The Hunter and the Trapped
Page 19
“Thank you,” William said, when no one else spoke.
A silence followed. None dared to look at another. They had each been exposed to all the rest, naked in their several inadequacies, their collective blindness. It was a sore punishment and also an enormous relief, to find that Simon had a loving friend who had done him no wrong and would bring him back in death to the world of sane men and decent disposal.
Penelope and Mrs. Allingham wept openly in shame and sorrow. Diana covered her face, her hurt as yet too deep for tears. The men stared before them with stern faces, longing for this painful scene to end but not knowing how to end it.
Chief-inspector Mont said awkwardly to William, “I’ll be going now, sir,” and turned to the door, looking round for the Mental Health officer to follow him.
But the latter knew more than Mont of the havoc that had been wrought in the minds and lives of those in the room. He had experienced these occasions before. He knew the long struggle of the collapsing mind, he knew the terrible effect it had on those in contact with it.
“You mustn’t blame yourselves,” he said, earnestly. “Think what it’d have meant for him if he’d been taken to hospital with the charge of murder pending. Lifelong imprisonment in a mental institution. It couldn’t have been overlooked, could it? I mean to say, not with the earlier incident, it couldn’t. That made it multiple murder, you see. So it really is for the best the poor soul did what he did. I’m sure you’ll come to see that in the end and not blame yourselves, any of you. You’ll excuse me speaking out, I’m sure. I’ve had a lot of experience, believe me. And I know none of you folk were to blame. You did your best. I’m sure of that.”
This time not only William murmured, “Thank you.” Penelope whispered it and Mrs. Allingham added, “God bless you.” Only Diana remained frozen, motionless, with her hands still covering her face.
But when William had taken the two men down and had come back to the silent room those last comforting words had begun to take effect. The women dried their eyes and sighed and began to look about them. The men moved together, waiting for William to suggest a restoring drink. “You did your best, I’m sure,” the man had said. Perhaps the coroner would say the same.
Complacence, flooding in gently, soothingly began to wash away the agonising guilt.
Copyright
First published in 1963 by Hodder & Stoughton
This edition published 2012 by Bello an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited Pan Macmillan, 20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR Basingstoke and Oxford Associated companies throughout the world
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Copyright © Josephine Bell, 1963
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