“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?”