‘Do you?’ he said. ‘I thought perhaps you’d be returning to Ireland with Mr Mahoney.’
‘I will never return to Ireland.’
Chilton must have noticed, I didn’t say I’d never go away with Finbarr. ‘Speaking of Ireland,’ he said, ‘I must tell you the strangest thing. I heard Mr and Mrs Race talking just now and it was as if they were two entirely different people. Not only kind to each other, but also sounding as though they’d just got off the boat from Dublin.’
My face went hot and my eyes flooded. I didn’t want him in my room. ‘You know, Mr Chilton, if you’ve opted not to reveal Mrs Christie’s whereabouts, shouldn’t you be going back home?’
‘I imagine my reasons for staying are similar to yours.’ He said it kindly. He said everything kindly. But that didn’t necessarily bode kindness, did it?
‘Won’t you be in terrible trouble,’ I said pointedly, ‘when they find out she was here all along?’
‘It’s not trouble if you’re never caught, is it?’
I remembered my hands around Sister Mary Clare’s throat. I imagined a gravestone behind the convent, marked like all the rest. Here Lies Sister Mary. But this one was just for her.
Down the hall a door opened. Young Miss Armstrong emerged, her black hair loose, her face bright and clean of any troubling past. If only I could have willed my soul out of my own body and into hers, and lived my whole life differently.
‘Oh, Mr Chilton,’ I said, and the floorboards rushed to meet my face.
Chilton hadn’t meant to upset me, at least not to this degree. It was part of his job to disarm people, make them vulnerable and get them talking. He did it almost by force of habit. What was less practised was disarming himself. Before I hit the floor he reached out his good arm – sufficient only in protecting my head from a more severe blow.
‘My goodness,’ said Miss Armstrong, bustling to my side. ‘Shall we get her into bed?’
‘No.’ I sat up and pulled at the collar of my dress. ‘I’m fine.’ I shrugged away from both pairs of hands. ‘I just need some air. Some room and some air.’
‘Let me at least walk you downstairs for luncheon,’ Miss Armstrong said. ‘The combination of cold air and hot water is said to be so healthful. But I’ve been feeling rather light-headed since we arrived. Perhaps that’s what killed the Marstons. Some kind of shock to their system. It must be all the worse, for old people.’ She glanced at Chilton as if in concerned warning.
Chilton remained focused on me. ‘You’re sure you’re all right?’
‘Perfectly fine. Just feeling a bit ridiculous.’
‘Is that nurse afoot?’ asked Miss Armstrong. ‘Mrs Race?’
‘I don’t believe she is,’ Chilton said. ‘Perhaps you can consult with her later.’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ I said.
Accepting Miss Armstrong’s hand, I got to my feet. I would eat to oblige them. And then steal away to see Finbarr. I should have returned to London already. One more day, I kept telling myself. Just give me one more day.
Chilton watched as Miss Armstrong and I walked off, her arm wrapped around me with genuine concern. People can be so kind, he thought. Women especially. The way one woman naturally allows another to lean on her in times of trouble.
The Disappearance
Last Day Seen
Friday, 3 December 1926
WOULD IT SURPRISE you to know that most women, if they saw Finbarr and Archie side by side, would choose Archie as the handsomer? Especially after the war, once Finbarr had lost his joyful gleam.