The Sea, The Sea - Iris Murdoch [220]
‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ said James, ‘your spite. What can I swear upon that will satisfy you? I swear by our childhood, by the memory of our parents, by our cousinhood, that Ben did not do this thing. Will you not please just accept this and ask no more? Oh let it all go now, let it go. Come to London, let’s get out of this place.’
‘How can I “accept” it? I notice you argue that it wasn’t Ben, but not that I imagined it all! Would you just “accept” the fact that some person unknown had tried to kill you? And you can’t be sure it wasn’t Ben. Unless by any chance it was you?’
‘It wasn’t me,’ said James frowning, ‘don’t be absurd.’
I felt a ridiculous degree of relief. Had I then for a moment seriously entertained the idea that my cousin was filled with murderous hate against me? Of course I believed him at once, and of course it was absurd. But if it was not James, or as he argued, Ben, who was it? I was impressed by his solemn oath, though I could not believe him. Gilbert, mad with secret jealousy because of Lizzie? Rosina mourning for her lost child? Perhaps there were quite a lot of people with motives to murder me. Freddie Arkwright? Why not? He hated me, he was now at Amorne Farm where Ben had been to get the dog. Suppose Ben had hired Freddie to kill or perhaps just maim me, and it had ended with that dreadful fall?
James could see me speculating and he made a hopeless gesture.
‘I’m no good at guessing games,’ I said. ‘I thought it was Ben and I still think so.’
‘Come inside then,’ said James, and he rose.
We came into the kitchen. Lizzie was standing at the stove. She had pinned her hair back and was wearing a very short check overall over a very short dress. She looked ridiculously young and had an anxious silly schoolgirl look which she sometimes wore. Perry was sitting at the table with his legs stretched beneath it and his elbows upon it. His big face was already greasy with sweat and his eyes were glazed. He might even have been drunk.
James just said, ‘Peregrine.’
Peregrine said, without moving, his glazed eyes still staring ahead, ‘If you’ve been discussing who killed Charles or failed to kill Charles, it was me.’
‘Perry—’
‘My name is Peregrine.’
‘But, Peregrine, why on earth—did you really—why?’
Lizzie moved, without surprise, sat down to watch. She evidently already knew.
‘You ask why?’ said Peregrine, without looking at me. ‘Just think why, just think.’
‘You mean—good heavens, you mean Rosina?’
‘Yes, oddly enough, I do. You deliberately smashed my marriage, you took away my wife whom I adored, you did it carefully, cold-bloodedly, you worked at it. Then when you had got her away from me you dropped her. You didn’t even want her for yourself, you just wanted to steal her from me to satisfy the beastly impulses of your possessiveness and your jealousy! Then when they were satisfied, when my marriage was broken forever, you went jaunting off somewhere else. And what is more you expected me to tolerate this and to go on liking you! Why? Because you thought everybody always went on liking you whatever rotten things you did because you were wonderful wonderful Charles Arrowby.’
‘But, Peregrine, you yourself said to me, more than once, that you were glad to be rid of the bitch—’
‘OK, but why did you believe me? And don’t use that foul language please. Of course everyone knows you regard women as trash. But what bugged me was that you wrecked my life and my happiness and you just didn’t seem to care at all, you were so bloody perky.’
‘I don’t believe you were happy—you just say so now—’
‘Oh for Christ’s sake! You took her out of sheer spiteful jealousy. OK, I can be jealous too.’
‘But you yourself encouraged me to feel it was all right! Why did you bother to pretend, and mislead me? You can’t blame me now—If you had looked more stricken I would have felt more