A Finer End

Duncan’s Gemma had a quiet authority that inspired confidence, and she had succeeded in calming Faith where he had failed.
    So they were colleagues as well as lovers, he thought, wondering how long they’d been together, and if Duncan had finally managed to lay his troubled marriage to rest. Jack had been sorry to hear of Vic’s death the previous spring, but had done nothing more than send Duncan a brief note — such things still struck too close to home.
    And now he found himself the apparent custodian of a pregnant young woman who might deliver her child at any moment. The prospect terrified him.
    He found Simon on his knees in front of his perennial border, snipping the dead stalks from bloomed-out plants. ‘Dreary time of year, isn’t it?’ Simon rose, wincing, and as he came across the lawn Jack saw that he was limping. ‘And digging in the dirt may be good for the soul, but it plays hell with my bad knee.’
    ‘Old injury?’ Jack asked.
    ‘Climbing accident. Slipped in the scree years ago and tore a few ligaments. Just let me wash my hands and I’ll put the kettle on.’
    ‘No, really, I can’t stay. I just came — Simon, I’m afraid I have some bad news.’
    Simon went very still. ‘Not Winifred?’
    ‘No. It’s Garnet Todd. She’s dead. I thought you should know.’
    ‘Dead?’ Simon groped for the weathered wooden bench beside his front door and sank onto it. ‘But she can’t— I don’t understand... Was there an accident?’
    ‘No. The police seem to think she was murdered.’
    ‘But — but that’s absurd! Surely there’s some mistake. Why would anyone want to kill Garnet?’ There was a quaver to Simon’s voice, and his skin had taken on an unhealthy hue. ‘Did someone break into the house?’
    ‘No. She was found in her van, round the other side of the Tor. I’m afraid that’s all the information I have. I am sorry. I know you were old friends.’
    ‘Friends... yes. Lovers, once. An odd woman, Garnet. I never understood how she became who she was, after such an ordinary beginning... And now she’s gone. I can’t quite believe it.’ Simon gazed into the garden as if he had forgotten Jack’s presence. ‘Simon, I’m sorry, I’m afraid I’ll have to go — but there was something I wanted to show you if you feel up to it.’ Jack pulled the pages he’d scribbled that morning from his pocket.
    Simon took them abstractedly, but once he began to read, Jack could see his interest quickening. ‘So that’s the connection. An illegitimate child. We should have guessed.’
    ‘Is there any possibility we could trace the woman — the daughter of a stonemason who worked on the cathedral at the time Edmund gives?’
    ‘That would be a tall order. But I’ve some resources that might be helpful... I’ll see what I can do.’ Simon’s voice was stronger, and it seemed to Jack that his colour had improved. ‘Do you mind if I keep these? It would help me to have the details.’
    ‘Of course you may. But I hate to leave you—’
    ‘Don’t be daft, man. I’ll be fine. It’s Winifred who needs your attention. But these’ — he tapped the papers in his hand — ‘we mustn’t let things go too long. There seems to be an urgency to this, a reason Edmund wants us to recover this chant now. We mustn’t risk losing the energy, breaking the connection — and without Garnet... things may be more difficult. She was a strong force.’ He stopped and cleared his throat.
    ‘Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?’
    ‘I’ll be fine.’
    ‘I’ll ring you, then.’ Jack turned away, but stopped and looked back when he reached the gate. Simon still sat on the bench, his eyes closed.
    ‘Simon,’ Jack called out. ‘Thanks for going to see Winnie yesterday. It was kind of you.’
    Simon opened his eyes and smiled. ‘She’ll be all right, you know. She’s a fighter, that young woman.’
     
    She had tucked Faith back into bed and sat with her until the tears stopped. Examining the bedroom, Gemma saw that someone had made an effort to counteract the darkness of the northern exposure and the heavy furniture. The walls were papered in a spring-like yellow and green sprigged pattern, and the coverlet on the fruitwood bed picked up the same pale yellow. But the landscape over the chest of drawers was dominated by the brooding presence of the Tor, and through the window, she could see its rock-strewn slope beyond the neglected back garden.
    Faith blew her nose, then eyed