“But actually they didn’t do anything to you.”
“No. Sometimes-I wish they had.”
“Yes, I dare say you do feel like that. But there’s nothing really they could do. Even if it wasn’t a mistake, if the doctor suspected same merciful impulse in your heart, or even an unmerciful one, he would know that there was no case, and he wouldn’t be anxious to make one. If there had been any suspicion of Shirley having done it, it would have been a different matter.”
“There was never any question of that. A maid actually heard Henry say to me that he hadn’t had his tablets and ask me to give them to him.”
“Yes, it was all made easy for you-very easy.” He looked up at her. “How do you feel about it now?”
“I wanted Shirley to be free to-”
“Leave Shirley out of it. This is between you and Henry. How do you feel about Henry? That it was all for the best?”
“No.”
“Thank God for that.”
“Henry didn’t want to die. I killed him.”
“Do you regret?”
“If you mean-would I do it again?-yes.”
“Without remorse?”
“Remorse? Oh yes. It was a wicked thing to do. I know that. I’ve lived with it ever since. I can’t forget.”
“Hence the Foundation for Sub-Normal Children? Good works? A course of duty, stern duty. It’s your way of making amends.”
“It’s all I can do.”
“Is it any use?”
“What do you mean? It’s worthwhile.”
“I’m not talking of its use to others. Does it help you?”
“I don’t know….”
“It’s punishment you want, isn’t it?”
“I want, I suppose, to make amends.”
“To whom? Henry? But Henry’s dead. And from all I’ve heard, there’s nothing that Henry would care less about than sub-normal children. You must face it, Laura, you can’t make amends.”
She stood motionless for a moment, like one stricken. Then she flung back her head, the colour rose in her cheeks. She looked at him defiantly, and his heart leapt in sudden admiration.
“That’s true,” she said. “I’ve been trying, perhaps, to dodge that. You’ve shown me that I can’t. I told you I didn’t believe in God, but I do, really. I know that what I’ve done was evil. I think I believe, in my heart of hearts, that I shall be damned for it. Unless I repent-and I don’t repent. I did what I did with my eyes open. I wanted Shirley to have her chance, to be happy, and she was happy. Oh, I know it didn’t last long-only three years. But if for three years she was happy and contented, and even if she did die young, then it’s worth it.”
As he looked at her, the greatest temptation of his life came to Llewellyn-the temptation to hold his tongue, never to tell her the truth. Let her keep her illusion, since it was all she had. He loved her. Loving her, how could he strike her brave courage down into the dust? She need never know.
He walked over to the window, pulled aside the curtain, stared out unseeing into the lighted streets.
When he turned, his voice was harsh.
“Laura,” he said, “do you know how your sister died?”
“She was run over-”
“That, yes. But how she came to be run over-that you don’t know. She was drunk.”
“Drunk?” she repeated the word almost uncomprehendingly. “You mean-there had been a party?”
“No party. She crept secretly out of the house and down to the town. She did that now and again. She sat in a caf? there, drinking brandy. Not very often. Her usual practice was to drink at home. Lavender water and eau-de-Cologne. She drank them until she passed out. The servants knew; Wilding didn’t.”
“Shirley-drinking? But she never drank? Not in that way! Why?”
“She drank because she found her life unbearable, she drank to escape.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true. She told me herself. When Henry died, she became like someone who had last their way. That’s what she was-a lost, bewildered child.”
“But she loved Richard, and Richard loved her.”
“Richard loved her, but did she ever love him? A brief infatuation-that’s all it ever was. And then, weakened by sorrow and the long strain of looking after an irascible invalid, she married him.”