The Black Opal

A Meeting in the Park

Mrs. Hyson welcomed me back with genuine pleasure. It was clear that she was missing Gertie. She wanted to know if I had enjoyed my trip to Yorkshire, but did not ask searching questions, for which I was relieved. Her thoughts were really with the honeymooners.

The next morning, I called at the Emmersons’ house. To my joy, Dorothy was home. Lawrence would already have left, as I guessed. I was glad of this, because I felt that he would have been less enthusiastic about my plan. He would feel that it was not good to stir up the unpleasant past and it would be more sensible to leave things as they were.

“Carmel!” cried Dorothy when I arrived.

“It’s good to see you. When did you get back?”

“Last night.”

Her satisfaction was obvious. So I had called on her as soon as possible.

“You’ve missed Lawrence. He went off an hour or so ago.”

“Yes, I guessed he would have gone.”

“He’ll be delighted you’re back. You must come round to dinner soon.”

“Thanks, Dorothy. I’ve a lot to tell you.”

“Good. I’m all eagerness to hear.”

“First, I didn’t tell you that I was visiting my mother.”

She looked at me in astonishment.

“You said … a friend.”

“Well, she is a friend, too. You see, it was all so unconventional.

My father told me who my mother was, and I had met her once when I was a child-only I didn’t know she was my mother then.”

“Well, I do know something about that, because, after all, Lawrence was a great friend of your father when they were on ships together.”

“Yes, of course. My mother was on the stage and she is now married to a most interesting man. They will invite you and Lawrence to Yorkshire. You will enjoy their company.”

Dorothy’s eyes sparkled. There was nothing she liked more than meeting interesting people.

“I will tell you more about them later, but first of all there is something I want to talk to you about… something that is really on my mind. When my mother was living with the gipsies, she came with them to their encampment in the woods near Commonwood House. She had seen something of the household there. She was naturally interested, because of my father’s connection with the family. We talked about the tragedy. Harriman Blakemore, my mother’s husband, is the kind of man who has wide interests. He has theories about this and that and it is fascinating listening to him. Briefly, we discussed the Marline case.

As you know, I’m convinced there was some mistake and I will never believe that Dr. Marline was a murderer.

“During the course of the conversation Harriman raised the point that Miss Carson probably knew more about what happened than anyone else.

Then we talked about them and wondered what had actually happened to her, and we came to the conclusion that she must be living somewhere, probably under an assumed name. Then we wondered whether she might like to hear from me. She and I had always been the best of friends.”

“Yes, go on,” said Dorothy.

“We decided that there would be no harm in my writing to her and telling her how much I should like to see her. If she preferred not to do so, well then, she could just ignore my letter.”

“How will you get a letter to her?”

That bothered me. Then I thought of you. “

She stared at me, her eyes round with excitement.

There was a man who campaigned for her,” I went on.

“Jefferson Craig, the criminologist, yes. I haven’t heard anything about him for some time. He seems to have faded quite out of the public eye.”

“You wrote to him once.”

“Yes. I admired his book and one day had the temerity to write and tell him so.”

“And he wrote back.”

She nodded.

“Was there an address on his letter?” I asked.

“I’m not sure. I was so thrilled to get an answer that I didn’t give a thought to the address.”

“I suppose you couldn’t remember it then?” I said in disappointment.

She shook her head and laughed at me.

“You don’t suppose I’d destroy a letter from Jefferson Craig, do you?

Of course it’s in my box of treasures. Let me get it and put us out of our suspense. But don’t get too excited. It’s some years ago. He was very prominent at the time of the case, and that made him more so. But after that he seemed to fade out. If there is an address, he might not be there now. “

“Dorothy, please get the letter.”

She went off and in a few minutes reappeared, waving it in her hand.

She gave it to me.

Dear Miss Emmerson [I read], Thank you for your letter. I am so pleased that you enjoyed my book and it was good of you to write and tell me so.

Yours sincerely, Jefferson Craig.

And there was an address. Campion & James, 105 Transcombe Court, London E.C.4.

“That would be his publishers,” said Dorothy.

“Don’t look downcast.

They will probably be in touch with him and will forward it on wherever he is. So write to Jefferson Craig and enclose a letter to Miss Carson. Then put it in an envelope with the one addressed to this Campion & James and ask them to forward it to him. It’s simple. “

“Oh, Dorothy, what a help you have been.”

“Don’t get too excited! This could come to nothing. On the other hand, it might work. And don’t thank me. I’m as excited as you are. I always wanted to know what became of Kitty Carson.”

I immediately wrote to Campion & James. Between us, Dorothy and I had decided what should be said. Dear Sirs [I had written], I am anxious to get into touch with Mr. Jefferson Craig, and I wondered if you would kindly forward the enclosed to him. If this is not possible, will you be good enough to return it to me. With many thanks in anticipation of your kindness in this matter, I am, Yours sincerely, Carmel Sinclair.

Inside this letter was the one addressed to Jefferson Craig, explaining that I wished to get in touch with Miss Carson, and in that the letter to her.

To Kitty Carson herself, I had written:

Dear Miss Carson, You will remember Carmel. I have never forgotten you and all your kindness to us all. Perhaps you will also remember Captain Sinclair.

He was my father and he took me to Australia where I remained until now. I have returned to England only recently and only just heard what happened after I left.

I remember you with such fondness that I wondered if it would be possible to see you. I should be so pleased if it were, but if you do not wish it, I shall understand.

I so much look forward to hearing from you. Your one-time pupil, , Carmel Sinclair. (I am no longer March. I took my father’s name. )

Dorothy read the letters several times and, when we thought we could not improve on them, we sent them off.

Then the waiting began.

Almost a week had passed and there was no response. It must be expected, I told myself. Suppose I were in Kitty’s place? Suppose I had suffered the agony she must have endured? Suppose I had succeeded in establishing myself in a new life? Should I want to revive the past with its anguish and misery?

Had Campion & James forwarded the letter? That seemed likely, otherwise they would have sent it back to me. Had Jefferson Craig passed it on?

I had a letter from Lucian. He was coming to London for a day or so.

Could we meet for lunch the following Tuesday? What about Logan’s? We had been there before, I would remember.

I had not seen him since my visit to Castle Folly. I was sure he would be very interested to hear what had happened and I wanted to learn what he thought of my trying to get in touch with Miss Carson. I knew that Lawrence would not approve. He would think immediately of how distressing it might be for a woman in her position to be reminded of the past. I tried to make myself believe that he would be wrong and that Miss Carson would be pleased that I remembered her with fondness.

As I entered the restaurant, Lucian rose from the table at which he was seated and greeted me. He looked happy, without what I had come to think of as that haunted look. In fact, he looked very like the boy I had known at those tea-parties who had tacitly insisted that I should be treated as the others were.

“It’s been a long time since we met,” he said.

“You always say that, Lucian.”

“That’s because it always seems so.”

He smiled at me, and, as we sat down, said: “So you have been visiting again.”

“It was a particularly interesting visit.” I told him about my mother, Harriman Blakemore and Castle Folly.

“What an interesting background you have sprung from!” he said.

“You would like my mother. She is so amusing and so different from everyone else. And Harriman is unique, too.”

“I hope I shall meet them.”

“Oh, you must. They want to meet you. It was wonderful finding her.” I explained what had happened.

“It was during that time I was staying with your mother, I found Rosie Perrin in the woods, and she put me in touch with Rosaleen … Zingara that was.”

“Tell me more.”

So I did.

“The wonderful thing is that I have a home there now. I have felt guilty about staying so long at the Hysons’. Not that they have hinted in the slightest way that they don’t want me there. In fact, there are protests if I speak of leaving. But my mother’s home will be mine. And I suppose Harriman is my stepfather. It’s a wonderful feeling of security.”

“Carmel, I have been wanting to talk to you seriously for some time.”

“Yes?”

“When you came back, it was so interesting for me. I felt as though we were young again. I wish we had not lost all those years.

We ought to have grown up together. “

I laughed.

“When we knew each other all those years ago, I was just a little girl. You were far above me. You only condescended to know me because I was a poor little outsider and you had a kind heart. It was like that, you know. I wasn’t even as old as Estella or Camilla.”

“That’s true, I suppose. But I did miss you when you went away.”

“As you did Estella and Henry.”

“Differently. That is the point. Everything is different. There is something missing at the Grange. It’s my fault, of course. It ought to be as it used to be when I was young. I suppose it is because I made the most ghastly mistake that anyone can make. I’ve changed everything. I’ve brought a gloom into the place. I want to break out of that, and I want you to help me.”

I looked at him steadily and said: “You had better say exactly what you mean.”

“I want to marry you.”

I felt a lifting of my spirits. I had not felt like this since that terrible night when they had put me in the lifeboat, leaving Toby behind. I knew that part of me wanted this and that I felt for Lucian what I would never feel for James or Lawrence. I liked them both very much, of course. I enjoyed their society, but my feelings for Lucian were different. There was an excitement for me in his company. With James or Lawrence I knew exactly what to expect, but there was something in Lucian which mystified me. I felt there was something secret he was keeping from me.

It was because of this that I hesitated and he was immediately aware of my hesitation.

“You don’t like the idea?” he said.

“No, no, no. It is not that I am not very fond of you, Lucian.”

“That sounds like the classic refusal.

“I am very fond of you, but…” Carmel, tell me quickly. There is a “but” , isn’t there? “

“I will say what I intended. I am very fond of you, but…”

“Ah,” he said.

“There it comes.”

“It is just that I am unsure. So much has happened. I do care for you very much. You were the hero of my childhood. You must understand. I hope we shall continue to see each other as we have been doing. They have been very happy times for me, but we have to know more of each other. You see, it was for me a very particular childhood friendship, but we have both changed since then. So much has happened to us … both. Important things. They have had their effect on us.

That is what I mean. I do care for you, but there are times when I feel I do not know you as I should someone with whom I propose to spend my whole life. “

“You are thinking of my marriage.”

“I think that might have something to do with it.”

“I will tell you exactly what happened. I can understand your feelings, of course. It is the whole set-up in the house, isn’t it?

The wife who died so soon after the marriage, the child, that old ghoul of a nurse. I will tell you everything. I intended to. In fact, I have come near doing so on several occasions, but I am afraid that, like most people, if something is unpleasant, I try to forget it and deceive myself into thinking that it is all past and forgotten. It happened quickly. There was a sort of gathering . those of us who had been at university together. It was a grand weekend party. There were several girls with us. Laura was one of them.

“I had met her once or twice before. She was very young and pretty, in a rather artless way which had an appeal. We had all drunk more than we should. I suppose I felt I must be like the rest… sophisticated, worldly. You know what young men are like. I make no excuses for myself. I must be like the rest. Later, one realizes that in one foolish moment things can happen which will affect one’s whole life. Let me hasten over that act of folly. Some time after, she came to me in great distress. She was pregnant. What was she to do? She said her father would never forgive her. He had given her a London season in the hope that she would make a good marriage. There was only one course open to her. She was going to kill herself. “

I looked at him in horror and he went on: “I did not know then that that was the way she talked. I believed her. She was so small and helpless.” He looked at me steadily.

“Imagine what it would be like to be responsible for some one’s death. It would be something you would have to live with for the rest of your life. How would you feel about that, Carmel?”

“It would be unendurable.”

“It did occur to me that I might not be responsible. In fact, I had a very strong conviction that that might be the case. But she was so certain, so determined that if I did not marry her there was only the one course open to her. I could not have that on my conscience as well as …”

“So you married her.”

He nodded.

“It was a speedy wedding. Her father was agreeable. He said that he had the brass and all Laura needed was a good handle to her name. He would have liked a grand wedding, but he had to be contented with what we could have in such circumstances. Well, the rest was inevitable. I suppose I discovered that the child could not have been mine, and that she had tricked me into marrying her. Her father would never have allowed her to marry her lover so she had chosen me to help her out of her dilemma. There was only one good piece of luck in the affair. The child was a girl. I should have felt very guilty about foisting someone else’s bastard on the family.”

“Lucian, I am so sorry for you. You must have suffered a good deal.”

“You can imagine it, can’t you, Carmel? The wretchedness, the frustration. And she brought Jemima Cray with her, that woman who had been her nurse and, as some nurses do, stayed with her to be her constant companion and confidante. She knew of Laura’s secret liaison with the father of the child. He was some distant connection of hers, I discovered. She had hoped Laura’s father would relent when he knew there was to be a child, but he had done no such thing. He wanted to be rid of the child and he would have had it adopted as soon as it was born and the matter kept a secret. Then Laura saw the chance … and, like a fool, I was duped. The father was agreeable that she should marry me and all would be forgiven.

“I don’t suppose it is the first time this sort of thing has happened.

It is in a way funny, like a comedy in which I play the part of the fool who is easily taken in. “

“And it was only after you married that you discovered all this.”

“Yes. She was going to pass off the child as prematurely born, but I learned the truth. I will tell you how. Laura developed a terrible fear of childbirth. I think her conscience may have troubled her. When people have wronged someone, they often hate them for reminding them, by their very presence, of their own perfidy. At least, I think that was how it may have been with Laura. She was unbalanced and this fear became an obsession. She was convinced she was going to die. Sometimes she would be overcome by hysteria. It was in one of these moods that she admitted to me that I was not the father of her child, that I had been completely taken in. How clever she had been to plan it, and how foolish I had been. Although by that time I had begun to guess something of this, I was deeply shocked. I hated her and I told her so. Jemima, of course, was close at hand, ear at keyhole. Laura shouted, ” I shall die. I know I shall die. ” And I said, ” Well, that will be a good solution to the affair. ” Jemima hated me. I am sure she believed that if I had not married her, Laura’s father might have relented and she would have been allowed to marry this connection of hers. I am sure she had set her heart on that. She hinted that I had made Laura bear this child, knowing that she was not strong enough to have children, and it was all for the sake of the family. It was absolute nonsense and she knew it. She even hinted that I was responsible for Laura’s death. “

I said: “There is one thing you should do without delay, and that is get rid of Jemima.”

“She looks after the child.”

“Bridget is a normal little girl. You can’t let that woman bring her up.”

“The child would grieve if she went.”

I thought she might as no one in the house seemed to pay much attention to her apart from Jemima.

“You see, I am telling you all this because you thought I had changed.

Do you wonder? “

“No. Life leaves its mark. We all suffer in our different ways.”

“I can imagine what that shipwreck did to you … and losing your father.”

“It is something which I shall never forget.”

“As I this. Carmel, I have thought more often of it since you have been back. Life seemed to change when we lunched in the Bald-Faced Stag after all those years. I saw a way out… with you. I thought:

Len Cherry is an excellent manager. He could run this estate without me. I’d get a new and experienced man to help him. And I would get away from the place. In Cumberland there is a small estate which belongs to the family and I could enlarge that and start afresh. I’d like to put everything that happened behind me. “

“What of your mother? What would she think? What of Bridget?”

“My mother would come with us.”

“She would never leave the Grange.”

“I think she would understand.”

“It’s a wild dream, Lucian. You could never leave the Grange. Think of all the years your family has lived there. There must have been troubles before. People grow away from them. Your wife is dead. I know you were unhappy, but nothing can be changed. She deceived you and she was unhappy. You both were. If she had married her lover and lost her inheritance, she might have been happy. It was her decision not yours. You were the victim. You can’t run away. You would despise yourself if you did. Besides, it wouldn’t work. You should take an interest in the child. She has no mother. And where is her father? She will ask questions when she grows up. I know what it means to be without parents. I spent the early years of my life believing that I was not wanted. Don’t let that happen to Bridget. But I am convinced that Jemima Cray should go.”

“I see how you would take care of these things,” he said, looking at me appealingly. He had certainly changed from the invincible Lucian of my childhood, and that had been the one I had loved.

“Now you know it all, Carmel,” he said, “I hope you don’t despise me.”

“I could never do that.”

“And you don’t reject me altogether?”

“Of course I don’t.”

“Does that mean that there is hope for me?”

“It means that there is hope for us both.”

I was deeply affected by Lucian’s confession.

He had seemed so vulnerable, sitting opposite me making his pitiable confession.

He had been foolish. Who had not been at such a time? I could see exactly how it had all happened, and how he despised himself for being so gullible and how it had changed him from a young man of pride and confidence into a bitter one with little regard for himself.

The hero had feet of clay and, oddly enough, that increased my tenderness for him. I believed I could love the weak man perhaps even more than the all-conquering hero.

I wanted to see more of him. I would take him to Castle Folly. He should know Rosaleen and Harriman and they should know him.

I was sure Rosaleen had chosen him as the man I should marry. And myself ? I did love him. I had been convinced of that when he had told me frankly what had happened, and yet I still felt that there was something more I had to learn, that he was holding back even more than he told.

He had talked so earnestly, so sincerely. He had been weak, certainly, but his weakness had grown out of his compassion for Laura, and a desire to do what was right. He had not loved her, and I fancied that, from the first, there were doubts as to whether the child was his, but when she threatened to kill herself, he could not endure the possibility that he might be responsible for her death.

And now his life was in disorder and he was calling to me to help him.

There were moments when I contemplated going to him and saying, “Yes, Lucian, let us marry. Let us make the Grange a happy house, a home for Bridget, and send Jemima away.” And then I would hesitate. I did not know everything. Why did I have this strange feeling that he was not telling me all the truth?

Wait, said caution. And a few days after that meeting with Lucian, there came the letter.

The handwriting was faintly familiar, and it took me right back to the schoolroom at Commonwood House. I knew from whom it came. I took it to my room so that no one should be there when I read it, and my hands were trembling when I slit the envelope.

Dear Carmel, I was deeply moved when I read your letter so much so that I could not reply for some time. That is why there is this delay. Of course I remember you. I wondered how you found me. But perhaps you will tell me that when we meet.

I was not sure at first whether I could do it. You see, I have tried hard to distance myself from what happened and your letter brought it all back. But do not think I was not deeply touched. I should very much like to see you. Perhaps we could meet somewhere quiet. just the two of us. I thought out-of- doors where we could be sure not to be disturbed.

I see that you are at an address in Kensington and I thought of the Gardens there. I am living in Kent and it is an easy journey by train to London. I could be there about ten o’clock next Wednesday. Suppose we meet at the Albert Memorial? Then we could find a seat and talk. If that is not convenient for you, we could choose another time.

Write to me at the above address.

Thank you, Carmel, for thinking of me.

Kitty. By the way, address me as Mrs. Craig.

I read and re-read the letter. Then I wrote to her. I should be at the Albert Memorial next Wednesday.

It was clear that Kitty was anxious that no one should know of this meeting. I could well understand her desire for absolute anonymity.

But I had to tell Dorothy. I owed it to her. Had she not been instrumental in making the connection, and I knew I could trust her completely.

“How exciting!” she cried when I showed her the letter.

“I wish I could come with you.”

“That’s entirely out of the question,” I said at once.

“If she saw I was not alone, she might go away.”

Dorothy realized that.

“And she is Mrs. Craig,” she said.

“Could Jefferson Craig have married her? Good heavens! Who would have thought of that?”

We agreed to say nothing to Lawrence about it, and I was glad that she saw the necessity for that. I was also relieved that Gertie had not yet returned from her honeymoon. I knew she would have guessed something had happened and made an effort to learn what it was.

I was at the Albert Memorial at exactly ten o’clock. It was easy for me. I only had to walk there. She had not arrived, but I was not alarmed, for I knew she would find it difficult to judge exactly the time the journey would take. Eight minutes passed before I saw her hurrying to our rendezvous.

I went towards her and, for a few seconds we stood looking at each other. Then she held out her hands and I |j took them both in mine.

She had changed considerably. There were signs of grey in her golden hair; she had lost that air of serenity which had once been a feature of her personality. Even if I had not known her history, I should have realized that she was a woman who had suffered much tragedy.

“Carmel!” she said in that well-remembered voice.

“I am so pleased to see you.”

“And I you. I have thought about you so much and have wondered where you were.”

Her lips trembled and there were tears in her eyes. She seemed suddenly her old self. But we must not have an emotional scene in public.

“Let us find a seat and sit down,” she said.

“I know just where,” I said.

We walked away from the Memorial and into the Gardens.

She said: “I’m sorry I kept you waiting. It is difficult when one relies on trains.”

“Yes,” I said.

Then we were silent, for making light conversation seemed banal and we knew that when we were seated there would be so much to say.

I had selected the seat for our purpose some days before. There was a stretch of ground just behind the flower walk and one isolated seat looking over it.

We sat down and she said: “Well, Carmel?”

“Oh, Miss Carson …” I began.

“You should call me Kitty now that I am no longer your governess.”

“Kitty, tell me what you are doing now.”

“I live very quietly.”

“You are Mrs. Craig. Have you a husband?”

“Yes.”

“Can you bear to talk of it?”

“It is what I have come to do.”

I braced myself. I said: “I want you to know that I only recently heard what happened. I went away with my father.”

“I know Captain Sinclair took you away when the others went to their aunt.”

“I was with him in Australia. He was shipwrecked. That was not very long ago. And then I came to England and that was when I learned”

“So, all those years, you did not know.”

“No. I thought you would all have been at Commonwood House.”

“It must have been a shock to learn the truth.”

“Yes. I was devastated. Perhaps it was impertinent of me to try to find you. It was through a friend who was interested in such cases. I knew that Mr. Craig had helped you and it was a shot in the dark. She had written to him through his publishers and she thought they might forward a letter to him. “

“That explains it. Oh, Carmel, it was …”

“Don’t. Don’t. It must be terrible for you to talk of it, even now.”

“I must not be foolish. I have come to talk … to tell you. And, Carmel, I want you to know. I could not bear that you should believe as so many people believed. I am going to tell you … so that you know how it really happened. You already know what they did to Edward to the doctor …”

I nodded. She could not speak for a moment.

Then anger burst forth.

“It was false. It was wicked. And they did that to him. He was innocent, Carmel. I know he was.”

I took her hand and pressed it.

“It was what I felt,” I said.

“That is why I was so anxious to hear from you.”

“Who could believe such a thing of him? He was the gentlest man who ever lived.” Her voice broke again.

“I must be calm. We were always friends, you and I, weren’t we? I know that he was innocent. You will believe me?”

“Yes,” I said fervently, “I will.”

“There is only his word.”

That is enough,” I said.

“Carmel, how glad I am that I came to you! But what use is it? It is done. But I shall not rest until the world knows he was innocent and all I can say is that I know because he told me. That is all I can say. When he knew they were going to arrest him, he said to me, ” Kitty, my dearest, they are going to accuse me of murdering Grace.

Everything points to me, and there is no way of proving that I am innocent of that crime. I was not in her room. I did not touch those pills. I know nothing about them. And I want you to know, and to believe I speak the truth. I shall forget all else. ” And the next day we were arrested … both of us.”

We were silent. I did not know what to say to her, but my own belief in his innocence was confirmed.

It was some time before we could speak. Then I said: “I am glad I came. I have always been sure that he was innocent, and now I am absolutely certain.”

“He would have told me,” she said.

“He would never have lied to me.”

She was calmer after that and I think I conveyed to her the sincerity of my belief.

“I was on trial with him,” she said.

“Those days are not very clear to me now, for which, I suppose, I must be thankful. Not many people stand on trial for their lives. He had his enemies. That pernicious old woman. How she revelled in it!”

“You mean Nanny Gilroy?” I said.

“I always disliked her.”

“Mrs. Barton was influenced by her … and there was the district nurse, too. They all knew how difficult Grace Marline was to live with. That could not be denied. It was evidence against him. But, of course, it was his feelings for me that convinced them. Oh, Carmel, think of it! Those letters he wrote to me, read in court … those intimate, loving, damning letters! What a fool I was to keep them!

They searched my room and found them. They had been such a comfort to me . and how was I to know? You must not condemn us. “

“Condemn you! How I wish there was something I could have done to help you!”

“You must forgive me. I become emotional. I was so angry with that wicked woman … with her innuendoes. She hated me from the moment I came into the house. And to think she knew … and was tittering about us! I loved the doctor, Carmel. I want you to understand. It wasn’t as they made out. It was true love … which is never to be laughed at and sneered at… as they did. I hope, Carmel, that you will find a love as tender and true as mine for Edward Marline and his for me. It was worth living for . dying for . Oh no, not the way he did. “

“Please don’t distress yourself. Perhaps we had better not talk of it.”

“But I have to talk … and I want you to know. It does me good to talk to you, because you believe as I do.”

“I do. I always knew, within me, that Dr. Marline was innocent. I always wanted proof that I was right … and now I have it … from you.”

“Proof ? Only my word.”

“That is good enough for me. I wish it were for the rest of the world.”

“I will try to talk to you calmly and reasonably,” said Kitty.

“You know what happened at the trial. Edward was found guilty and they hanged him. They could not come to a decision about me. I was going to have a child and they do not hang pregnant women. There was a great deal of discussion. Jefferson Craig was in court.

“I must tell you about Jefferson. He has written a great deal on crime and the criminal. He believed from the start that Edward was innocent.

He felt there had been a miscarriage of justice. He was certain that someone else had given Grace Marline the overdose. There must have been several in the household who hated her.

“And there was the remote possibility that she had taken it herself, by mistake perhaps. There was another trial for me, and, as a result of Jefferson’s articles which had appeared in the papers, a certain amount of public sympathy was engendered for me. I have always believed that it was largely due to this that I was acquitted. I came out of that court a free woman, but with uncertainty hovering over me.

But Jefferson was there. He had found a lodging for me. There was a woman there to look after me and he used to visit me from time to time. This was not a case of romantic love. I was just a “case” to him.

Jefferson’s cases were his life. He had been particularly struck by mine. He was at that time in his late sixties.

“I don’t know how I should have survived without him. I was in a state of deep depression. I had terrible nightmares. I did not want to live.

Jefferson reminded me that I was carrying Edward’s child. He made me feel that, because of the child, I had not lost Edward completely. He told me afterwards that, at that time, he had feared that I might have taken my life. Jefferson thinks in terms of “cases” He had studied mine with the single-mindedness which he brought to all but I do think that mine was of special interest to him. He decided that I needed an occupation. Work was the antidote to boredom and a lacklustre interest in life. I needed work. I thanked him for what he had done for me, told him I could never repay him, and he said that there was a way I could repay him. I could help Mrs. Garfield.

“Mrs. Garfield was his secretary. She had been with him for many years and she was almost as old as he was. She understood him and his work as few could, but the work was getting too much for her. She needed an assistant; I could be that assistant, and that would be a great help to him.

“He was right, as he always was. Mrs. Garfield showed me what I had to do and I was soon finding it absorbingly interesting. She had been with Jefferson so long that she had grown a little like him. She was determined to do all she could to help him in this particular ” case”.

Well, they pulled me through, those two, and then the baby came. She is beautiful, Carmel. I have called her Edwina. Sometimes I fancy I see something of Edward in her, and I think how happy he would have been if he had known her. Oh, how different it might have been, Carmel! “

I took her hand and pressed it while she smiled sadly.

“It is no use, is it? Life doesn’t turn out as we plan it. I was lucky in so many ways. Jefferson has been wonderful to me. He made me talk. He always wanted to know what was in my mind.

He discovered that what worried me most was the future of my child.

She would be Edwina Carson. I could hear people say, “Carson? That name strikes a chord. Oh, it was that case, you know. The man was hanged and she got off…” I should fear that for ever. I could change my name, I supposed. I used to lie awake at night and think of it.

“It was a month before she was born. Jefferson came to me and said: ” I know what you have on your mind. It’s the baby to be born without a father. Now, we are going to put a stop to all that. I am going to marry you so that the child will be born in wedlock and who is to raise questions about Jefferson Craig’s child? ” It was very noble of him, but he is noble. He is a great man. I know I say that again and again, but I owe so much to him.”

She was too emotional to continue for a moment.

I said: “He is indeed a wonderful man, and I am so glad that he was there when you needed him.”

“It is often like that in life, Carmel. One is lost and lonely and then the miracle happens. So I became Kitty Craig and my baby was born; and from that time life was no longer so utterly wretched that I longed to escape from it. I had my baby and she enchanted me as she did Jefferson and Mrs. Garfield.

“Time passed quickly. We watched Edwina grow up … a baby, and then a little girl. She is nine years old now. Can it be all that time ago? I went on working with Mrs. Garfield. I found the work more and more exhilarating. Mrs. Garfield had been a wonderful teacher. Two years ago she retired and Jefferson was doing less work than he had previously, and I was able to take over. So your letter came direct to me from the publisher.”

“Oh, Kitty, I am so glad I wrote.”

“So am I. And there is something else I have to tell you. Adeline is with me.”

I was amazed.

“Yes,” she went on.

“It was soon after Edwina was born. I had a letter which came through Jefferson’s publishers … just as yours did. It was from a Mrs. Darrell. She was Adeline’s Aunt Florence.”

“Oh, I remember her from when she came to collect them from Commonwood.”

“She asked, most graciously, if she could come to see me. I was surprised. I had met her only briefly at that time when she had come to collect the children. I had thought her extremely haughty then, and I was surprised that she should be writing in such an ingratiating manner almost begging me-asking me to see her. Jefferson was most intrigued and she came to the house.

“She began by telling me that she was relieved that I had come through that distressing business and was now Mrs. Craig. She said she had always believed in my innocence. Then she came to the point. It was Adeline. She was extremely worried about the girl and so was Mr. Darrell. Adeline had been ill for a long time, but she was better now physically. She was obsessed by one thing; her desire to be with me. At first she had talked of nothing else. They had thought she would get over it, but alas, she had grown worse. There had been one or two violent scenes.

‘ “We tried to explain to her, but she would not understand why she could not be with you. We have had medical advice. She will have to go away, they said. The idea of sending her into a mental home is dreadful and we know that it would do her no good. There is only one thing that will. That is the only chance for her, if she could be with you. Would you be prepared to give it a trial? You would be well paid.

And, of course, if you found it too much, there would be that other alternative. Would you be prepared to give it a trial? The doctors think that, with a childlike mind like hers, there is a chance of her regaining her serenity. “

“Well, of course, I talked it over with Jefferson. Here was another ” case” for him. He was prepared to study Adeline and he was soon eager to know how she would respond to being with me. So we haughtily declined payment.”

“And she came to you?”

“Yes, she did. That was about seven years ago. It worked. She is now exactly like the old Adeline loving and gentle. She adores Edwina.

At first I was afraid to leave the child alone with her and contrived never to do so. But now all that is changed. They are the greatest of friends. It is a joy to hear Adeline singing about the house. Do you remember how she used to, when she was happy? “

“I am so glad that she came back to you. I know how distressed she was at that time when you went away and then when she went off with Aunt Florence. She loved you from the beginning. I remember how frightened she was when she heard there was to be a governess, and you became the most wonderful person in the world to her.”

“Poor Adeline! They didn’t know how to treat her. Her mother particularly frightened her and made her unhappy. She was very easily frightened and very easily made happy.”

After a brief pause, she went on: “Jefferson is, of course, very interested in Adeline. He is so good with her. He understands her. She is happy now.”

“Jefferson sounds a wonderful person.”

“He is indeed. He treats Edwina as his daughter and she looks on him as her father. They are very contented together. So, you see, Carmel, I have much to be thankful for. There is one thing I ask. Perhaps I shall never have it and must be content with what, miraculously, has been given me.”

“What is that?”

“To know what actually happened on that day in Commonwood House. Who killed Grace Marline? All I know is that it was not Edward. Then who?

I want to know most of all for my child’s sake. I know she has her name and she can go through life as Jefferson’s daughter. But there is a chance, fainter now, thanks to Jefferson, but it is there, that someone might discover who her father was . they might remember me. Jefferson was very anxious that there should be no publicity about the wedding.

Imagine what a field day the press would have had with that!

“Jefferson Craig marries Kitty Carson whom he saved from the gallows.”

It would have been unbearable, and you can be sure that, if some of them discovered this information, there would be no hesitation in using it to get a good story which would sell papers. “

“That would be dreadful.”

“You see, it is hanging over me. If only it could be cleared up. But there it remains. Perhaps one day … It seems unlikely, but one can hope. Carmel, you won’t lose touch now that we have found each other?

It has been good to talk to you. You must come and see us. We have a pleasant house in Kent. We used to be in London but when we were married, Jefferson bought this house and we retired to the country because he did not want to be too much in the public eye. You see what he did for me. “

“I do, but I could not admire him more than I do already.”

“So you will come?”

“I should very much like to.”

“Soon, please. Jefferson will be so eager to meet you, and he is very impatient. He does not like to wait.”

“I promise.”

“I want you to meet Edwina … and there is Adeline. She will be so excited.”

“Do you ever hear of Estella and Henry?”

She shook her head.

“No, I think they realized that the past was something best forgotten. Adeline does not seem to care about them.

You were the one of whom she was most fond. “

“I think all her love was for you.”

“Poor child. Life was not very good to her.”

“Until you came and it was clear then how much she loved you.”

“Well, I was saying how pleased she will be to see you. So when?”

“I could come at the end of next week.”

“Oh, could you?”

“Not too soon?”

She laughed at me.

“We shall look forward to it. Let me give you instructions.”

She took a piece of paper from her bag and wrote on it.

“I shall be at the station to meet you,” she said.

“Friday week,” she said, and we settled the time of the train I should catch.

She was smiling. She looked very like the Miss Carson who had come to Commonwood House all those years ago. Our meeting had cheered her. I was glad I had had the courage to step into the past.