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“I’ll…I’ll get you a rose from the garden to put on it,” he said. “Have you got some sort of pin to hold it? It will be the best hat in the place!”
“I’ll find one,” she replied. “I saw a hatpin on May’s dressing table.” She turned and left the room again.
Daniel, overwhelmed with relief, went into the garden and picked the rose he’d had in mind when he spoke. It was a deep apricot color tipped with a blush of red.
He came back with the flower, trimmed the end of it, and removed the thorns. Then he took the hat from her and placed the rose to one side of the brim, on top of the scarf, and pinned it securely.
She placed the hat on her head, tilted a little.
He did not need to pretend his admiration. “If you ever get tired of being a pathologist, you could always become a milliner,” he said.
The pleasure in her face told him that she took that in exactly the spirit he had intended.
“Thank you. I shall consider it.”
The towers of the church were easily visible above the rooftops of the surrounding houses, and they walked the mile and a half in the sun, discussing what sort of information they might seek from those in the congregation with whom they were able to talk. They decided to tell a slightly lopsided version of the truth as to who they were, why they had come to the island, but only if they were asked. What their relationship was, or where they were staying, they would leave to speculation. The truth would be too unlikely to be accepted, or perhaps to be understood, considering that they were both staying in May’s house, without servants or anyone else. Only the seriousness of their reason for coming at all would justify that. And without even discussing it, they knew it should not be revealed. That would jeopardize the whole purpose of their mission. It was an ugly thought that somewhere, in this tiny, close-knit community, there might be one person at least who had had a part in May’s death, and perhaps, unwittingly, taken a path toward treason.
Miriam had brought a small bunch of flowers from the garden to put on May’s grave. Apart from it being an easily understood action to explain their visit, it was something she wished to do. “I think I would have liked her,” she said simply. “So would you.”
Daniel agreed with a smile. No words were needed.
The graveyard surrounded the church, as was common. They did not need to look to find the newest grave. The headstone was already carved and placed. Perhaps with a population so small, the stonemason did not have much call for such an art.
Miriam was just straightening from laying the flowers when a small boy of ten or eleven spoke from behind her.
“Why are you putting flowers for her? You knew her? You’re not from around here.”
Miriam turned slowly to face him. “Do you mind my laying flowers for her?” she asked curiously.
It was not what Daniel would have said, but it was a better opening to asking questions. He realized it as soon as the words were out, and he saw the boy’s face.
“I s’pose not. As long as they’re nice ones.”
“They’re the best I have,” Miriam replied. “Isn’t that good enough? But even if I’d picked wild ones, wouldn’t they do, if I put them there to remember her?”
The boy thought for a moment. “You’re not from here, but you’re all right! She liked wildflowers anyway. Did you know that?”
“Yes. Are you going to put wildflowers on there for her, every so often?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I think I will. You going to?”
“No. I have to go back to London later today. But I’d like to think you would. You liked her?”
“Yeah. She used to let us take apples from her trees. Just as many as we could eat, now and again. We pretended we were scrumping them—you know, pinching?”
“Yes, I know.”
“But it was a game. And we’d pick wild blackberries up the hill and leave them there on her doorstep. She knew it was us, but she pretended she didn’t.”
“Sounds like a good game to me,” Miriam said with a smile.
The boy was silent for a few moments. He smiled, but there were tears in his eyes he did not want to admit.
Miriam waited, as if she sensed he had something more to say.
It was hot in the sun. Sounds of conversation drifted across from the church entrance, where people were gathering.
“Rosie weren’t sick,” the boy said. “Miss May knew horses. If Rosie’d been sick, she’d’ve had my dad to see her.”
