Redvers had to die. How? How could a strong man suddenly be seized with illness? That was impossible. He couldn’t suddenly die of disease. But I always adjusted my plans to the circumstances: A man with a hysterical jealous wife; another woman with whom he was in love and who loved him; and the wife was insanely jealous. I’m sorry Anna, but he was no good to you. I intended to look after you. You would have forgotten him quickly. I was going to have you at the Castle, my sister, my cherished sister. I would have found a husband for you; you would have had a happy life. That was what I intended. But Redvers had to die. And I had made up my mind that there would have to be a murderess.
She will not live long. She could die next week … in two years’ time perhaps. I don’t think from the state of her lungs alone she can live another five years. Her asthmatical attacks are as frequent as ever; they are aggravating the lung condition. I knew that this voyage could not do her any lasting good. So, why should she not take this rôle? There would be compassion for her, particularly in Coralle … the sick and jealous wife. They wouldn’t have been hard on her. And you, Anna, you would be involved in scandal again, but I would be there to protect you. I would have power and position, which I longed for, and I would care for you. And although you would be pointed to as the Other Woman, just as you were as the Niece with a Motive — you see that passes. It is a necessary inconvenience in which I had to involve you then, as now.
But I am fond of you, Anna. It is something I never thought possible, so perhaps there are yet more secret recesses of my mind which I don’t understand myself.
So I decided that when Redvers came home he was going to die.
And that is what I intended tonight. I had worked on Monique. I had deliberately roused her jealousy, oh very subtly. I had seen how useful Suka could be. It was going to be easy. His jealous wife was going to murder the erring husband and that murder was going to take place either tonight or tomorrow night, when the Captain was in this house. I was waiting my opportunity. I knew it would come because she loved to make coffee. She was proud of it because it was her only domestic virtue. I had told her that she made it better than anyone else in the house. I only had to wait for the moment. Tonight he had been talking to you in the garden. Suka knew it and she had told Monique, who made coffee for him in her own room where she had a spirit lamp. She made it and I put something in his coffee, Anna. I shall not tell you what. It was something that would act quickly. Something which was comparatively — but not quite — tasteless. He was excited. He was thinking of you. I didn’t think he would notice that slight acrid taste. When she had made the coffee I said that I thought her blue negligee was more becoming than her red, and she acted as I knew she would and went into the adjoining room to change it. I then did what was necessary. I put the deadly drug into the coffee, stirred it well and when she came back in the blue negligee everything was set.
I went away to wait. I was so excited, so tense. I paced up and down my room waiting.
I have never done anything as big as this. It was very different helping sick old women out of the world. I was not entirely sure what effect a large quantity of the drug would have. I must be ready, prepared to say the right thing, to do the right thing when the time came. I was trembling and apprehensive.
I thought some coffee would steady my nerves. I was going to make some, but as I came out into the corridor I saw Pero; I did not want to risk talking to anyone in my state. I did not want to go to the kitchen. I most dreaded seeing Suka. She has an uncanny way of guessing. No, I could not face that old woman — which I might well do if I went to the kitchen — not when I had just made a murderess of her darling Missy.
So I said to Pero: “Would you make me some coffee and send it up to my room. I am very tired. It has been a busy day.”
She is always eager to please; she said she would; and ten minutes later she came back.
I poured out the coffee; it was very hot but I never cared for hot coffee. I gulped down a cup and poured out another … and then … I began to taste that unusual taste.
I looked at the fresh cup I had poured out. I sniffed it. There would be no odor, but a horrible suspicion had come to me. I told myself I was imagining it. It couldn’t be.
But I had to satisfy myself. I found Pero in the kitchen.
I said to her: “You made me some coffee, Pero.”
“Yes, Nurse.” She looked frightened; but then she always looks frightened, always fearful of complaint.
“You made it yourself … ?”
“Why, yes, Nurse.”
I felt better. I realized that my skin was cold although I felt as though my body was on fire. I reminded myself that I must be careful. People were going to be talking about coffee a great deal in this house.
“It was not good, Nurse?”
I did not answer.
“Missy Monique made it,” she said.
“What?”
“For the Captain, but he did not drink it. He was called to the ship. So, I heat it up for you.”
I heard myself say: “I see.”
So now you understand. You can see how one must take every possibility into consideration if one is to be certain of success. This house of economy! It was something I had forgotten. You have to think of everything, and the most irrelevant details can prove your downfall.
And here is your letter, Anna. I took it. I was going to use it. I had not yet put it where she could find it. She will never see it now. It would have been useful, you see. It would have been found in her room and would naturally have been part of the motive.
But everything is changed now. The truth will come out. It is better for Rex this way. He could never have gone through with this without me, and now he will stand alone.
“A long farewell to all my greatness.” You see, I quote to the end. Goodbye to you, Anna. Goodbye to Rex.
I dropped the sheets of paper and Redvers’ letter to me; I ran to Chantel’s room.
She was lying on her bed.
“Chantel,” I cried. “Chantel.”
But she lay still unheeding. I knew that I was too late, but I knelt by her bed, taking her cold hand and crying: “Chantel, Chanteclass="underline" come back to me.”
That happened more than two years ago, but the memory of that terrible night will never leave me. I could not believe what she had written. It was only the sight of her lying there dead that brought home the reality to me. Redvers took charge of everything. I think I lived in a bemused state for weeks afterward. I kept going over parts of my life with Chantel. I dreamed of her gay mocking beauty. To me she had been the sister I had always wanted; I suppose I had been that to her. She had had an affection for me; there was softness in her; there was kindness; and yet how could she have planned such diabolical actions? The murderess was the secret woman in her, the woman I should never have believed existed if she herself had not shown her to me.