Breathes there the man with soul so dead?
What kind of man was Charles Morrow that he’d write that to his son? Gamache was longing to ask Peter about the statue, but hadn’t yet had the chance.
‘Good advice,’ said Reine-Marie and they all looked at her. ‘If you’re in a hurry, where do you go? To the first stall.’
She didn’t need to say more.
Peter, who’d never decoded what his father had meant but knew in his heart it must be vital, wondered.
Was it that mundane? Was it really just practical advice after all? As a child, even as a teen, and even, dare he admit it, as an adult, he’d fantasized that it was a secret code. Given only to him. Entrusted to him. By his father. A code that would lead to treasure.
Never use the first stall in a public washroom.
And he hadn’t.
Gamache was just about to ask Peter’s opinion of the statue when Thomas strolled in.
‘You were talking about public washrooms?’ he said.
‘Toilets?’ asked Mariana, breezing into the room with Sandra. ‘Bean’ll be sorry to be in bed. It’s the sort of conversation a ten year old is good at.’
‘Hello.’ Julia walked through the screen doors from the terrasse carrying a demi-tasse of espresso. ‘There’s lightning and thunder out there. I think a storm’s coming.’
‘No,’ said Thomas sarcastically. ‘Peter’s been talking about toilets, Julia.’
‘Not really,’ said Peter quickly.
Julia stared at him.
‘Men’s or women’s?’ asked Mariana, with exaggerated interest.
‘Probably men’s,’ said Thomas.
‘That’s it, that’s enough.’ Julia threw her coffee cup to the carpet, where it shattered. The action was so unexpected, so violent, everyone in the room jumped.
‘Stop it,’ she rasped. ‘I’ve had enough.’
‘Calm down,’ Thomas said.
‘Like you? You think I don’t know?’ She started to smile, or at least to show her teeth. ‘Thomas the success, the talented one,’ she hissed at him.
‘And you.’ She turned to Mariana. ‘Magilla, the gorilla. The screw-up with the screwed-up child. Bean. Bean? What kind of a name is that? What kind of kid is that? You think you’re so smart? Well I know. I know it all.
‘And you. You’re the worst.’ She closed in on Peter. ‘Gimme, gimme, gimme. You’d destroy anything and everything to get what you want, wouldn’t you?’
‘Julia.’ Peter could barely breathe.
‘You haven’t changed. Cruel and greedy. Empty. A coward and a hypocrite. You all came here to suck up to Mother. You hated Father. And he knew it. But I know something none of you does.’ Now she was up against Peter, tilting her face up to his. He didn’t move, kept his eyes fixed on the painting above the fireplace. The Krieghoff. Lines and colour he understood. His sister’s hysterics were unfathomable, terrifying.
‘I know Daddy’s secret,’ Julia was hissing. ‘I had to spend my life as far from you as I could get to figure it out, but I finally did. And now I’m back. And I know.’
She grinned malevolently and stared around the room. Her eyes finally came to rest on the Gamaches. For a moment she seemed confused, surprised to see them.
‘I’m sorry,’ she stammered, the spell broken, the rage gone. She looked down at the mess she’d made. ‘I’m sorry.’ She bent to pick it up.
‘No, don’t,’ Reine-Marie said, stepping forward.
Julia stood up, holding a piece of the cup, a slight trickle of blood on her finger. ‘I’m sorry.’
Her eyes filled with tears and her chin dimpled. All her rage dissolved. Turning, she ran out of the screen door leaving behind her family, who might have had their heads mounted on the old log walls. They’d been hunted, slaughtered, and put on display.
‘She’s cut her finger,’ said Reine-Marie. ‘I’ll take her a bandage.’
‘She’s not hurt badly,’ said Sandra. ‘She’ll be fine. Leave her.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Gamache, grabbing the flashlight on the table by the door. He and Reine-Marie followed the bright spot of the flashlight as it played on the rough stones of the terrasse then the grass. They followed the light and the sobs and found Julia sitting on the lawn, near the edge of the forest. Near the statue.
‘It’s all right,’ said Reine-Marie, kneeling down and putting an arm round her.
‘It’s. Not. All. Right.’
‘Let me see your hand.’
All fight gone, Julia raised her hand. Reine-Marie examined it. ‘The other one, please.’ She found the small cut on Julia’s finger and dabbed at the blood with a Kleenex. ‘It’s stopped bleeding. You’ll be fine.’
Julia laughed, sputtering slime from her nose and mouth. ‘You think?’
‘We all get angry, we all shout and say things we don’t mean,’ said Reine-Marie.
Gamache handed Julia his handkerchief and she blew into it.
‘I meant them.’
‘Then things that didn’t need to be said.’
‘They did.’ She was stuffing her innards back, sewing herself up, putting her skin, her make-up, her party frock back on.
‘They’ll never forgive me, you know.’ She stood up, smoothed her dress, and wiped the tears and mucus from her face. ‘Morrows have long memories for things like this. It was a mistake to come back. Foolish, really.’ She gave a small snort of laughter. ‘I think I might leave before breakfast tomorrow.’
‘Don’t,’ said Reine-Marie. ‘Talk to them. If you leave without seeing them it’ll just get worse.’
‘And you think talking would help? You don’t know the Morrows. I’ve said way too much already.’
Gamache had been silent, watching and listening. And holding the torch. In the light he could just see her face, unnaturally pale, with harsh lines and shadows.
Not everything needed to be brought into the light, he knew. Not every truth needed to be told. And he knew she was right. He’d seen their faces as she’d fled. She’d said too much. He didn’t understand it, couldn’t see it, but he knew something foul had just come to light, come to life.