Chapter Five #3
Toby glared at her, feeling, for the first time in his life, that he wanted to hit someone. He jammed his hands into his pockets before that someone became Theo.
‘People can always tell when I am lying, Toby,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘You saw what happened, as well as I did.’
‘I . . . it was dark,’ he said.
The crucial moment at the castle was fragmented in his memory. He couldn’t say for sure what he’d seen, or where he was looking when Missy was struck – he’d been running – but he’d already decided to say whatever was needed.
‘I didn’t see clearly, but it doesn’t matter because I know my brother.’
‘Yes, but . . . he . . .’ Theo looked lost, and it sent a needle of fear through him.
‘Kit never meant to harm her – or anyone,’ he said. ‘You know that.’
‘Yes. Yes, I know.’
‘Then you needn’t lie. Even if . . . even if you do not describe exactly what happened, it won’t be a lie.’
Theo wrapped her arms around herself. ‘Toby—’
‘For pity’s sake, Theo! He needs your help.
Do you think for one moment that if it had been you who’d climbed up there, you who’d .
. . dropped that stone, you would have been arrested?
And charged with murder? Of course not! But because Kit is different, and because he is lower class .
. .’ He took a breath. ‘You’re his friend, aren’t you? ’
‘Of course I am. His and yours! But . . . I’m afraid. I’m afraid to make it worse.’
‘Worse than him being accused like this? Worse than him being—?’
She flinched. ‘Don’t! Don’t say it.’
‘How afraid do you think Kit is? How afraid do you think my mother is?’ Toby tried to swallow but his throat was too tight. ‘We’re all afraid. But you must help him! Constable Pryce has always been against him. And that girl, Joanna . . . she makes him sound like the devil incarnate!’
‘She just doesn’t know him . . . Perhaps I could explain, and convince her otherwise?’
‘Do that. Make her see that what happened was accidental. My testimony will never be taken as impartial, but yours will count for a great deal, Theo.’
She nodded, her face pinched.
Toby turned away abruptly, so that he wouldn’t be tempted to comfort her. To reach out and touch her.
That evening, the Meriwethers sat as usual on the narrow settees either side of the hearth. Every now and then ash sifted through the grate, David turned a page of the Thompson more than ever. He will have your mother and me, and, come the end of the Michaelmas term, he’ll have you, too.’
‘But the money . . .’ Toby’s voice was tremulous. ‘The money would be far better spent on a pony and trap. To travel to Shaftesbury, and to the station, for Dorchester. And to school, Dad.’
‘A pony and trap?’ Now David did smile. ‘You suggest we spend the money we have painstakingly saved for years – and which the vicar has painstakingly begged – on a pony and trap?’
‘But I can’t go!’ Toby burst out. ‘Not after what’s happened – not after what I’ve done!’
David sighed. ‘Toby. Was it wise to take your brother out at night? No. It was not. Was it wise to leave him in the care of Missy Cartwright, who was scarcely a responsible person even without a drink of cider? No, son, it was not. But was it wicked? Of course not! You are eighteen, and cannot be expected to be wise at all times. There was simply no way you could have foreseen the events as they unfolded, and it would be foolish indeed to let them direct the course of your life, as well as Kit’s. ’
He held Toby’s gaze.
‘I wasn’t there to prevent what happened that night, but I am here to prevent this. And prevent it I shall. You will take up your place at university.’
‘Do listen to your father, Toby,’ Mona said softly. ‘I hate to part with you, but I shall hate it all the more if you don’t go.’
‘And if it goes to the assize? And if they . . . if they hang him?’
Toby could hardly speak: he was going to Durham after all, and was awash with such towering relief and such terrible guilt that it felt like they’d tear him in half.
‘They will not hang him!’ Mona said.
David said nothing, so she said it again.
‘They will not.’ She came and put her arm around Toby. ‘Love, they’ll let him come home. You’ll see.’
Joanna Bowen backed away from Theo as though she’d come wielding a knife. Theo had gone around the side of St Agnes’s rather than knocking at the door, hoping to avoid Mrs Vine, and had spotted Joanna out in the orchard.
‘I know what I saw!’ Joanna was shrill.
‘But it was very dark, wasn’t it?’ Theo said. ‘And Kit would never have meant to hurt anybody, let alone Missy. He’s really very gentle. And he was always soft on Missy—’
‘But he did hurt her, and I saw him do it! And Missy saw too – she said it, soon as she woke. “What did you do that for?” she said!’
‘But it wasn’t murder, Joanna, you must see that.’
‘What do you call it, then? She died ’cause of what he did, so what do you call it?
We should never have gone there – I wish I never had!
’ Her face writhed. ‘It weren’t right – none of it.
That dark spell you made . . . Who’s to say you didn’t bring it all about?
Who’s to say you never meant for it to happen? ’
‘Missy was my best friend!’
‘Well, maybe it went wrong then, your spell.’
‘It wasn’t a spell! It was just . . . I was just . . .’
‘Oh! Mrs Vine – come and help me, I beg you! Miss Hallewell’s come to silence me!’
Theo hurried away, cheeks flaming.
She gave her testimony to Constable Pryce at the walnut table in the small drawing room, with the manic tick tick tick of the carriage clock in her ears.
Every part of her yearned to be elsewhere.
To be invisible. In essence, Toby had told her to lie to prove a greater truth.
Even if you do not describe exactly what happened .
. . But Kit had thrown the stone, and she had seen him do it.
The policeman had reminded her that to be dishonest in a sworn testimony was a criminal offence.
He was staring at her, her mother was staring at her, and Theo had sworn on the Holy Bible, so God was staring at her too.
The pen, hovering over the empty sheet, shook visibly.
But she owed it to Kit, and she owed it to Toby.
What she owed Missy, she wasn’t sure; but Missy would never have wanted Kit punished. She’d been moody, but never vindictive.
Theo tried not to think about standing witness at the courthouse. About telling this same lie again, to the magistrate. He would see through her. They would all see through her. They would doubt her and question her and she would crumble. She felt physically sick at the thought.
‘Miss Hallewell?’ Pryce said, when a minute had ticked by and she had not made a mark. ‘Is there some problem?’
Theo shook her head. She clenched her teeth, and wrote:
It was very dark, and difficult to see clearly.
With Melissa’s encouragement, Christopher climbed high up on to one of the walls of the castle.
He wanted Melissa’s approval very much. He called and gestured to her, and I believe that the stone was dislodged accidentally by his foot.
It was by ill luck that it struck Melissa.
The castle walls are not stable and Christopher should not have climbed so high, nor should Melissa have urged him to.
They were both in error but the wounding was wholly accidental.
I have known Christopher all my life, and know him to be a gentle person with no violence in him.
Pryce tapped the page when she’d finished. ‘Don’t forget to sign your name just here.’
‘There, then.’ Diana stood, hands clasped. ‘Let that be an end to it.’
‘I shall present myself at the courthouse on Friday,’ Theo said, as steadily as she could.
‘You will do no such—’
‘I will present myself, and I will vouch for Kit,’ Theo interrupted breathlessly, then risked a brief glance at her mother. She had never defied her before; it was unknown territory for both of them. Diana’s face was unreadable.
‘It is my right,’ Theo added, though she did not know if that were true.
‘In fact, given your tender age, Miss Hallewell, the decision rests with your mother,’ Pryce said.
Again, Theo met her mother’s eyes. They were stony.
‘Please,’ she said. ‘I must speak for him. I have a duty.’
‘Go to your room, Theodora,’ Diana said. ‘You are overwrought.’
Theo went to Amy’s room instead, and passed several hours in solitude. She thought back through each moment of Midsummer’s Day, noting every incident and decision – every chance she had missed to make things go differently – until there was a quiet knock at the door.
‘Theo? Are you in there?’
Uncle Crudge came in on soft feet, tweaked his trousers and sat down next to her, on the floor beside the bed. He was all knees. Theo risked a look at him – his kind face, his eyes of washed-out blue. She rested her head on his shoulder.
‘I’ve always been able to tell when you’re leaving,’ she said.
‘Your lady mother feels, perhaps, that I have been a negative influence upon you.’
‘Oh, sometimes I hate her!’
‘Do not say so. Anger and hatred are not the same thing, and a hard person is simply an unhappy one. Try to remember that. And that you are all she has.’
‘She’s found out that you knew about midsummer beforehand, hasn’t she?’
He nodded sadly.
‘Can I come away with you? You promised to take me to Mesopotamia.’
‘Did I?’
‘Yes! After Amy died, you said you would.’
‘Then I must make good on that, one day. But now is not the time, Theo.’
Theo put her arms around his neck and held tight, taking deep breaths of his linen and whiskers and Pears soap smell.
‘This will never go away, will it?’
‘No.’ He sighed. ‘But there will be an afterwards. There always is, however impossible it might seem. One has simply to hold on until then.’
‘How do I hold on, Uncle?’
‘Any way you can, my dear girl. Any way you can.’
Crudge patted her lightly, and she tried not to think about the time that was coming – the time between now, and afterwards.