Part 15 (2/2)
”You're dead,” I whispered finally.
”I nearly am,” he said, holding one of the sandwiches in his hand. ”I haven't eaten for three days. Do you mind?” He sat down suddenly in the nearest chair. ”I've lived on tea and that small box of biscuits I found in your cupboard.”
It was Peregrine, looking as pale as his own ghost, the hand holding the sandwich shaking as if with a palsy.
He was wearing an ill-fitting suit of clothes, his hair tousled from sleep, and his face drained of all feeling as he watched my changing expressions. The heavy shadow of his beard gave him a sinister cast.
As my brain began to work again, I could feel a ripple of fear run up my spine.
”What are you-how did you know-Mrs. Hennessey!” She hadn't been there when I came in earlier. And this man was a murderer. She hadn't been there when I came in earlier. And this man was a murderer.
”Is that who she is? I saw her stepping out the door, and waited until she was down the street. I've heard her since, coming and going.”
”She owns this house. She's my-” I paused, not wanting to tell him too much.
He was frowning. ”Why did you say just now that I was dead?”
”I saw Robert-it was just after the inquest for Ted Booker-Robert came to find Mrs. Graham and Jonathan. I could tell he brought bad news-Mrs. Graham and Jonathan were very upset, as was Timothy. I saw them from the church as they were walking home-”
”Ted Booker is dead?”
”Yes. I thought-they were so upset-”
”I expect they'd learned I'd escaped from the asylum,” he told me grimly.
”Did you-you're wearing someone else's clothing-what happened to the man they belong to?”
”I didn't kill him, if that's what you're thinking. I gave him a handful of the powders I took at night. They must have been sedatives-he probably slept the night through in my bed.”
”Who was he?”
”One of the doctors-look, do you mind if I eat this? If not, I'll pa.s.s out at your feet.”
I nodded, and he bit hungrily into the sandwich. I waited, and as he swallowed the first mouthful, he said, ”I told them I thought my fever was back. I'd rubbed my face until it felt warm, flushed. The staff doctor was just leaving, and he came to my room to see what the matter was. I'd been given my powders, or so he thought, and I was hardly likely to attack him. He asked me to open my mouth, and as he bent forward to see my throat, I had him in a headlock. No one heard him cry out-there's too much of that at night, anyway. I knocked him down, turned off the light so that my room was dark, and forced him to eat the powders. Then I changed my clothes for his, and left. That's the only time the main doors aren't watched-after everyone has been locked in. The staff can come and go without disturbing the house. I walked through the fields until it was safe enough to return to the road. About three miles on, a farm cart offered me a lift to Cranbrook.”
He went on eating, his hands hardly able to bring the sandwich to his mouth. I stood there, not knowing what to do-whether he would kill me or let me live. Whether I should find a weapon and try to overpower him while he was still light-headed from hunger or try to talk him into going back to Owlhurst.
Picking up the Thermos, he could hear tea slos.h.i.+ng about inside, and he drank nearly half a cup in one gulp. It must have been lukewarm, but he didn't seem to care. ”G.o.d, I don't know what I'd have done if you hadn't brought food with you,” he said. ”What did my relatives do, send you packing?”
”They told me they'd had distressing news. I thought-from their faces, I thought they'd been informed of your death. And so I left, to be out of the way. Robert Douglas took me to Tonbridge.”
”There was money in the doctor's pocket. I used it for the train, and I walked here from the station.” He gave me a twisted smile. ”I'd tied a bandage around my head, so that people would help me. I didn't remember how to take a train, much less how to reach London. But there wasn't enough money for food.”
”They'll trace you to the train. It won't be long before they come looking for you.”
”Not in this direction. I bought a ticket to Dover when I reached Rochester. Then I asked a woman if she would purchase my ticket to London for me. I told her I couldn't see well enough to know if I was being charged the correct amount. She took pity on me and told me her brother was in France.”
He could pa.s.s for a wounded soldier-he hadn't fully recovered from the pneumonia, his eyes sunken, his face pale from long years in the asylum.
”They'll be looking for a man with a head wound.”
”Not at first. I expect you're wondering what to do with me.”
”You can't stay here-others live here. They'll be back soon.”
”Yes. Elayne. It was her bed I slept in. She's still in France, I expect.”
The letter.
”Still, Mrs. Hennessey is prying. She's never allowed men up here. She'll hear you, and report to my father that there's a man in my flat. He won't like it.”
”I don't intend for Mrs. Hennessey to hear me. And I've no more money, I have nowhere else to go.”
”But what brought you here? To London, I mean? You could have disappeared in Canterbury or Dover just as easily.”
”I came to London to relive what happened to me.” The timbre of his voice had changed. There was a harshness now that worried me.
I couldn't stop an indrawn breath.
He laughed bitterly. ”Not in that way. I was fourteen, frightened out of my wits. I saw things that I can't remember except in my dreams.”
To distract him, I asked, ”How did you unlock the flat door?”
”Your friend Elayne hadn't locked it in her haste to leave. If I'd had to, I'd have found a way to persuade the dragon at the gate to let me in. I could hardly sleep on the landing.”
”You must go. I've done you no harm, I did my best to save your life. You have no reason to hurt me.”
”I've told you. I'm here for reasons of my own. Look, lying there in a bed I haven't slept in for nearly ten years, my mind was playing tricks on me. I expect it was the fever, but that doesn't matter. I need to know-certain things. I'll spare you the details. They aren't pretty. Help me, and I'll either go back to the asylum or put an end to an already wretched life. Your only fault was in nursing me too well. For that sin, you must put up with me for a day or so longer.”
”You can't stay here! My father-”
He had started the second sandwich, and I could see he was stronger-I'd missed my chance.
He said, his gaze holding mine, ”I have a pistol with me. Jonathan's war souvenir. It only has four bullets in the clip, but I'll use them if I'm forced to.”
My shock must have shown in my face. ”You can't have-you were barely able to stand, much less rove through the house looking for a weapon-and Jonathan will know it's missing. You'll be considered armed, mentally unstable, and you'll be shot on sight!”
”That's my worry, not yours. Go back to bed. Lock your door if you wish, but I won't do you any harm.” He laughed, a grim laugh that frightened me. ”I couldn't lift a finger if I had to. Still, I'm going to bring bedding out here. You can't leave without stepping on me. Remember the pistol, and don't try.”
The door of my room didn't lock. I'd never given that a thought until now. Colder than the cold of the flat, I turned and went back to my bed, shoving a chair under the k.n.o.b of the door. I huddled in the bedclothes, listening for snoring that would tell me he was asleep.
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