Perdita (11 page)

Dewi was pulling vigorously on his leash, and Allan's eyes
brightened.

“He's found something,” he cried exultantly and yanked the lead from
me.

“Allan,” I protested, “stop!”

I could hear the men behind us with the other dogs; one of the hounds was yelping, and then there were loud scraping sounds as if they were moving some heavy object. A chill crept up my spine, and all of a sudden, I was
afraid.

“You see,” I heard Mr. Doric exclaim, “there's nothing
here!”

“Margie!”

Allan motioned toward a pile of driftwood that had been bleaching in the sun for many months, or even years
perhaps.

He paused before it and then said, “Come,” very
quietly.

Again, a wave of dread passed over me, but I drew in my breath and moved
closer.

Dewi was tugging on a piece of cloth, and to my horror, when we pulled him away, I saw a hand protruding from what looked to be the sleeve of a woman's
garment.

I must have
screamed!

I do not know if seconds or minutes passed, but it seemed that Captain Howarth was there very quickly, with his hands on my waist, gently pulling me back from the pile of wood, speaking very softly to me, “Step away now—I've got
you.”

Allan was
transfixed.

I closed my eyes and covered my mouth, for there was a terrible stench that arose from the body. Then Tad was behind me, and I turned and pressed my face against his
coat.

“There, Marged. There,” he said. And I swallowed and gathered myself, for I did not wish to shame him and have the men think him possessed of a weak
daughter.

“Allan,” said Tad sharply, “come here and look to
Marged.”

I am sure that he did this in part to draw Allan away from the grisly pyre. The men lifted up the pieces of wood, and I saw the form of a woman's body emerge. Her face was horrible—the lips drawn back and her eyes staring wildly. Her arms were crossed at her chest, as if clutching some object, and her dress was torn in several
places.

“There's a wee babe with her,” one of the men said, stooping over her body. “Aye, it's just a wee
child.”

It was then that I realized that the woman could not have been put there by the storm, for she was too far from the shore. Nor could the storm have placed the branches upon her body, so carefully concealing her. But how had it
happened?

I turned slowly and looked at Mr. Doric as it dawned upon me that someone—someone on the island—must have placed her
so.

Captain Howarth stood up abruptly from his crouched position above the corpse and said, “This indentation shows that this woman was wearing a ring. And it seems that something has been wrenched from around her neck. Mr. Doric, can you explain
this?”

Mr. Doric stood as if turned to stone, his eyes staring vacantly before
him.

“Robbing the dead,” muttered one of the
men.

Tad walked over to Mr. Doric and took his arm. “Come, James,” he said, and he led him, unresisting, back to the light station. One of Captain Howarth's men stayed behind with the body, and Allan and I could do nothing except return to the dock, where our boats were tied and
waiting.

“There are probably more—” began Allan, but I interrupted
him.

“Don't,” I said. “Let's not talk of it. Not just
yet.”

George and Mr. Stewart took us back to the mainland. We were all silent the whole way. I could not talk to the reporter either, though he came twice to see
me.

When Tad came back, I heard Uncle Gilbert say, “They'll hang him”—and Tad offered no
contradiction.

July 11

They found more debris from the
Mary
Jane
in Mr. Doric's yard, and what Captain Howarth described as “personal effects.” It seems that Mr. Doric has taken things from many of the dead, and they are discovering the other bodies that he has hidden throughout the island. I do not think that I could ever bear to go back to that lonely spot after this; perhaps it was the isolation that twisted him and induced him to commit such heinous
deeds!

July 15

We buried Mrs. McTavish today. They found her body early yesterday morning; I cannot write much of this. My heart is breaking for Dr. McTavish—I heard Tad say to Uncle Gil that she was almost unrecognizable. How terrible! I am filled with sadness and regret. There will be five new graves in our little cemetery. One of them will be for a boy who is thought to be eight, and one for a little girl of
three.

I don't think any of us will ever forget this
summer.

I walked over to
Clare's after dinner, heading along the road rather than picking my way across the beach. I stopped at the overlook; there were dark clouds gathering on the horizon, and I found myself scanning the Bay for boats. Sure enough, a small yacht was making its way toward the two buoys that marked the entrance to Drake's
Basin.

“Cutting it a little close,” I said under my
breath.

As I rounded the bend, I saw a second car parked in the driveway. “Doug's arrived!” I quickened my step. It had been ages since I'd seen him up at the
cottage.

I knocked on the back door, but there was no answer, so I followed the side path around to the front. I could hear their voices coming out through the screened windows as I
approached.

“Okay. Just one more question.” Doug's tone was playful, but I detected a note of seriousness in
it.

“All right.” Clare laughed. “But this has to be it! After this, my personal life is off-limits for the rest of the weekend. Agreed?”

I stopped and turned around, annoyed to see that Farley had disappeared. Then I heard Doug say, “What about
Garth
?” He said it so quietly, emphasizing my name in such an unusual way that I stopped dead in my
tracks.

“You've been talking to Mum!” Clare
exclaimed.

“Yes, I had a long talk with Mum before coming up. She's worried about
you.”

“Oh.” Clare sounded edgy. “She's probably told you some nonsense about me being in love with Garth—ever since I was sixteen or something like that. She did, didn't
she?”

I felt I should cough or signal my presence
somehow.

“Well?” Doug asked
softly.

“I plead the Fifth—or whichever one it is,” she tossed
back.

“You know that only works in the States.” Doug had moved closer to the window, very near to where I was standing, and paused with his back to me. I became very still, helpless to slip away without his hearing
me.

“Come on, Clare. I'm not completely blind. Didn't you
once—?”

“That was all a long time ago,” she interrupted. “Once Evienne got her hooks into him, I didn't stand a
chance.”

“You weren't exactly without your own charms, you know,” Doug said
mildly.

“You know I'm not like that! Women who get men that way—it's hard to explain—but they never get the full man. There must be parts of Garth that Evienne never knew, maybe even didn't want to
know.”

“Did you sense that Garth wasn't entirely happy, then?” Doug asked
tentatively.

I took a cautious step backward, but froze at the sound of a stick cracking under my
foot.

“How could I possibly know?” Now Clare's voice sounded defensive. “I wasn't really around them, not after I left for Cambridge. But why all these questions about Garth? I know Mum's not keen on Stuart, but you've no idea how wonderful he was through all that awful hullabaloo at the Museum. Besides, it really isn't anyone else's business. Even Dad is looking at me so…pensively!”

“Mum doesn't think you're really—well—really in love with Stuart—or Lord
Becksmith.”

“It's Baron Bretford! Baron Bretford of
Blackheath!”

Doug guffawed. “I beg your pardon, milady. I grant you his lordship might be a great guy. Even so, Mum might be right. She has a nose for these things, and she thinks you've got the let's-get-married-because-we're-good-friends syndrome. That and the fact you've put off the Baron for so
long.”

“Ellen took three years to marry
you!”

“Fair enough. But that was different. Ellen and I were very much in love with each other. She just wanted to wait until I'd finished medical school.” I could tell that Doug was being careful to keep his tone
neutral.

“Douglas, you know perfectly well how old-fashioned Mum is! We shouldn't, either of us, listen to her about any of this
stuff.”

There was a long silence. A cool wind was coming in off the Bay, and I could hear the tops of the trees beginning to stir above me. If I timed my retreat carefully, I might be able to sneak
away…

Then Doug started up again. “Did Garth
ever—”

“No! Of course not! Don't be an
idiot.”

Now, I thought—
now
is the time to retrace my steps, but Doug had moved closer to the
screen.

“Never?” he
persisted.

“Garth doesn't—” She inhaled quickly. “Listen, he doesn't even
see
me.”

“Doesn't see you? What do you
mean?”

“I'm not sure if I can explain! After more than four years, I literally bump into him down on the beach. It almost took my breath away to see him like that again. Mum hinted that he might come up, but I thought it would be later in the
summer.”

“It must have been a surprise for him, too.”

“I suppose it was. But he didn't even recognize me, not at first anyway. Douglas, I think I've just got to accept that he doesn't
see
me.”

“I still don't
understand—”

“I can tell: any woman could. Garth thinks of me as your kid sister. Period.” She paused and swallowed. “Douglas, I'm going to be thirty-four in a few weeks! But he's always seen me simply as your kid sister—and always
will.”

“Well, you are my kid sister,” Doug said softly. They were both in shadow, and I saw Doug move forward and put his arm around her. It seemed to me—I wasn't sure—that Clare had started to
cry.

“Clare,” Doug murmured, hugging her shoulders. “Don't…”

“I'm just being stupid.” I could hear her voice choking a little. “Sometimes I don't even know what I'm
saying.”

Doug said something that I couldn't catch, but I heard Clare say, “Please don't pay any attention to any of this! I'm actually a bit raw from all that stuff at the Museum. Still overtired and emotionally bruised, I
think.”

I took a careful step back, but had to lean against the side of the house, feeling angry with myself for listening for so long. She'd never forgive me, if she
knew…

“I'll be fine. Really I will.” Clare had calmed her voice. “Mum's right. At one time I absolutely adored Garth. But that was long ago, and I've grown older and wiser since those days. And frankly, I can tell—any woman could. He just doesn't—
see
me that
way.”

I straightened up, absolutely determined to leave
them.

“Then why have you come back up here, practically every summer?” Doug asked
quietly.

She didn't answer, and I hardly dared to breathe—then I heard a chair creak as Doug sat down and muttered, “Oh, Clare!”

I stole another glance through the screen: Doug was leaning forward, his chin in his hands. “Garth didn't swear me to secrecy. But I wonder if I should have told
you.”

“Told me what? What are you talking about?” Clare dropped into the chair next to
him.

Now I had to
stay.

“I've not even told Ellen about what really happened,” Doug began, “because—listen—Evienne was not—she was not the easiest person to get along
with.”

“I know that it wasn't all perfect between them. It never is,” Clare said quietly. “But what do you mean, ‘what really happened'?” This time her tone was startled. “Everyone knows what a tragedy the accident was. It was awful—only a few months before their wedding. Garth's mother always went on about how heartbroken he
was.”

“Evienne almost killed Garth in that accident. It's a miracle he survived.” Doug's voice was shaking slightly as he said
it.

“What?” Clare gasped. “But wasn't Garth the
driver?”

“No. Evienne was driving—and she was loaded. Drunk, stoned—you name it. Why Garth ever got into the car with her, I'll never know. But he promised Evienne's father to take the blame as long as there were no criminal charges. Supposedly it would have killed her mother to know Evienne was an addict. Thankfully no one else was hurt, but I never liked the whole thing. Garth claimed it was easier that
way.”

“Easier! How terrible! How did Garth ever—? And everyone thinking it was his fault, and those awful journalists bringing it up again when he got his
award!”

“He's pretty thick-skinned, but that's not all of it. Very few people know this, but he'd called off the wedding. You've no idea just how bad things had become. I could tell you some things that
would—”

“Stop!” she cried, jumping up. “You've told me enough. I don't want you to break your word to Garth!” She moved away from him abruptly, and I saw her in profile, staring out at the Bay and hugging her arms around her
body.

“I think you should talk to him about Evienne,” Doug insisted quietly. “It might really help
him.”

“Talk to him about Evienne?” Clare echoed. “How could I possibly do
that?”

I looked down; Mars was licking my hand and Farley was sitting on the ground at my feet, staring up at me inquisitively. Before I could grab him, he ran around to the front and whimpered to be let
in.

I heard Doug rise and slide the door
open.

“That's Garth's dog,” Clare said quickly. “He must be coming up from the beach. I'm going to go splash some cold water on my face.” I heard her hurry back inside the
cottage.

I waited for a few seconds—then I took a deep breath and walked around to the
front.

“Garth!” Doug exclaimed warmly, looking up as I tapped on the screen. He opened the door, and I smiled, taking his outstretched hand and grasping it
firmly.

We both looked full into each other's eyes for a split second, and then, stepping back, he offered me a glass of
scotch.