Good Silver

The light was gone by the time Edwin reached the trees.

He stopped beneath them and looked towards the water. Rain came through the branches in large drops and struck his shoulders, but there was nothing beyond the island now except darkness. No lamp showed from the boathouse. Nothing pale stood at the edge of the pond.

For a moment the whole expedition seemed ridiculous.

He had got out of bed in the middle of the night because poor sleep and rain on a window had caused him to mistake some arrangement of branches for a woman. Only yesterday morning Hale and the man from Shrewsbury had spent hours in the house, asked their questions and gone away again. Nothing had changed. There was no reason for any of this to alter what had already been done.

Then he remembered the arm beneath the beeches.

Edwin continued down the path.

The boathouse was as he had left it. The paraffin lamp stood on its shelf. He paused with the match in his hand and looked at it, though there was nothing to suggest it had been moved or lit since his last visit.

That proved very little.

He lit it and set it on the bench.

There were four sash weights remaining in the maintenance shed. Edwin brought two across, together with a coil of rope and the long boat hook Briggs sometimes used for clearing weeds from the landing.

He worked without haste. The eastern boat went down first. With a pair of heavy shears from the bench he cut three lengths of rope. The first he ran from a sash weight to the bow ring, enough to hold the boat approximately where he wanted it. The second he secured to the stern ring as a safety line. The third he tied to the middle thwart and made a broad loop in its free end for Alice. The remaining sash weight he left loose in the bottom of the boat to take him down.

The silver compact knocked against his thigh when he bent for the oars.

Edwin took it from his pocket.

There was no sensible reason to carry it into the water. He put it beneath the forward seat, well back from the rain.

“No use wasting good silver.”

He lifted the paraffin lamp from the bench and set it in the boat beside the middle thwart.

The shooting coat had begun to feel cumbersome. He took it off and laid it across the forward seat. It was an odd way to be out at that hour, in waistcoat and shirt-sleeves with the rain already on him, but there was nobody to see.

He pushed the boat out.

Beyond the shelter of the trees the rain seemed heavier. It struck the pond hard enough to flatten the surface around him and made the island difficult to see until he was almost beside it. Edwin rowed around the eastern end and began counting strokes.

He had done much the same thing on the night Alice died.

The difference was that then he had known exactly what lay in the bottom of the boat.

He stopped where he judged the dredged section began and dropped the first sash weight overboard. Rope ran through his hands before pulling taut. The boat turned slightly and settled.

Edwin waited.

Nothing appeared on the water.

He took up the boat hook and lowered it over the side.

The first few attempts found only mud. The hook sank farther than he expected before meeting the bottom, and each time he drew it up black water followed. He moved it several feet and tried again.

On the fourth attempt something resisted.

Edwin pulled gently. The resistance yielded perhaps a foot and stopped. He altered the angle of the hook and pulled again. Something soft came upwards before slipping free.

He lowered the hook in the same place.

This time it caught properly.

Edwin drew the pole towards him with both hands. The boat listed. For several seconds nothing happened; then a fold of dark material rose beneath the surface.

Canvas.

He held it there.

The body had not moved far. It had settled into the mud almost where he had left it.

Edwin tried to bring the canvas higher.

It would not come.

He could not leave it until daylight. Briggs could walk the bank at any time he pleased. Another hand might be in the reeds by breakfast.

Edwin let the boat hook rest against the gunwale.

The body had to be moved that night.

He took up the working line and opened the broad loop in its free end. If he could pass it beneath the canvas and around Alice’s torso, he could haul her free of the mud and decide where to take her. Somewhere beyond the estate. It scarcely mattered. Anything was better than leaving her here to distribute herself around the pond.

He had done this once.

It ought not to have been necessary to do it again.

His boots followed. The rain had already soaked his shirt at the shoulders. He tied the safety line from the stern ring around his waist, tested the knot and gathered the working loop intended for Alice over one arm.

The loose sash weight would take him down quickly enough.

He sat on the gunwale and lowered his legs into the pond.

The cold surprised him.

For several seconds he remained where he was, breathing through his nose while the water soaked through his trousers. There was nothing dangerous in it if he was quick.

Edwin took the sash weight in both hands.

Then he slipped over the side.

The water closed above his shoulders and the weight carried him down.

At once the surface became remote. Rain, boat and island disappeared into a dim grey disturbance above him. The water tasted of mud. Edwin held his breath and let the weight pull him deeper while the safety line slid past his side.

His feet struck bottom.

Mud took him almost to the ankles.

He released the sash weight.

For a moment he could find nothing. He moved his hands through black water, feeling only silt and strands of weed, then his left hand touched rope.

Edwin followed it.

Canvas came next.

He knew immediately that he had found Alice. The material was loose now and unpleasantly soft where it lay against what remained beneath. He worked one hand underneath, trying to find enough space to pass the new rope around her.

The body shifted.

A cloud of mud rose around his face.

Edwin pulled the loop forward and encountered something bare.

Skin.

He moved his hand away instinctively, then forced it back. There was no reason to behave foolishly. Alice was dead. Whatever condition the body had reached could make no practical difference now.

His fingers found a shoulder.

There was no arm below it.

He continued around the canvas until his hand touched hair. It drifted across his wrist and face, and for an instant he lost his sense of direction. Edwin pushed it aside, found the rope again and began working the loop beneath the body.

His chest had started to ache.

He needed only a few more seconds.

Something caught his left wrist.

Edwin jerked his arm.

It did not come free.

He reached down with his other hand, expecting rope.

His fingers closed around fingers.