Margot flinches. The question swells in the kitchen. Jessie is suddenly not at all certain they should be listening to this. Surely a police matter. If any of it is true.
“No, I don’t think he did, not purposely,” Margot says after a while, her voice more reflective and distant, as if she’s in conversation with herself. “He told me he tried to kiss Audrey. So he must have grabbed at her or something and . . .” She draws a breath. “And she fell. That much is certain.”
“He didn’t save her?” Bella rises from her chair indignantly. Jessie touches her arm, a gentle warning to tread carefully. Bella lowers again.
“No, he didn’t. Not everyone is as brave as you, Bella,” Margot says with a small smile.
Bella sits a little straighter.
“Although the truth is he couldn’t have actually reached down into that well and pulled her out, I realize. It was already over for poor Audrey. Just not for him.”
“But why didn’t he reveal where she was?” Jessie asks, puzzled.
“Guilt. Denial. Immaturity. Fear of his father. I’m guessing, Jessie. And I might be being far too kind. But I do know that time has a way of compacting youth’s dark secrets, making them harder and more solid,” Margot says with a steely precision that makes Jessie wonder what youthful secrets Margot might be keeping herself. “And he’d convinced himself that admitting knowledge of Audrey’s fate would make him look guilty of murder. And maybe it would have.”
“He sounds like a total arse.” Bella lurches back in her chair.
Margot laughs, nods. But her eyes are wet. She tries to sniff back the tears. “Forgive me. It’s just a bit of a shock. To believe Audrey had died in the river all these years and . . . and . . .”
Bella rips off a piece of paper towel and hands it to Margot.
“Thank you.” Margot wipes her eyes. “It’s not the dead who suffer. It’s the living, you see.” She shakes her head. “All those lives’ trajectories changed. Weighed down.”
Bella nods, as if Margot’s making perfect sense. But Jessie feels lost in Margot’s story, the nameless he, the secrets, lies, and shifting truths of the 1950s. All she can truly understand is the primal horror of a deep dark well, a mother’s grief. Her throat locks. A child is never a collection of historic bones; a child is always human, loved, missed, their loss incomprehensible. It is just too sad.
“I still can’t believe no one saw them that day,” says Margot after a while, her voice strong again, almost angry. “Someone must have. This bloody valley, Jessie, it doesn’t change. Everyone protects their own. They always have and they always will.”
“You reckon there were witnesses?” Bella gulps.
“Oh, yes. Yes, I do. A fisherman. And some man in a hat by the bridge who never came forward. My aunt always hoped he would one day. But he didn’t, of course.”
Jessie grabs Margot’s arm, making Margot jump. “I know who it might have been!”
Margot and Bella both look at Jessie like she’s gone mad.
“Jessie . . .” Bella laughs awkwardly, embarrassed on her behalf.
“Joe!” exclaims Jessie, thinking of the photo that he pulled out of his wallet the first day.
“Joe?” repeats Margot blankly.
“Joe Peat. He’s doing a bit of work for us. And he showed me a photo of his dad, Sid or something, and he wore a hat, always wore a hat. He used to do work at Cornton Hall in the fifties.”
Jessie can almost see Margot’s mind rummaging through the past, like Romy’s fingers in Bella’s things. “Loyal to Cornton,” she murmurs under her breath. “Yes, he would be.”
“You know what? I’m sure Joe said something about him dying of a heart attack, which would explain why he never came forward. Shall I call Joe? Get him over?”
“No. I’m not sure I can take in anything else today, Jessie.” Margot picks up her handbag from the floor, stands up. “And I have invaded your kitchen long enough.”
“Oh, don’t go. Not yet. You haven’t told us what Audrey was like,” Bella says, crestfallen. “I really want to know what she was like. I’ve wondered all this time.”
“You have?” Margot seems genuinely touched by this. She slowly sits back down. “Well, Bella, Audrey . . .” She searches for the right word. “Audrey was a gas. You’d have loved her.”
Bella nods encouragingly.
Margot smiles, her face changing in front of their eyes, brightening, animating as she starts to talk, conjuring up Audrey as if she had seen her only yesterday, pulling her out of the distant past and into the kitchen, long-lost summers out of the winter air, the clever bossy girl with the swinging braid and the bright blue eyes and the fancy dresses, who looked like Margot only much prettier, who hated being an only child, yearned for sisters, spent her time inventing games, adventures, running across the meadow with fistfuls of balloons in the wind, determined to lift off and fly. Margot is inhaling, about to launch into another stream of anecdotes when Will walks in and she stops and colors.
Will looks in bemusement at the women around the table, knitted together like old friends. “I won’t ask if I’m interrupting anything.”
“No, no. You’re absolutely not.” Margot stands up, pulling herself back together. Jessie feels Audrey’s spirit scroll away from them like smoke. “I fear I’ve quite outstayed my welcome. I was only going to be five minutes.”
“No, no. I have something for you!” says Bella excitedly. “I’ve finally worked it out. You have sisters?”
“Three.” Margot raises one eyebrow conspiratorially. “Imagine.”
“A Dot?”
Margot nods, puzzled.
“Don’t move, don’t go anywhere,” Bella shouts, rushing off. They listen to the quickening clatter of feet up the stairs, down again.
“Here you are. Joe found them in the window seat in the orangery.” She hands Margot the stack of letters. “From Ma,” Bella adds when Margot says nothing, her face paling, her lips parting in astonishment as she peels back pages, scans the water-blurred words. She checks the date on an envelope. She turns to Bella. “Thank you, thank you so much. You have no idea how much we longed for these letters. Oh my goodness.” She shakes her head, struggling to take it in. “We never believed Ma when she said she’d sent them. Under the window seat? All this time? My aunt has some serious explaining to do.”
“I hope we’ve not gotten anyone in trouble,” says Jessie, exchanging a concerned look with Will.
“Trouble? My God, Aunt Sybil’s never been anything but trouble,” says Margot with a mixture of exasperation and fondness. “Once again today, I stand corrected.” She looks down at the letters again, obviously stunned, then back at Jessie. “I’ll see the police now.”
“The police?” Will repeats, taken aback.
“I’d like a quick word, if you don’t mind. I want to tell them what I know.”
“Well . . . sure.” Will smiles resignedly. “I’ll show you the way.”