Eventually, there was a knock, and Gideon came in with a plate of sandwiches.
“Oh,” Zeb said, suddenly realising he was very hungry. “Oh, that’s a good idea.”
“I made these; the kitchen is deserted. Are you all right?”
“Not really.”
Gideon folded himself down onto the floor, next to him, and put an arm over his shoulders. Zeb leaned in to him. They both munched sandwiches, more through necessity than enthusiasm, and Zeb slumped back as soon as his immediate hunger was assuaged.
Gideon pushed the plate away once they were both done. “Have you converted?”
“Converted what?”
“Yourself. I mean, have you become a Catholic?”
“No?” Zeb said, bewildered. “I don’t go to church.” He wasn’t an atheist as such, but divine service had been a torture instrument throughout his childhood: be ordered to sit still and silent for an hour, fail, be punished, regular as clockwork. A benevolent deity would surely have kinder worshippers.
“I didn’t think so, but—” Gideon pointed at the floor.
Zeb looked down and saw the rosary where he’d dropped it. “Oh! Oh, yes, no. I lost my beads. That string I used to carry? So I thought I’d get a rosary instead. People think it’s odd if a man plays with a necklace, but if the beads are divided into groups of ten and there’s a cross on it, that’s perfectly reasonable. I say reasonable: I’ve had three people on omnibuses call me a Papist.”
“May I?” Gideon waited for his nod and picked the string up. It was a nice rosary, with smooth, dark brown oval beads on a chain, and a thick, chunky metal cross. He ran it through his fingers, thumbed the edges of the cross, twisted the string into a cat’s cradle in imitation of Zeb’s frequent practice, then handedit back. “That’s quite satisfying. I’m sorry you lost your other beads.”
Zeb shrugged. It didn’t do to get too attached to portable things. “I suspect my supervisor at my last job threw them away. I left them on my desk and they were gone when I got back. He hated it when I played with them.”
Gideon’s breath hissed out. “Did you explain to him why you have them?”
“No point. Once people have decided you’re not listening to them, they don’t listen to you. It’s alwaysStop fidgeting and pay attention, as if that wasn’t what fidgeting is for. Gideon, what’s going to happen? With Elise?”
“I can tell you what should happen. The police should be summoned, urgently. Wynn insists that he can’t send someone out to travel for hours on a cold misty night, and perhaps that’s reasonable, but he certainly ought to do it in the morning.”
“You said before that we need the police,” Zeb said. “But she fell down the stairs. If she tripped and fell, it’s an accident. I would like you to tell me she tripped and fell, please.”
“I’m sorry.” Gideon grimaced. “I saw movement at the top of the stairs. It was an impression only, not enough to identify or even guess at a person. But I saw someone moving away; I am absolutely certain of it.”
Zeb hunched in on himself. “Hawley and Bram were both up there. Close by.”
“I know. And those are steep stone stairs, and… If she was pushed, it’s murder, Zeb. I don’t know if anyone would be ableto prove it, but morally at least, it’s murder.”
Murder. Zeb tried to make his mind fit around the word. Could he imagine his brother walking up behind Elise, for whose love he had betrayed Zeb, and putting out his hands and pushing? Could he picture Hawley doing that to a woman for whom he had once felt passion? All for the sake of a hundred and fifty thousand pounds?
Yes, of course he could.
“Shit,” he said. “Shit. This might be my fault. If she only wanted to talk to Wynn about leaving, and they thought she was planning to spill the beans—”
“She probably was planning that. Do you really think she would let one or the other of them win?”
“Maybe not. But I think she wanted to come with me.” Zeb felt horribly small and sad and lonely. He’d barely known Elise. She hadn’t been a very nice person. They’d shared a single proper conversation and one real smile, and now he felt nothing short of bereaved. “I wish—I wish—”
“I’m so sorry.” Gideon tightened his arm. “God almighty, what that damned fellow has done. Can one be prosecuted for inspiring people to murder one another?”
“Wynn can’t have meant this. Surely it’s gone too far now. He must see it’s gone too far. That is, if he suspects—”
“Of course he suspects. He asked me repeatedly how I thought it could have happened, and talked about the family difficulties and how she had wanted to speak to him tomorrow. He didn’t say, ‘Which of Hawley or Bram did it?’ but he might aswell have. Sorry,” Gideon added swiftly. “He’s your brother. I’m sorry.”
“Did you tell him what you saw?”
“I did not, but it was obvious they were both near the top of the stairs. And I didn’t get the impression he was panicking. If anything, he was enjoying himself.”
