Snare of Serpents

Proven

I HAD NEVER BEEN SO HAPPY in my life as I was during those first months after I became Davina Grainger. There was a tacit agreement between us that we should not think beyond the immediate future.

Ninian knew as well as I did that when we reached Edinburgh there would be certain difficulties to be faced; but for the time being we must forget about them.

This we did very successfully. We were close companions by day and passionate lovers by night. It was an idyllic existence, if one did not look ahead.

But, of course, it was impossible not to and there were moments when I thought with apprehension of what it would be like when we returned home. People would remember and, even if they had the good manners not to speak of it, it would be in their minds. We must be prepared for the little moments of unpleasantness … the moments of distress.

All the difficulties of travel at such a time became amusing to us because we were together. We laughed at them.

We managed to get down to Cape Town where we spent a week waiting for a ship; and when it did come, we had a wonderful voyage home. The storms at sea were fun to us; and we revelled in the long hot days when we sat on deck and talked of our good fortune in being together. But as we came nearer to home, I felt I wanted to hold back the days to make them last longer. I knew that Ninian felt the same. But there was no holding back time, but I kept reminding myself that I was going back with Ninian and that made all the difference.

We arrived in due course at Southampton, said goodbye to the friends we had made on board and spent a night in London before making the long journey to Edinburgh.

The city looked cold and unwelcoming. Ninian had lived with his parents, but now that we were married he would buy our own house. It would be near the courts for convenience. But at first we must go to his home where we should stay until we found our house.

I felt uneasy about meeting his parents, and as soon as I did I realised they did not approve of the marriage.

Mrs. Grainger was a gentle lady with greying hair and bright dark eyes. His father was not unlike Ninian himself, tall, of rather commanding appearance, with an aquiline nose and bright shrewd blue eyes.

“Ninian, how wonderful that you are back,” said Mrs. Grainger. “And this is Davina …”

She had taken my hands and was kissing me on the cheek, then looking at me, trying to hide the fact that she was assessing me. But of course she would, I told myself. I was her new daughter-in-law. Naturally she would sum me up. I must stop thinking that when people met me they immediately asked themselves: did she or did she not kill her father?

Mr. Grainger was less inclined, or less able, to hide his feelings. His attitude towards me was cool. It was clear to me that he thought his son was foolish in marrying me.

I tried to be reasonable. Their reaction was natural. Of course, they were disappointed. Mr. Grainger, Senior, had risen high in his profession and he would wish his son to do the same; and none could realise more than I that I should be a hindrance rather than a help in his career.

Ninian assured me again and again that his parents would grow accustomed to the marriage. People always regarded their offspring as children throughout their lives. The fact was they objected to his marriage … not to me.

I could not expect them to be pleased that their son had married a woman who had been on trial for murder and was only free because the case had not been proved against her. What parents would? I understood them thoroughly, and I knew that the halcyon days were over.

Ninian said: “We’ll soon find our house.”

And I thought, we must.

Ninian’s parents entertained frequently and most of their guests were connected with the law. They were all extremely well-bred and, although they would have been well acquainted with my case, they took pains not to mention anything that might lead to it. Indeed, there were times when they seemed to make studied efforts to avoid it, for they often discussed cases which were of particular interest to their profession.

But there was one occasion when an old friend and his wife, whose daughter and her husband had recently come home from India, came to dine and brought the daughter and her husband with them.

The conversation was mainly about some new statute which had recently come into force and the company was expressing views for and against it.

The young woman said: “All these laws about stuffy old cases which no one is interested in …”

“My dear,” interrupted her father. “This matter has engendered tremendous interest throughout the profession.”

She replied: “Well, / think it’s boring. You ought to tell us about some of your more interesting cases. Murder, for instance. You must have had some of those.”

Silence across the table. I found myself staring at my plate.

“I was very interested in what the Lord Chief Justice was saying,” began Ninian’s father.

“Like Madeleine Smith,” went on the young woman. “Do you remember that case? Oh, it was ages ago. She got off … though I’m sure she did it. Not Proven, they said. Is it true that they have that verdict only in the Scottish courts? They say she went to the United States of America to start a new life. It’s the only thing she could have done really …”

I felt the embarrassment round the table. The girl who had spoken was, I supposed, the only one who did not know who I was.

The subject was immediately changed. She looked bewildered. It must have been clear to her that she had said something indiscreet. I was sure that afterwards she would be told who was present.

I felt very upset about that. When we were alone, Ninian tried to comfort me. But it was not easy.

“You should never have married me,” I said. “This sort of thing should never have happened to you. You have been drawn into it. And it will go on for ever. It will be there all our lives.”

“No … no … people will forget.”

“She didn’t forget Madeleine Smith and that must be nearly fifty years ago.”

“That was a notorious case.”

“So was mine, Ninian.”

“We’ll get our own house.”

“People will still talk.”

“If only we were not here … in the city.”

“It would be the same wherever I was. I couldn’t escape in Kimberley.”

Ninian tried to shrug it off, but I could see that he was as upset as I was.

I suppose that was why he decided on the house the very next day.

It was a pleasant house in one of the squares of grey stone houses. We were close to Princes Street and, in spite of everything there to remind me, I could still find pleasure in it. I passed the garden and thought of Jamie, and Zillah who had found us there.

When we told Ninian’s parents that we had found a house which would suit us, they could not hide their relief; and I felt that the shadow which was overhanging my life was spoiling Ninian’s, too.

The house was not very far from my father’s, where I had spent my childhood, where the terrible tragedy had happened. I could not bring myself to call on Zillah, which would have meant going back there. I wondered if the Kirkwells and the Vospers were still there; and I asked myself if Zillah would have heard that I was in Edinburgh.

We moved into the house and I felt a little better. Shortly afterwards I discovered that I was pregnant.

That made a great deal of difference. I stopped brooding and ceased to think that everyone was remembering. My joy was intense; so was Ninian’s. Even his parents softened towards me. They were delighted at the prospect of a grandchild.

One day I received a note. It came by hand. It looked like Zillah’s handwriting, but it was slightly less bold than it used to be; and when I opened it I found that it was from her.

My dear Davina,

I believe that you have reverted to your true name now, and I hear that you are in Edinburgh. My dear child, why did you not come to see me?

Things have not gone very well with me. I am wretchedly ill. It smote me suddenly and here I am … more or less an invalid. I don’t know how these things happen. I was hale and hearty one day and ill the next. It is very annoying. I just had a horrid cough at first, which I could not shake off. It’s consumption, they tell me. It’s a bore. I sometimes feel quite ill and at others my jaunty self. I make plans and then can’t act on them.

Do come if you can bear with a poor invalid.

My love as always,

ZILLAH

After receiving such a note there was nothing I could do but call immediately, though I had to steel myself to do it.

Mrs. Kirkwell opened the door. I guessed she had been warned that I was coming.

“Oh, good afternoon, Mrs. Grainger,” she said. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Kirkwell. How are you?”

“As well as can be expected, thank you.”

“And Mr. Kirkwell?”

“He’s all right. And you look just the same. My word, you did get caught up in that awful place. Siege, don’t they call it? You should have seen the people in the streets when we heard it was relieved. Mafeking and Ladysmith, too. Mr. Kirkwell knows all about it. He was watching for news all the time and telling us what was going on. And of course … you being there … well, we wanted to know. I couldn’t get it out of my mind, our Miss Davina out there with all them savages.”

“They weren’t savages, Mrs. Kirkwell.”

“Well, near enough … foreigners. And you shut up in that place … And I remember you when you was a little thing no higher than my knee … and then to be stuck in that place. Mrs. Glentyre is waiting for you.”

“Is she very ill, Mrs. Kirkwell?”

“Up and down. She’s right as a trivet one day. You’d never guess. Of course, she passes it off. Last person you’d have thought would get caught like that. She’s that pleased you’re coming to see her. I’ll take you right up. That was her orders.”

I went up the familiar stairs to the familiar room.

She was sitting in a chair by the window. I was amazed at the sight of her. She was so much thinner, but her hair was as bright as ever, but somehow it did not match her rather gaunt face.

I went to her and took her hands in mine.

“Oh, Davina … my sweet Davina. It was wonderful of you to come.”

“I’d have come before if I had known.”

“Just because I’m a poor old thing?”

I said: “It was difficult for me to come back here. I’m afraid I put it off.”

She nodded. “So you married your Mr. Grainger. How is that going?”

“Very well.”

“He was always asking questions. And then he went out and brought you home. News travels in a town like this. My word! That was something! Shows how keen he was to get you. And at one time I thought he was interested in me! But I realised it was just because he wanted to probe. He’s a real old prober. I soon got his measure. But it is good to see you. Tell me about the awful time you must have had. Shut in like that … not much to eat, I suppose … living on what you could get.” She shivered. “We heard a lot about it here, you know. I’ll not forget Mafeking night in a hurry. The noise in the streets! It went on all night. And I thought of you out there. It is good to see you.”

“Tell me about yourself, Zillah.”

“Oh, things didn’t turn out as I thought they would. I had plans. I was going to have a house in London. I was going abroad. I was going to enjoy life. All planned, it was, and then, suddenly, I got this cough. Just a nuisance at first. Then I couldn’t get rid of it. The doctor shook his head and wanted examinations. So I had them and they found this. I reckon I picked it up in those draughty old digs when I was with the Jolly Red Heads.”

“I’m so sorry, Zillah. It is the last thing I would have expected of you. So you have to stay quiet, do you?”

“Don’t only have to, want to sometimes. I have my down days and my up days. Sometimes I feel … almost well. I make the most of that.”

“Everything else seems more or less the same here. Mrs. Kirkwell is just as ever.”

“She’s like an old monument … she and her old man. I never forget them when I first came here. What a long time ago that seems, Davina!”

“I remember it well. I thought I had never seen anyone less like a governess than you.”

“You always paid nice compliments, dear. And to think that you once thought of becoming one! What happened about that old school?”

I told her and that Lilias was now married.

“You both found husbands. It can’t be such a boring old profession, after all.”

“So did you,” I said.

For a moment we were both sober.

“And the servants here?” I asked.

“The girls left. There are new ones now. Only the Kirkwells stayed.”

“And the Vospers?”

“They’re not here. I’ve got Baines now. Baines and Mrs. In the mews, of course. She helps in the house; he’s a good steady man. Not that I use the carriage so much nowadays.”

“What happened to the Vospers?”

“Oh, they shot up in the world. Hamish did anyway. He’s in the horse racing business … or something like that. Making money, so I hear.”

“He always had such a good opinion of himself!”

“Apparently he has made other people have one, too.”

“Do you ever see him?”

“Now and then. He comes to see the Kirkwells. I think he likes to show off his affluence to them and remember the old days.”

“Did you ever hear any more of Ellen Farley?”

“Ellen Farley? Oh …”

“You remember, she used to work here. She was the one they tried to find at the time … of the trial.”

“That’s right. Ellen Farley, the one who disappeared into the blue.”

“Ninian used to say that if we could have found her she could have corroborated my story … you know … that she asked me to buy that stuff.”

She leaned forward and laid a thin white hand over mine.

“Don’t think about it, dear,” she said. “It’s all over and done with. That’s what I tell myself. Doesn’t do any good to go over it.”

“It’s not all over for me, Zillah. It never will be. All through my life, I shall be waiting for someone to remind me and to wonder whether I was really guilty.”

“Oh no. It’s all done with. People forget.”

“I wish they did.”

“What a morbid subject! Your Ninian is charming, isn’t he? I thought so. He truly loves you, doesn’t he? Be thankful for that, and you wouldn’t have known him if … that hadn’t happened. That’s a consolation, isn’t it? He must love you a lot, mustn’t he, or he wouldn’t have gone all the way out to South Africa to find you, would he?”

“No, he would not.”

“Well, that’s nice. Think of that and not the other.”

“I try. And there is something I want to tell you, Zillah. I’m going to have a baby.”

“Really? Isn’t that the most wonderful news! You must bring the baby to see me.”

“It’s not due just yet.”

“I can’t wait. I’m going to live long enough to see it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Just talking nonsense. It’s this old cough. It gets at me sometimes. I’m ever so pleased to see you happy, and I’m pleased you’re going to have this baby. Won’t Ninian be pleased!”

“He’s very pleased.”

“And so am I. I’m glad it all turned out right for you.”

Being with her was exhilarating, and talking to her I forgot, temporarily, that physically at least she was just a shadow of what she had once been.

I RECEIVED A LETTER from Lilias’ sister Jane. She hoped that I would come and stay with them for a few days. She was longing to hear firsthand news of Lilias and to see me, of course. Perhaps I could come with my husband? We should be very welcome.

I could understand their anxiety to get news of Lilias from someone who had been with her during the siege, and I decided that I must go before I was too advanced in pregnancy.

An opportunity came. Ninian had to go to London on business. He would have taken me with him, but I thought it would be a good idea if I spent a few days at the vicarage while he was in London. We could travel down together and I could go on to Devon.

I had to tell Jane every detail I could remember, beginning with the voyage out and right through to the siege and our marriages. She and her father listened intently, now and then asking a question.

They were very interested in John Dale naturally, and I told them what an admirable young man he was and how he and Lilias were devoted to each other. The vicar’s eyes were bright with unshed tears and Jane unashamedly allowed one or two of hers to escape.

“When things have quietened down,” I said, “she will want you to go and pay her a visit. Perhaps she will come to see you.”

“We will manage to go and see her,” said Jane firmly to her father.

I had to tell them more of the siege, more of our first impressions. The talk flowed on until it was time to retire for the night.

The next day there was a message from Mrs. Ellington. She had heard that I was at the vicarage and begged me to come and see her before I left. She wanted to hear news of Myra.

So I went.

“She was so distressed,” she said, “at the death of dear Roger. Shot by some madman.” I guessed she did not know all the full story and it was not my place to enlighten her.

Poor Myra. She wondered she did not come home.

I said: “Myra is making a home for herself over there. She seemed to be settling. You see, there is Paul.”

“Dear Roger’s son. He did tell us of him.”

Still I did not explain. There was no need for her to have even a glimmer of the truth.

“He’s not very old,” I said. “He needs someone to care for him.”

“I understand. But it would be better for Myra to bring him back. I would look after Roger’s son. He could be brought up here … so much better for him.”

“You see, that is his home. He was born there.”

“But it would be so much better for him to be here.”

It was not much use contesting Mrs. Ellington’s opinions, but I persevered.

“It is quite a large house to run and Myra enjoys doing that. She has adjusted herself to it and her main concern at this time is the boy. He is helping her to grow away from her tragedy. She has had a terrible shock.”

“And all those people daring to rebel … and her being in the middle of it.”

“You mean the Boers.”

“I should have thought that war should be over by now. People are saying it cannot be long now.”

She asked a great many questions and I was able to satisfy her curiosity to some extent, and I think when I left she was a little reconciled to Myra’s absence.

She thanked me for coming and hoped I would find time to do so again before I left. She added that she would insist on Myra’s coming home for a visit and they would go on from there.

As I went out I saw Kitty. I fancied she had been waiting for me.

“Hello, Kitty,” I said. “How are you?”

“Married now, Miss. I married Charlie who works in the stables. We live over the stables. I’ve got a little baby.”

“Oh, Kitty, that’s wonderful.”

“Miss Davina … there’s something I ought to tell you. It’s been on my mind ever since.”

“What is it, Kitty?”

She bit her lips and looked over her shoulder.

I said: “Could you come over to the vicarage and see me? I shall be there for another two days.”

“Yes, Miss. When?”

“Tomorrow afternoon?”

“Oh yes, Miss. I could come then.”

“It’s very nice to see you, Kitty. I’m glad about the baby. That must be wonderful.”

“She’s a lovely little girl.”

“I must see her before I go.”

The next afternoon, she came to the vicarage. I told Jane that she was coming and wished to tell me something, so Jane left us to ourselves in the little room where the vicar saw his parishioners.

Kitty began by saying: “It’s been on my mind because Miss Lilias did say not to mention it … and I promised I wouldn’t …”

“What?”

She bit her lips and continued to hesitate. Then she said: “It was when you fell off your horse that time …”

“I remember. You called out my name.”

“That was it. ‘Miss Davina,’ I said. I could have killed myself as soon as I said it, but it sort of slipped out. I thought that horse was going to drag you along. That would have been terrible.”

“I understand how it happened.”

“Well, Mr. Lestrange was there … and he heard.”

“Yes. I had thought he might have done.”

“He was a lovely gentleman … ever so kind, he was. Always a word and a smile. Mind you, since Charlie I’ve never … you know what I mean. I wouldn’t want anything to go wrong between Charlie and me. I’ve never looked at nobody since.”

“But you … looked at Mr. Lestrange?”

My mind switched back to the courtyard before the schoolhouse and Greta Schreiner smiling up at him. I had been reminded then of Kitty. I thought: so he had beguiled Kitty, too … beguiled her so that he might get information from her about me. Kitty was physically attractive, with that attraction, as Lilias had once remarked, of a girl who can’t say no. What was it? A sort of promise, an assurance of a speedy seduction?

“He asked a lot of questions about you and it just sort of slipped out … all about how your father died and they’d accused you.”

“I see.”

“I did tell him that I’d seen your picture in the paper … twice, I did. I cut it out and got one of the men who could read to read it to me. I kept the papers … and … well, him being so interested … I showed them to him. He took them and said he’d like to read them sometime. He never gave them back to me. I’m ever so sorry. As soon as I’d done it I knew I shouldn’t have. But he was such a nice gentleman, I knew it wouldn’t do no harm with him knowing … It didn’t, did it? He was always ever so nice to you.”

I said nothing. I just sat there listening.

“I knew it was all right, but you see I’d said I wouldn’t say anything and I just did. He was the sort who could get anything from a girl if he wanted to. And you and Miss Lilias had been so good to me …”

I said: “It’s all right, Kitty. It’s over now. He’s dead.”

“Yes, I heard. I was ever so shocked. A lovely man like that.”

“You don’t want to think of lovely men anymore, Kitty … except, of course, Charlie.”

She hunched her shoulders like a child and smiled.

“Oh, I’m glad it’s all right,” she said. “I’ve had it on my mind ever since.”

I asked about the baby and Charlie and I walked back with her to the stable quarters to see the child. I told her I was expecting one. Her eyes lit up with pleasure. Kitty was a good girl at heart, and I knew it was as though a great burden had dropped from her shoulders.

She had really been very upset because she had betrayed a confidence. But now she had confessed and had been forgiven.

I RETURNED to Edinburgh and was happy during the months that followed. I could think of little but the coming of the baby. While I was able, I visited Zillah frequently. I was surprised at her interest in the coming child.

Once, when I was coming away from the house, I met Hamish Vosper. He was flashily dressed in a brown check suit and wore a carnation in his buttonhole. With an exaggerated gesture he swept off his hat to greet me and I noticed his black hair glistening with pomade.

“Why, if it isn’t Miss Davina! My word, you look in the pink of health!” His eyes assessed me with something like amusement, I thought.

“Thank you,” I said.

“All going well?” he went on.

“Very well.”

“That makes two of us.” He winked.

“I see you are very prosperous.”

He slapped his thigh with an exaggerated gesture. “Can’t deny it. Can’t deny it.”

“Well, good day.”

I was glad to escape. I found him as repulsive as when he had sat in the kitchen watching the maids slyly while he pulled at the long black hair on his arms.

MY SON WAS BORN in the May of that year 1902—in the same month that the war with South Africa was finally over and the Peace of Vereeniging was signed, depriving the Boers of their independence.

I wondered how Lilias was getting on. There would be tremendous relief out there, I was sure.

My days were taken up with my son. We called him Stephen after Ninian’s father who, with his wife, was so delighted with this grandson that I was sure they almost forgave me for being who I was.

As for myself, I could forget, at this time, all that had gone before.

I took the child to see Zillah. She was delighted. It had never occurred to me that she would have much time to spare for children. Her illness had changed her. In the past she had seemed to be straining for excitement, looking for adventure; now she seemed almost reconciled at times.

I was happier than I had thought possible, for I could not regret anything which had brought me to this state. I remembered Zillah’s saying that if that nightmare had not come to pass, I should not have met Ninian. Stephen would not have existed.

I wrote to Lilias telling her about the wonder child and, now that the war was over, I heard from her. She was expecting a child. The bond between us seemed stronger than ever. We had both come through tragic times together and both found happiness.

Happiness was sometimes fragile; but now I had Ninian and my baby, I felt secure.

The months passed. Stephen was beginning to smile, then to crawl, and then to take notice. He liked Zillah. He would sit on her lap and gaze at her. He was quite fascinated by her red hair. She still took a great deal of pains with her appearance. Her skin was delicately tinted, her eyes bright under her darkened brows. Sometimes I thought she could not be so very ill—except that she was thin.

One day there was news which startled us. Hamish Vosper had been killed in a fight by a rival. There was a hint of something called the Edinburgh Mafia.

It was revealed that for some time there had been trouble between two rival gangs, both engaged in nefarious practices, and that Hamish Vosper, who was the leader of one, had been killed by the other. Such men, said the press, were a disgrace to the fair city of Edinburgh.

They were suspected not only of deciding which horses were allowed to win races, by the use of drugs so that they could back the outsider winners, but many other crimes.

“We want no such gang rule in Edinburgh,” wrote one commentator. “The death of Hamish Vosper is rough justice on one of our ignoble citizens.”

I went to see Zillah when I heard the news. Mrs. Kirkwell received me in a mood of subdued triumph.

“I always knew that Hamish Vosper would come to a bad end,” she said. “I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, but the master ought to have got rid of him years ago when he was caught with that maid. Well, I’ve seen something like this coming. I said to Kirkwell, ‘He’s up to no good, mark my words. There he was in his fancy clothes, throwing his weight about.

Ah,’ I said to Kirkwell. ‘He’s up to no good, mark my words.’ It’s terrible to think that he was here … one of us, you might say … though never really that. And then after you’d gone … he used to come here … even going up to see Mrs. Glentyre. I never could understand why she allowed it.”

I went up to Zillah. She was looking better. I thought, something has happened.

She said: “I feel fine today. Just like my old self.”

“You certainly look it. Have you read the newspapers today?”

“Why yes. You’re thinking about Hamish.”

“It’s rather shocking … particularly as he was here and we knew him.”

“Yes.”

“I never liked him … but to think of him … dead …”

“These things happen. It seemed he was living dangerously, and when you do that you can’t be surprised if you come to a bad end.”

“Had you any idea … ?”

“Well … yes … I guessed he was up to no good. He was that sort. He was dabbling in all sorts of things … playing with fire, you might say. Well, he got burned.”

“You must have seen him quite recently. I met him here not long ago.”

“He used to come to the house. He wanted the Kirkwells to see how he’d got on. Foolish man. A lesson to us all, Davina.”

I was surprised at her attitude. But then Zillah had always surprised me.

Ninian’s comment was: “Gang warfare. This sort of thing has been going on in some places for years. It’s not what one would expect in Edinburgh. But it is an indication that it can happen anywhere. Let’s hope that will be the end of it … here at least.”

ZILLAH CONTINUED TO IMPROVE. She was quite lighthearted. I was seeing more of her, for she so enjoyed having Stephen with her.

I vividly remember one conversation I had with her at that time. Stephen was playing in a corner and we were both watching him.

Zillah said suddenly: “He’s the most adorable child. I never thought I should want children. But, do you know, when I see him I think of what I have missed.”

“Perhaps you’ll marry again.”

She smiled at me ironically. “It’s a bit late in the day to think about that.”

“One never knows. You are so much better. You could be cured. You’re not old and you are very beautiful.”

She laughed quite lightheartedly.

Then I said: “I worry about Stephen sometimes.”

“Worry? There’s nothing wrong with him, is there?”

“Oh no. He’s in perfect health. I just think that someone might say something.”

“Say what?”

“Someone might remember. It might come out that his mother stood trial for murder … and what the verdict was.”

“That’s all over and done with.”

“Not as far as I am concerned, Zillah. It will always be there. How would one feel to learn that one’s mother might have been a murderess?”

“Stephen would never think that.”

“How could he help it? The question is there and always will be.”

“It’s a morbid thought.”

“But it is the truth, Zillah.”

“People are going to forget … by the time he grows up.”

“There could be some to remember. Not long ago someone referred to Madeleine Smith, and that happened fifty years ago.”

“It was a very famous case.”

“Mine was very well-known.”

“You must stop worrying about it. Stephen is going to be all right.”

She spoke with conviction, but I could see that my words had made her very thoughtful. She knew that what I had said was true.

I told her the truth about Roger Lestrange then; how, through Kitty, he had discovered who I was; how he had the newspaper cuttings of my trial; how he was going to use me, if need be, to indicate that I was an unconvicted murderess who might be ready to try the same methods again.

She was deeply shocked. “It’s hard to believe …” she whispered.

“Nevertheless it’s true. Now you see what I mean? It will be there as long as I live.”

She was silent for a few moments, staring blankly before her. Then she reached for my hand and pressed it firmly.

She said slowly: “You must stop worrying about it. You’re going to be all right. Stephen is going to be all right.”

I CALLED ON ZILLAH and, to my surprise, Mrs. Kirkwell said she had gone out.

Mrs. Kirkwell’s lips were pursed disapprovingly.

“She’s not fit,” she went on. “I told her so. ‘You must be mad to think of going out, Mrs. Glentyre,’ I said. She was well wrapped up, but she looked far from well … and she’s so thin. You notice it in her outdoor clothes.”

“Why should she go out? She hasn’t been out for some weeks, has she?”

“Only when she gets this letter. That’s the only time she goes out.”

“She had a letter then?”

“Yes. It comes now and then. And then she always insists on going out.”

“I hope she’ll be all right. Of course, she’s seemed better these last days.”

“That’s true. But I’m worried about her. I wished you’d come earlier, Mrs. Grainger, then you might have gone with her.”

“You’ve no idea where she’s gone?”

“Well, as a matter of fact I have. I happened to hear her give orders to the cabby. That’s another thing. I said, ‘Why shouldn’t Baines take you?’ and she said she wouldn’t bother him. And there he is, hardly ever taking the carriage out.”

“That’s strange. Perhaps she wasn’t going far.”

“It’s to a place called the Coven.”

“The Coven? Isn’t that the little tea shop in Walter Street?”

“That’s it. Little place not been open long. I’m really worried about her. She seemed a bit shaky.”

“I see,” I said.

I came out of the house and walked to Princes Street.

She must be going to have tea, since the Coven was a tea shop. I thought, she wants to get out, that’s what it is. It must be boring for her to be always indoors. That would be a real trial for someone who had always liked gaiety. I pictured her taking a cab to the tea shop, having tea and cakes … and then going home. It was just a little outing.

She was really very frail. Suppose I went to the Coven, just to see if she was all right. I might have a cup of tea with her. I would suggest that we make these little excursions now and then when she was feeling well enough. That would get her out of the house.

I came to the Coven. It was small. In the window were homemade cakes and a sign which said “Lunches. Teas.”

I looked through the window between the cakes and I saw her at once. She was not alone. There was a woman with her.

I stared—first at her and then at her companion. There was something familiar about the latter. Then she turned and I saw her face clearly.

It was Ellen Farley.

I could not take my eyes from her, and just at that moment Zillah turned her head and gazed towards the window. We were looking straight at each other.

Her eyes dilated slightly and I saw the colour rush into her cheeks.

I turned and walked away.

I went straight home and up to my room.

Zillah going out to meet Ellen Farley—the key witness who could not be found!

What did it mean? What could it mean?

I COULD NOT REST. I wanted to tell Ninian. I thought of the pains he had taken to find Ellen Farley without success. It would have meant so much if she could have told the court that she had asked me to buy arsenic. It would have explained that entry in the book which was so damning against me.

I could hear Ninian’s voice: “If only we could find that woman!”

It so happened that he was working late that night on a specially demanding case. He had brought some books home with him on the previous night in the hope of finding a similar example which could be of use to him. It was a point of law which he wanted to verify.

I must tell him that I had seen her! Could I have been mistaken? It might have been someone who looked like her. I should have confronted them. Why had I been so foolish as to go away? I had been so shocked … so shaken … so bewildered.

But Zillah had seen me. She had looked horrified. It must have been Ellen Farley. But even now doubts kept coming into my mind. Could I trust myself?

I was in bed when Ninian came home. He looked very tired. He would be in court the next day. I thought, I will speak to him tomorrow evening … after I have seen Zillah.

The next morning I went to see Zillah. Mrs. Kirkwell met me in the hall.

“She’s very bad,” she said. “I’ve sent for the doctor. He should be here at any minute. It was going out yesterday. She came back in a state.”

“Was she alone?”

“Oh yes. The cabby knocked at the door and helped me in with her. He said he didn’t think she was well. I got her to bed right away and said I’d get the doctor. But she said no, she’d be better in the morning.”

“And she wasn’t?”

Mrs. Kirkwell shook her head. “So I sent for him without asking her. I thought I’d better.”

“I’m sure you’re right. I’ll go up and see her.”

She was lying propped up with pillows and seemed to be finding difficulty in getting her breath.

“Hello, Davina,” she said. “Can’t talk very much. It’s my breathing.”

I went to the bed and sat close.

“Zillah,” I said. “Tell me …”

She pointed to the table on which lay a large, rather bulky envelope.

“For you,” she said. “There’s another, too.”

I saw that beside the large envelope was a smaller one. They both had my name on them.

“You … can read them when I’ve gone.”

“Gone? Gone where?”

She smiled at me. “The big one, I mean. The little one you can read when you get home.”

“This is mysterious.”

She lifted her hand in a feeble gesture. “You’ll understand. You’ll see …”

“Something’s happened,” I said. “You shouldn’t have gone out yesterday.”

“Had to,” she said. “You saw …”

“Was it really? I couldn’t believe it.”

“You’ll understand. I had to. You’ll see.”

I heard someone coming up the stairs. There was a tap on the door and Mrs. Kirkwell came in with the doctor.

“Ah, Mrs. Glentyre … not so well today, I hear,” he said.

Mrs. Kirkwell looked at me meaningfully. I was to leave, she was implying.

I went downstairs, wondering what had happened. I had not been mistaken. She had been with Ellen Farley. What could it mean?

I was clutching both envelopes. The large one and the small one. She had said she wanted me to open the small one when I arrived home. I went into the drawing room to wait for the doctor’s visit to be over, and I opened the small envelope.

I read:

Dear Davina,

I have been thinking so much about you, particularly since you have come back. There is so much you ought to know and you shall. I have been on the point of confiding in you many times but I could not. I just hadn’t the courage. But you shall know and it won’t be long now.

I know I haven’t much time left. The doctor has more or less told me so. I begged him to tell me the truth. I didn’t want to be kept in the dark. There’s no cure for what I have. It may be a day … a week … or a month. But it is not far-off. Who should know that better than I?

I want you to read what I have written. It’s taken me a long time to get it all down. I did it some time ago as soon as I knew how ill I was. But I can’t tell you yet. You’ll have to wait. And when you do know, you’ll understand.

I didn’t think I was going to get so fond of you. I am so happy you married your Ninian. He’s a good man and he truly loves you. He’s proved his devotion and any woman would be grateful for that.

So be happy. There isn’t going to be anything to stop you and Ninian and little Stephen having a wonderful life. That’s what I want for you. But please … please don’t open the other until I am dead. I know you ought to, but I’m selfish … and I want you to wait.

One who loves you,

ZILLAH

I reread the letter. I had a burning desire to open the other, but I restrained myself.

I had not been able to ask her the question I had come to ask. Why had Ellen Farley been at the tea shop with Zillah? She had been upset when she received the letter which must have come from Ellen. She always went out when she received such notes. Why should she be seeing Ellen Farley?

The door opened and Mrs. Kirkwell came in with the doctor.

I stood up uncertainly. He was looking very grave.

“She’s very ill,” he said. “It’s a turn for the worse, I fear. She’s resting now. She’ll rest all day. Her breathing’s bad. I’ll send a nurse tomorrow. She’ll be all right today because she’ll be sleeping most of the time. I think you should be prepared.”

Mrs. Kirkwell said: “We’ve known, of course, doctor, that she was getting worse.”

He nodded. “I’ll look in tomorrow. Let her sleep. It’s the best thing for her.”

Mrs. Kirkwell took him to the door and when she came back she said: “It was silly of her to go out like that. If I’ve told her once I’ve told her twenty times.”

“Well, there’s no point in my staying, Mrs. Kirkwell. I’ll just take a look at her before I go.”

“Just peep in. Don’t wake her.”

I went up the stairs … very much aware of the envelope I carried. I looked in at her. She was still propped up by pillows. I supposed that made it easier for her to breathe. She was very still and her white hands lay inert on the bed coverlet.

She was in a deep sleep.

I was not able to talk to her again.

Three days later she died.

I was very sad indeed to realise I should never see her again … never be able to talk to her.

I had called at the house as I did every morning.

I had looked in on her on those occasions, but she was very tired and always half asleep.

I was not really surprised when I approached the house and saw that the blinds had been drawn at the windows.

It was a house of death.

I OPENED THE ENVELOPE and read:

My dear Davina,

I am going to tell you all that happened. I am going to, as they say, tell you the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. And I am going to tell it my way, because it is important to me that you should understand how it all came about, and I hope you won’t judge me too harshly.

I want you to imagine a girl who hadn’t had very much. I won’t go into details about my origins, but they were sordid. I was a sad bewildered child. I had my mother, it was true. I was an only child. My father seemed to be always drunk. I can hardly remember him anything else. Every penny he earned went into the local ginshop. It was a struggle. There was not always enough to eat. I was fourteen years old when my mother died. Then I ran away.

I won’t bore you with all that happened but I did finally work in a rather sleazy boarding house near the Tottenham Court Road. All I had was my red hair and the sort of appearance that made people notice me. I had long before learned that this was something I could use to my advantage, and I did.

In the hotel I caught the attention of a minor theatrical agent and it was through him that I got one or two little parts. I wasn’t much good. All I had was my looks.

All the little things that happened to me at that time don’t really come into this, so I’ll skip them. Finally I joined the Jolly Red Heads and we toured the music halls when we could get engagements.

And then we came to Edinburgh. That’s where it all began. Men used to come to the theatre to look out for the girls. They’d be at the stage door. You know the sort of thing. And one night Hamish Vosper was there.

I know how you dislike him. You always did. But there was something about him which appealed to some women. He was arrogant and selfish, but he was virile … he was a man. He thought he was irresistible to women and somehow he made them feel he was—and for a time, I was one of those who did. He used to come to the theatre every night we were there and after the show we’d be together.

He told me about his employer—a gentleman who was strict and the glory-be-to-God type, but underneath all that he liked to indulge in a little fun now and then. Hamish said he had a hold over him because he’d discovered what he was up to. He had this invalid wife, said Hamish, and of course there had not been much between them for some years, which was more than the old fellow could take. So he had his little jaunts. He knew that Hamish knew and Hamish only had to give him what he called “the eye” and the old fellow would turn a blind one to whatever Hamish wanted to do.

It was an intriguing situation … and one night Hamish brought me to the notice of your father.

He took me to supper and we liked each other from the start. He was a courtly gentleman and I hadn’t seen many of that sort. And I can say he was very taken with me, which made me like him all the more. It wasn’t long before we were going to hotels together. It was all very discreet because of his position. I thought it wouldn’t last but he got more and more fond of me in a sentimental sort of way.

Hamish was tickled to death and he had an idea. “You ought to come to the house,” he said. “I know … you could be a governess. There is a girl.” That made me laugh. Me … a governess? Well, the Red Heads were on the way out. We had the occasional boo when we came on. We’d known for a long time that we simply weren’t good enough for the West End. That was why we were touring the provinces. I thought it would be nice to have a comfortable home and not have to do all this travelling, so I said I was interested in this governessing business.

I swear I did not know how Hamish arranged it. I had no idea that there was already a governess and she had to be got rid of. I wouldn’t have agreed to that … or I don’t think I would. I want to be absolutely honest, you see. And I was rather desperate at that time.

Well, your Lilias went and Hamish suggested to your father that he brought me in. It shows how besotted your father was about me … for he agreed.

I took to you from the start. I knew, of course, I couldn’t teach you anything. You were far better educated already than I ever could be, but I thought it was a bit of fun … and much better than doing the Jolly Red Heads to audiences who were growing more and more critical.

Then your father asked me to marry him. I couldn’t believe my luck. I would leave the old life behind me. It was the chance of a lifetime. I could be comfortable for the rest of my days, the darling of a doting old man. It seemed too good to be true.

I was more contented than I ever hoped to be. I had forgotten Hamish. I would have a secure home and a promise of comfort for the rest of my life. I would be the mistress of the house. But Hamish was still the coachman.

He was dissatisfied. Whose idea had it been? And who was getting everything out of it while he was getting nothing? Then he had a plan. He wanted to marry me … and be master of the house. I was horrified at what this implied. I was fond of my new life, fond of my husband, fond of my new stepdaughter. I liked it all. But Hamish wouldn’t have it. He had started it and he was going to see it carried through as he wanted it.

You can guess the rest. I was weak. Hamish still had some power over me. I knew what was in his mind. I should have exposed him. I should have confessed to my relationship with him. Oh, there were lots of things I should have done!

Davina, you don’t know what the comfort of that house meant to me … the easy way of life and all that. No one could understand unless they had been through what I had. I am not making excuses. There are no excuses. It just seemed that I had started on this and I had no choice but to go on.

Hamish had planned it. We would get rid of the old man. I would mourn for a year. Hamish would comfort me. I would, after a respectable period, marry him. I would, of course, have to make sure that the old man’s fortune was left to me. We wouldn’t want to stay in Edinburgh. People would raise their eyebrows when the ex-governess married the coachman. We’d sell the house and go abroad. He had it all worked out.

Ellen Farley—that’s not her real name, of course—was a friend of Hamish. He recommended her to your father and he brought her into the house. He thought it would be a good idea to have one of the servants working with us.

Well, he bought the arsenic for the rats. There were some near the mews so he made sure others had seen them and it was the fact that they were there which gave him the idea to do it that way. Hamish said he knew something about arsenic. Hamish said he knew something about everything.

His idea was to poison your father slowly. He thought through the port wine.

Then there was all that fuss about you and Jamie and the whole house knew that your father had threatened to disinherit you. We knew too that he had chosen Alastair McCrae for you. If you had married Alastair McCrae you wouldn’t have come into Hamish’s plan, but you didn’t and Hamish wanted to have a way out, as he called it, if things shouldn’t turn out as he planned. Just like Roger Lestrange, he thought it would be a good idea to have a scapegoat … if anything should go wrong. I suppose these calculating murderers think alike. And like Roger Lestrange, he laid the snare to entrap you … to have someone at hand in case he should need to shift the blame to someone else. He set you up to be that scapegoat because Fate had given him a reason —your father’s objection to the young man you wanted to marry.

Hamish arranged for you to buy the poison. Ellen was to ask you to. Please believe me when I say I did not know of this at the time. Hamish did not tell me. He thought me squeamish—soft and sentimental—and he knew I was getting fond of you. Do you remember the night I was late back? I was with Hamish. We went to a place outside Edinburgh. It’s true we were lovers then. I know how dreadful it must sound … and it is no use my offering excuses because there really aren’t any. Hamish was anxious not to be caught because that would have spoilt the whole plan … so we always went some little way out of the town.

Do you remember that inquisitive old woman who came to the house? It was when we were late back and made that excuse about the carriage breaking down. She was going to tell your father that she had seen the carriage outside that rather disreputable hotel. She had even waited and seen us come out together. She was going to tell your father. That was when Hamish decided it would have to be done that night.

Ellen took fright at her part in it and made her excuses to get away.

Then it happened. Your father died.

It hadn’t worked out as Hamish planned. First I want to tell you that I did not know that Ellen had asked you to buy the arsenic. Hamish had not told me that. I suppose I must not make excuses for myself. I was in the plot. I played my part in it. I am guilty of murder. But I would not have used you. And when you were on trial I suffered … I really did. You might ask why did I not then confess to everything? I hadn’t the courage for that. I want to say that I was dominated by Hamish … but I am not sure of that either. I felt I was caught up in it and there was no way out for me but to do exactly what I did. You see, Hamish really thought we should get away with it. He did not plan that you should be accused. You were only there in case things turned against us. He didn’t want to take chances. He really thought we’d get away with it. Your father had already had one or two attacks. The doctor had seen him and not suspected. At the back of Hamish’s mind was the thought that he was so clever that everything must go as he had planned.

Well, you know what happened. You were arrested and charged with murder. It was terrible for you. But please believe me when I tell you it was terrible for me, too. I wanted to tell everything … confess. Hamish threatened me. He was in a rare panic. All his swagger deserted him then. We were all in a state of terror.

What hurt me most was what they were doing to you. I really thought your father’s death would be accepted as natural. I couldn’t sleep. I had to do something.

In the shed near the stables I found a little of the arsenic which Hamish had bought. Just a few grains still on the paper it had been wrapped in. Hamish hadn’t bothered to get rid of it because he had a perfect alibi about the rats. I had this idea then. I knew arsenic had certain powers. I remembered a man I had known in my Jolly Red Heads days who had taken it. He had told me he took it to make him feel younger.

I took the paper. I put the grains into another piece and I said I had found it in the drawer and that your father had confessed to me that he had once taken arsenic acquired on the Continent.

I provided the doubt. I knew I should never have had another moment’s peace as long as I lived if you had been condemned as a murderess.

When I heard that verdict I was furious. I had wanted you free of all doubt. I’ve wanted to make up to you ever since. I wanted to put it all behind us and start again. And those idiots had made it Not Proven.

But you were free. I could rejoice in that. I wanted you free but I did not realise that you would have to go through life under that shadow of doubt.

I was wicked. I agreed to the plan. It is no use my saying I was under Hamish’s spell, that I suffered from an unhappy youth. I am guilty and I shall never forgive myself.

I don’t enjoy what I have gained. There is not a great deal left of your father’s fortune which seemed such riches to me in the beginning. Hamish had a large part of it … and kept wanting more. It set him up in the business which finally brought him to his end … I was blackmailed all the time. I would not marry him. I think he realised that that might have been dangerous. The murder of your father was Not Proven; there might be some who wanted to discover the truth. He ceased to press for that but he wanted the lion’s share of the spoils.

Then there was Ellen. She used to come back regularly claiming her dues. Ellen is not a bad sort, though. She, too, has found life hard. She is planning to go abroad. I told her of that place which helped you and Lilias Milne. But she wanted a little behind her before she went. She made her regular demands and I think she may well be on her way to Australia or New Zealand. I think she learned a lesson. She was a frightened woman … always afraid that someone would find her. Hamish should never have brought her into it. She was almost as upset as I was every time she came to make her claim. She wasn’t a natural criminal … no more than I think I am. Impulsive we both were … trying hard to get a place in the sun … not realising how much we should have to pay for it.

Well, Hamish will not be able to do more mischief … and I am on my way.

You will find enclosed an account of what happened. I do not want the sordid details of my life made public. That is for you alone. The letter enclosed you will give to your Ninian. He will know what to do with it. It is my confession. It explains everything that is necessary. It is all people need to know and you will be completely exonerated from all guilt. No more Not Proven.

God bless you, Davina. In spite of my wickedness I did love you. You became like a daughter to me. I love little Stephen and I want everything to be perfect for you. I want to rub out that stigma forever.

No one can say now that the case against you was Not Proven.

Be happy. You have a chance now.

Goodbye, Davina,

ZlLLAH

I could scarcely read the note she had prepared because of the tears in my eyes.

And later I showed it to Ninian.

He read it through and when he lifted his face to mine I saw the joy there.

He stood up and took my hands in his. Then he held me tightly against him.

“She’s right,” he said. “We’re free. It’s over, Davina. I knew we were right to come back and face it. It happened here and here was the solution.”

“It is strange,” I said. “She did that … and I really loved her. She was truly … lovable … and yet … she could do that.”

“Life is strange. People are strange. And she is right when she says we can be happy now. The case is proven, Davina, my dearest, proven without a doubt.”

He was radiant with joy; I suppose we both were. Life was good and seemed the brighter because of the darkness. I could now look ahead without fear. I had my husband; I had my child; and Zillah had cleared for me the way to contentment.