“I have to consider it.”
“I wish I could tell you something that would help,” she answered. “But perhaps it doesn’t matter.
Whoever it is, what’s done is done.”
“Don’t you want him punished?”
“There has been enough punishment. It won’t undo what has been done,” she said.
“Wouldn’t Beryl want him caught?”
She turned to me, her eyes wide. “I wish you had known her.”
“I think I did. I do know her in a way,” I said gently.
“I can’t explain …”
“You don’t need to, Miss Harper.”
“It could have been so nice …”
I saw her grief for an instant, her face contorted, then controlled again. She didn’t need to finish the thought. It could have been so nice now that there was no one to keep Beryl and Miss Harper apart.
Companions. Friends. Life is so empty when you are alone, when there is no one to love.
“I’m sorry,” I said with feeling. “I’m so terribly sorry, Miss Harper.”
“It is the middle of November,” she replied, looking away from me again. “Unusually early for snow. The thaw will come quickly, Dr. Scarpetta. You will be able to get out by late morning.
Those who forgot you will remember by then. It really was so good of you to come.”
She seemed to have known that I would be here. I had the uncanny impression she had somehow planned it. Of course, that wasn’t possible.
“One thing I will ask you to do,” she said.
“What is that, Miss Harper?”
“Come back in the spring. Come back when it is April,” she said to the flames.
“I would like that,” I answered.
“The forget-me-nots will be in bloom. The bowling green will be pale blue with them. It is so lovely, my favorite time of year. Beryl and I used to pick them. Have you ever studied them up close? Or are you like most people who take them for granted, never give them a thought because they are so small? They are so beautiful if you hold them close. So beautiful, as if made of porcelain and painted by the perfect hand of God. We would wear them in our hair and put them in bowls of water in the house, Beryl and I. You must promise to come back in April. You will promise me that, won’t you?”
She turned to me, and the emotion in her eyes pained me.
“Yes, yes. Of course I will,” I replied, and I meant it.
“Is there anything special you eat for breakfast?” she asked as she got up.
“Whatever you fix for yourself will be fine.”
“There’s plenty in the refrigerator,” she remarked oddly. “Bring your wine and I’ll show you to your room.”
Her hand trailed the banister as she led her guest up the magnificent carved stairway to the second floor. There were no overhead lights, just lamps to light our way, and the musty air was as cold as a cellar.
“I’m on the other side of the hallway, three doors down, if you need anything,” she told me, and she showed me inside a small bedroom.
The furnishings were mahogany with satinwood inlays, and on pale-blue-papered walls were several oil paintings of loosely arranged flowers and a vista of the river. The canopied bed was turned down and piled high with comforters, and an open doorway led into the tiled bath. The air was stale and smelled of dust, as if windows were never opened and nothing but memories ever stirred in here. I was sure that no one had slept in this room in many, many years.
“In the top dresser drawer is a flannel gown. There are clean towels and other necessities in the bath,” Miss Harper said. “Now then, if you’re all set?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
I smiled at her. “Good night.”
I shut the door and closed its feeble latch. The gown was the only garment inside the dresser, and tucked under it was a sachet that long ago had lost its scent. Every other drawer was empty. Inside the bath was a toothbrush still wrapped in cellophane, a tiny tube of toothpaste, a bar of lavender soap never used, and plenty of towels, as Miss Harper had promised. The sink was as dry as chalk, and when I turned the gold handles the water was liquid rust. It took forever to get clear and warm enough for me to dare to wash my face.