“And what were these messages?” Furnam asked doggedly.
I found his attention to detail tiresome, for he already knew from talking to us what the messages were. But I also understood he needed to hear the confession directly from the perpetrator’s mouth, without coercion. Otherwise Walter and his barrister could later argue he hadn’t known what they were talking about.
“Letters to a woman living in the village of Suzanne on the Somme, not far from where I was stationed. She insisted the post was unreliable, and as at first, they were largely conversant, with only small details that nagged at my conscience, I figured I couldn’t complain. Not since she’d done so much for me. Besides, I never dreamed a flighty, giddy girl like Helen could be capable of such deception. I thought she must not realize she was sharing anything wrong.” He stared bitterly at the wall to his right, indulging in a bit of self-pity.
“And then?” Furnam prodded.
“And then the details she was sharing were not so small. They were not so easy to dismiss. By the time I returned to London on my next leave, I realized it was too late. I couldn’t back out.” He scoffed at himself. “I’m not sure I wanted to. Not then. Not when her bribes were becoming larger, and I was watching my debt dwindle and disappear. I figured, what harm was it really doing?” He shook his head in disgust. “I wanted to believe that, so I did.”
As relieved as I was to listen to him claim responsibility for his actions, I was just as appalled to even have to hear it. I couldn’t help but think of the pain and anger Sidney and Max must be feeling, knowing they had somewhat miraculously lived through his betrayal. That they intimately knew those who had not. There was nothing I could do for the hurt etched across Max’s brow, but I stole my hand into Sidney’s, where it rested on the cushion next to me. He squeezed it, but did not spare me a glance, his glare too fixed on the man who had been one of his closest friends.
Furnam tapped his pencil against his notebook. “How long did this go on?”
“The better part of three years,” Walter replied without emotion.
“Three years?!” the inspector gasped. “And you were never caught?”
“The censors rarely read letters from home. After all, who suspects love letters from a soldier’s sweetheart of containing treasonous information.”
His tongue stumbled on the last words, and he reached toward his bedside table for the glass of water. Furnam leaned forward to pass it to him.
Walter drank from it before lowering it to his lap. “The material that was particularly sensitive was always written in code between sentences that suggested it might be a tad . . . improper. So if the coded parts were ever questioned, they could easily be explained away. But they never were. And then I would transfer the data into another code Helen taught me, before passing it on to her informant in the village.
“It was all going according to plan, until the informant was arrested.” He glanced up at Max and Sidney before his eyes darted away again. “Then I began to worry that the soldiers I had been using as messengers would realize they hadn’t been delivering love letters to my French paramour, but rather something much more serious. I . . . I suppose you could say I panicked. I decided I should strike before they could, so I . . .” He broke off, taking another drink of his water and then inhaled raggedly. “I convinced Captain Tufton, Lieutenant Halbert, and Second Lieutenant Montague that Privates Arthur and Cortachy, m-my messengers, had been committing treason. But that I had no proof that would stand up to scrutiny. So we needed to take matters into our own hands to have them convicted of the lesser crime of desertion.”
“Lesser crime, maybe,” Max retorted angrily. “But it still resulted in them facing a firing squad.”
“Yes,” Walter admitted, sinking lower into his pillows either under the weight of his own guilt or to escape the intensity of Max’s and Sidney’s glares.
“When did you decide to kill”—Furnam consulted his notes—“Captain Ben Gerard?”
Walter swallowed. “A few months later. I found out he was asking questions about Arthur and Cortachy. I started to worry he might stumble onto the truth. So I convinced Tufton and Halbert that he needed to disappear. That he was making trouble for all of us.”
“Disappear? On that night raid?” the inspector clarified.
“Yes.”
“So they killed him?”
“Yes.”
“At your behest?”
He swallowed again before forcing the word out. “Yes.”
Furnam flicked a glance at Sidney. “And Captain Kent?”
Sidney sat stiffly beside me, his posture ramrod straight, waiting for Walter’s answer.
“When . . . when I realized he’d become suspicious, too, about the deaths of the deserters and Gerard, I . . . I knew he also had to be silenced.”
“And how did you attempt to do that?”
I spared a look at Furnam’s expression, which could no longer hide his disapproval. I appreciated the fact that he was forcing Walter to state the bald truth, to face what he had done, but I wasn’t certain how Sidney would survive it. I brushed my thumb over my husband’s knuckles and waited for Walter’s reply.
His voice lowered to almost a whisper. “I shot him during the retreat during the Battle of St. Quentin.”
“And reported him dead—killed by enemy fire?”
“Yes.”
We all sat in silence, letting the enormity of this confession wash over us. I wanted to scream at Walter to at least apologize. Wasn’t that the very least he could do? But he remained mute, even closing his eyes as if to block us from his sight. He had been white-faced with shock when Sidney suddenly walked into his room—whole and alive—but now it was as if he wanted to deny his presence.
If I could have, I would have marched across the room and slapped Walter, but I knew that wouldn’t make anything better. It wouldn’t take away his actions or this rage and agony I felt on my and Sidney’s behalf. It would only make my palm sting and force Detective Inspector Furnam to remove me from the room.
So I stayed where I was and instead gripped the black serge of my skirt between my fingers and clasped Sidney’s hand tighter.
“Explain how you ended up engaged to Helen Crawford,” Furnam said, breaking the silence. “And why you planned this house party?”
Walter set his empty glass of water on the bedside table and clasped his hands before him. “When I was invalided home from the front with my injury, Helen continued to come see me. It was evident she didn’t trust me to keep quiet about our secrets, but she was also rather sweet and caring when I had almost no one else. I’m sure it was a charade, but it was quite a believable one. And so I let her convince me we should marry. After all, her father had died, and she had inherited a great deal of money. It didn’t seem a bad bargain. At first.”
“Her father’s death,” Furnam interrupted. “What do you know of it?”
He shook his head. “She never said a word to me about it, and I didn’t ask. If she had anything to do with it, I’m afraid I can’t tell you how. But . . . but I wouldn’t be surprised.”
Furnam nodded, I supposed trusting that if Walter was being honest with us about everything else, then he wouldn’t lie about that. “Go on. What changed?”
“Well, she had always been a bit unnerved by the fact that Sam Gerard, Ben’s brother, was stepping out with her cousin Mabel. I told her it meant nothing. That Sam couldn’t possibly suspect anything. But then he came to her and suggested it would be a brilliant idea if she invited all of the surviving officers from my battalion, as well as Sidney Kent’s widow, to our engagement party. We’d been planning to host a grand house party here on the island, like in my father’s days before the war. But as soon as Sam proposed this scheme, she couldn’t let it go. She decided he must have learned some part of the truth, and that Verity must have, too.”
At this, his eyes finally lifted from the point at the end of the bed where he had been staring for most of this interrogati
on and locked with mine. Why he should choose to plead with me, I didn’t know, except that, despite my animosity, I wasn’t entirely unmoved.
“I tried to convince her to forget it, to ignore his suggestion, invite the guests she wished, and plan the party she’d originally intended to. I wanted her to just leave the matter alone. But she became obsessed with discovering whether the other men I’d involved in our sordid mess could be trusted to keep quiet. So she invited them and Verity, along with a few of her friends to round out the numbers.” His eyes darted to the side as Furnam scratched something in his notebook. “I have to say, I was relieved when Verity initially declined her invitation, thinking maybe that would calm some of Helen’s paranoia. And it did. Until Verity telephoned to say she’d had a change in plans and would be delighted to join us. Then Helen became more unreasonable than ever.”
I arched my eyebrows. “So somehow the rest is my fault for accepting your invitation?”
He shook his head. “No. No, that’s not what I’m saying at all. I’m just . . .” His hands fell open in futility. “I’m just trying to explain.”
I could see that Walter was tiring, that despite his improved appearance he was still laboring harder than normal to breathe. So I decided to jump straight to one of the questions we hadn’t been able to answer.
“Why did Helen attack you? Why did she set that box of honeycomb and bees in your path?” It didn’t seem to make any sense. Though, as sickening as all the other revelations had been, I supposed nothing should seem irrational.
He rested his head back against his pillows and shut his eyes for a moment before answering. “Because I ordered her to stop.” He looked between me and Max. “I knew when you came to tell me you’d found Jimmy’s body that his death was probably not a suicide, but Helen’s doing. And then you found Charlie, and there was no longer any doubt. I told her I knew she’d killed them to keep them quiet, and that if she didn’t allow me to deliver everyone else back to the mainland safely that I would go to the authorities myself.”
“So she decided she needed to silence you, too,” Max guessed. “Or, at least, give you a strong warning.”
I was suddenly very glad I’d asked Mabel to keep watch over him. There was no way of knowing whether Helen had only meant to threaten him or if she would have finished him off the moment she was alone with him, before he could talk. If she’d succeeded, we might never have found all the answers we sought.
I glanced at my husband. And Sidney’s name might never have been satisfactorily cleared.
“What of Felix Halbert?” Furnam asked. “Wasn’t she concerned with silencing him, too?”
Walter’s eyes hardened. “Felix knew, or at least guessed, most of what had happened during the war, and he somehow divined Helen was involved, for he has been blackmailing us for some time. You would have thought that would make him an even bigger target for Helen, but his willingness to be bought off actually pleased her. I think she felt that meant that, in a way, we owned him. And she collected on that balance by forcing him to assist her this weekend. How involved he was, I don’t know. But I suspect he was the one to cut the telephone lines. Among other things. You would need to ask them who exactly did what. If you ever manage to catch them, I’m sure Felix could be convinced to squeal.”
The detective inspector exhaled, closing his notebook with a snap. “I suspect you’re right, for Halbert was already agreeing to talk in exchange for leniency when they were taken into custody last night.” His sharp eyes fixed on me, a gleam of humor shining in their depths. “Stranded in the Channel, I hear. Out of petrol.”
I couldn’t withhold a smile of my own. “Imagine that.”
CHAPTER 25
The house was unsettlingly quiet when I descended the stairs after packing my bags. Most of the guests had scrambled to leave the island the moment the authorities had said they could, taking the yacht back to the mainland. As such, I had expected to find the majority of the castle empty, but turning the corner I discovered that Tom and Nellie were still struggling to make it out the door.
Tom paused at the threshold and said something to Nellie before hurrying back toward me. I could tell she was none too happy about the delay.
“Is it true?” he asked. “Is Sidney really alive?”
“Yes.”
He scraped a hand back through his hair in amazement. “Well, confound it all. That’s astonishing.” Offering me his hand, he summoned a smile. “And wonderful. I’m glad for you, Pip.”
“Thank you,” I replied softly, still feeling rather uncertain about it all. It was wonderful, and also confusing.
“I suppose he’ll see you safely home then.”
“Yes. Yes, I suppose.”
He grinned broadly, as if I’d said something funny. Or perhaps he found my perplexity amusing. Regardless, he began to back away and take his leave.
“Wait.”
He arched his eyebrows in question.
“Tom,” I began, then hesitated, unsure if I should say something. But then I thought of Sidney, and I realized I must. “Tom, before you do anything rash . . . take Nellie away for a few days. Just the two of you. Talk to her. You . . . you might be surprised.”
His eyes darkened with the knowledge I was aware of his marital difficulties. I half expected him to tell me to mind my own business. After all, I had no right to interfere. But instead he simply nodded and set off back down the hall toward Nellie at a jog.
I didn’t wait to watch them leave, but instead turned away toward the terrace. The sun shone brightly down on the garden, illuminating the damage the storm had wrought and sparkling off the standing pools of water along the pathways. Max leaned against the balustrade while he smoked a fag and studied the leaves and twigs strewn across the lawn. Knowing Sidney was still discussing matters with the detective inspector, I pushed open the door to join him.
At first, Max didn’t acknowledge my presence, but merely continued to stare out across the garden, lost in thought. It wasn’t until I approached the balustrade that he glanced up at me with an almost distracted smile.
“It’s been quite an extraordinary few days, hasn’t it?” he remarked.
“Yes, though I’m not certain I’d use that exact adjective.”
He grunted. “Quite.”
In the distance, I could hear the sound of an ax striking wood and the rustle of branches, no doubt from the gardeners clearing the paths. I wondered idly what Sidney’s former coworkers had thought of the revelation that he wasn’t actually of the laboring class, but the wealthy young scion of a noble house. For I was certain that if the other guests had learned of Sidney’s survival, then the servants belowstairs had also discovered who he was.
I glanced sideways at Max, wondering how he felt about the revelation. There hadn’t been time to observe his reaction when Sidney stepped out of the shadows next to the boathouse the night before, and since then I’d not had the opportunity to speak with him alone.
“Thank you for all of your assistance over the last few days,” I murmured, examining my scraped knuckles where my hands rested against the stone. My words felt rather clumsy and inadequate, but something had to be said. “I’m not sure I could have discovered all I had without you, and I know I would have been in much graver danger.”
“Of course.”
I could feel his soft gray eyes on me, but I couldn’t turn to meet them. Not yet. “And I wanted to apologize for not being able to tell you everything I knew sooner. I . . . I didn’t really know whom I could trust. So even though I wanted to trust you, even though my . . . instincts told me I could, I just couldn’t risk it.” I lifted my eyes. “Not even after I discovered Sidney was alive.”
There was no hurt or recrimination in his gaze, only tenderness and curiosity. “So you didn’t know your husband was alive when you came here?”
I shook my head.
“I thought not.”
“He . . . revealed himself to me that night after we found Charlie.”
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He tossed his cigarette aside. “That explains the change I sensed in you.” He smiled sheepishly. “I wondered if maybe you had decided I was the guilty party.”
“Well . . . yes and no.” I sighed. “I didn’t know what to think.”
“That’s understandable. And discovering your husband was alive and well on this island must have been quite a shock.”
“To say the least.”
Given the circumstances, he was being remarkably kind and forbearing. Had our situations been reversed, I’m not sure I would have been so forgiving.
I pushed a stray lock of hair behind my ear and stared down at the rain-trampled flower beds below us. The alstroemeria were bent nearly sideways, their petals touching the ground.
“I suppose you intend to try to make things work with your husband then,” Max murmured cautiously, as if uncertain of my reaction to such a prying question.
But after all we’d been through, all we’d shared with each other and the emotions we’d stirred, he more than deserved an answer.
“Yes, I do.” My words were stilted, perhaps exposing my insecurity. “I . . . I think I have to at least try.”
He nodded, turning away. The Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed. “Well, Sidney is a good man. I’ve known few finer.” He spread his hands wide on the sun-warmed stone. “I think, perhaps, he just became blinded for a time by his own need for justice,” he remarked, all too perceptibly. His mouth twisted. “And who can blame him after all we’d seen. I suspect, had I known everything he did, I might have done the same.” His gaze met mine. “But he came to his senses in the end. Chose the more important pursuit.” He tilted his head, his eyes gently trailing over my features. “I think that’s what matters.”
I felt a lump rise into my throat, not having realized how much I’d needed to hear those words. And coming from Max, they were doubly touching.
I nodded, too overcome to speak.
“But,” he added at the last. “If you should ever change your mind, or . . . need a friend, feel free to look me up.” His face softened. “I would be very happy to see you.”
This Side of Murder Page 29