Part 17 (1/2)

I couldn't see it. But he crossed to the square, the better to see Number 17 and stare up at its windows, as if expecting to find himself at fourteen gazing down, then he positioned himself on the walk, and turned toward the house opposite.

”They've painted the door a dark green, but it was black once. As were the shutters. But, by G.o.d, this is the right street!”

”There must be others just like this one.”

”No, I'd stake my life on this.”

Across the square, the constable stopped to speak to a housemaid just coming up from the tradesmen's entrance. Then he turned our way and began to stroll back toward us, as if he hadn't a care in the world.

”Come away, Peregrine, please! We've loitered here long enough. Please, before that constable catches us up.”

Peregrine seemed not to hear me, his mind on something else. Then he turned, took my arm, and we walked on, toward the corner. I wanted to hurry, to look back over my shoulder, but I dared not draw attention to us again. At the corner we turned away from Carroll Square, and I felt my heart begin to beat normally again.

Peregrine's grip on my arm tightened until his fingers felt like they were bruising the skin. ”How did you know?” he asked. ”Who told you where to find that house again?”

Surprised by the unexpected attack, I said, ”It was Mrs. Clayton-”

”I don't remember anyone of that name. You're lying.”

”No, truly, I'm not.”

”Did you live here before, is that it? Is that why you came to visit the Grahams? I asked you if you were Arthur's wife. You told me he was dead. Why were you in Owlhurst?”

”Peregrine. Mr. Graham. I was the nursing sister with Arthur when he died onboard Britannic. Britannic. I came to visit Mrs. Graham, to-to talk to her about the day Arthur died. He had asked me to. It was his dying wish.” I came to visit Mrs. Graham, to-to talk to her about the day Arthur died. He had asked me to. It was his dying wish.”

”He wouldn't have asked you to come to Owlhurst. Unless there was more to your relations.h.i.+p than nurse and patient.”

”You aren't required to judge any relations.h.i.+p of mine,” I retorted coldly. ”I'm helping you because you are here, you are armed, and I have no choice.”

”You saved my life,” he said sardonically. ”And your letter gave me a place to hide in London. And you must have been asking questions about me, or you wouldn't have known about a house my family lived in for only a few weeks nearly fourteen years ago.”

I could feel myself turning red, and not from the cold wind.

”I admit to some curiosity. Arthur Graham told me he had three brothers, but he said almost nothing about them. When I arrived in Owlhurst, there were only two, and no one told me anything about you. When you were being carried to Owlhurst, and I'd volunteered to attend you, your mother explained in the briefest terms what I was getting myself into. I should have trusted my instincts and let you die!”

He chuckled. It was the oddest sound, coming from a confessed murderer. I hadn't expected a sense of humor and looked up at him, startled.

”Some curiosity, indeed,” he repeated, mimicking me.

We were standing on Radcliffe Street, waiting to hail a cab.

I felt a touch on my shoulder. ”Miss?”

I turned, alarmed, and found myself face-to-face with the constable we'd seen in Carroll Square.

”Constable?” It was all I could manage. Peregrine's fingers were still digging into my arm, their iron grip biting through the cloth of my coat and my sweater.

”Is this man annoying you, Miss?”

My eyes moved to Peregrine's face. He had turned toward the constable, and was waiting for me to answer.

”His name is William,” I said in a voice I knew wasn't my own but prayed the constable would think I was shrill as a rule. ”He worked for my family before the war. He wanted to see where his-his brother had been in service before volunteering for the army.”

”He's not in the army himself?” the constable asked.

”I'm home on leave,” Peregrine answered. ”Pneumonia. Not as glorious as dying, is it?”

The constable nodded. ”You oughtn't be out of uniform,” he admonished Peregrine.

”It's just for today.” He indicated his cuffs and the shortness of his trousers. ”I've outgrown them. My mum says I'd added an inch since I've been in the army.”

The constable smiled. ”Good luck to you, son.” He touched his cap to me and walked on.

Before I could fall down in relief, I caught the eye of a cabbie coming toward us and hailed him.

”I see what you mean about the clothing,” Peregrine said after I'd given the man the address of Mrs. Hennessey's house. ”Will you buy me a new suit of clothes, for your sake and the sake of the police? I have no money. I can't pay you back.”

There was the shop where my father bought his clothes and had his uniforms tailored. I leaned forward and told the cabbie that I'd changed my mind and wished to go to Oxford Street. He nodded, and we turned toward Piccadilly.

Peregrine sat back and closed his eyes. His face was gray with fatigue.

I sat there counting the lies I'd told to the police. I'd be an accomplished liar before Peregrine Graham and I were done.

I leaned a little forward. Where was the pistol? In his coat pocket? If he was being measured for a new suit of clothes, he'd have to remove that heavy coat....

When we arrived at Gladwynn and Sons, I was grateful to find that young Mr. Gladwynn, who knew my father very well and who must be nearing eighty years of age, was not in the shop that morning. The clerk who greeted me, a Mr. Stanley, informed me that Mr. Gladwynn would regret not having seen me and would surely wish to know how my father fared.

”Very well,” I said. ”He's in Somerset at the moment. Meanwhile, I have brought a friend who finds he's outgrown his prewar clothes. This is Mr.-Philips, and he's in need of something to finish out his leave.”

”We've a backlog of uniforms on order,” Mr. Stanley informed me, and my spirits plummeted. ”But,” he went on, eyeing Peregrine like an undertaker eyeing his next customer, ”I think we just might have something to fit his size....”

I sat down in the chair before the tier of mirrors, and Mr. Stanley went off to find whatever he had in mind. He was a thin man, with thinning hair, and close to sixty. I wondered what tale would get back to my father.

Peregrine stood there, ill at ease. It occurred to me that Peregrine had never come to London to have his clothes fitted. He'd either been shut away at home or shut away in the asylum, everything he needed ordered for him. I felt a wave of pity for the child, if not for the man.

Such shops as this one have an air of their own. The smell of wool blended with the beeswax polish that gave a rich l.u.s.ter to the wood of counters and a wall of drawers containing everything from collars to b.u.t.tonhooks to handkerchiefs. The bolts of cloth on the other side were mostly khaki now or in the colors of various dress uniforms from scarlet to naval blue. Someone had just been fitted with the dress uniform of a Highland regiment, and there were trays of b.u.t.tons and braid ready to go back into their respective shelves. The tweeds and woolens from before the war were sadly missing, and there were only a few civilian hats to choose from, the rest being military caps of various ranks and services. They were lined up above the bolts of cloth with the precision of Old Mr. Gladwynn, who was legendary.

Mr. Stanley came back, wringing his hands in apology. ”I fear there's nothing in civilian clothes to match the gentleman's height,” he said. ”But I have uniforms that might fit. Alas, they were ordered by someone who died on the Somme. What regiment is the gentleman?”

The gentleman, I informed Mr. Stanley, was in my father's old regiment and held the rank of lieutenant.

Half an hour later, Peregrine and I walked out into Oxford Street again. Mr. Philips had been transformed into Lieutenant Philips, and I wondered if I would be shot at the Tower for making it possible for him to impersonate an officer.

But the streets were filled with officers and men, and as long as Peregrine remembered when to salute and when not, we had a good chance of getting by with this charade. And a young lady in the company of an officer would attract no attention at all. Such couples were everywhere.

I found us a cab as quickly as possible and wondered how I would smuggle my officer past Mrs. Hennessey.