The Edge of the Fall (48 page)

As soon as they were out, in a cab, finally safe, Emmeline
turned, gripped Celia's hand. ‘What are we going to do?' she said, eyes wet. ‘What on earth are we going to do?'

‘We'll find him,' said Celia. ‘We'll find that man. The solicitor will be able to help us.' She clutched her sister's arm. ‘Don't worry, Emmy. We'll get him out.'

They rolled on towards Bloomsbury. Celia knew she should have been thinking about future plans, decisions, the solicitor. Or the man. But her thoughts were swooping, tangling. She could think of nothing but Louisa's funeral, nearly five years ago. The freezing church, the tiny grave, Celia's ridiculous gift of orange blossoms propped over the coffin. There was only Celia, Emmeline, Mr Janus, Verena and an old governess of Louisa's, Miss Griffin. Rudolf was too ill. Lily and Albert clung to Emmeline, shy and not understanding. The whole thing looked, Celia thought, like a funeral for an old person, all their friends dead. The vicar threw soil over the coffin and Verena wept. Celia wanted to throw herself on the coffin, tell Louisa to wake up, to stop the game. She thought of Louisa at Michael's funeral, quiet in the parlour afterwards. She looked up, past the church, grief clawing at her heart.

THIRTY-FIVE

London, March 1925

Celia

‘This is marginally interesting information, Miss de Witt,' said the detective in charge of the investigation. ‘But I hardly see it changing the case that we have in front of us. Your brother tells you another man was following him and Mrs de Witt. But we have no evidence, no sightings. We have nothing but Mr de Witt's word.'

Inspector Haines was small and rather round, bald-headed, a turned-up mouth. If you saw him on the train, you might think he was an ordinary sort of shopman. Perhaps, Celia thought, that was his strength, people underestimated him. It shocked her to hear Louisa called Mrs de Witt. She tried not to start at it.

It was three days after Celia had seen Arthur in prison. She was at her interview with the inspector, trying to explain the truth. He'd reluctantly agreed to see her. Now they were talking, but he wasn't taking any notes.

She thought she wasn't making sense, she was too tired. On the previous day, she and Emmeline had gone down to Stoneythorpe to report back to Rudolf and Verena. Celia hadn't been able to believe the house. It was even more dilapidated than it ever had been. She asked Rudolf to see the books – and all he could show her was a muddle of figures. ‘We don't have anything,' she said.

She had had to push Rudolf into mortgaging the land. Verena had refused to sign on his behalf and he had protested. Celia only persuaded him after screaming that he had to, that otherwise Arthur would die, conjuring terrible scenarios of him hanging
in a prison cell. Verena shrieked and Rudolf wept but Celia kept going with cruel words, until finally Rudolf relented and signed the papers to agree. She hated herself for it, felt sickened by not only how she had done it, but the enthusiasm, the relish that she had felt. At one point, it had not been about Arthur, but about her own rhetoric. She felt like an actor might when a speech was going particularly well. She'd felt drunk on herself, thrown more words at her ill and elderly parents. She tried to block the memory from her mind, but it kept bubbling up again, like a spring of water when you cleared back the leaves: the cruel beat of her own words.

‘Louisa saw him too. He was following her too.' She couldn't say Mrs de Witt. It wouldn't come out straight.

Inspector Haines looked down at his notes. ‘As you say. But we only have your brother's word for that too, do we not?'

‘Why would he lie? Look, as I said, Louisa jumped. She was unhappy, distressed. He didn't want to say anything. He wanted to save her reputation and protect the family.'

‘And yet the witnesses we have – the married couple – they are quite adamant they saw him push Mrs de Witt off the cliff.'

She stared at him. ‘Who?'

‘That is right, Miss de Witt. More people have come forward. They tell us that they saw Mr de Witt push his wife.'

She gazed at him, his smooth face, dark eyes like currants in a gingerbread man. ‘That's your new evidence?'

‘If I may speak frankly, miss. And between us?'

‘Of course.'

‘The whole thing seemed suspicious from the start. But we could never prove anything. Nobody seemed to see anything. But then we found that he had been married to Miss Deerhurst – Mrs de Witt, I should say. Yet he told the officers on the scene that he was not married. Why didn't he come forward sooner to say they were married? And why did he run away?'

‘He thought you'd suspect him if you knew that.'

The inspector tapped his desk with his pen. ‘He should have been honest in the first place.'

‘Please don't dismiss this. I honestly think it's important.'

He stood up. ‘Let us decide what is important, Miss de Witt. I assure you, we have our best men on this.' It was her cue to leave.

As she walked out into the hard winter sun, Celia felt her heart weighing down in her chest. The police weren't interested in the man who had followed Louisa, Arthur didn't know anything about him. And who else could find him? An odd question struck her heart – did he even exist? Perhaps Louisa had thought she saw him – and then Arthur had believed her, become obsessed by it as a way to explain what had happened. After all, he'd pretty much discounted him in Paris. Now, he thought he was true. She shook her head. Arthur must be right. She walked past a newsboy shouting about Arthur and Louisa, hurried on.

Next day, she and Emmeline went to see the barrister, a Mr Bird, with chambers in Doughty Street. Mr Pemberton had been quick in giving the recommendation. Mr Bird's office was even grander than Mr Pemberton's, decorated in paintings of country landscapes that almost looked as if they should be in the National Gallery.

Mr Bird was tall and thin, with small eyeglasses and a tiny moustache. He looked the perfectionist type, Celia thought, the sort of man to sit up all night anxiously looking at papers. That could only benefit them. ‘I can't see, Miss de Witt and Mrs Janus, that there is much of a case here at all,' he said. ‘I've reviewed all the papers and it is rather flimsy. You really don't need to worry about your brother. The only evidence that he even pushed Mrs de Witt comes from this couple and there is already disagreement in the statements as to how near they were to the cliffs. Certainly, they were not right beside Arthur. It is not enough. Juries are cautious when they confront the – er . . .'

Celia cleared her throat. ‘Hanging of a man, you mean, Mr Bird.'

‘Quite so.'

‘But what are we going to say?' said Emmeline.

‘I would advise us to say it was a tragic accident. That Mr and Mrs de Witt were just admiring the sea, a little too closely, but they were young, enjoying themselves. And Mrs de Witt lost her footing, Mr de Witt only narrowly avoiding a fatal end too. What the couple saw – if they saw anything at all – was Arthur attempting to save his wife, not a scuffle to push her over. He was trying to hold her, not push her. You can see how they would look the same from afar.'

‘That sounds sensible to me,' said Emmeline, adjusting her hat.

‘It's not the truth, though,' said Celia. ‘She jumped off. And probably because she was afraid of that man.'

‘We can't prove that though. You know this. It could all sound like pie in the sky. And we need to counter this evidence that says they saw him push her. She fell and he was trying to catch her.'

‘No one will believe that. The newspapers didn't – and everyone's read them.'

‘We will suggest that the newspapers were unfair because of the German connection. And that will not stand up in a proper court of law.'

‘Well, they
were
unfair because of the German connection.'

Celia tore her gaze from the picture of a hay barn. ‘I think we should tell the truth. Arthur said someone was following Louisa – a man. At least from when they were in London, and into Margate as well. He said the man did something to frighten her, make Louisa fall. Surely if we could find that man, we have the answer.'

‘As I said, Miss Witt, I think this is all rather tenuous. There is no evidence about this man, we have no sightings of him.'

‘But surely someone else on the cliffs saw him. Is there any way we could try to find him?'

Mr Bird put his fingers into a steeple. ‘I don't say that we couldn't try. It would add to the cost, of course. But it is my strong belief that the approach of saying it was a tragic accident is the best. It is much simpler, easier for the jury to grasp.'

‘I agree,' said Emmeline. ‘Let's not go on another wild goose chase.'

‘I think we should try and find this man,' said Celia. ‘I really do. How long to the trial, would you say, Mr Bird?'

‘That is impossible to say for sure, Miss de Witt. I would suggest at least a year. Since the war, the courts have moved slower than ever.'

Emmeline sat forward. ‘A year? Our brother will be in prison for a year?'

‘If you are fortunate, Mrs Janus. It might be longer. I am afraid that what are deemed big cases – liable to attract attention and scrutiny, as this one surely will – tend to take even longer. The courts want to make entirely sure the papers are quite correct.'

‘He will be stuck in that place for a year,' said Celia, dully.

‘A year is nothing in the longer run, Miss Witt. He will be given his freedom and he will recover. There are some positive benefits of the period of time. We can assemble all our evidence with due care. Perhaps we can investigate the question of this mysterious man.'

‘Thank you, Mr Bird.'

‘What if . . . we don't have quite enough money?' asked Celia.

‘I know the sum we have, Miss Witt. Mr Pemberton told me all about it. I can guarantee that our services will remain quite within it. Do not worry on that account.'

‘Thank you.'

‘Now, ladies. I must ask you one thing. The period before the trial is of critical importance. As you know, there has been much attention drawn to your family in the newspapers. We must ensure that there is no more. I feel quite at odds telling this to two such respectable ladies. But the family must be entirely, entirely untouched by any sort of – er – scandal. Nothing.'

‘Of course,' said Celia quickly.

‘Mrs Janus?'

Emmeline nodded. ‘Yes, sir.'

‘There must be no mention of any of you in the newspapers. I insist. These things are critical. As we all know, your brother's life is in the balance. Everything counts. The – er – heritage weighs against you. So you need to do everything you can to balance it.'

Celia nodded, trying to push the heated words of the newspapers from her mind.

‘I hesitate to speak of such delicate matters. Just as negative acts can undermine, so positive acts can only help. It is always to a lady's advantage if she – well – expands her family.' He steepled his fingers again. ‘Such things are of course up to the individuals. But if the bounteous act were to occur in the next year or so, it would indubitably add to your sympathy.'

‘Goodness,' said Celia. She could sense that Emmeline was blushing beside her.

‘As I say, these are delicate matters and ones that I indeed doubted to bring up. But I just feel that if it were to occur, Mrs Janus, do not feel that such joyous news should be hidden. On the contrary. The world should know.'

Celia couldn't look at him.

‘I apologise, ladies. I spoke out of turn. Forget that I said such things. What is most important is to ensure that there is no untoward attention brought to your family. You really must pay very great care.' He brought his hands down on the dark leather of his desk, smiled up at them, showing his teeth.

‘He meant Mr Janus,' Celia said to Emmeline, once they were safely in the throngs heading out of Bloomsbury.

‘Not necessarily. Can't you get married or something? Find an aristocrat?'

‘I'm not listening to that. You need to tell Samuel. He can't be arrested. Not for the next year or so. Really, he can't.' They stumbled around two nursemaids pushing prams. ‘Tell him he can do whatever he wants after Arthur is free. But he needs to stop.'

‘I can't say that to him. The revolution is important, that's what he says. Anyway, what does it matter what he does? Mr Bird meant our family. That means us, the de Witts.'

‘No, it means all of us. You have to tell him, Emmy, please.'

‘He can't go back on his beliefs, though. He can't just
stop
'

‘I'll tell him.'

‘He'll be angry with you. And he won't listen.'

‘I don't care,' said Celia, striding ahead. ‘I'll tell him. I will. If you're too afraid.'

But, as it happened, Celia was afraid as well. Mr Janus refused to listen, shouted at her, told her she was an idiot, didn't understand. He shouted so much that the twins woke up screaming and the people above and below came to bang on the door. He swung his fist at the door. Celia found herself apologising, begging him not to, saying she didn't mean it. He marched to the bedroom, slammed the door. She stayed on her bed in the sitting room, staring into the darkness, eyes wide with anger and fear.