The housekeeper. In a flash Friar's words came back to me — and the words of the landlord up at the inn at Botallack. And the name of the licensee above the door at Cripples' Ease. I looked down at the envelope in my hand. It was addressed to 'Robert Pryce, or his son, Jim Pryce.' The ink was faded and the writing shaky as though it had been written by someone very old — or someone labouring under great emotion. 'When did she give you this?' I asked.
'A long time ago.' Her voice was little more than a whisper. 'Before the war. Nine years ago it must be. It was just before — " She hesitated. 'Just before her death,' she whispered.
'How did she die?' I asked.
I felt her body stiffen. She did not answer.
I gripped her wrist angrily. 'How did she die?' I repeated.
'She — she went over the cliffs.' Her voice was flat. She spoke like a person in a trance.
I felt suddenly as though all the breath had been knocked out of me. And yet this wasn't half the horror of it. 'Why?' I asked.
She looked down at me then. Her eyes were wide and staring. So might Macbeth have looked on Banquo's ghost. All sorts of terrible thoughts ran through my mind.
'Why?' I cried out. 'Why did she do it?'
'Read the letter,' she said. She was panting for breath. 'Read the letter. Then let me go. I came to give you the letter. That was all. That was what I had to do. Don't you understand? I don't want to answer your questions. I don't want to think about it.'