state of mind is lamentable. She will see no one. She permits no diversion from her distress. Her appetite is poor and in her sleep she is pursued by the most appalling nightmares, so she prefers to stay awake. Her behaviour has grown more and more strange, to the point where she is now a danger to herself. To give you just one example: she has taken to going out on the river in a rowing boat, quite alone and without any thought to her comfort and safety. She stays out for hours, in all weathers, in garments that offer her no protection. She cannot say why she does it, and it can do no good at all. It can only harm her. I have suggested taking her away, thinking that travel might restore her. I am even ready to sell up, lock, stock and barrel, and start again in some entirely new place, untainted by our sorrow.’
‘And her response?’
‘She says it is a very good idea and when our daughter comes home that is exactly what we will do. Do you see? If nothing changes, I foresee that she will only go from bad to worse. It is not grief that afflicts her, you must realize, but something far worse. I fear for her. I fear that with no change, her life will end in some awful accident or else in an asylum, and I would do anything – anything at all – to prevent that.’
The grey eyes remained upon him, and he was aware of all the observation going on behind the kindness. This time he made clear that he was not going to say any more and that it was her turn to speak (had he ever met a woman who said so little?), and she opened her mouth at last. ‘That must be very lonely for you,’ she said.
Anthony Vaughan could barely conceal his disappointment. ‘That is beside the point. What I want you to do is to talk to her.’
‘To what end?’
‘Tell her that the child is dead. I believe it is what she needs.’
Mrs Constantine blinked twice. In another person this would be almost nothing, but in a woman of her unperturbability this counted as surprise.
‘Let me explain.’
‘I think you had better.’
‘I want you to tell my wife that our daughter is dead. Tell her that the child is happy. Tell her she is with angels. Do messages, voices. Do the thing with the smoke and mirrors, if you are set up for it.’ He glanced around the room again as he said this. It seemed unlikely that this decorous drawing room could double for service with the contraptions and curtains that he supposed were necessary for such performances, but perhaps it was another room she used for all that. ‘Look, I’m not presuming to tell you your own business. You know what works. I can tell you things that will make Helena believe you. Things only she and I know. And then …’
‘Then?’
‘Then we can be sad and sorry and weep and say our prayers, and then—’
‘And then, when your wife has mourned, she will find her way back to life – to you – again?’
‘Exactly!’ Anthony Vaughan was full of gratitude at having been so perfectly understood.
Mrs Constantine tipped her head very slightly to one side. She smiled at him. Kindly. With understanding. ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible,’ she said.
Anthony Vaughan started. ‘Why ever not?’
She shook her head. ‘For one thing, you have misunderstood – or been misled, perhaps, about what it is that happens here. It is an understandable mistake. Furthermore, what you suggest would do no good.’
‘I will pay you the going rate. I will pay you double if you ask it.’
‘It is not a question of money.’
‘I don’t understand! It is a simple enough transaction! Tell me how much you want and I will pay it!’
‘I am profoundly sorry for your suffering, Mr Vaughan. To lose a child is one of the hardest burdens a human being can bear.’ She frowned faintly. ‘But what about you, Mr Vaughan? Do you believe your daughter to be dead?’
‘She must be,’ he said.
The grey eyes looked at him. He had the sudden impression that she could see right into his soul, that she could see aspects of his being that were in darkness even to him. He felt his heart start to beat uncomfortably.
‘You didn’t tell me her name.’
‘Helena.’
‘Not your wife’s name. Your daughter’s.’
Amelia. The name rose in him and he