“Not the whole truth,” he said.
“So you admit to part of it.”
“Unlike you, I face facts.”
“And I do not?”
“Certainly, you do not. You want to marry me, and you pretend you don’t. Perhaps you don’t even realize that you want to. You are caught up in such a web of deceit.”
“You talk nonsense. What you don’t know is that I was once married to the only man I could love. He was noble, honourable … He died for the cause he believed in. Do you think anyone could ever replace him in my heart?”
Carleton burst out laughing. His eyes suddenly blazed with anger. “Are you telling me that you have never guessed the truth?”
“The truth? What truth?”
“About your saintly husband.”
“I hate to hear you mention his name. You are unworthy …”
“I know … to unlatch his shoes, I believe. Edwin was no worse than the rest of us, perhaps … but no better.”
“Stop it, I say, stop it.”
He took me by the shoulders and shook me.
“It’s time you knew the truth. It’s time you stopped living in a dream. Edwin married you for the same reason that you accuse me of wanting to marry you. His parents wanted it … and so did your parents. He would have preferred … Surely you know?”
I felt myself go limp with rage and horror. I could not believe I was hearing correctly.
“I am tired of remaining silent,” went on Carleton, speaking tensely and rapidly. “I’m tired of standing by and joining in the pretence. Edwin had great charm, didn’t he? Everyone liked him. He tried to be everything to everyone … just the very man each one wanted him to be. He was always liked and he was very good at it. You wanted the young romantic lover, and it seems he played the part to perfection. He had you believing him.”
“What do you mean? Whom … would he have preferred?”
“That great friend of yours, of course. Harriet Main. Were you completely blind? She hoped he would marry her, but that would be asking too much of him. His parents would have objected. Edwin never upset anyone if he could help it. Besides, he knew at once that you were the suitable partner. That didn’t stop those two though. I can assure you of that.”
“Harriet … and Edwin?”
“Wasn’t it clear? Where do you think he was on those nights when you were alone in the big bed, eh? Out on his secret mission? Oh, it was secret all right. He was with her. Sleeping with her. Forgetting his dear, little, trusting wife. Why do you think she brought you to England? Because she wanted to be with him. That’s why. She was out collecting her plants! He was on his secret mission! How odd that both should take them to the old arbour. They spent a good deal of time there together. Too much. Do you know why he was shot? I would take you to the man who shot him, but he is dead now. It was Old Jethro, the hermit-Puritan. He shot his dog for coupling with a bitch, and what he did to a dog he was clearly ready to do to a man and woman … if these things were done outside the lawful marriage bed. In an arbour, for instance.”
“I … don’t believe it.”
“You know it’s true. Come, Arabella, you are a sensible young woman. You know the way of the world.”
“I don’t believe it of Edwin.”
“Shall I have to prove it to you?”
“You can’t. The man who killed him is dead, you say … a likely story. When did he so conveniently die?”
“Soon after he killed Edwin. He told me himself. He had watched them when they met. He had put himself into a place where he could see. Then he brought the gun and he shot them … in the act.”
I covered my face with my hands, trying in vain to shut out the vivid pictures which forced themselves into my mind.
I could only repeat: “I don’t believe it. I will never believe it.”
“I can prove it to you.”
“If it’s true, why have you kept quiet so long?”
“Out of my regard for you. I thought you might come to realize it gradually. But when you keep flinging him at me … the sainted husband … it was more than I could bear. I am not a saint. I have been involved, doubtless, in more amorous adventuring than Edwin ever was … but I could never be as deceitful as he was. I could never have lied to you as blatantly, nor would I have brought a mistress and a wife on such an errand … unless of course they knew the circumstances and agreed to come.”
“Harriet … and Edwin,” I murmured. “It just is not true.”
“I am going to show you something,” he said.
“What?” I demanded.
“I found it on his body. Harriet came in in a state of distraction. She was safe, though I think the intention was to kill them both and leave them there … exposed … a lesson to sinners. That would have been typical of Jethro. But she escaped and came to me. She told me what had happened and I had him brought into the house. It seemed best then to let you think he had been killed because of his work and to hurry you and Harriet Main out of the country.”
“I don’t trust you.”
“No, you trusted Edwin. You trust the wrong people, as I am showing you.”
“It is merely your word … and I don’t trust you.”
“Then I will prove it to you. Wait there a moment.”
He had gone but I could not wait. I followed him up the stairs to his room. I stood in the doorway watching him as he lighted the candles and opened a drawer.
He brought out a piece of paper and, coming towards me, put an arm about me and drew me gently into the room.
The paper was bloodstained, and I recognized Harriet’s writing.
“I kept it,” he said. “I suppose I knew that one day I might have to show it to you. Sit down.”
I let him put me into a chair and he held me close while I read.
I do not want to record those words. They were too intimate, too revealing, and they had been written by Harriet. I knew her writing too well to doubt it. There could be no doubt of their pleasure in each other. There could be no doubt of their intimacy … an intimacy such as I had never dreamed of. She reproached him a little for marrying me. Poor Arabella! That was how she wrote of me, how they must have spoken of me. It was clear that they had been lovers from the beginning, before he had asked me to marry him, that when he had married me, he had gone on wanting her.
Of course. Of course. It was so easy to understand now. She was sublimely beautiful. No one could compare with her. It was understandable. Charles Condey had been a blind. She had never had any feeling for him. My mother-in-law had seen more than I had. That was why she had insisted that I play Juliet. But how innocent she was … as innocent as I. As though that could have made any difference.
So they had met when they could. They had deceived me, told me lies. “Alas, my love, I must go out tonight … this secret mission.” And he was going to Harriet. Harriet! I could see her laughing with him. “You managed to get away from her, then? Poor Arabella! Always so easy to deceive.” It was true … right from the beginning. I had believed she had hurt her ankle and was staying for that reason. I had believed she wanted to help me stay with Edwin and she had wanted him herself. I had believed …
Leigh, I thought. It was so. It must be so. Leigh was Edwin’s son.
My lips formed the boy’s name. “Leigh …” I said.
“Of course. There is a likeness in the boy. It’ll be more noticeable when he gets older.”
“Why …?” I began.
He knelt down by my chair and, taking my hand, kissed it. I let it lie in his.
“Because you had to know. It’s always best to know. I told you in a fit of passion. Perhaps it was wrong. But it’s best to know, Arabella.”