The House at Mermaid's Cove(69)

“I thought you might like some help,” I said, as I went into the wheelhouse. “I can take the binoculars if you like—or the wheel for a while, if you prefer.”

He handed me the binoculars without a word. I stood beside him, scanning the horizon for anything that might represent a potential threat, wondering all the while why he was so silent, why, now that we had the opportunity at last, he didn’t seem to want to speak to me.

“I looked at the radio parts,” I said, still peering through the binoculars. “They’re small enough to fit under a skullcap, which would be a good hiding place because the wimple sits on top of it. The explosives I’ll strap around my waist and across my back. The robe and scapular should camouflage any lumps and bumps.”

I heard him draw in a breath. “How long is it since you’ve ridden a bike?”

“I was seventeen. But they say you never forget.”

“Have you studied the map?”

“Yes.” I lowered the binoculars. “When I get to the convent, I plan to sew it to the underside of the veil—the part that hangs down at the back. Then I can flip it over if I need to read it.”

“It sounds as though you’ve thought of everything.”

I wondered why he didn’t sound pleased. I stared into the distance, at the red ball of the sun sinking into the sea. I could hardly believe it was only two nights ago that he’d held me in his arms and whisked me across the dance floor. I told myself I shouldn’t be surprised that he was taciturn, cold, even. But I sensed that something was amiss, that I’d done something to make him want to distance himself from me.

“Is something the matter? Have I done something wrong?” I turned to him, but he didn’t look at me—just kept his eyes fixed on the horizon.

“No, Alice, you haven’t done anything. It’s . . .” He hesitated, as if he were weighing his words. “It’s not you. Forgive me—I’m not very good at sentimental stuff.” The stubble on his jaw caught the light as the muscles tightened. “I don’t think you realize how fearful I am of losing you.”

The boat shook as a wave caught the bow. Spray spattered the window. I felt as if I were watching a film in slow motion. Had I heard right? Had he really said that?

“If anything were to happen to you, it would be my fault.” He turned, looking straight at me for the first time since we’d left Cornwall. His eyes glittered red with the reflection of the dying sun. “That day, when I found you on the beach, I made a very selfish decision. I should have let you go when you recovered—to Falmouth or some other place.”

“Selfish?” I stared back at him, bewildered. “Why do you say that? You said I could save more lives doing this than by being a nurse.”

“And that’s absolutely true—but there was an ulterior motive for persuading you to stay.” He held my gaze. “When I saw you lying there on the sand, and realized you were alive, I felt as if I’d been given a second chance.” He shook his head slowly. “Remember when you said that all you wanted was to do some good in the world? Well, so did I: I wanted to make up for the person I’d been, for what I did to Morwenna.”

The worm of jealousy slid out of the hole it had made in my heart. “Jack, I’m not Morwenna resurrected.”

“I know that.” His eyes narrowed, the lids clenching as if he were in pain. “I didn’t—I don’t—want you to be her. It was about trying to make amends, about saving a life for the one I’d taken.”

“But you didn’t take her life—it was an accident.” I searched his face. There was something there that I hadn’t seen before. It was the kind of look I’d seen in the eyes of patients on their way to the operating table.

“I . . . didn’t tell you all of it,” he said. “I couldn’t. Not then.” He glanced out to sea, scanning the breaking waves. “I’d been bottling it up—for years—and when I realized that you’d guessed the truth about Ned, all I could do was give you the bare minimum.” He let out a long breath. “You see, she didn’t slip on the ladder. There was an argument.”

I felt my blood surge. “What happened?”

“We were on board Firefly, talking about the money I was going to give her. I was stupid. Lost my head. I think it was the shock of seeing Ned in the flesh. I accused her of trying to trap me. I said I had no way of knowing if Ned was my child. That made her furious. She said she had a birth certificate, that the date would prove it. When she pulled it out of her bag, the wind took it. She tried to grab it as it went over the side. That’s when she fell.”

I saw it all in my mind’s eye: her hair billowing around her face, her body flailing as she went over the side. “But it was still an accident.” I breathed. “You didn’t push her—did you?”

“I didn’t touch her.” He pressed his forehead with the heel of his hand. “But the inescapable fact is that it wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t doubted her. She would still be alive. Ned would still have a mother.”

The torture was etched in his face. I didn’t doubt that he was telling the truth that he hadn’t pushed her over the side of the boat—but in his mind he’d as good as murdered her. No wonder that brooding, haunted air seemed to follow him like a cloud.