I was buying time. One is always buying something.
* * *
—
I counted the hours as they passed. The hours, the minutes, the seconds. I had good reason to hope that my messengers were well on their way, carrying with them the seeds of Gilead’s collapse. Not for nothing had I been photographing the Ardua Hall top-classification crime files over so many years.
Two Pearl Girls backpacks were discovered beside the entrance to a disused hiking trail in Vermont. Inside them were two Pearl Girls dresses, some orange peels, and one string of pearls. A search of the area was instituted, with sniffer dogs. No result.
Red herrings, so distracting.
* * *
—
The Works Department has investigated the shortage of water complained of by the Aunts living in Doorways A and B and has discovered poor Aunt Immortelle in the cistern, blocking the outlet. The frugal child had removed her outer clothing so as to save it for someone else’s future use; it was found, neatly folded, on the top rung of the ladder. She’d retained her undergarments for purposes of modesty. It’s how I would have expected her to behave. Don’t think I am not saddened by her loss; but I remind myself that it was a willing sacrifice.
This news caused another outbreak of speculation: the rumour was that Aunt Immortelle had been murdered, and who more likely to have done it than the missing Canadian recruit known as Jade? Many of the Aunts—among them those who had greeted her arrival with such joy and satisfaction—were now saying that they’d always believed there was something fraudulent about her.
“It’s a terrible scandal,” said Aunt Elizabeth. “It reflects so badly on us!”
“We will cover it up,” I said. “I shall take the view that Aunt Immortelle was simply trying to investigate the faulty cistern, in order to spare valuable manpower that chore. She must have slipped, or fainted. It was an accident in the course of selfless duty. That is what I shall say at the dignified and laudatory funeral we will now proceed to have.”
“That is a stroke of genius,” said Aunt Helena dubiously.
“Do you think anyone will believe it?” Aunt Elizabeth asked.
“They will believe whatever is in the best interests of Ardua Hall,” I said firmly. “Which is the same as their own best interests.”
* * *
—
But speculation grew. Two Pearl Girls had passed through the gate—the Angels on duty swore to that—and their papers were in order. Was one of them Aunt Victoria, who still had not appeared for meals? If not, where was she? And if so, why had she left early on her mission, before the Thanks Giving? She had not been accompanied by Aunt Immortelle, so who was the second Pearl Girl? Could it be that Aunt Victoria was complicit in a double escape? For, increasingly, it was looking like an escape. It was concluded that the elopement note had been part of it: intended to deceive, and to delay pursuit. How devious and cunning young girls could be, the Aunts whispered—especially foreigners.
Then news came that two Pearl Girls had been spotted at the Portsmouth bus station in New Hampshire. Commander Judd ordered a search operation: these imposters—he called them that—must be captured and brought back for interrogation. They must not be allowed to speak to anyone but himself. In the case of a probable escape, the orders were to shoot to kill.
“That is somewhat harsh,” I said. “They are inexperienced. They must have been misled.”
“Under the circumstances, a dead Baby Nicole is much more useful to us than a living one,” he said. “Surely you realize that, Aunt Lydia.”
“I apologize for my stupidity,” I said. “I believed that she was genuine; I mean, genuine in her desire to join us. It would have been a marvellous coup, had that been the case.”
“It’s clear she was a plant, inserted into Gilead under false pretenses. Alive, she could pull both of us down. Don’t you understand how vulnerable we would be if anyone else got hold of her and she were made to talk? I would lose all credibility. The long knives will come out, and not just for me: your reign at Ardua Hall will be over, and so—quite frankly—will you.”
He loves me, he loves me not: I am assuming the status of a mere tool, to be used and discarded. But that’s a two-handed game.
“Very true,” I said. “Some in our country are unfortunately obsessed with vengeful payback. They do not believe that you have always acted for the best, especially in your winnowing operations. But in this matter you have chosen the wisest option, as ever.”
That got a smile out of him, albeit a tense one. I had a flashback, not for the first time. In my brown sackcloth robe I raised the gun, aimed, shot. A bullet, or no bullet?
A bullet.
* * *
—
I went to visit Aunt Vidala again. Aunt Elizabeth was on duty, knitting one of the little caps for premature babies that are in fashion nowadays. I remain deeply grateful that I have never learned to knit.