I’ll be hanged.’

She shook her head. ‘No, you won’t. Not if we’re quick.’

I followed her to the bathing machine. She pulled open the door and, as our eyes adjusted to the dimness, we gasped at the carnage. Quinton had fallen forward into a strange crouch, his head against the opposite wall like the most pious of supplicants. Blood was pooling at his knees. Beyond him, Stephan was half-sitting, half-lying on the floor, as if he’d tried to raise himself when Dorling entered and had got no further. One of his eyes was open and the other a messy hole.

‘Where’s Alice? She was in here too.’

Stephan began to move, his torso shifting and lifting in an unearthly contortion, his head lolling to one side as if to examine us with his one unblinking eye. Rosie raised the gun, her hand shaking. The corpse listed to one side and seemed to subside as something emerged from beneath him. It crawled out, almost unrecognisable as Alice. Her hat was gone, her sleeve was torn and her face, hair and bodice were soaked in blood.

‘Please don’t shoot,’ she said, her voice hoarse and weak. ‘I’m unarmed.’

‘Are you hurt?’ I asked.

‘No. I hid beneath Stephan when I heard Sergeant Dorling’s voice. Thomas thought him his man, but I never trusted him. I’m glad you’re safe.’

Rosie did not lower the gun. ‘You made no attempt to help us though, did you?’

Alice wiped her mouth with her sleeve, smearing Stephan’s blood across her cheeks. ‘What could I have done? I have no weapon, no physical strength, no clever way to disarm a killer.’ She spread her hands wide. ‘I’m like you, Mrs Stanhope: a woman trying to survive in a world made by men.’

She was admirable, in a certain way: relentless in her calculation.

Rosie’s eyebrows tilted upwards about a tenth of an inch.

‘I’ll make you an offer, Miss Morgan,’ she said icily. ‘I ought to shoot you, but I won’t. Leave this beach and go home, and never mention what happened here to a soul. If you do, I’ll take retribution. Do you understand? As far as the police know, Sergeant Dorling confronted these men, and they were all killed in the crossfire. Is that clear?’

Alice raised her chin as if she was about to speak, but something in Rosie’s demeanour deterred her. Seeing them this way, facing one another, my attraction to Alice seemed no more real than a cloud that looks for a moment like a face or an outstretched hand but blows away into nothing.

‘Very well,’ she said.

I followed Alice outside. She waded a few steps into the sea and washed the blood from her face, wringing out her hair and twisting it expertly into a bun. I was taken briefly back to our swim in the moonlight, and my elation at such freedom. I silently vowed not to lose that feeling again.

‘How do I look?’ she asked.

Her efforts had made some difference, but still, her clothes were soaked through and stained pink, as if she’d spent the day gutting fish.

‘Perfect,’ I said. ‘Goodbye, Alice.’

‘Goodbye, Leo.’

She left the sea and walked slowly up the beach. I watched until I could no longer pick her out against the lights of the city.

Two figures were hurrying towards me, one toiling over the stones and the other small and nimble.

‘Miss Brown,’ I said, as she came near. ‘I really must thank you again.’

‘Not at all.’ She thumbed back towards the other figure. ‘He insisted on coming also.’

‘Leo!’ called Peregrine. ‘Are you all right? And Rosie?’

I assured him we were safe, and he clapped me on both shoulders.

‘That ridiculous plan actually worked?’ He beamed at me. ‘Good Lord. I was certain you’d both be dead without me here.’

Miss Brown gave him a look. ‘Could you have climbed up there without anyone knowing, and pulled Mr Stanhope to safety?’

He tapped a knuckle on the dry, fragile structure. ‘Of course. I have an actor’s finesse.’

Miss Brown opened her mouth, but was saved from having to reply by Rosie. She came out of the bathing machine with her arms folded. ‘Mr Black, did you find Viola?’

He nodded. ‘Just now. She was on the common. And I have the stone.’

Rosie blew out her cheeks. ‘Good. That’s a relief. You can give me a hand, please, getting Mr Quinton’s body out of here and on to the beach. We need to make it look as if he was killed in a gun fight with Sergeant Dorling.’

She explained the events of the evening while they tugged and hauled Quinton’s remains out of the bathing machine and laid him out, his arm extended in the direction of Dorling’s corpse. She placed Chastain’s gun next to him, as if it had dropped there when he died.

Miss Brown and I went to do the same for Chastain himself, but when I got to the spot where he’d fallen, he wasn’t there. I found him leaning against the broken wheel of the bathing machine. I crouched down beside him.

‘Is he still alive?’ asked Miss Brown.

Before I could check his pulse, a rasping sound emerged from his mouth, and a bubble of spit formed and burst on his lips. I pulled aside his blood-soaked jacket and shirt and found a bullet hole below the eighth rib on his right side. It must have somehow missed his vital organs and blood vessels. His eyes flickered open. ‘Christ,’ he muttered. ‘It bloody hurts.’

I beckoned to Miss Brown. ‘I’ll need your help.’

We pulled him to his feet, supporting him between us. Rosie watched in amazement, and Peregrine fished in his pocket for his flask and held it out.

‘Whisky?’

‘He’ll need more than that,’ I said. ‘We’ll have to take him to the hospital.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Peregrine, taking a swig himself. ‘But I imagine they’ll have some awkward questions for us.’

‘The barracks then,’ said Rosie. ‘The Navy must have doctors.’

Chastain lolled close and whispered into my ear. ‘No, please. Not the Navy.’

‘I know,’ said Miss Brown. ‘I’ll take him to Mr Lau, our surgeon. He’ll mend him. You should leave here before somebody sees you.’

‘Thank you, Miss Brown,’ I said. ‘For everything.’

She gave us a rare smile. ‘No, thank you. You found Natalia’s killer and he’s dead. That’s good enough for me.’

She took the lieutenant’s weight and half-supported, half-carried him up the beach towards the promenade.

‘Well,’ said Peregrine. ‘All’s well that ends well.’ He ignored our expressions and drained his flask ‘What we need now is a lot more terrible whisky.’

The following morning, I took another bath, asking Rosie to stand guard again.

Through the door, I could hear her exasperated remonstrations with Viola.

‘But why?’ she was saying. ‘Where did you go?’

‘I knew the Blood Flower was evil,’ said Viola. ‘It carried death with it.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I went and sat on the common. You know, by the beach. It was terrifying for a while. There were flashes and bangs like thunder and lightning coming from the direction of the sea. I was sure it was the spirits angry with me for having such a thing in my possession.’

There was a pause in the conversation. I could imagine Rosie struggling to form words.

‘How far were you from the beach?’ she asked eventually.

‘No more than a hundred yards. I daren’t go any closer. There were monstrous shadows dancing there.’

‘But you’re pregnant.’

‘I was quite safe. It was quite warm, and after a time, there was peace. The noises and the dancers went away, so I decided to go home, and met Mr Black on the way. I knew the spirits had taken all the evil from the jewel. They made it good again, Roisin. It’s not the Blood Flower any more. Now, I’m calling it the Gift.’

When I’d finished my bath, I put on Bill’s awful suit and found Rosie and Peregrine in the parlour. Our bag was packed.

‘Viola will have to come with us,’ said Rosie. ‘She can’t stay here with no income.’

‘Plus, she’s mad as a spinning top,’ added Peregrine, earning a filthy glance from the madwoman’s sister.

I found that I’d hardly spoken since the previous night. Words weren’t springing easily into my mouth. I Knew Rosie had noticed my reticence, as she’d exchanged a couple of concerned looks with Peregrine. But what I lacked in speech I made up for in the written word. I’d already drafted my article about the murders of Natalia La Blanche and Micky Long, the innocent victims of Thomas Quinton, a celebrated local businessman who was killed in a gunfight with the police. With insinuations of opium-smoking and sins of the flesh, the story had all the lurid elements J. T. could wish for.

I didn’t mention Dorling by name, but I was certain he’d be heralded as a hero. It stuck in my throat, but what else could I do? That was the tableau we’d created on the beach. And I didn’t mention Bill Broadman either, as I would’ve had to include the fact that he’d stolen the Blood Flower, and Viola didn’t deserve that. And finally, after much deliberation, I left out James Chastain as well. I was certain he wouldn’t return to his ship and the Royal Navy. He was desperate to get back to those singing squirrels and the lover he’d left in Madagascar. I hoped he would.

‘Leo,’ said Rosie. ‘Are you listening to me? I said Viola should stay with us until she’s had the baby. And for a while afterwards, I’m sure. All this … ’ She waved at the room. ‘This stuff can go into storage. Or be burned.’

Jack-the-bloody-dog came in and jumped up on the sofa beside me. I prepared myself to be bitten, but instead he curled up against my leg and emitted a deep sigh. Perhaps it was the suit. He thought I was Bill. Oh, good Lord, I thought. I suppose he’ll have to come too.

‘Are you sure about the Blood Flower?’ asked Peregrine. ‘Or the Gift, as I should call it now.’

‘Yes,’ replied Rosie. ‘Mr Kleiner can sell it as he suggested. Twenty-five guineas, hopefully. We’ll send you the money to help these poor boys. Find little Jonathan for me, will you? And Mr Honey and all the others. Give them somewhere to stay that’s warm and put some proper food in their bellies.’

‘I shall,’ he said. ‘But I’ll have to hand over to Mrs Mackay soon. I’ll be at home in London with Miranda, receiving rave reviews for my Falstaff.’

‘Do you trust Mrs Mackay?’

He smiled. ‘Absolutely. She’s the nearest thing I have to family. And talking of which … ’ I could see from his twinkling expression he was about to start some mischief. ‘Where will Mrs Broadman be sleeping at the Stanhope residence?’

Rosie raised an imperious eyebrow. ‘Viola will stay in the box room. Leo and I will take the main bedroom. We are husband and wife, after all.’

She gave me a quick look, checking I was happy with this allocation, and I gave her a nod in return. It meant no more than what it was: a new arrangement for sleeping. Yet I knew that she loved me. Not in any simple way, not as the world would expect perhaps, but love was still love, and it was more than I deserved. Such a strange pair we made, oddly shaped and ill-fitting, except with each other.

Whatever we were, we were it together.

I watched her alternately rolling her eyes and laughing at Peregrine’s good-natured teasing and could not care for her more. All that mattered was that she was happy, and I would soon be carrying her bag to the station, and she would confront with ferocity any dishonest crow salesmen who happened to cross our path.

And we would remain silent on the subject of love. It was like the pies she gave me that she said were left over from the day before, or the newspapers I brought home for her that I claimed were offprints from the presses. We both knew the truth, but neither of us wanted to talk about it.

Strange, I supposed.

But it was how we were.