‘Yes,’ said George slowly. ‘Yes, I see that.’ He looked at the other man. ‘What do I do?’
‘To protect Maud from a police investigation? From a court hearing? Perhaps from a verdict of guilty, and a prison sentence or worse? For if they decide it was a double murder…I’m sorry to sound brutal,’ said Cormac, ‘but I think you have to face up to this.’ He frowned, and then said, ‘I know what I’d do. If it was Bryony, I wouldn’t care a farthing’s curse for the law. I’d get her out of Amberwood faster than a saint getting out of hell–probably back to Ireland.’
‘Yes,’ said George slowly. ‘Yes, I see that. If there were somewhere Maud could go. Just for a while.’ He stopped, and then said, ‘Somewhere that would put her beyond the reach of the law.’
The two men stared at one another. Neither of them spoke, but a single word lay on the air between them.
Latchkill. Latchkill…
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
After Cormac had gone, George passed a sleepless night.
Stamped on his mind was the image of Maud’s face with the dreadful slyness coming down over it like a veil, and echoing in his ears were the words she had used, ‘They’re buried alive in there…’ That was what she had said, and that had been when he had known, quite certainly, that Maud had deliberately shut Thomasina and Simon Forrester in Twygrist’s kiln room. Had she intended to leave them there until they were dead? George did not know, and he did not want to know.
He had only the smallest knowledge of how the police worked, but he could not risk the truth getting out. If it became known what Maud had done–how oddly she had behaved, how she had gone out to Twygrist–she would be questioned. Somebody would be bound to tell the police the horrid gossip about Thomasina, and the result would be that Maud would be charged with murder. She would have to stand up in a courtroom and answer prying questions and cope with avid stares, and at the end of it, she might be found guilty, and hanged in the early morning, her body buried in some shameful squalid prison yard…And if that happened, George would have nothing left to live for.
Even if Maud were cleared of the charge, she would never be free of it, even if they left Amberwood. There would be newspaper reports–perhaps with reproductions of the sketches made in court–and people would remember. Maud Lincoln? they would say. Oh yes, that’s the woman who was tried for the double murder. The Forrester case, wasn’t it? Two women together–oh yes, I see…The jury brought in a verdict of innocent, but you know the old saying about no smoke without fire…And the speculation and sniggers would follow Maud for the rest of her life.
Anything was better than that. Even Latchkill? said his mind. Yes.
It had been very late indeed when Cormac Sullivan had finally left, but before going, he had said, ‘Lincoln, I’m an unconventional man and I believe in unconventional solutions, but I think what you have in mind is wrong. Listen now, we could get Maud over to Ireland quite easily. A ferry from Liverpool to Dún Laoghaire, and a journey across to the west coast. I have a house there, although it’s tumbling into the Atlantic ocean with neglect…’ He paused, and George glanced at him because for the first time he had heard a note of wistfulness in Sullivan’s flippant tones.
A bit awkwardly, he said, ‘Thank you, Sullivan. But I think my way is best.’ Because she’s mad, she’s as mad as her poor mother was, and this is the only way she’s going to be safe from the consequences of what she’s done.
‘Ah well, the offer’s there,’ said Sullivan. ‘And we’ll hope you’ve saved her from a–a bad future.’
‘Yes. And I’ll never forget how you helped tonight—’
‘I’m a helpful sort of a man,’ said Cormac offhandedly. ‘But I’m not a man given to talking about what goes on in Amberwood, so you needn’t be afraid of that. You won’t be wanting to let them know Maud’s real identity in Latchkill?’