Philippa Carr: Pool of St. Branok

“I thought I would be a very suitable wife for a politician.”

“I am sure you would. And Ben?”

“Ben was looking in another direction, wasn’t he? He was always besotted about you. I think that adventure you had together did something to you both. You wanted Ben and he wanted you and he was married to Lizzie.”

“And what of you? You wanted Ben, too.”

“Yes. I thought I might make it, too. Ben is a powerful man … the sort who was a challenge to me. He was rich … thanks to Lizzie’s gold mine. I wanted to be rich.”

“Tell me what happened on the night Lizzie died.”

“I only know what happened on the morning after. I went in and found her dead.”

“Who killed her?”

She looked at me and her lips curled faintly at the corners. “You think I might have done it, don’t you? Or was it Ben? We both had our reasons, didn’t we? It would have been rather silly of Ben to kill her just then because it would inevitably lose him that seat he so much wanted. On the other hand it would be a master stroke. People would say, If he was going to kill her why do it at such a time? On the other hand you suspect that I may have done it. Why? Because I wanted Ben for myself. But he is in love with you. I’ve always known that—so what chance have I? You wouldn’t expect me to kill a woman to make way for you, would you?”

“Grace, why are you saying all this?”

“Because I want you to see it clearly and I want to see it that way myself.”

Then I said: “Why should you kill her?”

“Because … you would not many Ben if you suspected him of murder, would you? I was ready to help and look after Mervyn, but perhaps your feelings do not go as deep as mine. I wasn’t sure. And then, you see, there was the nice kind Timothy Ransome … the pleasant life in the country, the waif living there to remind you of your virtue. You had a choice. I might have thought that if you suspected Ben of murdering his wife you would have turned to Timothy. Then the field would be clear for me, wouldn’t it?”

“Grace … I don’t understand.”

“Do you believe in reformed characters?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, look at Justin … card-sharper, blackmailer, adventurer … and now good business man, the perfect husband and father. What a transformation!”

“I really believe that Justin has changed.”

“So do I. He was lucky. I wonder what would have happened to him if he hadn’t found Morwenna and his accommodating father-in-law. Justin is one of the lucky ones.”

“And he’s turned his good fortune to advantage.”

“Nobody is entirely virtuous, you know. Not you … nor Ben … nor any of us … and some are worse than others … Mervyn, for instance, who had that terrible affliction … if affliction it was. Justin the adventurer … and I suppose you would call me an adventuress. Even Gervaise was a gambler and died owing money, didn’t he? People have to be accepted for what they are. We should not judge them too harshly.”

“Once again, Grace, why are you telling me all this?”

“I am pleading for myself.”

“Why do you have to plead with me?”

“Because I have lied and cheated. I came to your family under false pretenses. I have watched Justin and I have been to the Mission. I have been down to see that child Fanny and I feel that whatever one has done in the past, one could find a certain salvation in a place like that. Do you believe that?”

“Are you serious, Grace?”

She took my arm again. “I am deadly serious,” she said. “I am going to work in the Mission. When I have set the accounts to rights I am going to do active work. I have talked to Frances and Peterkin. They are willing to have me there. I think I can forget my bitterness, my ambition, everything … there. I think I have learned that there is more contentment to be found in trying to comfort others than in seeking it for oneself.”

I looked at her suspiciously.

“I have been wicked,” she said. “When I thought Mervyn had deserted me, I said to myself, I will never love anyone again. I will work for myself. I will take all I can get. I might have loved Jonnie if he hadn’t died. He was very good to me. He made me independent but not content. I wanted power. And there was Ben. I did a terrible thing, Angelet.”

She put her hand in her pocket and drew out a letter.

She said: “I held this back. I wanted Lizzie to stand between you and Ben. The letter was there by her bedside that morning. I read it … and I held it back. I am giving it to you now. I think it will make all the difference to you … and Ben.”

I unfolded the sheet of paper and read:

My dearest Ben,

I hope you will understand and forgive me for what I am going to do. There is nothing for me but pain. I knew it … some months ago. It gets worse. I saw it with my mother. The pain is unendurable. It is exactly what happened to her and there is no stopping it. I have kept it from you all. Laudanum helps. It was good at first but it is no longer enough. I nursed my mother and this is exactly the same as what killed her. But the pain while I am waiting for death is too much. If I could have helped her out I would have.

I want to thank you for making me happy. I have always known that I was not suitable for you. You needed someone who could help you in your life. I was never good at that, but you were always so kind and never said how I disappointed you. I want you to know that I love you very much. I wish I could stay. But I know I could not hide my illness much longer and that would distress you … and everybody. I know I could not bear to suffer as my mother did. So this seems the best way. I wished there had been an easier way for my mother.

Don’t grieve for me. Try to forget me and be happy.

Lizzie

There were tears in my eyes and I saw that there were in Grace’s also.

“She was a very good woman,” said Grace. “An example to us all. Forgive me for withholding it. It was wicked of me. But you have it now. You have the truth. Ben must know. It is his letter. You must both forgive me, Angelet. Can you?”

I nodded. I was too moved to speak.

Grace and I returned to London that day.

I went straight to Ben.

I said: “I have something to show you, Ben. Grace gave it to me.”

He took the letter and read it.

It was as though a burden of guilt dropped from him. He turned to me and took my hands.

There was hope in his eyes; and I shared it.