The Colonel's Daughter by Rose Tremain Read Free Book Online

bum?’
    â€˜Sure. Who better?’
    â€˜Then you find Jim Reese for me.’
    â€˜Jim Reese.’
    â€˜He might be in Brighton. Look there first. He’s a drummer, or was. Thirty-seven. Dark. Very thin. Wearing a vest probably. I expect there’s a warrant out. Try to find him first.’
    â€˜Okay. Sure . . . I . . . who is he to you?’
    â€˜No one any more. But if you find him, tell him love is probably stronger than springs.’
    â€˜ Springs? ’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Spring as in the season?’
    â€˜No. As in a coil of wire.’
    â€˜With what significance?’
    â€˜Just tell him – if you find him. And then,’ she looks away from him at the day beginning at the window and yawns, ‘you can tell everyone else the story, I suppose: I stole, but I stole nothing of true value. The true value of what I stole would have appeared in the currency I was going to convert it to. The owners of these so-called valuables are my parents. Neither of these people, my parents, have ever offered anything of themselves for the good of anyone but themselves. Even now, their selfishness is intact, so I’ve taken nothing from them. I carried a gun – my father’s, used to kill game for sport – but I wounded no one. Only myself. My sense of obedience which I tried to extinguish long ago had refused to die utterly, until now. I think it’s dead now. Yet its death wounds. Do you see? In a newly ordered world, I would be obedient to the law. I am, always have been, obedient to love. In a peaceful world, I would keep the peace.’
    Charlotte pauses, looks away from Doyle, who is trembling.
    â€˜Do you expect to be understood?’ he asks.
    She smiles. The smile is gentle and sad. ‘No.’
    â€˜By a few?’
    â€˜Do you understand?’
    â€˜Why did you need the gun? If it was your parents’ house . . .?’
    â€˜There’s a servant there. He wasn’t harmed. He has the key to the safe.’
    â€˜And your headwound?’
    â€˜Nothing. I fell down some basement steps.’
    â€˜Did the servant try to defend the house?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Did you act entirely by yourself?’
    â€˜Oh yes.’
    â€˜Jim Reese wasn’t part of it?’
    Charlotte turns away again and stares at the cracks of light in the blinds. The day will be hot again. A heatwave is coming. As Charlotte, child, she climbs to the orchard at Sowby. The ancient gardener with his black-creased hands lifts her high into a plum tree. The plum she choses with her chubby hand is half eaten away by wasps.
    â€˜What organisation are you working for now, Charlotte?’
    â€˜Many.’
    â€˜Is Jim Reese part of an organisation?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Jim Reese is not working with you?’
    â€˜No. He needed my help. I thought he did.’
    â€˜With what? With a political set-up?’
    â€˜No. He just used me as a shroud.’
    â€˜A what ?’
    â€˜Over his past.’
    Disturbed by the voices, the pink woman has woken. She is gawping with round scared eyes at Doyle and Charlotte and pressing her buzzer that will summon a nurse. Doyle feels dismay as acute as grief at the ending of this meeting.
    â€˜Charlotte. Can I come and see you in prison?’
    â€˜You won’t be allowed.’
    â€˜If I find a way?’
    She smiles again, touches his hand lightly. Then, with loathing, she whispers: ‘It might be ten years.’
    â€˜No. No one was hurt. It won’t be . . .’
    It takes Sergeant McCluskie and Staff Nurse Beckett less than ten seconds to cross the ward and seize Doyle by his arms. In their zeal to remove him, they forget the deep wound in his right arm, and as they lead him back to his ward it begins to bleed afresh.
    *
    In brilliant early morning sunshine, the hired car takes Colonel and Lady Amelia Browne down and down the mountain to the waiting