Lampie feels a knot in her stomach. This is what they have been waiting for all day, she suddenly realizes. She quickly heads down the stairs, dashing over the smooth steps. “Father, some people are…”
“I’ve seen them,” Augustus croaks. He is standing at the window, with his back to her. “Go to your room.”
“Why do I have to—”
“And don’t come out until I call you. You understand?” Her father follows her and slams the door behind her. “And remember what I told you this morning!” he whispers through the crack in the door.
What was it again? thinks Lampie. Oh yes.
whack
Augustus leans on his stick. His leg is shaking, but he is not going to sit down; he does not want to be shorter than the men who are walking around his living room.
The fat sheriff has brought two deputies, just boys, with fluffy blond hair and pimples. They are striding around his house as if they live there, touching all his belongings. They are allowed to. And Augustus is not allowed to throw them out.
The woman in the gray dress does not touch anything. She just stands there, looking at him and at everything in the room as if it is too dirty to touch. She makes Augustus nervous.
What was it that he had come up with again? What was it that he wanted to say? Keep calm, that’s the most important thing. Breathe slowly. Don’t get angry. Stay polite. Say, “Yes, sir.” Otherwise you’ll only make things worse.
Yes, sir. Of course, sir. My sincere apologies, it’ll never happen again. No yelling, no cursing. Hang your head.
He can’t help thinking of Emilia, who always used to say that sort of thing to him: Don’t yell, Augustus. Don’t kick chairs across the room, darling. And certainly not around the sheriff!
Now she’s dead and he has to say those things to himself. He sighs. He is not very good at it, but he has to do it. For Lampie.
“My, my,” says the sheriff. “What a thing. What a storm, eh? We won’t forget that one in a hurry. And that ship. Smashed right into the rock. Bang! Did you hear it?”
“Saw it,” says Augustus. “You can see it from the tower.”
“Well,” says the sheriff, shaking his head. “Well. Must have been quite a climb, with that leg of yours. Bang it went. Crack! In two pieces! It’s a blessed miracle no one drowned. Do you know how much it costs, a ship like that, Waterman?”
“No idea,” says Augustus. He turns around and snatches something from the blonder deputy sheriff. “Hands off!”
It is Emilia’s mirror, the mirror that has been hanging there on a nail, hanging there since…since forever. It belongs there. He hangs it back up and sees his own face. It is very pale, and his eyes are wide and scared. Keep breathing.
The deputy sheriff raises an eyebrow at his boss. Want me to beat him to death? is clearly what he means. Now? Or shall I wait until later?
Later, says the sheriff with a nod. We have plenty of time.
Keep breathing. Yes, sir. What was the question again, sir? Lampie had better stay in her room.
“Five thousand dollars is what a ship like that costs—at least.” The sheriff slowly nods. “I don’t have that kind of money lying around. Do you?”
Augustus gives a snort. “Not with what you pay me.”
“That’s true,” says the sheriff. “We pay you. And would you just remind me what we pay you for?”
“To light the lamp.”
“Exactly. You said it.”
“Which is particularly important in a storm!” One of the deputies has come to stand beside the sheriff, and he is nodding his head, just like his boss. He is holding the drawer of cutlery from the kitchen.
“Exactly…” the sheriff says again. “Exactly. And what a storm it was yesterday. My goodness me.” He rubs his hands. “So, tell me, was the light on yesterday?”
“No, sir.”
“And why not?”
Augustus sighs. He has already told them twice. “Because the lens was broken, the mechanism. I worked all night to…”
“Oh, yes, that’s what you said.”
“And it wasn’t fixed until morning. And by then it was…”
“Too late,” the sheriff says, completing his sentence.
“Um…yes. And I’m sorry. And it won’t happen again.”
The sheriff brings his face close to the lighthouse keeper’s. Augustus can smell that he’s had a drink. Oh, he could really do with one himself right now.
“My deputy has just been upstairs,” says the sheriff. “That lens is working perfectly.”
“Yes, it is now! But it wasn’t last night. I had to fix the whole—”
“Does that happen often?”
Augustus shrugs. “Sometimes. That thing’s old.”
“And did we know about that? Have you ever reported it to the town hall? Sent a letter? Requested a replacement?”
“What? You expect me to be able to write now? I’m a lighthouse keeper, that’s what I am.”
“Yes, that’s what you are. With only one job to do. To light the lamp. And then put it out. So, did you light it yesterday?”
“Of course.”
“With a match.”
“What else?”
“But it wasn’t on.”
“That’s what I’m telling you, that was because of the—”
“So you said, yes. The mechanism, blah, blah, blah.”
Augustus’s eyes flick to the door of Lampie’s room. Did he just see it move? Stay in there, child. Please.
“Augustus Waterman, did you send your daughter Emilia to fetch matches yesterday evening? When it was far too late? When it was already dark?”
“I swear I did not.” Augustus spits to reinforce his oath. As it hits the floor with a splat, the gray woman in the corner gives a disapproving sniff.
“So how is it we heard from Mrs. Rosewood that your daughter went to the shop last night and her husband gave her a box of—and I quote—‘Swallow Brand Top Quality matches’?”
“You’ll have to ask her.” Augustus can now clearly see the door moving. Don’t come out, he thinks. Stay there. “I didn’t send her.”
The sheriff looks around the room. “Actually, where is your daughter? Blown away? Drowned? Run off?” “No, she’s, um…”