to left as if thinking of dropping the saucepan, soup and all, and making a run for it, a dash to the common before the hue and cry was raised. But then he looked at us again and saw that I was alone with Uncle John. His eyes were that of a hunted animal and the colour drained from his face so that he looked grey and dirty.
‘Who are you?’ Uncle John demanded.
Uncle John had heard the story of Scheherazade, in Mama’s letters, and from his son. He would remember the name of the guilty man, would demand his arrest and take him to Chichester for trial at the next quarter sessions. Dench’s eyes flew to my face, and the whole street was silent; every man, woman and child in Acre seemed to be holding their breaths and waiting for the answer. Dench opened his mouth to speak, but he said nothing.
‘This is Dan Tayler,’ I said. My voice was as clear as a bell, confident. ‘Dan used to live here, but he now works on an estate at…at…at…Petersfield.’
Clary was suddenly at his side and she gave her uncle a little push. ‘They’re waiting for the soup,’ she said. She gave me an unsmiling straight glance.
‘And this is Clary Dench,’ I said unwavering. ‘And this is Sonny Green, and Mr and Mrs Miller Green, and Ned Smith with Henry, Jilly, and that is Little ’Un. This is Matthew Merry, and over there is his grandmother, Mrs Merry, and beside her is Mrs Tyacke, and that is her son, Ted. That is Peter the cobbler and his wife, Sairey, and those are their twins. You know George the carter, and those are his girls, Jane and Emily.’
I named them all. Uncle John nodded and smiled and the women curtsied to him and the men pulled their forelocks. Many of the names were familiar to him, but he smiled at the people who had come to Acre in recent years, or young men who had been little children when he left.
I glanced around. Dench had disappeared.
Ralph came forward. ‘Would you like to share the dinner, Dr MacAndrew?’ he asked politely. ‘You and Miss Lacey would be most welcome.’
‘We’ll not interrupt you,’ Uncle John said equally civil. ‘We came only for Miss Julia’s glove. She dropped it somewhere here.’
One of the little Dench children darted under the table and came out with the glove like a trophy, and brought it to me. ‘Thank you, Sally,’ I said smiling.
John nodded to Ralph. ‘I see you’re settling in,’ he said. ‘I knew you would be glad to be home, but I never guessed you would be greeted as a returning hero.’
Ralph smiled. ‘Acre people never forget their friends,’ he said, and I heard a message to me in that. ‘We’ve long memories in this part of the world.’
‘I’m glad,’ Uncle John said. ‘It will be easier to set the estate to rights if they feel they are working for someone they trust.’ He hesitated. ‘I expected you to organize the distribution of food, not to set in train a village revel.’
Ralph Megson threw back his dark head and laughed. ‘I know you did, Dr MacAndrew,’ he said jovially. ‘But there are some things you must leave to me. I’ll not tell you how to doctor, don’t you tell me how to bring Acre alive again. It is not money they want. It is not even food. They have been hungering all this time for a little joy in their lives – you’d know that feeling yourself, I dare say. Setting the village to rights is a lifetime’s work which we can start as soon as we have properly understood the problems. Giving them a bit of hope is something which can begin at once.’
Uncle John hesitated, but then he looked at the village street alive with chatter and laughter. ‘It’s not what I had planned,’ he said slowly, ‘but I can see you may be in the right.’
Ralph Megson nodded. ‘You can trust me,’ he said simply. ‘I am serving Acre’s interests, not yours. But while your wishes and Acre’s run in harness, you can trust me.’
Uncle John nodded, and a smile went between the two of them. ‘We’ll leave you now,’ Uncle John said. ‘Perhaps you’ll come to the Dower House after your dinner?’
Ralph nodded and Uncle John turned to leave. He stopped for a word with Miller Green, and Ralph said to me in an undertone, ‘That was well done, Miss Julia. Well done indeed.’
I shot a quick glance at his face and caught a warm smile that made me drop my gaze to my boots, white with drying chalk mud. I should not have told a lie and I should not have been praised for it. So I said nothing and he stood beside me in a silence which was not awkward, but was somehow delightful. I would have stood beside that man, even in silence, all day.
‘Mr Megson,’ I said tentatively.
‘Yes, Miss Julia,’ he said, his voice amused.
‘Why are you a hero to Acre, Mr Megson?’ I risked a quick glance up at his face and found his dark eyes dancing with mischief.
‘Why,’ he said, ‘I would have thought that you would have known. Knowing everyone in Acre as you do – and they say you have the sight as well! Do you not know without my telling you, Miss Julia?’
I shook my head, a wary eye on Uncle John, who was still deep in conversation.
‘I would have thought you would have known at once,’ he said sweetly. ‘I was told you had the sight.’
I shook my head again.
‘Whose voice was it when you first saw me?’ he demanded abruptly.
My eyes flew to his face and I shook my head. ‘I don’t know,’ I said. His eyes narrowed as he noted the lie I was telling, and I flushed scarlet that he should catch me in a deceit. ‘I am sorry, I do know,’ I amended lamely. ‘But it sounds so silly…and I did not want to say.’
He gave a crack of laughter which made Uncle John turn and smile at the two of us. Ralph’s broad shoulders were shaking and his eyes danced. ‘No reason in the world why you should answer my question, and no reason why you should tell me the truth if you do not choose to,’ he said fairly. ‘But I’ll answer yours for free and for nothing.’
He looked at me closely, taking my measure, and then he beamed at me as if he were telling me the lightest most inconsequential secret. ‘I was here the night of the fire,’ he said confidingly. ‘I led them up to the hall, to burn it down, and to murder Beatrice. I’m Ralph Megson, her lover from the old days, and her killer. In those days they called me the Culler.’
My eyes flew to his face and I gasped aloud, but Ralph Megson’s confident easy smile never wavered. He turned away from me as if he had told me only the slightest of trivialities and then he went towards the head of the table where they were waiting for him to take his place.
I stood where he had left me, in stunned silence. Uncle John had to speak to me twice and touch my elbow before I came out of my shock and was able to smile absently at him and start to walk home.
Mr Megson watched me go. I could see his glance in our direction, and his casual, friendly wave to Uncle John. But I knew his eyes were on me. And that rueful almost apologetic smile was for me, and me alone. In the mist, with the weak sun trying to break through, I shuddered as if it were full night and I was caught in the cold rain of a thunderstorm.
I knew that smile. I had seen it before. He smiled like that in the dream, though I had never seen his face. And I knew that the next time I dreamed it I would look up
