“I think it’s a comforting philosophy.”
She laughed aloud. “So diplomatic. Yes, I think it will be the bishop’s wife. But it shows you have changed doesn’t it? The bishop’s wife would have chosen music.”
Her expression changed again; it became sly, malevolent.
“But,” she said, “it may be that you won’t be either if you meddle. You are a meddler.” She was her childish self again, lifting an admonishing finger. “Admit it. You know what happens to those who try to find out too much when there are wicked people about.” She laughed. “You ought to know. It nearly happened to you, didn’t it?”
She stood in the center of the room nodding like a mandarin, an incongruous figure, her flowery, feminine hat shading her wrinkled face, a shrewd wisdom looking out of her mad eyes.
I pictured her writing that note, creeping into my room with it, hiding herself in the outhouse, waiting, sprinkling the floor with the paraffin oil that was left in the drum.
But why?
How could I know what secrets this old house was hiding, and how each member of this household was concerned in them?
Roma, I thought, what did you discover?
Sybil had disturbed me more than I cared to admit.
Everyone seemed to have decided that an understanding was growing between myself and Godfrey Wilmot, and in a way it was true. I could dream if I wanted to of a peaceful future and I did; but when I dreamed of it, it was not Godfrey I saw but my children. It’s natural, I told myself. Every woman wants children; and when she is of a mature age and never expected to have them, then the prospect is very desirable indeed. Yet…But why should there be any doubts? I was lucky, as Sybil said. I had a second chance. Or I could have—if I took care not to meddle.
When I was with Godfrey the time passed quickly and pleasantly but there were occasions when I did not want his company. I liked to be alone with my thoughts and one of my favorite spots was the little walled garden. Perhaps because she was such an observant little person Alice knew this. She came into the walled garden on this afternoon and asked in a demure voice whether she was disturbing me.
“Of course not, Alice,” I said. “Have you done your practice?”
“Yes, Mrs. Verlaine, and I came to talk to you.”
“That was nice of you. Sit down for a moment. It’s very pleasant in this garden.”
“You love it, don’t you, Mrs. Verlaine? I’ve often seen you here. So quiet and peaceful, isn’t it? I expect you will make a garden like this in your new home.”
“My new home?”
“When you’re married.”
“My dear Alice, I have been married once and I am not engaged to do so again.”
“But you will be soon.” She brought her face closer to mine and I could see the freckles across the bridge of her nose. “I think you’ll be very happy.”
“Thank you, Alice.”
“I think Mr. Wilmot is a charming man. I’m sure he’ll make a good husband.”
“How is it that you can judge a good husband?”
“But it’s easy to tell in this case. He’s handsome and rich I think…otherwise Mrs. Rendall wouldn’t want him for Sylvia. And he’s kind and he wouldn’t be cruel to you as some husbands are.”
“Your knowledge astounds me, Alice.”
“Oh well,” she said modestly, “I have lived here with Edith and Napier. He was unkind to her. You see I have an example close at hand.”
“How can you be sure that he was unkind to her?”
“She used to cry a lot. She said he was cruel to her.”
“She told you that?”
“Yes. She used to confide in me a lot. It was because we were both little girls together.”
“You haven’t a notion why she…went away?”
“It was to get away from him. I think she’s gone to London to be a governess.”
“What gave you that idea? You thought she had run away with Mr. Brown, remember.”
“So did everybody. But that was silly. She couldn’t run away with him, could she? Any more than a married woman could run away with Mr. Wilmot, because he is a curate and curates don’t ran away with people whom they can’t marry.”
“So you think she has gone off on her own. Oh Alice, as if she would! You remember Edith. She would never be able to stand on her two feet.”
“Do you know, Mrs. Verlaine, that if a tiger came into this garden you and I would run as we never had run before. We’d have special reserves of strength. Our bodies would provide them. Isn’t that interesting? And it’s true, I read it somewhere. It’s Nature’s provision. That’s what it is. Well, Edith had to get away so Nature gave her the strength to do so.”
“What a little wiseacre you are.”
“Wiseacre,” she repeated. “I haven’t heard that word before. I like it. Wiseacre. It makes me sound like a clever piece of land.”
“If you know anything about Edith you should tell it, Alice.”
“I only know that she’s run away. I don’t think she’ll ever be found because she won’t want to be. I wonder what she’s doing now. Teaching some children their lessons I expect…in a house like Lovat Stacy. Isn’t that strange, Mrs. Verlaine?”
“Too strange to be believed,” I said. “I’m sure Edith would do no such thing. It would be wrong and wicked.”
“But while he has a wife, Napier won’t be able to marry anyone else. I’ve written a story about it, Mrs. Verlaine. There’s a woman who is married to a bad man and she cannot escape from him, so she runs away and hides herself. You see, she has no husband and he has no wife and while she is hidden he can’t take another wife. It’s her big sacrifice. She remains hidden away until she is an old woman. And then she is lonely because she has no grandchildren. But that was her sacrifice.”
“You must let me see some of your stories, Alice.”
“Oh, they’re not very good. I have to improve a lot. Shall I tell you a secret, Mrs. Verlaine? It will probably shock you.”
“I’m not easily shocked.”
“Mr. Lincroft was not my father.”
“What?”
“Sir William is my father. Oh, it’s true. I heard them talking—my mother and Sir William. That’s why I’m here…living in the house. I’m what is called a love child. I think that’s rather a nice thing to be…in a way. Love child. It’s like Allegra. She’s one too. Isn’t it strange, Mrs. Verlaine, that there should be two of us? Two love children…in the same house, brought up together.”
“Alice, you are romancing again.”
“No, I’m not. After I heard them talking I asked my mother and she admitted it. She loved Sir William and he loved her…and she went away because she thought it was wrong to stay here. And she had me and she married Mr. Lincroft…to give me a name. That’s why I’m Alice Lincroft but really I’m Alice Stacy. Sir William is very fond of me. I think that one day he will make me legitimate. You can do it, you know. I’m going to write a lovely story about a girl whose father makes her legitimate, but I’m saving that one. It’s going to be the best I’ve ever done.”
As I looked at the earnest little face beside me I could well believe this would be so.
The skein of circumstance grew more and more tangled with every new disclosure.
It had been raining heavily all day long. The girls had come back from their morning at the vicarage wet through and Mrs. Lincroft insisted that they take off all their clothes and put on dry ones.