I shrugged. “Forty-five minutes sounds good to me.”
“All right,” Martin said. The wind blew through the trees, and the tips of his ears were already growing red with cold. He turned to Cora. “That gives me enough time to take you over the rise toward the village before we have to turn back. It’s a bit steep in places, though. What do you think?”
She bit her lip, her eyes on Martin’s face. “I’m dressed nice and I didn’t eat much breakfast,” she said. “Can we do something easier?”
In that moment, I began to like Cora Staffron. Despite her thin frame and no doubt knobby knees, she was hardy and could have done the walk—or even a longer one—without losing her breath. It was Martin who would struggle. I silently applauded her.
“Easier? Yes, I suppose.” Martin thought it over, oblivious to the subtext. “We’ll go toward the village. Then I’ll bring you around the back way by the path through the woods. No rocks that way. Sound good?”
“Well, sure,” Cora said.
Martin turned back to me. “Right back here in forty-five minutes, then. Do you have somewhere to go, Cousin?”
I paused in surprise, and his cheeks flushed. It had been demeaning enough to follow them about before, but now I was to be overtly abandoned. I recovered myself. “Yes, of course,” I said.
Cora looked at me brightly. “You should have brought some birding binoculars. You could have smuggled them under your coat and no one watching would know.”
I stared at her. She really did see me as ancient. “Or perhaps I should have brought a flask.”
She only laughed. “Wouldn’t that be funny!”
I agreed it would be, and we went our separate ways. It was a relief of sorts—I realized as I stepped into the shadowed silence that I had been straining even to make the most meaningless small talk. But I did not want to be alone in the woods, even on a sunny day. When they were out of sight, I paused on the path, and my gloved hand slipped into my pocket and touched the piece of paper there.
Keep it together, Jo.
The fear closed around me for a full moment as I listened to the soft sounds of the forest, the wind rushing through the trees, the far-off calls of birds. I could not go back to the house, or everyone would know that Martin and Cora were alone. And I could not follow them and intrude.
So I kept walking. Martin had told me once of a particularly nice vista over the sea, in the other direction from the village, so I took the path away from my charges. I made my way over the treacherous ground on numb feet, stepping over ruts and puddles, sweating beneath my coat and hat as I climbed a rise, the wind chilling the thin perspiration on my forehead.
When I finally reached the place, I stopped in silent wonder. I was at the very western edge of the woods, on the side facing away from the house and the village, at the place where the trees ended. Just past my feet was a clearing that fell off and sloped sharply down, and beyond it the rocky terrain wound along the coast toward the horizon. The ocean was gray and cold below me, the shore sharp and forbidding, but still the view was breathtaking. I let the wind buffet the brim of my hat and the collar of my coat, taking in the vast expanse.
Just visible several miles down the shore was a low and blocky set of buildings, clustered within a fenced-in square of land. It sat quiet and dull in the sunshine, placed right on the edge of the water, where several small boats were moored. This must be the Ministry of Fisheries, where Colonel Mabry claimed to be assisting somehow. It looked sleepy and silent, and I saw not a whisper of movement.
I turned back to look at the water. There were no pleasure boats, no sloops or neat little sails. This was choppy water, deep and cold. Far on the horizon was the silhouette of a large ship, its smokestacks belting into the sky. Seabirds crisscrossed the shoreline, calling to one another in high, shrill voices. I saw not one other human figure.
I am alone, I thought.
The wind stung my eyes, but the tears on my cheeks were not from the cold. Here, in this remote place where no one could see me, I did not wipe them away, but let them dry, salty, on my skin.
Keep it together, Jo.
I pulled the letter I’d received this morning from my pocket, unfolded it, and looked at it for the hundredth time. The wind flapped the page sharply, but I held on, watching the words blur.
We are very sorry to inform you that Mrs. Christopher passed away last night in her sleep. There was no warning, and she spent yesterday as usual, so the doctors have declared that her heart stopped as she was sleeping. Though this news must grieve you, please accept our assurances that Mrs. Christopher went to her Maker peacefully, without struggle or pain, and that she rests now in the arms of Heaven as innocent as a child, as all of our patients do.