*But what will you live on?'

Grace Middleton opened her hands.

*I can still teach. They must have pianofortes down there, though I doubt they have much use for French.'

*Perhaps I can help.'

*You helped once before and we both know the result of that.' She wiped her eyes with a tissue. *I am sorry. That was unfair. I should go.'

She stood up.

*But shall I see you again?'

*You know how to find me.' She turned and hurried away. I saw her through the side window as she went, tall with her head defiantly high, across the street.

The waiter brought lamb chops, clomping them in front of me with a half pint of porter. I had been looking forward to them all day but now I could not eat. I sat for a long time, looking into my drink, dark and deeper than the gla.s.s that held it.

48.

Return to Huntley Street On my way home I went to Huntley Street.

Harriet Fitzpatrick was sitting by herself, in a light blue dress.

*March, how lovely to see you.' She jumped up to kiss me h.e.l.lo the moment I entered the room. *It has been very quiet here today. I was just about to leave. I was half afraid you had forgotten all about me. I must seem very provincial now that you are moving in the smart set.'

She poured me a large gin and topped up her own.

*There is nothing smart about the set I move in,' I told her, *and of course I have not forgotten you, but I have been very busy.'

*Helping Mr Grice catch more murderers, I hope. How thrilling your life must be now. Come and sit by me and tell me everything in grisly detail. I...' She stopped. *Why, March, my dear, whatever is the matter?'

*I am sorry.' I gulped half my gin down. *I did not come here to make a fuss. But it has been so horrible. Oh, Harriet, those poor murdered girls and that man in the ca.n.a.l and the little match girl. I am sorry. You cannot even know who I mean.'

Harriet took my hand in hers. *I have been insensitive,' she said. *But when one reads trashy novels it all seems exciting and rather fun.'

*I need a friend,' I said, and Harriet squeezed my hand and said, *I will always be that.'

We drank in silence for a while.

*I hear that your guardian had a narrow escape from the mob,' she said, *but he got his conviction.'

I said very quietly, *We killed an innocent man, Harriet.'

*We?'

*Mr Grice would not have taken the case on if it were not for my interference.'

*It was the judge and jury that condemned him.' Harriet stood up to pour us both another drink.

*I saw William Ashby's mother-in-law today,' I said.

*Grace Dillinger? She's a funny one.'

*You know her?'

Harriet took another sip.

*I should say. Quite a regular here.' She gave me a handkerchief.

*But why did you not say before?'

She put her gla.s.s down and rummaged in her handbag for her cigarette case, lighting one and giving it to me before lighting her own.

*I did not realize who she was,' she said, *until I saw her photograph in The Chandler Street Stabbings. We call her b.u.t.tercup here. It gave us quite a thrill when we found out who she really was, but then, of course, she has not set foot in here since.'

I drew the smoke in deep and held it before asking, *Why did you say she was funny?'

*Well,' Harriet drained her gla.s.s and I got up to pour her another. *After her husband died she went into mourning, which was right and proper, of course, but she still came here. Created a bit of a scandal really a socializing so soon after she was widowed. Then after a month she turned up out of mourning in the b.u.t.tercup dress she always wore, which is how she got her name, saying that life was too short to spend it as a memorial for the dead and she was going to start living hers again a not that she had shown much sign of holding back before then. This created even more scandal, of course, but she was never a one to be frightened of that. Then about a month after that she went back into mourning, saying that perhaps she had been a little hasty in casting it aside. If you want my opinion a and I know you do, March a she rather enjoyed being in widow's weed. It got her sympathy and attention from the men, if you know what I mean. Her daughter's death was a different thing altogether, though. She cannot have been in any mood for socializing after that.'

I blew my nose and asked, *Did she not love her husband then?'

*As much as any woman loves her owner.' Harriet stubbed her cigarette into an onyx bowl.

*Is marriage really so bad?'

*Worse.' She looked into her gla.s.s. *William Wilberforce should have campaigned against it.'

*Then I should be glad that I shall never be able to find out for myself.'

*Poor little March.'

I finished my drink and kissed Harriet goodbye. I had no right to be weak when there was still work to do. My father taught me that.

It was a minor skirmish with bandits but they caught our men off-guard in a deep gulley. One man was killed instantly and four were injured before their company managed to fight their way into the open plain. My father and I were having supper when they dashed back into camp.

The wounded were carried in and laid on camp beds in a row a a subaltern, a corporal and three privates. In most field hospitals the officer would be treated first regardless of medical considerations, but my father believed in helping those most in need of him first. The corporal was bleeding heavily from a neck wound and my father set to work on him immediately, applying a pressure pad to the wound. It was left to me to carry out a triage on the others.

The subaltern had been shot at close range, his sergeant told me. His head was bandaged clumsily with torn shirts. He was unconscious and his breathing was almost undetectable.

Two of the privates had light wounds and could wait, but the third had a sabre slash to his stomach and was bleeding heavily through the rolled-up blanket he was clutching against it.

My father came over to me. *I lost the corporal,' he said.

*The officer is beyond our help,' I said. *I think you should look at that private next.'

Two men lifted the private on to our table. He was clearly in a great deal of pain and we had some difficulty prising his hands away from the blanket. The men held his arms for my father to lift the blanket away. The wound went right across his stomach. The private screamed and it opened wide and his intestines burst out over him and on to the tabletop. He screamed again. They were spilling over the edge and I tried to catch them. The man lifted his head up to watch. I have never seen such a look of horror, but I was busy trying to stop his guts ripping out under their own weight. They were hot and slippery. My father tried to help me but when I glanced again the man looked puzzled, then disinterested, and his head fell back.

I sent the sergeant for a padre and took another look at the subaltern. He must have been about the same age as Edward, I thought, and I felt a shadow of guilt for thanking G.o.d that he was twenty miles away and safe.

That shadow hung over me. It follows me still. Sometimes I think I will never see the sun shine again.

49.

Back to School The flag was already up when I returned to 125 Gower Street.

*March.' My guardian had sent his eye to be re-ground and was wearing a patch. *You are just in time.'

I turned to see a cabby coming up the steps behind me.

*For what?' I said as we clambered into the hansom.

*A visit.'

If he was trying to be mysterious, I was not in the mood.

*Do you not want to know about my lunch?' I asked.

He shrugged. *Did Mrs Dillinger know Miss Hawkins?'

*A little, from seeing her at the Ashbys' shop.'

*Did she know anything else about her?'

*Not really.'

Sidney Grice adjusted the buckle on his satchel. *Then there is nothing else to discuss.'

*She was very upset.'

*No doubt she was and no doubt either that she still believes me, rather than her murderous son-in-law, to be the architect of her misfortunes.'

We travelled on in silence, but I knew enough of London by now to see that we were heading for the East End. The traffic was even slower than usual that afternoon, but at last my guardian tapped on the roof and we pulled up outside a p.a.w.nbroker's shop.

We walked down a side street and then another. Then Sidney Grice ducked suddenly under a low doorway and I followed into a large dark room.

*Looks like cla.s.s has finished,' he said, indicating to the rows of small desks and benches.

*You are a little old for lessons, I should say,' said a voice from the shadows, and we turned to see an elderly woman wiping the chalk from a slate on a tripod.

*Surely your pupils should do that,' my guardian said. *Though perhaps you do not want to risk them breaking another board, Miss Brickett.'

She stepped forward. *How do you know they broke the last one?'

*I can see the fresh slate scratches on the wall and floor and that the board is unscathed.'

She hung her duster on a nail. *You are a quick one, Mr Grice, but how do you know my name?'

*It is over the door. How do you know mine?'

*It is over the newspapers.'

Sidney Grice perched on a desk. *Then you should know who I want to talk to you about.'

*No sitting on the desks,' Miss Brickett said and he stood up promptly. *The only person I am aware of that we had a common interest in is the late and controversially executed William Ashby.'

*Quite so. Do you remember him as a pupil?'

*I remember him well.' Her voice was sharp and strong, though I would estimate that she was into her eighth decade. *His mother was a friend of mine.'

*And when did he leave your school?'

*He would have been twelve. I am sure you can do the mathematics for that, Mr Grice.'

*Did you see anything of him afterwards?'

Miss Brickett straightened a pile of red textbooks. *A little. He worked in the old blacking factory on Straight Street before he joined the army.'

*Did you know his wife?' I asked, and my guardian looked at me sharply.

*Only by reputation,' she said, *and a shrewish one at that, I gathered.'

*Were you surprised that he murdered her?' I asked.

*Why is this relevant?' Sidney Grice asked.