The Love Child

He must not suffer for this.

I said: “I am so tired, Leigh. I feel exhausted.”

“My dearest,” he answered tenderly, “you have suffered too much but today is going to be the end of it. The secret is out. Your father and I will know what to do.”

I did not ask what.

“Lie down now,” he said. “You need to rest. Shut your eyes. We will talk later.”

I obeyed him. I felt a desperate need to be alone.

“Where are you going, Leigh?” I asked him.

“To see your father. I want to talk to him.”

I nodded and he kissed me.

“You are so tired. Try and sleep a little. Rest, my dearest. You will feel better then.”

I let him go and I lay for a while as the shadows crept into the room.

It seemed very quiet. The quietness before the debacle, I thought.

I roused myself. What was I doing lying there? My father and Leigh were both violent men. They would want to make Beaumont Granville pay for what he had done to me.

They would go to him with whips. They would thrash him within an inch of his life as Leigh had done before. And Carlotta would hate them and refuse to believe what we said of him.

Carlotta was doomed if Beaumont Granville lived.

I had made up my mind. The fact that my father and Leigh now shared the secret made no difference to what I must do.

I rose and put on my cloak. I took the pistol and put it into my pocket. I went down to the stables, saddled my horse and rode over to Enderby Hall.

I reached the house. I saw a light hi one of the rooms. I exulted because he was there.

I felt as though I were in a dream and unknown forces were propelling me forward.

There was only one thing that mattered and that was that I should kill Beaumont Granville.

A voice within me seemed to be repeating over and over again: It is the only way.

I pushed open the door and walked into the house. The hall looked ghostly in the dimness. I felt a great impulse to run away.

I seemed to hear the voice of common sense. Tell her the truth.

Show her what sort of man he is, and if she will not heed your warning it is for her to reap what she will have sown.

“Go back,” said common sense. “Go back.”

But I could not go back.

I do not know to this day whether I should have fired that shot when it came to the point, whether I had it in me to commit murder. I shall never be sure.

There was not a sound in the house-only an unearthly quietness. I started up the stairs. I must find the room where the light was burning.

I came to the balcony and there he was. He was lying on the floor. Blood was staining his embroidered waistcoat. He was quite still. I took one look at his face and I knew.

I had come too late. Someone had done the deed before me.

I ran out of the house. I took my horse and rode home as fast as I could. It was dark now. The weather had changed sharply and there was a touch of frost in the air.

Overhead the stars were brilliant and there was a slim slice of a moon to add to the brightness.

I kept saying to myself: It’s not real. You imagined it. This has preyed on your mind. You are not yourself.

I had taken one look and fled. Perhaps he had not been dead. Perhaps I had not really seen him there. I had. had the pistol in my hand ready to shoot.

My mind was in such a turmoil that I was not sure what had really happened. I could not remember untethering my horse and riding away.

In my room I sat down and looked at my reflection. I scarcely recognized myself in the wild-eyed, white-faced woman who looked back at me. I was like a stranger out of a dream-not quite real. I began to wonder whether I had really seen him lying there.

Then the impulse came to me to go back and look again, to assure myself that I had not imagined the whole thing. I had worked myself up into a state of intense emotion.

I had planned to murder. Had I really seen him lying there? I kept asking myself, or had it been an illusion, a horrible hallucination conjured up by a tortured mind?

I must go back. I must look again on that dead face. I must make sure that I had really seen what I thought I had.

My need was to act. I could not stay in this room alone. I must be sure. So I went back to the stables, took my horse and rode once more to Enderby Hall.

I tethered my horse at the entrance to the drive and started forward. The house loomed before me. It seemed to take on a life of its own-leering, sinister.

Come inside, it seemed to be saying. Come inside and face your doom.

I pushed open the door. It was still ajar. I stepped into the hall. How eerie it was with the faint moonlight shining through the windows. There was a terrible silence everywhere. It was as though everything in this house were watching me… waiting.

Horror crawled over me. I had known as soon as I had first entered this house that evil was lurking in it.

Run! Run while there is a chance, a voice within me was saying. Don’t look on that sight again.

But I had to see. I had to assure myself. It had not been a dream. I had seen him lying there. I had seen his elaborate waistcoat stained with blood.