I felt myself growing more and more angry as my mother read on.
“What a horrible suggestion!” she said, laying down the paper. “Grace is only trying to help Lizzie. Poor Lizzie, what must she think?”
“I wonder what Ben thinks about it,” I said.
“Oh, he’d shrug it off. But it is very hurtful to Lizzie and Grace.”
“I always thought,” said Janet, “from what I have heard of Benedict Lansdon that he must be a very attractive man.”
“Did you know he is some sort of distant relation of ours?” asked my mother. “You’ve met Amaryllis and Peter. Well, Benedict is Peter’s grandson. It was a love affair before his marriage. Apparently Peter always looked after the family.”
Janet looked disapproving.
“Yes,” went on my mother. “It was irregular. Somehow people forgive Peter his indiscretions, don’t they, Angelet?”
I nodded.
“And he has done so much for the Mission. They wouldn’t have been half as successful there without him. Their activities could not have been so widespread. I’d like to know what Peter thinks of these paragraphs.”
“So you think they will affect Ben’s chances of getting the seat?” I asked.
Timothy said: “No. I shouldn’t think so for a moment. There is a good deal of this sort of thing going on at election time. I think people don’t take too much notice of it.”
I was thoughtful. I was shocked at the suggestion and scarcely listened to their comment. I was thinking of Lizzie, so inadequate, so scared of what had been thrust upon her, trying to face all those people; and of Grace who was able to talk to them with charm and efficiency.
Grace and Ben! Could there really be anything in the suggestion? Most women would admire Ben and it was a long time since Grace had become a widow. Lizzie had turned to Grace. Had Ben, too?
I thought then how foolish I was. I had had an offer of marriage and a peaceful life from a man whom I could trust and I was refusing it because of my feelings for someone who was out of reach and, in any case, of whom I should always be unsure.
My mother and I returned to London with Rebecca. The Ransomes were very reluctant for us to go. They came to the door to say goodbye as the carriage arrived to take us to the station. Fiona and Alec waved frantically. Janet said: “You must come again … soon.” Timothy was coming to the station with us and Fanny stood looking at me reproachfully. Rebecca burst into tears which was the most effective way of saying she had enjoyed the visit. We could only pacify her by telling her that we should be coming again soon.
At the station Timothy pressed my hand and said: “I shall see you at the Mission on Wednesday.” And we said goodbye.
On the way home my mother eulogized about their being such a charming family and how pleased my father would be to hear the result of our visit. She did look at me with slight reproach I knew because there had not been an announcement of my engagement to Timothy and they all gleaned that it was my fault.
So I traveled back to London between a tearful daughter and a rather disappointed mother; and I told myself once more that I had been foolish not to fall in with what everyone seemed to think was an excellent plan.
But there was still time.
The next night we were invited to the house in the square; and to my surprise Ben was there. Lizzie was not with him. She was resting, he said. Grace was with her.
I said: “I did not expect to see you. Shouldn’t you be charming votes out of the voters of Manorleigh?”
“There is time before polling day,” he said.
At dinner Uncle Peter talked about the piece in the paper. He waved it aside. “Just malicious gossip,” he said. “It shows they’re rattled, Ben, looking for stuff like that.”
After dinner when the men joined us in the drawing room, Ben made a point of coming over to me.
“I must talk to you, Angel,” he said.
“Well? Talk.”
“Not here. Could we meet somewhere?”
“What is it you have to tell me, Ben?”
“Let’s meet. Shall we say in the Park? Kensington Gardens … in the flower garden.”
“Do you think we should?”
“We must. Tomorrow, ten thirty.”
“But …”
“Please, Angel. I shall expect you.”
I slept little that night. I lay awake wondering what he would say to me.
I found him waiting impatiently. He rose as I approached and, taking both my hands firmly in his, drew me to a seat.
“What is it Ben? What’s happened?”
“It’s this Timothy Ransome.”
“What of him?”
“You have been visiting his house … with your mother.”
“Well, what of it?”
“It is rather significant that he should invite you with your mother. It seems to me that it is for one purpose. Have you promised to marry him?”
“No, I have not and, Ben, I don’t see …”
“That it is my business? It is my business, Angel. I love you. You and I were meant for each other.”
“But you are married to Lizzie.”
“That was because …”
“You don’t have to explain. I know only too well. You didn’t love Lizzie, but you loved what she could bring you. You knew there was gold on her father’s land and that was the only way you could get it. You did try to buy it at first, I know … I grant you that.”
“Stop it,” he said. “You don’t understand.”
“I understand, too well. I was there, remember.”
“It is all in the past.”
“But the effect is with us still.”
“I love you. I want you … you only. More than anything I want you. You were married to Gervaise. Life was cruel to us both. It was always too late. And now you are proposing to marry again. First you were married to Gervaise. Then I was married to Lizzie …”
“You are still married to Lizzie.”
“She might divorce me.”
“Divorce you? On what grounds? I remember you suggested that Gervaise and I might divorce. It seems to be a ready solution for you.”
“It is a solution.”
“Never. Think of your political career. Would you stifle it at birth?”
“I would do anything if we could be together.”
“Ben, you are being rather rash.”
“What I want to say to you is … wait. Don’t rush into this. Oh, I know he is a worthy man … full of virtue and good works … as I could never be. But could he love you as I do?”
“I really don’t think you should be talking like this.”
“I’m telling you the truth. I know that we are meant for each other. We shared that … incident together. It bound us to each other in some way. I should never have gone away. Oh … isn’t it illuminating? One can look back and see where one has gone wrong all along the line. I should have stayed with you then … until you were well. I should never have gone back to London. I should never have gone to Australia. I think it was something to do with that … which made me want to go. It was on my conscience too, Angel. I thought I would get right away. You see, you were only a child then. Had you been older, I should have known … and then, as soon as I saw you again, I did know but you were married to Gervaise then.”
“It is no use going over it. We are where we are today and that means that you are married to Lizzie. I am sure she loves you devotedly. She brought you what you wanted … the mine … money … power. It was what you had always aimed for. People have to pay for the things they want.”
“But such a price, Angel.”
“Remember the miners … the story you liked so much. They thought they need not go on paying and look what happened to them.”
“That is a legend. It has nothing to do with our case.”
“You can compare them,” I said. “Listen to me, Ben. You have a great deal. You have a career which you will enjoy. It stretches out ahead of you. Perhaps
it is not everything you want … but it is a great deal.”
And I was thinking: I have Timothy. It is not everything I want … because I want Ben; but it is a great deal.
“I’ll never give up hope,” he said. “Have you promised to marry him?”
“No,” I answered.
“I thank God for that.”
“You have become very pious suddenly, Ben.”
“Don’t joke. This is too serious a matter.”
“How can it change, Ben?”
“I never give up hope.”
“I must go.”
“Wait a while.”
“I really shouldn’t have met you here. What about all this talk?”
“What talk?”
“That piece in the paper about you and Lizzie and Grace?”
“Oh that. That was just the enemy getting rattled.”
“Could it spoil your chances?”
“Sensible people will take it for what it is.”
“How does Grace feel about it?”
“Rather put out I’m afraid.”
“It seems … so horrible … just because she helps Lizzie.”
“I know. But most people take it for what it is.”
“So you are going to get in?”
“I hope so.”
“The first step along a dazzling career?”
“That is what you think of me, is it?”
“I know you, Ben.”
“Don’t give up hope, Angel. Something will be done.”
“I must go.”
“I have to get back to Manorleigh this afternoon.”
“I suppose you will be there until the election?”
“It looks like it.”
“Well, good luck, Ben.”
“There is one thing that matters to me more than anything else.”
I smiled at him ruefully and left him.
When I returned to the house Grace was there with my mother.
“I had to come and see you,” she said. “It is just a flying visit.” She smiled at my mother. “I heard you were in London and I told myself I must see you.”
“I was just saying to Grace how nice it is to be here and that I hope she will come to Cornwall when this election is over.”
“Thank you,” said Grace. “I should like to. But you can imagine how it is in Manorleigh just now. There is very little respite.”
“How is Lizzie?” I asked.
“Oh …” She frowned. “She is always tired. She doesn’t really like all this public life.”
“It rust be a terrible trial to her.”
“I help her all I can and she manages.”
“It’s a change from Golden Creek.”
“Indeed yes. I hear you have been doing wonderful things at the Mission. Your mother has been telling me about the poor girl whose stepfather is on trial for murder.”
“It’s a very sad case.”
“And Timothy Ransome has taken her in?”
“He is a wonderful man,” said my mother.
“He must be. And you have just returned from a visit to his place. Frances thinks a great deal of him, I gather. I always admire those people who give up so much of their time to good works.”
“Angelet has been doing her share lately.”
“So I heard. You’re rather friendly with Mr. Ransome, I believe.”
“Oh yes … we’re good friends.”
My mother was smiling a little complacently.
“I am lucky to have this work,” went on Grace. “It’s done a lot for me. I suppose you feel the same about the Mission. It can be lonely for a widow … on her own.”
“Well,” said my mother, “perhaps life will change for both of you.”
I did get a few words alone with Grace before she went.
She said: “Is it true that you are going to marry Timothy Ransome?”
“No. Who told you that?”
“I gathered it from the way they were talking … Amaryllis and your mother. They seemed to think that an engagement was imminent.”
“No … not imminent.”
She nodded. “It’s a big step … marriage. One needs time to consider it particularly when one has already experienced it. You realize how easily things can go wrong. It makes you cautious.”
“Yes,” I agreed.
“Well, Angelet, I wish you every happiness. I hope it works out well for you. I do know that Timothy Ransome is a very good man. People talk. And … good men are rare.”
Another, I thought, who wants to see me married.
She left that afternoon with Ben and Lizzie for Manorleigh; and the next day my mother went back to Cornwall.
I had just had breakfast and was in the nursery with Rebecca when one of the maids came round with a message from Aunt Amaryllis. Would I go to them at once.
Uncle Peter was there. He was preparing to leave. He looked white-faced and shocked—quite unlike himself.
“Oh, Angelet,” cried Aunt Amaryllis, embracing me, “I wanted to tell you before you heard elsewhere. The papers are full of it. Uncle Peter is going straight away to Manorleigh. He knows Ben will need his support.”
“What is it, Aunt Amaryllis?”
“It’s Lizzie …”
“Lizzie? Is she ill?”
“She’s … dead.”
“Dead!” I cried. “How? Why?”
“It looks like an overdose of laudanum.”
I clutched a chair. I felt I was going to faint.
Aunt Amaryllis was beside me, putting an arm round me.
“I’m sorry. I should have broken it more gently. We’re all so terribly shocked.”
“Tell me. Tell me all about it.”
“They found her … this morning … It was Grace who was the first. She went into her room and found her … dead.”
“Where was Ben?”
“He was in his room, I suppose. They had separate rooms, you know. There was the bottle beside her bed. Poor Lizzie …”
“I’m going down to see what can be done,” said Uncle Peter. “I’ll be in touch as soon as possible.”
He left us and Aunt Amaryllis said to me: “I’m going to get you some brandy. You look so shocked.”
“No thanks, Aunt Amaryllis. It’s just …”
“I know how you feel … I do the same. It’s so awful. That poor child … I don’t know what it means.”
She made me drink a little brandy, but I knew that nothing could stop the terrible thoughts which were crowding into my mind.
We sat there. Aunt Amaryllis was talking. Grace had gone in and found her. … Ben had sent a message to his grandfather at once.
“Peter will sort things out,” said Aunt Amaryllis.
How did one sort out death in such circumstances? I wondered. Surely that was beyond even Uncle Peter’s powers.
I don’t remember the next few days in detail. It was like living in a nightmare.
I went back to my house. Morwenna and Justin came to see me.
“This is terrible,” said Morwenna.
“The papers will have a field day,” added Justin.
“Yes,” I said. “They will.”
“This is a little different from the snippets of scandal we’ve had so far,” said Justin. “Is Grace still there?”
“Well, she was with them. She and Lizzie were great friends. She was such a help to her. Oh, poor Lizzie, she never wanted to leave Golden Creek.”
“I wonder if Grace will stay there,” said Justin.
“She’s been helping with the campaign. I suppose that has to go on.”
“It will be a hopeless cause now.”
“You mean …”
“Why, Angelet, you don’t think they would elect a man whose wife has just died in mysterious circumstances?”
“Mysterious circumstances …”
“It will come out at the inquest. No one can say till then. I wonder if Grace will stay. She can’t very well without Lizzie’s being there.”
; “What does that matter?” I asked. “Lizzie is dead. I can’t believe it.”
I lived in a daze. There was one thought which kept coming into my mind. It was what Ben had said: “Don’t give up hope. Something will be done.”
Something had been done.
No. I would not believe that of Ben. He was vigorous in his pursuit of what he wanted. He had married for it. Would he murder for it?
There! I had said the word to myself. And now it haunted me and I could not get it out of my mind.
There was great anxiety in the family. We met and talked over the matter. They all said that Lizzie had been taking the drug to help her sleep. Some drugs were dangerous. It was easy to take too much.
Uncle Peter was staying at Manorleigh for the inquest.
We were all waiting for the outcome. That would either still our fears or make them realities.
We did not want to read the papers but we could not stop ourselves. They were full of the case. Everyone was talking of the sudden death of Mrs. Elizabeth Lansdon … wife of one of the candidates in the constituency of Manorleigh. She had been found in her bed by the close friend of herself and her husband … Mrs. Grace Hume, widow of the Crimean hero, grandson of Peter Lansdon the philanthropist. Why did they have to go into those details every time they mentioned them?
There were hints as to what might have happened. Mrs. Elizabeth was shy and retiring; she had given the impression that the life of a successful politician’s wife had little charm for her. It was her friend, Mrs. Grace, who had shone at the meetings; she it was who mingled with the people, kissed the babies and expressed general concern for the welfare of the voters … taking on the work and duties of the candidate’s wife.
Hints … all the time. I was amazed how the press enjoyed the hunt for sensation. They reminded me of a pack of hounds chasing a fox. Ben had angered them. He had been too clever, too successful they hated that. And now was their opportunity to destroy all that success.
We heard the result of the inquest before Uncle Peter came back to tell us about it.
We were all gathered together in the house in the square. Justin and Morwenna were with us. They said they felt like members of the family and wished to share our grief at such a time.
We heard the paper boys crying out in the street. “Inquest Result … Mrs. Lizzie Inquest. Read all about it.”
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