“Are you suggesting that she would dare hurt Edwin? That’s nonsense.”
“Perhaps I have said too much. You would rather not hear.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Forgive me, Arabella. I wanted to repay you … for saving my life once, but if you would be happier not knowing … if you would rather wait until doom overtakes you …”
“Tell me what you know,” I said tersely.
“I know this. Edwin was her lover. He was shot when they were in the arbour. At that time she was already carrying his child. Leigh is not Charles Condey’s son.”
“I know,” I said.
“So she deceived you with Edwin. Then she ran away, leaving you to look after your husband’s bastard, and you did. Arabella, you are a good woman. It grieves me to see you treated thus. But you are blind … sometimes I think wilfully blind. You really thought Benjie was Uncle Toby’s son. That was rather naive. Poor Uncle Toby, he had to die when she was pregnant.”
“Are you suggesting she … killed him.”
“In a comfortable, natural sort of way which could hardly be brought against her. It wasn’t difficult to excite the old gentleman. She knew he had already had his heart attack. Child’s play. She knew she would do it sooner or later. So natural, they said, didn’t they, an ageing husband, a young exciting wife.”
“Oh, don’t, Charlotte.”
“I know you hate it. I wouldn’t say anymore, but you’re in danger, Arabella. Don’t you see what they want?”
“They? Who?”
“Harriet and … Carleton.”
“Carleton!”
“Surely you know. Why is he away so much? Is he in London, do you think? Edwin was away on secret business, wasn’t he? Secret business with Harriet. She has their son. Benjie. Have you noticed that Carleton is rather fond of him? She has proved she can have sons. They want to marry. They want to take Eversleigh and rule it between them.”
“Carleton already does that for Edwin. You’ve forgotten Edwin. Eversleigh is Edwin’s.”
“What do you think they plan for Edwin? A little pigeon shooting? No, perhaps that wouldn’t do. The last one was not a success.”
“Charlotte, this is madness.”
“There’s madness in this house, Arabella. The madness of greed and illicit passion and hatred and murder. Open your eyes and look. Who was the first on the scene when you were shot? He hadn’t far to come from the bushes, had he? Don’t you see? Death’s hovering over your head. Like a great black bird. Can’t you hear his wings? You first, then Edwin …”
“Oh, no … no …”
“They are together. I’ve seen them.”
I closed my eyes. I pictured Harriet moving stealthily along the corridor, a candle in her hand. I could hear Carleton’s voice: “… Rather late. I thought I wouldn’t disturb you …” I cried: “No. No!” But it could fit so easily.
“They have a meeting place. They leave notes there. In the arbour. I have seen some of them. That was how I came to find the wax dolls. It’s a sort of bravado that makes them go there. It’s like snapping their fingers at fate. Then, of course, not many people would want to go there after dark, would they? It satisfies their sense of the macabre … and at the same time it’s safe. That’s a good point. They don’t want to be discovered before they’ve completed their plans … their devious, hideous plans. Oh, Arabella, you look at me so strangely. I think you don’t believe me.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have told you. But how could I keep silent? I tell you death is right overhead. It’s come very near to you and you’ve escaped by the luck of the moment. It frightens me, Arabella. I don’t know what to do … to save you … to save Edwin. I know what is in their black hearts. I have seen them together, I have listened to them. But you doubt me. I tell you what. Let us go to the arbour … now. They leave notes there for each other. Perhaps she is there now … with him. Who can say? She said she was going riding, but is she, I wonder?”
“As soon as Carleton comes in I shall talk to him,” I said. “I shall talk to Harriet.”
“You cannot mean that. What would they say? Charlotte is lying. Charlotte is mad, and they might even convince you. They would be shocked to think they had not been careful enough to escape detection. But I know it would only postpone your fate. You are doomed, Arabella—you and your son Edwin. No matter what I reminded them of they would stand together against me … and you would believe them because you wanted to. You won’t give yourself a chance to see the proof … even now.”
“Show me this proof,” I said.
Her eyes lit up suddenly. “Oh, Arabella, I’m so glad you’re ready to look at the truth. Let us go to the arbour now. I saw her go in there before she went off. I know where they hide their messages. If he has not already been in to take it we shall find it. Come now.”
She put her arm through mine and together we went out of the house.
The arbour looked dismal in the dim light of a November afternoon, and I felt sick with fear as we went across the grass.
“It’s a horrible place,” said Charlotte. “I always hated it. Come on … quickly, Arabella.”
She pushed open the door and we went in. I was relieved that no one was there. She stopped and lifted the broken paving-stone.
“There’s nothing there,” I said.
“There’s another one over there. Look.”
I went to the spot where she pointed. She was right. I lifted the stone. There was a piece of paper there. I felt sick with horror. Something was written on it but I could not see what.
“It looks just like childish scribble,” I said.
I turned. I was alone, and the door was shut.
“Charlotte,” I called. I went towards the door.
I heard her voice: “It’s jammed. I can’t open it.” She was right. It would not budge. Then I noticed that the key which usually hung on a nail there was missing.
“I’ll go and get someone,” she called.
So I was alone in the arbour. I looked at the paper in my hand. Just a scrawl across it. What did it mean? A code of some sort, perhaps. What a foolish notion. It was like something Priscilla might have done.
I sat down on the bench. How I hated the place. Edwin … Harriet … and now Carleton and Harriet. History grimly repeating itself.
“I don’t believe it,” I said aloud. “I can’t believe it.”
I heard a sound. I was alert, listening. They must have come to release me. I called out. Then I heard a sound which made me cold with terror. It was the unmistakable crackle of wood and I saw that smoke was seeping into the arbour. The place was on fire.
I ran to the door and threw myself against it. It did not budge. I understood. It was locked from the outside.
“Oh, God,” I prayed. “What is happening to me? Charlotte. Charlotte … is it you, then, who are trying to kill me?”
“Let me out!” I cried. “Let me out!”
I hammered on the door. How firm the old wood was. The heat was getting intolerable. It could not be long before this wooden structure was ablaze.
I felt myself fainting, for the heat was becoming intense. This is the end, I thought. I should die without knowing why Charlotte hated me so.
I felt a rush of air suddenly. Then the flames roared up.
I was seized, picked up and carried into oblivion.
Old Jethro had killed Edwin, and Young Jethro had saved my life. Regaining my consciousness I was vaguely aware of him as he kneeled beside me, giving thanks to God. “A miracle,” he was shouting. “God has seen fit to show me a miracle.” I was carried into the house. He put me into Sally’s charge.
To have faced death once more and this time being saved only by Jethro’s miracle gave me a strangely exalted feeling. I suppose my mind was wandering and I was unaware that I was lying on my bed. Sally had sent for the doctor. I had suffered no burns, only a scorching of the skin of one hand. It was the smoke which had come near to suffocating me. Not more than a few minutes could have lapsed between the time Charlotte set the arbour alight and Jethro got me out. He had been watching us. It seemed that he had spent many hours of his days watching and praying at the arbour. He had seen Charlotte lock me in; he had seen her throw inflammable oil on the bracken about the arbour and on its walls and ignite the place. Then he had come straight in and got me out.