‘I’ll take my Bible oath -’ said Mrs. Mercer in a wild, shaken voice. It broke upon a sob – upon a torrent of sobs.
‘Chuck it!’ said Mercer. ‘You don’t do yourself no good that way. This door’s shut and the outside door’s shut, and there’s no one to hear if you scream your head off. There’s a sight too much noise outside for anyone to notice – I’ve told you that before. That’s why we’ve come here, Louie. There’s a man in the flat across the landing that gets drunk regular three times in the week and most Sundays, and when he’s drunk he beats his wife, and when he beats her she screams something horrid, so they tell me. I was talking about him to a man on the stair last night. Something horrid, she screams. And when I said to the man I was talking to, “Don’t the neighbours come in?” he laughed and said, “No fear – they’re used to it.” And when I said, “Don’t they fetch’the police?” he said, “The police know better than to come interfering between man and wife, and if they didn’t they’d get a lesson they’d be sorry for.” So it won’t do no good screaming, Louie.’
There was a pause, and a shuffling sound. In her mind Hilary saw again what she had seen when she came into the room, Mrs. Mercer backed up against the wall and clutching at the bed rail. She thought if the cupboard door were open, that she would see her just like that, with the frantic terror in her face.
There wasn’t any sound after the shuffle. There wasn’t any sound until Alfred Mercer spoke again. He said harshly,
That’s enough of that, my girl! You come and sit down to the table and write what I tell you!’
Hilary heard Mrs. Mercer’s gasp of relief. Whatever she had expected, it wasn’t this. It was some horror of violence which she had stiffened herself to meet. At this demand that she should sit down and write, her breath came again with a sob.
‘What do you want me to write, Alfred?’
‘You come and sit down and I’ll tell you.’
Hilary heard the shuffling sound again, the sound of unwilling, dragging feet upon the boarded floor. A chair scraped. There was a rustle of paper. And then Mercer’s voice.
‘You take and write what I tell you, and don’t be all day over it! You’re a good enough scholar when you choose. And don’t you leave nothing out nor yet put nothing in, or it’ll be the worse for you. Now! You put the date at the top of the paper, November 27th, and then you start writing, “I can’t stand it any longer… I’ve been a very wicked woman, and I’ve got to tell what happened so that Mr. Geoffrey Grey can go free.” ’
The chair scraped again as if it had been pushed back. In a faint agitated whisper Mrs. Mercer said,
‘What do you want? You said you’d cut my heart out if I told.’
‘You write what I tell you!’ said Alfred Mercer. ‘If you don’t -you see this knife, Louie – d’you see it? It’s sharp. Do you want me to show you how sharp it is? All right, then, you write down what I said!’
She wrote. The room was so still that Hilary could hear the sound of the pen as it hurried across the paper – a tiny rustling sound. And then Alfred Mercer’s voice. And then the pen again – and the voice again – and a long, shuddering breath.
‘Got that lot down? All right, go on – “I didn’t mean to kill Mr. Everton… Alfred and me had been sweethearts long ago… He said if I’d go with him as man and wife to Mr. Everton he’d marry me, so I went… And he kept putting me off, and one day Mr. Everton found out – ” ’
Hilary heard a slow breath taken.
‘What’s this I’m writing?’ said Mrs. Mercer’s whispering voice.
‘You’ll know when you’ve written it, my girl,’ said Alfred Mercer. ‘Have you got that down- “One day he found out”? All right, go on – “It was the day Mr. Bertie Everton come to see him from Scotland… He didn’t have time to talk about it… He was very angry… Alfred said he’d make it all right, and he give notice for us to be married… but it wasn’t any good… Mr. Everton said we’d got to go… and he said it was his duty to expose us… So I took Mr Geoffrey’s pistol as he’d left in his bottom drawer… It was the sixteenth of July… Mrs. Thompson from next door was having a bit of supper with us… I went through to the dining-room… and as I passed the study door… I heard Mr. Everton telephoning to Mr. Geoffrey Grey… He wanted him to come round at once… I thought he was going to tell him about Alfred and me… It was eight o’clock… I made up my mind what I would do… I knew when Mr. Geoffrey would get there… A little before the time I said I must go and turn the bed down… I went and got Mr. Geoffrey’s pistol – ” ’
‘Alfred!’ It was less of a word than a gasp. A faint, frightened scream followed it.
‘You’ll get more than that, if you go asking for it! You get on! Ready? “Mr. Geoffrey’s pistol”-you’ve got that down?… Now! “I put it under my apron and went into the study… I asked Mr. Everton to have mercy on me and not tell no one… He called me a bad name… and I shot him – ” ’
Hilary heard a rustle, as if the paper had suddenly been pushed away.
‘I won’t -I won’t write it -they’d hang me!’ The whisper was wild with fear.
‘You’ve written enough to hang yourself already,’ said Alfred Mercer. “But they won’t hang you, Louie-you needn’t be afraid of that. They won’t get a chance to hang you, because as soon as you’ve written this and signed it, you’re going to drink what I’ve got in this bottle, and when you’ve drunk it you’ll go off asleep and you won’t know nothing more.’
‘I won’t,’ said the whispering voice – ‘I won’t!’
‘You won’t, won’t you? Then – ’ His voice dropped until Hilary could hear no words, only rough sound -harsh, rasping sound like an animal snarling.
Mrs. Mercer screamed again and gasped out, shuddering.
‘No – no! I’ll do anything?’
‘You’d better. Here get on! I don’t want to be all day. It’s a good job a blot or two don’t matter, for you’ve made a fair mess of the paper. “I shot him” – you just write that down! And mind it’s clear enough to read! Come along now!’
The paper moved again. The pen moved. Mrs. Mercer groaned. Mercer’s voice went on, cool and hard.
‘ “I locked the door… and I wiped the key and the handle… I wiped the pistol too… and I put it on the mat in front of the garden door… Then I ran round and got in by one of the drawing-room windows and shut it after me… They were all latched when the police came… but I’d left one open on purpose so that I could get in quick… I waited till I saw Mr. Geoffrey come past the window and go into the study… Then I ran into the hall and screamed… and Alfred came running, and Mrs. Thompson… and banged on the door… And everyone thought he done it… and I let them think so… I didn’t tell my husband nor anyone… Alfred never knew nothing, only what I told him… He thought Mr. Geoffrey done it same as everyone did… And I swore false at the inquest and at the trial… but now I can’t bear it no longer… Alfred and me got married like he promised… and he’s been good to me. But I can’t bear it no longer… I’m a wicked woman and I ought to die”… And now you sign your name nice and clear underneath-your lawful married name, Louisa Kezia Mercer!’
Hilary’s hair was wet against her temples. A cold drop ran trickling between her shoulder-blades. It was like the most dreadful nightmare with every sense an avenue for horror – the unclean smell of the place, sight lost in darkness, a violent threat in her ears. What had she been listening to? What was this story which Alfred Mercer had dictated? Was it a lie that he was forcing on this poor broken creature at the point of the knife – or was it true? It might very easily be true. It fitted everywhere, and it explained everything. No, it didn’t explain why James Everton had changed his will. That didn’t matter. Nothing mattered if only Geoff was cleared.