I, who have lived thus all these years-which is scarcely living at all suddenly find myself in the midst of intrigue. You see, Yvette, there are several people who wish me out of the way . not mildly but desperately. First there is my dear husband. How he would love to be rid of me! Then he could go to his schoolmistress and offer her honourable marriage. I believe that is what he wants to do.
And what of Gabrielle . all those years patiently waiting for me to die . and yet at the same time wanting me to live. If I died he might marry again, but would it be Gabrielle? Gabrielle has proved that she can bear a son. There is that six foot of Fontaine Delibes manhood to prove it. Etienne! And who could doubt that the Comte is his father? Poor Gabrielle, what a quandary for her! The Comte could marry her if he were free, but would he? I know she has been a faithful mistress to him for many years, but it is a tradition that when a man is free to marry it is not his ageing mistress whom he chooses as his wife. He turns and finds a young girl. So there sits our patient Gabrielle. What does she feel to see this young schoolmistress enslaving her lover? And Etienne, what of him?
Then there is Leon. I discovered something about Leon. It was on the night of the ball. I know so much more than people think. I have always bad food, clothes and even money sent to Leon’s family. I felt a certain responsibility, as it was because I did not produce a son that my husband drove so wildly that there was this terrible accident.
I send Edouard, one of my grooms, to Leon’s family once a month. He brings me back news of them. He talks to them and comes back and tells me little things about them. Then on the night of the ball . this happened. And Leon is aware of it. I am too tired to tell you about it now. It’s a long story . so next time. But Leon is afraid of what I might do.
There is so much drama in this household, Yvette. I often wonder where it will all end. But it does make life exciting and it could easily be so dull for me. I can’t wait to know what will happen next.
I have always been interested in people. It’s odd that I should wish to be merely a looker-on. But it’s true. I don’t want to go down there in the arena. Marriage and all it entails is particularly distasteful to me. I suppose there are people like that.
They turn up occasionally.
There are moments of enjoyment in my life . writing to you . discovering what people are doing. And now suddenly it has all become tremendously exciting.
I can’t wait for what will happen next. I shall write to you tomorrow more fully. I’m just a little tired now and I like to be fresh for my letters.
Goodnight.
Ursule.
The letter fell from my hand. I looked at the date. It was written the night before she died.
I now knew why Yvette had decided to show me the letters. She was telling me that Ursule could not possibly have taken her own life.
There was little sleep for me that night. I lay awake brooding on what I had read.
I took the first opportunity of returning the letters to Yvette.
“You’ve read them?” she asked. I nodded.
“Did you realize when the last one was written?”
Yes, the night before she died. She must have written it just before she took the fatal dose. “
“Do you think that is the letter of a woman contemplating suicide?”
“No. “
There is only one solution. He killed her. ” I was silent and she went on: ” He wanted her out of the way. She knew that. She actually said it in the letter. “
I don’t believe it. At the autopsy. “
“My dear Minelle, you do not know the Comte’s power. It has always been so. The doctors would say what he commanded them to.”
“Surely they would have more integrity.”
“You do not know how things can happen. Someone offends a person in a high place. A little later he receives a lettre de cachet. Nothing more is heard of him.”
I was silent and she came to me and laid a hand on my arm.
“If you are wise,” she said, ‘you will return to England with’ out delay and forget you ever met baa. “
“Where should I go?”
“Where would you go now if there were trouble?”
I suppose I should stay with Margot . here . with you all. “
“And if the Comte comes for you, what then?” I was silent and she went on: “He might offer to marry you. Would you marry a murderer?”
There is no proof. “
“Didn’t you find that in the letter? You read what she had written before she died. The doctors had been. He had sent for them that they might diagnose some imaginary disease.”
“It was Nou-Nou who sent for them.”
“Nou-Nou constantly wanted to send for them. It would only have been a matter of waiting until she asked for them again,” “If he wanted to be rid of her, why did he not do so long ago?”
“Because you were not there.”
“But he always wanted to remarry. He wanted a son.”
“There was no particular woman before. He was ready to leave it to fate and if necessary settle for Etienne.”
“You are conjecturing too much.”
“Oh, isn’t it clear to you, or are you wilfully blind?”
I was wilfully blind, I knew. The evidence was clear enough in the letters. She had declared her wish to live only the night before she died.
I had never been so wretched in the whole of my life.
One hot day followed another. When I awoke each morning my first thoughts were of the Comte. I could not shut from my mind the picture of his going into her bedroom and opening Nou-Nou’s cupboard. All the remedies were neatly labelled in Nou-Nou’s handwriting. He would tip the fluid into the glass . the double . or treble dose . that meant death.
What could I do? I asked him for the truth, he would not give it. He was adept at lying. Or would he tell me the truth and try to make me believe that whatever he had done would make no difference to us? Was he right? Could I stand the test? Wasn’t it cowardly to run away from it?
But that was what I should do. In the first heat of my passion for him I might forget but later how should I feel, living with a murderer?
In my dreams my mother returned to me. She pleaded with me. Then in the dream she changed to Yvette and said:
“Go home. Don’t delay any more.”
A strange thing happened a week after I had read those letters. I could almost believe that my mother had arranged it with divine assistance.
I was in my room turning over the question of what I should do when Margot rushed in.
“A visitor,” she cried.
“Come down at once. You will be surprised.”
I immediately thought of the Comte.
“Who?” I demanded.
“I’m not telling. Come and see. It’s a surprise.”
I doubted whether the arrival of the Comte would be such a great surprise and surely he would not have aroused this reaction in Margot.
I looked at myself in the mirror.
“You look all right,” Margot assured me.
“And there is no time to change or anything like that. Do come now.”
So I went with her and to my utter astonishment discovered that the visitor was Joel Derringham. I looked at him in amazement and he took my hands in his, “You look surprised to see me,” he said.
I am completely taken aback. “
“I had come to the south of France from Italy and I heard from home that you had gone to France. I thought it would be a good idea to call on the Comte and his family. I went to the chateau and was informed of Marguerite’s marriage and that you had accompanied her to Grasseville.
So here I am. “
“You will stay a while, I trust,” said Margot, very much the chat elaine